Date: Sun, 4 Mar 2001 20:18:12 -0800 (PST)
From: Raven
Subject: In the Flesh

Magic, teen, tv
In The Flesh (or I Was My Girlfriend's Teenage Daughter)
by Raven

Only "yesterday" I was a middle manager for a marketing firm. "Today," I
am Jennifer, my girlfriend's 16 year old daughter.

Jennifer, of course, is now me . . . or at least pretending to be me. Her
mother . . . I guess she is technically my mother now . . . is helping her out,
since she was also my co-worker!  Only a strange twist of fate could have
switched the bodies of Jennifer and myself, putting her in the position of
Shelly's superior at work.

Oh, it's just such a mess.  There I go again, getting so emotional.

It's this damned girlish body that I now inhabit!  It makes me want to cry . . .
actually CRY . . . at the drop of a hat.

To make matters worse, I had to pretend to be Jennifer until we could figure a
way to get us back to normal.

If I'd known that simple electrical current could have caused this . . . swap . .
. I would have never tried to rescue her when the toaster oven malfunctioned.
Well . . . that's not exactly true, and I would have at least tried a different
way to pull her from appliance.  Instead, I nearly got electrocuted for my
trouble, with a new body to boot!

Those first few hours were mighty strange, looking up at my old male body
and all. For that matter, I had to look up at Shelly's body. I used to be able to
look down at the top of her head on her 5' nothing body. Now I'm only 4'
10" tall . . . I'm tiny.

 After Jennifer and I were able to convince Shelly of the truth, we just sort of
sat around and stared at each other. Nobody wanted to face the suddenly
insurmountable problem spawned by this incredible accident. The odds of
something like this were probably not able to be calculated.Or duplicated for
that matter! We all decided that the very palpable danger of electrocution
prevented us from trying to recreate the body switching

 For the time being, Jennifer and I were quite stuck trying to be the other. At
least that is what we decided to do.

 The realization of it was quite another, and I think it was at that moment that
I felt the first urge to cry. I experienced the unique interaction of emotions
and hormones in the pubescent that I now wore.

I wanted desperately to be Hank Snow, carrying on a secret office romance
with his pretty underling, Shelly Sweet again. I didn't much care if I had to
be 40 years old, just as long as I could be my old male self again. Now
Jennifer was Hank William Snow to all of the world, while, to that same
world, I was Jennifer Janine Sweet in the flesh.

I was my girlfriend's teenage daughter!

At least her nickname "JJ" spared me from having to respond (for the most
part) to a extremely girly name.I soon found out that her teachers, other
"adults" in authority, and even Shelly, when she was angry with me, insisted
on calling me Jennifer.

It really didn't matter much anyway. With a new last name like "Sweet," and
a face and body combination like Jennifer's, I got inflicted with such epithets
as "Sweetcakes," "Sweetcheeks," "Sweetness," or the old tried and true, just
plain "Sweetie." I don't even want to get started on the nicknames that I had
to endure because of her diminutive size. Things like "Elf," "Munchkin,"
Shortstuff," and "Baby" spring to mind.

That fateful day was nearly 2 years ago. I'm sitting here at my vanity mirror,
looking at the face that I've come to know so well, before Kyle picks me up
for the prom. I have to look especially great tonight, as the rumor around
school is that I'm going to be named the "Prom Queen."

I just can't help but reminisce on how I got into this situation.

It has been a long, strange journey from middle-aged man to bad girl to teen
dream.

"It's almost 8:00," the real Jennifer yells up from downstairs.

She . . . or rather . . . he, is married to Shelly . . . mom now. They both
decided, for practical reasons that we should all be close together. That way it
was easier to "cover" for one another. If our souls spontaneously decided to
"right" themselves, they wouldn't have to go looking for their real body.

It never quite worked out that way.

We just got used to being who we appeared to be.

 Jennifer and Shelly, the former mother-daughter, even consummated their
marriage. They have been living as genuine husband and wife ever since,
which causes me no end of frustration. They both were bound and
determined to treat me as if I am a brainless teenage girl. They talked and
interacted, and acted like they were an old married couple.

They even argued like a married couple!

At times I think they forget who I really am . . . or was. They established
curfews and rules for me, that eventually I felt compelled to rebel against. I
am . . . or was . . . a grown man, for Heaven's sake.

Damn! Here come those tears again.

I brushed a stray tendril of hair away from my eyes. It was funny how just
one strand that is out of place can ruin the effect that a whole day's worth of
"labor" in the beauty parlor worked to create.

I never realized until I was a girl just how much work it took to maintain the
perfect "look."

 And what hair it was! It was dense, silky strands of honey blonde hair that,
when worn loose, fell all of the way to my tushy.

 Tonight I have it piled on top of my head in a sophisticated coif befitting a
queen.

That very first day I'd wanted to cut it all off, and an heated argument
ensued.Jennifer's argument carried that day. If she was to get her genuine
body back, she wanted it back whole . . . hair and all. She had a point there,
and she reinforced it by threatening to alter my real body in ways that I
wouldn't appreciate.

It made me wonder where this little pixie of a girl learned how to argue. She
was very, very good.

After that, I just kind of got accustomed to the pull of so much hair on my
scalp and my neck muscles. I got used to it brushing my neck, back, and
moving as I moved. I even got used to waking up every morning with it in
my hair, eyes, or mouth.

I never did get used to washing, drying and styling he damned tresses, but
everybody seemed to like it long.

I ended up keeping it for everybody else's sake . . . if not for my own. Kyle
did like playing with it . . . running his hands through it . . . pulling on the
back of it to expose my neck for a kiss . . . .

I digress.

All of that in good time.

My original point was that the feeling of so much hair, a badge of abundant
femininity, came to be quite normal. In fact, over the period of time, I came
to be quite comfortable.

So did the rest of my new girlish body . . . all 90 lbs of it.

Dripping wet!

I still have vivid memories of regaining my full senses seconds after the
actual switch. It conjured up images of childhood fables, specifically "Jack
and the Beanstalk," when he arrived in the "Land of the Giants." Everything
was so HUGE to my drastically diminished point of view.

For a second, I actually thought I'd been transported back in time to my
childhood. I was that small!

Then I tried to move for the first time, and I knew that something utterly
incredible had happened. The shifting weight on my chest prompted me to
look down at Jennifer's body. I remember the cold chill as if it were only
yesterday.

The cropped top exposing a flat tummy, the unnaturally tight jeans, with an
equally flat "Y" in the junction of the legs, and of course, the bulge of breasts
were all there. They were all Jennifer's . . . and mine through some fantastic
default.

Those sights have become commonplace to me now. Even the sight of those
physical attributes on other girls in the locker room at school is not enough to
make my heart beat faster anymore.

Still, most of that first day was spent getting accustomed to the balance,
movement, and sensations of Jennifer's body. The eerie things about it was
the conflict between the body that accidently been thrust upon me, and my
memories of how a body was supposed to balance, move, and feel.

The thing of it was . . . the body felt so natural. My mind told me that it
shouldn't.

Months later, I accidently found a web site by the name of "Fictionmania,"
that had all types of body swapping stories. I read a few. They made me
laugh . . . actually laugh . . . for the first time since the switch with Jennifer
occurred. The humor was in a bunch of guys trying to imagine what it would
be like to switch bodies with a woman. There was no way on earth they
could possibly know how far off the mark they truly were.

For the most part it doesn't feel all that different than your real body. You still
have the same configuration: two arms, two legs, and walk upright. The male
and female body both work the same approximate way. There is only a slight
change in the way you walk, move, or in some cases, the way your body
moves . . . jiggles. The thing that my favorite writers, like Eric, Caleb and
Raven, get wrong every time is how fast the sensation of "wrongness" fades
into just feeling natural.

Now that I have actually lived through it, I don't see how it could be any
other way.

The body remembers how it stands . . . or walks . . . or sits . . . or moves . .
. or even sleeps. If you do not think about it much, the body just does what it
was naturally trained to do before you got it. In the end, no matter how hard
you fight it, the body always wins out.

I read somewhere, I think it was in college psychology as Hank, that much of
a person's identity is determined by the physical reality of their body. I think
it was a pet theory some Austrian guy . . . that starts with an "F." It's so hard
to recall these days. I never thought that it was true.

I soon learned that it was all TOO true. The body is everything. Whether it
comes from the demands of the body itself, or the expectations of others
while interacting with that body, the body is EVERYTHING. Identity begins
and ends with the body.

That all came later.

The first day I just learned to go with the body. If I didn't think too much
about what I was doing, my new body worked just like it did when the real
Jennifer had it, and it felt natural . . . comfortable. It was only when I tried to
do something, or move in a way that my old 6'2" male body did that I felt . .
. odd.

There it is.

Oh, I could go on chapter and verse about what it felt like to have boobs on
your chest, where none were there before, or to have a void between your
legs. I won't. The truth of it is that I got used to having those addition and
subtractions to the body I wore all too quickly. By the end of that first day,
the bouncing of my titties every time I moved didn't even feel strange.

I wish I could say that it did, but it didn't. It was Jennifer's damned bodily
memory.

Who knew that it was the start of a downward descent.  It was the fall of the
first domino.

I looked at my face . . . Jennifer's face . . . in the vanity mirror.  She was
correct.  Kyle would be here any minute, and yet here I sit . . . remembering
it all.

Some type of response was required, as I just knew my former body was
waiting at the bottom of the steps for an answer. It always disturbed me how
much that Jennifer insisted on playing the father to her former body. More
than that, it bothered me how much I just . . . accepted it all. I just let myself
fall into it, and stopped hoping against hope I'd get my body back.

That's when I . . . gulp . . . started to LIKE being Jennifer.

"I'm hurrying as fast as I can, Daddy," I called out with that soft high voice
that I'd come to accept as my own.

The feeling of speaking this way also became natural much too quickly.
Jennifer didn't answer me back. I just heard his big body moving away from
the staircase, and back to the living room. I knew that he and Shelly . . .
Mom . . . were waiting there with a video camera. They were going to film
me, just as thousands of real parents across the country were taping their
prom bound daughter.

To date, I've only added captions to the random images on the Fictionmania
site. I've tried to write text to let those guys know how it really is to switch
bodies with a girl. Maybe I'll write a story one day to let them know. Maybe
I'll write MY story.

If I were to write a story, it would be about how important a girl's hair is to
her self-esteem. That never, ever occurred to me until an accident happened a
school one day.  Some of the guys accidently cut off part of my long,
beautiful hair.  I remember that I was so upset that I wanted to cry!

Some of the other girls in my class sympathized with me, and helped me fix it
as best as I could.

Even though my hair was still relatively long . . . I was devastated!  I think
by that time I was more upset than the real Jennifer over a loss of a few
inches of hair.

The only problem is, I have no talent for writing.

That is the second thing that I discovered: talents go with the body that you
wear. I quickly discovered that I wasn't as smart in Jennifer's body as I was
in my own! You may have memories from a body switch, but those
memories have to inhabit a physical brain. If that brain doesn't work as well
as your old one . . . well . . . you get the picture.

I remember when Mom . . . Shelly . . . and I were first getting together. She
used to complain all of the time about how poor a student Jennifer was. No
matter how hard she tried, she just got "D's" and "F's" in school. As a
consequence, she just lost all interest in school. Shelly used to fret about her
daughter's future, or that she may fall in with a bad crowd.

I guess in a way she still does.

 I haven't been able to do any better in school than the real Jennifer! I truly
believe that she . . . I . . . have an undiagnosed attention deficient disorder.
You can't even imagine how frustrating it is for me, the owner of an MBA in
my former life, to get "D's" and "F's" in subjects I once "aced."

 The knowledge is there in my memory, but I just can't get it out. It's like
constantly having the name of someone on the tip of your tongue that just
won't come out. It used to make me cry a lot. Eventually I just accepted it,
like so many other things, so that it wouldn't drive me insane.

I think that is the point that I finally figured out that the only asset that I had to
get me out of this backwater West Texas town was my face and figure.

That brings me to Kyle.

The mere thought of Kyle's name bring's a mischievous smile to the full
cupid's bow lips in the mirror. I reach out to touch the mirror . . . as if it
were a real face. It is only glass, backed by a coating of reflective silver
nitrate. However, the image of the face held unwavering IS real. Mine.

The lips are positioned perfectly on a heart shaped face that has flawless skin.
Those features are complimented by high cheek bones, sky blue eyes, high
arched eyebrows, long, curling lashes, and a pert, upturned button nose. My
skin is tanned nicely by the unrelenting West Texas sunshine. It is the face of
an angel . . . the face of a stunningly beautiful, girl next door, cheerleader.

The hair is a little shorter than it originally was, but still long.  It was long
enough to attract Kyle, and THAT'S the important thing!

I touch my own face, just to make sure the features I wear are the same as
those reflected in the mirror. They are. I know from experience, and
countless applications of make-up that they are.

My eyes drift down to the bodice of the black prom dress that I wear. I chose
the color over the objections of Shelly . . . er . . . Mom to compliment the
color of my hair. She preferred powder blue to accentuate my eyes.   Black is
my favorite color now, where once it was green.  I've come to learn that there
is NOTHING more attractive than a blonde dressed in black.

The dress is not cut low, nor does it expose the tops of my boobs.  The
noticeable bulge is there nevertheless.  I drop my hands from my face to my
tits, and lift them to test their weight and firmness.

How many times did I do that on that first day? I don't think numbers go that
high! They are only 32B's, but on my tiny body they look positively
ENORMOUS. I think if I was at least of average height . . . for a woman that
is . . . they would probably be about 38D's. At least they FELT that way!

It is not the absolute size, but the proportionate size to the rest of that body
that matters.

It took so long for them to feel good to me, for me to be proud of them. How
could it be otherwise, for when Kyle fondles them, I loose control. Their
sensations, so electric . . . so insistent . . . so urgent!

My eyes drift back to the image in the mirror. There is that impossibly sexy,
mischievous, almost devilish smile again. The slight parting of my otherwise
pouting lips reveal dazzling straight white teeth.

It wasn't always like this . . . the knowing smile at the thought of a boy. On
that second day, Jennifer, Shelly and I spent hours going through their
collection of photo albums. It was through that continuum of frozen images
that I saw the body that I now wear grow up. I saw the adorable girl-child
become a stunningly beautiful young woman. It was there I learned to
recognize each and every one of my new relatives.

It was surreal, cramming for a pop quiz on another's life, but I had to be
ready for any phone call or knock upon the door. Through Jennifer's
"private" photo album, I learned the identity of all of her . . . my . . . new
friends. There were a smattering of male acquaintances, which gave me a bad
feeling in the pit of my stomach. The dangers of my new female body were
coming home to roost.

I remember wondering if all of my girlfriend's suspicions about here
daughter were true?

Even though by that time I was growing accustomed to the feel and rhythms
of Jennifer's body, I still wasn't comfortable with being so small and weak.
Even now I've only gained an inch to 4'11." I sincerely doubt whether I will
ever crack the 5'0" threshold! Then, as now, everybody, even Shelly,
towered over me.

I realize now that people will always treat me as a child, just from my
diminutive size. I won't matter how old I am.

Anyway, at the end of that second day, Jennifer pulled me to one side, and
handed me several leather bound books. I knew right away what they were .
. . her diaries.

I still can hear the words she told me, as if they were just spoken. "Read
them. If you are going to be me, and act like me, you'll need to know how I
think and feel. These diaries will teach you all about me, my friends, and the
boys I like. You can read . . . ." She hesitated with my voice." . . . . how far
I've gone with them." That declaration hung in the air.

There was NO way I was EVER going to do ANYTHING with a boy. I
didn't care if I had to pick up her life where she left it off. I didn't care if I
was supposed to deflect suspicion by imitating her.

It required no response, so I simply nodded before shuffling off to Jennifer's
bedroom for the night.

As I was walking away, Jennifer bade me, "Don't show those to Mom. She
doesn't even know they exist, and would kill me if she knew what was in
there. This is a secret . . . between us. It is a sacred pact between . . .
Jennifers."

She made it sound like some kind of twisted teenage club, that carried a blood
oath. The only thing was that I was now the teen, she the adult.

The bedroom was filled to bursting with all of the relics and souvenirs of a
girl's life. There were stuffed animals aplenty, posters of the latest teen male
heart throbs, and the bric-a- brac accumulated by the day-to-day comings and
goings of an adolescent girl. The decor of the room was such a stark contrast
to the life that was documented in titillating, hormone saturated detail in
Jennifer's diaries.

I shouldn't have been surprised. I should have known. All of the clues were
there begging to be added up! At the end of the first day, Shelly told the real
Jennifer to help me get used to my new body.

It all comes rushing back to me: how weird it felt undressing in front of her. I
felt that it was somehow inappropriate even though it was her real body. She
would have seen it a zillion times by now. There was no accounting for how
deeply ingrained were the morals of society. A young girl should not be
disrobing in front of a much older man, albeit that man was . . . myself.

Maybe that was it. I knew in my heart of hearts how my real body would
react to the sight of THIS naked body. When it came right down to it, I didn't
trust my real body! I could only pray that Jennifer was just as wary as I.

She stopped me just before I went to pull down her silken panties. It was
hope fulfilled that she knew her new limitations. Indeed, the slacks that I was
wearing only a short time ago were tented out in biological need.

I looked away quickly to my otherwise naked body in the full length mirror.
Her firm, pert breasts, with the wide pink areolae stared back at me. They
were stiff and erect with the adrenalin of self discovery. There was the
silhouette of a string bikini from the contrast of tanned skin to pale pink skin.
There were erotic pale triangles surrounding each youthful breast.

I looked down at them for a second before glancing to Jennifer for the
expected explanation for her cessation. I wanted to take them in my hands,
but thought better of it. I had a pretty good idea what THAT sight would do
to my real body. I didn't know if Jennifer could handle it. She was under
enough "pressure" as it was.

That form of self discovery would come later, and as fate would have it,
many, many nights after that. The pleasurable sensations and bodily reactions
were too . . . hard to resist!

I looked up at her with inquiring eyes. Her response was immediate, but
nothing what I anticipated.

"I-I have a tattoo. Mom doesn't know about it, and you can't ever let her see
it. She'd kill me . . . er . . . you, I guess, if she ever knew."

I pulled down the panties to find a little red devil, pitchfork in hand, on her
left fanny cheek. I could only guess the how and why of the tattoo.
Underneath the demon was the word, "Horny."

What would ever possess her to get such at thing . . . why a little devil? Here
was the first tangible proof that Jennifer was running with a bad crowd.

"What else?" I croaked in her voice, the implication sinking in.

"I smoke too. Mom can't know."

Another mystery solved. I'd been wondering all through that day why my
new body felt so edgy. It was in dire need of a nicotine fix.

The smile was gone from my face in the vanity mirror. Suddenly, I craved a
cigarette in here and now in the worst sort of way. It's funny how some
habits die hard, even those you never had before a fateful body swap.

Jennifer tried smoking a couple of times after the swap, but my real body just
didn't take to it.  Still, the psychological need for her to do SOMETHING
with her mouth was still there. Jennifer resorted to eating, and my old body,
without her metabolism quickly packed on 50 lbs. It was . . . painful . . . to
see my old body get so fat!

I grabbed the black leather purse that matched my prom dress. I didn't care if
I was in the house, and the stress of the coming night was too much for me. I
NEEDED a "ciggie" to calm me down. A giggle escaped my lips as I lit the
"ciggie."

It never occurred to me, until this very instant, that I'd gravitated to using
girlish names for things . . . like "ciggies." I pulled the butt away from my
lips to notice the ring of pink lipstick encircling it.

I tittered again.

There was a perverse humor to how skillful I'd become at things like make
up. I wouldn't be caught DEAD without lipstick now.

It never seemed I would get to this state on those first two days!

I laid in Jennifer's bed that second night, clad in her satiny nightie, reading
the details of her secret life from the diary. There were pages and pages of her
exploits with a surprisingly great number of boys. It turned out that Shelly . .
. Mom . . . HAD a legitimate reason to worry. The real Jennifer was
surprisingly easy. She'd grasped early on of the power that she gained over
boys by using her sex as a weapon. She'd especially learned the priceless
value of using oral sex on boys. Jennifer as much as bragged in her diary that
boys would do anything for her for a blow job.

Her body . . . now my body . . . even enjoyed it.

She used the phrase, "Set it on fire!"  I'd inherited the body of quite the
prolific little cocksucker.

The next morning the real Jennifer verbally, but secretly, confirmed her
reputation as a "bad little girl."  Some shoes I would have to fill!

When I look back on it now, I think that Jennifer must have, at least
unconsciously, realized that her best assets were her face and body. She'd
accentuated them in the only way possible . . . by playing to her sexual
attraction. I don't blame her . . . really. I can't honestly say that I wouldn't
have done the same thing if operating from her perspective or level of
experience.

That was my sole advantage. I at least had memories of experience from a
much older perspective. Thus, once I knew that my diminished intelligence
was not going to get me out of this town, and away from Shelly and Jennifer.
My physicals assets were my only ticket. That meant finding a guy with
prospects to take me away.

Again, that's where Kyle came in.

He was the star quarterback of the football team.  He was All-State, with
plenty of colleges recruiting him.  There was every expectation of going pro,
with the riches and lifestyle that went along with that status.  A girl could go a
long way with a guy like that. The problem was getting him.

Someone like Kyle Matthews was far beyond Jennifer's reach, for he would
never date, let alone be seen with, the school tramp. What Jennifer . . . I . . .
needed was a total change in reputation. As I remember, it wasn't easy.

That reputation as the school slut wore on me early on. I hated being hit on
by every guy at school.  Oh, they didn't want to date me . . . they just wanted
to go out to their car with them, or in a closet with them to relieve their male
hormones. They wanted me to meet them at parties so that they could use me.
What really "sucked" was that my body ached to do just that! The body
remembers what it needs, wants, and desires.

To make a long story short, self-pleasure lead to curiosity which, in turn lead
to experimentation, which, in turn, lead to surrender to the flesh. The fast
crowd, Jennifer's friends, that I was running with didn't help much either.

It was only a matter of time before I was on my knees pleasuring whatever
guy looked my way. It was too easy. Guys started doing things for me, they
started to look at me. I started to like it.

My body liked it a lot! My tiny body liked to suck, and be fucked.

The first report card was a wake up call. It coincided with the realization that I
was going nowhere fast. I wasn't getting my body back, and most likely
would end up as a waitress at a truck stop or housewife in a trailer. There and
then, I decided that if I had to live the rest of my life as Jennifer Sweet, I was
going to make it the best life that I could.

That meant hooking the guy with the best prospects . . . Kyle Matthews. I
had to do what thousands if young girls in this country must do . . . attract a
guy with prospects to get them out of a small town.

The transformation from school tramp to good girl took me about a whole
year. The first step was to become the quintessential cheerleader. They were
reluctant to accept a girl with my reputation, but fortunately they needed a
small girl that they could toss around. My small stature, and natural tumbling
ability, came in handy for once.

I WAS the smallest girl on the squad, and the smallest girl in school. I was
by far the prettiest girl on the squad too, once the others made an effort to
clean me up . . . change my image. It was . . . difficult . . . to deny the
natural instincts of the body I'd grown to accept.

In other words, for the sake of reputation, I had to turn down the guys that I
once serviced. They weren't very "receptive" to the idea.  That's when the
"accident" happened at school where I lost several inches of my beautiful
hair.  One of the boys who had the biggest crush on me, thought it would be
funny to take away the very thing that made me special; . . . my luxurious
long hair.

I was lucky that it was still long enough to ultimately attract Kyle's attention.
The somewhat shorter hair WAS a little easier to style and looked radical with
my usual clothes.

I even cut down on smoking . . . only sneaking a few puffs here and there.

 Fortunately, some of the other girls on the squad were also closet smokers. I
became good friends with one of them . . . Buffy. Everybody joked that she
was a vampire slayer, or something like that. The others quickly accepted me
into their circle.

I touched the mirror of the vanity with my hand once more. My face . . .
sooooo pretty. I noticed my long nails that were painted pink. They had
sparkles on the tips . . . a fad that all of my fellow cheerleaders wore these
days. There were fashionable rings on each of my fingers . . . even on my
thumb.

I was the very picture of an 18 year old girl, that was poised to graduate from
high school (cross my fingers) in a few months. Would this face be the face
of the future Mrs. Matthews? I certainly hoped so.

When I first go this body I was so bound and determined NOT to have sexual
contact with a guy. NOW I couldn't wait to touch Kyle, and have him touch
me. As it turned out, the sexual experience of this body came in handy.

I knew Kyle had reserved a room out at the Wayfarer Inn at the edge of town
for after the "after parties." I wanted to make sure he didn't regret it. I knew
through the grapevine that he'd gotten, and accepted, a full scholarship to
play football for UCLA out in California. He would tell me tonight, and I'd
help him celebrate in my own little way.

I had to convince him to take me to California with him. He's already said he
loved me . . . that I was the prettiest girl he ever did see. Even that took time.

Once the other girls on the squad cleaned me up, and taught me the elements
of style, fashion and make up, the guys in their circle began to notice me.

I dated a few football players, always working my way up in class to the
ultimate goal . . . Kyle. I was careful to not sleep with them, although I did
make out with them. I let them touch me in bad places though.  After all, once
you got Jennifer's . . . my . . . body going, it was hard to shut off.  I just
had to rely on my own finger afterward for sexual satisfaction.

I had to hold out for Kyle

Kyle eventually noticed me. In fact, he stole me from his best friend at a party
one night.

 I made out with him, and we've been together ever since.

As cold-blooded as my motives sound, and despite the fact I've become a
manipulative little bitch . . . I love him.

I truly love him. I keep my baby sexually satisfied, and I just KNOW he's
gonna ask me to go to California with him tonight.

I'll just die if he doesn't.

He will. Kyle loves me.

I feel the familiar warmth grow in my loins. I'm wearing stockings and a
garter for Kyle tonight. I feel my nipples, as well as my desire, begin to
swell.

I have to wipe away a tear from my cheek so that it doesn't ruin my make-up.
It isn't a tear for that which I lost, it is a tear of love for what I gained.

I love being Jennifer Sweet . . . I have for sometime now.

I want to be so far away from here so that my spirit doesn't find its way back
to its real body.If it did . . . I'd just DIE. I like being a girl.

I hear the doorbell ring. It's Kyle, and my young heart begins to pound. It's
my moment of truth, but no more so than scores of other girls out there . . .
With hopes and dreams. I am one of those girls.

I wouldn't have it any other way.

I rise to meet my destiny.

Tonight I tell Kyle that I bear his child in my womb. Hopes and dreams are
one thing . . . an insurance policy is quite another.

Finis.