Date: Thu, 27 Jan 2000 01:25:23 -0500
From: Lisa Fox
Subject: Bambi

"BABMI"

By Lisa Fox

PROLOGUE



My name is, or was, Taylor Stark.

During the spring of my sixteenth year, I met a group of older
boys and started hanging around with them. The Four Musketeers, as
I called them, had all graduated from high schools recently, and
each of them was less than a year away from getting his driver's
license, while I would only be entering my senior year in the fall
and was at least eighteen months away from my learner's permit,
and my age created several major differences between us right from
the first, so I wasn't really accepted by them until the spring
softball league started. The guys in our neighborhood had formed a
team, and when we started playing in competition, I became one of
the brightest stars on our roster. My batting and fielding weren't
all that great, but my small size and wiry frame, together with my
natural speed and grace, made me a very formidable base runner,
and as the number of bases I'd stolen climbed, my popularity with
my four newfound friends increased as well.

The leader of the group was Richard Pierce, also known as
"Dastardly" Dick, and his command over the others was never
questioned, like something instinctive, the way a pack of wolves
recognizes its leader. He was by far the most aggressive and
domineering of the guys, and of all the young men I've ever known,
he was easily the most "macho," both in word and deed. He was also
a bit neurotic, or perhaps psychotic, but I wasn't aware of that
until I got to know him better and slowly learned to be afraid of
him.

Art Rohmer was the biggest and roughest of the bunch, easily
standing six inches taller than Dick, the next largest, but he was
pretty soft-hearted underneath, and I came to think of him as a
big, dumb, friendly bear who could crush your rib cage with one
good hug, if he wasn't careful. He'd been working for his father
since he was twelve and had already developed the outlook and
attitudes of a blue-collar worker, but for all that, he was
basically a generous companion, a sympathetic listener and a lot
of fun to party with.

Though still more than six months from getting his license, Frank
Dent was the oldest of the boys, and in many ways he was also the
most mature. I think he may have been the cleverest among them as
well, perhaps developing his brains to make up for whatever he
lacked in charisma, since he was the least attractive and
personable of the four and the only one who ever had any trouble
getting dates.

Bob Lindon, on the other hand, was the handsomest of the group,
and he never had the slightest difficulty finding dates, though he
also never seemed to like any of the girls he went out with very
much. I'd often been told that I was a good-looking kid, in a
youthful, boyish sort of way, but Bob had the chiseled features
that suggested he would be a very handsome man one day, and was
already part of the way there. He was also the smallest and the
youngest, but his strong will and his notable skill as a boxer
kept him from being dominated by the older boys.

It was Bob who introduced me to the others. I first met him at a
sandlot football game; we got to talking and became good friends.
I hung around with him for a few months before he finally took me
to meet me to his older buddies, and of the four he remained my
best friend throughout.

With my success on the baseball diamond, I thought my acceptance
into Bob's group of friends was assured, but then I suffered a
series of illnesses and discovered just how "fair-weather" my new
friends really were, for they were not at all the kind of people I
believed them to be, as I was unlucky enough to discover that
summer.

And it began on a Saturday.



SATURDAY



"I'm sick of your bullshit!" Dick snarled. He rose from his chair
and glared at me angrily. "You're a fucking pussy!"

I swallowed nervously and took a step back. He was not only a lot
bigger and stronger than I was, Dick was known throughout school
for his hot temper. He once put an older boy in the hospital for
spitting on his gym locker.

"Calm down, Dick. All I said was that I can't play softball
tomorrow, because I have an earache."

The other boys looked on from their seats, still following the
boxing match on television, but giving half their attention to the
live entertainment.

"An earache, huh?" Dick scoffed.

"Yeah, an earache. It's starting to go away, but..."

"What was it last time, guys? Hay fever?"

The others grunted their agreement.

"He said his allergies were acting up," Frank recalled.

"And the time before that it was the flu," Dick continued. "It's
always something, isn't it?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "I've been sick lately."

"I say you're a pussy!" Dick growled.

"Look, I can't help it if I've got a bad ear infection, can I?" I
tried to sound defiant, hoping the other boys would come to my
defense.

"Which one is it?" Dick asked, looking at my ears.

"The right one," I said, pointing.

"Does it hurt now?"

"Well, no, actually. It only hurts if it..."

Before I could raise my arm to stop him, Dick slapped me on the
right side of my head, and my skull exploded with pain. I fell
back against the wall, dizzy and gasping hardly able to stand.

"Does it hurt now?" Dick smiled. "You bastard," I muttered, and he
raised his hand to strike again, but I cowered against the wall,
shielding my infected ear with both hands. "Don't, please."

"What a fucking pussy!" Dick roared triumphantly.

"Take it easy, Dick," Art said from the sofa. His father managed
the apartment complex where we all lived, and Art also worked
part-time around the place. "The neighbors'll complain to my old
man."

"Why don't you leave him alone?" Bob suggested, tossing his empty
beer can toward the kitchen.

"Yeah," Frank agreed. "What's the point?"

"The point is that I'm fucking sick of his excuses!" Dick snapped
back. "It's like hanging around with my little sister!"

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

"You make me sick," Dick said, and he knocked me to the floor with
one good shove. I collapsed on the carpet, trying to cover my ear
with my right arm as he raised his hand to hit me again.

"Please," I begged, "don't!"

"Say it!" he insisted. "Tell me you're a pussy!"

I looked to the others for help, but all three of them just sat
there watching. Dick leaned closer and drew his arm back to
strike.

"All right!" I sobbed. "Don't hit me!"

"Say it!"

"I'm a pussy," I said softly.

"Louder!"

I closed my eyes and buried my pride. "I'm a pussy, all right? Is
that what you want to hear?"

Dick nodded with satisfaction. "Good. It's about time you admitted
it. Now get up."

"What're you gonna do?"

"Just get up!"

"Hey, Dick," Bob started, "I don't think..." "Shut up!" Dick
yelled. "Keep out of this, all of you! This is between the pussy
and me!"

I struggled to my feet, finally starting to recover from the
painful smack I'd received. My ear still throbbed, but most of the
sting had gone.

"Okay, pussy," Dick commanded, "into the bathroom!"

I hesitated a moment, looking once more to the others for support,
but they did nothing, so with my eyes lowered and my shoulders
sagging in defeat I proceeded my tormentor into the bathroom of
his parents' apartment.

"Stop right there," Dick instructed, and I stood staring at the
floor tiles in silence as he started the water running in the
bathtub.

"Okay, pussy," he said with an edge of cruel humor in his voice.
"Strip."

I looked up in surprise. "Huh?"

"Take your fucking clothes off, asshole!"

For the first time, I was really afraid. I'd known Dick and the
others for less than six months, but long enough to know what they
were like... especially Dick. I'd never met a sadist before, but I
knew he was one, if anybody ever was. Each time he selected a
target for his petty cruelties I thanked the stars that the victim
was someone else; only this time it wasn't! This time it was me!

"Well, come on!" he said impatiently. "Do it!"

As he raised his hand to cuff me again, I realized I was trapped,
caught between the unknown humiliation he planned for me and the
pain to be inflicted at his hands if I should disobey. Though I
dreaded the thought of submitting to one of his degrading pranks,
my fear of the unknown was overwhelmed by the immediate threat of
physical violence. Of course, if I had known then what Dick had in
mind and how it would all work out, I would've let him beat me to
a pulp, but at the time I had no idea just how radically my life
was about to change.

"All right," I said, cringing before his upraised fist. My fingers
were trembling slightly as I unbuttoned my shirt.

"Make it snappy!" he growled, and then he checked the tub water as
I continued to undress. While the faucets were still running, Dick
took a bottle from a nearby shelf and poured some of its contents
into the churning water, and immediately the room filled with the
scent of wild flowers as a delicate pink foam rose from the tub.

I stared at the feminine bubble bath, feeling ill. Though I still
had no idea what Dick's intentions were, I was beginning to have a
terrible suspicion, too frightening to consider seriously, but
impossible to dismiss. I froze with fear, standing barefoot and
shirtless, my fingers locked on the buckle of my belt.

"Well, come on, pussy, don't just stand there!"

"What're you gonna do?" I asked with sudden concern. "I don't..."

Before I'd finished another word his fist had connected with my
ear again, and I went down in a cry of pain. As I lay there on the
tiled floor, gasping for breath, I felt Dick's hands unbuckling my
belt and tugging on my dungarees, roughly stripping off my
remaining garments. Soon the pain had subsided to a steady
throbbing, and I found myself lying naked at the feet of my
tormentor.

"Get up," he ordered, and though I struggled to obey as quickly as
I could, his hands impatiently grabbed my arm and dragged me to my
feet.

I was still in a daze, and nothing seemed quite real. I merely
looked on as the older boy guided me toward the tub, and though I
felt the steaming water on my skin as he forced me to get in, it
seemed like it was happening to someone else. I settled down amid
the pink bubbles and leaned back, closing my eyes with a muffled
sob.

"Clean up," Dick commanded, and he tossed a washcloth at me. "I
want you squeaky clean, as clean as you can get, and I'll be back
in ten minutes to check on you."

I heard the door close behind him as he left to make further
arrangements for my humiliation, and it took all my remaining
strength to suppress my sobs and stop the tears from falling.
Swallowing hard, I clenched my teeth and began to wash myself as
Dick had instructed. My only hope was that it would all be over
soon, so I could rid my life of these so-called friends of mine.
If I had only known what a false hope that was, I would've jumped
out the second-story window and run down the street, naked and
screaming for help. yet I had no real clue regarding the strange
and horrifying fate that awaited me, so I let myself be bullied
into submission until it was finally too late to resist. When Dick
returned to the bathroom, he was carrying a tall chair with him.
It was really like a stool with arms and a backrest, and he placed
it in the middle of the floor facing the mirror. Then he tossed me
a towel and ordered me to climb out of the tub and dry myself off.

As I emerged from the pink foam I noticed with dismay that the
fragrant scent of wild flowers now clung to me like perfume. I
toweled dry, grateful to have something with which to cover my
nudity, until Dick took the towel roughly from me and ordered me
to sit in the chair he'd brought.

Seated as instructed, I watched in frightened fascination as he
took a roll of silvery duct tape from the cabinet and tore off
long strips. After placing my hands and feet the way he wanted
them, he ordered me to sit still while he began to bind me to the
chair with tape. First he secured my feet to the crossbar of the
chair, placing the tape in such a way as to prevent me from
getting up or even wriggling my toes. My hands were then similarly
confined, with the tape covering my knuckles, holding my palm
pressed flat to the arm of the chair, so that I literally couldn't
move a finger.

I was just about to ask him what he was doing when he surprised me
by placing a strip of tape over my mouth, effectively silencing
me, except for my muffled protests. I tried unsuccessfully to
scream, and I thrashed about quite violently in the chair, trying
to get loose, but Dick's bonds were much too efficient. I was a
helpless prisoner, and it was only just beginning to dawn on me
that Dick was far from finished with humiliating me.

The door opened just then, and I turned my head to see Art
standing in the hallway. His eyes widened when he saw me securely
bound to the chair, but he said nothing. With only a casual nod to
Dick, he entered the room and stood over the toilet. When he'd
finished urinating, he left the room without a word, and I began
to realize just how hopeless my situation was. No one would come
to my rescue. I was alone, trapped and helpless, in the hands of a
sadist.

"Now," said Dick as he rummaged through the drawers of the sink
cabinet, "here's where the fun begins."

When he finally found what he was looking for, I gasped and felt
my heart start to pound. The small package he carried as he
approached me was undoubtedly one of those instant press-on false
fingernail kits, the kind used by women to repair or simulate
long, sculptured fingernails. My eyes were practically bulging out
of my head as I watched him prepare the first nail with adhesive
and place it carefully over the nail of my right index finger. I
tried to move my hand, but the way my fingers had been taped down,
I couldn't interfere with Dick's plans in the slightest.

Finger after finger, I could only look on in horror as he
transformed my hands into the slender, delicate-looking hands of a
girl Once he'd finished attaching the false fingernails, he
immediately began to paint them with bright pink nail polish that
made my hands seem even more feminine and girlishly attractive. As
a final insult to my manhood, he knelt down and added pink polish
to my toenails, making my feet seem as pretty and dainty as a
teenage girl's.

He stood back a moment, admiring his handiwork with a broad grin.
"Very pretty."

I tried once more to struggle out of the chair, but it was
impossible. Dick watched me, amused by my helplessness, then
picked up a women's fashion magazine from a rack of periodicals
bedside the toilet, thumbing through the pages looking for
something. When he found it, he spread the magazine open on the
counter before him, and much to my dismay I saw that he had turned
to a section on cosmetics and their general application.

"Now, be a good little pussy and just sit still," Dick warned, and
as he came toward me I saw that he held a pair of tweezers in his
hand. "This won't hurt too much."

With one powerful hand he held my head down and back, rigidly
still despite my best efforts to thwart his plans, and with the
other hand he began removing hairs from my eyebrows with the
tweezers. It went on for a long time, and there were tears in my
eyes from the minor stinging pains he kept inflicting on me, but
finally he was satisfied and let me raise my head again.

It was a shock to see myself in the mirrors My eyebrows had been
plucked to two fine, arching lines high above my lashes The effect
was to make my face seem much younger and somewhat girlish in
appearance. Then it hit me... Unlike the false fingernails and
nail polish, which could be removed, or the scent of perfume that
lingered on my skin, which would eventually wear off, my plucked
eyebrows were relatively permanent. True, they'd grow back after a
few weeks or months, but in the meantime I knew of no way to undo
or even conceal what Dick had done to me.

My tears were flowing freely now, which seemed to please my
tormentor no end. He stood grinning at me for a while, amused by
my plucked eyebrows and the grief they caused me. Then he removed
the tape over my mouth and warned me to keep quiet, or he'd toss
me out into the street exactly as I was. It was a warning I took
very seriously.

What happened next was almost too much to bear. Still smiling his
wicked smile, Dick produced a can of shaving cream and began to
lather up my face, but he didn't stop there. He continued down my
neck to my chest, then smeared a handful of cream under each of my
armpits. The cool, white foam was then applied to my crotch, my
thighs and the rest of my legs. When he was finished I looked
quite ridiculous, gaping at him from beneath plucked eyebrows, my
body almost entirely covered in shaving cream.

It shouldn't have surprised me when he took a razor from the
cabinet, but my reaction was one of such horror that I could only
sit there and stare as the stainless steel blade glided over my
skin, removing the shaving cream and with it my body hair. He
started at my right ankle and worked his way up, denuding my legs
one after the other. Then he went to my chest and underarms,
carefully removing the hair from there as well. Then he shaved my
face as close as possible, leaving not a trace of stubble. Finally
he brought the razor to bear on my crotch, and with a wicked grin,
he shaved away my pubic hairs.

I was emotionally numb by the time he started wiping away the last
bit of shaving cream from my body. Never in my life had I ever
experienced such an ordeal as this, and with a terrified shudder I
began to realize that this was only the beginning.

My tears had stopped, and Dick used a tissue to dry and clean my
face. Then he put some flesh-colored lotion on my complexion and
began rubbing it in, spreading it evenly about my cheeks,
forehead, nose and chin. When hew was finished, he took a brown
pencil from his mother's vanity drawer and drew over my newly
plucked eyebrows to make them even more noticeable.

Then he started working on my eyes. A thin, black line was drawn
around the rim of each eyelid, along the base of my eyelashes, and
then the lashes themselves were brushed with a mascara wand that
coated them with dark liquid, over and over again, until they were
so thick and dense I could feel their weight with each blink of my
eyes.

The final application of cosmetics was to my lips. First my mouth
was outlined in a dark pink, making it seem a little larger and
more pouting. Then I felt a smooth, creamy film of lipstick being
smeared over my lips, again and again, until the excess was
blotted away and my make-up was complete.

When I saw my reflection in the mirror again, I was aghast. The
image in the looking glass was no longer mine at all, but that of
a short-haired, flat-chested girl My face was so obviously
feminine that it made the rest of me seem girlish as well,
especially with my shaved legs and painted nails! A face that
pretty couldn't possibly belong to a boy! Her long, dark eyelashes
fluttered sexily beneath high, arcing eyebrows. Her skin was
smooth and unblemished, and the pink lips of her mouth were so
sensuous they almost demanded to be kissed. Yet that was MY face!
That pretty girl was ME!!

"Say, you're quite a looker," Dick said, obviously pleased with
the results of his labors. "Now just sit there quietly while I go
get you some clothes. Don't go away!"

He left the room laughing, and for a few minutes I was left alone
with my thoughts, which as you can imagine were quite troubled.
What was I going to do? How could I get out of this terrible
humiliation? Dick obviously planned to dress me up completely as a
girl and then force me to parade my feminine looks before the
other guys. I wasn't sure I could go through with something like
that, not without having a nervous breakdown first, yet it looked
as if I would have no choice in the matter.

As much as I hated to admit it, Dick had me just where he wanted
me, and there was nothing I could do about it. If I tried to
resist his mad schemes at this point, he was sure to make me
suffer for it, suffer in ways I probably couldn't even imagine.

My only hope of getting through this with as little shame as
possible was to follow Dick's instructions without question. Then,
maybe, he'd have a little fun at my expense and let me go,
humiliated but still alive, uninjured and relatively sane. It
would be bad, no doubt, but what might happen if I fought back
could be a lot worse. A lot worse.

When Dick returned he was carrying some of his mother's clothes.
Since she and I were approximately the same size, I had no doubt
that her clothes would fit me well enough, which Dick was
obviously counting on.

"Why are you doing this to me?" I asked meekly, hoping not to get
him upset.

"Because you're a pussy," he said as he sorted through the ladies'
undergarments he held, "and you should dress like one."

"Please don't do this," I begged timidly. "Please."

"Shut up," he sneered, "before I belt you again."

I remained silent after that.

He began dressing me by first untaping my feet, with a stern
warning not to try anything cute. I had to lift my bottom off the
seat cushion as he drew a strange, clinging undergarment up my
legs, past my waist and up to my smoothly shaven chest. It fit me
like a girl's one-piece bathing suit, hugging my crotch so tightly
that my masculine bulge was no longer evident, and it cinched my
waist in to slim, feminine proportions. On top, it sported two
large, empty cups, but they didn't remain empty for long. Dick had
brought two deflated party balloons, pink in color, and as I
watched he cleverly filled each one with warm water from the tap,
tied them tightly and positioned them inside the cups of my
undergarment with the knots placed in such a way as to simulate a
pair of erect nipples.

"You're such a lucky girl," Dick grinned, massaging my false
breasts as though they were real. "Lots of girls would kill to
have a nice big set of tits like these."

Then he leaned closer and winked at me. "And everybody knows how
the guys really get turned on by big breasts."

I looked away, too ashamed to meet his evil gaze, but well aware
that he spoke the truth. Any guy who saw me now, who didn't know
who I really was, would be totally excited by my newly feminized
appearance. To almost every male on the planet, I'd appear to be
nothing more or less that a "hot chick," a "knockout babe," a
young woman "built like a brick shithouse," and no guy in his
right mind would throw me out of bed. It was hard for me to admit
it, but I made one hell of a pretty girl.

I had to point my pink-nailed toes, first on one foot, then the
other, to accept the rolled-up nylon sheath as Dick slipped a pair
of sheer pink pantyhose onto my legs. The material clung to my
smoothly shaven legs like a second skin, adding a delicate pink
tint to my flesh. I had to raise my bottom from the seat again to
allow Dick to pull the top of the pantyhose into place, and the
added constraint over my crotch helped to conceal my maleness even
more.

Once in place, the nylon covering made my skin feel strange, as
though wrapped in butterfly wings or rose petals. Even stranger,
my legs appeared incredibly feminine in the sheer ladies' hosiery,
not like my legs at all, but like the legs of a beautiful actress
or fashion model. I could also see my painted toenails through the
seamless toe of each stocking, adding to the girlishness of my
appearance.

For a moment, Dick paused, his eyes fixed on my nylon covered
thighs with an eerie intensity. Then his hand moved over my leg,
and a chill ran down my spine as I felt his fingers touch my skin
through the pantyhose.

"What're you doing?" I whispered, trembling slightly.

He seemed momentarily confused, as though waking from a ; dream,
and then his eyes met mine angrily.

"Shut up!" he growled. "And keep it shut!"

With another stern warning, Dick set to work unwinding the tape on
the chair arms, releasing my hands. The glue had set by now, and
the false fingernails were firmly attached to my own. They made my
hands look and feel so strange, as if they weren't my hands at all
anymore, but the hands of a real girl. Unconsciously, I even
seemed to be moving my hands in a feminine manner, with graceful,
girlish gestures I couldn't control.

Still seated before the mirror, I had to raise my arms and allow
Dick to lower one of his mother's dresses over my head and down
onto my female figure. It was a light, silky dress with a very
short, flaring skirt, puffy sleeves and a demure neckline. The
material was pastel blue with pink paisleys, and it clung to my
girlish curves as if it had been made for me. The skirt barely
reached my mid-thigh as I sat there, and I knew it would rise much
higher once I stood up. Somehow the hem of my dress seemed to make
my legs look even more gorgeous, and very sexy.

Then Dick knelt before me again, and I had to hold still as he
slipped a pair of delicate high-heeled sandals

onto my feet. Each of the ladies shoes were sky blue leather, with
one set of straps crossing over the instep and another circling
the ankle. As Dick fastened each dainty buckle I felt as if I were
being confined into some sort of ; torture device. If possible,
the sandals made my legs seem even more beautiful and sexy than
before.

"And now," Dick smiled, removing a leather hatbox from the closet,
"the finishing touch."

Unzipping the container, he lifted the top to reveal a wig of
golden blonde hair resting on a Styrofoam stand. The hairpiece was
silky and shining and had been cut into a youthful, sexy style
with bouncing bangs and a little wave at the ends of its shoulder-
length tresses. I'd seen his mother wear it now and then, and it
somehow made her look younger. I grimaced as he lifted it from its
stand and placed it on my head.

Dick spent a long time fussing with the wig, applying some kind of
glue to my hairline and messing with dozens of clips and pins, but
when he finally let the hairpiece fall into place around my face,
the effect was staggering. It was the final ingredient in my
conversion from a slim, good-looking boy to a sexy, gorgeous girl.
The golden tresses surrounded my angelic face like the gilded
frame of a masterpiece, complimenting and even enhancing the
beauty contained within. The bangs tickled my forehead, and the
longer strands brushed my shoulders and back; strange new
sensations that combined with my ladies apparel to make me feel
quite different than I had ever felt before. It was as though I
somehow inhabited a new body, the soft, shapely body of a very
pretty young woman.

I sat there gaping at my reflection for a moment, unable to
believe that the pretty girl in the mirror was really me, but then
my thoughts were interrupted abruptly when Dick placed his hand
over my mouth and turned my face toward him. His fingers squeezed
my cheeks, and my lips puckered comically, but I wasn't laughing;
I was too terrified by the sadistic gleam I saw in my tormentor's
eyes.

"Now listen up, pussy," he said, menace dripping off each word.
"From now on, until I say different, you're a girl."

He paused to let the word sink in. As it did, I started to
protest, but he silenced me at once.

"Starting right now," he continued," you're gonna talk like a
girl, walk like a girl, sit, stand, eat, drink and think like a
girl, understand? Otherwise, I'm gonna smack you so hard your ears
won't stop ringing for a week!"

I felt tears in my eyes, but I fought them back. How could this
have happened? What could I do to resist? I had lots of questions,
but no answers.

Suddenly he tipped the chair forward, and I was forced to scramble
to my high-heeled feet. I almost stumbled in the unfamiliar shoes,
but managed to keep my balance, though I did sway a bit at first.
Standing on those tall, thin heels wasn't as hard as it looked,
and I could even take tiny steps to correct my balance without
difficulty. It was the way those shoes effected my posture that
really upset me, for the heels made my legs seem longer and
slimmer, while making my bottom stand out in a very feminine way.

"Let's see you walk," Dick said, and I took a few hesitant steps
toward him.

"No, no!" he growled. "Swivel your hips, side to side, that's it,
and make your butt squirm more. More! That's right!"

I found that by placing the heel of one shoe directly before the
pointed toe of the other I could induce my pelvis to gyrate in the
coquettish manner that Dick demanded. He had me walk back and
forth across the bathroom to practice, and soon I found the
motions coming quite naturally, as if the clothes I was wearing
insisted on a smooth, feminine gait. Little by little, Dick kept
changing my posture. When he was finally satisfied, my right hand
was resting delicately on my hip, my slender fingers pointing
toward my crotch, my elbow out to the side; my left hand was
riding palm-down on the upward curve of my bottom, fingers splayed
downward, my elbow swept back behind me; shoulders back, chin up,
eyes forward. I felt like a fashion model preparing to walk on
stage as I took a few dainty steps toward the mirror.

My reflection was even more shocking when I beheld the decidedly
feminine poise and grace with which the girl in the mirror was
moving. Her stance, her stride, her mannerisms, all said GIRL in
capital letters. What was even more unnerving was the way Dick
kept looking at me. No guy had ever looked at me that way before,
and it made me very uneasy. I felt like a candy bar waiting to be
eaten by a hungry kid.

"Okay, pussy," Dick said, suddenly opening the door to the
hallway. "It's showtime."

I froze, glaring at him in horror. "I can't."

"C'mon," he snarled, grabbing my wrist and pulling me toward the
door. "You didn't get all dolled up just to hang around in the
bathroom. We've got to show you off."

"No! I can't go out there like this!" I tried to resist, but my
high heels afforded me no proper footing against his superior
strength, and I found myself being dragged out into the hall.
"Please, Dick! Don't make me do this! Please!!"

He just stared at me with a threatening look, then pointed toward
the living room. I could hear the television out there announcing
the results of the boxing match, and I thought of my three former
friends sitting around, drinking beers, completely unaware of what
Dick had done to me. I glanced down at the twin mounds on my
chest, the miniskirt and pink nylons, the high-heeled sandals
sporting pink toenails, and I dreaded the idea of parading about
in that get-up before those guys. They'd never let me live it
down. I'd be humiliated for life, but from the look on Dick's
face, I really had no choice.

"Remember, you're a girl," he whispered as he urged me forward.
"Walk the way I told you to, and don't say anything unless I give
you permission to speak."

I nodded and reluctantly began my sexy strut down the hallway to
the living room. The tap-tap of my high heels on the floor
announced my arrival, and the guys were all gazing curiously over
their shoulders as I turned the corner. Their eyes went wide with
surprise and disbelief as they scanned my girlish attire, my
hourglass figure, my smooth legs and sexy walk. I couldn't meet
their startled gazes, so I stepped forward into the room with my
eyes lowered in shame, knowing without looking that Dick was right
behind me, smiling broadly.

For a minute they just stared at me in silence. Then the wonder in
their eyes began to change to acceptance, then approval and
something worse. It was the same look of desire I'd seen in Dick's
eyes earlier. They wanted me, the way horny guys want a pretty
girl, and only the knowledge of my real identity kept them from
acting on their desires.

"I don't believe it," Art said finally.

"It's incredible," Bob agreed.

"I told you she was a pussy," Dick grinned. "She tried to dress
like a guy, but I saw right through her disguise and convinced her
that from now on she should drop the pretending and dress like a
girl."

"Damn," Frank muttered. "He really does look like a girl, doesn't
he?"

"SHE," Dick insisted. "She IS a girl, got it?"

"What'll we call her?" Art asked, playing along with him. "She
needs a name."

"How about 'Bambi'?" Frank suggested.

"Bambi was a boy, you idiot," Bob argued.

"So," Frank replied, "this Bambi was a boy, too, before Dick got
hold of her."

"I like it," Dick smiled. "We'll call her Bambi."

Throughout this entire exchange I just stood there, head bowed in
shame, unable to believe what was happening. Not only did the
other guys voice no objections to what Dick had done to me, they
actually seemed to be enjoying my discomfort.

"Bambi," Dick said, stepping before me, and I looked up in
recognition of my new name.

"Go get me a beer," he commanded.

I hesitated only a moment, then nodded sadly and began walking
toward the kitchen. I could feel their eyes on my wriggling bottom
as my hips swayed back and forth beneath the silky material of my
skirt, and I fought hard once again to keep the tears from
breaking free, knowing that crying would only add to my
humiliation. I pushed stray strands of long, blonde hair from my
face as I crouched in my nylons and heels before the open
refrigerator door, grabbing a beer bottle and unscrewing the twist
top with my long, pink + fingernails, and I found every sensation
to be different and strange, a constant reminder of my new status
as a girl.

When I returned to the living room, Dick and the others were
seated before the television as before, watching baseball
highlights as if nothing unusual had happened. I stepped beside
Dick's chair and held out the bottle for him, but he just looked
at me and shook his head.

"In a glass," he said, then turned back to the screen.

I stood there a moment, wanting to break that bottle over his
skull, but dressed as I was made him seem even more intimidating
than usual, so I just cast a heavy sigh and headed back toward the
kitchen, knowing there was nothing I could do to escape my new
position as Dick's slavegirl.

As I left the room, I noticed the guys all sneaking glances at my
swishing rear, and I felt my cheeks blush to think that they were
secretly attracted to me sexually. Despite the fact that they knew
who I really was, they still watched me exit the room the way they
would any good-looking girl, and I wondered with a chill if any of
them were getting erections from watching me.

When I returned with Dick's glass of beer, each of the others
began making similar requests, one at a time, so that I was forced
to walk to the kitchen and back over and over again, until it
became painfully obvious that they were simply making me parade my
girlish bottom for their amusement. I hated them for what they
were doing to me, and at that time I wanted nothing more than to
get as far away from them as possible, but all I could do was obey
their instructions and hope they would release me soon.

After they'd run out of errands in the kitchen for me, Dick forced
me to pose in various sexy positions as he took my picture with
his instamatic camera. Then I was ordered to make myself useful,
"like a good girl," and do some housework as he continued to
photograph my plight. First he had me fetch a dustcloth and
furniture polish, and I was put to work on the tables and
bookshelves. Then I had to empty and wash all the ashtrays, water
the plants and put away Dick's recently laundered clothes. I had
no chance to rest at all, and my feet were starting to hurt in
those unfamiliar high heels, but I refused to give them the
satisfaction of hearing me complain, so I gritted my teeth and did
my best to wait it out in silence.

I was just starting to wash the front picture window, as
instructed, when I heard a sound that stopped my heart... the
doorbell! I turned and glared at Dick in fear, wondering who it
might be and afraid to let anyone else see me dressed as a girl.
Art, Bob and Frank also seemed a bit apprehensive about who it
might be and what might happen if someone found out what had been
done to me, but Dick was completely unruffled. He simply put his
camera away and smiled at me with that wolfish grin.

"Get the door, Bambi," he said calmly.

I just stood there staring at him in disbelief.

"Go on, girl," he insisted. "Go see who it is."

It was necessary for him to raise his hand and threaten another
painful blow before I finally gave in and agreed to open the door.
I approached the atrium slowly, reluctantly, like a virgin walking
toward a sacrificial altar. I took a deep breath that made my
false breasts swell inside my bra, then let my pink-nailed fingers
encircle the doorknob. I tried to force a pleasant half-smile onto
my girlish lips as I stepped back and swung the door open, ready
to greet whatever stood beyond with all the courage I could
gather.

I almost gasped when I saw who it was, but I managed to hide my
surprise and dismay behind a look of disinterest. Of all the
people I knew who lived in our apartment complex, there was
probably no one that I, in my present predicament, would have
wanted to avoid more than Mike, but that's exactly who I found
standing outside on the stairway.

"Hey there, gorgeous," he smiled up at me, "where'd you come
from?"

His eyes were wandering over my feminized form like it was a
sirloin steak cooked just the way he liked, and he was hungry. I
couldn't help a nervous gulp in my throat, which he noticed with
great satisfaction.

It was rare that Mike dropped by for a visit. He was a few years
older than we were and a member of the local motorcycle gang, so
he was usually off cruising on his bike with his buddies and some
babes. We generally only saw him when he needed something,
although each of us had at one time or another bragged that Mike
was "a close friend." In truth, we were all scared to death of
him, and he knew it.

He hesitated only a moment before pushing past me and strolling
into the living room as if he owned the place. Standing well over
six feet tall and carrying more than two hundred pounds of solid
muscle, he was an intimidating figure, and with his studded
leather jacket, complete with steel chains, he looked like a
character from a really bad nightmare.

"Hey, amigos," he said in a deep, booming voice.

The others responded with a chorus of "Hi, Mike!" and Dick offered
him the most comfortable chair.

"Bambi, go get Mike a cold beer," Dick commanded, and when I
hesitated, he added, "Move it, girl!"

Not knowing what else to do, I followed his instructions and
walked to the kitchen, knowing that now five pairs of male eyes
would be fixed on my wiggling backside as I left the room, and one
of those five males believed that I was really female.

"Who's the babe?" I heard Mike say, and Dick explained that I was
new to the neighborhood.

"What's she doing here," Mike asked incredulously, "with you
guys?"

His pride wounded, Dick responded to the implied insult with some
boastful and creative lies, claiming that I, as a girl, was so
hung up on him that I was virtually his slave. Not only would I do
anything he told me, I'd also serve his friends, waiting on them
hand and foot, just to please him.

Overhearing this, I felt my sense of shame deepen. Now, to protect
my real identity, I'd have to play the part Dick had created for
me. To keep Mike from discovering the truth about me, I'd have to
pretend to be a real girl in front of him. But what was worse, I'd
also have to pretend that I was infatuated with Dick, so much so
that I'd serve his every whim without question. I doubted very
much that I'd be convincing in the role, but I had little choice
other than to try my best.

Strutting sexily on my heels, I minced back into the living room
and stepped beside Mike's chair, a big recliner that somehow
seemed too small for him. His big hand reached up and took the
bottle from me, and I was mortified to see how dainty and feminine
my own hand looked in comparison. Not knowing what else to do, I
just stood there waiting for further orders.

For a while the guys were involved in watching a special on the
coming Olympic Games, and for the most part I was forgotten, which
was fine with me, but after a few minutes I noticed that Mike was
glancing at me, briefly at first, but then with increasing
frequency, until he was virtually staring at me. His gaze made me
even more uncomfortable than I already was, and I tried to ignore
it, but I couldn't help peeking at him out of the corner of my
eye, like a rabbit fascinated by an approaching wolf, and each
time I did he would smile at me and wink rather suggestively.

I pretended to be interested in the television program, hoping
he'd leave me alone, but much to my horror I felt his hand
encircle mine in a powerful grip and pull me closer. Before I
could correct my balance on those teetering heels or utter a
single sound of protest, I found myself falling over the arm of
the chair straight into his embrace. He spun me around as I
toppled over him, so that I landed with my plump, girlish behind
right on his lap. My arms were quickly pinned to my sides as he
pulled me tight against his chest with one hand, cradling me like
a child, while his other hand grasped my chin and tilted my face
toward his irresistibly.

My eyes were wide with fear as they met his gaze and saw the
passion burning there, a fierce, demanding passion I had never
seen in anyone before and never wanted to see again. He wanted me,
the way a man wants a woman, and the very thought of that made my
skin crawl.

"Tell me something, beautiful," he said softly. "Are these guys
giving you what you need?"

I was too stunned to reply. My mouth tried to form words, but no
sounds would come out.

"I've been around," Mike continued. "I know how much a pretty girl
like you needs sugar."

"Sugar?" I managed to whisper. Through gaps in my long, blonde
tresses I could see the other guys staring at us with a mixture of
surprise, bewilderment, concern and amusement on their faces. They
didn't seem to know what to do, but they obviously weren't going
to help me, since they did nothing but observe.

"Yeah, sugar," Mike repeated. "You know..."

My heart skipped a beat as he suddenly leaned over and kissed me
on the lips. It was a long, lingering kiss, deeply passionate and
demanding, unlike anything I'd ever experienced before. I was so
startled that I simply froze, uncertain what to do as I felt his
lips descend onto mine caressing my mouth with his in a firm yet
tender embrace.

When our lips finally parted I was still too shocked to move or
speak. I could hardly even think. A boy had kissed me! On the
lips! And he liked it! His eyes were glowing with pleasure, and
his smile was wide and warm.

"Sugar," he explained, "like that. Have these guys been giving you
enough?"

In a trance-like daze, I nodded my head, hoping he'd leave me
alone now, but in the back of my mind I knew he was only getting
started. He was a guy, and guys lusted after girls, and he thought
I was a girl, so... I felt myself begin to tremble in his arms.

"Bambi gets all the sugar she needs," I heard Dick say, and the
peculiar tone I noticed in his voice made me curious .

I glanced over at the guys and was surprised to see how frightened
they were. For a moment I didn't understand, but then it all came
clear to me in an instant...

Mike had kissed me!!

So far it had been a traumatic experience, but it would get an
awful lot worse if Mike were to find out who I really was. He was
a big, tough biker with a mean disposition and a poor sense of
humor, and if he ever learned that he'd been fooled into kissing
another guy... look out!

My former friends were obviously worried about the possible
consequences if Mike should learn the truth. For setting him up
like that, he'd probably beat them all senseless, thinking that
they'd done it on purpose as a joke. A chill ran down my spine. If
he'd beat them up just for keeping my real identity a secret, what
would he do to me? It seemed highly likely that he'd kill me!

So, it was no longer just my fear of Dick that kept me playing my
part, for I now had a much bigger worry. So long as Mike thought I
was female, I was safe, safe from being beaten to death anyway, so
no matter what happened from that point on, I had to make sure
that Mike never learned my true sex. If he did, I was history.

"The fact is, girls can never get enough sugar," Mike told Dick,
then turned back to me. "Isn't that right, gorgeous?"

I didn't know what to say. I certainly didn't want to agree with
him, but I was afraid to contradict him.

"Especially pretty girls," he added, "like you."

I almost gasped when I felt his hand sliding up underneath my
skirt, massaging my thigh through the pantyhose. I placed my
girlish hand over his strong forearm and tried to push his
questing fingers away, but he was too powerful and too determined.
He just smiled at me and kept reaching further and further under
my skirt. His fingers were only inches from my crotch and getting
closer by the second. Within moments he would discover what was
hidden between my legs, and the fate that would befall me then was
too ghastly to contemplate. I had to do something! Anything!

In a mounting panic, I tried to climb off his lap, but he simply
pulled me back down and continued groping toward my crotch. I
could feel his erection against my pantied bottom as I twisted and
squirmed in his lap, noting with dismay that it grew even harder
as I rubbed against it in my struggles. Turning toward him, I was
able to slide partially toward the floor, though the motion did
cause my skirt to rise up, revealing my pink panties and smooth,
featureless crotch. For a moment he tried to stop me and pulled me
back into his lap, but then he smiled and let me continue sliding
down his legs.

At first, I was relieved. Kneeling on the floor between his legs,
it was no longer possible for him to reach my crotch, so my secret
was safe again, but when I tried to rise and back away from him I
realized what I'd now gotten myself into, and the expression "out
of the frying pan into the fire" came to mind.

"Oh, I see what you want," Mike grinned at me. While one hand held
me tightly, keeping me from moving away, his other hand went to
the zipper of his trousers. "You're hungry, are you?"

I glared in horrified fascination at the rigid pole of flesh he
pulled out through the open zipper, and the thought of what he
expected me to with it made me feel suddenly sick to my stomach.
There was no way I could do something like that! No way!!

"Don't be bashful, honey," Mike insisted, grabbing me by the back
of my head and forcing my face down into his crotch. "It's all
yours."

I pressed my lips tightly together and turned my face away,
unwilling to do as he instructed, yet unable to escape this
confrontation. I looked to the other guys for support, hoping
they'd feel that things had gone far enough and would help me, but
no such luck. Dick even nodded for me to go ahead, silently
forming the words "Do it!" with his lips.

"What're you waiting for, sweetheart?" Mike asked impatiently. His
grip grew tighter on the back of my neck, and I winced in pain.
"You want to start with some rough stuff first?"

"No!" I gasped. "Please, don't hurt me!"

"All right, then," he nodded. "Get to work."

I swallowed hard and let my gaze return to the erection standing
firm and tall before me. I couldn't touch THAT! I couldn't!! Yet I
had no choice! The only way out of this in one piece was to give
Mike what he wanted, so no matter how disgusting it might be, I
had to submit.

My hands were trembling as I reached up and took the base of his
pulsing organ between my girlish fingers and began to stroke him
up and down, slowly at first, then faster, keeping up a smooth,
steady rhythm that seemed to please him. I knew just how to handle
his manhood from years of practicing on my own male tool, and he
obviously enjoyed my attentions.

"Kiss it, Bambi," he instructed. "Put your soft, sweet lips on
it."

Closing my eyes in shame, I bent forward and planted a big, juicy
kiss on the head of his organ. I felt it throb against my lips in
response, and I almost gagged.

"Suck it, girl," Mike sighed with pleasure. "Suck me off."

Fighting down the last shreds of male pride and the final dregs of
resistance, I opened my mouth and let his manly flesh slide
between my lips. I gave him pleasure reluctantly at first, letting
my tongue caress his warm staff as I slowly drew it in and out of
my mouth, but when he began to respond, tensing and trembling with
jolts of pure ecstasy, I tried harder to satisfy him, knowing that
the sooner he came, the sooner he would go. Licking and sucking
and jerking my head up and down, I crammed his male meat as far
into my mouth as it would go and stimulated him in every way I
could. I thought back on blowjobs I had gotten in the past and did
my best to imitate those girls who had pleased me most. Little did
I suspect back then that someday I'd be using their techniques
myself on another guy.

Whatever I was doing, it was effective, because after a few
minutes Mike's erection was about as stiff as it could get. It
felt like an iron bar between my lips. Suddenly he shuddered and
gasped, and I felt his organ quiver. Then his erection throbbed
violently, once, twice, again, and I felt a warm, sticky fluid
with a salty taste erupt inside my mouth. I swallowed as quickly
as I could and sucked every last drop from the tip of his organ
before finally letting the limp but satisfied penis fall from my
lips.

"Wow!" Mike sighed. "That was incredible!"

Unable to look at him or any of the others, I busied myself by
putting his shriveled manhood back into his pants and pulling up
his zipper.

"Bambi," he said, and I reluctantly lifted my head to meet his
gaze. "You're the best cocksucker I've ever met!"

The words shamed me deeply, but knowing that he'd meant it to be a
compliment, I tried to smile and whispered a very insincere
thanks. At least it was over, I thought. Maybe now I could get out
of that damned dress and go home.

My hopes were short-lived however, for no sooner had I thanked
Mike for calling me a "cocksucker" then I heard Dick's voice
echoing his sentiments.

"That's true," he was saying. "She sure can tame trouser snakes,
no doubt about it. I'll bet she could suck the chrome off a
trailer hitch."

The guys all laughed at the old joke, probably releasing tension,
and then Dick said the words that dashed my last hopes to the
ground...

"Speaking of which," he continued, "Bambi, get your pretty little
ass over here and take care of business."

I glared at him in disbelief as he reached down and unzipped his
pants. This was too much! Giving Mike a blowjob was bad enough,
but at least he didn't know any better, since he thought I was a
real girl. Dick, on the other hand, not only knew who I was and
what had been done to me, he was responsible for doing it! And now
he expected me to suck him off, just as I'd done for Mike! It was
beyond belief!

Looking around, I saw that the other guys were startled as well.
They seemed to find it hard to believe that Dick was serious, and
they turned to me to see how I would react. My first thought was
to tell Dick to go fuck himself and storm out of there. After all,
enough was enough! But then I remembered Mike and what Dick had
told him about me. It would seem strange, to say the least, for me
to refuse Dick a blowjob after giving one to Mike, since I was
supposed to be totally infatuated with Dick. According to what
Mike believed, giving Dick a blowjob should make me very happy.
How could I deny Dick's request without raising Mike's suspicions?
I hesitated as long as I dared, trying to think of some way out of
this rapidly deteriorating situation, but in the end I had no
alternative, so after a few moments I lowered my head and crawled
across the carpet on my knees to where Dick was sitting. I only
looked up at him once, and the evil satisfaction in his eyes was
too much to bear, so I dropped my gaze and focused my attention on
the stiffening organ that he pulled from his trousers.

I repeated my performance, and Dick seemed to enjoy my attentions
every bit as much as Mike had, maybe more. I noted with a strange
detachment that Dick's flesh tasted somewhat different than
Mike's, and his erection was shaped differently, with a larger
head and a thicker base. The thought occurred to me that I was
reluctantly becoming a connoisseur of cocks, and the idea was
almost painful.

Dick's erection grew and grew, until it reached awesome
proportions. I could only fit about half of it in my mouth, and it
was still growing! I'd never suspected that Dick was so well
endowed, and of course I'd never expected to get such a first-hand
education. Suddenly it exploded in a release of tart, gooey jism
that slid down my throat like warm molasses, and once again I
cleaned up the male I had satisfied, hoping that at last my ordeal
was over.

But still the nightmare went on, for no sooner had I placed Dick's
penis back in his trousers then I heard another zipper being
pulled down. I turned in alarm to find Frank smiling down at me,
his eyes gleaming wickedly above his sinister grin.

"I'm next, Backbit he insisted, and moments later I was kneeling
before him, my head in his lap, my lips wrapped around his
manhood, licking and sucking for all I was worth.

My worst fears came true after that, for as I had begun to
suspect, my torment would not now end until I had satisfied all
five males in the room. After Frank, Art was next, and then
finally Bob. When at last the fifth erection had unloaded its
juices down my throat, I was allowed to rest, and I collapsed on
the floor beside the couch in exhaustion. My jaw was aching, my
lips felt chapped and the back of my throat was sore from being
poked so often, but all my physical discomforts paled beside the
tremendous weight of shame and embarrassment I felt.

I couldn't imagine that anyone had ever felt more humiliated than
I did just then, dressed like a sexy girl, a virtual prisoner,
lying at the feet of several guys whose cocks I'd just sucked. It
was almost more than I could bear, and I may have come close to
having a nervous breakdown, but all I did was lie there in
silence, sulking over the cruelty of my fate and wishing I'd never
been born. I think I dozed off for a while, for the next thing I
knew it was dark outside and the guys were at the door saying
good-bye to Mike. I didn't try to rise, but just laid there with
my eyes closed, wondering if at last I would be allowed to change
clothes and leave. I could hear Dick and the others whispering
about something, but couldn't pick out any of the words.

I looked up when I sensed the guys standing over me, and as they
reached down to help me to my high-heeled feet I assumed that they
were going to take me to the bathroom and undo everything that
Dick had done to me. Eyes partly closed, swaying unsteadily on my
heels, I let them lead me down the hall without resistance, but as
we turned right instead of left I realized they were taking me
into the master bedroom, and I started to struggle.

"What are you doing?" I asked nervously.

They made no response, but continued to guide me forward, and when
I tried to stop them they practically dragged me into the room.
Without a word, they carried me to the bed and threw me face-down
on the mattress. It was all so strange, and everything was
happening so quickly, I had no time to think, no opportunity to
resist.

Before I could move, Frank had climbed onto the bed in front of me
and taken both my wrists in a firm grasp, holding my arms
stretched out before me. At the same time, Bob took hold of my
right ankle and pulled it toward one corner of the mattress as Art
grabbed my left ankle and drew it the opposite way, pulling my
legs-as wide apart as they would go. A frightening suspicion was
beginning to form in my clouded thoughts when I felt Dick's hands
reach up under my skirt, his fingers sliding over my girlish rear
to grasp the top of my pantyhose. I heard the click of his
switchblade and felt the material tear as Dick cut the nylon in
two. I was too stunned to move, unable to accept what appeared to
be happening.

Then I felt him cutting away the bottom of the women's
undergarment that lay at the base of my disguise, and suddenly I
was more vulnerable than I had ever been before in my life. With a
shock I realized that my bare ass was now hanging out, totally
unprotected, and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.
I still hadn't come to terms with what was going on, but my
instincts were warning me of serious trouble heading my way, so I
started to struggle with my captors in a futile attempt to break
free, but they just laughed at me.

"Okay," Dick said from behind me, "hold her still."

HER!?

For a moment I was so startled to hear myself referred to in the
feminine gender that I thought of nothing else, but then I became
aware that Dick was doing something behind me, so I glanced back
to see him open a small tube and smear a clear gelatin onto his
middle finger. Before I could react, he reached forward and with a
single swift motion plunged his greasy finger directly into my
anus! I almost died of shock and embarrassment! It was too
horrible to be real, yet it was happening! I could feel his finger
inside me as he spread the goop around, covering my sphincter and
beyond.

Even then, I still hadn't fully accepted what was about to happen.
I kept thinking that they must be up to something else. It
couldn't be THAT! No, they'd never do THAT! THAT was unthinkable!

Yet THAT is exactly what they did, for as I looked back at him,
Dick smiled at me and began to unzip his trousers once more. His
organ was fully erect again when he removed it from his pants.

I began to shake my head, glaring at him in astonished disbelief
as he stepped forward and climbed onto the mattress behind me. He
couldn't do THAT! He COULDN'T!

It wasn't until I felt the head of his erection slipping smoothly
between my ass cheeks and pressing firmly against my sphincter
that the truth became undeniable. Even before his organ forced its
way inside me, I knew there was nothing I could do to stop him. I
was helpless, and he was going to rape me!

"NO!!" I screamed. "You can't do this!! Stop!! NO!!"

Yet even as I voiced my useless protests, Dick was penetrating my
virgin bottom, sliding irresistibly inside me, using my anal
orifice in a way it had never been used before and had never
really been meant to be used. The pain am was intense, a burning
agony that went deeper and deeper inside. And then he was all the
way in, and his erection was touching me in places I never knew I
had. I could feel his hairy balls against my bare ass, his
muscular thighs pressed against my soft, smooth skin.

My mind rebelled, trying to deny what was happening, but as he
began to slide back out, then in, then out, then in, the reality
of my situation became indisputable. He was fucking me! I was
being fucked like a girl! I had a male organ plunging deep inside
me again and again in search of sexual satisfaction, and it was
not just a terrible nightmare! It was real! Gradually, as he
pumped his erection in and out of me with a steady, mechanical
rhythm, the pain I'd been feeling subsided somewhat, and another
much stronger sensation grew to dominate my awareness. It was a
strange kind of tingling, a pleasant feeling unlike anything I'd
ever felt before, and as it grew more intense I felt my thoughts
begin to swim in unexpected and unwanted enjoyment. How could it
feel like that? It was wrong! Everything I knew told me that, so
why did it feel good?

I heard myself moaning softly as he continued to pump his manhood
into me, and despite my revulsion I had to admit that the
sensations I was experiencing were truly and uniquely pleasurable.
I never would have guessed that being raped by a male would feel
like that, but I couldn't deny it. After a while, it felt good!

I was just on the verge of reaching orgasm, a strange kind of
orgasm unlike any I'd ever had before, when I felt Dick's erection
shudder and begin spewing its contents into my rectum. Part of me
was relieved that the ordeal was ending, but another part resented
the fact that he'd come before I'd had a chance to reach my
climax. As his shrinking member withdrew, I experienced a strange
feeling of emptiness and unfulfillment, and I sighed both with
relief and longing.

My lack of satisfaction was not long to be endured, however, for
no sooner had Dick retracted his organ than Art was switching
places with him, his erection every bit as eager to penetrate my
soft, warm hole as Dick's had been. This time the organ slid in
smoothly and immediately began to stimulate and arouse me in that
strange way. Within minutes I was pumping my own juices into the
mattress beneath me, deliriously caught up in the most unusual
orgasm I'd ever known. The rest of the night became a blur after
that.

I know that I was raped by all four of my former friends, and I
fell asleep still clad in my minidress and heels, still wearing my
wig and make-up. As I drifted off to a restless sleep, I remember
the strange sensation of being hugged and kissed and caressed by
several guys lying beside me in bed. The last thing I recall is
hearing Dick's voice whispering to the others...

"I say we keep her."



SUNDAY



When I awoke in the morning, I was alone. I was still in bed in
Dick's parents' apartment, and I was surprised to find that I was
naked under the sheets. For a moment I wondered if it had all been
just a nightmare, and I hoped with all my being that it was, but
looking under the covers I noticed that my body was still smooth
and hairless, my hands were still adorned with false fingernails
polished a bright pink, like my toenails, and I still smelled of
sweetly scented bubble bath. Much to my dismay, I realized that it
had all been too real, and everything I remembered had actually
happened.

Apparently, someone had removed the women's clothes I'd been
wearing, including the wig, and then put me to bed under the
covers. Judging by the sunlight streaming in through the window,
it was getting to be late morning, so by my best estimate I'd been
unconscious for more than twelve hours. Between emotional
exhaustion and physical trauma, the ordeal of the day before had
wiped me out, and as I sat up in bed I felt far from rested and
refreshed.

In fact, as memories of the previous day came flooding back to me,
I began to feel more and more depressed, hurt and humiliated. I
still couldn't believe what Dick and the others had done to me.
How could I ever look them in the eyes again? How would I live
down the shame of being raped by four horny guys while dressed
like a pretty girl? Soon I felt tears coursing down my cheeks, and
then a sob shook my chest, followed by another and another, and
before I knew it I was crying my eyes out and sobbing
hysterically. With each tear, each ragged breath, my feelings of
humiliation and regret grew more intense, until I thought I might
actually die of the shame I felt.

When my emotional outburst finally exhausted itself, I raised my
head from the tear-soaked pillows, still sniffling and coughing
between occasional sobs, and glanced up with a start to find Dick
standing over me, looking at me strangely, with a sad kind of
compassion in his eyes, as though he had just spanked a child and
was watching it cry. His gaze seemed to carry both sympathy for my
plight and an adamant refusal to apologize for causing it.

"When your feeling up to it," he said softly, "you can take a
nice, warm bath, and I'll make you some breakfast."

I looked away, unable to face him after what he'd done to me. I
wanted to scream at him, to hit him, to hurt him as badly as he'd
hurt me, or worse, but I couldn't find the strength within me. I
had always been rather passive and easy-going by nature, and my
experience of the previous day only enhanced these submissive
tendencies, making me feel quite timid. Just by being in the same
room with me, Dick was able to cow me into submission, and I had
no doubt that I would now do whatever he told me to do,
reluctantly but without argument, for I no longer had the will to
resist him. My pride, my confidence, my self-esteem had all been
stripped away, and all I had left was fear and obedience.

"I'll start the bath water for you," Dick said, heading for the
bathroom. "Come in when you're ready."

I just sat there for a little while, wondering what I should do
next. I wanted to get far away from that place and particularly
that guy in the next room, but I had no idea where my clothes
were, and I still had to do something about the false fingernails
on my hands and the traces of make-up that I knew would still be
on my face. It occurred to me then that maybe Dick felt bad for
what he'd done and was going to help me regain my old appearance
as best he could. I climbed slowly out of bed and trailed after
him into the bathroom, wondering if I was right and hoping that my
torment would soon be over.

The moment I entered the bathroom, however, I knew that my guess
was wrong and I was hoping in vain, for the air was rich with the
fresh scent of wild flowers once more, and the tub was quickly
filling with pink bubbles again. I looked at Dick, surprise and
disappointment obvious in my eyes, but he just smiled that strange
smile and gestured toward the tub.

"Your bath awaits, M'Lady," he said in a serious tone.

"Call me when you're finished and I'll come dry you."

I swallowed nervously. If it wasn't over, what was Dick going to
do to me next? It was a frightening thought.

"While you're bathing," he continued, moving toward the door,
"I'll pick out what I want you to wear today, something nice and
sexy that shows off your pretty legs."

I was too stunned to reply. It was obvious now that he planned to
dress me up like a girl again. I didn't know why, but I had an
awful feeling that it would lead to a repeat performance of the
previous night's rape scene, and though that possibility terrified
me, I didn't see what I could do to prevent it.

When the tub was full, I shut off the water and climbed into the
pink froth as instructed. The last thing I wanted to do was to
start preparing myself for another day in skirts, but what else
could I do? I knew I'd never be able to stand up to Dick, not
after what he'd done to me the day before in bed, so disobedience
was out of the question. Like it or not, I had to follow his
orders. After I'd been soaking for about ten minutes, Dick
returned and helped me out of the tub, then dried me off with a
big, pink, fluffy towel. He then proceeded to cover me with a
foul-smelling gel from my face to my ankles, and a glance at the
label on the container told me it was a depilatory cream, designed
to remove my body hair well below the surface. It would now be
weeks before I began to grow back the hair Dick had shaved off me
the day before. A quick shower removed the cream, after it had
done its work, and then more lotions were rubbed into my skin,
making me feel baby smooth and soft all over.

I had to sit patiently in front of the mirror once more while Dick
removed the previous day's cosmetics with some cold cream, then
restored my pretty girl's face with a new application of make-up.
The blonde wig, which had been brushed out and replaced on its
stand, was once again attached to my head, and the gorgeous girl
I'd seen in the mirror the previous day was back once more.

Once Dick had finished my face, we returned to the bedroom, where
I saw several items of clothing laid out on the bed, and judging
by the color and the texture of the fabrics, they were girls'
clothes. It wasn't until I got a really close look, however, that
I recognized the design and purpose of the outfit. It was old and
a little dated, fashion-wise, but cheerleader uniforms hadn't
changed that much in twenty years, so I knew without a doubt what
it was. It was an easy guess that Dick had gotten his mother's old
cheerleading uniform out of storage, and now he expected me to
wear it.

I wanted to resist, to refuse to cooperate any further, but I had
already lost so much and sunk so low, there seemed little point in
standing up to Dick now, even if I'd had the strength to do it,
which I didn't. All I could do was to play along with him until he
got tired of humiliating me and let me go home. Hopefully that
would be soon.

So I offered no resistance as Dick began to dress me in his
mother's clothes again, although I did follow each instruction
with the greatest reluctance. After putting another one-piece
figure shaper on me and restoring the two pink water balloons to
their resting place on my chest, Dick slipped a pair of white
rhumba panties up my legs and around my waist, and the frilly
little ruffles that covered its surface made my crotch seem even
smoother and my bottom seem even bigger than before.

The pantyhose he slid onto my smooth legs were a bright maroon in
color and very sheer, and they were followed by a matching blouse
and skirt of white cotton with maroon stripes and lettering. The
name of our high school was spelled out in bold block print right
across the bulging mounds of my false breasts, making my girlish
shape even more noticeable. The skirt was very short and pleated,
so it took very little movement on my part to make the hem rise up
or spin outward to reveal a glimpse of frilly panties underneath.

The last item of women's apparel forced on me was a pair of
gleaming white leather boots with high, spike heels. They encased
my nylon-clad feet tightly, being perhaps a size too small, but
once they were securely zipped up they looked perfect, and my legs
appeared as beautiful and sexy in the feminine footwear as any
girl's could. Once again, I had to practice walking in high heels,
but I picked it up much more quickly this time and was soon
strutting my girlish stuff around the room as if I'd been doing it
all my life, much to Dick's satisfaction.

A11 during my transformation into the pretty cheerleader who now
gazed back at me from the mirror, Dick had been studying me with
increasing intensity, until now that look of hunger was back in
his eyes. I could sense his carnal interest growing each time I
swiveled my hips or tossed back my long, blonde hair or let my
false breasts jiggle in their cups as I minced daintily before
him. I felt like a lamb under the watchful eye of the wolf, too
frightened to do anything more than hope he goes away.

"Okay," he said after a while, "I guess you're ready, so let's get
going. I don't want to be late."

"GOING!?" I gasped, surprised at how timid and feminine my voice
sounded. "Going WHERE!?"

"It's Sunday," he shrugged. "Softball, remember?"

My eyes went wide with alarm. For the first time I realized that
he was wearing his football jersey and sweat pants, the same
things he always wore to our weekly softball game on the
neighborhood field. On the other hand, I was dressed quite
differently than usual, and the thought of having the guys from
the team see me prancing around in my skirt and high heels was too
much to bear."I can't go to the field dressed like this!"

"Of course you can," he assured me, reaching out to take me by the
hand, "and you will."

"No, please, Dick," I begged him. "Don't make me do this, please!"

My appeals all fell on deaf ears, and he was smiling sadistically
as he practically dragged me to the front door. "Don't worry," he
said. "All you have to do is act l like a pretty girl and do
exactly as I say. Nobody will suspect a thing."

before I could say another word he was pulling me after him down
the stairs, and I was trying my best not to trip in my high heels.
And then, suddenly, we were outside!

Just stepping out into the sunlight and being in the open, dressed
as I was, was enough to send me into a state of near panic. I made
no further protests to Dick, for I was too frightened to speak. I
just followed along behind him as he led me down the street, my
thoughts whirling in a maelstrom of fear and embarrassment. I was
outside, where anyone might see me, and the risk of exposure was
at its highest.

Gradually, as we walked, I allowed myself to adopt all the
feminine mannerisms I could think of, supplementing my sexy walk
with graceful hand gestures and an occasional toss of my long,
blonde tresses. As galling as it was to play the part of a female
in public, I knew it would be far better to be taken for a girl
than to be recognized and ridiculed as a boy in skirts, for I was
equally sure that if things went wrong, Dick and the others would
simply claim that I liked dressing up in women's clothes and deny
any responsibility for my appearance. How would I prove they were
lying? And even if I could, would it matter? I'd still be
disgraced and humiliated no matter how I got like this. Getting
the guys in trouble for what they'd done would be cold comfort to
me at that point. I just wanted to escape the entire ordeal as
soon as possible and then forget I ever knew those bastards I used
to call friends. Meanwhile, however, I'd have to pretend to be
just what I appeared to be... a pretty girl in a cheerleader
outfit on her way to watch her boyfriend play softball.

When Dick noticed my efforts to appear more feminine, he smiled at
me and nodded. "Good girl. The more girlish you look, the less
suspicious people will be. I'm glad to see you've got some brains
in that pretty head of yours."

When we got to the field, Dick paused to build up my confidence,
reminding me how feminine and beautiful I looked and promising
that no one would find out about me, so long as I did exactly what
he told me to do. I nodded my agreement reluctantly, and we
started off toward a group of guys drinking beers on the far end
of the field. As we got closer, Dick told me to put my arm around
him, so I did, and we walked up to the others looking to all the
world like a young man and his very sexy girlfriend. Art, Bob and
Frank were already there, staring at me as I approached them, and
I couldn't meet their gazes. What they'd done to me the day before
was still very fresh in my memory, and I didn't think I would ever
forgive them. The other guys from our team didn't have the
slightest idea who I really was, and they all stared at me,
sweeping their hungry eyes up and down my feminine figure as if I
was an item on the dessert tray to be craved and drooled over.

"Guys," Dick said by way of introduction, "I'd like you meet a
friend of mine. say `Hi,' Bamb."

I nodded politely to each of them as they introduced themselves,
afraid to speak in case someone might recognize my voice. All the
time, half of them were staring at my breasts while the other half
studied my nylon-clad thighs. The thought of what these guys would
do to me if they could sent a shiver down my spine, and I resolved
not to stray far from Dick's side, if only for the protection he
offered me from the rest of the males.

No one else on either team had brought their girlfriend along, so
I appeared to be the only girl there that day, and somehow that
made my situation seem even worse.

"Hey, where's that wimpy little pinch runner today?" someone from
the other team asked, and my ears burned, for I knew he meant me.

"He's not playing anymore," Dick explained. "Don't worry. We don't
need him."

I looked at the ground and hoped no one had noticed the blush that
warmed my cheeks.

"Well, let's play ball," somebody said, and the game got under
way.

It felt strange to be standing there in the dugout watching,
instead of out there on the field playing, but what was even
stranger was the way the guys kept glancing in my direction at
every opportunity. My girlish good looks and sexy figure were
drawing their eyes like magnets, and I couldn't help feeling
flattered by all the attention, though I was also frightened and
embarrassed by it as well.

During the seventh inning stretch, Dick and the captain of the
other team got together to set up a wager on the outcome of the
game. I couldn't hear what they were betting, since they'd walked
out of earshot by then, but I assumed it would be money or beer,
as usual. Whatever it was, it certainly seemed to inspire them
all. I couldn't recall ever seeing such a fierce final inning. In
the end it all came down to a last minute homer with two outs and
a count of two and two, and our team lost by a single run.

Despite the loss, my former teammates seemed in good spirits as
they crowded around me in the dugout. A few of those who didn't
know who I was were trying to impress me with recaps of their
greatest moments from the game. I just nodded and pretended to
enjoy the attention.

I was rather surprised when the circle of guys around me opened up
to let the other team approach. There was something about them, a
look in their eyes that worried me, and I was suddenly aware of my
position... a pretty girl surrounded by almost twenty horny males.
The skin at the nape of my neck began to tingle with fear.

"Okay," the opposing captain said to Dick. "You lost, so pay up."

Rather than answer him, Dick turned to me with a very serious
expression on his face. Putting his arm around my waist, he led me
off to the side a little, then whispered in my ear.

"A bet's a bet," he said grimly. "We lost, so we have to make good
on our end."

I didn't understand why he was telling me this.

"What did you wager?" I asked.

He looked me straight in the eyes. "You."

I was too startled to respond.

"Your gonna have to do this, Bambi. There's no other way."

"Do what?" I asked in a trembling voice.

"The bet was that if we won, they'd buy all the beer for the rest
of the season, but if they won, you'd give each of them a
blowjob."

I felt all the blood drain from my face as my mouth opened in a
loud gasp. "WHAT!?"

"I really thought we'd win," Dick explained. "I didn't think you'd
actually have to do it."

"I can't!" I pleaded. "I can't do THAT!"

"Oh, come on," he argued, "it's not like you've never sucked cock
before."

I lowered my head in shame, unable to reply.

"You really have no choice," he continued. "You can do it
willingly, or I can tell them to take you by force. Either way,
you're gonna drink a lot of come today."

Once again I felt the need to scream, to run, to escape from this
nightmare, but there was nothing I could do. I was sure that Dick
was serious when he threatened to have the guys rape me if I
resisted, and that would certainly be worse than the alternative.
Like it or not, I had to cooperate.

As he led me back over to the circle of guys, I thought about the
sick and twisted joke Dick was about to play on his opponents,
letting them think they were being sexually serviced by a pretty
girl, when all the time they were getting sucked off by a boy in
drag. The other guys didn't know it, and I couldn't help it, but
the fact remained that Dick was maneuvering each of us into
performing a homosexual act. I was sure that the thought of that
pleased him immensely.

When I got to the center of the ring of standing figures, I found
the captain of the opposing team sitting on the bench with his
back to the wall, staring up at me expectantly. I had to suppress
a nervous swallow as noticed that his zipper was open and his
fully erect manhood was standing rigidly at attention.

"Okay, Bambi," Dick said, patting my rear end gently.

"Get to work."

Without looking at the guy sitting before me or any of the other
males around me, I knelt down on the dugout floor between the
young man's legs and lowered my face down into his crotch, taking
his waiting organ straight into my mouth. I sucked him off with
consummate skill, for I was rapidly becoming quite good at it, and
mere moments after I'd choked down several gulps of his semen,
another guy was sitting down beside him and whipping out his
erection for servicing.

As I moved from one male organ to another, giving blowjob after
blowjob, the ring of softball players continued to surround me,
watching intently, their bodies shielding my activities from
prying eyes. After a while my jaw began to ache again, yet the
young men kept on coming in a seemingly endless line. In time, my
stomach began to churn from all the semen I'd swallowed, and I
thought might get sick, but then suddenly it was over. I let yet
another limp organ slide out from between my soft lips and turned
to take on the next one, only to discover that I was done.

Each and every one of those guys had come in my mouth, and at last
it was over. Ten blowjobs in all. With a wince I realized that
very few real girls could claim to have sucked off an entire
softball team. It was a dubious distinction to be sure, and I
wished quite fervently that it wasn't so, but there was no denying
the taste in my mouth or the shame in my heart. In less than
twenty-four hours I had sucked off fifteen guys, and somehow I
knew that my life was never going to be the same again.

Art, Frank and Bob said good-bye to Dick and me at the field.
There was a brief, whispered conversation between Dick and Art,
and then Dick led me toward the playground area while the other
guys headed back to the apartment complex. I followed along
feeling like an object, a possession with no free will of my own.
For all intents and purposes, Dick owned me now and could do
whatever he wanted with me. Until he decided to let me go, I was
his slave, and the longer I allowed things to go on like this, the
weaker my resistance would become.

I might have fought against my feminization from the start, or
even after Dick had completely transvestized me, or even after the
other guys had seen me dressed that way, or after Mike had kissed
me and I'd performed my first blowjob, or after I'd been raped, or
even now, after I'd sucked off a whole softball team and before
Dick could begin his next torment, I could still try to refuse his
mad demands, but with each concession I made, with each
opportunity for resistance I let slip past me, the consequences of
disobedience grew, until now the price of freedom was just too
high. I knew that no matter what Dick wanted to do to me, I'd let
him, for my fear of exposure was now so great, I'd do almost
anything to keep people from learning who I really was and what
Dick had made me do.

Walking past the playground, I was startled by a little girl who
ran up to me from behind calling "Mommy, wait!" When I turned to
face her, she realized her mistake and looked embarrassed, and
both of us were blushing brightly when she turned to run off and
look elsewhere for her mother. Dick found the girl's error quite
amusing, and when he saw my reddened cheeks, he actually laughed
out loud.

"I bet you'll make a wonderful mother someday," he chuckled, and I
tried to ignore this and other comments he made as we continued
walking.

On the far side of the playground, we turned toward the bus stop,
and Dick gestured for me to sit beside him on the bench. My heart
began to beat a little faster as I wondered what he was up to now.

"From now on," he said in his most solemn tone, "I want you
touching me at all times. Hold my hand, put your arm around my
waist, rub your fingers on the back of my neck, something like
that. Even if you're just leaning against me, I want some part of
you in contact with me at all times. Got it?"

"I guess so," I said softly. "Why?"

"Don't ask questions!" he growled. "Just do it!"

"Okay," I sighed, slipping my arm around behind him to hug his
waist. "Like this?"

"That's fine," he nodded. "Good girl."

Hearing myself referred to as a girl again embarrassed me just as
it had before, but what was worse was the way he'd said it,
without any trace of sarcasm or humor, as if he were talking to a
real girl. I wondered, not for the last time, just what in the
world was going on inside Dick's twisted brain. Could he be more
than just a little crazy?

When the bus arrived, Dick rose and walked toward it with me
trailing close behind him, reluctantly trying to follow his
instructions and maintain constant physical contact with him. As
we boarded up the steps I took his hand, and he smiled at me with
approval. Then he reached back for his wallet to give the driver
our fares, so I slipped my hand around his arm and kept it there
until we had taken seats near the back of the bus.

The insidiously clever nature of his latest demand became apparent
to me as we walked down the aisle to our seats past the other
passengers, for I realized that in their eyes my constant efforts
to hold on to Dick's hand or arm or waist would simply be taken as
the rather possessive behavior of a young lady toward her
boyfriend. No one would ever have guessed that I was only touching
him because I'd been ordered to, so everyone who saw us would
undoubtedly come to the same conclusion... I was Dick's
girlfriend, and I was quite attached to him, literally. His
seeming indifference to my attentions only made it worse, as
though he was simply tolerating my constant efforts to touch and
hold him, like a patient boyfriend indulging his silly, overly
romantic girl.

Once we had taken our seats, I slipped my arm around his waist
again, then asked him several times where we were going, but all
he would say was, "You'll see," or "Keep your panties on," or
something like that, so I passed the time gazing out the window,
hoping that no one I knew would see me sitting there dressed like
a cheerleader with my arm around another guy.

Under the circumstances, I was naturally quite anxious concerning
our destination. Dick could take me anywhere he wanted to, and I'd
have to go along, like it or not, and who knew what would happen
when we got there? My imagination conjured up all sorts of bizarre
possibilities, each more frightening than the last, but nothing I
dreamed up came close to the reality I was about to experience.

The bus was just turning into the entrance to the local shopping
mall when Dick pulled me to my feet, and I glared at him in
surprise and fear. There were more than a thousand people
clustered about the mall on an average Sunday, and any number of
them might be people I knew. It was the most populous, most
crowded environment I could imagine, and if somehow someone were
to recognize me... The very thought put goose bumps on my arms. I
couldn't go strolling through the mall on Sunday in a cheerleading
outfit! This was insane! Yet there was nothing I could do but
follow him back down the aisle and out onto the sidewalk with my
girlish hands clutching at his arm the whole time.

I had hoped briefly that we might just merge into the crowd and
lose ourselves in anonymity, but almost everyone we passed seemed
to notice me in my skimpy, sexy cheerleader uniform, and most of
the men who saw me obviously found it a pleasant sight. Among the
women, some frowned at me with disapproval, glaring at my short
skirt and my flirtatious walk in disgust, but others seemed amused
by the way I clung to my boyfriend's arm or hugged him around the
waist so possessively, as though he might vanish if I were to let
him go even for a moment. Girls my own age seemed to ignore me,
focusing instead on the boy beside me, although a few appeared
interested in my hairstyle or my shade of nailpolish, but it was
in boys my age that I noticed the biggest change, for almost every
single one of them went out of his way to stare at me with an
undisguised desire burning in his eyes. I could almost hear the
old line, "I wouldn't throw her out of bed!" as it flickered
through the mind of one teenage boy after Other.

Against my will and despite my revulsion, I had been turned into a
sex object for my own sex, irresistibly admired and desired by
heterosexual men for my seemingly female beauty. With absolutely
no encouragement of any sort from me, I was attracting male
attention like a flower might lure a hive of bees, and every drone
who saw me appeared to want nothing more than to insert his
stinger between my stems and pollinate me.

The memory of Dick and the other guys doing just that was still
quite fresh in my mind, and the thought that I had indeed already
been used by males for carnal satisfaction highlighted the fact
that I could be used that way again, with or without my consent. I
had taken on the appearance of a girl, a female receptacle for
male passion, and every guy I met now saw me as a potential and
very desirable sex partner, an unavoidable misperception on their
part that frightened and revolted me yet could not be remedied so
long as I looked the way I did.

At the entrance to Atta Girl, a popular clothing store for young
women, Dick took my hand and led me inside with a warning to
follow his instructions and act my part. I still wasn't sure what
was going on, but I was getting more frightened by the moment. I
tried to look calm and composed as Dick led me over to the counter
where several salesgirls were gathered, but my heart was pounding
so hard I was afraid it might be noticeable, perhaps by the
rhythmic jiggling of the twin mounds on my chest or the hot flush
I felt building up in my cheeks.

"Hello, girls," Dick said as we approached the counter. He put his
arm around my shoulders and gave me a little squeeze. "This is
Bambi."

I listened in well disguised astonishment as he proceeded to tell
them a long and detailed story about how I had recently moved to
his neighborhood and how only hours earlier I'd been victimized by
a burglar in my apartment who'd stolen everything, including every
stitch of clothing I'd had, except what I was wearing.

His audience was understandably sympathetic, and accepted their
comments of "How awful" and "You poor girl" with a grateful nod or
two. When Dick went on to explain that his mother had an account
at this store and had generously offered to buy me a whole new
wardrobe, or rather to lend Dick the money until he could pay her
back, the girls totally reversed themselves, telling me what a
lucky girl I was to have such a wonderful boyfriend. The way I
clung to his arm, they probably assumed I was grateful to him and
felt appreciative, while in fact I was feeling rather bewildered.
Was he really going to buy me a whole wardrobe of girls' clothes?
What in the world for?

Then one of the girls introduced herself as Sally, the assistant
manager, and offered to help me with my purchases. I gratefully
accepted, since I had no idea what I should be buying, in what
size, or very much of anything at all about girls' clothing. She
advised me on everything, from hats to shoes and from the skin
out, proving herself most invaluable as a teacher as well as a
salesperson, although I doubt she suspected that I'd never bought
a single article of female clothing before in my life and was just
now learning it all for the first time from her. I let her do all
the talking, simply nodding in agreement every now and then,
occasionally looking at Dick for approval of something she'd
suggested. He had very specific ideas about how he wanted me
dressed and pretty much dictated to us both what my wardrobe would
include, adamantly insisting on dresses and skirts, instead of
slacks or jeans, and pumps and sandals rather than sneakers or
loafers. I just stood beside him, my arm curled about his waist,
pretending I wanted and appreciated his help, like some dumb
blonde eager to please her lover.

When Sally suggested that I start trying on some of the clothes, I
turned to Dick with a look of barely visible panic. He remarked
that it wasn't necessary to try on everything, especially the
undergarments, but he did want me to try on a few dresses and
skirts, in case some alterations were needed. I looked deeply into
his eyes, silently asking if I really had to do this, and he
smiled, then gave me a hug.

"Go ahead," he whispered as his mouth passed my ear.

"You can stop touching me until the fitting is over."

Feeling a little dazed and frightened, I agreed to try on the
garments he'd indicated and followed Sally as she carried them
into the changing room. I was taken by surprise and had to
suppress a gasp of alarm as the salesgirl began helping my out of
my blouse and skirt, as if it was the most natural thing in the
world, and indeed as far as she was concerned we were both girls,
so what was the big deal?

It was quite a big deal to me, however, to find myself wearing
panties, pantyhose and a ladies' support garment while standing
before a pretty girl not much older than I was. The smooth crotch
of my panties gave no evidence of the manhood I had tucked away
between my legs, and the mounds on my chest seemed quite real as
they bulged outward in their elastic cups. Even the nipples seemed
real, so much so that when Sally glanced at them and noticed their
seemingly erect state, she gave me a very strange look, as if to
ask, "Why are you getting aroused now? Are you a lesbian or
something?" I was far too embarrassed to respond, so I just stood
there blushing while she attended to my fitting.

Not knowing how to put on or take off most of the clothes I was to
try on, I let Sally do everything, standing there like a mannequin
as she dutifully dressed me, first in one outfit and then another.
Between each change of clothes I had to go out and model the
outfit for Dick. He'd stand there grinning at me, telling me to
turn this way or move my arms that way, having me pose like some
cover girl for his amusement.

After trying on several sexy minidresses, an evening gown, some
leather miniskirts and a few very girlish blouses, we went to the
shoe section where Sally helped me remove my high-heeled boots and
slip my stockinged feet into several pairs of pumps, sandals and
bedroom slippers. All had heels as high or higher than the ones
I'd been wearing, and I know I must have seemed a little unsure of
myself as I walked around in each pair, testing out the fit, but
Sally didn't seem to suspect anything. Perhaps she thought I'd
been a tomboy most of my life and had only recently started
wearing high heels. Whatever she thought, she kept it to herself,
which suited me fine.

When all our purchases had been rung up and placed into bags or
boxes, we thanked Sally for her help and prepared to go. Dick
insisted on carrying everything, so I simply took his arm as
instructed and let him lead the way, looking like some spoiled
young lady with a boyfriend willing to pamper her. On the way out
we made a quick stop at the drugstore to purchase some cosmetics
and perfume, and then Dick insisted that I get my ears pierced at
a jewelry store next door. I knew that lots of guys were getting
one ear pierced these days, but getting them both done was still
considered a sign of femininity, so I was obviously reluctant to
submit to such a permanent alteration, but as usual I had no
choice.

As we left the mall, a pair of golden hoops dangling from my newly
pierced ears, I glanced at the huge pile of bags and boxes in
Dick's arms, noting the pink label on each one declaring that
these goods were from Atta Girl, and with a nervous chill I
thought about the fact that these clothes, these GIRLS' clothes,
were now mine. They'd been purchased for me, and I had no doubt
that Dick was fully expecting me to wear them. why else had he
bought them for me?

During the bus ride home, I tried again to figure out what Dick
was up to. He obviously wasn't planning to just let me go, but I
couldn't imagine what he was hoping to accomplish, other than my
continued degradation. If he just wanted me to dress up like a
girl for him and the other guys sometimes, it wouldn't have been
necessary to buy my own clothes; I could just borrow some of
Dick's mother's things, as I'd already done. And why so many
clothes? I now had such a complete girl's wardrobe that I could go
for weeks without ever wearing the same thing twice. If Dick just
wanted me to dress up now and then, all those clothes would last
me for years. It didn't make sense, but it soon would.

When we arrived back in our neighborhood, Dick didn't take me to
his place, as I'd hoped he would. Since the weekend was almost
over, and my parents would be home from vacation soon, I was
beginning to think that Dick might finally let me go. If we'd gone
back to his apartment, he might have helped me out of those girls'
clothes and let me resume my normal appearance, as much as
possible anyway, but we were walking in the opposite direction,
and all my hopes for an end to this nightmare were soundly dashed.
Wherever we were headed, I had a feeling I wasn't going to like
it.

We entered the section of the apartment complex where all the
furnished apartments were located and went straight to an upstairs
unit near the carports. At the top of the stairs, Dick kicked the
door and shouted for someone to open up, and moments later there
was Bob standing in the entrance, grinning at us from ear to ear.

"Come on in," he said.

Dick went down the hall without another word, and I heard him
deposit the packages he was carrying in the bedroom as I stepped
daintily into the living room and looked around in surprise. The
layout of the apartment was the same as Dick's parents' place, but
there the resemblance ended, for this was obviously not the
apartment of an average suburban couple and their son. The
furniture, carpeting and draperies were nice, apparently supplied
by the landlord, but everything else spoke of another world.

There were posters of rock stars, sports heroes and naked women on
the walls, as well as some spray-painted graffiti, and the room
was dominated by a patchwork stereo system and a huge pile of
records, tapes and compact discs arranged on the floor in no
particular order. There were sports magazines and comic books
scattered everywhere, as well as several cans of beer and a few
empty pizza cartons. The charred remains of dozens of marijuana
cigarettes littered the coffee table beside a well used crack
pipe, and the ashtrays were full of cigar butts. In the midst of
all this was a brand new, wide-screen television set currently
showing the pre-game program for that evening's National League
game.

It was more like a college dorm room than an apartment, a place
where no one actually took up permanent residence, but where many
people met to party. I'd never been told about this place before,
but that wasn't really surprising. I knew that the guys had kept
many secrets from me.

Apparently this was one of them.

Art and Frank were with Dick when he returned from the bedroom,
and they joined Bob and me in the living room.

"First thing's first," Dick said. "Bambi, get everyone a beer from
the fridge."

I went to the kitchen to fetch four bottles of beer and when I
came back the guys were seated around the coffee table, smoking
dope.   They took the beers from me gratefully, then told me to
sit on the chair beside the stereo and continued to indulge in
both pot and crack for some time. Once they were all properly
wasted, it was my turn, like it or not, and I was forced to inhale
a good deal of smoke before they let me stop. The drugs went to
work on my mood, despite my reservations, and the grim depression
I'd felt for the last twenty-four hours or more was finally lifted
a little. I even smiled when Art started to tease Frank about his
crew cut, calling him "Baldy."

Despite my drugged state, however, it was impossible for me to
forget how I was dressed, how I'd been treated and the mystery
that still remained concerning my future at the hands of these
miscreants. I no longer felt as anxious and upset as I had before,
but I was also far from being relaxed and happy, and there was no
drug ever invented that could have removed my ever-present sense
of shame.

Eventually the guys settled into another of their strange
discussions, and this time I was to be included, for the moment of
truth had arrived, and they were prepared to tell me their plans
at last.

"Well, here's how it is, Bambi," Dick said candidly. "This used to
be our pad for all-nighters and such, our home away from home, but
from now on, this is your place, your home."

"I don't understand," I confessed timidly.

"Art set it up so that his dad thinks somebody's living here,"
Dick explained, "and every month the four of us chip in to pay the
rent and stuff. Nobody actually lives here, though."

"Well, nobody did live here," Bob corrected him, "until now."

"Exactly," Dick agreed. "As of today, this is your apartment,
Bambi. You live here, eat here, sleep here, the works. We even put
the lease in your name... Bambi Desiree' Taylor."

I was flabbergasted! They couldn't be serious!

"Live here!?" I gasped. "As a girl!?"

"Of course as a girl," Art teased me. "What else, a house plant?"

"But... I can't!" I insisted. I knew the fact that I simply didn't
want to be a girl wouldn't carry much weight with them, so I went
straight to my ace in the hole. "What about my parents?"

"No problem," Frank replied. "This afternoon I forged a note in
your handwriting saying that you were running away from home to
grow pot in Hawaii. Your parents will find it taped to the door
when they get back tonight."

I was speechless! What could I say? What could I do?

"Face it, girl," Dick smiled. "We've got you."

"You belong to us now," Art went on. "From now on you 0 do
whatever we tell you to do. No arguments. No complaints.
Understand?"

"Wha..." My voice cracked from the strain. "What do I have to do?"

"Be our girl," Bob said.

"We'll keep paying the rent," Dick told me, "and we'll buy your
food and whatever you need, but you have to earn your keep. That
means keeping us happy."

"Happy?" I asked. "What do you mean?"

"It'll be your responsibility to keep yourself looking as pretty
as possible," he replied. "You should also do your best to act
cute and feminine at all times."

"You'll also do housework and cook for us sometimes," Frank added,
"or do our laundry, stuff like that."

"The most important thing, however," Dick concluded, "is that you
make yourself available to us for sex whenever we want it, and
however we want it."

I just sat there gaping at them, unable to believe that this could
really be happening! Yet they looked totally serious!

"This is kidnapping!" I protested.

"It certainly is," Art agreed, "or it would be, if we were forcing
you stay here. The fact is, though, that you can leave any time
you want."

I hesitated. I didn't really want to go home dressed in that
damned cheerleader outfit. My parents would never have understood
how such a thing could've happened to me, and the humiliation
would be unbearable.   Yet the alternative was far worse. I had
waited long enough, too long in fact, and it was time to make my
escape from this nightmare. I stood up slowly and started for the
door. "Of course," Dick said in an unmistakably evil tone, "if you
leave, everyone will find out what we did to you."

I paused in mid stride.

"Even more important," Dick said, lowering his voice in a
confidential manner, "everyone will find out what you did to us,
and Mike, and all the guys from Dave's team. How do think the
fellows will react when they find out they got sucked off by a boy
in a dress? Think they'll be pleased?"

"You'd tell them?" I asked.

"You know I would."

"No one would believe you," I said, bluffing.

"I have photographs," he reminded me and then waved his hand
toward the other guys, "and witnesses."

His words hit me hard. I couldn't let them reveal the truth about
what had happened. Even if I didn't get beaten to death by some
angry guy whose cock I'd sucked, I could never live down the
humiliation or show my face in public ever again. I was trapped,
and they knew it.

"We'll keep quiet about what you've been up to," Dick promised,
"but in return, you stay here, as our mistress."

There was no doubt in their minds that I would agree to their
demands, and despite my desperation to escape, they were right.

"Now, we've worked out a schedule," Art told me. "On Monday
nights, you'll be with Dick. Tuesday night you're mine, then
you'll see Frank on Wednesday nights and Bob on Thursdays. Friday
and Saturday night, we'll all be here, so those are `gang bang'
nights."

The use of the phrase "gang bang" suddenly brought home to me the
real nature of their expectations. They would be the "gang," and I
would be the "bang." I was to be their whore, their prostitute,
their sexual slavegirl! What they really wanted was a soft, warm
hole to ram their cocks into, and like it or not I was to be the
receptacle for their carnal passions.

"Sunday is your day of rest," Art concluded. "We figured you
should have a day to yourself once in a while, so we're giving you
Sundays off."

"Not this Sunday, though," Bob amended. "Tonight's a special
occasion, so we're gonna stay here and help you celebrate."

"And I think we should start this celebration with a good,
homecooked meal," Dick announced. "Bambi, get your pretty ass into
the kitchen and cook us up some grub."

And that was that. Without another word to me, the guys turned to
the television and began to watch the game, which was now in
progress. I stood there for a moment, totally ignored, wondering
what to do. I had an urge to plead with them, to beg them to let
me go, even if I had to crawl to them on my knees, but pity and
compassion had never been their strong points, and somehow I knew
that such a performance would only make things worse, making me
feel even more degraded, while accomplishing absolutely nothing. I
felt tears coming to my eyes, but I refused to give them the
satisfaction of seeing me cry again, so I turned away and minced
back to the kitchen, where I could be alone.

Once I let the tears begin to flow, it was hard to stop, and I
sort of lost control for a while. I tried to muffle the sounds of
my heavy sobbing with a kitchen washcloth, but I'm sure the guys
could hear me, even with the television turned up so loud. After a
few minutes, I started pulling myself together. I was a real mess.
My nose was running, my eyes were swollen and I was trembling all
over, but I did manage to stop crying.

More to take my mind off of things as much as anything else, I
rummaged through the kitchen cabinets to determine what sort of
meal I might prepare for my captors, as I'd been told to do. There
wasn't much of a selection, just some cans of tuna, bread, some
celery and eggs, a few condiments and a bag of pretzels, but with
a little effort I was able to put together a tuna salad to go with
their beer and pretzels, and it didn't turn out too badly. I
hadn't realized how hungry I was until I tasted my recipe, and
then I had to gulp down a few spoonfuls of the finished product
before I could tear myself away. With a little food in me and my
crying under control, I was beginning to feel a bit better.

Putting everything onto a pizza carton, I carried the makeshift
serving tray out to the living room and set it down on the coffee
table between the guys. They seemed momentarily surprised,
glancing at the food, then me, then back to the food. It was as if
they hadn't been expecting me to actually come up with anything
edible. Then all at once they pounced on the stuff, their faces
bright with approval and expectation, and they appeared to like
it, a lot. The lip-smacking sounds of contentment came so thick
and heavy that at first I thought they were teasing me again, but
eventually I realized that they were sincere in their compliments,
and after a while I couldn't help but feel gratified by their
appreciation of my efforts.

Before all the tuna salad had gone, Dick insisted that I have some
too, and much to my embarrassment, I had to sit on the floor
beside him while he spoon fed me like a child. When the last of
the food had disappeared, I was ordered to take the remnants to
the kitchen, where I had to wash the cutlery and dispose of the
trash. After I'd finished cleaning up the kitchen, I returned to
the living room, hoping I might get to see some of the game and
take my mind off my problems, but no such luck. As soon as Dick
saw me, he ordered me into the bedroom to put away my new clothes.

The bedroom was also furnished, and the guys had-left less of an
impression on this room, probably since they spent so little time
in here, so it appeared almost normal in decor. The apartment had
been intended for a couple, and the furnishings reflected that,
with a king-sized bed, two dressers and a woman's vanity table
beside a full length mirror. The walls were adorned with several
abstract paintings of naked women, and the windows were curtained
with thick velvet drapes. The bed itself was covered with an
attractive quilt that matched the color of the plush wall-to-wall
carpeting.

Unpacking my new wardrobe took much more time that I'd expected.
It seemed as if each garment came with a multitude of tags and
labels that had to be removed rather carefully, since most of the
fabrics were quite delicate and fragile. Then I had to sort
everything out and figure out where to put it all. In the end, I
think I had it all organized the same way most girls would, with
one drawer for panties, one for bras, one for other undergarments,
one for nightgowns and one for stockings and pantyhose. I lined my
shoes and sandals up in the larger closet underneath the rack
where my dresses, skirts and blouses were hung. Finally I placed
my jewelry, cosmetics and perfume bottles on the vanity and
stuffed all the packing material into the largest of the boxes,
which I put into the other closet, just to get it out of sight.

As I was finishing up, Dick came in and stood by watching me
without saying a word. When I had nothing more to do, he told me
to come stand before him, and like an obedient puppy I walked
daintily over to him. Standing still as instructed, I looked on as
he began to remove my clothing. He unzipped my high-heeled boots,
and I stepped out of them, glad to be free of their confinement.
Then he stripped off my blouse and skirt, followed by my panties
and pantyhose. The figure-shaping undergarment he left in place,
along with my wig.

After a quick trip to the vanity table to repair my make-up Dick
dressed me in a sexy, pink babydoll nightie and placed a pair of
high-heeled bedroom slippers on my feet. A lavish spray of perfume
in strategic areas, and r was ready for whatever it was he was
planning next.

Back in the living room, the game was over, and the post-game show
was still in progress. The other guys looked up with undisguised
interest as Dick led me to the center of the room. Then he left me
standing there and went to sit on the couch beside Art as Bob put
in a tape and turned on the stereo.

"Okay, Bambi," Frank said. "Let's have some real entertainment."

Then the   music started, a slow, sultry jazz composition that
seemed to steam with passion, and the four males sat before me
with their eyes fixed, eagerly, expectantly, on my feminized
anatomy. I felt like a piece of fancy pastry offered up before a
group of famished men.

"What am I supposed to do?" I asked nervously.

"Dance," Dick said. "You know, something seductive.

Really try to turn us on."

"But I don't know how," I objected.

"You're gonna learn," Art insisted, "right now."

I hesitated,- uncertain what to do, and then I tried to give them
what they wanted. I was pretty bad at first, moving clumsily from
side to side with my hands on my hips, but the guys kept
instructing me on what to do, how to move, and I got better.
What's more, the music actually began to inspire me after a while,
so I let myself go with it, tossing my long hair, massaging my
false breasts, grinding my hips, licking my lips, doing everything
they told me to and more, until I'd worked those guys up into a
frenzy. I had no doubt that each of them now had a raging hard-on
in his pants, for I had even given myself an erection with the 2
seductiveness of my performance.

When the song ended, I paused and glanced over at them, and the
desire burning in their eyes was truly frightening. I took a step
back involuntarily, and they all began to move from their seats
wearing menacing smiles. I took another step toward the hall, and
they were on their feet moving toward me. As I continued to back
away from them, they laughed cruelly and started stalking me, like
a pack of wolves closing in on-a helpless fawn. It was great fun
for them, but I was terrified, for I knew where this would lead,
and I saw no way to avoid it.

When I was about halfway down the hall, I turned and ran for the
bedroom, hoping to close and lock the door behind me before they
could reach it but as I ran I could hear them charging after me,
yelling `Get her! Catch her!" I had almost swung the door closed,
but then Art stuck his foot across the threshold and forced it
open again. They came at me all at once, grabbing me and carrying
me over to the bed. I screamed once, but then a hand clamped down
over my mouth, and it was all I could do just to keep breathing.

I heard the click of Dick's switchblade again and felt him
reaching up under the back of my nightie to cut away the bottom of
my undergarment as before, and then I was pulled onto the mattress
with the four of them all around me. They laid me on my back this
time, with Dick kneeling beside my head, Bob and Frank each
holding down one of my arms and Art clutching both of my ankles in
one of his big, calloused hands. I was still wearing the pink
bedroom slippers, and his thick, masculine hands contrasted
sharply with my slim, smoothly shaven legs, my small feet with
their pink toenails and the dainty high-heeled footwear.

Art held both my ankles in one hand for several moments as he used
his free hand to unzip his fly and free his erection, and I looked
around to see that each of the other guys was also exposing his
manhood for action. Four firm male organs surrounded me like
compass points, and I knew from experience that each of them would
soon be spewing its contents into one of my body cavities.

Still clasping my ankles with one hand, Art raised my legs up
until my feet were high off the mattress, and then his free hand
carefully lubricated my sphincter with a cool gelatin from a
container in his pocket. I knew what to expect after that. My legs
were spread wide apart with my feet still raised high in the air,
so that my bottom was actually lifted off the bed a little, and I
felt his erection slide between my ass cheeks, searching for the
socket it wished to plug. There was hardly any resistance this
time as his male dagger plunged deep inside me, and almost at once
I felt my thoughts being carried away on that strange cloud of
erotic pleasure. The ramrod that sank again and again into my
bowels was like a hot piston sparking my engine to life, and I
couldn't control the rocking motion that entered my hips, driving
him even further inside me.

As Art began to pump his manhood in and out of my bottom, Bob and
Frank each took one of my hands and placed it on his erection,
wrapping my girlish fingers like a soft cylinder of flesh around
his male meat. Their hands urged mine into steady stroking
motions, and through the daze of my unwanted arousal I realized
what they wanted and started to jerk them off as best I could.

And then it was Dick's turn. Kneeling behind and above me, he took
my head in both hands and tilted my face back until I was staring
directly into his crotch. His erection moved closer, aiming
directly for my mouth, and I thought of turning away or keeping my
jaws tightly clenched, but I knew it would do no good in the end,
and besides, I was already being sexually abused by three other
guys. What difference would one more cock make? So when I felt his
rigid staff against my lips I simply opened my mouth to let him in
and started sucking him off again.

It occurred to me then that if anyone I knew were to see me now
and recognize me, I would feel about as humiliated as a human
being possibly could. There I was all dolled up like some gorgeous
girl giving two guys handjobs, another guy a blowjob with a fourth
guy fucking me up the ass, all at the same time! I was not only
being used like a female by a male sex partner, I was being used
like a female by FOUR sex partners, so I guess it's accurate to
say that I suddenly felt four times as feminine as I had before.
Few real girls ever experience satisfying more than one guy in bed
at a time, but I was servicing my full quota, it seemed, and the
role had a definite demoralizing effect upon me. In just a few
days I'd gained more sexual experience with men than some women
get in a year, or a lifetime, and somehow it made me feel as
though I'd become at least partially female myself. I was still
physically a boy, but part of my mind was being changed by the
girlish thoughts it was forced to contain.

When each of the guys had finally ejaculated, they rested for a
while, smoking cigarettes, joints and crack and talking about
football, and then it started all over, with each guy rotating one
position clockwise. This second session was followed by a third
and a fourth, until each of the guys had had his chance to
sodomize me. It was quite late by that time, and I was totally
exhausted. I remember being kissed and hugged and fondled all over
while four male voices told me how sweet and soft and beautiful I
was, and then I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

MONDAY

The following day was June first. I made a note of the date when I
realized that this was officially the first day of my new life,
and since then I've used that date as my birthday, since it was in
fact the actual day of my rebirth. At that time, I became Bambi on
a daily basis. I had no more illusions about escaping from my
captivity. The guys obviously had no plans to release me for a
long, long time and with the threat of exposure they held over me,
there was no way I could defy them, so I was stuck in the role of
a beautiful teenage girl living as the mistress of four guys.

I awoke once more to find myself alone in bed. This times however,
I could hear voices and activity in the living room, and someone
was taking a shower in the bathroom. There seemed to be no reason
to drag myself out of bed, so I laid back and closed my eyes,
hoping to sink back down into the refuge of sleep, but minutes
later Dick was standing over me, shaking me and telling me to get
up.

"Hurry up," he urged me. "Art and Frank have to leave soon, so get
your cute little butt into the kitchen and get breakfast started
pronto."

I paused for a few seconds, considering my options, and then
nodded in agreement. Still dressed in my sandals, pink nightie and
torn undergarment, and with the blonde wig still in place, I
climbed off the mattress and minced past him into the hall. My
butt was incredibly sore from all the action it had seen lately,
and my whole body felt drained and full of minor aches and pains.
Art and Frank were in the living room watching cartoons and
rolling joints. They were already showered and dressed and ready
for work. They both smiled at me and wished me a good morning as I
entered the room.

"We went out to the store and got some stuff for breakfast," Frank
explained. "It's on the counter."

I nodded, knowing they expected me to cook it for them, and headed
for the kitchen.

"I'll take mine sunny side up," Art called after me, and then
Frank added, "Scrambled for me. I'll find out how the other guys
want theirs."

There were four bags sitting on the counter, all filled with food.
The guys had apparently splurged and gotten enough grub for all
five of us for at least a week. After unpacking all the groceries,
I started breakfast. As I was preparing the coffee maker, Frank
came in and told me how Dick and Bob wanted their eggs. I nodded
and then surprised myself by thanking him. He smiled and went back
to watch some more cartoons.

When I finally had everything ready, I stepped daintily into the
living room where all four guys were now gathered. Each of them
had a summer job that took up all his time on weekdays, so they
were all dressed and ready to leave. Art and Frank started work an
hour earlier than Dick and Bob did, so they were used to getting
up earlier, which was why they were up and dressed before Bob had
even started his morning shower.

For a moment the guys didn't seem to notice me, intent on dividing
up some lines of cocaine powder on a mirror on the table. Dick had
snorted several lines already before anyone realized I was there,
and then they all turned to me expectantly.

"Breakfast is ready," I announced timidly, and the news was
greeted with much enthusiasm. Before they would come to the table,
however, they insisted that I do a few lines of coke with them, so
I knelt down beside the table and accepted the plastic straw and
the handmirror with the drugs on it, inhaling my portion slowly.
The cocaine rush made me a bit anxious and jittery, but I felt
calmer and more at ease once the drug had taken full effect.

When everyone had done their quota of lines off the mirror, they
followed me to the kitchen, taking turns grabbing my ass as we
went. I put their meals in the microwave to warm them up as they
sat down, and then served them piping hot breakfasts that looked
and probably tasted a lot better than they could've made
themselves. I wasn't a great chef or anything, but because my
parents were always away I'd learned to handle myself in the
kitchen, which none of the other guys seemed to be able to do.

As they ate, frequently pausing to compliment me on the cuisine, I
just leaned against the wall staring out the window and nibbling
on a piece of toast. I had considered making myself a full
breakfast, but my appetite was poor due to stress and anxiety, so
toast and coffee were enough for now. I figured I could always
make something later if I got hungry after the guys left for work.

My daydreaming took me outside, into what seemed like "the real
world" to me, where my former life was taken from me. I wondered
what my parents were doing. They had to have seen Frank's forged
note by now. Had they called the police and reported me missing?
Did they believe the note was real? Perhaps they suspected the
truth, that I'd been kidnapped, and even now the FBI was
mobilizing its resources to find me. That didn't exactly comfort
me, since in my present feminized state I really didn't want to be
found and rescued anyway. I just wanted to hide from the world
until my captors finally decided to release me.

When the guys ware finished eating, I cleared the table and did
the dishes while they smoked and talked. Much of the talk was
about girls, and Dick and Bob ended by comparing notes about a
girl they had both dated recently. I wondered if now they'd be
talking about me like that when I wasn't in earshot.

Then Art interrupted to ask Dick if he had the tube of jelly in
his pocket, and when Dick nodded, Art told him to get it out. Dick
passed it across the table, and then Art removed the cap to spread
a generous amount onto his middle finger.

"Come here, Bambi," he said with an evil grin, and I swallowed
hard, knowing what he wanted. As I stepped beside him, he raised
my nightie with one hand and applied the gelatin to my sphincter
with the other. I closed my eyes in embarrassment, trying not to
wince or make a sound as I felt him reach up inside me. Then he
turned his chair toward me and had me stand with my back to him as
he unzipped his pants and removed his hardening erection.

"Have a seat, pretty girl," he said, and his hands took me by the
hips and lowered me slowly onto his lap. I hovered above him for a
moment as his male spear sought its target, and then with one
smooth, gliding motion I was pulled down onto his pulsating staff
and impaled on his manhood. We just sat there for a little while,
my smooth butt cheeks resting on his hairy lap, his strong arms
wrapped about me possessively, his firm member implanted deep
inside my rectum. Then he began to rock me back and forth, lifting
me slightly so that his cock withdrew until only the bulbous head
was still inside me, and then pushing me down onto his erection to
bury himself as deeply as possible. The pace grew faster and
faster, until I was virtually bouncing up and down on his lap with
his hard-on sliding rapidly in and out of my rear.

That strange feeling of pleasure was overwhelming me again, and I
heard myself moaning in the back of my throat, just like a girl
might do while making love to her boyfriend. The sound brought on
a chorus of laughter from the other three guys as they watched Art
and I going at it and made comments on our technique.

When Art finally erupted inside me, I was immediately passed to
Frank, whose lap was ready and waiting for me. I had noticed
during my unwanted sexual education that his cock was the
smallest, so it was also the easiest for me to accept among the
four, and this time it slipped inside with virtually no resistance
at all, like a piston entering a well oiled chamber. Frank was
fairly thin, and his thighs were much bonier than Dick's, so I
bounced up and down on his lap feeling more like a paddle ball
than a trampoline artist. He came quickly inside me with very
little warning, and then I was passed on to Bob.

By the time Bob had finished with me, Art and Frank were leaving
for work. They came over to where I was sitting on Bob's lap with
his shriveled and sated male organ still inside me, and each of
them gave me a warm kiss on the lips and said he would see me
later in the week on "our night." I watched them go out the door,
and then moved over to Dick's lap, where his big, stiff plug
awaited my warm, wet socket.

His cock was the biggest and the most difficult to accept, but
once it was inside, it filled me in a way I find impossible to
describe. He was stretching me to the utmost and touching me in
places no one else could touch me. Of my four male lovers, Dick
was by far the most stimulating and satisfying, and where Art had
gotten me to moan with pleasure, Dick simply drove me nuts. I
moaned, I gasped, I cried out. I wriggled my bottom and squirmed
in his arms as he lifted me up and then pushed me back down,
stabbing me again and again with his male dagger, and suddenly I
came, spewing globs of creamy fluid onto my delicate nightie as my
thoughts whirled in a deliriously thrilling orgasm. Dick climaxed
moments later, and I collapsed into his arms with a groan, feeling
strangely satisfied and comfortable.

Soon it was time for my other two lovers to head out for work, and
I stood in the doorway as each one gave me a deep, sensuous kiss
before rushing down the stairs and out the door. Moving to the
window, I watched them walking together toward the bus stop. They
turned once, saw me and waved so energetically that I just had to
wave back.

And then I was alone.

The first thing I thought of was escape. With no one watching over
me, I could undo the drastic feminization I'd undergone as much as
possible and then return home, saying nothing, of course, about
the incident to anyone, but as soon as Dick discovered I was gone,
he'd start telling everyone who the sexy cheerleader from Sunday's
game really was, and if I somehow managed to escape a pounding
from Dave and his teammates, there was always the possibility that
Mike would hear about it, put 2 and 2 together and come after me,
which might even prove fatal for me. In addition to the risk of
violent reprisals, there would also be the unendurable shame of
having everyone know what I'd been forced to do, or if they
believed Dick and the others, what I'd done of my own free will,
for they would certainly lie and say it was all my idea. I didn't
dare defy my captors in that way, and I knew it.

I thought for a while of simply running away and starting a new
life elsewhere, where no one knew me or my sadistic former
friends, but I had no answers to the questions of where I would go
or how I would survive. I was too young to legally work a full-
time job, sign a lease or travel alone without arousing suspicion,
and if I was picked up for vagrancy or loitering or something, the
cops would take me straight back to my parents, and I'd be in the
same humiliating fix as if I'd just gone home. Running away solved
nothing, for it was too unreliable to risk.

I was trapped. As long and Dick and his cohorts could reveal my
shameful secret to the community, I was in their power. The
thought flashed briefly through my mind that my problems would
vanish if my tormentors were to die, and I momentarily considered
the idea of killing them. It would be easy. A little rat poison in
Friday's dinner, and all my worries would be over... except, of
course, that I'd be a murderer, and I didn't think I could bear to
live with that, either. It simply wasn't in my nature to kill
another human being, no matter how much the bastard might deserve
to die.

There was only one safe, sure course of action, and that was to be
an obedient little slavegirl and do as I was told. My secret.
would remain safe, the risk of harm and humiliation would be gone
and my conscience would remain clear of guilt. The logic with
which I arrived at this conclusion seemed irrefutable, and with a
grim finality I came to accept the idea that I really had no
choice.

Looking around the apartment, I tried to come to terms with the
fact that this was now my home, and the perverse sexual antics
that would go on here would constitute most of my life. The girls'
clothes in the bedroom were mine, bought for me and to be worn
exclusively by me, as were the cosmetics and jewelry that came
with them, and the reflection of that beautiful girl in the mirror
would remain my reflection. The person I used to be was gone, and
in his place would now be Bambi, gorgeous sex slave of four horny
guys.

I thought briefly of my parents and how I would miss them, and I
recalled every detail of my old bedroom... the model planes, the
baseball trophies, the computer games; all of it was now
completely beyond my reach. I was a prisoner of my new life, and
like it or not, mine was now the life of a sexy teenage mistress.

I wandered around the apartment for a while, uncertain what to do.
Dick had left me written instructions on how I was to prepare
myself for that night's encounter with him, but I wouldn't have to
start getting ready for hours yet, so I watched a little
television to take my mind off things, but every time I saw a
commercial for some feminine product, like lipstick or pantyhose
or perfume, I was reminded of my plight, for such commercials now
held practical value for me and actually caught my interest, since
I was now a consumer of such products.

Eventually I grew bored with television and just sat around
feeling depressed. The apartment was such a mess, and it smelled
of stale beer and ashes, I could hardly stand being there. I
considered getting dressed and going out, but the idea of slipping
into one of my dresses and parading around outside in drag
appealed to me even less than staying put. As depressing as the
apartment was, at least no one could see me. Slowly an idea formed
in my mind, and in the end I decided there was nothing better to
do, so I set myself the task of cleaning the place up. After all,
I thought, if I have to live here now, I might as well make the
place livable.

I spent hours throwing out beer cans and pretzel crumbs, emptying
ashtrays, putting away drug paraphernalia, stacking tapes and
albums, cleaning stains out of the carpet, the furniture, the
drapes, and basically getting the place as spotless as I could.
Most of the work was in the living room, but I also spent a lot of
time scrubbing the bathroom, which looked as if it hadn't been
cleaned in months. When I was finished, the place looked
fantastic, and I felt a lot better about having to be there. All
in all it was really a great little apartment, now that I could
actually see it. Except for the posters, the stereo and a few
other juvenile touches, it now looked more like someone's home
than just some party pad.

After making myself a quick snack in the kitchen, I realized it
was time to start getting ready for my date with Dick. It was hard
to believe that I was really going out on a date with a boy. What
was even stranger was that I was about to make myself look
attractive as a girl for him. How could I, only days earlier, ever
have imagined myself in this position? It was all so incredibly
bizarre.

by the time Dick arrived, I was ready, dressed and made-up exactly
as he'd instructed, and the look in his eyes as I opened the door
to let him in showed his approval. His gaze swept over me, from
the frilly lavender ribbon in my long, blonde hair, past the
tightly clinging minidress that displayed all my girlish curves to
advantage, down my slim, smooth legs encased in black nylon, to
the tips of my shiny lavender pumps with their tall, spike heels.
Silver bracelets jingled on my wrists, and large hoop earrings
dangled from my newly pierced ears. My face was made up to
perfection, the result of much time and effort on my part, and
even my fingernails had been repolished to match my outfit.
Looking at my reflection earlier, even I'd had to admit that I
looked beautiful, elegant and very feminine, so a I shouldn't have
been surprised when Dick's eyes almost fell out of his head in
admiration.

I was momentarily at a loss for words when he casually produced a
bouquet of flowers and a box of candy from behind his back and
held them out for me. He might have been teasing me again, and the
flowers and candy Could've been just gags that would explode or
humiliate me in some other way, so I hesitated, but the look of
disappointment on his face when I didn't take them from him was so
sincere that I realized he was serious. He'd brought me real
flowers and candy, just as he might've done with a real girl. I
accepted his gifts with an attempt at a smile and put the flowers
in some water, leaving the box of candy on the coffee table.

"Thank you," I said timidly, knowing that was what he expected.

He stepped closer, putting his hands on my shoulders.

"A pretty girl doesn't have to say thank you with words."

His arms slipped around me as he moved closer still, and then his
face descended on mine, his mouth seeking my soft, girlish lips. I
tried to step back, but he held me firmly, and there was no
escape. His kiss was passionate, tender yet aggressive, a very
masculine kiss that was unlike any I'd ever gotten before. My
breath came short, my knees felt weak, and I couldn't help
returning his kiss a little.

When our lips parted, he smiled and winked at me. "Fix your face,
kitten."

Reaching into my clutch purse, I took out my lipstick and compact
mirror and carefully repaired the damage his kiss had done to my
make-up, aware of his eyes on me the whole time, watching me as I
made myself look as pretty as possible to please him.

Finally he asked, "Are you ready, princess?"

I felt the blush in my cheeks as I nodded.

"Then let's get going," he insisted. "I'm starved."

With one hand carrying my clutch purse and the other resting
daintily on his forearm, I reluctantly allowed him to lead me
downstairs and outside into the cool evening air. As we walked to
the bus stop, he gave me new instructions on how to behave that
night, and I was forced to slip my right hand into the front right
pocket of his pants as my left slid into the back rear pocket,
with the result being a very intimate form of physical contact.

I had to stand so close to him that my breasts would frequently
brush up against his side, and my hips were rhythmically bumping
against his as we walked. The fingers of my right hand were only
inches from his crotch, while the palm of my left hand was resting
comfortably on the upward curve of his left butt cheek. Once again
I was cast in the role of a pretty girl who was obviously very
possessive of her boyfriend, except this time there were some
decidedly sexual overtones.

Occasionally I was allowed to take my hands from his pockets and
simply hold his hand or put my arm around his waist, like when we
were boarding the bus or getting off at our stop downtown. The
rest of the time, however, I was to keep my girlish hands
imprisoned in his pants.

There was one awkward moment when we arrived at the restaurant
Dick had chosen; the hostess glared at me for a moment before
leading us to our table, obviously displeased by my wanton show of
affection in a public place. I wanted to explain that I had no
more control over my actions than a puppet, but there was no way
to make her understand. In her eyes I was a girl with a lot to
learn about decorum.

Dinner was far more enjoyable than I would've imagined. Dick let
me remove my hands from his pockets, then held my chair for me as
I sat down. When he sat down opposite me, he immediately took hold
of my hand and hardly let it go all through the meal, making us
appear to be a very romantic young couple.

When the waitress came to take our orders, Dick ordered for us
both, saying, "...and the lady will have..." making me feel quite
feminine. I did my best to eat as daintily and gracefully as I
could, taking tiny bites and using my napkin frequently. Dick
appeared very pleased by my performance, and as we were finishing
up I felt the tip of his shoeless foot slip between my legs to
massage my inner thighs sensuously. I glanced around nervously,
but no one could see what he was doing to me under the tablecloth,
so I tried not to let my reaction show on my face.

He stopped after a few minutes, then whispered to me, "Now you do
it to me."

I swallowed hard, knowing that he meant it, then reached down to
casually remove one of my high heeled pumps. I let my stockinged
foot slide up his pants leg slowly, gradually moving toward his
lap. When my toes finally wriggled against his crotch, he smiled
and took hold of my nylon-clad ankle, holding my foot in place
against his growing erection. As I continued to caress his male
organ with my toes I could feel it swell and harden beneath his
zipper like a powerful animal rousing itself from a deep sleep.

"Can I get you anything else?" the waitress asked, suddenly
appearing at our table. I tried to control the blush that warmed
my cheeks as I shook my head and continued to fondle Dick's
erection with my foot, wondering what she might think if she could
see what I was doing. , She certainly wouldn't be half as
surprised as she would if she discovered we were both boys.

I slipped my lavender pump back on my foot as Dick paid the check,
leaving a big tip for the waitress, and then he took me by the
hand and led me toward the restrooms.

"I have to take a piss," he said. "You go powder your nose, and
I'll meet you back here."

With that he just turned and walked off, leaving me standing
before the door to the ladies' room with no choice except to go
inside. I felt a little scared as I entered, like a spy in enemy
territory, and I was relieved to find there was no one else there.
I stood before the mirror fixing my lipstick and patting my blonde
tresses back into place until I figured that Dick was ready, then
minced back outside.

Leaving the ladies' room made me feel even more feminine than
going inside had, and I blushed again as I noticed several men
nearby observing my exit, admiring my pretty face, my hourglass
figure and my shapely legs.

It was a short walk from the restaurant to the movie theater Dick
was taking me to, and soon we were standing in f line before the
ticket window, my hands once again tucked deep into his pockets.
As we neared the ticket counter I glanced at the girl working
behind the money drawer and felt my heart skip a beat. It was
Shelly!

I hadn't seen her since we'd stopped dating almost six months
earlier, and I'd forgotten that she sometimes helped out her uncle
by working a shift at the local theater. She was one of the last
people on earth I wanted to see me dressed as I was, and I
would've given almost anything to just leave that line and walk
away, but with my hands buried in Dick's pockets, I was as
helpless as a prisoner in handcuffs.

When I noticed that Dick had seen her, I met his gaze once to
impart a pleading look, begging him with my eyes to get me out of
this, but he just smiled and said nothing, so I let my gaze fall
to my lavender pumps and waited for the inevitable to happen.

"Howdy, stranger," Shelly smiled at Dick when we stepped up to the
window, but her eyes held no glint of recognition when she gazed
at me. "Who's your friend?"

"Shelly," Dick said, introducing me, "this is Bambi."

I nodded to her and tried to smile, but I was terrified that any
second she might realize who I really was and break out in a fit
of hysterical laughter. Shelly'd always been such an ardent
feminist, I could imagine nothing would have pleased her more than
to learn that one of her ex-boyfriends had been forced to dress
and act like a pretty girl and had even unwillingly engaged in
sexual exploits with dozens of other guys. Looking at the world
from her "side of the fence" would undoubtedly be good for me, in
her opinion, so the more feminine I appeared, the more she
would've enjoyed my suffering.

Dick exchanged a few pleasant words with her, and then he led me
inside, much to my relief. We passed the refreshments stand and
went straight to our seats, and Dick suggested with a chuckle that
if I got hungry during the film I could suck on the lollipop he
had in his pants. I didn't see anything funny about it, since I
fully expected that I would have to do just that once the movie
started.

We sat all the way in the back row tucked into one of the corners
with no one even remotely near us, and as soon as we were seated
Dick removed the lightweight windbreaker he'd been wearing and
placed it in his lap. Then he gave me a stern look and took my
hand, guiding it underneath the windbreaker to his crotch, and I
understood what he wanted. Massaging his growing hard-on through
the material of his trousers, I sat back and offered no resistance
as he leaned over and kissed me. The kiss seemed to go on and on,
becoming more and more passionate, until I felt his tongue slide
between my lips to caress the inside of my mouth. He continued to
French kiss me as the lights went down and the curtains before the
screen drew apart, and then he sat back to watch as the projector
began to roll and the screen flickered to life before us.

For a while Dick was content to have me rub his erection through
his pants, but as the film got underway, he ordered me to open his
zipper and reach inside. Working carefully with my long
fingernails, I gently unzipped his fly and slipped my hand into
the gap in the front of his boxer shorts to take his warm, hard
flesh in my fingers. Keeping his windbreaker in place to conceal
my activities, I slowly pulled his erection through the opening in
his pants and set it free, then started stroking it tenderly,
exciting it with the caress of my fingers and the tickling touch
of my long, lavender nails.

Again, Dick was satisfied for a time, but then I felt his hand on
the back of my neck, urging my head down into his lap, and I knew
he wanted more. Hoping that no one would notice, I slipped from my
seat and got on my stockinged knees between Dick's legs, and
moments later I had his firm manhood in my mouth, licking and
sucking like an old pro.

It might have been the excitement of doing it in public, but
whatever the reason, his climax was incredible. I nearly gagged as
the semen spurted out of his organ like oil from a gusher, wave
after wave of male reproductive cells oozing down my throat, but
finally he was sucked dry, and I was able to clean him up and tuck
his manhood away in his shorts once more.

I spent the rest of the movie with my head resting peacefully on
Dick's shoulder with his strong arm wrapped around me. I didn't
pay much attention to the film, having already missed the first
half, but I do recall one scene where the hero saves the beautiful
heroine and she kisses him to show her gratitude. I remember
noticing the way she leaned her breasts against his chest, threw
her arms around his neck and lifted one foot behind her in the air
as she raised herself on tip-toe to kiss him. The action seemed so
incredibly feminine and seductive, and against my will imagined
myself trying it out on some guy with passionate results. I
appeared to have all the equipment a girl would need to make such
behavior irresistibly attractive to males, and for the first time
I began to consider the power to control and manipulate that
females have over men, a power that I might now wield quite
successfully, if I chose to do so.

At the end of the film, we sat and kissed while the theater
emptied out, and then we headed for the main exit. With my hands
stuffed back into his pockets, I once again appeared in the role
of the overly possessive girlfriend, and rather than try to fight
it, I simply let my head rest on Dick's shoulder again and let
people think what they would about me.

We were walking past the line of people waiting to get in for the
next show when I heard a sound that made my spine turn to ice.
Trying not to look as frightened as I felt, I glanced up in horror
to find my parents standing beside me, smiling at Dick and me as
though we were the cutest looking couple they'd ever seen!

"Good to see you, Dick," my father said, shaking his hand, and
then he smiled at me. "Who's this little beauty?" Dick introduced
me as his girlfriend, Bambi, and neither of my parents seemed to
suspect a thing. In a sense I was relieved that they had no idea
who I really was, but on the other hand, it was disturbing to
realize that I'd been feminized to such a degree that even my own
mother and father couldn't recognize me. They saw me only as the
girl Dick was dating, and what was worse, thought I was pretty! In
fact, I was sure that I caught a momentary flicker of desire cross
my father's expression, and another chill ran down my back. Not
only did he fail to recognize me as his son, he was even
entertaining thoughts about me as a sexual partner!

I suddenly felt as if something had been torn away from me,
leaving me empty and vulnerable, and with a shudder I realized it
was my masculinity. Standing there in my high heels and miniskirt,
hanging all over another boy like a lovesick girlfriend, looking
on as my own father sized me up as a potential bedmate, it was as
if all my old feelings of boyishness instantly drained out of me,
leaving an aching gap that slowly filled with an indescribably
intense sense of femininity, as if I had suddenly been transformed
into a real girl beneath my sexy clothing, for a similarly drastic
alteration had just taken place inside my head. In my thoughts, my
emotions, my very being, I suddenly understood with perfect
clarity just what it felt like to be a girl!

With this strange surge of emotions overwhelming me, it was
difficult to pay attention to what Dick and my parents were
discussing, but eventually I realized that they were talking about
me, the real me, or the old me, and I listened more closely. My
father was explaining that I'd written them a note saying that I
was running away from home, but my parents weren't very concerned
about it, since I'd done that sort of thing before and always came
home with my tail between my legs within a week or two, and of
course that was true; I had pretended to run away in the past,
mostly to punish my parents by making them worry needlessly, and
now the boy who cried "Wolf!" was no longer taken at his word.

I was glad that my parents weren't agonizing over my whereabouts,
but I was also hurt by their indifference with regard to my
disappearance. I would've thought they cared more about me than
that, but apparently I was wrong, and the knowledge really stung
deeply.

After Dick and my parents had exchanged a few more pleasantries,
we bid them goodnight and continued on out of the theater, and I
never even glanced back. There were tears in my eyes by the time
we reached the bus stop, and before long I was crying
uncontrollably, sobbing into Dick's windbreaker like a child. He
seemed to understand what was troubling me and offered what
comfort he could, holding me Close as he whispered in my ear that
everything was all right and that he'd take care of me. I offered
no resistance as he rocked me in his arms, and soon I was quiet
again, cuddling against him like a baby dozing off to sleep after
a fit of crying.

We didn't talk on the bus ride home or the walk back to my
apartment. I was too depressed for words, and Dick seemed to
sympathize, holding his silence. Once we were back upstairs, Dick
took me straight to the bathroom and let the water run in the tub
as he stripped off all my clothing and jewelry, even my wig and
make-up, leaving me standing stark naked before him. At his
command I stepped into the tub and lowered myself into the warm,
soothing water as he sprinkled bath salts around me, then added a
capful of bubble bath. I leaned back and closed my eyes as the
pink froth began to rise around me once more, filling my nostrils
with the scent of flowers that I now recognized as my own Personal
fragrance.

After the bath had had a chance to soak up some of my tension,
Dick returned, now naked, and helped me out of the tub, toweled me
off, rubbed body lotion into my skin and dressed me in a satin
nightgown that hugged my shape like a vale blue mist. In a single
swift motion, he scooped me up into his arms and cradled me
against his chest, and I let my arms encircle his neck for support
as he carried me across the hall to the bedroom.

It was a shock to see my reflection in the full-length mirror
beside the vanity table. My wig was gone, I wore no make-up or
jewelry, and my figure lacked the padding that had earlier given
it such luscious female contours, and yet I still looked like a
girl! In part, it was my painted fingernails and toenails, my
plucked eyebrows and my smoothly shaven legs that maintained my
image of femininity, but there was also something in my posture as
I snuggled in Dick's arms, the way I held my head, the way I moved
my hands, and something in my face, my expression, the look in my
eyes... something that said "GIRL" in capital letters.

I knew then that the transformation I had felt inside was also
visible on the outside. Something in me had changed, and I not
only felt like a girl, I also looked like a girl, even without
cosmetics, a hairpiece or padding. It was a difficult realization,
but one I had to accept, for I could not deny that the eyes
staring back at me from the looking glass were indeed the soft,
sensitive eyes of a girl!

Dick seemed to have sensed the change in me too, for he was
strangely gentle and tender with me. Instead of the rollicking
sexual escapade I'd expected, he simply laid me on the bed, pulled
the covers over us and turned off the light. He was so strong so
irresistible as he took me in his arms and caressed me but unlike
the rough, demanding, almost hostile treatment I'd received from
him before, now he was gentle, tenders almost loving. He asked
nothing from me, but concentrated instead on stimulating my
senses. His fingers wandered everywhere over my smooth skin, and
his tongue played delicately with the boyish nipples on my chest
as if they were the full, ripe nipples of two real breasts.

Eventually he turned me onto my side facing away from him, and I
felt his hairy legs and torso press against me from behind as his
arms encircled me again. We lay together matching curve for curve,
like two spoons in a kitchen drawer, and he continued to fondle
and caress me at a slow but deliberate pace. His foreplay was so
engaging and so distracting that he was sliding his stiff manhood
inside my back door before I'd even realized he was in position.
This time there was no rapid pumping, no urgent crescendo, but
instead a slow, steady gliding motion, in and out, in and out,
like the methodical movements of a sexual-ballet.

Inside me, the tingling, erotic sensations I now knew so well
began to build and build, slowly but inevitably gathering toward
an unspeakably satisfying climax, and when in the end I finally
released my load into the pale blue nightgown I wore, I couldn't
contain the low, guttural moan that escaped my throat; even in my
own ears it sounded like a girl reaching orgasm. Perhaps it was
the sound of my passion being fulfilled that sent my male lover
over the edge, for at that same moment his rigid pole trembled and
injected its contents deep inside me. We remained locked together,
basking in the afterglow, and I quickly fell asleep with Dick's
manly sword still buried up to the hilt in my soft, girlish
bottom.

TUESDAY

I awoke the next morning to find Dick leaning over me to kiss me.
Apparently he'd gotten up and showered and was already dressed and
ready to leave. I accepted his kiss and even found myself kissing
back a little.

He sat on the mattress beside me for a while, holding my hand and
talking in a soft, soothing voice. He asked me if my earache was
still bothering me, and I didn't know which was more surprising,
that he remembered or that he cared. I'd actually forgotten about
it myself, since it had caused me only mild discomfort now and
then since my ordeal began on Saturday, three days earlier. I
assumed the infection was gone and told him so.

He explained that he was taking the day off from work to run some
errands in "the city," about a two hour ride each way by bus, and
that he expected to be back around mid-afternoon with some
surprises for me. I reminded him that it was Art's night to be
with me, and that Art was planning to take me to the frat party
downtown. As I spoke, Dick got a strange look in his eyes: I
would've almost sworn it was the green glint of jealousy
flickering there, but of course that was silly. He just nodded his
head and said he'd be gone long before Art came to get me, and
with another kiss, he was on his way out the door.

I went back to sleep for several hours and didn't get up until
noon or so. Then I just lounged around the apartment for a while,
looking for something to do. I spent a few hours watching
television, reading comic books and doing my nails, changing the
color from lavender to sparkling silver. It was about two or three
in the afternoon, and I was in the bedroom, seated naked before
the vanity table, adding the last touches of cosmetics to my face
in the make-up mirror, when Dick finally returned with an armload
of packages.

He wasted no time in presenting me with my gifts, starting with
some sexy half-bras, some low-cut blouses and a few V-necked
dresses. The clothes were of good quality and no more feminine
than I was used to by now, but it was obvious that I wouldn't be
able to wear them without exposing the falsies on my chest. When I
pointed that out, Dick just grinned like a Cheshire cat and handed
me another large package. I opened it cautiously, wondering what
he was up to now, and I gasped when the wrapping paper fell away
to reveal the container's bizarre contents.

It was basically a shirt or vest by design, neckless and
sleeveless, reaching only to the midriff or so, but it was totally
unlike any garment I'd ever seen or imagined. The material looked
exactly like skin, colored a pink fleshtone similar to my own skin
color, and it was obviously meant to fit quite tightly, judging by
its elastic qualities and small size. The most remarkable thing
about it, however, were the two very realistic-looking breasts
blossoming on its front.

"Put it on," Dick insisted.

I hesitated, looking the thing over closely, but I knew better
than to try to argue, so I simply slipped the garment over my head
and did my best to pull it into place around my upper torso. The
material clung to me like what it was, a second skin, except in
the area of my chest, where the two bulging mounds of seemingly
female flesh rose prominently, bouncing and jiggling and looking
every bit as natural as if they'd grown there. The nipples were
large and dark pink and permanently erect. Once Dick had applied
some waterproof make-up to the edges, the color of the garment
blended perfectly into my own skin, and the charade was virtually
undetectable.

The breasts looked so real sitting there on my chest that I was
almost surprised that I couldn't feel them when my fingers began
to explore this startling new addition to my appearance. The sight
of my girlish hands cupping and caressing a pair of very female
breasts, MY breasts, was unexpectedly arousing and I felt a
strange stirring in my loins.

The sight must have had the same effect on Dick, for when I looked
up at him, he was glaring at my breasts with a serious case of
lust. His hands reached out to touch them, first cupping one and
then the other and then holding them both in the palms of his
hands as his thumbs tickled and teased my huge nipples. He seemed
to be enjoying himself to no end, and I was sure that if those
breasts had been real, I'd have been in ecstasy from all the
attention he was giving them. As it was, all I could do was stand
still and let him have his fun.

He continued to feel me up for a few minutes, then dragged himself
away, like a hungry man on a diet. He handed me one of the sexy
half-bras he'd bought for me and began to open the last few
packages as I strapped the bra around my chest and hooked the
front clasp securely. The cups only covered the lower half of each
breast, leaving most of the nipple exposed, and they were designed
to lift and accentuate each fleshtone mound into eye-catching 1
fullness, creating a deep cleavage between them. I had to admit
that I looked quite provocative in that bra.

When the last of the packages had been opened, Dick handed me a
pair of matching panties, very sheer and cut high up on the hips,
and I stepped into them at once. I didn't realize until the
panties were in place just how special they were, but once I was
wearing them I immediately felt the draft between my legs and the
frilly borders of the Opening to be found there. At first I
thought they might be open-crotch panties, like the kind I'd seen
advertised in magazines for horny women, but a brief inspection
with my long-nailed fingers revealed that the opening was much
farther back, directly above my anus. They had been designed to be
worn during sex, just like the open-crotch kind but these had been
intended for sex through the back floor a kind of "sodomy
special," I thought grimly.

Dressed in my sexy underwear with my boobs hanging out in front of
me, as if they were just begging to be held and fondled, I knew I
made quite a tempting dish for the eager male standing before me,
so it was no surprise when he finally lost control and lunged at
me, throwing me onto the bed in a single, swift motion. He
practically tore off his Clothes in his haste to join me on the
mattress, and he caused only long enough to lubricate his erection
with gelatin before leaping on top of me like a wild animal. We
had a mutually satisfying round of sex, and then he Collapsed with
his head resting peacefully between my new breasts and my smooth
legs still wrapped possessively about his waist. Feeling strangely
content, I just lay there and held him in my arms as he took a
short nap.

He awoke at the sound of someone unlocking and opening the front
door to the apartment, and we looked at each other in panic,
knowing that Art had arrived a little earlier than expected.
Grabbing his clothes, Dick rushed over to the closet and hid
inside as I hurried out of bed and rushed to go meet my date for
that night.

Art was looking rather tired and depressed when I first saw him,
but the moment he saw me standing in the hall in my bra and
panties with my new breasts in plain view, his eyes lit up like
candles. He ogled the mounds of flesh on my chest in disbelief,
until I explained how Dick had purchased the unusual garment and
dropped it off for me. His curiosity satisfied, he immediately set
about investigating my new physical attributes. Then he began
smoothing his hands over my smooth skin, going everywhere,
touching, tantalizing, exploring, and when he discovered the
opening at the rear of my panties, he knew immediately why it was
there and determined to make use of the access it offered without
delay.

Sweeping me into his arms, he carried me to bed and began kissing
and fondling me, slowly stripping off his clothes a little at a
time, until he was finally lying naked on top of me. It took only
a moment to lubricate his staff, and then he was plunging inside
me again and again, thrilling me with a feeling of sexual
gratification I was now quite familiar with.

As I lay beneath him, impaled on his manhood, I thought of Dick
hiding in the closet and listening to it all. Perhaps he was even
peeking, watching us through a crack in the door. Somehow that
seemed to make the act even more perverse and even more erotic,
and I couldn't contain the sounds of pleasure and satisfaction
emerging from my throat, and knowing the effect they'd have on
Dick when he heard them made them even harder to contain. Was I
trying to make Dick jealous? I really wondered.

Once we'd finished making love, Art and I got dressed and ready to
go out. He was wearing his usual dungarees and workshirt, and his
clothes contrasted quite strikingly with my new, low-cut silver
minidress, my dark nylons and my silver pumps, each with a sexy
strap about the ankle. He looked like he was going to work; I
looked like I was going to a fancy dress ball. He didn't seem to
mind, though. In fact, he sometimes had trouble taking his eyes
off me. With my wig and jewelry in place, my make-up repaired and
my silver clutch purse in hand, I was ready, and we left without
further delay. As I locked the apartment door behind me, I thought
of Dick in the closet and wondered what his night would be like
tonight.

We arrived at the party just as it was getting started. I was
incredibly nervous at first and did my best to persuade Art not to
take me in there-, since I assumed it would be crowded with people
who knew me, as frat parties usually were. He was obstinate,
however, and insisted on "showing me off," so I had no choice but
to let him lead me inside the frat house.

My first few encounters with people I knew were harrowing, nerve-
wracking experiences, for I was constantly afraid of being
recognized, but when one person after another kept accepting me as
a pretty, blonde- girl named Bambi, I gained some confidence in my
disguise. It was ridiculous of me to have worried at all, of
course. My own parents hadn't recognized me, and now that I had
breasts, very noticeable breasts practically spilling out over the
top of my dress, it would have been miraculous for someone to have
guessed who I really was.

As we mingled with the other guests, drinking German beer from a
keg on the porch and munching on chips and other snacks, I
eventually started to relax and have a good time, despite the
embarrassment I felt every time I caught some guy looking at my
breasts. It was also a bit embarrassing the way Art kept fawning
all over me, fetching me drinks and rolling joints for me and
making sure I was comfortable. At every opportunity he could find,
his hands were on me, resting on my hips, circling my waist or
clutching my girlish fingers tightly, making him appear as
possessive of me as I had appeared with Dick the day before. It
bothered me to think that he could touch me whenever and however
he wanted while I couldn't even say anything about it, but in
another sense it was also rather flattering to get so much
attention and to have someone desire my touch so strongly.

When we danced, I tried my best to imitate the girls I'd seen
dancing earlier. For the fast songs, I wiggled my hips, jiggled my
breasts and shook my long hair behind me, hoping that I didn't
look too awkward in my high heels, and for the slow ones, I melted
into my partner's arms and let him lead me as he chose. It felt
strange to have those two false mounds of flesh bulging between us
as we embraced, but Art didn't seem to mind in the least, and to
be honest I guess I didn't either, since the more female I
appeared on the outside, the less likely it was that anyone would
suspect who I really was on the inside.

After a while it seemed that Art was trying to introduce me to
everyone at the party, and he made no secret of his carnal
interest in me, which was surprising at first. He'd kiss me and
hug me and grab my ass right in front of everybody, as though he'd
have nothing to be ashamed of if my secret were somehow revealed.
I wondered if he could be so dumb as to believe that my identity
was truly undetectable, that no possible circumstance could arise
resulting in my exposure as a boy in skirts. It was unlikely, yes,
but not impossible, and I couldn't understand his casual attitude
about it.

It had been the same with Dick the night before. He hadn't seemed
the least bit ashamed of being seen on a date with me or kissing
me in public, and he also appeared unconcerned about the
possibility of someone recognizing me. As I thought about it, I
believed for a moment that I had them right where I wanted them.
If they'd been seen in compromising positions with me, then how
could they dare to expose me if I disobeyed them? They'd have just
as much to lose as I would! Both Dick and Art had been on dates
with me, kissing me! They'd be humiliated too if the truth came
out! They didn't dare to threaten me anymore!

This idea brightened my thoughts considerably for a moment before
I saw the flaws in my logic. True, Art and Dick had kissed me and
dated me, and they might even admit that they'd made me suck them
off and then raped me, but no matter how much they had to hide, it
was still nothing compared to what I was hiding. Letting some guy
blow you and giving some guy a blowjob are very different things
as far as the males I associated with were concerned. Dick and Art

would be teased and forgiven. I'd be ostracized forever, or worse.

What was even more disturbing was the realization that Art and
Dick wouldn't even have to admit anything. They could deny any
involvement in my feminization and claim that they'd been fooled
right along with everyone else. Would anyone doubt them? In
public, they'd treated me just like a real girl, even kissing me
openly. They could simply point to their behavior in support of
their claims of innocence, saying that they never would've kissed
me like that in public if they'd known I was really a boy. In the
end, they'd probably be believed, and I'd be ridiculed, hated and
possibly attacked.

No, if anything, treating me like a real girl only made Art and
Dick more secure in their defense, so the idea that at first had
seemed so liberating was really just another reason to give up
hope of ever escaping their clutches.

We ran into Bob and Frank at the party later on, and after Art had
explained my newest acquisition, both guys looked quite pleased by
the prominent breasts I was displaying so boldly, each of them
probably eager for his chance to check them out more intimately. I
gave each of them a kiss on the cheek, and then Art dragged me
back onto the dance floor for another slow turn around the room. I
noticed that Dick was conspicuous by his absence and wondered why.

As we were dancing I saw Shelly, my old girlfriend from the movie
theater, standing near the keg talking to some of her girlfriends
and looking pointedly in my direction. I assumed that she was
telling them how she'd seen my out last night on a date with Dick,
and she was probably implying that I was "easy" or "too loose" or
something. Somehow that didn't bother me the way it should've, and
I smiled at the thought that Shelly was just jealous.

Toward the end of the festivities the frat brothers who had
organized the party tried to enlist as many girls as possible to
participate in a spontaneous wet t-shirt contest on the back
patio. They'd supply the t-shirts if we supplied the boobs. I
wanted desperately to refuse, but I was no longer free to make my
own decisions, so I turned to Art with a pleading look in my eyes,
hoping he'd give me a break, and to my great relief, he did. The
two boob-hungry college students were quite disappointed when Art
explained that we were just leaving and put his arm around me to
lead me to the door, saying goodnight to people as we passed them.

Once outside, I breathed a sigh of relief, and without thinking I
turned and gave Art a generous kiss to show my , gratitude. I was
almost as surprised as he was, but the urge to do it had come so
suddenly and felt so natural that I hadn't been able to control
it, let alone understand it. It just happened. He hesitated a
moment in bewilderment, then returned my kiss with enthusiasm.

"Thanks, Art," I sighed when our lips finally parted. I cupped my
breasts in my hands and smiled at him shyly. "I was afraid you
were gonna make me show these off in front of everybody."

"I thought about it," he admitted, "but when you looked at me so
sweet and innocent, I just couldn't."

Brushing my girlish fingers aside, he took my breasts in his hands
and caressed them lovingly. "Besides, I don't want to share these
babies with anybody."

He delivered the line so comically, and I felt so stupid with him
feeling me up as we stood there under the Streetlight, that I
simply had to laugh. He began to chuckle too, and his eyes gleamed
with amusement as they fixed on the breasts that jiggled in his
grasp when I laughed. We shared the moment, sensing a feeling of
tenderness growing between us, and then he stepped forward, taking
me into his arms to kiss me. I let my arms encircle his neck as
I'd seen the girl in movie do, with my hands hanging limp behind
him, and balancing on one tip-toe, I lifted my other foot behind
me, knowing full well how feminine I was acting, but somehow it
felt right.

We were both drunk and tired when we arrived at my apartment later
that night. He made us some nightcaps while I slipped into
something more comfortable, and then we spent a little time
watching television and snuggling on the couch before he finally
carried me to bed. My false breasts commanded most of his
attention for some time, and I found myself almost wishing I could
feel them as he licked my nipples and kneaded the soft feminine
mounds on my chest like they were real. Eventually he got around
to business, stripping off his clothes and lubricating his male
dagger before stabbing me from behind as I lay on my stomach
beneath him. Soon we were both gasping in mutual Satisfactions and
then he fell asleep on top of me. I rolled him over gently onto
his back and cuddled against him feeling strangely comforted by
his hairy arms and his broad, manly chest, and as I slept that
night I dreamed that he was a tall, valiant knight in armor and I
was the beautiful princess he adored.

WEDNESDAY

Art was already gone when I awoke late the next morning, but I
found a note taped to his pillow that read as follows:

Bambi,

Thanks for a wonderfultime last night. Lookingforward to seeing
you againon Friday night with thegang. Take care and
staybeautiful.

Love,

Art

P.S. - I'll miss you.

I was momentarily put off to find myself the recipient of a love
note from another boy, but as I thought about it, it did seem kind
of a sweet thing for Art to do. I imagined that he must've felt
pretty stupid writing that note, so I tried to appreciate it in
the spirit it was given and even ended up putting it away in the
nightstand drawer as a keepsake.

When I finally got up and went to the kitchen to make myself a cup
of coffee, I found another note waiting for me on the kitchen
table, this one from Dick. I'd forgotten that he'd been hiding in
the closet when Art and I left for the evening, and I wondered now
how he'd felt about it at the time. The note rested on a small
stack of magazines and was taped to a thin plastic container about
the size of a compact case, and it read as follows:

Bambi,

Here's a little presentfor you from your fan club.Take one every
day withoutfail, or I'll spank yourcute little behind. See
youFriday, sweetheart.

Love You,

Dastardly

P.S. - Got you something toread, too. Enjoys

The magazines were all copies of female-oriented publications like
Sweet Sixteen and Boy Crazy for girls or Ladies Only and Fashion
Focus for women. I put them on the coffee table and wondered if
there was actually anything in them worth reading.

Opening the plastic container, I was shocked to discover that it
was filled with birth control pills, all lined up in a circular
arrangement, each one marked with a calendar date from 1 to 31 to
help keep an accurate track of their consumption. I assumed, at
the time, that this was just another of Dick's psychological
ploys, intended to unman me and make me feel like a real girl, but
I learned much later, to my great surprise, that these pills
actually contained female hormones, and when taken as ordered,
they would slowly alter my blood chemistry from male to female. In
my innocence, however, I took the pills faithfully, never
suspecting the drastic physical consequences that would result
until it was far too late.

Frank dropped by around lunch time to tell me he was taking me out
to the carnival at the fairgrounds that night and to help me pick
out something cute and sexy to wear as his date. He spent some
time playing with my new breasts, amazed at how realistic they
were, and then I fixed him something to eat and obediently sucked
him off as he sat at the table having lunch. Afterward, he kissed
me good-bye and went back to work for the afternoon.

When he returned around six that evening, I was all ready to go,
dressed in the tight-fitting, low-cut peasant blouse and black
leather miniskirt he'd selected for me, as well as a pair of
spike-heeled black leather pumps on my stockinged feet, large,
golden hoops dangling from my ears and a black beret perched atop
the golden tresses of my wig. Frank looked very pleased and
greeted me with a warm, passionate kiss.

The fairgrounds were about an hour away by bus, so we arrived just
as it was getting dark. We walked around for a bit, checking out
the attractions, and then Frank bought me a cotton candy and had
me sit on his lap while I nibbled at it daintily. It was the first
time in a long time that I'd had anything sweet to eat, and I
really enjoyed it.

After that, we went on several rides. I loved the merry-go-round,
although I did have to ride side-saddle because of my tight skirt,
and I had a good time, despite my reservations, when we tried some
of the kiddy rides. I imagine it must've looked a little unusual
for a girl my age to be going on such childish rides, but I didn't
mind as long as Frank was with me, for everyone seemed to
understand that we were just a

young couple looking for fun, and no one gave us a second look,
except of course for the many guys who continuously stared at me
lustfully, but I was getting used to that by now, and it no longer
bothered me.

The roller coaster, however, was another matter entirely, and once
we started downhill, I spent the entire time trying to climb into
Frank's lap and screaming my head off, just like the other girls
on the ride. I'd never been bothered by roller coasters before, so
I wondered at my reaction, but so many things about me seemed to
be changing lately that I just took it in stride. I was much more
worried by the way I thanked Frank by kissing him on the lips when
he told me we didn't have to go back on the roller coaster. Such
actions were becoming more and more instinctive and uncontrollable
and that frightened me a lot more than my sudden fear of roller
coasters.

It was our ride on the ferris wheel, however, that I found most
exciting and frightening in a way I never could have imagined only
a week earlier. As we climbed slowly toward the top, pausing again
and again to allow another car below to be loaded, Frank began to
get passionate, kissing me and feeling me up, discreetly at first,
but then with such mounting enthusiasm that he didn't even seem to
notice when the wheel had taken on its last passengers and started
to spin at full speed. Neither did he seem to care that people
could see us as we swooped through the lower half of the circle we
traced above their heads.

It was almost like we were on view in some kind of rotating
display case, and I caught glimpses of the people below looking on
in amusement as I tried to fend off my boyfriend's lustful
advances. I struggled to maintain a certain decorum before the
eyes of so many witnesses, but there wasn't much that I could do
with Frank pawing and kissing me like there was no tomorrow. I
managed to remove his hand from inside my blouse, and each time he
unzipped my skirt I was able to zip it up again before he could
remove it, but things were getting very serious, and I wasn't sure
where this was going to lead, but I was damn sure that this wasn't
the time or place for it.

When the ride finally slowed and came to a stop to start unloading
passengers, we were about midway up the rising half of the wheel,
and it was then that I learned just how serious Frank intended to
get, for as I looked on in stunned silence, he opened the zipper
of his trousers and removed his stiffening erection, pausing only
to lubricate it with some gel from a container in his pocket
before hoisting me up off my seat and pulling me onto his lap,
where his greased and eager manhood waited to impale me.

With great reluctance, I raised my skirt and settled onto his
thighs, feeling his magic wand slip through the opening in the
back of my panties and plunge deep inside me, stirring my emotions
and arousing my passions in the strange way that I still didn't
quite understand but could no longer resist. Bouncing and
squirming on his lap, I gasped with pleasure each time he reached
inside me, and as we rose to the height of the wheel's arc, I
looked out over the countryside with house lights and streetlamps
glittering like stars in the distant darkness below, and it felt
as if the male organ I was riding on had lifted me hundreds of
feet above the world, carrying me off into the clouds and beyond
in search of a joy I'd never known before. This ecstatic feeling,
almost a religious experience, went on and on until I finally felt
him tremble and jerk inside me, releasing his male juices in
joyous spasms, and then I too could wait no longer and emptied my
load into the crotch of my panties.

And not a moment too soon. As I recovered from my post-coital
daze, I realized that we were more than halfway down the wheel's
height, and people were already able to see inside our little car
and observe our x-rated antics. I quickly settled back onto the
seat beside Frank and repaired my make-up using my compact mirror
as he nonchalantly tucked away his shrinking erection, and we did
our best to look casual as we waited for the car to reach bottom.

That was when I saw her. she was standing beside a hot dog vendor
with her new boyfriend pointing up toward Frank and me with a look
of disbelief and indignation on her face. It was the third time
she'd seen me in three days dating a different guy, and I'm sure
Shelly was as appalled by my seeming popularity as she was by my
apparent inability to say "No" to a boy. yet I was also sure that
she'd trade places with me in a second if she could.

Then I noticed that other people were also staring at us, and one
group of college guys was laughing and making jokes about our
apparent lack of self restraint, but no one said anything to
either of us as we emerged from the unloading platform and walked
quickly, hand in hand, toward the game booths.

For almost an hour, Frank proceeded to impress me with his many
and varied skills, first at the rifle range, where he shot a
record number of targets and won a big stuffed panda bear, which
he gave to me of course, and then at the dart throw, the coin
toss, the softball pitch and the basketball hoops. Through it all
I just stood beside him, cheering him on like a proud girlfriend,
my arms increasingly burdened with the prizes he'd won for me.

In the past, I would've eagerly tried my hand at all these
challenges and entered into competition with the other boy, but
now I had no interest in shooting baskets or knocking down milk
bottles with a softball. I was content to stand in the background
and watch as my boyfriend competed for me, knowing that I would
reap the benefits of his success. Besides, dressed as I was,
engaging in such boyish activities was simply not practical. After
all, I might've broken a nail, smeared my make-up or gotten a run
in my stocking. I was dressed to please and tease the boys, not to
act like them.

The last booth was a dunk-the-clown baseball throw, where hitting
the target dead center would cause a narrow platform above a tank
of water to collapse, plunging a circus clown into the drink. In
order to attract customers the clown did his best to irritate and
anger likely prospects, hoping to get them mad enough to spend
half a buck trying to dunk him. It worked, too. He got some guys
so furious they couldn't see straight, let alone hit a small
target with a baseball from twenty feet away, and the whole time
we stood there watching I only saw him get dunked once. The crowd
cheered the hero who'd hit the target, and the clown, now soaking
wet, got a little nasty after he'd climbed back up to his platform
and resumed his former place.

Then he saw Frank and me, and the moment his eyes swept over my
feminized form I knew I was in trouble. He began to flirt with me,
calling me all kinds of insulting names, and when that failed to
make Frank mad, he started putting me down, ridiculing the size of
my breasts, criticizing my make-up and suggesting that I engaged
in certain off-color activities with animals late at night. I
blushed brighter with each comment he fired at me, and soon I
actually felt tears welling up in my eyes. I wanted to turn and
run as fast as I could in my high-heeled pumps, but just as
thought I could take no more, Frank let go of my hand and took a
step toward the booth.

"Okay, asshole!" he shouted hoarsely. "I hope you drown!"

With that, he paid the clown's assistant, grabbed his three
baseballs from the rack and let loose with his first cannonball.
The target rang loudly as the ball hit dead on, and the clown went
under with a terrific splash. Even angrier now, the clown started
to antagonize Frank again even before he'd resumed his seat on the
platform, but he was barely in position when Frank's second
baseball connected, and down he went once more.

He'd been taken by surprise that time, and he was gurgling and
gasping for air when he came up. He waved his fist at Frank and
started yelling as he climbed back up to his perch, but he hadn't
even gotten both feet on the platform when Frank's final volley
hit home, and with a wildly comical somersault, the clown went
down a third time, head first into the water. When he emerged at
last, clutching the side of the pool for support, he said nothing
and didn't even look at Frank.

With a grunt of satisfaction, Frank turned away and walked back
over to where I'd been standing and looking on in sheer awe. I
doubted if even a major league pitcher, even my favorite player,
Gene "Lightning" Logan, could've gone three for three hitting that
target. Something had spurred Frank on to go beyond his best
possible effort, and the thought that his inspiration had been
defending me made me feel proud and strangely confident. I wasted
no time in planting a big "thank you" kiss on his lips the first
possible moment, and he received it readily.

"You're my hero," I whispered with a smile, and he grinned back
like a little kid who just discovered ice cream.

Other than the roller coaster, the only attraction at the carnival
that I didn't enjoy was the fun house. It was amusing in the
beginning, but toward the middle I actually started to get scared,
and I held onto Frank just like the timid teenage girl I appeared
to be.

The worst part, however, was at the end, where the people in the
fun house have to cross a balcony in plain view of the entire
fairgrounds, and a blast of cold air shoots up from the flooring,
causing pants to balloon outward and skirts to rise straight up.
As a boy, I used to enjoy hanging out with the other guys by the
fun house to watch the girls as they shrieked and tried to pull
their skirts back down when the air blast hit them, but now I was
a girl in a short, skimpy skirt, and the boys out there would be
waiting for me to expose myself to their leering gazes, and there
was no way to avoid it. Fortunately my skirt was very tight,
hugging my butt cheeks closely, so when the air blast rose from
the floor, it hardly raised my hem more than an inch or two, and
the boys outside got little more than a teasing glimpse of my
frilly panties and smooth, girlish crotch.

Frank saved what he called "the best" for last, and the final
attraction we visited that night was the very popular tunnel of
love. After leaving my stuffed toys and other prizes with the
attendant, I took Frank's hand and let him help me as I placed one
high-heeled pump and then the other inside the tiny boat, which
was designed to look like a gigantic swan.

Settling down on the narrow bench beside him, I thought back on
the few times I'd taken girls on similar rides and how my only
ambition had been to get as far as possible with them before the
boat emerged on the far side of the tunnel. Now, ironically
enough, I was the girl being taken into that dark interior to be
accosted by her date, and it would be Frank's ambition to get past
third base with me, if possible. He took my hand gently in his,
and I tried to smile at him as the man operating the ride pushed
our little boat away from the dock and let it drift into the
slowly moving current of the large, circular watercourse that
would carry us through the donut-shaped tunnel and back again.

Frank made his move before the boat had even entered the tunnel,
fondling my breasts and pulling me close for a deep, probing
French kiss. Knowing what to expect, I reached down and daintily
unzipped his fly, then slipped my girlish fingers inside his pants
to grasp the bar of flesh concealed within. Unbuttoning my blouse,
he quickly unclasped the front of my bra to reveal my false
breasts in all their glory, and he spent several minutes kissing
and licking the swollen nipples as I began to stroke his erection
to full size.

His attention finally wandered from my breasts down to my nylon-
clad thighs and what lay between them, and I gasped as I felt his
middle finger reach up inside my panties to tickle my sphincter.
The opening puckered at his touch, trying to seize and hold onto
his finger, but each time it did he teased me by unplugging his
cork from my bottle and tickling me again. It was incredibly
arousing, and I heard myself gasping with pleasure at his every
touch.

Then, almost with a will of its own, my hand released his male
organ and slipped inside his pants pocket to grab the container,
of gelatin I knew was in there. Smearing a generous amount of the
grease paste onto my fingers, I massaged the gel onto his
straining erection, carefully coating it from tip to base while
urging it to grow even larger and harder. All the while, our lips
met again and again and our tongues intertwined like mating
snakes.

"Hurry," I whispered, sounding remarkably like a girl in that
dark, echoing tunnel, "take me now."

Laying me down on my back across the narrow bench, he quickly
mounted me and thrust his male lance deep into my bowels. My legs
were sticking straight up in the air with my spiked heels pointing
toward the ceiling, and my arms were wrapped around his neck in a
clinging embrace as he began to pump his firm flesh in and out, in
and out, like the tamping rod of a butter churn gone wild. The
little boat rocked crazily, making splashing, rippling noises on
the water as we bobbed up and down and side to side and back and
forth, all to the rhythm of Frank's frantic pumping.

The orgasm I felt building inside me was frightening in its
intensity, and when it finally exploded inside me, I couldn't hold
back the girlish scream of delight that burst forth from my lungs
and echoed throughout the tunnel. A moment later I felt Frank let
loose inside me, and then he collapsed on top of me, exhausted but
very, very happy. The current was relentlessly carrying our little
boat toward the end of the tunnel and the bright lights of the
carnival outside, so with a simultaneous sigh of regret, we both
hurried to put our clothes back on and resume our seats on the
bench before we were exposed to the eyes of others. I was just
fastening my bra clasp as we passed under the lip of the tunnel,
and I rebuttoned my blouse quickly, painfully aware of the teenage
boys who stood nearby and commented on the nature of my recent
activities inside the tunnel with my boyfriend, suggesting that
they'd enjoy a similar ride with me anytime.

By the time the boat drifted up to the dock, I had repaired my
make-up and looked unmolested once more. I gratefully accepted
Frank's hand as he helped me up onto the dock, and once we'd
reclaimed my prizes from the attendant, he led me away from the
crowded attraction, back toward the bus stop and the journey home.

We sat on the bench holding hands and talking about all the things
we'd seen and done as we waited for the next bus to arrive, and
when it finally came we took seats near the back and fell asleep
in each other's arms.

I awoke sometime later to find the bus driver standing over me and
gently poking my arm. "Isn't this your stop, Miss?"

Glancing out the window, I realized we were back in our
neighborhood, and I thanked the driver before tenderly waking
Frank with a kiss. He took a few moments to return my affection,
then helped me to my tired feet and led me to the exit with his
arm around my waist. The bus driver watched us go, eyeing my
retreating behind in my tight leather miniskirt and then casting
Frank a look of envy before driving off.

Back in my apartment, we collapsed into bed side by side, still
fully dressed, and with a few tender goodnight kisses, we drifted
off to sleep in each other's arms.



THURSDAY



Frank and I both woke up a little before seven in the morning when
the sound of crashing garbage dumpsters announced the arrival of
the sanitation truck that came every Thursday before dawn to
antagonize the entire neighborhood. Frank wasted no time in
stripping off our clothing from the night before, and when we were
both naked, he proceeded to warm me up with some foreplay before
eventually mounting me from behind and doing it doggie-style on
our knees, his hands reaching forward to firmly caress my
artificial breasts the entire time. Afterward, I made him
breakfast while he showered and got dressed for work, and then I
sucked him off as he ate like a dutiful little housewife. He
paused at the door to give me an extremely long and passionate
kiss before heading down the stairs and outside.

I spent most of the morning glancing at the magazines Dick had
gotten for me the day before, though I had to stop every once in a
while and ask myself why. why was I looking at girls' fashions and
trying to imagine myself wearing them; why was I reading articles
on dating and sex written from the woman's point of view and
hoping to get insights from them; why, above all, was I enjoying
it so much?

I told myself over and over that I had no choice; I didn't want to
be a girl, but I was one, and that was that, no sense denying it.
I told myself I might as well learn all I could about the new role
I'd been forced to take in life, but that explanation really
didn't satisfy me, for the feelings I got sitting curled up on the
couch with my imitation breasts pressed between my knees gazing at
the pictures and reading the articles was one of contentment, not
necessity.

Somehow reading those magazines made me feel more like a real girl
inside, and considering that I had no choice except to be a girl
on the outside, being one on the inside too was simply a way of
making life easier and less tense. If I couldn't fight against my
feminization, the only way to 4 reduce the stress I felt was to
accept myself as a girl the way the other guys had, so reading
those magazines in a way was like therapy for me, aligning my
thoughts with my deeds to eliminate the friction between them,
since it was nearly impossible to read that material and have a
single boyish thought in my head.

I skipped lunch again as part of a diet I'd put myself on, hoping
to lose that slight tummy bulge I'd noticed when I wore a tight
skirt or dress; it probably wasn't noticeable to anyone but me,
yet like any pretty girl I wanted my figure as slim and shapely as
possible, so I went hungry a lot, but the results were already
starting to show, and I was at that time thinner than I'd ever
been in my life.

Late afternoon I started getting ready for my date with Bob,
relaxing in a warm bath before slipping into my sexy underwear and
dark, sheer nylons. I wore the most conservative dress I had, a
simple black cocktail dress with long, sleeves, a loose-fitting
turtleneck and a hem reaching almost to my knees. The material
molded itself to the contours of my feminine shape like black
paint, and the skirt was so narrow I had to take tiny, baby steps
that made me mince even more than usual in my shiny, black leather
pumps. My make-up on, my jewelry attached and my wig in place, I
stepped gracefully before the mirror and smiled, knowing that Bob
would be very pleased. What guy wouldn't be?

I hadn't realized it beforehand, but of the four dates I had that
week, my date with Bob was to be the most difficult for me
emotionally. I'd always been closest to Bob, in age, in size, in
temperament, and I always had the most fun hanging around with
him, just he and I doing things together, like going to ballgames
in "the city," so when he'd told me on Sunday that he planned to
take me to see a night game against the American League's leading
team Thursday night, I was actually looking forward to it, but the
moment he arrived that evening I immediately perceived that things
were not going to go as I'd expected.

I opened the door and struck a sexy pose thinking that Bob's eyes
would light up with approval when he saw me in my tight-fitting
black dress, but strangely enough he just gave me a curious look,
as though he wasn't sure what to say to me. His reaction made me
feel nervous, but I tried to smile as I said hello and asked him
to come in. He made no attempt to kiss me or even come near me as
he entered, and then he stood around looking uncomfortable as I
got him a beer and rolled a joint for us to smoke.

When I lit the marijuana cigarette and passed it to him, he took
it from me and paused, staring for a moment at the lipstick stain
I'd left on the end before he took a hit. Once we'd smoked the
joint down to a mere stub, I used my long, silver fingernails as a
roachclip, holding the pink-stained end to my lips, then to his.
He seemed reluctant to take a hit this way at first, staring at my
girlish fingernails as if he'd never noticed them before, but then
he leaned forward and took a puff, his eyes looking dark and
distant.

"You've sure changed since Sunday," he said at one point, noting
the way I sat with my legs tightly crossed at the knees in a
typically feminine pose, and I certainly couldn't argue with him,
so I just shrugged and reminded him that I really didn't have any
choice in the matter, which made him retreat into that brooding
silence again.

He did seem to enjoy the dinner I cooked for us, especially the
wine sauce I made to go with the roast, but the burning candles
I'd put on the table and the romantic music playing in the
background seemed to make him nervous somehow. When I noticed that
it was nearly time to catch our bus, he helped me clear the table,
leaving the dirty dishes in the sink until the next morning, and I
got my purse and my scarf and was ready.

As we walked to the bus stop, I absentmindedly tried to take his
hand, but he pulled away, pretending to scratch his head, and it
was obvious that he was reluctant to touch me, which made me
wonder why. I had lots of time to think about it, for he barely
said two words to me as we waited for the bus, appearing deep in
thought and perhaps a little sad. What was going on in his mind?

When the bus arrived, he paid our fares and we took a seat toward
the back, away from most of the other passengers, as we usually
did, and we passed the time during the ride by playing a one-on-
one trivia game, as we had so many times before, but somehow Bob's
heart just wasn't in it anymore. Our games used to be very
competitive, but this time I beat him round after round, and he
would just nod and pretend to be impressed with how much I knew
about baseball, as if I were a real girl. Eventually he lost
interest in the game altogether and just sat in silence, looking
out the window.

After a while I got so upset by his behavior that I nervously
reached out toward his hand resting on the seat between us and
caressed it with my girlish fingers. He turned to me with a
startled look, and I leaned close to whisper in his ear, "What's
the matter, buddy?"

He gazed at me strangely for a moment, then moved his hand to his
lap and looked away. "Nothing."

Feeling suddenly rejected, I looked down at my feminine hand on
the seat between us, the slender fingers with the long,
sculptured, silver nails trembling slightly as placed them back in
my skirted lap with a sigh. I gazed out the window and watched the
familiar terrain go by, thinking back on all the trips Bob and I
had made together on that bus. It was comforting to relive those
moments, and in those memories I found the key to what was wrong
with Bob, though I placed little value on my discovery.

For the first time since Dick had transformed me into his
slavegirl, I was doing something I wanted to do, with someone I
liked to be with, and I was trying to have fun, to enjoy life like
old times, but times had changed, and I was no longer the boy I
once was, or even a boy at all in most respects.

Thinking back on the way things had been less than a week ago made
me realize then what Bob had recognized right from the start... it
would never be the same between us. Going to a ballgame with him
again, I'd been trying to recapture the past and perhaps escape
the present, but my life had changed too drastically, and in
trying to retrace my old footsteps I found that my high-heeled
pumps just didn't fit. I could no longer be the person I was, and
I could no longer do the things I once enjoyed doing. Bob and I
could no longer be friends', as we once were, but if that was
true, then what were we to each other?

I knew then why Bob had felt so uncomfortable around me that
evening. Of the four of them, only Bob really knew me and liked me
before last Saturday, and of the four he was surely the most
reluctant to force me into something I didn't want to do.

If the other guys were doing it, peer pressure would motivate Bob
to join in, so he showed no hesitation in raping me the previous
weekend, but now we were alone, and unlike the other three males,
he wasn't aggressive enough to force himself on a girl, especially
a girl who used to be a boy and a friend. In my mind I could
imagine the dilemma he was in; on one hand, knowing who I was and
wanting to treat me as the friend he'd known, and on the other
hand; seeing me as a sexy, desirable girl and wanting to do
something about it. In his confusion, he didn't know whether to
arm wrestle me or kiss me.

Knowing what troubled Bob did nothing to reduce the strain between
us. If I tried acting like my old self, he'd look at my stockinged
legs or my female figure or my pretty face, and his eyes would
register "girl," sparking desire in his loins, making it
impossible to treat me the way he once did, but if I tried acting
like a girl, part of him would remember who I really was, and his
memory would protest that I was a fraud, nothing more than his old
friend in drag, making it impossible to accept me as a girl. So,
rather than find a way to resolve Bob's confusion, I only
succeeded in getting depressed myself, and we rode all the way to
the bus terminal in a tense silence.

As the night went on, things proceeded to get worse. When we
disembarked at the terminal, I remembered how we used to race down
the escalators to street level, weaving in between other, slower-
moving pedestrians as though they were just objects on an obstacle
course. Bob usually won, though I always gave him a good run for
his money, and we'd pant together and laugh and the loser would
say, "Wait 'til next timed But not this time. In my narrow skirt
and high heels, I found it difficult enough to walk; there was no
way I was running anywhere, so the race was off, postponed
indefinitely.

Neither of us said anything as we walked slowly to the escalators
and rode them down, but I know Bob was thinking the same thing I
was, and it made me sad, as if I'd become physically handicapped
or something, for I was beginning to see that as a girl there were
some things I just couldn't do, and running through bus terminals
was one of them.

Before long I discovered many more things I could no longer do.
out on the street, Bob and I used to take a short detour to the x-
rated part of the city and look at all the prostitutes and sex
shops out of curiosity, but dressed as I was, we both realized it
would be a mistake for me to walk those streets now and possibly
be mistaken for a hooker. Standing outside a porno house and
ogling at the naked women, while looking prettier than the best of
them, would also attract too much unwanted attention, and somebody
might get suspicious. For me, the x-rated neighborhood had become
off-limits, which meant Bob had to abandon the detour as well, and
that made me feel bad.

Our next stop was usually a topless bar on the border of the red-
light district where the bartender never bothered to ask for I.D.
if you looked older than fifteen, but once again my female
appearance made that a risky proposition, for girls who hung out
there were usually looking to get laid, so the second stop on our
old agenda was also canceled due to my feminization. Instead we
went to a crowded pizza shop across from the sports arena and had
soft drinks, sitting across from each other at a booth with an
uncomfortable silence hanging between us.

Since we arrived earlier than usual, the sports arena was not as
crowded as it had seemed in the past, although it soon would be,
of course. Instead of running from the topless bar all the way to
the main gate and standing in a long line to get in, we simply
walked casually up to the ticket taker, who was just opening up
for business, handed over our tickets and went inside. The vast
corridors that circled the stadium's seating platforms seemed
deserted as we headed for our section, and I could hear echoes of
my high heels tapping on the concrete flooring with each step.

Before trying to locate our seats, Bob and I used to take a
pitstop in the men's room, both to relieve ourselves after all the
beer we'd drunk and also to sit in adjoining stalls and smoke a
joint by passing it under the partition between us. I was sure
that Bob wanted to get high before the game started, as usual, but
there was no way we could use the restroom together anymore, and
there was nowhere else safe to light up. I didn't really want to
go into the ladies' room and smoke one by myself, so I offered to
wait for him while he went to the men's room alone. He gave me
that strange look of discontentment again, then nodded, knowing
that there was nothing else we could do, now that I was a girl.

While I waited, I continued to brood on all the things I'd miss
out on if my life as a girl were to continue, as it seemed it
must. No more sports like football, baseball and hockey. No more
rough-housing with the guys. No more dates with girls. No bachelor
parties. No drinking contests. No hunting trips. No masculine fun
of any kind. All I had to look forward to were new recipes to try
in the kitchen, a new apron for doing housework in, new dresses,
new shades of lipstick and nail polish, new bras to show off my
breasts, new ways to look pretty for my boyfriends, and night
after night of dating the four guys who'd taken away my
masculinity and made me their sex slave. I was still really a boy,
and still very much wanted to live as one, but the only future
that awaited me was a future in skirts, and the only life I could
live was the life of a pretty girl named Bambi.

By the time Bob returned from the men's room I was feeling about
as depressed as I could get, or so I thought. We found our seats
quickly and sat in silence waiting for the game to start, each of
us lost in his own thoughts, and when the game began it seemed
that he was almost as disinterested as I was in following its
progress.

By the second or third inning I was hardly paying any attention to
the game at all, so when I heard the crack of a bat and everyone
around me jumped up, I didn't realize what was happening at first.
Climbing to my high-heeled feet, I glanced up to where everyone
was looking and saw the ball heading straight down at me! My first
instinct was to go after it; even without a glove I knew I could
catch it if I tried! No one had a better shot at it than I did! It
was mine if I wanted it!

And then I remembered... I was a girl! I couldn't go leaping up
onto my seat and snatching baseballs out of the air! I'd probably
trip in my heels or rip my skirt or break a nail or something! I'd
definitely get a lot of strange looks and raise suspicion
unnecessarily. No, as much as I wanted that ball, the girl I'd
become could do no more than watch it come down and cower back out
of the way as the guys around her went grabbing for it.

Bob had a shot at it, but the ball came down a little on the far
side of me, so I was directly in his way, and it ended up being
snagged by the bald guy behind me. I saw the disappointment on
Bob's face and felt sympathetic, but then his eyes turned to me
with disapproval and disgust, quickly fading into a look of pity
mixed with contempt. It wasn't my fault that I was a girl, and he
knew that better than anyone, but he still seemed disappointed in
me, as though he'd expected me to somehow retain my masculinity,
despite the dresses and nylons, the make-up and jewelry, even the
sexual demands of my male captors. Somehow he was more disturbed
by my inability to catch that ball than I'd been, and that made me
feel even worse.

I sat with my eyes downcast, staring at the pointy toes of my
black pumps for the rest of the game. Had I been made into a girl
too easily? Had I submitted when I should have fought back? Was
Dick right in declaring that I was just a "pussy" after all? Did I
deserve Bob's friendship and respect when I so obviously had lost
all respect for myself? Question after question ran through my
mind, only serving to make me more and more despondent as I failed
to answer them.

Bob left to go to the men's room again for another joint during
the seventh inning stretch, and I took the opportunity to check my
make-up in my compact mirror, feeling somehow like a traitor to my
own sex. The girl looking out at me from the mirror had a sad,
haunted look in her eyes, the same look, I realized, that I'd seen
all night in Bob's eyes, and suddenly I knew what it was... the
sorrow of mourning, regret, remorse. Both of us were grieving over
the loss of his friend, the boy he used to hang around with, get
drunk with, come to ballgames with... the boy I used to be. It
must seem to Bob, I thought, as though I died, and now he's dating
this girl who somehow reminds him of me. Strange as that was, it
was certainly nowhere near as strange as the truth.

When Bob returned, he looked excited, and he couldn't wait to tell
me what had happened. The restroom had been crowded, so he took a
walk toward the bullpen to watch the pitchers warming up while he
waited, and as he was standing beside the ground level fence, Gene
Logan walked by on his way back from the dugout. He'd been my
favorite pitcher for years, and Bob also thought he was a legend
on the mound, so as the man passed by, Bob said hello, and much to
his amazement, Logan actually stopped and talked to him for a
while. They exchanged insights into the game in progress, and the
pitcher was impressed with Bob's knowledge of the two teams
involved, and in the end he invited Bob to bring a, friend to the
locker room after the game to meet the other players. It was like
a dream come true! This was better than any foul ball might've
been! To meet the players themselves! Wow!!

I shared in Bob's excitement instantly, and I was just as anxious
for the game to end now as he was, for the sooner it was over, the
sooner I could meet my hero, Gene Logan, and maybe get his
autograph or shake his hand. This would make up for everything
that had gone wrong that night, I thought, but I was sadly
mistaken.

With the last pitch, Bob and I rushed over to the locker room
entrance, eager to take advantage of Logan's invitation, and sure
enough Bob's name was on the guard's list of people to be admitted
after the game, and it even said that he could bring a friend with
him, but as we started for the door the man put out his hand to
stop me, saying with a smile, "I'm sorry, Miss, this is the men's
locker room. Ladies aren't allowed."

I was dumbstruck! Of course they wouldn't let me in, not dressed
like a girls What had I been thinking of? Even if I'd been allowed
in, did I really want to parade around in front of a room full of
naked baseball players looking prettier than most girls? It would
be awful!

I looked at Bob and saw the disappointment in his eyes. He hadn't
considered what would happen either, and now he was torn between
fulfilling a dream and remaining loyal to a friend. Instinctively,
I knew that he'd stay with me, if I asked him to, rather than just
abandon me outside while he enjoyed himself, and I also knew that
I didn't want that. It would just be something else to feel guilty
about, another reason Bob could be disappointed with me for being
a girl, so I tried to hide my emotions and told Bob to go ahead
without me.

"Go on," I insisted when he started to object. "I'll go powder my
nose or something while I wait. Go ahead!"

He seemed relieved, then disturbed that I wasn't coming with him,
but in the end he went without me anyway. I stood by the door,
watching him vanish down the hall, and then I turned and walked
slowly into the ladies' room. I spent a few moments touching up my
make-up in the wall mirror, trying not to think about my
disappointment. I had just finished applying a new coat of gloss
to my lips, when the depression that had been building inside me
finally became overwhelming, and suddenly my tears were flowing
like water over a broken dam. I sobbed loudly and lowered my face
into my hands, unable to contain my sorrow any more.

"I don't want to be a girl," I whispered in a choked, gasping
voice. "I don't want to be a girl!"

The woman who entered the restroom shortly afterward found me like
that, standing before the mirror, head in hands, crying my eyes
out, and naturally she was sympathetic, asking me gently what was
wrong as she offered me her shoulder to cry on. Feeling fragile
and vulnerable, I gratefully accepted her consoling embrace and
let her put her arms around me in a motherly way as I shed my
tears into her blouse. It was so unlike me to break down in front
of a stranger like that, but then I wasn't even sure who I was
anymore, so who's to say what type of behavior was like or unlike
me. It certainly felt natural at the time.

Once I managed to get my crying under control, I made up some
story about how my boyfriend was mistreating me, and the woman
accepted my explanation without question, even offering me some
womanly advice on how to handle men, rather pointed advice that
made me blush when I realized that I could actually use it. After
all, I did have four boyfriends to contend with. If anything, I
needed to know how to handle a boyfriend even more than most
girls.

After I'd thanked her for her sympathy and support, she helped me
fix my make-up again, showing me a few little tricks I could do
with my mascara wand that made my eyes look even bigger and sexier
than before. We parted with a sisterly kiss, and I thanked her
again before stepping outside to see if Bob was back yet.

Much to my surprise, he was waiting for me right outside the
ladies' room door, and even more surprising was the fact that
standing beside him, still dressed in his baseball uniform, was
the one and only Gene Logan!

I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw him! It was him! It was
really him!

"Bambi," Bob said, putting his arm around my waist to lead me over
toward the man, "this is Gene Logan."

"I know," I said with a dreamlike tone in my voice.

"Mister Logan," Bob continued, "this is my girlfriend, Bambi."

"Hello, Miss," he said, extending his hand. "Bob tells me that
you're my number one fan."

I slipped my girlish fingers into his big hand and shook it
gently, hardly able to believe that I was touching the legendary
pitching arm of "Lightning" Logan. I was speechless with awe, and
he seemed amused by my reaction.

"When Bob told me he'd come to the game with a friend," the man
explained, "I didn't realize he was talking about a girlfriend, or
I wouldn't have told him to meet me in the locker room, but as
soon as he explained and told me you were waiting outside, I saw
my mistake, and... well, here I am."

I just stood there in a daze for a moment before I realized that I
was still holding onto his hand. He didn't seem to mind, but I
quickly released my grip anyway. My first thought was to say
something like, "It's so awesome to meet you, man! I can't believe
how bitchin' your pitchin' is, y'know?" but then I remembered how
I was dressed and figured I'd better adjust my vocabulary to fit
my new image.

"I'm so pleased to meet you," I said in a soft, feminine voice.
"I've admired your pitching for a long time."

"I'm very pleased to meet you, too," he said sincerely. "When I
asked Bob if his girlfriend was pretty, he told me you were the
best-looking girl in the whole damn city, and now that I've seen
you, I must... I think he's right."

I blushed bright red and lowered my long eyelashes modestly,
unable to think of anything to say, except "Thank you very much."

"Thanks for giving up so much of your time, Mister Logan," Bob
said, offering him a farewell handshake. "I knew Bambi would be
heartbroken if she didn't get to meet you."

"You're both quite welcome," he replied, and after shaking Bob's
hand, he turned to me again. With a smile, he put his hands on my
shoulders and leaned closer, and before I realized what he was
going to do, he'd planted a friendly, almost fatherly kiss on my
lips. "Good-bye, Bambi. Bob's a lucky guy."

I was stunned! He kissed me! He actually kissed me!! I hardly
noticed as the man turned away and started back toward the locker
room, my mind was in such turmoil! I'd finally met my all-time
greatest sports idol, the man I most wanted to be like in the
whole world, and instead of shaking my hand and wishing me well,
he'd actually kissed me and said that he envied my boyfriend! He
didn't see me as a young version of himself, ready to follow in
his footsteps! In his eyes, I was just a pretty teenaged girl with
an interest in baseball, or at least baseball players! If he ever
thought of me again, it wouldn't be to wonder if I was doing well
in my softball league; more likely he'd fantasize about what it
might have been like to take me to bed!

Even with everything that had happened to me in the last few days,
I couldn't recall ever feeling so depressed or humiliated before.
I was numb, emotionally exhausted, and I let Bob lead me to the
bus terminal in a kind of mental haze. Every so often, he'd stop
and ask me what was wrong, but I had no answer, so I simply stared
off into space, ignoring him until he finally gave up and started
walking again. I don't remember getting on the bus or the ride
back. The next thing I knew Bob was helping me up from my seat and
leading me toward the exit. We were home again.

We walked back to my apartment in silence, and I was hardly even
aware of Bob's presence most of the time. When we reached my new
home, he had to dig my key out of my purse and unlock the door,
since I made no effort to do so myself. Once inside, I sat at the
kitchen table and continued to stare at nothing, like a zombie,
while Bob got us some beers and rolled up a fresh joint. He was
just lighting up when I suddenly felt my deep-seated emotions
rising irresistibly to the surface, and with a gasp of pain I fell
off the chair, my head clutched in my hands, and collapsed onto
the floor at his feet, crying hysterically.

Of course, Bob was startled, and at first he tried to pretend he
didn't care, but his feigned indifference soon melted away before
my relentless sobbing, and he fell to his knees beside me on the
floor, cradling me in his arms and whispering in my ear, "It's all
right. Don't cry. I'm here. I'll take care of you. Don't cry."

His voice was strong and sincere, with no trace of the sad
uncertainty I'd heard earlier, and the only thing stranger than
hearing him say these words to me was the way they made me feel
inside. Each syllable he uttered carried more weight of comfort in
it than any I'd ever heard before, for it meant that he'd reached
a decision at last. The turmoil in his mind had ended, and he'd
finally settled the disturbing confusion he felt over who and what
I really was. That part of him that so doggedly held on to
memories of the boy I used to be had reluctantly given up, and the
part of him that desired me, lusted after me the way a man lusts
after a woman, had won at last. His old friend was dead and buried
in his mind, and I was just Bambi, a pretty girl crying in his
arms.

The realization of that fact should have upset me even more than
being kissed by my sports hero did, but, oddly enough it had the
opposite effect. Knowing that Bob now accepted me completely as a
girl and nothing more than are girl seemed to ease the tension I'd
been feeling, as if I'd been torn between two lives that were
rapidly diverging and ripping me in half, but then a choice had
been made, and it hardly seemed to matter that the choice hadn't
been mine, for I accepted it, and that was what counted. Bob had
decided for me. My old life was gone, and I was Bambi, at least
for the time being.

I snuggled against him as he picked me up and carried me into the
bedroom, and my crying slowly subsided as he gently, carefully
stripped off my clothing, jewelry and wig and helped me into bed.
Then he removed his own clothes and slipped under the covers
beside me, his body feeling warm and firm beside mine. Kissing and
fondling me, he continued to offer comfort and support, telling me
how beautiful I was, how much he cared for me, how much he wanted
me, and I responded with the passion of a real girl. I drank from
his lips and let my fingers wander all over his body, exploring
everywhere but finally settling around the rigid pole rising
between his legs.

After so many recent sexual escapades, that night experienced a
true romantic coupling with another male for the first time, for
we did not just have sex; we made love. And for the first time
since I'd been feminized, I did not feel the slightest reluctance
or guilt in satisfying my partner, for I no longer felt that we
were two males engaged in some perverse and immoral sex act; it
was as if I was truly female now, despite the evidence between my
legs, and wanting to satisfy my male lover was the most natural
thing in the world.

It was sheer ecstasy to feel him deep inside me, knowing how much
I could please him, and when he finally came, I climaxed with him,
soaring through imaginary clouds on the most incredible orgasm I'd
ever had. I fell asleep hugging him to my imitation breasts with
my legs wrapped possessively around his, and that night I dreamed
he was a famous baseball player named Bob Logan, a pitcher with a
lightning fastball, and I, of course, was Mrs. Bambi Logan, former
fashion model, his beautiful and adoring wife.



FRIDAY



Bob and I woke together the next morning, and we stayed in bed for
a long while just talking, renewing our friendship on a somewhat
different footing. He'd decided to take the day off from work and
spend it with me, so we lounged under the covers, holding and
caressing each other as any young couple might as we talked.

First, he apologized quite sincerely for his part in kidnapping
and mistreating me, and explained that he was too intimidated by
Dick and the others to refuse to be involved, let alone to help me
against them, and I knew it was true. In fact, no one knew better
than I just how intimidating Dick could be. I told Bob that I
forgave him, and when he asked me if I wanted him to help me stand
up to the others now, I smiled and said it was a little late. That
made him feel guilty, so I explained that as long as the guys
could expose me, there was nothing I could do anyway. Much as he
might want to, he simply couldn't help.

"I'm afraid I'm stuck like this," I said, gesturing toward my
artificial breasts, "until the other guys let me go."

"Well," he sighed, "if you have to be a girl, I'll do my best to
see that you're a happy one."

I kissed him. "You're doing a good job so far."

We made love again, and the experience was as wonderful as I'd
remembered it. Then we showered together before going to the
kitchen for breakfast. I made him eggs and bacon, and then got
down on my knees between his legs to suck him off as he ate, but
before I could start, he put his hands under my arms and lifted me
back into my seat beside him. Placing the plate of food between
us, he insisted that I join him for breakfast. I felt like there
were little pink hearts in my eyes instead of pupils as I gazed at
him lovingly, and he smiled back, looking quite gratified. We
talked a bit more as we ate together, and I felt closer to him
than I ever had before.

After breakfast, Bob decided to take me on a picnic for the day,
so I put on a light summer dress and my white sandals with the
double anklestraps. The dress was made of a soft, pale blue fabric
like silk that swirled around me every time I moved. Underneath, I
wore only a pair of frilly pink panties, going without bra or
nylons, and the outline of each girlish nipple was clearly visible
through the thin material of my dress. Once my make-up was done, I
added my wig, earrings, bracelets and a few splashes of perfume,
and I was ready. Bob had dressed quickly and put together a little
picnic lunch for us to bring, along with a blanket, radio and some
other odds and ends, so as soon as I came out of the bedroom he
took my girlish fingers in his free hand and led me downstairs.

We walked past the bike trail to the woods that bordered the
apartments and continued on along the forest path for a couple of
miles into a valley that followed a winding stream between two
tall hills. At one point, the path crossed over the stream at a
shallow ford, and rather than let me get my sandals wet, Bob
insisted on carrying me to the other side. I felt so safe and
content in his arms, I was reluctant to let him put me down again,
and when he finally did, I gave him a big kiss to show my
gratitude.

Leaving the path, we walked across a shelf of solid rock, my high
heels clicking loudly with each step I took, until we came to a
little isolated dell. There was a clearing amid the trees, right
beside a patch of wild flowers, and Bob set up our picnic there.

We sat together on the blanket, and I was relieved to take the
weight off my high-heeled feet, for walking in the woods in my
girls' sandals had proven quite strenuous, and my ankles were
tired. We listened to the radio and munched on some of the snacks
Bob had brought, and for a little while things weren't very
different than they might've been a week earlier, before I became
Bambi. We commented and joked about stories we heard on the
newscast, and after listening to the sports news, we discussed our
favorite teams and their chances of winning the pennant that year.
For a brief time, I almost forgot what had happened to me and
started feeling like my old self.

Then everything changed. There was a lull in our conversation. The
radio was playing a slow, romantic love song that I once would've
hated, but now found rather sweet and sentimental. As the singer
repeated his confession of love over and over, I met Bob's eyes
and saw a look of desire kindling there.

Without a word, we moved toward each other, and he pulled me onto
his lap as we began to fool around, kissing, hugging, fondling,
caressing, nibbling and tickling each other. Finally I raised
myself onto my knees to allow him to get into position and prepare
himself, and then I sat back down on his lap facing him. The
greased and ready erection protruding from his trousers slipped
inside the opening of my special panties and found its target with
ease, driving itself deep inside me, and then I started to slide
my bottom up and down as he laid there, letting me do all the
work, a look of perfect contentment on his face. I came first,
spraying my juices into my pink panties, and then I felt him erupt
inside me with a tremor like an earthquake. I collapsed into his
arms with a sigh, and we rolled onto our sides and snuggled
together for a while in silence.

After a brief rest, Bob insisted we go skinny-dipping in the
stream, and though I tried to point out that someone might see me,
he disagreed and was obstinate about it, finally just taking my
clothes off, despite my protests. Stark naked, except for my
jewelry, wig and make-up and that strange feminizing garment that
put girls' boobs on my chest, I was led by the hand into the
chilly running waters of the stream. I tried to keep my lower half
submerged at all times, which made me feel safer from prying eyes,
and after a while I relaxed and enjoyed the cool water flowing
around me. In the end, Bob practically had to drag me back out of
the stream, I was having such a good time.

Back at our picnic site, Bob dried me off and helped me get
dressed again, and then I did the same for him. We spent the rest
of the afternoon sun bathing, Bob sitting against a broad tree
reading to me from a book of love poems as I lay stretched out on
the blanket with my head resting on his lap. It was so idyllic
that if I could've stopped time, I would've done so right then,
just to make the moment last forever. It was actually kind of sad
when the sun started dropping toward the horizon and we realized
it was time to go back. We retraced our steps along the same path,
holding hands and walking in a strangely meaningful silence.

Ironically enough, we were just re-crossing the bike trail at the
edge of the apartment complex when who should appear casually
riding her ten-speed to work but my new old girlfriend Shelly. She
nearly lost control of her bike when she saw Bob and me walking
hand in hand, carrying the remnants of a picnic lunch. Her eyes
were bursting from her skull as her glared at me, both astonished
and envious to find me out on my fourth date that week with yet
another guy. If she only knew!

When we returned to my apartment, I convinced Bob that it would be
better for him to leave and come back later, rather than to let
the other guys know that he'd stayed the whole day with me. I saw
him to the door, and we kissed for a long time before he finally
started down the stairs, and once he was outside I rushed to a
window and waved to him until he was out of sight. Then, with a
heavy sigh, I started to prepare dinner for my "guests" that
evening.

By the time the guys arrived, all within a few minutes of each
other, dinner was ready, and so was I. The meal was a terrific
success, for though I made plenty, there were no leftovers, but
despite that the guys seemed to hardly even notice the food. They
sat around the table staring at me the entire time, making casual
conversation, but always with their eyes drifting back to me.
Admittedly, I did look ravishing. I'd taken extra time applying my
make-up and putting my hair up in a sexy, sophisticated style. I
wore my tightest, sexiest evening gown, the white one with holes
cut out in strategic places, and underneath, in addition to my
laciest bra and panties, I wore a garter belt and sheer stockings
for the first time. I not only looked but felt about as feminine
and beautiful as I possibly could, and the guys seemed to eat it
up like candy.

At the end of the meal, Dick made a toast, and the others joined
him in raising their wine glasses.

"To Bambi," he said. "May she keep growing lovelier with each
passing day."

I blushed and thanked them all in a soft, timid voice.

"And now," said Art, pushing his unfinished dessert aside, "let's
get to the surprise."

Frank and Bob agreed, so Dick conceded and took some papers out of
his pocket with a mysterious smile on his face. I tried to imagine
what those papers might be, but even my wildest guess was short of
the mark.

"As of this moment," Dick explained, passing the papers across the
table to me, "you're no longer just a fantasy, Bambi. You're an
official, fully documented citizen of the U.S., complete with
passport, birth certificate, social security number, the works. We
even got you a credit card and a driver's license."

I looked at the documents in amazement. It was true! Each of them
had the name Bambi Desiree' Taylor on them, age eighteen, sex
female, and some of them, like the passport, even had a picture of
me with my wig and make-up on. The photographs had obviously been
taken on that first day, the previous Saturday, when my ordeal had
begun, for I could see the neckline of the first dress I'd ever
worn at the bottom edge of the photos. Knowing where the pictures
had come from, however, did little or nothing to explain how these
documents had come into existence, and I gazed at Dick in
speechless bewilderment, but he just smiled, revelling in my
confusion.

"A friend of Mike's knows a guy who does fake I.D.s," Art
explained. "They cost a pretty penny, but the best way to spend a
pretty penny is on a pretty girl, right?"

The others agreed heartily, and then they all congratulated me on
the gifts I'd received, taking pains to point out certain details
I might've overlooked at first. My age, for example, was now over
eighteen, hence my driver's license. That meant I could also buy
liquor anywhere I wanted, and even places that always asked for
I.D. would serve me without hesitation. I did look kind of young
for eighteen, but I had "picture I.D.," and nobody questioned
that, not even the police, without good cause. Besides, it was
sometimes difficult to tell a girl's real age, as everyone knows.
With those documents I not only looked like Bambi, I could prove I
WAS Bambi and just holding them in my hand made me feel somehow
safer and more secure in my new role.

I think there was a tear in my eye as I thanked the boys for their
generosity, perhaps a tear of shame shed in the knowledge that I
was even more firmly trapped in my female identity than ever, or
perhaps a tear of joy at knowing they cared enough to want to
protect me from accidental exposure. My emotions were all twisted
at this point, and I really didn't know what I wanted or felt by
then. Part of me was dying and screaming out in protest, but his
voice was fading more and more every day, and the other part was
newly born, fearful and innocent, but unjaded by past experience
and ready to explore life, life as a female, for the first time.

"Don't thank us yet," Frank said, grinning widely.

"We're not done."

"There's more?" I asked in surprise.

"Did you really think we got you a driver's license just for the
hell of it?" Dick said, taking my hand to help me out of my chair
and lead me toward the door.

"I don't understand," I confessed. "Where are we going now?"

"Outside," he explained, and as I let him guide me downstairs and
through the exit into the parking lot, the other guys followed
close behind. There was a car parked in the space nearest my door,
a brand new Camaro, which assumed to be my neighbor's, but as Dick
led me toward the driver's side door, I noticed the license plate
and gasped.

"'BAMBI'?" I read aloud, then turned to Dick in astonishment. "You
didn't!"

"Yup," he admitted, handing me a set of keys. "We did. Go on, get
in and start her up, sweetheart. She's all yours . "

I gaped at the car in disbelief, unable to accept that I owned it
and could actually drive it if I wanted to. True, it was
definitely a girl's car. The body paint was a bright pink with a
delicate detailing of white swirls around the sides, and the
interior was pink vinyl with plush pink seat covers featuring a
design pattern of tiny hearts melting together. The stock stick
shift had been replaced with a custom-made version that had a
large pink heart mounted atop the stick, while a pair of pink
velvet hearts, delicately stuffed and trimmed with lace, dangled
from the rearview mirror.

It was the kind of car I wouldn't have been caught dead in not
long ago for fear of being ridiculed by my macho friends, but
things were not as they were, and looking the way I did, standing
there in my sexy evening gown with my artificial breasts
practically spilling out of their cups, it would've been silly to
worry about my male pride at that point. Besides, this car was
MINE! I owned it, and according to my driver's license, I could
legally drive it! The fact that it was as feminine in appearance
as I was hardly seemed to matter; it was MY CAR!

"You bought this!?" I said doubtfully. "For me!?"

"It took every last dime we had," Frank told me, "and a lot of
laws got broken in the process, but it's all yours, Bambi, from
all of us."

Not knowing what else to do, I gave each of them an appreciative
kiss on the lips as well as a gushing "Thank you" or two, and
then, unlocking the door, I slipped gracefully behind the wheel
and tried it out for size. The seat was comfortable, and the stick
shift seemed to fit my hand perfectly. Working the pedals with my
high-heels on took some practice, but I got it down before too
long. The guys piled in, Art beside me in the passenger seat and
the rest in the back, and then I turned the key in the ignition,
anxious to go for a test drive.

Being sixteen, I actually didn't know how to drive, and the guys,
all of whom were older and more experienced than I, had to teach
me as we went along. Art was the oldest and had been driving his
father's pick-up truck around the apartments for years, so he
became my primary driving instructor. I made a few blunders, but
basically I was doing pretty well, until we got on the highway.

At first, everything was fine, but then Art started showing me how
to work the tape deck, and I lost track of how fast we were going.
Dick was just warning me slow down when a police siren sounded
behind us, and I looked up in horror into the rearview mirror to
see the flashing lights of a patrol car in pursuit! I panicked!
What was I going to do!?

Art sensed my fear and placed his hand over mine on the steering
wheel. "Don't worry, Bambi. Stay calm. Just pull over... That's
it... Now stop... Turn off the engine... Good girl."

My manicured fingers were trembling as I rolled down my window and
got my documentation ready, praying that wouldn't be discovered as
a sixteen-year-old boy in a dress. The guys whispered
encouragement to me, but as the legal driver and owner of the
vehicle, according to the paperwork anyway, I was the one who'd
have to face the police and deal with a speeding violation, and I
was scared to death.

The officer was very polite and seemed to sense that I was
terrified of him, so he spoke in a gentle, nonthreatenirg voice
and moved very slowly as he took the documents I surrendered to
him. He looked my license over carefully, then studied my face,
and I had to look away as his bright flashlight blinded me. He
glanced around the interior of the car, surprised and perhaps a
bit amused to find four guys keeping me company. He probably
assumed Art was my boyfriend, since he looked the oldest and was
sitting in the front seat, and I doubt he suspected that all four
passengers were my boyfriends, like some male harem, or drones
attending their queen bee.

"All right, Miss Taylor," he said, handing back my paperwork with
a friendly wink. "Try to keep it under fifty-five from now on,
okay?"

Realizing that he wasn't giving me a ticket, I smiled at him
gratefully and offered my thanks is a soft, timid voice. He tipped
his cap to me politely, then waved and started back to his patrol
car, saying, "Goodnight, Bambi. Goodnight, fellas. Have fun and be
careful."

With a tremendous sigh of relief, I slumped back in my seat and
took a moment to settle my nerves.

"I don't believe he let you go," Art said. "You were doing over
seventy!"

"She's a girl," Dick explained. "You would've gotten a speeding
ticket and so would any guy, but all Bambi has to do is blink her
pretty eyes and smile, and the big macho cop just lets her go.
After all, a cute little thing like Bambi wouldn't break the law
on purpose, now would she?"

"He's right," Frank laughed. "The cop checked her out and could
tell how sweet and innocent she was."

"And he probably had such a raging hard-on," Bob added, "that he
couldn't think straight."

The boys all laughed at that, and I nodded in agreement, feeling
certain that if I hadn't been dressed like a girl, I'd have
definitely been cited for speeding.

"Good thing it wasn't a lady cop," I observed, and the guys
laughed again.

"Or a gay cop," Art said, but the mention of the word "gay"
brought the conversation uncomfortably near to a subject that none
of us wanted to think about, and we all grew silent as I started
the car and pulled back onto the highway.

Since that first night when they raped me, I'd suffered feelings
of guilt and shame over my sexual involvement with other guys, but
I didn't really have much choice in the matter, so I felt much
more shame than guilt. For the others, however, they had forced
themselves on me, and they were now much more sensitive to the
label of "gay" or "homosexual" than I was. Perhaps that was why
they tried so hard to make me look and behave as femininely as
possible. Were they trying to turn me into a real girl to avoid
the uneasy knowledge that they were forcing themselves on another
boy? Was I coming to accept my role as a girl in order to avoid
the same painful thoughts? If so, where would this lead in the
end?

To celebrate my new car, and to relax after our encounter with the
law, the boys suggested that I take them to a drive-in movie, and
I couldn't very well refuse, so I took the next exit off the
highway and headed for the open-air theater near the shopping
mall.

If I thought the cop had looked amused when he saw me with four
guys in my car, that look paled to insignificance beside the
smirking grin on the face of the ticket attendant working at the
kiosk beside the entry gate. He seemed to know without a doubt
what we'd come there for and what those four guys would be doing
to me before long, and the worst part of it was, he was right! I
was just as sure as he was that my boyfriends intended to have sex
with me in my car during the movie, but I doubt very much that he
suspected my lack of options. He probably assumed, as I would've
done in his place, that the blonde in the pink Camaro was a real
nymphomaniac and planned on making it with four guys at once, and
since she chose to do it in a drive-in theater, she must also be
pretty kinky.

It's no wonder he winked at me and held onto my hand when he took
the money from me, pausing a moment to admire my well manicured
fingers. He might've even thought I was a hooker, and that
realization had me blushing brightly as I drove on into the
parking area.

Naturally, the boys insisted that we park near the back in an
isolated corner, and although they did allow me to tune the radio
to pick up the soundtrack being broadcast by the theater, I
actually didn't get to see much of the film, since I spent most of
the time in the back seat lying on my stomach or my back, legs
spread, with one of the other guys on top of me, pumping away like
crazy, making the car's shocks sigh in sympathy with each downward
thrust. As each of them got his rocks off, the other three sat in
the front seat watching the film or watching me get laid or both.

About halfway through the movie, I was in the back seat with Bob
when the other guys offered to go to the snack bar for us. It was
hard to place an order for refreshments with Bob plunged deep
inside me, and he seemed equally distracted, but we finally told
them what to get, and they left us to finish our coupling in
private. Our privacy didn't last very long, however, for after a
few more minutes I opened my eyes to look out the window at the
starry sky, and much to my alarm someone was looking in at us from
outside!

It was a boy of about my age, a former classmate from school,
standing on his tiptoes with his hands shading his eyes from the
glare of the movie screen as he gaped at our sexual antics in
gleeful fascination. I gasped and grabbed Bob by the arm, but my
boyfriend mistook my meaning for a sign of passion, and before I
could speak he started riding me like a bucking bronco, driving
himself in deeper and deeper each time. The boy watching us
grinned wider as Bob got more enthusiastic, and he seemed to enjoy
my inability to make myself understood. His laughing eyes met mine
with a teasing "I see you" look that made me feel ashamed, and
before I could try again to warn Bob that we were being watched,
the boy chuckled to himself and ran off.

I had no fear that he'd prove a threat, even if he told someone
what he'd seen, for he'd been standing at the side window and saw
only Bob's back and me lying under him with my legs in the air. He
surely assumed that I was a real girl, and judging by the look on
his face, he'd probably be looking for an opportunity to do the
same thing to a girlfriend of his own as soon as possible. In
fact, I'm quite sure that he would've asked Bob for "sloppy
seconds" if he'd thought there was one chance in a million of
getting into my panties when my boyfriend was finished.

I never mentioned the boy to Bob or anyone, and I tried not to let
the thought of that peeping tom upset me anymore, but that night,
after my boyfriends and I had had a playful round of sex and laid
huddled together in my bed, I drifted uneasily off to sleep and
had a terrible nightmare in which my every move was observed,
recorded and televised by satellite to a sickened yet fascinated
America, and while commentators discussed the progress of my
transformation from male to female, cameras zoomed in to portray
my girlish body locked in sexual embrace with a male lover.

I woke once during the night, screaming and trembling, and my
boyfriends did their best to comfort me and help me back to sleep,
reminding me that I'd just been having a nightmare, but though I
did manage to fall asleep once more, my dreams were haunted by the
recurring image of a beautiful slavegirl chained to the statue of
a gigantic erection, and each time I saw her she looked more and
more like me.



SATURDAY AGAIN



I was the first one up the next morning, and I slipped quietly out
of bed, trying not to disturb the guys. Putting on my silky robe
and sandals, I went to the kitchen and started a fresh pot of
coffee, knowing that my "guests" would all want some as soon as
they woke up. While it was brewing, I washed the dishes from the
night before, then went around the apartment straightening up.

The place was so different than when I'd first seen it. Then it
had been dirty, neglected, used but not lived in, and it was
obvious from the trash littering the floor, the beer stains on the
rug and the cigar burns on the coffee table that the guys who
partied there were real slobs. Now, however, it was almost another
apartment entirely. It looked clean, cared for and lived in, and
it was obvious from the nylons hanging on the shower curtain rod
and the fashion magazines on the coffee table, as well as the
stuffed animals and other carnival trinkets arranged neatly on the
bookcase, that this was the apartment of a young woman.

As I passed by the hall mirror, I was reminded that the apartment
wasn't the only thing that had changed radically since last
weekend. Even without my wig and make-up on, I now looked totally
female and exceptionally pretty. My hands and feet looked delicate
and dainty with their polished nails, and my earlobes still
sported the large silver hoops I'd been wearing the night before.
My body was relatively smooth and hairless, although I'd probably
need to use that depilatory cream again soon, and the flesh-like
garment with the twin breasts offered convincing proof that I was
indeed a pretty girl under that see-through robe. Only the items
dangling between my legs contradicted the image of femininity I
presented, even to my own eyes.

And the change went much deeper than just the skin, for my mind
had also been transformed, until I found myself thinking thoughts
that would normally be found only in the mind of a teenage girl.
It was hard to believe, but in less than a week the boy I once was
had been virtually destroyed, 9 and in his place stood a
voluptuous girl named Bambi.

With a shudder of worry, I wondered just how long the
transformation would last. Weeks? Months? Years!?? And when it was
finally over, would I really be able to reclaim my old identity?
I'd been a girl for less than a week, and I'd already changed more
than I would've thought possible. What would I be like if I
continued to be Bambi for any length of time? Would there be
anything left of the person I was before, or would I eventually
come to think of myself only as Bambi, a pretty female, and
nothing more? I made breakfast for the guys when they emerged from
the bedroom, one after the other, and I tried to act pleasant as I
served them coffee and kissed them good morning, but inside my
head those questions kept coming around, again and again, like
wooden horses on a carousel, and I couldn't dismiss them, for I
had no real answers. When the guys were all served and satisfied,
I sat down with them to have some toast and coffee, and as I ate
they revealed that they had yet another surprise planned for me
that day. No matter how I pleaded, they wouldn't even give me a
hint of what it was all about, saying I'd simply have to wait and
see.

I did the breakfast dishes while the guys got dressed, and then
they helped me to pick out what I'd be wearing that day. They
chose a loose-fitting, see-through blouse of gray silk and a
flaring red skirt, which I put on over a lacy pair of red panties.
The outfit was completed with slate-colored pantyhose and red
leather pumps, and once I had my wig, make-up and jewelry on, I
was ready to leave.

When I asked why I wasn't given a bra to wear, the guys exchanged
knowing smiles, but said nothing. I felt very nervous about
parading around outside with my breasts so visible, even if they
were fake, and as we piled into my pink Camaro I realized that I'd
better not get pulled over for any traffic violations in that see-
through blouse, or I might get arrested for exposing myself too
ludely in public.

I drove us all downtown without incident and turned into the
college parking lot on Dick's instructions. Then the guys led me
around the dormitories to the health center, a single-story
building in the middle of the main campus. The front entrance was
open, and a few people were working in the reception area, but
most of the building was shut down for the weekend. The offices
and examining rooms looked dark and deserted through the windows
as we walked around the side of the building to the rear entrance.

The door near the loading dock was locked, and a sign declared
that admittance was restricted to authorized personnel only, but
my escorts never hesitated, walking straight up to the door and
knocking loudly. I tried asking Bob in a whisper what was going
on, but he pretended not to hear me.

After a half a minute or more, the door lock clicked from the
inside, and the rear entrance swung open to reveal a young man in
a white jacket, not a doctor, but an intern, a recent medical
school graduate working at the health center as an emergency room
attendant. He looked us all over carefully, taking a little extra
time to study my girlish physique, and then he held out his hand
to Dick.

"I'm Harry," he said. "You must be Mike's friend."

"Dick," the younger man replied, accepting the offered handshake.
"This is Art, Frank and Bob... and of course Bambi."

The intern's eyes swept over me again, and he smiled.

"Pleased to meet you, Bambi. I've heard a lot about you."

I wondered what it was he'd heard. Had Mike mentioned me and our
sexual encounter last week? Had Harry heard about my performance
in the softball dugout on Sunday? Or had Shelly gone around
spreading the word that Bambi was a slut dating four guys at once?
Whatever it was that this guy thought he knew about me, it made
him grin like a hungry tiger, which made me quite nervous.

He ushered us in and carefully locked the door behind us before
leading the way down one corridor after another until we finally
reached a small room marked "EMER SURG UNIT" and went inside. It
was a tiny operating room, complete with all the lights,
instruments and gadgetry of a standard surgical theater, but
intended for emergency use only. The sight of all those machines
surrounding the operating table and the tray of shiny metallic
instruments beside it made me feel a little faint, and I tried
again to ask discreetly what was going on, but no one would answer
me.

Harry spent a little time preparing materials on the counter near
the door, then he turned to me and smiled wolfishly. "Okay,
beautiful, take your blouse off."

I hesitated a moment, feeling bashful, but then remembered how
much of my artificial breasts he could already see through my
revealing blouse, and modesty seemed foolish. Acting shy would
also seem out of character for a girl who'd dress the way I was
dressed, and I didn't want Harry to suspect anything, so I tried
to act nonchalant as I casually pulled the lightweight garment
over my head to expose my twin prominences for full inspection.

And inspection is exactly what they got. Harry had me sit on the
table before him while the other guys looked on, and he proceeded
to examine my imitation boobs with great interest. I glanced at my
boyfriends nervously, wondering why they were putting me through
this, but the only response I got was a reassuring wink from Dick.

For a while it seemed as if Harry was fooled by the mounds on my
chest, as I'd hoped he would be, but then to my amazement he took
a scalpel from the instrument tray and proceeded to cut the
fleshtone garment up the middle. The fingers of his free hand had
found the bottom edge of the skin-like material and carefully
lifted it away from my midriff as the scalpel sliced cleanly
through the fabric. It continued to cut, passing between the
fleshy mounds and right up to the neckline, and before I could
move or speak the feminizing garment had been peeled back to
reveal my hairless, boyish chest.

I was sure that Harry knew then that I wasn't a real girl, but he
surprised me again by commenting on how silly girls are and the
drastic lengths they go to just to look attractive to men. I
couldn't hide my embarrassment as he helped me finish removing the
fleshtone garment, but rather than suspecting the truth, he seemed
to think that I was merely a flat-chested girl wearing falsies,
and that was something of a relief. I couldn't be certain what he
really believed, of course, since there might very well be a few
more surprises ahead of me before they let me out of that
operating room, but I had to hope that Harry didn't know the whole
story and thought I was really a girl, and fortunately he didn't
do or say anything to contradict that assumption.

Once the breast-vest had been removed, Harry concentrated on
studying my real chest with even more intensity, looking closely
at both my male nipples and even poking them a few times to
observe their reactions to stimulation. I hoped their was no
evidence of maleness to be seen, and he didn't seem suspicious in
the least when he looked up and asked me if I was ashamed of my
breasts. Not knowing what else to say, I stammered out that they
were kind of small for a girl my age.

Then he asked me if I was bleeding regularly. I was nonplused for
a moment and just sat there looking confused, and then it hit
me... menstruation! He was asking me if I was getting my monthly
period on schedule! He seemed to be serious, and unless he was
teasing me, his question confirmed my belief that he had no
knowledge of my true sex, which I found somewhat comforting.

Before I could invent an answer to his inquiry, Dick volunteered
the information, telling the intern that I rarely bled at all, and
when I did it was more like the flow produced by a girl of twelve
than a mature woman. Harry nodded, and it seemed that Dick had
told him just what he wanted to hear. He conducted one more close
inspection of my chest, cupping my boyish pectorals in his hands
and lifting them to test their resilience, momentarily molding my
chest into twin mounds of flesh uncomfortably resembling female
breasts.

The blood test he wanted to give me required only a pinprick on my
index finger, and I hardly winced at all as he jabbed me with the
pin and smeared a drop of my blood onto a waiting microscope
slide. He seemed impressed. "You're a brave girl, Bambi," he told
me. "A lot of the coeds faint at the sight of blood, even the
nursing students."

Harry left then to do some tests in the laboratory, and I thought
I might have a chance to ask my boyfriends what was going on, but
unfortunately they went with him and ordered me to wait, so I just
sat there on the operating table half-dressed, trying to imagine
what they were planning, but all I could come up with were ideas
so wild that they couldn't possibly be true... except, it turns
out, one of them was!

I waited for nearly half an hour and was getting worried when
Harry finally returned with the guys. He had a few documents in
his hand, apparently the results of my blood tests, and he
discussed them with me at length, but I honestly couldn't
understand half of what he was saying. At one point he mentioned
that my female hormone count was very low, while my testosterone
levels were unacceptably high, and I couldn't figure out what he
meant.

I learned much later that the only reason I had any significant
amount of female hormones in my system at all was because I'd been
taking birth control pills for a few days. Otherwise, my blood
tests would've proven without a doubt that I was male. As it was,
the intern interpreted my condition as that of a female with a
hormone dysfunction. None of this was known to me at the time,
however, and most of what he said sounded like nonsense.

He concluded by explaining that he would first deal with my
hormone imbalance, and once that was corrected my metabolism
should undergo normal developmental stages. I had no idea what
that meant, but when I saw the large hypodermic needle he intended
to stab me with, I got nervous. I looked to my boyfriends for
support, but they urged me to be quiet and let Harry handle
everything, so I reluctantly lowered my pantyhose and raised my
skirt to allow Harry access to my girlish bottom. I thought of
jumping off the table and running half-dressed down the corridor
as the needle moved slowly toward my rear, but escape was still
impossible, so I could do nothing but submit to whatever it was
that Harry was doing to me.

After throwing away the hypodermic needle, Harry had me lie down
on the table under the bright lights. He explained that it would
be a long time before the shot produced any noticeable changes,
but in the meantime he had a solution to my problem, "much better
than wearing that thing," he said, pointing to the breast-vest
with a look of contempt. I wanted to ask him what he was talking
about, but before I could speak a breathing mask was placed over
my mouth, and I smelled a sickeningly sweet vapor being pumped
into my lungs. The room started to spin around like a gyrating
top, and Harry's voice seemed to come from very far away.

"I decided to use gas and a local anesthetic," he was saying, "so
you can watch the procedure, in case you're interested. If not,
you can just look away."

He propped my head up on a firm pillow so that I could see myself
lying before him and observe what he was doing.

The gas made me feel light-headed and giddy, and although I could
still see and hear and understand what was going on, I couldn't
organize my thoughts enough to move or even try to talk. With a
growing sense of detachment, as if it were happening to someone
else, I just relaxed and watched Harry painstakingly wash his
hands and slip on surgical gloves.

Once the local anesthetic had been administered, Harry painted a
rectangular area below my right nipple with a yellowish foam, and
then the scalpel was brought to bear against my flesh to make a
single, neat incision right through the center of the yellow
rectangle. Blood streamed out of the wound, but I felt no pain, or
any sensations at all near my chest, and moments later Harry had
the bleeding under control. .

His gloves colored bright red at the fingertips he produced a
clear, globular mass, like a trembling bail of gelatin dessert,
from a special container on the instrument tray, then carefully
parted the incision in my chest, lifting the top edge like a flap,
and inserted the globe under my skin directly below my boyish
nipple! Once the globe was correctly positioned, however, my
nipple no longer looked the least bit boyish! It was stretched,
making it seem much larger, and it sat atop a perfect hemisphere
of flesh, pointing skyward like the aroused tip of a real female
breast!

In fact, the breast Harry had created on my chest looked so real
that the only thing that marred its appearance was the obvious
lack of a twin companion alongside it, but that imperfection was
soon addressed, for as soon as he had stitched up the first
incision, imprisoning that gelatinous globe under my skin, he cut
an identical slice below my other nipple and similarly
transforming that pectoral into a girl's breast as well. When the
last stitch was sewn, Harry paused to smile down at the twin
mounds now rising from my chest, real mounds of real flesh, MY
flesh, MY breasts! I couldn't simply take them off, as I could the
feminizing fleshtone garment! They were there to stay!!

I was in a daze as Harry cleaned up the suture marks, covering
each with a fleshtone band-aid, and then pronounced the operation
a total success. My arms hung at my sides like rags as I sat up
and let the guys help me get dressed again, and when they eased me
off the table, my knees wouldn't hold me up, so Art had to take me
in his arms like a child and carry me back the way we'd come.
Harry unlocked the back door again to let us out, then smiled at
me, his eyes scanning the curves of my breasts in their see-
through covering.

"No reason to be ashamed anymore, Bambi," he assured me. "Now
you've got one knock-out set of knockers."

He went on to explain that once my natural development began, I
might want to have the implants removed or reduced in size, if my
breasts were to grow too large for my liking.

"Well," Dick said finally, shaking Harry's hand again, "thanks for
everything, Harry."

"Thank YOU," Harry insisted. "I can always use an extra thousand
bucks. Let me know if you've got any more 'boards' who want to be
'broads;' I'll make them all look like Dolly Parton."

"Will do," Dick smiled. "Tell Mike we said 'Hi'."

He stood in the door and waved to us as we went back toward the
front of the building, and I could hear the lock slam back into
place when we turned the corner. I was still too groggy from the
anesthesia to formulate any kind of intelligent response to what
had just happened, so I just hung onto to Art's neck and let him
carry me to the car.

I was in no shape to drive, so Dick got behind the wheel with
Frank next to him, while Bob and Art sat in the back with me
sandwiched between them. In that position I found it impossible to
do anything except stare down at my new breasts in bewilderment.
They looked just like the false pair I'd worn since Monday, except
perhaps more pert and bouncy, more alive. Indeed, they were alive!
They were real! As the anesthetic wore off and my thoughts began
to clear, the significance of that fact grew to unbearable
proportions. They had really done it to me! The sneaky bastards
had actually changed part of my anatomy to give me real breasts!
Now I not only looked a girl, I had permanent female secondary
sexual characteristics as well, and without another operation,
there was no way to get rid of them!

Tears flowed down my cheeks as I sat there gazing in growing
horror at the mountainous globes beneath my blouse.

Art noticed that I was crying and tried his best to cheer me up,
but I refused to listen to him or any of the others. I virtually
ignored them as they helped me out of the car, and when Art
offered to carry me upstairs, I pushed him away with an angry
shove and minced past him, staggering a little in my high heels,
but able to walk under my own steam again.

Inside my apartment, they wasted no time in stripping me down,
slipping a babydoll nightie over my head and putting me to bed.
With my back propped up against the pillows I just sat there
staring at my boobs, quite visible through the diaphanous pink
material, unable to find words to express my utter shock and
dismay. The guys sat around me on the mattress, watching me for a
long time in silence, and then Dick finally spoke.

"I guess we owe you an apology," he said softly. "We should've
told you what we were planning, but we were afraid you'd refuse."

"You're damn right I would!" I screamed, sounding very much like a
hysterical girl. I grabbed my new breasts with both hands and
lifted them, noting some pain, which meant that the local
anesthesia was wearing off. "Look at these! Look what you've done
to me! I'm deformed!!"

"You're gorgeous!" Art argued.

"Totally," Bob agreed.

"For a girl," I objected, "but I'm not a girl! Can't you guys get
that through your thick skulls? I'm not a girl!!"

They exchanged nervous glances and then looked away, as though
they were reluctant to meet my gaze.

"We, uh..." Dick started. "We wanted to talk to you about that.
We've been thinking it over and... well, basically, what we've
decided is... well..."

Somehow I sensed that this was no ordinary decision they'd made,
and my nerves were on edge as I waited impatiently for him to
finish his announcement. He glanced at the other three guys for
support, then said it.

"We want you to be a real girl."

The meaning of his words took a moment to sink in, and then my jaw
dropped as my eyes went wide with surprise. No, they couldn't mean
that! Not THAT!

"We still owe Mike a thousand bucks for the breast implants," Dick
continued, gathering steam, "but as soon as that's paid off, we
plan to start saving up for the operation, the big operation, the
one that'll make you female forever."

They did mean THAT!! Good Lord!! They were serious, too! There
would be obstacles in their path, I could see that already, but
unless I found a way to stop them, they were planning to castrate
me and put a vagina between my legs, and judging by their past
successes, they'd probably do it!!

I tried to imagine what it might be like, to be really female, not
just in appearance, but in every way, right down to the primary
sex organ! The thought of having my genitalia turned inside out
made me shudder, and knowing that I was permanently trapped in the
role of a girl would be even worse!

How could they even think such a thing? But of course I already
knew the answer to that. They wanted me sexually, couldn't resist
me, even if it meant their behavior might be called "gay" or
"perverse" by others, but if they could use me in bed like a real
girl with a real pussy, then all the stigmata would vanish. I
could never be exposed accidentally, their egos would be bolstered
and their reputations would be safe. As far as the world was
concerned, I'd be female, and any male who mated with me would be
involved in a strictly heterosexual act. For them it was the
perfect solution, but for me it was a one-way ticket to life as a
girl!!

"You can't be serious!" I said, shaking my head. "You want me to
become your permanent slavegirl!?"

"No," Dick objected, "not at all. you see, there's more. We also
decided, and it was totally unanimous, that we... well, we..."

"We what?" I asked.

"We love you, Bambi."

At that, each of them reached out to me, 80b taking my right hand,
Dick my left, Frank grasping my right ankle, Art taking the left.
Their eyes glimmered with sincerity and deep affection, and I
suddenly felt all choked up. Never before in my life had anyone
ever looked at me that way, and somehow it made me feel alive for
the first time. They really did love me! In fact, they were
devoted to me! Somehow that made everything different.

"We love you," Art repeated, "and we want to marry you, all of
us!"

"MARRY!?" I gasped. "ME!?"

They nodded solemnly. This was no joke! I tried to imagine myself
in a wedding dress, marching down the aisle to meet my future
husband, one of these four young men, and from that day onward I
would be his wife, a man's wife!! It was too much! It could never
happen, and yet, apparently, all I had to do was say "yes" to one
of them, and it would be true! I'd be a married woman, Mrs.
Bambi... what? Pierce? Lindon? Dent? Rohmer? If I did marry one of
them, which one would I choose? It'd be a hard decision to make, I
realized. Each of them had his strong points, and they all seemed
to love me deeply. Which one would I prefer as a husband? I didn't
know, and I found it hard to believe T was actually trying to make
up my mind about something like that! It was crazy!

"I couldn't marry any of you," I admitted. "First of all, I'd
never be able to choose among you."

"You don't have to," Bob explained. "When Art said we all want to
marry you, he meant we want you to marry all four of us."

"It wouldn't be a typical marriage," Dick added. "We'd perform the
ceremony ourselves and get some fake documentation from Mike's
friend, but it would be legal, as far as the paperwork goes, and
it would be real, if we all keep our vows."

"We want to spend the rest of our lives with you, Bambi," Art
said, "and we all love you so much that we're willing to share
you."

"Lots of girls get married more than once," Bob smiled, "but you
get to say "yes" to four guys at the same time."

"We'll take good care of you, Bambi," Frank added, "and that's a
promise."

I didn't know what to say. They just sat there looking at me,
waiting for me to respond, but I had no response to offer. My mind
was like a wasteland, too ravaged by recent cataclysmic events to
produce anything but ashes blown by a cold wind. They waited
patiently, but when it became obvious that I had nothing to say,
they each climbed off the mattress and knelt beside me on one
knee, and my hands were soon clutched tightly in theirs, my
girlish fingers wrapped in a twin cocoons of male hands.

"Marry us," Dick said, speaking for them all. "Please, Bambi."

Everything was happening too fast- I wasn't sure how to react.
Part of my thoughts let loose with a scream of protest, demanding
my former identity back, refusing to go one step further in their
plans to feminize me, but after its initial outburst, that voice
faded into silence, as if it had exhausted itself entirely in that
final cry of rebellion, and all that remained was Bambi.

Killing with kindness, they had exterminated the last remnant of
my old self, and as I came to the inevitable realization that I
simply had no choice, I felt strangely excited by the life that
awaited me. In a short time I'd be a married woman four times
over, and soon after that I'd be a real female!

It was like letting go of the last shreds of a torn parachute and
going into freefall, like looking a hungry lion square in the eyes
or laughing in the face of the executioner. Accepting the
unavoidable outcome caused a sudden release of tension, and the
instant I decided to give in to them and become their wife, I knew
it was the right thing to do. My old life was lost beyond
retrieval, and I had no choice but to step into Bambi's high-
heeled shoes for good. Taylor Stark was gone, and I would Bambi
forever.

"Yes," I whispered, so softly that they didn't hear me at first,
and I had to repeat it. "Yes, I'll marry you."

They stared at me in disbelief, overjoyed to finally hear me say
the words they wanted to hear so badly, and for a moment no one
moved or spoke. Then the four of them jumped to their feet with a
chorus of yells that shook the building, and they started to
prance around the bed like farmers at a square dance.

"She said `Yes'! She said `Yes'!"

They were just starting to settle down when I finally caught their
attention, and wearing a deep pout on my pink lips, I scolded them
like children.

"Well, don't just stand there, fellas," I said, holding out my
arms to embrace them. "Come over here and give your bride-to-be
some sugar."

As I expected, I got more than just a kiss.



EPILOGUE



It was Christmas Day, and I was once again lying in bed dressed
only in a babydoll nightie, recovering from an operation, this
time a much more serious one. After my breast implant surgery, my
boobs were a little tender and sore for almost a week, but it was
more a matter of discomfort and mild pain than anything else. This
time, however, I'd been bedridden for more than a week, and the
pain and discomfort I'd endured were many times greater. Like the
first operation, however, the incisions healed, the scars faded,
and I recovered to find myself a somewhat different person than I
was.

It took a long time to get used to the breasts on my chest, even
after the soreness was gone, for they were so large and so
sensitive, they constantly demanded my attention, no matter what I
was doing. I'd be talking on the phone, and the cord would brush
against them; I'd look down to see my feet, and they'd be in the
way; I'd adjust my blouse, and feel the fabric on my nipples
through my bra... They were so new and different and incredibly
erotic that I just couldn't get them off my mind, especially when
the boys were around. As soon as one of them would get tired of
feeling me up, another would start, so I was kept in a constant
state of arousal, even as my male organs began to shrink into
insignificance from the bombardment of female hormones.

The injection Harry had given me pumped up my hips and bottom to
outrageously female proportions, and my breasts had also grown
until they were quite a bit larger than average for a girl my
size, but there was no talk of removing the breast implants... the
guys liked my boobs big, so I just let them grow and kept buying
new bras with larger cup sizes.

They also liked long hair on girls, so I let mine grow and died it
blonde, and then one day my real tresses were long enough to
style, and I no longer needed the wig at all. My own hair was kept
in various styles after that, from beehive to ponytail to simple
shaggydog, but no matter which way I wore it, it always looked
decidedly feminine, and the guys loved to touch it and run their
fingers through its silky softness.

My engagement to my four fiancees lasted a bit longer than they'd
planned, but when it finally happened, the Wedding was an
absolutely splendid affair. By then I'd made few girlfriends at my
new job waiting tables at the steak house downtown, and some of
them agreed to be my bridesmaids during the ceremony, though they
couldn't get over the fact that I had four grooms waiting for me
when I walked down the aisle.

A Navy captain, another friend of Mike's, performed the ceremony,
and it was the merest technicality that the whole thing wasn't
exactly legal, since we had documents to prove that it was. On
that day I became Mrs. Bambi Taylor-Pierce-Lindon-Dent-Rohmer, and
everyone said I made a beautiful bride. From the moment the four
of them carried me over the threshold of my apartment until the
minute that our honeymoon weekend was over, we spent the entire
time in bed together, and it was memorable.

Soon after that I learned they had actually arranged for "the
operation" to take place in a hospital in "the city." How the guys
had managed it, I wasn't sure, but that's the way it always was
with us. They told me only what they wanted me to know and
protected me from certain knowledge, and I did what a good wife
should and obeyed her husband, or in my case, husbands.

I obediently drove us to the hospital the day before my surgery
was scheduled, and I went through all the tests and preparations
without a whisper of complaint. The doctor, a woman in her
fifties, told me I was a "good girl," or soon would be, and the
next morning they wheeled me under the bright lights of the
operating theater.

During my recovery, the boys were with me constantly, first at the
hospital and then at home. Each weekday, one of them would take
off from work to stay with me, and the rest of the time we were
all together. It was difficult for me at first. I kept having
recriminations, pangs of doubt, guilt and fear. why had I let them
do this to me? They'd taken away my bat and balls and replaced
them with a dugout, and now I was a girl, especially where it
counted, between my legs, and like it or not I'd stay female for
the rest of my life.

The first time they helped me into the bathroom to urinate, the
fact that I had to sit down pressed home the point that I would
never stand before a toilet or urinal again, and I ended up crying
myself to sleep when they put me back to bed. Through it all, the
boys were unfailingly patient and understanding, which was the
only thing that made it all bearable for me.

Yet time, they say, heals all wounds, and as my physical recovery
progressed, so did my mental adjustment, until shortly before
Christmas, I decided to give my husbands a wonderful surprise. The
doctor had told me long before, and recently confirmed, exactly
when my new orifice would be fully functional, but I had slyly
withheld that information from the guys. When they asked, I
suggested that it might still be a long time before I was ready,
and they accepted that without question or complaint, which set
them up perfectly for the surprise I had in mind.

I'd already made my preparations while the guys were in the living
room watching football, and they never suspected a thing,
believing me to be reading a romance novel in bed before retiring
for the night. When I heard the halftime announcement on the
television, I asked them all to join me in the bedroom, and from
the tone in my voice they could tell that something was up, but
they still didn't suspect the truth. They came in and sat beside
me, just as they had more than six months earlier on the day they
proposed to me, the same day they'd cunningly forced a pair of
real breasts on me, but now it was my turn to surprise them.

Earlier that day, I'd opened all my Christmas presents from the
guys, a collection of decidedly feminine gifts, to be sure, like
sexy nightgowns, perfume, jewelry and make-up, as well as
additions to my daily wardrobe, all skirts and dresses, of course.
I still wasn't allowed to wear pants of any kind, but that no
longer bothered me.

Pretending to be upset, I told the guys that I hadn't been able to
get them any gifts for Christmas, since I was still supposed to
stay in bed as much as possible, and they immediately dismissed my
apology and told me not to worry my pretty head about it, saying,
"You're all we wanted for Christmas anyway."

But now it was time to let them in on my little secret.

"What is it, Bambi?" Dick asked, slightly concerned.

"I forgot to tell you guys," I said, trying to hide my smile. "I
do have something to give you for Christmas."

They exchanged curious glances, puzzled and intrigued.

"What is it?" Art asked.

By way of reply, I lifted my knees and spread them wide, revealing
the large pink ribbon tied around my hips with a large bow
directly over my crotch. I'd taken my time and done a good job,
and now I was all wrapped up like a gift waiting to be opened. The
boys just sat there gaping at the little patch of pubic hair
barely visible at the top of the bow, shocked by the realization
that all my bandages were gone, and I was naked under that band of
pink ribbon.

"Well" I sighed petulantly, "aren't you going to unwrap it?"

Grinning like kids at the circus, each of the guys grabbed an end
of the ribbon and pulled, and as the bow unraveled their eyes lit
up at the sight of a perfectly formed pussy between my legs. The
lips were dark pink and slightly pouting, as if puckering up for a
kiss, and a kiss is exactly what they got, first from Dick, then
Art, then Frank and finally Bob. They examined, touched, smelled
and tasted the female orifice for a long time before getting down
to business, but once we got started in earnest the bed springs
got virtually no rest that night. Needless to say my husbands
never did see the second half of that football game, but I really
don't think they minded that much.

And so it was that on Christmas Day, less than six months after I
first answered to name of Bambi, I consummated my marriage to the
Four Musketeers and became a complete woman, body and soul, inside
and out, for better or worse, and from that day until this I think
I've been the luckiest, happiest, most contented girl who ever
lived, for this little bundle of "sugar and spice and everything
nice" wouldn't go back to being "snakes and snails and puppy dogs'
tails" for all the diamonds in Africa, even if diamonds are a
girl's best friend. I never thought I'd hear myself say this, but
I'm a happily married woman with four wonderful husbands, and I
wouldn't change a thing. I am what I am and that's all that I am,
and what I am is a girl.

And my name is Bambi.


--THE END--