My  Summers  with  Aunt  May

                                                 by  Princess  Pervette



     Oh no...!  Not ANOTHER story about a boy being feminized by
     his aunt over the Summer!!  Well, there are some differences
     this time.  First, and most important, everything in this
     story is consensual.  The boy knows what he wants, and what
     he wants is exactly what his aunt wants.  And I've tried to
     make the story as realistic as possible.  His feminization
     isn't permanent, he doesn't have surgery or take hormones.
     His parents are alive, and each year, when Summer is over,
     it's quite clear that he is going to go back to them and live
     as a boy again.

     Consensuality is important.  If you've ever read any of my
     other stories, you know that nobody is forced.  Even when
     some one is pressured into something, he quickly ends up
     liking it.  There's too much nastiness and coercion in real
     life, we don't need more in stories.  And with young children
     especially it's important to avoid coercion in a story.  The
     boys in my stories know what they want, and they have enough
     understanding that their consent, when they give it, is
     informed consent.  If you get off on stories of compulsion,
     dominance, brutality, humiliation, and forced feminization,
     you can skip this one.  You can skip it if you're looking for
     sex, too, the most our boy does is kiss.

     Pervette



My Summers with Aunt May



Mom had gone out shopping and wouldn't be back for an hour.  This was
my chance for a little fun.

I went to my dresser and fished out the panties from their hiding
place.

They were only plain cotton, but at least they were pink.  They were a
little worn, but they fit me perfectly.  When I had found them in the
neighbors' trash can, I had known that they would be nice to wear.  I
had been hoping for a break like that.  I had taken them home and
secretly washed them.

I took off my clothes and put them on.  Panties...!  They felt so good
on me.  They looked so good!  No fly in front:  these were GIRL'S
clothes.  I loved girl's clothes, and the panties were the first piece
of girl's clothes I had ever owned.  I ran my hands over them.  I ran
my hands over the front, where there was no fly.  I felt my little
dick, captured inside the panties.  It wasn't very big, but for an
eleven year old boy, it was okay.  I lay down on the bed and fondled
myself through the flimsy cotton.

Then my bedroom door opened.  It was Mom!  I hadn't heard her come
back.  She wasn't supposed to be back for another half hour or more.  I
was paralysed.

"You look very pretty, Tommy," she said.

"Oh shit....  Oops!...I mean...er, Mom...I...I can explain everything,"
I said, blushing all over.  I had no idea how I would explain wearing a
pair of panties.  I had to think of something.

"You do look pretty," she said, smiling.  "They're very becoming to
you."

"I...I...."

"Tommy!  I meant it.  I like the way you look.  No, don't take them
off.  Stand up and let me look at you."

I got off the bed and stood up, dry-mouthed with fear.

"Where did you get them?" she asked.

"I found them in the Andersons' trash," I muttered.

"Oh.  You didn't steal them, then.  I'm glad."

"You're...you aren't mad at me?"

"Tommy, Tommy.  Sit down and let's talk."

I sat down on the bed, and she sat next to me.

"You think I don't know?  You think I didn't see them in your dresser?
Mothers find out about things like this.  We always do.  I was putting
fresh things in there this morning, and when I straightened up the
drawer, there they were.  Tell me, how long have you had them?"

"I...I found them last week."

"And how many times have you worn them?"

"Only twice, Mom.  This was the second time.  I wore them once last
Thursday.  But it was only for a couple of minutes, Mom."

"Do you like them?"

I nodded, red-faced.

"They're girls' clothes, Tommy.  Do you like to wear girls' things?"

I nodded.

"Well, Tommy, we can't have this." I got up and started to take them
off.  "No, don't take them off.  It's not the girl's things.  I don't
want my boy to be a sneak.

"You're still young, Tommy.  It isn't as if you were a teen-ager.
Little boys go through phases like this.  As long as you're young, I
don't see that there's any harm in it.  But I don't want you to be a
sneak, Tommy.  That's much worse than wearing or not wearing
something."

I would never in a million years have expected her to take that line.

"Here's what I'll do.  I'll buy you some panties, and you can wear them
whenever you want, until you get this out of your system.  But don't
sneak things out of people's trash, Tommy.  And don't wear them behind
my back.  Okay?"

I nodded again.  I was so relieved, I was speechless.

She was true to her word.  The next afternoon, she really did go
shopping, and when she came back, she had three pairs of panties.

"Now, we won't hide these in your dresser.  I'll put them in my
dresser, in with my other lingerie where they won't be noticed.  Any
time you want to wear one of them, tell me, and I'll let you open that
drawer and take out a pair.  But don't let your father know about this!
He wouldn't understand.  This is just a private little thing between
you and me.  Okay?" Dad was a veteran, an an officer in the reserves,
and he was always talking to me about being a little man.

That was the way it started.  Mom and I had forged a secret alliance,
the two of us against my dad.  At first, I was shy about asking Mom to
let me wear panties, and it was a week or more before I mustered the
courage to ask her whether I could get out a pair.  But when I did, she
just smiled.  We went to my parents' room, and she opened the drawer.

"Which ones do you want, dear?" she asked.  I pointed to a pair in a
pale blue.

"Well, go on.  Take them." Smiling.

With trembling hands, I reached into the drawer and took them out.
These weren't plain cotton.  They were some kind of silky material,
soft and shiny.

"Okay.  Let's go to your room and you can model them for me."

I had to undress and put on the blue panties while she watched me.  I
put one leg through them, then the other.  How soft the material was on
my skin!  I stood up and drew them the rest of the way on.

"Those look so nice on you, Tommy," she said.  She gave me a little
kiss.  "My little girl."

Looking back, I realize that Mom was more into this than I thought at
the time.  Her attitude seemed merely tolerant at the time, but
actually I think she enjoyed seeing me dressed in panties.  I don't
know whether it was feminization--she never tried to interest me in any
other kinds of girlish things or activities--but I think it was more
than just letting me "get it out of my system." And she had been
affectionate when she called me her little girl.

The next time, it was less than a week later.  And the time after that,
it was only a couple of days.  Pretty soon, I was wearing them every
afternoon when I came home from school.  At first, she would watch me
when I put them on, and admire them, but after a while she stopped.
But I had her tacit permission to go about the house in them if I
wanted.  It was early Spring, and the house was well heated.  Wearing
them, I would pretend I was a girl, and I wished I could wear other
girl's clothes besides just the panties.  Mom quizzed me once, very
gently, and found this out.  After that, she got me a little slip to
wear over my panties.

                                  ****

Came Summer, and school was almost over.  Mom came to my room one
afternoon.

"How would you like to spend the Summer with Aunt May?" she asked me.
I hardly knew Aunt May.  I had seen her only once or twice, a few years
ago when I was little, and she was hardly any more than a name and a
face to me.

"Er, why would I do that?" I asked.  Baseball season had begun, and I
was going to be on the team.

"Well, here's the idea," she said.  "You're still wearing panties." I
was; as we talked I was in a little pink pair with tiny red flowers on
it.  It was one of my favorites, satiny and very feminine.  "Aunt May
likes boys in panties.  She likes boys in dresses, too.  You could go
out there and spend the whole Summer dressed as a girl.  Nobody knows
you there, and with your face, I think you'd make a very convincing
girl.  We'll just skip the next trip to the barber and let your hair
grow out a little longer."

My heart quickened.  Dressed as a girl!  Aunt May's place was in a
small town in the next state.  Yes; if I could get away with it, I'd
love it.  What a break this was!

"Now, remember, it will only be over the Summer.  When you get back
here, you're going to have to be a boy again.  It's okay if you like to
wear girls' things, but you have to grow up to be a man." She smiled.
"I know; I sound like your father.  But I want you to get this out of
your system, and if you spend an entire summer dressed and living as a
girl, maybe that will do the trick."

I know now that nothing would have done the trick.  Spending the Summer
dressed and living as a girl was only going to make me a confirmed
crossdresser.  But I didn't know that then, and it would never have
occurred to me.  (And if I had known it, I wouldn't have been about to
blow it by telling Mom!)  All I knew was that, by some miracle, I was
going to get my heart's desire.  This was even better than baseball.

                                  ****

When school was out, Aunt May came to visit us for a week.  Mom took
her into my room the Monday after she had arrived.  "This is my little
boy in panties," she said.  Then, to me:  "Would you model a pair for
us, Tommy?" I was used to wearing them with Mom around, but I had never
put them on before anybody else.  But Aunt May made encouraging sounds,
and we went to my parents' room.  I selected a plain white pair with a
little bit of pink lace on the edges and put them on.  Mom and Aunt May
admired me and said how nice I looked in them.

When Aunt May left, I left with her.  When we arrived at her place, she
took me to the room she had selected for me and said,

"Now, from now on until you go back home, you won't have to wear a
stitch of boy's clothes.  Unless you want to, of course.  But if you're
going to be a girl, you might as well go all the way."

"I want to go all the way, Aunt May," I said.

And I did.  In fact, I would have to.  Mom had anticipated this; she
had packed things like my toothbrush, but the only boy clothes I had
were the ones I was wearing.  Aunt May opened my closet door.  It was
like a glimpse of Heaven:  the closet was full of dresses and skirts
and smelt faintly of some kind of cologne!  She had obviously planned
this; she and Mom must have planned it together and spent a bundle on
all those things.  She showed me my dresser; there were drawers with
lingerie, and a drawer with blouses.

"Let's start right now, Tommy," she said.  I was excited.  This was my
dream come true.  Aunt May selected a plain denim skirt for me and a
blouse.  She let me select the panties.  There was such a wonderful
variety that I didn't know what to choose.  Finally, I picked a pair at
random.  I undressed and put on the panties.  She handed me the blouse.
It was soft and very light, and with a thrill I noticed that it
buttoned the other way.  These were real girl's clothes!  She smoothed
it with her hand once I had it on.  Then I stepped into the skirt and
she showed me how to adjust it.  A pair of short socks and some
sneakers finished the job.

She took me to a mirror.  I looked at my reflection, and saw a girl.  I
realized that I could pass, although I couldn't have put it in those
terms at the time.  I was still young enough that my features had the
soft contours of a girl's face.  By the time I was in my late teens,
that was no longer so.

"Come, I want to take a picture of you." She took me to the front room,
where the sunshine poured in through the windows, and took a Polaroid
picture of me.  "These are going to be happy days, Tommy, and you're
going to have happy memories of them.  It may not mean much to you now,
but later you're going to be glad to have pictures to remember this
Summer by.  We're going to take lots of pictures."

I spent the rest the afternoon learning how to walk, how to move, and
especially how to sit down like a girl.  She drilled me on the use of
my legs and how to make sure the skirt was modestly draped when I sat
down.

"You're going to have to go back to being a boy in the Fall, Tommy,"
she said, "but while you're here you're going to be a little girl, and
you must act the part.  You have to do all these things
automatically--unconsciously."

That evening we had a fashion show.  She had gotten an enormous
collection of panties for me--at least two dozen--and she picked out
six for me to model.  I took off my clothes and put on a pair.  Then I
stood there, looked at myself in the mirror, and let Aunt May inspect
me.  Then she would take a picture of me in them and we would go on to
the next pair.  This became a regular routine for our evenings.  We
would take turns choosing:  one evening I would select half a dozen and
the next evening she would.

For the first few days, she selected the clothes I would wear during
the day.  She said I had to learn how to dress and how to choose
clothes for different occasions.  This was a good idea; if left to
myself I would have selected the frilliest dresses, but, as she pointed
out, those were for evening wear, not for the daytime.  She selected
plainer things, and sometimes just jeans--but then there was always a
pretty blouse to go with the jeans.

I asked when I could wear nylons.  She said, "Eleven-year-old girls
don't wear nylons.  Those are for older girls.  They don't even make
garter belts that small."

But she relented and got me a pair of pantyhose and showed me how to
put them on.  I went wild over them.  I had never had hose of any kind
on my legs, and it was a revelation how good they felt.  And to me they
made my legs into woman's legs:  the tightly stretched fabric, the way
they darkened my legs, and the way they smoothed and, yes, feminized
their contours--these were all things I had unconsciously associated
with grown women, and now this was how my legs looked.  I couldn't wear
them often, but sometimes, when I just had jeans on instead of a skirt,
I would put pantyhose on first, with short socks over them, just so I
could revel in the way they felt on my legs.

Afternoons were for training.  That first afternoon, when she taught me
how to move and to sit, was typical.  We had many more sessions on
that, and in addition she taught me the rudiments of makeup.  It was
funny--she would have me apply all kinds of things to my cheeks and
eyes, finishing with lipstick; but then, when the whole job was done,
she'd make me remove it all on the grounds that that, too, was too old
for me.

"But there's always next Summer," she said, "and the Summers after
that." I was thrilled to think that this Summer, which was soooo
dreamy, wouldn't be the only one.

After a couple of weeks, Aunt May decided I had had enough tutoring to
be seen in public.  I had been hoping we would be able to go out
together; the thought of walking about in that little town, dressed as
a girl, had been in the back of my mind and I was impatient to make it
a reality.

She dressed me very conservatively:  that same denim skirt I had worn
the first day, and just a T-shirt over it.  No lipstick.  Plain white
socks over plain, low-heeled shoes.

"Now, we need a name for you.  It won't do to introduce you as my niece
Tommy!  How about Amy?  It has the same letters as my own name.  Do you
like `Amy'?"

I liked it very well.  One of the happy things about this Summer was
that our tastes, at least in things where I was educated enough to make
a judgement, agreed so well.

Actually, in retrospect, I realize that that first day in town together
was sort of an anticlimax.  But I was so thrilled to be out dressed as
a girl that it didn't seem that way to me.  But we didn't meet any of
Aunt May's acquaintances and she never got a chance to introduce me as
her niece Amy.  But she took me to stores.  We shopped together, and
she got things for me.  I just loved it when she turned to me and
asked, "Would you like this ribbon for your hair, Amy?"

She took me to lunch and gave me whispered pointers on feminine table
manners.  I used a ladies' rest room for the first time that day, too.
It felt so different from a men's room.  Then we went back home, and I
tried on all the things she had bought for me and modeled them for her.

One afternoon, I said, "You mentioned next Summer and the Summer after
that.  I hope you meant that.  This is just like heaven for me, being
able to dress this way and not having to hide or to pretend.  Tell me
we can do this next Summer, too."

"As long as you like, dear," she said.  "Until you get tired of it or
until you have to go away to college."

"I think I'm always going to like it, Aunt," I said.  "Mom called it a
phase and talked about getting it out of my system.  I don't want to
get it out of my system."

"You mean, you'd like to stay a girl forever?  Would you like to stop
being a boy altogether and become a girl, a real girl, for good?"

I thought about that.

"Well, no," I finally said.  "I like being a boy.  I like playing
baseball and football.  But I like wearing girls' things and dressing
up this way.  I guess I would like being a girl and not being a girl,
all at the same time."

"You want to have it both ways, don't you?" she said.  "Well, that's a
good decision.  You actually CAN have it both ways, if you want it
badly enough and if you're smart.  But the other way--taking hormones
to influence the way your body develops, or even having an
operation--that's the right way for some boys, but I don't see that for
you.  I watch you, and what I see is a boy dressed as a girl and
learning to act like a girl.  But what's inside is still a boy.  And
when you grow up, if you still like to dress up, I think what's inside
will be a man."

I realize now that this was a remarkable insight, because that was the
way it turned out.  Aunt May was a kind woman, and she understood me
even better than I understood myself, then.

After a few weeks I started going into town with her regularly.  I met
some of her friends, too, and they all accepted me as a girl.  They
talked to me as they would to a little eleven-year-old girl, and by
this time Aunt May had trained me well enough that I could give them
answers that were in character.

And all the time there were photographs, photographs.  That day when I
went into town for the first time, she took a picture to commemorate
the event.  In our evening panty sessions, she took pictures of me from
every angle; every time I tried on something new, the took a
photograph.  I have all those pictures now; they are among my most
treasured possessions.  Amy at eleven; Amy at twelve, from the
following Summer; Amy at thirteen.  The originals are in a safe deposit
box in acid-free protective envelopes; the ones I have framed at home
are copies.

                                  ****

That Summer...!  I look back on it as one long, blissful time; it's as
if there had been nothing but blue skies and sunshine all the time.
Aunt May and I got on beautifully together.  There must have been
disagreements and arguments at times, but I can't remember any.  It was
one of the happiest periods in my life.

But it came to an end, inevitably.  The days grew shorter, and one day
it was the end of August:  time to go back home and to school.  I was
going to miss my dresses.  But then I thought of the football season
and being on the team...Aunt May was right:  inside all the dresses and
lingerie there was still a boy.

When my mother found out that I hadn't gotten it out of my system, she
wasn't as disappointed as I had thought she might be.  I've wondered
some times whether she had been wishing for a daughter and was letting
me dress up as a way of fulfilling that wish.  I've read that some
boys' mothers do that.  In any case, she resigned herself to my
dressing with remarkably little trouble.  Our joint conspiracy against
Dad's finding out resumed.

That year, whenever I didn't have gym or football practice, I wore
panties under my clothes when I went to school.  And--wonder of
wonders!--for the class play they needed a boy to play a drag role (it
was some obscure and probably deservedly forgotten comedy), and I got
the part.  My Dad thought it was a hoot:  his son, the tough little
quarterback, in a drag role.  Apparently school theatrics were an
exception to being a little man.  But what a treat, to go on stage
dressed as a girl, and to be applauded for it.  I was wily, though, and
took care to be just a little wrong in how I wore my dress and how I
applied makeup.  But then my training with Aunt May would show through
accidentally, and it made my performance steal the show.

                                  ****

The big event next Summer was breasts.  I was twelve now, and some of
girls at school were already beginning to blossom.  I asked Aunt May
about this almost the moment arrived at her place.  No, she said, that
wasn't out of the question; she would see what she could do.  And she
got me my first bra.  It was a training bra, and she sewed some
stuffing into the cups so I looked as if I were just beginning to
sprout a pair of boobs.  In fact, she got me several training bras, and
that Summer our panty modeling sessions featured me in a bra as well as
panties.

The other big event was scary:  in town one day, I was alarmed to
recognize a guy I knew at school.  But he didn't recognize me.  He gave
me an assessing look, but there was no sign that he knew who I was.
But then, when we were in fast food place having a sandwich, he came
over to us at the counter.

"Hey, you look familiar...don't I know you from somewhere?"

What to do?  I thought fast.  Aunt May had taught me that feminine
mannerisms in the voice were more important than the pitch.  So I
replied, in my girliest manner, "No.  You aren't from around here, are
you?"

He said no, that he was just visiting here for the week.  I didn't
encourage conversation, and he left.  But it was a close call, and my
heart was pounding inside my pink blouse.

                                  ****

But the third Summer was the best.  As a thirteen year old, I could now
dress in almost an adult manner, with makeup, stockings, and heels.
Aunt May had sprung for a pair of breast forms, too, and my hands
trembled the first time we cemented them into place.  (I still have
those breast forms.)  She had to help me; otherwise, with my shaking
hands, I would probably have put them on crooked.  When she unwrapped
my first garter belt, I kissed her--and I could have kissed the garter
belt, too.  Then she got out my first real nylons, and we had a
tremendous time that evening, trying on one dress after another.  And
mini-skirts...!  This was the first time I had worn a miniskirt.  I
stood in front of the mirror and stared and stared.  My legs looked
smashing!  And my pert little boobs completed the picture.  Aunt May's
photographs from that evening show me with a deliriously happy and
joyous smile on my face.

Our learning sessions that Summer began with learning how to walk in
heels.  It was a tricky business, and is was a week or two before I
could be sure of not falling or twisting an ankle in them.  But by the
end of the Summer, I was secure and comfortable wearing them.

We discussed dating boys.  That guy from home never showed up again,
but I had been approached a couple of times last Summer, and more
incidents like that were on the cards this time around.

I know now that I'm not gay.  And I know that I should have realized
that then.  But teenaged boys don't know much about their sexuality;
they're just finding it out.  And I wasn't sure.  Being a crossdresser
doesn't mean you're gay; but I didn't know that, either.  And I
wondered whether I was.  I had never been interested in other guys or
stared at them in the showers at school, but still...one never knew.

We finally agreed that I would try dating guys, if the occasion arose,
and I would play it by ear.

The occasion arose sooner than we thought.  The first time we went into
town, I was wearing a pretty blue dress, with ruffles, and I had my
hair tied back with a blue ribbon.  I was wearing a little bit of
makeup, but after all of Aunt May's careful instruction, I was wearing
it with much more sophistication than most thirteen-year-old girls
would have.  And a boy noticed me--again, when we were having a
sandwich for lunch.

We fell into conversation.  He was very polite, but clearly interested.
And he asked me out to a movie.  I gave Aunt May a questioning look;
she said it was all right as long as I was back by ten.

We spent a long time preparing for my date.  I took off everything I
had worn during the day and had a bath.  Then Aunt May showed me how to
tuck my penis back between my legs so it wouldn't show.  ("You never
know where he's going to put his hand, Dear," she said.)  She had me
wear plain pink panties ("You don't want to be provocative, Dear.") and
a plain pink bra.  She thought pantyhose might provide a little more
protection, but I managed to talk her into a pair of nylons and a
garterbelt.  Then went the slip and a yellow dress with a full skirt
and a neckline that was rather daring for a girl my age.  And yellow
heels to go with the dress.

I had been doing my own makeup for three Summers in a row, but Aunt May
insisted on doing this job herself.  She took a long time at it.  "Now,
with your skin, you don't need too much.  Just a little powder...
something around the eyes...and lipstick." She also used lip liner and
lip gloss.  It was a simple makeup job, but she fussed endlessly to get
it right.  She got a pair of pretty gold earrings and a fine chain for
my neck.  And finally, just before Mike was to arrive, a spray of
Arpege.

The movie...I don't remember what the movie was; in fact, I didn't even
pay much attention at the time.  My mind was on this boy next to me, my
date.  My date!!  I was one of the best players on our team back home,
and I was dating a boy.

Things didn't improve any when he slyly put an arm around me.  I felt
uncomfortable, but I thought I should rise to the occasion, so I leaned
gently against him as we watched the movie--or rather, as he watched
the movie and I sat there wondering what came next.

Nothing came next until he dropped me off at Aunt May's.  He kissed me.
There's an old joke that two men can do anything together in bed, but
as long as they don't kiss, they aren't really queer.  And I kissed him
back.  Not passionately, but when he drew me to him, I let him do so.
This could have had extremely embarrassing consequences if I had had an
erection under my dress, but I didn't.  From my point of view, the
kiss, while not disagreeable, was no more sensual than the kisses I
exchanged with Aunt May.

Now, I hate to disappoint you.  It would make a much better story if I
could say that Mike and I dated the rest of that Summer and that I
started giving him blow jobs and he started fucking me in the ass.  But
that didn't happen.  I was affectionate, which was easy, because he was
a nice boy and I liked him, but we never got beyond the kissing stage.
And by the end of that Summer, it was clear to me that I wasn't gay,
kisses or no kisses.

                                  ****

I saw Aunt May this Spring for the first time in years.  She's an old
lady now, but she still has style.  She was at home, convalescing from
a minor stroke, but her mind was as sharp as ever.  We talked about the
old days.

"You know, darling, those were good times, those Summers.  I never told
you then, but when I was a young woman I had an affair with a
cross-dresser.  We were in love, and if things had turned out a bit
differently, we might have gotten married.  But we didn't, and the
reason had nothing to do with what he wore.  But it left me with a
fondness for crossdressers, and when your mother phoned me about you, I
was eager to help."

"So that's the story!  I've often wondered what you were up to, and
why."

"Oh, yes.  Your mother knew about my affair with Bill.  That's why she
didn't get upset when she found you in panties.  My assignment was to
see just how committed you were and to give you some guidance and
protect you from making any foolish mistakes."

"Foolish mistakes?  You mean...like becoming a lifelong cross-
dresser?"

"And you did, didn't you?"

"Oh yes; I have a pair of panties on right now, under my trousers."

"You have!" Her eyes sparkled.  "Let me see them!"

"Oh, Aunt May, you're naughty!!" But I dropped my trousers and let her
admire my panties.  These were black and mostly lace.  I had put them
on in her honor, and I suppose something in the back of my mind thought
that she might see them, or might want to.

"They're very handsome," she said.  "Oh...no, I guess I should say,
they're very pretty!" She smiled.  "And...do you still date boys?"

"No; that didn't work.  I'm engaged to be married.  And yes, Alice
knows what I wear, and she says it's cool."

"`Cool'...what strange expressions you young people have.

"You know, I still have all those photographs I took of you.  You
looked so sweet and so dear in them.  I've thought sometimes that I
shouldn't be silly, that I should throw them away, but I've never been
able to.  I loved you so much."

And that's how the photographs passed into my hands.  May gave them to
us as a little extra wedding present, as a sort of private joke.  The
one of me in my blue ruffled dress is framed on my desk at work, as a
sort of reminder of what I was, and am.  Whenever anybody asks me who
that is, I just say that it's my second cousin, Amy.

(c) Princess Pervette

October, 1996
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