Date: Thu, 23 Dec 1999 18:28:04 PST
From: Ellie Dauber <edauber@hotmail.com>
Subject: Story -- Slow Justice

Slow Justice
by Ellie Dauber

"Mr. Foreman, have you reached a verdict?"  The jury foreman rose.  He was
an older man in a plaid work shirt and jeans.  He looked nervously about the
court room, his eyes never resting on Jenny or her parents sitting nervously
behind the District Attorney's desk.

Jenny Benton was a slender seventeen year old, her blonde hair done in a
pony tail that hung down well below her shoulders.  She wore a pale blue
blouse with matching skirt and belt, light blue sneakers with matching
socks, rather than hose and heels.  The outfit was intended to make her look
even younger and more vulnerable than she was.

Jenny was attractive enough, if a little too thin.  (She was a late bloomer
whose body hadn't yet caught up with those of many of her classmates.)  Now
her eyes were filling with tears behind her silvered glasses.

"We have, Your Honor.  In the matter of the State versus Russ Walsh, we find
the defendant 'Not Guilty'."  There was pandemonium in the court room.  A
few people, mostly women, looked shocked, but most of those present cheered.
  A few men broke into the "Ellwood City High Fight Song".

The Judge pounded his gavel for silence.  After a moment or two, most of the
noise stopped.  The Judge faced the jury box.  "Thank you." he said sourly.
"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you are dismissed with the Court's
thanks.  Case dismissed."  The judge  banged his gavel for emphasis.  Then
he rose and left the court room, a look of disgust on his face.

Jenny was sobbing, holding her face in her hands.  She heard her mother get
up to talk to somebody.  Then she heard an "Ahem", and looked through her
fingers.  It was Russ, an insincere smile on his face.  He was about six-two
and looked like he had just stepped out of a Norman Rockwell painting.  His
chestnut hair was cut short and fashionably styled; his tanned and muscular
body dressed in a sport brown sports jacket and slacks, a "sincere" tie in
the Ellwood City High school colors over an off-white shirt, and dark brown
loafers.  His dark gray eyes seemed cold and empty of any emotion.

"I -- my lawyer -- um -- thought I should come over and tell you that I'm
not mad at you."

"Not mad at her,"  Jenny wanted to scream.  As it was, she trembled, hardly
able to speak.

Now Russ bent low, patting her hand as if trying to console her.  "Next
time, be more cooperative.  I'm the big football hero.  Who'll take the word
of a bimbo like you over mine."

He had raped her!  Then, when she had gotten the courage to go to the
police, he'd not only denied it, he'd gotten two other members of the team
to lie for him.  He admitted taking her out, but he said that he'd left her
off at the McDonald's about 9 PM.  He claimed that she had demanded that he
go steady with her, threatening to cause trouble if he didn't.  Nobody had
heard their conversation, but Max Snyder and Billy Jackson said that they'd
run into him at the arcade.  The three claimed to have spent the rest of the
evening playing video games.

And he'd gotten away with it.  The jury had taken the word of the boy who
had just lead his school's team to the state football championship over a
mousy little girl who seldom dated.  He'd even had the nerve to say that
he'd liked her.  He said that he had been attracted to a shy girl who didn't
go after him like so many of the girls in the school.  He'd been shocked
when she tried to blackmail him, and he hoped that she could get counseling
for whatever was bothering her.

The bile rose in Jenny's stomach.  She grabbed for her purse and ran for the
court room doors without a word.  She was still crying ten minutes later in
the Lawyers' Lounge when she heard someone calling her name.

She looked up, her brown eyes filled with tears.  Someone handed her a lacy
handkerchief.

It was one of the Weaver sisters.  Three woman who'd lived in a large house
at the edge of town for nobody knew how long.  They never seemed to age,
always appearing in their late thirty or early forties.  On the few
occasions that anybody asked, they claimed it was a combination of good
genes, clean living, and enough money to afford a really good cosmetologist.

Jenny recognized the woman as Chloe Weaver.  Chloe had been a leader for
Jenny's old Brownie troop.  She was a dark blonde, about 5 ft., 5,  with a
still trim figure, her hair trimmed into a short wave of tight curls.  She
looked like a well-to-do business woman, attractively dressed in a navy
business dress, pale hose, and matching navy heels.  Her jewelry consisted
of a broach that looked like a stylized silver spindle, a couple of matching
bracelets, and pearl earrings.

Now she stood over the young girl smiling encouragingly.  "I know, Dear.  He
wronged you, and the Law let him get away with it."

"Why?  Why did they do it, Ms. Weaver."

"People can be very foolish, Dear.  They want to believe the people that
they admire.  Even when they should know better."

"And now he'll get away with it."  A thought suddenly occurred to her.  "Oh,
Ms. Weaver, now that he got away with raping me, he'll be even worse, and
nobody will ever believe me again. Not about anything."

"Jenny, I've known you since you were eight years old.  I believed you in
the court room, and  I'll always believe you -- and believe in you."

"Thank you, Ms. Weaver.  I know my parents feel the same, but to the rest of
the town, I'm a fool -- or a tramp -- or both."

"Nonsense.  Time heals everything.  Threads may break, but the healthy one
will come back, stronger then ever.  It's Friday afternoon.  You go home,
and I promise that things will be better on Monday."  She sat down next to
Jenny and hugged her.  Jenny was surprised at how comforting it felt.

"Now, I hear your mother and father out in the hall, calling you.  You go
home with them, have a good rest, and see if I'm not right."

Jenny rose and handed back the handkerchief.  "I'm not sure I believe you,
but thanks for making me feel better."  She walked out, leaving Chloe Weaver
alone in the Lounge.

"Nice promise," said Leslie Weaver suddenly appearing beside her.  "How do
you intend to keep it?"  As always, she carried the knitting bag that was
almost a town joke.  She was no taller than her sister, but with a more lush
figure and long brunette hair that draped halfway down her back.  She wore a
pale pink knit dress, dark hose, and low heeled sandals.

"There's always my way," said Andrea Weaver, also materializing.  She held a
small gilt nail scissors in her hand.  Andrea was taller and slimmer than
her sisters with jet black hair done in a tight bun, a few loose curls
framing her round face, and dark eyes.  She wore a white blouse with a black
cameo at the throat, a knee-length black skirt with matching hose and shoes.

"No," said Chloe.  "I think a re-weaving is called for.  I'll get started on
him Sunday night.  I have something special in mind."

"I think I know what you're planning," said Leslie.  It's a bit of a drastic
change in the pattern, but I think it's only fair."

"Are we agreed then," asked Chloe.

"It should be more interesting than just a simple cut," said Andrea.  "Cut
'it' off, rather than cut him off."  She snipped the scissors dramatically,
a strange smile on her face.  Laughing, the three women disappeared from the
Lounge.

****

Late Sunday afternoon, Russ, Max, and Billy were tossing a frisbee in
Highmore Park.  It was a warm day for late Fall, and the three boys were
dressed in nothing warmer than sweat shirts and jeans.

"So what are you doing now, Russ?"  Billy asked.

"About what?"

"About that bitch, Jenny.  She could've cost you that scholarship to State,
if anybody'd believed her story."

"Hell, man," Max said, "Who's gonna believe the word of that little mouse
against the great Russ Miller, boy hero and football star?"  All three
laughed.

"Well, my lawyer said not to go anywhere near her.  I figure to wait a
little while -- you know -- keep mum.  Then I'll make like I'm sorry she
felt so desperate to be popular that she tried to trap me into dating her.
Maybe one of you can say something nasty about her, and I'll defend her.
Nobody's gonna want to have anything to do with her.  She be alone and
confused.  I'll bide my time.  Cozy up to her.  Take her out again and --
finish what I started."  He made a fist and thrust it forward in a short jab
to illustrate his point.

"Russ Miller," somebody -- a woman -- called.  "May I see you for a moment?
The three boys looked around.  Chloe Weaver was standing near them under an
oak tree, though they hadn't seen her approach through the mostly opened
space of the park.  The three boys stared at her appreciatively.  She wore a
brown blouse and slacks outfit that, while not overly tight, did nothing to
hide her attractive figure and long shapely legs.  With her tight mass of
blonde curls, she looked like a slightly older Meg Ryan.

Russ strutted over, a big dopey grin on his face.  He'd heard stories about
older women being sexually interested in high school jocks.   He'd also seen
Ms. Weaver around town.  For an old broad, she looked pretty hot.  Even if
she wanted him for some other, simple errand, he'd do his best to try and
wind up in bed with her.  And if he didn't, well, he could always claim that
he had.

"You wanted me for something, Ms. Weaver?"

"Yes, Russ.  I wanted to give you one last chance to admit what you did to
Jenny. "

"How did -- what do you mean, what I did?  I didn't do anything to her.  The
jury said so."

"We both know that the jury was wrong.  You raped her, then you and your
friends lied about it.  Admit it now, and I'll see that your punishment is
minor.  Deny it again and --- "

"Admit it!  Admit what?  Lady, if you had any real proof, you'd have shown
up in court with it."  Russ was mad now and didn't care that he was
admitting the truth to this meddlesome bitch.  "I thought you might be
interested in a little fun, but I don't think you even know how."

"'A little fun!'  Why you impudent child.  You've been strutting around
thinking with your prick for years.  Well, threads can be rewound with a
different warp, my lad.  You just threw away your last chance, and now you
won't have your little 'Johnson' to think with for much longer."  She made a
sudden gesture with her arms and grabbed him suddenly at the shoulders.  He
felt what seemed like a mild electric shock go through his body, and he
grimaced, closing his eyes.  When he opened them, Chloe had disappeared.

Russ shook his head trying  to figure out what had happened.  Then he walked
back to his two friends.

"What you go over to the tree for, man," Max asked.

"What you mean?  'Old lady Weaver' called me over for something."

"Old lady -- oh, one of those Weaver broads.  They're no older than my Mom,"
Billy said.  "They're a hellava lot better looking, though."

"That's for sure," Max said, "but I haven't seen any of them since we got
here.  You sure you're okay."

"Yeah," Russ said, running his fingers through his hair.  His skin still
tingled from whatever that Weaver woman had done to him, but the sensation
was fading.  "I guess I'm still a little stressed out from the trial."

"Hey, man," Billy laughed.  "What stress?  You won, didn't you?  Now, think
fast."  He tossed the frisbee towards Russ, and the game began again.

****

That night, Russ had a strange dream.  He was standing in a room that looked
like a temple from HERCULES or XENA.  The Weaver sisters were up on some
kind of platform wearing flowing white robes.  He tried to move or to say
something, but he was unable to do either.  It wasn't that he was paralyzed,
he just didn't seem to want to badly enough.

Chloe Weaver stepped down from the platform and walked over to him.  She was
carrying some sort of a top hanging down from a mass of loose wool, spinning
slowly and twisting it into a thread.  She stopped the top and set it
spinning in the opposite direction.

"Behold your life, Russ Walsh.  The thread unwinds to take a new shape.
Poor Jenny's trial lasted five days, so your life will take that long to
find its new way.  You will know what you were, what you might have been.
But no one else will."

Now Leslie Weaver came down from the platform to stand beside her sister.
"And as the thread of your life takes its new shape, the pattern of your
life will itself reshape to match that new form.  The changes will happen as
you sleep.  You will know that it has happened, but, to your friends and
your family, everything will have always been as you find them anew each
morning."

Russ's body began to tingle again as it had that afternoon.  He felt himself
changing beneath his clothes, but he couldn't tell into what.  Then he saw
his pajama top moving as something grew on his chest.  He pulled open the
top to see two shapely breasts, areolas big as half dollars, growing larger
even as he watched.  He heard the Weavers laughing as he changed.  He
screamed and woke up.

It was almost 7:30 by his bedside clock, and the room was half lit by the
rising sun.  It looked different somehow.  It took Russ a few moments to
realize that his framed sports trophies from a childhood of Little League
and Pee-Wee Football championships were missing from the walls, replaced by
posters of a couple of rock stars he'd never much cared for.

"What the hell," he said jumping out of bed.  Then came the second surprise,
the room was bigger.  No, he was smaller.  A good three or four inches
shorter than his former six-two.  And when he looked in the mirror over his
dresser, he realized that he was no longer the muscular "hunk" of the day
before.  He was still in fairly good shape, but there was no real evidence
of the years of daily work-outs that he'd used to get and keep his body in
shape.

His chestnut hair was a bit longer, hanging down over his ears a little.
Even his face looked a little different.  The bump on his nose, the result
of a bad play in a school yard football game when he was twelve, was gone.

The really strange part was that his pajamas fit him as if he'd always been
this size.  Opening a dresser drawer, he had the feeling that the rest of
his clothes would be the same.

Russ got another shock when he stripped off his pajamas.  His body was not
only as slender as he had thought, but it was also almost completely
hairless.  All that was left of a mass of body hair that got him the
nickname "Kong" was a thin patch on his chest and a few sparse hairs on his
arms.

He dropped his pants to check out his legs, but never looked down that far.
His penis looked smaller.  He'd never actually measured it, but it did seem
to have shrunken some.  Maybe -- he grabbed a Penthouse from where it was
hidden in the middle of a pile of sports magazines and opened it to the
centerfold.  As he stared at the picture and -- to quote the old joke --
"took things well in hand", he could feel himself getting stiff.  He
continued stroking, bringing himself near to climax.  Then he looked down
again.  He was definitely smaller, even when fully erect.

Especially when fully erect.  What had happened to him?  He vaguely
remembered some sort of dream; him and the Weaver sisters.  People always
said that they were some kind of witches.  They must of done it.

He'd been in some crazy room.  One of them -- no, a couple of them had said
or done something, but he couldn't really remember what.  And the more he
tried, the vaguer the memory got.  Finally, all he could remember was that
there had been a dream, and that the Weaver sisters were in it.

His mother knocked at the door.  "Russ, you had better hurry.  The bus comes
in thirty minutes.

The bus?  Russ usually rode to school with Billy and Max.  Then a new memory
popped into his head.  No, he didn't.  Billy and Max were jocks, the stars
of the football team, and he was just a third rate scrub.  Wasn't he?  He
remembered being the quarterback, winning the championship.  But he also
remembered having to work hard just to get on the team and barely hanging on
as third string lineman.

Russ resolved to figure things out later and dressed for school.  Breakfast
was waiting downstairs, cereal, milk, and juice instead of the protein drink
he normally had drunk.  "Mom, where's my proto-mash?"

"His mother looked up from her coffee.  "Did you want to try one of those
weird supplements, dear?  I don't think I know it."

"It's a training table drink," he said in surprise.  He'd been using it for
two years instead of eating a regular breakfast, and now his mother had
never heard of it.

"Are you thinking about going out for the basketball team again this year?"
His father asked.  "I think I've read about that stuff, but I'm not sure how
much good it'll do."

"Try out?"  He made it sound like that would be a problem.  He was a three
letter man, football, basketball, and track.  "No," said a new memory that
suddenly popped into his mind.  He had played JV basketball his freshman
year, but hadn't really been good enough for the varsity squad.  After half
a season on the bench, he'd been dropped.  He had been on that year's
football team, but now he was third stringer who had only played in four
games.  And without him -- or who he used to be -- the team hadn't gotten
past the district play-offs.

Things were getting really strange.  He still had all his old memories, but
they were beginning to feel like they were about somebody else.  Whenever
something came up, a new one popped into his head, and they seemed as real
-- no, more real -- than the old ones.

He was still trying to resolve the two sets of memories, when his mother
looked at the clock near the stove.  "7:45, dear,  The bus will be coming by
in five minutes.  You'd best get ready."  Russ took one last drink of milk
and stood up to get his books.  He was waiting at the curb when the bus
came.

The bus was about two-thirds full when Russ climbed on board, and he was
walking back slowly, looking for an empty seat.  Suddenly he froze.  Jenny
Benton was sitting two rows down from where he stood, calmly chatting with
Irene Roth.  He'd expected her to skip a few days after the trial, but she
was just sitting there talking as if she didn't seem to have a care in the
world.

There was a seat in the row behind them on the opposite side, and he went to
it.  Jenny and Irene hardly noticed him. as he walked by.  Once he sat down,
he caught himself staring at them.  Irene noticed.  Embarrassed, he turned
away and watched the houses roll by,

"I think Russ Walsh has a crush on you," Irene said.  She was trying to keep
her voice low, but Russ heard.  He continued to look out the window but
listened closely.

"He's a nice enough boy, but I'm more interested in jocks.  I've known him
since we were little, so I guess I might go out with him."

"Might," Irene said.  "Jenny, you're so shy; you hardly ever date.  It took
me a week to talk you into going double with me and Tom to the dance."  The
two girls giggled, and the conversation turned to a discussion of the
upcoming school dance that Friday night.

Russ was astounded.  "Nice boy?"  "Might go out with him?"  She damned well
_had_ gone out with him.  Then she wouldn't cooperate, and things had gotten
way out of hand.  Didn't she remember?

No, he suddenly realized.  She didn't.  There was nothing even close to what
he knew had happened among his new memories.  In this crazy world he'd woken
up in, Jenny had never been raped.

That, at least, was the first good thing to come out of this weirdness.  If
it had never happened, then she wasn't a threat to him any more.  And, if
she "might go out with him", then there was a chance of nailing her again.
Maybe even getting her to cooperate this time.  Russ decided that maybe he'd
just play along with whatever was happening.

He was smiling one of "old Russ's" smile when he got off the bus.  The smile
disappeared when he noticed that there was no "1998 State Football
Champions" banner over the entrance door.  No trophy in the case near his
locker, either.  Russ' confidence was shaken, but he decided to ride things
out.  He didn't have much of a choice anyway, but he was still cocky enough
to think that he could get his own life back.

There weren't many surprises the rest of the day.  Fortunately, he was
taking the same classes as before.  Doing better in history and English,
too, it seemed.  And his new memories included that extra knowledge, so he
could keep up in those classes.  He still had the same friends, too, though
the relationships had changed.

Max and Billy, for instance, had gone from being his best friends to more
casual acquaintances.  They'd still all grown up together, but they were
still successful athletes and hung out with the other jocks in the school.
Since, in his new history, he had just managed to make the team he was
tolerated by them, but hardly a part of their clique.

On the other hand, he had been accepted by what the jocks had called "the
straights", the regular kids who made up the majority of the students at
Ellwood City High.  He'd grown up with most of them, too, but he'd always
preferred to hang out with the other jocks.

At Lunch Period, a group of "straights" had called him over to join them.
Again, a new memory popped into his mind.  These were the friends he
normally ate with: Al Sachs, Steve Porter, Rick Klein, and Ted Grossman.

Russ slid into the booth, unloading his tray and putting down it in with the
others in a stack at the far end of the table.  In a few minutes, he was
joining in the conversation, joking about the upcoming dance.

"You taking anybody?" Steve asked.

In his old life, Russ had pretty much had his choice of any girl at the
school.  He'd even suggested picking one and asking her to be his "steady"
to help his case at the trial.  His lawyer had said no, that it was too
obvious a move.  For the same reason, he hadn't asked anyone to go to the
dance.  He'd planned to ask someone by today.  He just hadn't gotten around
to asking, when this -- whatever it was -- happened.

He wasn't "King Jock" any more, but he was still Russ Walsh.  He must have
asked somebody.  He waited for a new memory of who the lucky girl was in
_this_ version of his life.  None came.  "I don't think so," he said,
shrugging his shoulders.  He decided to change the subject, more unsure now
of what he had become.  "How about you guys?"

Ted was going with Ellen Weiss, and Steve had asked Becky Landers.  The
others were going stag, and Rick suggested that they meet at Al's and ride
over together.

"Gee, I don't know," Al said.  "If I get lucky, I don't want to have to get
a ride home with you losers."

"As if," Rick said.  They all laughed, and the three boys agreed to the
idea.  That settled, they started arguing over who would be the wild card
teams in the upcoming NFL play-offs.  When the bell ending the period rang,
they went to their separate classes, promising to meet later.

Nothing too much out of the ordinary happened to Russ the rest of the day.
He spent an hour or so after school looking for the Weaver sisters.   He
still remembered a little about the dream, and he was sure that they were
responsible for whatever had happened to him.  He was equally sure that he
could get them to give him his old life back.  But, no matter how hard he
looked, there was no sign of them.  Still, somehow, he had a felling that
they were nearby.  They were hiding from him somehow, watching him.  And
laughing.

Still, he went to bed that night thinking that the surprises were pretty
much over.

****

He was wrong.

An alarm clock woke him the next morning at 6:45.  An alarm clock?  He
hadn't used one in years, relying on his natural body clock most mornings.
The surprise came when he reached out to shut the damned thing off.

His arm looked thinner than he ever remembered it.   Now he was wide awake.
He jumped out of bed and stared at his reflection in his dresser mirror.  He
was another three inches shorter and skinny as a rail with straight
lusterless brown hair now hanging down past his shoulders..  He pulled off
his pajama top and stared at his new body.  It was bad enough being skinny
-- and hairless, he noticed -- but there wasn't any muscle tone either.
Just a mass of pale, pink flab.  Oh, Lord!  He was a geek!

He looked around the room.  It was pretty much the same as yesterday, just a
couple more rock posters on the wall.  He must have been a real fan.  There
were three or four t-shirts for the same groups in his drawer.  He put one
on, plus a pair of  black jeans.  He still looked pretty much like a
"straight", no earrings or tattoos, hair long rather than razor cut into
strange designs.  But now he was definitely leaning towards "rocker", rather
than jock.

He closed his eyes and tried to search through his new memories.  He had a
feeling that they had changed the same time that his body had, and he wanted
to see if he could catch any more revisions.  But he still remembered
agreeing to go to the dance stag with Al and Rick.  He felt a little more in
control, knowing somehow that, if his memories hadn't changed, then what he
remembered was still true.

He decided to try and make the best of it and went down to breakfast.

Things went pretty much the same as the day before.  He was still in the
same set of classes, still had lunch with the same bunch of friends.  Then
came seventh period.  Gym.

The old Russ loved gym.  He was the star athlete, the coach's pet, and it
gave him a chance to show off in front of the rest of the class.

But that was his old life.  The new Russ Walsh was a short, out of condition
geek.  He could barely keep up, when they went through the warm up drills.
He panted and puffed like a train and had to stop a couple of times.  It got
worse when they counted off sides for a game of volleyball.  He still
remembered all his old moves, but his new body just wouldn't do what he told
it to.

The score was tied, 20-20, no thanks to him.  Max Snyder was on the other
team.  He hit the ball towards Russ, a high arching shot that seemed to take
forever to get to him.  Russ tried to return it low,.  He did hit it, but
the ball headed right for the net.  At the last instant, Billy Jackson
jumped in front of it.  Billy hit it straight up, then spiked it over the
net for the winning point.

As most of the team gathered around Billy to congratulate him, he looked at
Russ and mouthed the word, "Asshole!"  Russ felt like one, too, and he
turned away unwilling to meet Billy's glare.

He was still thinking about the shot as the boys dressed for their next
class.  Damn it, this wasn't fair.  He should have been the hero, not the
goat.  And why did it have to have been Billy who'd saved his ass and won
the game.

He heard his name and suddenly realized that he'd been staring at Billy who
was getting dressed about four lockers away.  Billy had caught him at it.
"What're you looking at, faggot?  You want to start something?"  Billy made
a fist and waved it in his direction.  "Or maybe you just want to come over
and blow me?"

The old Russ knew he could take Billy in a fight.  He'd proved that last
summer, when the two had fought over a girl both wanted.  It took some
effort, but Russ had won.  And he'd celebrated his victory with the girl
that night in an old cabin near the lake.

But now a new memory came into Russ' mind.  There had been a fight last
summer, but it was when Russ' bike had fallen over and scratched Billy's
car.  Billy had won easily, leaving Russ with a black eye and a number of
bruises.

Russ actually found himself shaking.  "Um, no, Billy.  I -- I was feeling
pretty stupid for messing up that shot and wishing that I was half as good
an athlete as you are."

Russ still knew how to get to one of Billy's weak spots, his ego.  "That's
all?" he asked Russ.

"Yeah.  Just -- just wanting to be like you, man."

"Well, I don't see any chance of that happening, but even a geek like you
has a right to dream."  A few of the other boys had heard the exchange and
were waiting for the excitement of a fight.  Most laughed with Billy -- and
at Russ -- and went back to getting dressed.

Russ took a few seconds to calm himself and did the same.  The rest of the
school day was petty much the same as always.  After school, Russ went
looking for one of the Weaver sisters, but he was as unsuccessful as the day
before.  And just as sure that they were around and watching him.

*****

He felt different somehow when he woke up the next morning.  He took a quick
look around the room.  It was pretty much the same as the day before.  The
main difference seemed to be that, for some reason, his pajamas had changed
from dark brown to a pale yellow.  But the feeling persisted, so he got out
of bed to look at himself in the mirror.

He was still a skinny runt, about 5 foot 6, now, with hair down to -- no,
this morning it was past his shoulders.  And it looked thicker, too, and
chestnut again, rather than a dull brown.  Or maybe it was his face.  His
face was thinner, with higher cheek bones.  His eyebrows looked thinner,
too, almost as if he plucked them.

His arms seemed smoother, less bony, as if there was some more fat under the
skin.  His hands were smaller, but his fingers seemed longer although more
slender.

Russ began to wonder just how far the changes went.  He had trouble
unbuttoning his pajama top.  He was so nervous that he didn't realize that
the buttons were now on the other side.

He slid off the shirt and stared at his chest.  His nipples, they were
bigger now and on dark brown aureoles that were as big as half dollars!  And
those were centered on -- no, it couldn't be.  It just couldn't be.  He had
tits!  Little ones, barely A-cup, but tits!  And his waist was narrower.  It
was as if --

Frantically, Russ reached down into his pants. _It_ had to be there!  He
felt around for his penis, his testicles, but they were nowhere to be found.
  His fingers moved slowly through his pubic hairs, stopping at a pair of
lips on either side of a narrow opening.  He gently pushed in a single
finger.  He knew only too well, from the experiences of his old life, what
he was feeling: labia, a vagina, a clitoris.  No, _his_ clitoris.  He was a
girl.

Wide awake now, Russ looked around the room.  There was a full length mirror
on the bathroom door that hadn't been there the day before.  He -- no, she
-- ran over to it and dropped her pants.  The girl staring back at her from
the mirror was slender, almost too slender, with small tits, narrow waist
and hips.  Her legs were pretty good, though, and the face was kind of cute.
  If she'd seen her in the right outfit and with a little make-up, the old
Russ would definitely have given her a second look.  Maybe even try to get
her into bed.  But the new Russ -- hell, this girl _was_ the new Russ.

Now she looked around the room, knowing that there had to be other changes.
There was a white quilt embroidered with red roses  on her bed, and she
noticed that her dresser and end table, which were too low to have seen
while she was lying in bed, were painted white as well.

There was a knock on the door, and her mother called, "Rose, honey, are you
up?"

"Yes, Mom," she said, startled at her  new alto voice.  "'Rose'?  well," she
thought, "it was close enough to her real name that she'd be able to answer
to it."  Then she looked down and realized that she was going to have to get
dressed.  As a girl.

She walked over to the dresser.  There was some make-up on a small tray on
top.  The underwear drawer was half full of panties, mostly plain cotton or
trimmed with just a little lace.  There were only a couple of bras.  She
didn't really need one with her small breasts.  Instead there were some
girl's undershirts with narrow lacy straps.

Russ pulled out a pale blue undershirt and slid it down onto her body.  She
could feel the cotton brush against her nipples and tried to ignore how
pleasant it was.  She stepped into a pair of matching panties and pulled
them up to her waist.  The material was cool against her skin.  The
sensation of the cloth flat against her groin reminding her again of the
loss of her manhood.  She pulled a pair of socks from another drawer and sat
down on the bed to put them on.  There was no way she was going to try to
put on the panty hose or, worse, stockings.

There were no other clothes in sight.  Whatever else she was in this new
life, Russ decided that, at least, she was neater than she had been.  She
pulled a "rocker" t-shirt from the dresser and walked over and opened the
closet door.  She wasn't ready to wear any of the dresses or skirts that she
found there.  She knew that she would have to eventually, if she couldn't
get her old life back, but she was willing to wait.  Instead, she chose a
pair of jeans, and she grabbed two light blue sneakers from a shoe rack on
the door.   She was ready in a moment.

Just as she was about to go down for breakfast, a new memory rushed into her
head.  Make-up.  She'd forgotten to put any on.  She didn't want to, but she
didn't want to answer a lot of questions about why she hadn't.  Fortunately,
the memory included the knowledge of how to use the stuff and of what was
the minimum she could get by with.

He pursed her lips and applied the gloss, as if she'd been doing it for
years.  A little blusher on each check, and she was ready.  No, her hair
needed a quick comb.  That done, she inspected her work.  She had been
right.  She did look cute.  She shook her head in disbelief and went to
breakfast.

Twenty minutes later, Russ was waiting outside when the bus came.  As she
climbed on, she heard her new name.  "Rose,"  Becky Landers called.  "Over
here."   Russ had known Becky since second grade, even dated her for a while
when they were both freshman.  But it turned out that she didn't really like
jocks.  "Her loss," he'd figured at the time.  Now, it seemed, they were
best friends.  Russ said "Hi" and sat down besides her.

"Are you going to the dance," Becky asked.

"The dance," Russ thought and shuddered.  Earlier in the week, she hadn't
had a date.  Did she have one now, or, worse, did she have a steady?  she
waited for a name to come into her head, but all that came was the memory of
not dating much.  "Thank heavens," she thought.  Aloud she said, "nobody's
asked me."

"I'm going with Steve, of course," Becky said, "but I know that a lot of
girls are going without dates.  Why don't you?"

"I don't know."

"C'mon, it'll be fun.  Besides, if the boys see you there, especially if you
put a little work into how you look, they'll start asking you out.  You
really are too cute to not date, you know."

"I'm -- I'm just not interested in boys," Russ said truthfully.

"Oooh, maybe I should be nervous sitting here next to a butch girl like
you," Becky said.  Then she giggled.  "I'm sorry, Rose.  I shouldn't be
teasing.  I know you're not gay.  Just shy."

Russ was beginning to feel really embarrassed.  "Can we drop the whole
subject, if I promise to think about going to the dance?"

"Okay -- did you see those dresses on the MTV fashion show the other night?"
  Russ spent the rest of the ride dodging questions about the show.  Once in
a while, the answer to something Becky said came into her mind, but she was
seriously handicapped by the fact that most of what she knew about female
clothing was ways to coax the female out of them.

As before, Russ discovered that she was still taking much the same set of
classes.  The exception was fourth period, just before lunch.  Without
thinking she walked into her Auto Shop class.  Mr. Slavin looked up from his
desk.  "May I help you, young lady."

"Young lady."  The thought suddenly came into Russ's mind that she had Home
Ec this hour.  She stood for a moment, trying to figure a way out.

"Look, young lady, whatever you might want to say to your boyfriend --
whoever he is -- will have to wait.  You have to get to your class, and I'm
about to start teaching mine."

"I -- I'm sorry," Russ said, feeling her face flush with embarrassment.  She
turned and ran from the class.  Home Ec was about half way down the
corridor, and Russ entered the room just as the bell rang.

Ms. DeWitt had already begun.  "So nice of you to join us, Ms. Walsh.
Please take your seat."  There was a single empty seat in the room,
thankfully not very far from where Russ was standing.  She took it quickly,
as Ms. DeWitt handed out papers.  "Today, I want to review the results of
Monday's pop quiz.  Most of you did well, I'm happy to say, but there's
always room for improvement."

She went on for most of the hour, going through the quiz question by
question, pointing out problem areas, making suggestions, even telling an
occasional joke to make a point.  She was so good that Russ paid attention
and actually found herself learning something.

Becky was in the class with her.  She came over after the bell had rung to
end the period.  "So, how did you do?"

Russ realized that she hadn't noticed.  She looked quickly at the paper.
"Eighty seven," she said.  "I missed a couple of those questions in part 2."

"They were tough.  Hey, c'mon, we only have twenty-five minutes for lunch."
Becky grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the cafeteria.

Irene Roth was saving a table for them with, of all people, Jenny Benton.
Russ wasn't sure how to react.  Jenny just smiled at what, in this new
reality, were two of her oldest female friends.  "Go with the flow," Russ
thought and sat down.

Lunch was general girl talk, a lot of it about the dance.  Who was going
with whom, and what everybody was wearing.  Becky tried to draw Russ (Rose)
into the conversation but wasn't very successful.  "That girl is just too
damn shy for her own good," she thought to herself.  Russ had kept still
more because she hadn't known what to say than because she was too shy to
say it.

To Russ's amazement, Chloe Weaver was waiting for her after school.  She
wore a knee length knit beige dress with dark brown open-toed shoes with a
two inch heel.  A gold pin in the shape of a spindle with small matching
earrings were her only jewelry.  "I understand that you've been looking for
me, dear," she said with a smile.  "I thought you might want to discuss some
of the things that have been happening in your life lately."

"You're damned right I do," Russ all but shouted.

"Please, not here."  Russ tried to argue, but she found herself unable to
speak.  Chloe lead her over to a bench near the side entrance to the school.
she wanted to stay where she was standing, but found herself compelled to
obey.  Chloe looked her up and down, then sat on the bench motioning for her
to join her.  "The thread is rewinding nicely, you're becoming quite a
pretty young lady."

"Why are you doing this to me?"

"Because you deserve it for what you did."

"I never did anything to you."

"Not directly, but I do resent you."

"What?"

"First of all, Jenny is my friend, and I resent what you did to her.  More
to the point, I resent that you used your good looks and your status as a
football hero to escape from what would have been a just punishment.  Most
of all, I resent that you were totally unrepentant about it."

"So you changed me into this."  Russ's hands gestured at her slender female
body.

"Oh, you haven't finished changing yet.  You don't remember your dream from
Sunday night, do you?"

"Dream?"  Suddenly the memory of the dream flooded back into her mind.  She
remembered the room, the Weaver sisters being there and looking so strange,
and, worst of all, she remembered what Chloe had said.  "Five days.  You
mean it's going to get worse.  I'm -- I'm only half done?"

Chloe smiled.  "I waited until today to talk to you.  Waited until the
rewinding had truly started.  You are a female now, but barely so.  By
Friday, you will have become as female, in mind as well as in body, as you
were a male."

"In mind?  You mean that I'll forget who I was?"

"Oh, you'll remember, although no one else will.  No one else does now, as
you may have noticed."

"Then what?  You don't mean that I'm going to start liking boys?"

"Of course I do, but that's not all that I mean.  Think back on how you
acted today.  Was the old Russ ever as shy, as easily embarrassed, as you
were today?"

"' Not all you mean'," Russ thought.  "It's damn well enough."  Then she
thought about how she had acted.  She had been shy.  In fact, a lot of her
reactions had been decidedly feminine, back to the way she'd so easily
convinced herself to wear make-up.

"I see you begin to realize your fate."

"Please, I'll do anything you want.  I'll apologize to Jenny, admit what I
did to her."

"But, Rose, what have _you_ done to Jenny that do you have to apologize
for?"  Chloe stressed the name.  "No, you'll take your punishment.  Just as
your friends will be punished."

"My friends?  Who?  Why?"

"Max Snyder and Billy Jackson were willing to help ruin Jenny's life out of
friendship to you."

"Are they going to become girls, too?"

"No, as my sister says, lesser crimes weave a lesser pattern.  A pattern you
are responsible for.  With no Russ Walsh, there was no championship game.
No scouts saw the three of you play, so no scouts offered any of you college
scholarships."

"Then what happens to the guys."

"According to my sister, Max was going to be a fairly successful business
man, and Billy was going to go into semi-pro ball, eventually becoming a
successful college coach, and then a well-known TV sports commentator.  Now,
Max will be a salesman at Sears.  Billy gets to drive a delivery truck,
though he does also coach Little League."

"They'll hate me."

"They'll never know what happened, what they would have been, if you hadn't
done what you did.  And they hadn't helped you get away with it."

"It's horrible.  I never meant to ruin their lives."  Russ found herself
about to cry.

"But you had no qualms about ruining Jenny's."  She noticed the look on
Russ's face.  She pulled a small silk handkerchief from her purse and handed
it to her.  "Want to cry?  Good ahead, dear.  It's only natural for a girl
to cry when she's upset."

Russ was stunned at the enormity of what had happened, what was going to
happen.  She took the handkerchief from Chloe and sat quietly dabbing at her
eyes.  Gradually she gave into emotions that had been bottled up since the
first changes on Monday.  Her sobs grew louder.  The tears flowed.  In a few
moments, she was crying openly on Chloe's shoulder.  She felt the woman's
arm wrap around her, patting her on the back.

"There, there, dear," Chloe said rocking her gently like a small child.  It
felt good, Russ thought.  Too good.

"No,"  Russ said, squirming free.  "I'm not a girl, and you can't make me
act like one!"

Chloe smiled.  "Not a girl?  Look at yourself, my dear."  She gestured at
Russ's body.  "And I'm not making you do anything, but look at how you're
acting right now?   Your emotions are becoming as female as the rest of your
body.  Your reactions a moment ago, indeed, your reactions right now, are
hardly those of a boy."

"Go away.  Leave me alone."

"Very well, my dear."  Chloe stood up.  "You won't be seeing me until the
thread  has completely rewound.  Enjoy the next two days."

Russ looked up.  "What?  What's going to happen?"  But Chloe was completely
gone.  Vanished without a trace, leaving Russ alone on the bench.

*****

Russ had a hard time getting to sleep that night.  She knew that something
would be changed by morning, and she was afraid to guess what that change
would be.

She found out quickly enough the next morning.  When she sat up in bed to
look around the room, she felt a weight on her chest.  Looking down, she saw
that the yellow pajamas she had put on the night before had changed into a
yellow nightgown.  Two breasts, much larger than the day before, pushed out
the front of the gown.  Her nails seemed a bit longer, too, and they were
covered with a pink polish.

Curious to get a better look, she got out of bed and walked to the mirror on
her bathroom door.  The nightgown hung down almost to the floor hiding her
figure.  She pulled it off over her head, noticing as she did that her
chestnut hair seemed even thicker and longer.

Yes, her hair was definitely longer, hanging down almost to her breasts.
She pushed the hair back with an automatic -- and very feminine gesture.
Her breasts were bigger: a B-, maybe even a C-cup.  Her waist was higher and
a bit smaller.  Her hips were wider, and her butt rounded and firm.  "Pretty
cute," she thought to herself, looking back over her shoulder into the
mirror.

She stripped off her panties.  They weren't the plain cotton ones of the day
before.  They were still pale blue, but now they were a silky nylon, cut
higher and trimmed with white lace.

She stepped into the shower, being careful to tie a long cloth that was
hanging near the tub around her hair to hold it together and help keep it
dry.  Picking up a bar of herb scented soap, she began to lather her new
curves.  Her body was much softer now, firm but somehow yielding.  The
sensations when she began to rub her breasts were amazing.  Russ had to
force herself to stop and move on down her body.

She bypassed her crotch for a moment, lifting each leg in turn to the edge
of the tub to apply the soap.  Her breasts were still tingling a little when
she finished her legs and finally got to her crotch.  When her fingers,
covered with the gentle lather, began to rub against her vaginal lips, they
began to tingle as well.

It felt so good!  Russ became curious as to what it would feel like to
really go at it.  She rinsed the lather off her hand and slipped a finger
inside.  Russ had been fairly experienced.  He had known how use his hands
to make a girl feel good, and now the transformed Russ used that knowledge
on her own body.  The finger inside her found her clitoris and began to
caress it, while her other hand reached up and began to play at her breast.

She arched her head back and began rolling her hips in time to the motion of
the finger.  Jolts of electric pleasure shot through her body.  She began to
moan.

Russ closed her eyes.  She tried to pretend that she was still male.  That
the female body she was touching belonged to somebody else, a beautiful girl
who was lovingly touching her own, still male body.  Russ imagined that it
was Jenny she was feeling up.  A picture can into her mind.  But the naked
girl was herself as she'd been in the mirror a few minutes before.  And the
boy was Billy Jackson, naked as she remembered seeing him in the boys' gym
on Tuesday.  They were alone on a bed.  He was doing those wonderful things
to her body, and she was reaching down to fondle Billy's prick.  She smiled
as it grew firmer and longer in her hand.

No!

Terrified at the thought, Russ pulled his hands away from his body.  He
reached down and shut off the hot water.  The shower turned cold, washing
away much of what she had been feeling.  Still, as she stepped from the
shower, there was a feeling of incompleteness, almost a hunger, down in her
crotch.

Patting herself dry with a fluffy towel didn't help her with the feeling.
She'd never imagined that taking a shower could be such a sensual act.  She
picked up a duster of bath powder from tray that hadn't been there on the
counter by her sink the day before.  The powder was cool on her body with a
lovely floral scent.  She dusted herself all over, trying very hard not to
notice the jolts of pleasure when she rubbed it across her nipples or down
at her groin.

Finishing in the bathroom, she went back into her bedroom to get dressed.
The room had changed as well.  The curtain on the window were now white with
lacy frills.  A make-up table was tucked in the corner next to the dresser,
which now had an assortment of small stuffed animals and dolls on its top.

There were still posters on the walls, but they were of different groups.
Russ caught herself staring at the drummer of one group.  Yesterday, Irene
Roth had been talking incessantly about him at lunch.  Now Russ felt her
nipples beginning to tingle.  "Great," she thought, "now I'm acting like
some lovesick little chick."

Russ opened the dresser drawer and pulled out a pair of silky pink panties,
girl's boxers trimmed with a lacy froth on each leg.  She stepped into them
and pulled them up around her hips.  The soft cloth felt incredible against
her skin.  She found a matching bra -- no undershirt would be suitable for
her new, bigger breasts -- and stared at it for a moment, uncertain how to
put it on.  Then another memory surfaced.  She put her arms through the
straps and leaned forward, nesting her breasts in the cups.  Her arms
reached behind her, and she fastened the hooks as if she had been doing it
for years.

Panty hose or socks?  Russ knew that, if she chose hose, the memory of how
to wear them would pop into her head.  But she'd also heard girls describe
wearing them as a sensuous experience.  And after the assault of female
sensuality that she'd had to suffer through this morning, the last thing
that she wanted was more, especially all day long.  She chose a pair of pale
green socks and slipped them on her feet.

As she walked to the closet, another reason for socks occurred to her.
Panty hose meant heels.  Even if her trick memory told her how to wear them,
she just wasn't ready for anything that overtly feminine.

But what was she ready for?  Yesterday, the closet had held mostly jeans and
girl's slacks.  Today, it was crammed full of skirts and dresses.  Russ
looked at them, wondering how she'd look in this or that one.  In a few
cases, she found herself remembering. how well she looked.  That pink mini,
for instance, the boys had really liked -- no!

"None of that," Russ thought, shaking her head to clear her thoughts.  She
chose a green blouse and brown plaid slacks.  She dressed quickly.  Except
for the buttons being on the other side, these weren't much different from
what Russ had always worn.  She had to smile when she looked in the mirror,
though. The slacks showed off her narrow waist and wide hips.

It did need something.  No girl ever seemed to come to school without some
jewelry.  There was some jewelry in a glass case among the dolls on the
dresser.  She put a wide gold bracelet on her left wrist.  A gold chain hung
down from her neck and rested between her breasts.

Unfortunately, they always wore make-up, too.  Russ sat down at the make-up
table and turned on the lights around the mirror.  New memories told her
what each item was and how to use it.  She sighed.  If she had to, she had
to.  A little mascara on her eyes, some blusher for the cheeks, and a pale
pink shade of lipstick, and she was ready.

Like the day before, Becky Landers called Russ over as she boarded the bus.
Becky was excited about the dance Friday night, joking and giggling about
her date with Steve Porter.  Her excitement was catching, and by the time
the bus got to the school, Russ was giggling along with her.

>From what Becky said while they rode to school, Russ got the impression that
she had a date for the dance, too.  She tried to remember who it was, but
nothing came.  That worried Russ.  She'd gotten to depend on those crazy new
memories to help her blend in.  Then it occurred to her that the new
memories only came when she needed the information for some reason.  "I
guess I don't need to know that yet," Russ thought.

She found out why when the bus parked, and kids began to get off to go in to
class.  Al Sachs was standing near the parking space.  When Russ climbed
off, Al called her over.  He took her by the hand and gave her a little peck
on the check.  "How are you this morning, babe?"

Russ wasn't sure how to react.  "Um, okay, I guess."

"What's the matter?  Hey, you're not mad about last night?"  Al sensed that
something was wrong, though he could hardly know how wrong  Russ thought
things had become.

"What about last night?"  Russ waited for a memory to tell him, but nothing
came.

"Look, I'm sorry.  I wanted to come over, but my dad needed my help at the
store.  It was help him or not get the car tomorrow night."  He put his arm
around Russ' waist, pulling her close.  "You _do_ want to have the privacy
of a car tomorrow night, don't you?"

Russ felt her nipples tingling.  "Oh, shit," he thought.  But the feelings
running through his body felt so good.  "I guess, so," she said aloud.

The five minute bell rang.  Al gave her another peck on the cheek.  "Gotta
go, Babe.  See you later."  He dropped his arm and ran off.

"You and Russ planning something for the dance," Becky said nudging Russ
with an elbow.  "Or maybe for after the dance?"

Russ felt her cheeks flush.  Embarrassed, she looked down towards the
ground.  "I guess so."

"M.m., he's cute.  I won't ask now, but I'll expect a full report on
Saturday."

"We'll see," Russ said, still blushing.  Then, desperate to change the
subject, she said, "right now, we'd better get to class."  The two girls ran
into the building.

The day went by in a blur.  She was still in the same classes, so the
schedule wasn't much of a problem.  Even having to take Home Ec instead of
auto shop wasn't so bad.  Ms. DeWitt was a pretty good teacher, even if the
class was one she really had no interest in.  Then came seventh period and
with it, gym class.

Russ was walking towards the Boys' Gym, when Becky called her.  "Aren't you
going in the wrong door, Rose?   I know that I've thought about peeking in
from time to time, but I never thought that you'd have the nerve to try."
She giggled.  "We'd better hurry.  Coach Vorhees hates it when girls are
late."

"Girls," Russ thought.  "I'm going to get into girls' gym.  Cool, first good
thing since this craziness started."

But it wasn't cool.  It was just gym.  Russ was surrounded by some of the
prettiest girls in the school.  They were taking off their clothes, baring
their lovely bodies to her.  And it was no more exciting than when the old
Russ had been in the boys' locker room.

He stared at Kelly Jackson, Billy's cousin, for a couple of minutes.  Kelly
had what a lot of boys considered the sexiest body in the school.  Narrow
waist, long shapely legs, and a set of tits that a lot of guys thought had
to be half plastic.  She'd dated college boys since her sophomore year, so
even the old Russ hadn't had a chance with her.

Now Russ was standing next to her.  He watched her free those glorious
breasts from a skimpy black bra that was so sheer it was almost transparent.
  They looked real now, but she found that she had no interest in touching
them.  Kelly noticed her staring.  "What's the matter, Rose?  Never seen
what a real girl looks like."

"No.  I mean, I was just admiring your bra and panties.  They look so sexy,
I was wondering where you got them."  Russ blurted out what she thought was
just a line.  Then she realized that it was true.  She had wondered where
Kelly had gotten the matched set.  More scary, she was wondering how she'd
look in something like that, and what -- oh, no -- what Al would think if he
saw her in something like that.

"Victoria's Secret, but you've got to have the figure to wear them."

Russ actually felt the sting of the insult.  "I think I look pretty good,"
she thought."

"If you two have quite finished discussing your lingerie," Becky said.  "Ms.
Vorhees is expecting us on court."

Russ already had on her sports bra and gym shorts.  She threw on a t-shirt
from her locker and slipped into her sneakers.  The old Russ tied his shoes
loosely, so he could slip into them like loafers in a hurry.  Evidently, the
new Russ was the same.  Russ was on the gym floor just as Ms. Vorhees blew
her whistle to start class.  She had the satisfaction of seeing Kelly come
out a couple minutes later.  Ms. Vorhees was as tough as any of the male gym
teachers.  Standard punishment was 12 push-ups per minute late.  Girl
push-ups, maybe, but Kelly still had to do 24 of them, while the rest of the
class watched.

Russ had a feeling that Kelly would be gunning for her, looking to revenge
herself for the embarrassment of the push-up.  Nothing happened, except
once, when she glanced over and saw Kelly glare back at her.

Girls' basketball was just starting at Ellwood City High, and Ms. Vorhees
was still recruiting for the team.  She split her girls into two teams, so
she could see what talent there might be.

Russ had learned to play the game by age seven, and she'd lettered in it in
her old life.  But she discovered that, while her mind still remembered the
moves, her body just didn't want to cooperate.  She managed to get the ball
at one point and was moving down court with it.  Kelly ran by, trying to
guard her.  She made a couple of quick moves and reached for the ball.  Russ
moved to keep control, and Kelly's leg shot out around her own.  They both
fell to the gym floor, and the ball rolled towards the bleachers.

Russ was up in a moment.  "You tripped me, bitch!"  she shouted.

"You fell over your own two left feet, you cow."

Ms. Vorhees blew her whistle.  "I don't know what this is about, but I won't
tolerate it.  The two of you get dressed now, and we'll talk about it
later."  She paused for a beat, then blew the whistle again.  "All right,
the rest of you.  There's still ten minutes of class left.  Let's see if any
of the rest of you are any good."

The two girls went back to the locker room.  They stripped and headed for
the showers without saying a word to one another.  Russ watched Kelly
soaping her body, rubbing the lather across her breasts, down her legs, in
her groin.  This was an image that she'd fantasized about -- hell, that half
the boys in the school had probably masturbated to.  And now, nothing.  She
felt some arousal, but it was triggered by the feelings she got rubbing the
soap across her own female form.

Russ was tempted to do a repeat performance of her morning activities in the
shower, but Kelly was in there with her.  The rest of the class would be
coming back into the locker room in a minute.  She felt a shyness welling up
in her, killing any thought of self pleasure.  She left Kelly in the shower,
dried off, and dressed.

Ms. Vorhees was waiting for her near the door to the gym.  "Becky Landers
told me what happened.  You shouldn't be arguing about something as silly
which of you has the better body.  I'm sure there are enough boys in this
school doing that, anyway.  For me, the important thing is that you stopped
and got to class on time.  Kelly was late.  It was her own fault, but she
seems to have blamed you.  You can go to class, now."

"What about Kelly,"  Russ asked.

"She can consider the error of her ways while she's doing laps this
afternoon."

"Thank you, Ms. Vorhees," Russ said, smiling.

"Wipe that smile off your face, or you'll be out running with her."  Russ
nodded in obedience and headed for her next class.  She had the sense to
wait until she was around the corner from Ms. Vorhees before breaking back
into a smile

The old Russ had a bunch of chores around the house.  Now it seemed that
washing the dinner dishes was added to the list.  She was just finishing,
when her mother came into the kitchen.  "You have company, dear."

"Who?" Russ looked up from the plate she was rinsing.  Al Sachs walked into
the kitchen.

"I came over to study with you, like we talked about at school"  he said.
"I'm sorry if I got here early."

"That's all right, Al -- is it?"  Russ's mother said.  "I can finish for her
this once.  In the future, though, Al, please don't come to see Rose before,
say, 7:15 to give her time to finish."  She put on an apron and moved to
Russ' place at the sink.

Russ took off her own apron and dried her hands.  "Let's go upstairs," she
said.

"Let's not," said her mother.   There's plenty of room at the dining room
table for the pair of you."

Russ realized what her mother had thought the two teens might do in her
room, especially with the door shut -- or even locked.  She blushed at the
notion, even as she felt her nipples tighten and a warmth spread through her
stomach.  Her body seemed to have the same idea, and it liked the idea.

The pair didn't get a chance to go upstairs together, but they were left
alone at the table for the most part.  They sat close, hips touching and
holding hands.  Once or twice, Al leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.
One time, he even took a chance and kissed her on the lips.  It was a short
kiss, but full of feeling.  Russ felt her nipples pushing against the
material of her bra.  There was a warm moistness in her crotch and an empty
feeling there as well.

Al went home about ten, kissing her again at the door before he left.  Russ
went upstairs and changed for bed.  The emptiness, the need Al had aroused
in her remained.  Lying in bed she remembered how he looked, the touch of
his hand on hers.  He had such a wonderful smile.  She felt her hand on her
breast and pretended that it was his.  The part of her that was still the
old, male Russ was screaming "No!", but she barely heard it.

Her other hand went down to her crotch, pulling her night gown up around her
hips.  She began rubbing her clitoris.  The sensations got better and
better.  She began to pump her hips to the motion of her finger, as jolts of
pleasure shot between her breasts and her pussy.  Then they radiated out
through her entire body like a bolt of lightening.  Russ realized that she
had experienced her first female orgasm.

But not her last.  She kept caressing her body, lifted higher and higher by
the pleasure.  She finally stopped when she heard her parents going to bed.
She lay there quietly, afraid to start again and have them hear.  After a
while, she simply drifted off to sleep.  Still smiling.

*****

Russ was awakened the next morning by music, one of those easy listening
stations that girls liked.  She rolled over to find that her alarm clock had
been replaced by a small clock radio.  That couldn't be the only change.
She decided that she might as well get the worse over with and climbed out
of bed to view herself in the mirror on the bathroom door.

As she walked over, yawning and scratching her head, she noticed that her
hair seemed even thicker.  Longer, too, she thought, considering the extra
pull she felt on her scalp.  She leaned in close to the mirror to get a look
at her face and hair.

She could hardly believe what she saw in the mirror.  Her hair was a mass of
chestnut curls that framed her now heart shaped face and hung down almost to
her waist.  Her eyebrows were shaped to narrow lines, and her eyelashes
seemed much longer.  Her complexion was peaches and cream perfect.  Her lips
seemed fuller, and her expression felt into a natural, but very sexy pout.

She stepped back to get a look at her figure.  The pale yellow night gown of
the night before was now a baby doll nightie that barely reached down to her
hips.  Her hips seemed wider, too, and her waist narrower.  The nightie was
cut low and barely contained her larger breasts.  She posed this way and
that in front of the mirror, marveling at her new figure.  She felt feminine
and sexy, and a growing part of her loved the feeling.

"Fun as it might be," Russ thought, "this isn't getting me ready for school.
  She walked over to the dresser, shucking off her nightie.  The panty was
almost a thong, barely covering her crotch and held on by narrow strings
tied across her hips.  She untied the strings and let the panty fall to the
floor.

The underwear in the drawer looked a lot more sexy than the day before.
Russ pulled out a pair of white, French cut panties that were so sheer as to
be almost transparent, except for a  narrow, lace trimmed gusset at the
crotch.  They looked very much like the sort Kelly Jackson had worn the day
before.  She stepped into them and pulled them up to her waist, feeling
their silky coolness against her skin.

She had trouble finding the matching bra.  She thought about going without.
"Give the boys a thrill," she thought and giggled.  Then she remembered the
sort of jokes that guys made -- that she'd made -- about girls who went
braless, especially girls with a rack as big as hers was now.  She decided
that she'd rather keep looking.

She finally found the bra in the back of the drawer.  It wasn't quite as
sheer, with a pattern of swirled lace to hide her nipples.  The bra was
underwire, lifting and separating her 38 D breasts for even better effect.
(She'd looked at the label before putting it on.)  It was cut low, too, so
that her breasts looked ready to spill out.

Russ reached in the drawer again and pulled out a pair of smoky gray panty
hose.  She sat back on her bed and slowly, carefully pulled them up her long
curvy legs.  It took a little time.  Not from inexperience, but because she
wanted to make sure that there were no sags or wrinkles.  That was hard to
do with fingernails that were longer and more rounded than the day before.
She still had the same pink polish on her nails, but now her toes were
painted the same color.

She walked towards the closet, watching herself in the door mirror.  She had
a nice feminine strut, her hips swaying invitingly as she walked.  Her legs
looked good, too, but she knew somehow that they'd look better in heels.

Russ took a frilly white peasant blouse and a short charcoal skirt from
hangers in the closet.  She pulled on the blouse over her head, then
carefully pulled her long hair free and let it hang down behind her.  She
stepped into the skirt and pulled it up around her hips, tucking in the
blouse.  It was narrow at the waist, then flared out about her hips.  It was
tight enough to show them off but not to make her look slutty.  Well, not
too slutty.  And it ended about half way between her waist and her knees.

Pulling out a pair of dark gray pumps, she slipped them on her feet.  hey
had two inch heels, and Russ wondered for a movement if she'd be able to
walk in them.  She sat for a moment, waiting for a memory of how to do so.
None came.  "Well, better learn," she said with a sigh and stood up.  She
walked towards the make-up table half expecting to fall and ready to catch
herself.

To her delight, she found that she was comfortable in the shoes, walking
with the same feminine gait as she had barefoot.  "I guess my body
remembers, even if my mind doesn't," she thought.

She sat at the table and reached for a hairbrush.  A gentle combing got a
few of her stray curls into place.  Her make-up was more sophisticated this
morning.  A smoky eye shadow accented her eyes.  The blusher was joined by
some highlighter that made her cheekbones look higher.  She dabbed a little
perfume behind each ear.

She found a small jewelry box in a corner of the table and, curious, opened
it.  Earrings.  Russ touched her earlobe and felt a small hole.  No, her
fingers told her, two holes.  She brushed her hair back to look.  Yes,
pierced ears.  Mercifully, the memory that came to her was how to put the
earrings on, not the memory of the piercing.  She picked a pair of pearl
earrings from the box and put them in the lower hole on each ear.

On her way out the door, Russ picked a wide white gold bracelet from the
jewel box on her dresser and put it on her wrist.  A matching chain went
around her neck.  It was long enough to hang down to the valley between her
breasts, calling attention to them.

"Girl, you look hot," she said, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror.
  The thought scared her.  A few days ago, she'd been Russ Walsh, boy hero,
terror of the football field and the date of choice for most of the girls in
the school.  Now, here she was in heels and French cut panties, ready to
strut her pretty ass through the halls of Ellwood City High.

The changes to her mind were as thorough as the changes to her body.  She
was comfortable in her new body and her new clothes.  She'd put that body
through its paces last night, and she'd enjoyed it.  Well, everybody enjoyed
masturbating, didn't they?  But she was suddenly afraid of how much she'd
probably enjoy letting somebody else touch her like that.  She had enjoyed
kissing Al last night, and the way he talked, they had plans to do more --
to go further -- that evening.  Part of her was still the old Russ and was
repelled at the thought of sex with a boy.  But part of her, a big part, was
Rose, and she liked the idea.  Her body seemed to agree with the new Rose.
She felt her cheeks flush and her nipples begin to tingle.

Then even newer memories came to her.  Yes, Al had been there last night,
but only to study.  He was much better in math than she was, and she'd asked
him to come over to help her prepare for today's quiz.  She was going to the
dance with somebody else.  But who?  That she didn't remember.  "Great," she
said in despair.  "Now I'm playing mind games with myself.  It just gets
better and better."  She closed the door behind her and went down to
breakfast.

Al was waiting near the bus stop when Russ' bus got to the school.  He was
coming over as she stepped off.  "Maybe I am going with him after all," she
thought.  Aloud she said, "Hi, Al."

"Oh, um, hi, Rose.  You ready for the test?"

"I guess so.  Thanks for the help last night."  She was waiting for a kiss,
but none came.  Al suddenly smiled and stepped around her.  He took Jenny's
hand, as she stepped off the bus.  The two kissed quickly and walked towards
the school building hand in hand.

"That is so sweet," Russ thought watching the two of them.  She hugged her
books and sighed.  "If only -- if only _who_?"  She knew that she was dating
somebody in this new reality, but her mind stubbornly refused to tell her
who it was.

"Give you any ideas, Babe?"

Russ turned towards the voice.  It was Max Snyder, leaning against the side
of the bus and positively leering at her.  "What do you want?"

Max actually looked hurt.  "Gee, can't a guy say 'hello' to his girl without
her jumping all over him?"

"His girl?" Russ thought.  "Shit!"  Now the memories came.  She and Max had
been dating since the middle of football season. Considering some of the
stories Max had told the old Russ, she was just as glad that she couldn't
remember any details.

But if her mind didn't remember, her body did.  She felt it tingle, and her
nipples begin to stiffen.  She caught herself smiling and feeling sorry for
the way she'd greeting him.  "I'm sorry, Max.  I'm just a little out of
sorts today."

He took her hand in a surprisingly gentle way.  The tingling sensation got
stronger.  "That's okay, Hon," he said.  "Gee, it hope it's not your time of
month or anything.  I mean, with the dance and all tonight."

"Oh, God, not that," Russ thought.  "I am in no way ready to have a period."
  But she suspected that her trick memory would have warned her if she was
anywhere near her "time of month".

She shyly shook her head and said, "No,  I just really haven't been myself
this week."  Boy, was _that_ the truth!  "I'll be okay."

The five minute bell rang.  "We'd better get going," Max said.  "I wish I
could walk you in, but you know how far apart our first period classes are."
  He gave her a quick peck on the cheek and ran off towards the far side of
the building.  Russ walked in the nearby door, heading for her own class.
She felt good.  Maybe she was wrong about Max.

The rest of the day went pretty smoothly.  Russ was surprised at how well
she did on the quiz.  The way she remembered their study session, she and Al
had spent more time cuddling than cramming.  But in today's reality, she
also remembered that they'd spent several hours just doing math.  Time after
time, the memory of how to answer a problem simply popped into her head when
she needed it.  She didn't expect an A, but even a B was better than what
the old Russ had done.  Even a C would have been better, and she was sure
that she'd done at least that well.

All any of the girls could talk about at lunch was the dance that night.
Who was going with whom, and what they were going to wear.  A few of the
girls had gotten new dresses, even if it was just a Friday "mixer", rather
than a "formal" dance, and were being mysterious.  Russ didn't remember what
she was wearing, but she did remember seeing a dress in her closet wrapped
in a plastic bag from Lorraine's, one of the better dress shops in town.
That had to be a new dress, but she wouldn't know what it looked like until
she got home after school, so she just dropped what she hoped were generic
hints.

Russ had been home about fifteen minutes when the phone rang.  It was Max.
"Hi, Babe.  I wanted to see if you were feeling any better than this
morning."  The only class that Max and Russ -- the old Russ -- had had
together was Auto Shop, and now that was gone.  They had different period
lunches, too.  She hadn't seen him since that morning.

She felt a warm feeling all through her body.  He cared!  Evidently there
was more to her old friend than the jock that Russ had grown up with.  "I
feel fine, Max.  Especially now that I'm talking to you."

"Great.  What time should I pick you up?  The dance starts at 8, you know."

"Umm, 7:30 sound okay?"

"Sounds fine.  Hey, I'd love to talk, but I know you've got a million things
to do to get ready for me -- for the dance, I mean.  I'll see you then."  He
hung up without another word.

"Well, that was romantic," said Russ, hanging up her phone.  She had been
wanting to talk.  She'd never liked girls that gushed at a guy over the
phone, but now she had felt the need to do just that, to share her
excitement with the boy she liked.   Her new opinion of Max dropped a notch.

Still, he was right.  She did have a lot to do.  She went back to her room
and stripped out of her clothes, tossing everything into a wicker hamper
near the closet.  Then she sat at the make-up table and used cold cream to
remove every trace of make-up from her face,

Russ ran water in the tub, letting it get comfortably hot before turning on
the shower.  Pulling the shower curtain across the tub, she stepped in.  The
shower now had one of those pulsing showerheads, and the waves of water
shooting over her body felt absolutely wonderful.  She lathered herself with
the same herbal soap as yesterday, taking extra time on her larger breasts.

Even as one hand moved the soap slowly around her large nipples, the other
moved down to rub against the lips of her vagina.  A long finger reached up
to caress her clitoris, while another slipped inside moving in the same
steady rhythm.  Jolts of pleasure shot to every part of her body.  Her knees
grew weak, so that she had to lean against the wall to keep standing.  Her
hips rolled to the motion of her hand, as her vagina began to pulse.

Her head went back, eyes closed, mouth open.  She heard herself moaning and
hoped that the sounds wouldn't carry over the noise of the shower.  Last
night,  she had thought of Al Sachs while she'd masturbated, but now the
image of Max Snyder came into her mind.  He was there with her in the
shower.  It was his hands on her breast and in her pussy.  He was bringing
her higher...higher...high -- a lightening bolt of pure sexual energy shot
through Russ, setting off every nerve.  She stopped the motions of her hands
and sank slowly to the tub floor, lost in the physical joy of her orgasm.

As the water washed over her, Russ had time to think about what she had just
done.  This was the second time she'd had an orgasm as a girl.  And enjoyed
it, reveled in it.  The first time, she could excuse that as curiosity,
taking her new equipment out for a test run.  But this second time, it was
getting to be a habit.  She was getting used to her female sexuality.  What
was worse, she found herself curious about what it would be for real.  What
it would be like to have sex as a girl -- with a boy.

She shook her head as if to clear it and stood up.  Since her hair was
already soaking wet, Russ decided to wash it.  There was a bottle of herbal
shampoo in a little basket hanging from the showerhead.  She poured some
into her hand and began to work up a lather.  As she worked the lather
through her thick curls, it occurred to her that this was the
shampoo/conditioner that advertised itself as "an organic experience" with
those commercials that suggested that you could almost bring yourself off
using it.  Well, she'd already done that.  Now if it would just clean her
hair.

Russ finished her hair, turned of the shower, and stepped out.  There was a
pile of thick towels on the counter.  She wrapped one around her hair,
planning to dry it later.  She used a second towel to pat herself dry.  Her
skin was so much softer now that she couldn't rub it dry the way she had as
a male.  She also was careful around her nipples and vagina which were still
sensitive from her activity in the shower.

She finished and tossed the towel in a hamper near the sink.    Picking up
the duster of floral scented bath powder, she sprinkled on herself and
carefully rubbed it in.  Again, she was careful rubbing her breasts and by
her crotch, not wanting to, well, distract herself again.  There was a short
pink  bathrobe on a hook on the door, and she slipped it on.  It was fluffy
like a towel and reached most of the way down to her knees.

Then she unwrapped her hair.  It hung down straight, heavy with the weight
of water and even darker than its usual chestnut.  Russ plugged in the
portable hair dryer, set it to "maximum dry", put in the drying comb and
turned it on.  It seemed to take forever, but working from the top of her
head down to the tips that hung almost to her waist, she eventually got the
hair dry.  She could smell the gentle scent of flowers from the shampoo,
brought out by the dyer heat.

She decided not to do anything with her hair, which was now a mass of curls.
  She liked the way it looked.  "The bedroom look," she thought and giggled.
  Damn, she was definitely ready to see what sex was like as a girl.
Knowing Max's alleged history, his locker room bragging, there was a good
possibility of that -- as far as Max knew in this new reality -- it had
already happened.  She also knew that there was a good chance of it
happening for her this evening.  Well, whatever happened happened.  She
applied some deodorant and went back to her bedroom.

Russ had left the robe on, expecting the room to feel cooler after the heat
of the shower.  It was.  She saw goose bumps on her slender bare arms and
felt her nipples grow erect.  Though, this time it was from the cool air.

She reached into her drawer and pulled out a matching panty and bra set,
off-white satin with English lace trim in a white rose design on the gusset
of the panties and the cups of the bra.  It was actually a three piece set.
The matching garter belt was in the other drawer with her stockings and
panty hose.  She pulled it out along with a pair of sheer dark gray hose.

Russ fit the garter belt around her, marveling at how narrow her waist was
now, and hooked it into place.  The four straps hung down, brushing against
her thighs and over the curve of her lovely rounded butt.  She stepped into
the panties and pulled them up, twisting to get them past her hips,
marveling at the cool feel of the satin against her bare skin.  She had to
reach inside the panties to straighten a couple of the garter straps and
make certain that all four hung out from beneath the panties.

Then she sat down on the bed and picked up one of the stockings .  She
bunched it up and carefully pulled it up her leg.  Checking once or twice
for any sags or runs, she stood up and hooked the front of the stocking to a
garter.  Then she twisted at the waist and bent her knee to attach the back
to a second garter.  She repeated the process a moment later with her other
leg.

She took off the robe and stood still for a moment enjoying the new
experience of wearing stockings.  She felt them pulled tightly on her legs,
the garter straps rubbing against her bare thighs,  They felt like fingers
caressing her skin, and she felt herself getting turned on again.  Her
nipples were growing erect, sticking out "Just like two tiny little pricks,"
she thought with a giggle.

The bra was strapless.  She rested the cups on her breasts, leaning back as
she expertly reached behind her to fasten it.  The bra was cut low, and she
reached in, positioning each breast, so that they were lifted up and looked
even bigger.  Her nipples brushed against the lace and satin, making her
tingle delightfully.

There was only a little time now till supper, so Russ used it to do her
nails.  Polish remover got rid of the light pink color.  She found press-on
nails in a drawer in the make-up table, helped by the new memory that they
were there.  Once they were attached, she trimmed and shaped them to a
rounded half inch extension of her own nails.  She then applied a deep red
polish, blowing gently on each nail afterwards to help it dry.

About ten minutes later, when her mother called her for supper, the nails
were dry.  Russ put the robe back on, closing it around her and tying it
tightly at the waist.   It wouldn't do to flaunt her sexy undies in front of
her parents.  There were a pair of fuzzy pink slippers near the bed.  She
stepped into them to protect her stockings and went down to super.

The meal went well enough.  Both her parents worked; her mother in the
records office at the hospital; her father at an insurance agency.  They
talked about their days, sharing a few jokes about "Life in the Office" that
Russ had heard before and wasn't particularly interested in.  Eventually,
her father asked, "So tonight's the big dance that you've been talking about
all week."

"It's just a Friday mixer, dear," her mother said.  "Are you going with
Becky and your other friends?"

"If I've been talking about it 'all week'," Russ thought, "I must have said
who I was going with."  Her mother's inability to remember almost anything
he said had been a constant complaint of the old Russ.  Some things didn't
change.  "I have a date," she said aloud.  "Max Snyder is taking me."

Now her father perked up.  "Hey, I saw him at that one football game you
dragged me to.  He's not bad.  If your team had had a good quarterback, they
might have gone a lot further than they did."

Russ sighed.  The team did have a good quarterback.  Her -- him -- her when
she'd been a him.  This change was really getting to her, and being reminded
of what she'd been was killing all the new pleasure of being a girl.  She
wanted to change the subject, and she _certainly_ didn't want it brought up
again when Max came for her.

Her mother rescued her.  "You and your Sports, Stan, I don't want you to
embarrass poor Rose by gushing over the boy when he comes to pick her up.
Or drag him off to talk football, while she waits to go to the dance."

"Okay, okay, I promise.  Do I get to meet the boy, or are you going to lock
me in my room when he comes?"

Russ wasn't listening any more.  What had she just said to herself?  "The
new pleasure of being a girl?"  Yes, she finally had to admit it.  She was
enjoying being a girl, and she wasn't sure that she'd want to change back,
if Chloe Weaver gave her the chance.  This was something that she'd have to
give careful thought to.

But not right now.

It was almost 6:40.  Max would be there for her in less than an hour, and
here she was sitting in her undies eating supper.  She pushed the plate away
and stood up.  "I have to get ready for the dance," she said.

"But you're not done eating."

"Mom, I don't have time to finish.  Besides, there'll be food at the dance."
  Russ turned and ran up to her room.  Normally she would have had to do the
dishes, but her mind told her that mother had agreed to let it go.  She
would have to set the table the next two nights to make up for it, though.

She tossed the robe onto the bed and took the clothing bag out of the closet
by the hanger.  Carefully, she pulled the bag up and off over the hanger.
The dress came with a short jacket that she took off the hanger and laid
aside.  The dress itself was absolutely lovely, a long strapless white
sheath trimmed in swirls of silvered sequins.  It hung beneath the hanger
attached by three padded clip hooks.

Russ unhooked it from the hanger, laying it carefully on the bed.  She
stepped out of her slippers.  Then she unzipped the dress and took it in her
hands.  She bent over and stepped into the dress.  It moved sensually up her
legs, and she had to squirm and twist to get it past her wide hips.  She
pulled it up and over her ample breasts.  It reached just high enough to
cover her bra, leaving much of her bosom displayed.

Russ reached behind her and found the zipper.  With a surprising expertise,
she pulled it up.  The dress was tight.  It clung to her narrow waist,
calling attention to her feminine curves.  It made her stand straight and
forced her to inhale slightly.  Her breasts rose, looking ready to spill
out.

She stood before the mirror and smoothed the dress on her hips.  The white
of the dress went with her creamy skin, while the sequin swirls subtly
called attention to her hips and breasts.  Russ replaced her tiny pearl
earrings with dangling shapes of silvered metal.  She took a small silver
locket on a chain from the top of the dresser and placed it around her neck,
taking her time to keep the chain from tangling in her hair.  The locket
hung from her neck resting just above her breasts and dramatically calling
attention to them.

She sat at the make-up table.  She applied a bright red lipstick to her
mouth, pursing and pouting her lips to see the effect.  Dark violet eye
shadow made her eyes look larger, deeper, and mysterious.  Mascara
lengthened her already long lashes.  And a final application of blusher and
highlighter made her face appear narrow.  She looked into the mirror.
Staring back at her was a mature and sexually desirable young woman, not the
demure and feminine high school senior Russ had become.

There was perfume on the table, as well.  She picked a floral scent that
would go with the fragrance left in her hair from the shampoo.  She put a
dab behind each ear, then on the side of her neck.  She had the feeling that
there was more she wanted to do.  She stared at the bottle for a moment,
then took the applicator and made a long stroke in the cleft between her
breasts.  "So wicked," she giggled.  "Max'll love it."

But her parents wouldn't.  A streak of stubbornness that she didn't know
that she still had asserted itself.  She picked up the jacket from the bed
and put it on.  It concealed her lovely bare shoulders and how low much of
her bosom the dress revealed.  It also made it hard to tell just where she
had applied the perfume.

She stood and looked at herself in the door mirror.  She looked good, damned
good.  The dress hugged her every curve, but wasn't so tight as to be
vulgar.  And it was high enough to show plenty of leg.   They were long,
slender, and gracefully curved, and Russ knew that they'd look even better
in heels.  She turned this way and that looking at herself.  She looked
better and better from every angle.  She felt a new feminine delight in how
good she looked, and, even though she didn't realize it, this delight was
the reason she was now smiling at herself.

She picked out a pair of white shoes with three inch heels from a shoe rack
on the closet doors.  "These puppies are going to be tough," she thought.
She didn't doubt that she would find herself able to walk in the shoes.  It
was the thought of standing, walking, even dancing in them for several hours
that bothered her.  She decided to give her toes a break and sat on the bed,
the shoes besides her, listening to her radio.

About fifteen minutes later, she heard the doorbell.  She put the shoes on
and waited by the door to be called.  Something, a memory that was more than
just a memory, told her that it was better to make an entrance.

"Rose," her father's voice came from downstairs, "your date is here."  Russ
hurried out the door and down the hall, stopping just before she got to the
stairs, never even noticing how easily she was walking in heels..  Then she
slowed to a graceful walk that continued as she came down the stairs.  Max
and her father were waiting at the bottom, both smiling.

"Hi, Ba-, um, Rose,"  Max said.  "You ready to go?"

"Honey, you look beautiful," her father said.  "Hold on a minute."  He went
into the next room, coming back a moment later with a camera.  He pointed to
the wall by the stairs.  "You two stand there while I get a picture."

Russ felt embarrassment well up inside her.  "Oh, Daddy, please.  We have to
go."

"Daddy"?  where had that come from.  Russ had never called her father that,
not even earlier in the evening.  But now the word came naturally to her.

"Okay, just one," her father said, pointing to the wall again.

Russ looked at Max.  He didn't seem happy about the delay.  She walked over
to the wall and motioned for Max to join her.  "Please," she whispered to
Max.  "He promises -- only one."

Max sighed and came over to stand next to her.  "Only one," he said.

Russ's father snapped the picture.  He began advancing the film for another,
saying, "How about a 'saver'?"

"Stan," her mother said.  "You promised only one."  She handed Russ her
outer coat and motioned for them to leave.  The pair were out the door
before her father could seriously protest.

"I'm sorry about the camera," Russ said as they walked to Max's car.  "You
know how parents get."

"Pain in the ass," Max replied as they reached the car.  "He knew we were in
a hurry."  Russ walked around to the other side.  She stood there waiting
for something.  But what?  "Get in already," Max said.

Russ realized that he'd been waiting for Max to come around and open the
door for her.  It was another reminder of how her behavior was changing to
match her new body.  She got in the car, and they drove off.

Max didn't say a word as they drove to the school, except to occasional
curse at another driver.  Russ tried to start a conversation, but he cut her
off with a grunt each time.  Besides he had a heavy metal tape on, blaring
out over the car's speakers.

He parked near the school building and got out without a word.  Russ watched
for him to come around and open her door, to help her out.  Instead she saw
him striding towards the school.  She jumped out and ran to him before he
even missed her.  She took his hand as they walked into the building.  It
felt good.  Sure he was a little gruff, but she knew, deep down, that he
liked her as much as she liked him.

The school service club had set up a check room near the gym.  Russ handed
the girl on duty her jacket as well as her outer coat.  She looked at Max as
he took the tags for their coats.  He was smiling and staring at her, or
rather at her bare shoulders and the amount of breast showing above the top
of her dress.  She felt a mild glow of satisfaction thinking about how much
he liked what he saw -- how much he liked her.

The gym was full of people and music.  There were a few of the jocks
standing near the door, and Max went over to talk to them.  She stood alone
for a minute listening to the music.  The she saw Becky and Steve, Jenny and
Al sitting at a table nearby.  She went over to join them.  "Hi," she said.

"Hi, yourself," Jenny said.  "Where's Max?"

"He, um, he's talking to somebody he saw when we came in.  I'm sure he'll be
over in a minute."  She sat down, positioning herself so she could watch the
group Max was with while she talked to her friends.

But Max didn't come.  Russ watched him talking to the other jocks for about
ten minutes.  The others at the table were beginning to fidget.  They wanted
to dance, but they didn't want to leave her alone.

Finally, Max split off from the others.  He looked over to where he'd left
Russ and scowled when he didn't see her.  He looked quickly around the room
and saw her sitting  there.  He came over.  The band began a new song just
as he reached the table.  "C'mon, let's dance," he said, ignoring the group
at the table.

"I'm talking to my friends," Russ said.  She wanted to just go with him, but
a little of the old Russ asserted itself.

"Oh, yeah.  Hi."  He made no effort to start a conversation or sit.  "Now
can we dance?"  It was less of a question than an order.

Russ felt her resistance melt away.  "Later," she said to those at the
table.  She stood and let Max lead her to the floor.  She looked back,
feeling a little guilty, but she was relieved to see both couples following
them.

Max and Russ danced together for more than an hour.  Every dance.  Most of
the music was fast.  At best, couples touched hands on occasion.  Mostly
they stood facing one another moving almost independently to the music.  But
there were enough slow dances to please those who wanted them.

During those slow dances, Max held her as closely as one could get away with
at a chaperoned high school dance.  Russ found that she enjoyed feeling her
strong arm around her waist as he lead her around the floor.  Her breasts
were pulled against his chests, flattening slightly from the pressure.  Her
whole body was tingling and her nipples were fully erect, pushing against
the satin of her bra.  Once  or twice, he pulled her really close, and she
could feel the growing erection in his pants pushing against her groin.  She
felt a yearning down there, and a moistness growing from the anticipation.

A slow dance was just ending.  Russ had been resting her head on Max's
shoulder, and he'd been breathing softly on her neck.  As the music stopped,
he took her by the hand saying, "C'mon, let's go get some air.  It's getting
kind of stuffy in here."

Russ smiled and let him lead her from the gym.  She suspected that fresh air
was the last thing on his mind, but her body was screaming at her to do
something, to satisfy the hunger that Max's skilled hands has awakened.

Max turned his head this way and that, making certain that they weren't
being watched.  Then he lead Russ down the hallway to the locker rooms.
Russ had no real concerns.  The locker room doors were padlocked at night.

Max stopped at a wooden door next to the locker rooms, the Equipment Room.
"Being offensive team captain has some advantages,"  Max said, taking his
keys out from his pocket.  "I had a spare key made before I turned in the
original at the end of the season."  He opened the door and went in,
leading Russ in behind him.  Then he shut the door behind them and locked
it.

Russ was surprised.  In the old reality, she'd been offensive captain and
had the key, but she'd never thought of using it like this.  She hadn't
realized that Max was so smart.  She was proud of her friend's -- her
boyfriend's -- ingenuity.

The door had a frosted window.  No one would see them inside, but there was
enough light for them to see within the room.  A narrow window in one wall
must have been near one of the school lights.  A second shaft of light lit
up the back of the room.

Max took her by the hand again.  He lead her past racks of football gear;
boxes of basketballs, footballs, and soccer balls; and a shelf of baseball
bats.  Back to where the wrestling mats were stacked.  He pulled a couple
mats off the stack and piled them onto the floor.

He came over to where Russ was standing, took her in his arms and kissed
her.   She pressed herself against him and opened her mouth.  His tongue
took the invitation and entered, playing with hers.  His hands reached down
to massage her firm, rounded bottom.  Her arms were around his neck pulling
him down closer to her.  She felt an itch growing in her crotch and rubbed
herself against him, trying to fulfill this new hunger.

He suddenly dropped his arms and stepped back.  "We can do this better with
a few less clothes," he said smiling at her.  He took off his sports jacket
and draped it over the remaining stack to mats.  She put her purse down near
it, smiled back, and stepped over to undo his tie.  It felt good to be
helping him, somehow, knowing that she was pleasing him.  As she leaned in
to unknot his tie, he reached behind her and pulled the zipper halfway down
the back of her dress.

She felt his fingers walk gently up the small of her back.  It tickled, and
she giggled softly.  Then his fingers found the clasps of her bra.  He
unhooked the bra and drew his arm back around,  still holding the one bra
strap between his fingers.  "Here you are, Babe," he said, handing it back
to her as if it were a trophy.

Russ leaned over and laid it on the top of the stack of mats.  As she did
so, the top of the dress slipped forward, and she had to move quickly to
keep it from falling away, from exposing her breasts.  The cool air hit her
erect nipples, and she gasped at the sensation.

The feeling made her stop for a second.  There could be no doubt as to what
was gong to happen if she let it.  Did she want to?  Deep within her, there
was still some of the old Russ Walsh shrieking "NO!" and pounding against
the bars of the magical cage that had him imprisoned inside her mind.  She
could hear him, but the voice was faint.

Yet, there was another voice, too, the voice of the person that the old Russ
had become, Rose Walsh.  "Do it," she was saying.  "You want it.  You _need_
it."  Her voice was getting louder.  "Listen to your body, not to a past
that no longer exists."

"Listen to her body?"  Her body was practically screaming at her.  Russ
realized that Max was kissing her again.  He was using one arm to pull her
in close to him.  His other hand was doing "spider fingers," gently tickling
the side of her neck.  She moaned and opened her mouth to let his tongue
back in.

The kiss lasted a delightfully long time.  Then Max pulled away.  She was
about to say something, when he began kissing his way down her throat.  Her
hands dropped to her sides, allowing the top of her dress to slide down on
her breasts.  Both nipples were now fully exposed.

Max's mouth moved down below her neck.  His hands reached up and pulled the
top of the dress away, revealing her full breasts.  His mouth moved to her
left breast, sucking and licking at her nipple.  His hand went to the other
breast.  His fingers massaged the breast while his thumb gently rubbed the
nipple back and forth.  Russ' arms went around the back of his head, pulling
his head -- his marvelous mouth --in closer to her.

Jolts of pleasure shot out from her breasts to every part of her body,
especially to her vagina.  She was conscious of how warm and wet it felt
down there.  She needed something; needed to fill the growing hunger that
she was feeling down there.  She knew what she wanted and she grabbed for
it.  Her hand cupped Max's erection through his pants.  One finger slowly
ran the length of it.  It twitched slightly at her touch.  "He wants me,
too" she thought, delighted at the thought.

There was no hesitation in her mind, now.  And none of the repulsion of
having sex with a boy that she'd felt in her earlier fantasizing.  The old
Russ was still there.  Still screaming.  But she could barely hear him.

She stepped back from Max, smiling at the look of confusion on his face.
"This dress is in the way," she said.  She zipped it the rest of the way
down and wriggled out of it.  When his confusion gave way to a broad smile,
she smiled back and put an extra wiggle into her efforts to get it past her
narrow waist and broad hips.  He liked that.  She could tell.  She carefully
laid the dress on the stack of mats next to her bra.  Then she stepped out
of her heels and laid down on the two mats on the floor.

Russ raised her arms, inviting Max to join her.  He frantically pulled off
his shirt, popping one button.  Then he simply dropped his pants to the
floor.  He stepped out of them, stepping out of his shoes at the same time.
Her eyes tracked down his large, muscular body, lingering for more than a
moment at his massive erection that pushed against the fabric of his boxers.

Max laid down beside her and resumed sucking at her left breast.  He took
the nipple of her other breast and rolled it between his finger and thumb.
His other hand reached down to below her waist.  He ran a finger up and down
against her vaginal lips through her panties.  Russ's breathing became
shorter and shorter, her whole body was trembling, and her juices were
soaking through the panties.

Russ reached down and pulled his hand away.  With her other hand, she began
frantically pulling at Max's shorts.  "Please," she panted, "I need you."

"But I'm right here, Babe."  Max was smiling.  Teasing the girl, getting her
so hot that she begged for it was almost the best part of sex.  You get her
hot enough and she'd be willing to do anything for you -- or to you.  Rose
was hot enough.  Now he'd just see what he could get her to do.

"No," she said.  "I mean -- oh--"

He had his hand inside her panty now.  One finger was moving around her
labia, teasing at the entrance of her vagina, while another reached up to
pluck at her clitoris like a guitar pick.

Her head went back, her mouth open.  She could hardly talk now, moaning more
than saying words.  Her hips began to pump to match the motions of his
fingers.  Her hands reached up to rub at her breasts.

Then he took his hands away.

"No," she said.  "Please, why did you stop?"

"Did it feel good? Do you want me to go on?"

"Yes, oh, please, yes!"

"Before I can make you feel good, Babe, you've got to make me feel good."
He pulled down his shorts and held his erect cock.  "Suck it, Babe."

Russ stared at Max.  Was he serious?  She'd accepted her new, female self,
been ready to have sex with him.  But this?  It was degrading, awful.  The
small voice of the male Russ seemed to become a shout.  "No!" he was saying.
  "Don't do it."

But there was another scream.  It was her female body.  Max had aroused it
expertly, and it definitely, urgently, needed to be fucked.

Max sensed her hesitation.  He reached down and began to message her pussy
through her panties.  Her body arched, rising to meet his hand.  Her hips
were moving to match the motion of his hand.  "Uh -- uh -- okay," she
gasped.  "I'll do it."  She sat up and leaned forward, positioning herself
for what she was about to do.

"No."  His voice was cold.  His hand stopped moving.

"What?  But I thought you -- "

"Beg me."  His hand began to move again, sending bolts of pleasure through
her entire body.

Russ had no choice.  She had to do something.  "Please -- uh, please, let me
suck your -- cock."

Max smiled.  "Say, 'pretty please'.  Tell me what you want to do."

This was horrible, but her body's hunger gave her no choice.  "Please.  I
need to -- uh -- suck your cock; to have it in my mouth; to -- uh --make you
cum in my mouth."

"Okay," Max said.  "But you better be good, or that's the end of it."

Russ was desperate.  She sat up and leaned over him, taking his cock in her
mouth.  Her hair felt down over his crotch.  She felt his cock reaching
towards the back of her throat, tasted the salty sweat on it, and fought
down the impulse to choke.  She remembered what she'd liked as a man and
tried to copy it.  Her mouth moved up and down the length of it; now taking
it deep in her throat, now almost taking it out.  As she moved her tongue
swirled along it, tickling the sensitive underside, licking at his foreskin.

Now it was Max's turn to moan and buck his hips.  She felt his cock begin to
twitch.  She wasn't ready, no matter how desperate her body felt, to have
him spurt in her mouth.  But when she tried to move her head away, he put
his hands  on her head, forcing it to stay where it was.  She tried to
swallow it all, not to gag, but she wasn't quite fast enough.  She coughed
and some of the jism oozed out her mouth.  It ran down onto her hair and
dripped down on his crotch.

Finally, he was done.  He leaned back, releasing her head.  She sat up and
swallowed the last of what was in her mouth.

"That was great, Babe.  As a reward, you can come over and lick me clean."

She stared at him.  "You need to get fucked.  I need a little encouragement
to get back into the mood."  His voice went cold again.  "Do it!"

She had no choice.  She leaned forward again and began licking at his limp
cock.   "What am I doing," she thought.  But her body was still in need, and
this was the only way to get him to satisfy it.

As she licked, she noticed that his cock was getting hard again.  That was
good.  She wanted -- she needed -- him hard.  She ran her tongue the length
of his cock, leaned in close to lick once or twice at his balls.  Yes, yes!
He was ready.  She stopped, not wanting him to ejaculate again unless it was
inside her.

Russ leaned back on the mats.  "There," she said.  "Now you do me."    She
lifted her butt and slid her panties down her legs.  She bent her knees and
leaned over, pulling them off over her feet and putting them on the floor
near the mat.  Then she lay back on the mats and waited.

"On your knees, bitch."

"But you promised."

"Oh, I'm gonna fuck you, but we're gonna do it doggy style like the bitch
you are."  He glared at her and raised his arm.  "Move."

"Oh, God," she thought.  "He'll hit me if I don't.  And I need it so bad."

She turned over and got down on her hands and knees.  "Is this okay," she
asked.  Then, afraid of what might happen -- or not happen -- if she didn't
cooperate, she sobbed, "Please, Max.  Please fuck me like the bitch I am."

"That's what I like to hear," he said.  "A bitch who knows her place."

He moved behind her.  His cock slid along her vagina tickling against her
nether lips.  She moaned and began to move her hips to match the motion as
he moved it back and forth.  "Hold still," he said, stopping the motion.
She bit her lip and forced herself to stop moving.  "Better," he said.

His cock slipped inside her and began moving.  It was glorious!  Her whole
body was ablaze with sexual energy.  "Can I -- uh -- can I please move," she
begged.

"Do it," he said.  He was rocking his own hips, and she began moving to
match his rhythm.  Her head rocked back and forth.  Her eyes closed.  She
could hear moanings from far away and only barely realized that she was the
one moaning.  She climbed higher and higher, her vagina pulsing as she
discovered the incredible joy of the multiple orgasm.  There was no here, no
now.  She had no body.  She was only a vagina, filled with Max's magical
cock that was shooting jolts of purest pleasure out to every pore of her
body.

Suddenly, she heard Max grunt.  She felt him spurting jism, it felt like
buckets of the stuff, into her.  He stopped moving, and she felt his weight
on her hips and ass.  Then she felt him pull out of her and heard him fall
back onto the mats.

She collapsed down onto the mat, rolling over onto her back.  She still
needed him, but he was just laying there smiling.  Hell, he was practically
asleep.  She sighed and caressed her body.  Slowly, she felt herself cool as
the need gradually left her.

Russ looked around.  There were some towels on a table nearby.  She managed
to reach out and grabbed one.  They were clean and folded.  She gently wiped
her vagina, trying to lean forward, to let all of the fluids,  hers and his,
leak out and onto the towel.  When much of it was out, she tossed the towel
away and grabbed two more.  She sat up on one, and wiped at her hair with
the other.  She'd get to a bathroom as soon as she could, but she didn't
want to have to walk around the rest of the dance with Max's jism leaking
out of her pussy and drying up in her hair.

By now, Max had revived.  He grabbed another towel and wiped himself down.
As he did, he stared at Russ.  "Pretty good, Babe," he said.  "We'll have to
do this again some time."

They both dressed in silence.  Max didn't see the need to say anything.
Russ was too humiliated to speak.  And she had to make sure that her hose
weren't torn, or that she had his jism on them.  The result was that he was
dressed and tying his tie, while she was still putting on her bra.

"It'll look better if we don't get seen leaving together," he said, moving
towards the door.  "Meet me at the gym in five minutes."  He opened the door
quickly and darted out.

Russ was alone.  She felt abandoned and not a little scared.  Scared to be
caught and scared of what Max might do if she wasn't back at the gym in
time.  She was just pulling up the dress past her wide hips when she heard a
voice.

"How does it feel, Russ?"

She looked up.  It was Chloe Weaver, standing before her in the flowing
white robe that Russ suddenly recognized from her dream the Sunday before.
"What, what do you mean?"

"I said that you'd be properly punished.  The old Russ Walsh was a
domineering little prick who used girls as sex toys."

"You mean like Max just treated me."

"Exactly.  And to a certain extent, you enjoyed it."

"Is that what it's going to be like from now on?"

"Only if you choose to let it be.  I remade you into this new person, and my
sister reset the pattern so you would see what you had done to Jenny.  The
female needs that you experienced will remain, and Max knows what he got you
to do in here tonight."

"And he'll want to do it again."

"Yes, and a part of you will want him to do it.  But another part of you
_may_ be strong enough to resist."

"If I do -- if I resist, will you change me back."

"Oh, poor, poor Russ.  No, a life thread can only be worked so much.  You'll
be Rose Walsh for the rest of your life."

"Yeah, Rose the Bimbo."

"Probably.  You can change that if you want, but I'm guessing that you
won't.  That's your real punishment.  You know why you became what you are,
and you know how to change it, to make something of your new life.  But you
just won't be willing to work hard enough to avoid it."

With that Chloe disappeared.  Russ finished dressing and snuck unseen out of
the equipment room.  But as she walked back to the dance, hurrying to make
Max's deadline, she thought she heard Chloe Weaver laughing.

The End.

Copyright Ellie Dauber, 1999.