Date: Thu, 21 Nov 2013 16:11:33 -0000
From: ROM
Subject: Conditions and Choices [TG, control, teen]

Conditions and Choices
by ROM,  Nov 2013

Thank DARPA for the Internet!  Growing up, I always knew I was different.
I was just as happy playing house with the girls as shooting hoops with the
boys until I got beaten up for it.  I didn't like getting hit so I learned
to stop dressing up dolls, and after a near miss jumping rope, to stop
playing girls' games entirely.  Internet research when I was ten gave my
condition two names.  I learned I was born this way, there was no cure,
society didn't accept me and I would end up in prison unless I hid it.  So
it became my secret.

Don't get me wrong, even though it would make my life so much easier, I
wouldn't be like you, not for the world.  To be human means you have a
brain, you should be allowed to make choices.  So why you sheep spend
almost all of your lives doing exactly as you are told rather than making
rational choices was still a mystery to me until I studied further.  If a
little ape pisses off a big ape, it will turn around, bend over and show
its bottom to the big ape in an act of submission.  The big ape will mount
the small one, fuck him a few times, then will wander off without even
cumming, whatever offense the small ape had given him forgotten.  This
isn't sexual.  It's an instinctive submission to authority and an equally
instinctive reaction to the submission.  Neither ape can help themselves;
they are just obeying their programming.  You were all born with similar
instincts and I wasn't.  And I'll bet you don't even believe me.  Why did
you really go to school?  Wash behind your ears?  Why refrain from murder
unless sanctioned by a general or someone else onto whom you can shovel
your sin?  Why do you believe in right and wrong?  Have you ever sat down
and figured out why you do what you do?  I have.  Pretty much all of it.

Even the self-proclaimed experts don't agree, but here's what I believe:
there is no medical difference between a sociopath and a psychopath.  If we
get caught being violent or murderous, they'll more likely label us a
psycho, otherwise we're just a sociopath.  Either way there's a room in a
secure institution with our name on it, and we aren't getting out until
they have cured our incurable disease.  Or until we fake it.  They say we
don't have empathy for our fellow man.  Well ask yourself how much empathy
you sheep have for a psychopath?  Don't kid yourselves, there's no
difference between us there.

Do you think that if the little ape was born without the instinct he'd
figure it out soon enough?  Would he see others cringing and bending over
and learn that that's the way to avoid the big ape tearing his head off or
driving him out of the troop?  I doubt it.  It's a lot harder than you
think rationalizing social interactions.  I'm extremely smart.  At thirteen
my reading age is college level and I hide that too; nevertheless I've made
quite a few mistakes along the way, far more serious that the dolls thing,
more likely to get me the label.  As it is I'm just known as a bit of a
troublemaker.  That's okay.  I can live with that.

Mom sent me to her sister's in Chicago for the summer to be with my cousin
Mark, who is nearly two years older than me.  I hadn't seen him in ages.
He had a bit of reputation too when he was my age, although I know it
wasn't for the same reason, and I heard Mom tell Dad that he'd calmed down
a lot and that it would do me good to be with him.  So it was decided
whether I wanted it or not, and the flight booked.

Evening was falling when my taxi was met at the detached, five-story
brownstone by a towering woman whose height seemed to echo the house, well
over six foot, attractive, Amazonian: my Auntie May.  She paid off the
driver and helped me in with my luggage like it weighed nothing at all.
The entrance level held a hallway with stairs leading up, two living rooms
and a door leading to the back yard.  She hung up my raincoat in a cupboard
under the steps and I was ushered into the front room.  The door to the
bottom of the staircase was left open and Aunt May called up to my cousin.
"Markie, Jed's here."  That's me.  Jed.  I should have introduced myself
earlier, but as I said, I don't always find it easy getting the niceties in
the right place so you'll have to bear with me.

Mark had changed.  I remembered him as a confident assertive boy with an
easy smile and a cocky nature, but what shuffled down the stairs and
entered the room was a freaked-out wreck, scared of his own shadow.  Gone
were the jeans and checked shirt that he used to favor, instead he was
wearing leggings and what to me looked like a loose blouse.  Sandals and
silk socks had replaced sneakers.  Most notable of all was the change to
his face.  His features were softer, his mouth fuller, his hair longer. His
eyes flicked about as though scanning for danger and his gaze returned time
and again to his mother as though seeking reassurance.  Believe me, I've
studied these things and I can tell you the boy wasn't normal.  In fact I'd
have put him in the 'going to get beaten up regularly at school' category
of abnormal in a heartbeat.  So I wondered why he'd done it.

He said hello and kissed me on both cheeks, like a European.  In one
respect he hadn't changed in that he hadn't grown much, and now he had to
reach up a bit to kiss me.  I was too surprised to react and to be honest I
wouldn't have known how to.  That's another problem with my condition.  New
situations require you to figure it all out.  You don't have instinct to
fall back on.  This was borderline behavior on Mark's part and I wasn't
sure whether I should have acted offended or pleased to see him.  Too late
now either way.

"Be a good boy, Markie, and take Jed's bags up to his room."  I noticed a
very slight hesitation before the word boy as though Aunt May had changed
her mind mid-sentence.  It could have just been a catch in her breath.

"Yes, Mom."  His voice was high and clear.  Mark lifted the larger of my
bags with both hands.  Whereas both suitcases had seemed a trifle for my
aunt, Mark was having to put real effort into getting just one up the
stairs.

"I hope you don't mind stairs, Jed.  We have a lot here," Aunt May told me,
as if that hadn't been pretty obvious.  "Now I'll just ring your mom and
let her know you arrived safely.  You sit yourself down."  The room was all
chintz and antimacassars, and I plopped down into an armchair that film
companies would pay good money to hire for period dramas.  Aunt May picked
up a two-piece candlestick phone from a small mahogany table.  The phone
had a fake dial that looked like one of the mechanical ones you had to
rotate with your finger, but still managed to ring my parents on speed
dial.

She passed it over and I spoke briefly to mom, a duty call with nothing
really to say on my side.  Yes, I had a good flight.  No, there wasn't any
trouble finding a taxi.  Mom reminded me that she and dad were taking a few
days in New England and that Auntie May had all the details if I needed to
contact them and that they'd ring me at the weekend anyway.  Dad has a new
cell phone, but he never switches it on as he says it runs the batteries
down!  Mom put him on and I just said my hi's and byes.

Auntie May had sat on the couch, and when I finished she took the phone
from me and replaced it on the table.  "Now how about I get you a nice
drink," she said.  "What about a sherry?  Or would you prefer a tour of the
house first?"  Sherry!  This was another European thing, offering a
thirteen year old alcohol.  Mom would have thrown a fit if she'd known.

"Sherry would be nice," I said, trying to fit in.  She poured a large glass
for each of the two of us as I glanced around the room.  I noticed there
weren't any photographs of my uncle.  I'd heard that they'd split up a
couple of years before, but as a ten or eleven year old at the time, I
hadn't taken too much of an interest.  Aunt May handed me a brimful glass
and sat with hers back on the couch opposite.  We both sipped at our drinks
as she quizzed me about my parents and how life was in DC, making polite
conversation, while I saw Mark come down and take up my other bag.  The
conversation turned to school and my hopes for the future, and as the time
passed she refilled my glass not once but twice.  I'd had alcohol before.
Quite a lot actually, but never given to me by an adult like this rather
than stolen.  The sherry was a little too sweet for my taste, although
pleasant enough, and I'd already learned to drink what I could get, and
could get away with.  Nevertheless, it seemed wise to appear as though it
was affecting me more that it actually was so my acquired tolerance
wouldn't be noticed.  I started to act drowsier.

"We don't normally sit in this room," Aunt May was saying.  "It's only for
best, but as you're a guest here, I thought for your first evening we
should.  I normally spend evenings in the back room and you should feel
free to join me.  Markie usually likes to be in his own room.  He's at a
difficult age," she confided.  "Now how about a quick tour and a bath
before bed?  You had a long journey and you must be tired."

"That would be nice," I said.  "I'm all in."  Three large glasses of sherry
on an empty stomach.  Anyone would be woozy and tired.  I decided not to
mention the lack of a supper.

"Markie," she shouted.  "Run a bath for your cousin, he'll be going to
bed."

"Okay, mom," came down the response.

The back room was a little less prehistoric, containing a TV and a computer
at one end and a dining table and chairs at the other.  A serving hatch in
the wall presumably didn't lead anywhere as it had no partner on the other
side of the wall in the front room.

On the second floor Aunt May showed me a study with plenty of books, a desk
and another computer; a utility room, and a well appointed kitchen.  I
noticed several bottles of pills on one of the kitchen counters, and seeing
me notice Aunt May told me that both she and Mark took vitamins.  "You
should too, while you're here.  I take them to keep Markie company, he
needs building up, and you can't be too careful, can you?"

The third floor had a large bedroom at the front, which Aunt May said was
Mark's, but we didn't go in, and the other door opened onto a huge, humid
bathroom.  The centrally placed bath was full, covered in bubbles and a
floral scent arose from it to permeate the steam.  A bale of fluffy blue
towels sat on a stool at the side. The fourth floor had two bedrooms and a
separate john with just a small washbasin, which Aunt May called the
powder.  She told me I'd be sleeping in the back room on this floor, which
contained a double bed and fitted cupboards.  Folded pajamas lay on the
pillows.  We didn't go into the other room, nor did we go to the top floor
which Aunt May said housed her bedroom, a dressing room and another bath.
I guess they must have been rattling around in a house this big; it
normally had more crappers than people!  It was a real contrast from the
small apartment I was used to back home.

A high-pitched voice drifted up.  "I'm going to sleep now, mom."

"Did you remember your vitamins, Markie?"

"Yes, mom."

"Okay, dear.  I'll come and tuck you in, in five minutes."  Tuck him in?
He was nearly fifteen.  I hadn't been tucked in for the night by my mom
since I was six.  I wondered if she was going to read him a story too.

"Now why don't we go back down to the bathroom?  You give me your traveling
clothes and get in the bath.  I'll pop the clothes in the wash, then
they'll be nice and clean tomorrow, okay?"

We went back down, and stifling a yawn I told her I'd pass the clothes out
to her.

"If you like," she said, "but I'm your aunt and you haven't got anything I
haven't seen before."  Of course I knew that, and I didn't give a shit if
she saw my dick, however I also knew it was expected of me, so I acted
modestly.  I emptied my pockets before handing the clothes out.  I'm sure
she would have checked, but as Aunt May herself had recently reminded me,
you can't be too careful and there was a fair bit of folding money in there
as well as some loose change, my pocket knife and cell.

"Thank you, dear.  There's a new toothbrush for you on the sink.  Now
Marcie has gone to bed, and we don't shout up and downstairs when someone
has gone to bed, so if you need me for anything just come down and get me."

Did I hear her right?  What did she just call Mark?  The sherry was having
more of an effect than I'd thought.  I sank into the warm water and relaxed
for a few minutes, taking in the smells.  The whole room was pretty
feminine considering Aunt May had her own bath on the top floor, so this
would be Mark's.  Not that I minded.  I'm just saying.  I could see Mark
had left me a sponge, which I used to wash myself down.  Then I guess I got
bored.  I'm just not used to lying in warm water for any duration as our
apartment only has the one bathroom, so there's always a chance someone
else will want to use it while you're soaking.  It doesn't make for a
relaxed time in a bath when there's more footfall than Macy's before
Christmas.  I dried myself and had a poke around in the cupboards, finding
the various creams and lotions you'd expect, but I couldn't see any razor
or shaving cream.  Didn't think I would from the look of Mark, but I hadn't
been sure.  I didn't need them yet either.  I made use of the toothbrush
and paste which were out, discarding the wrapping from the new brush into a
small frilly trash bin with a pink paper liner.

It seemed fairly obvious Mark was acting more girly than I'd expected, but
I didn't get why.  Was he ill?  And why hadn't he joined us that evening?
I'd have to have a chat with him tomorrow.  But I was getting really tired
now, so I wrapped myself up in a towel, picked up my watch and pocket
stuff, and went upstairs to bed.

The room was neutrally decorated in yellows and blues, the bed linen having
matching bold pastel stripes.  I was going to unpack a book for the
morning.  Another surprise.  No cases.  They weren't in the wardrobes as
I'd supposed.  On investigation I found one of the cupboards had clothing
in, but it was mostly women's underwear of all things.  I checked the other
bedroom as I reckoned Mark had probably put my stuff in the wrong one,
however the door was locked.

I crept downstairs so as not to wake Mark, wrapped only in a towel (I don't
give a fart if he wakes up, but I don't want to piss off the big ape of the
house, Aunt May.  I'd a feeling bending over and letting her fuck me
wouldn't work), and found said lady in the kitchen.  "Everything all
right?" she asked.

"I can't find where Mark's left my cases."

"I'm sure they'll be in one of the cupboards.  Let me come up with you and
look."

"We marched back up the stairs to the fourth floor.  Aunt May had a look
through all the cupboards again and finding nothing said, "You're yawning
your head off, dear.  You can always unpack your stuff in the morning.  Now
why don't you get your nightshirt on and I'll return in a few minutes and
tuck you into bed, okay?"

She left me alone and I looked at what I'd thought were folded pajamas, but
actually turned out to be a nightshirt.  I didn't know people still wore
those.  I put it on, and it was embarrassingly short.  Or at least would
have been if I got embarrassed, which I don't.  I've seen pictures of
nightshirts and they go down to knee or ankle level.  This stopped high on
the thigh and you'd be able to see my junk hang out.  It was lined with a
silky material that felt quite sexy but I was pretty sure was non-standard
in nightshirts.  Left on the pillow was a pair of women's panties!  Was I
expected to wear these?  What would a sheep do?  Probably recoil and refuse
to wear them because real boys didn't wear panties.  I put them to one side
and got into bed.  Under the cotton duvet the sheets were also silk.

Aunt May came in.  She saw the panties and laughed.  "Markie likes to wear
those all the time," she said, "and I suppose he forgot that most boys
won't because they don't know how good they feel.  At least he didn't leave
you one of his sheer nightdresses."

Again I was in new territory and was unsure how I was supposed to react.  I
don't like being in strange situations like this and I felt like I needed
to out-think something I didn't understand.  Then it became even more
confusing.

"Now why don't I take these panties and tuck you in?"  She took the panties
in one hand, leaned over me, putting the other hand on the far side of my
body and slid the panties under the sheets.  I froze, not knowing what was
going on.  It felt quite intimidating having such a large muscular lady
hovering over me, pinning the duvet down so I couldn't get away.  "Shush.
It's all right.  I suppose you're a virgin."  I wasn't, but I nodded anyway
as what I'd done with Bekka Marley wasn't legal.  "Well you relax and enjoy
the feel of a woman's hand."  She lifted the front of the nightshirt up,
all under the covers, wrapped the panties around my cock and started to
jack me off.  As I said before, my Aunt May was an attractive woman for her
age.  Even so I thought quite a bit about Bekka, and it didn't take long
before I was spurting my juice into the panties.

"Now doesn't that feel good?  You see why Markie likes his panties so
much?"  She took out a clean pair from the cupboard, pale blue with a white
lace border.  "You can wear them too if you like.  Nobody will know.  It'll
be our little secret."  She handed them to me and I could see I was
expected to put them on to sleep in.  Rather than argue I did as I was
told.  I slipped the panties up my legs, the silky fabric sliding up
against the silk of the sheets, onto my bottom and enclosing my recently
exhausted cock.

Aunt May kissed me on the forehead, pulled the covers up under my chin and
wished me good night.  Our little secret, I thought.  I'd only been in the
house a few hours and she'd already told me Mark wore panties and
nightdresses so she wasn't that good at keeping secrets.  I was too tired
to think about it, and I set my watch alarm and went to sleep, my last
thoughts being of the sensual fabrics rubbing against my smooth skin.

I don't know if you are aware of this, but as a thirteen year old I'm
supposed to be getting over nine hours sleep a night.  Of course, you are
sheep and this is a "should" thing so you probably do know.  The thing is I
don't need that every night.  It's not the end of the world if I miss sleep
some nights especially if there's a good reason.  Well I had very good
reason and my alarm woke me at three in the morning.  I was on unfamiliar
ground and I needed to use the computer to look stuff up on the Internet.
I tiptoed downstairs keeping an ear out just in case Aunt May was still
awake, but there were no lights on.

The desktop computer in the back living room turned out to be password
protected and the mini-tower in the study had no Internet connection at
all.  It wasn't even picking up a wireless signal.  Either the computer or
the router wasn't wireless enabled.  I guessed Mark wasn't allowed online
unsupervised.  I ended up hauling the study computer downstairs and
plugging it in directly.  Fortunately the router itself wasn't password
protected so I could read the wireless password which would let me connect
up my cell phone later on in case I needed access at a more civilized hour.
It seemed it was the computer that wasn't wireless enabled.  Anyway I was
using the mini tower wired up for now, plugged into the desktop's screen.
The browser software hadn't been exposed, but I found it quickly enough and
finally I was online in privacy mode, with no cookies.

I started to search for some explanation as to what had been going on, and
it wasn't long before I popped up a scholarly article on
transgender/transsexual erotica.  The article said that in most cases men
who were sexually aroused by transgender stories like the protagonist to
have been pushed into it by women.  Typical stories included mothers,
stepmothers and older sisters forcing boys to wear women's clothing.  Also
husbands were turned into sissies or even women by their wives.  I admit I
didn't understand all this.  Sex where men and women turn each other on I
sort of understood, and by extension I guess the gay stuff was pretty much
the same – I'd have to try that some time, see if I enjoyed it – but
people liking to be forced to dress in the clothing of the opposite sex,
men being forced to become women although they really secretly wanted it,
this was just bizarre.  It wasn't illegal, so why didn't they just do it if
they wanted to?

I searched some more and came up with a whole host of transsexual stories
available online.  I must have skim read about thirty over the next hour.
I wouldn't say that all of them followed the pattern, but a lot did.  A
slew of stories about stepmothers and aunts forcing young males into bras
and panties. There was also a pervading idea that difficult boys could be
calmed down by feminizing them and that over a period of time they could be
turned into girls by giving them enough women's hormones.  In the stories
the hormones were invariably disguised as vitamins.  There were even
stories where boys were 'milked', that's jacked off, by adults to keep them
docile during the process.

Presumably this is what was happening to Mark.  And as I was already
wearing a very short silky-lined nightshirt and frilly panties, presumably
this is what Aunt May had planned for me.

It was all there.  Everything.  The absent male parent.  Even the missing
suitcases.  I'd walked into an erotic story cliche.

I read a little bit more about the hormones.  There were different sorts.
Over time they would make you sterile and depending what sort could even
lead to strokes.  If I was right, Mark would have developed breasts by now
and I'll bet I was also right in hearing Aunt May call him Marcie.  What
was odd was that the very people who were so fond of the phrase "no means
no" when it came to rape, were the same ones portrayed as feminizing
reluctant boys, for whom no meant yes.  I wasn't particularly down on
hypocrisy myself, as you have to believe in something in order to betray
it.  But academically it was a fascinating subject.

My watch alarm went again.  Five o'clock.  Time to delete my trail, put the
computers back as I'd found them and plan something.  All those stories had
given me some ideas.  One more thing to check first, the age of criminal
responsibility here in Michigan.  I had to go through a proxy for this one
so as not to leave a trail at the service provider.  Fuck, Michigan was
super strict.  If you were over fourteen the prosecution would opt to try
you as an adult and that's how the judge would sentence you too.  Even as a
thirteen year old, I'd probably get tried and sentenced as an adult.  Of
course I wasn't planning on getting caught doing anything.  Thinking ahead,
as well as deleting as much of the electronic trail as I knew how, I wiped
down the keyboard and mouse.  In fact I spent longer cleaning up and
repositioning everything than I'd have liked, but it was necessary.  It
gave me choices.

At a quarter to six I went back upstairs and flushed the toilet in the
powder, so if Aunt May was awake and heard something she'd assume I'd just
gone to pee.  Then I went back to bed.  I lay awake – I had a lot to
mull over.  I didn't mind being jacked off by Aunt May or wearing the
panties, but Mark was a train crash.  No way was I going to end up like
him.  I was supposed to be here for ten weeks.  How far could she go in ten
weeks?  Far enough that at the end I'd find out I was staying the rest of
the year, or indefinitely?  I couldn't let that happen.

Simplest option was to phone mom right now, explain what was going on and
ask to come home.  Downsides: she might not believe me, she certainly
wouldn't want to as it would derail their holiday, she might even be
complicit, and in any case I'd still be here and Aunt May would know I was
onto her, which was removing my major trump card.  Next option, phone the
authorities.  What she was doing to Mark was child abuse, wasn't it?
Downsides: Mark was scared of her so he'd say he wanted it, in which case
it'd just be a private thing and the law would go away, and once again Aunt
May would know that I knew.  I could run away.  Dressed like this I'd
probably be arrested, which wouldn't be so bad, but then there'd be psych
evaluations and I wasn't ready for those.  I could also get beaten up or
even raped wandering about the streets in my girly panties looking for a
taxi.  Still, if I could get my suitcases and proper clothes that could be
the best choice.  Then there were the major criminal options: arson, murder
and so on.  Tough to pull off without getting caught.

What if I phoned the authorities and just told them she was giving me
alcohol?  Was that legal here?  It wasn't in DC.  I could hook up my cell
phone to the router if the signal was strong enough and find out.  What had
I done with it?  I thought I left it on the side table, by the bed.  I
checked the floor in case I'd knocked it off, but nothing. Think back, Jed!
I remembered bringing it up after the bath last night; I put my money,
knife and cell on the table.  The money and knife were still there, but no
phone.

Had Aunt May lifted it when she'd "tucked me in"?  Shit!  This was getting
out of hand.  The problem was going round and round in my head and I
couldn't focus.

I don't know how but I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I
knew I was waking up to the sound of the door being opened.  Waking brought
realizations, the first being that I was an idiot, because Chicago isn't in
Michigan and I'd looked up the wrong state laws, so maybe I had needed more
sleep after all.  Second that I was in the shit and I didn't have a plan to
get out of it.  Third, the the silky nightshirt lining rubbing my nipples,
the silk sheets against my legs and the lacy panties were all teasing me
and I had a monster erection.

Aunt May brought in some breakfast on a tray, which I thought was pretty
nice of her, and she made a point of remarking on my hardon, which was
poking up through the top of my panties and tenting the duvet pretty
obviously.  "Someone's feeling happy this morning!"  I tried my embarrassed
look, because I think that's what you are supposed to feel, although I
don't know why.  It's a pretty good erection for my age, about four and a
bit inches long when it was this hard, but I knew I was supposed to be
embarrassed anyway.

"Good morning," I said, not meeting her eye. Then after a pause, "and thank
you for the breakfast."

Aunt May placed the brass tray on the bed next to me, which had the effect
of making it difficult for me to get up without knocking everything over.
"You're welcome, dear."

Scrambled eggs on toast with smoked salmon and a cup of tea.  Nice.  Two
small "vitamin" pills.  Not so nice.

"What are the pills for?"  As if I didn't know.

"Just your vitamins.  I told you last night, we all take vitamins with our
meals."  Aunt May was all peaches and smiles as she pulled the drapes,
letting in the morning light.

"Do I have to?"

"Don't be a baby, they're good for you!"

I figured two pills couldn't do anything permanent and I'd work out
something today to get me out of all this.  Aunt May was back hovering over
me.  She could be pretty intimidating.  So I took the capsules and
swallowed them.

"Are they all gone?" she asked.  My nod was returned by a skeptical look,
so I opened my mouth and showed her.

"Good boy.  Wash them down with some tea," she said.  And I did.

"Now you eat your breakfast and I'll be up again soon.  I need to check on
Markie.  He hasn't been feeling well."  Aunt May left.

I toyed with the idea of making myself throw up in the john, but it was
just two pills and the stories said you had to take them for months to get
breasts, so I didn't bother.  Instead I sat in bed and had my scrambled
eggs, which were really tasty.  I'd not had them with smoked salmon before.
Excellent.

I moved the tray with the empty plate and cup over to the bedside table and
got out of bed.  My hardon had gone down by now, and I was wondering how I
was going to get dressed.  The nightshirt and panties looked quite sexy in
the light of day, but I needed some running away gear.

Aunt May came in again with a pile of clothes.

"Have you found my cases?"

"I'm sorry, dear.  Markie isn't well enough to ask, he's running a
temperature, and I haven't had time to search for them."

"What about my traveling clothes from yesterday?"

"I forgot to take them out of the machine this morning and they're still
soaking wet.  I'll hang them up and they'll be dry for you later, but I've
got you some of Markie's old clothes in the meantime.  They probably aren't
what you're used to, but they should fit and it's only for today."

She put down the clothes and I picked them up one at a time.  There was a
pink and white check dress, a petticoat, embroidered white knee socks and
what I think was a slip.

"I can't wear these," I complained. "They're for girls.  Why don't I just
nip down and ask Mark where he put my suitcases."

"No.  I told you.  The doctor will be coming later and you mustn't disturb
him until the doctor says it's all right.  We wouldn't want you catching
anything, would we?"

The was too much.  I was supposed to wait on some probably mythical doctor
to sanction contact with a probably mythical disease before I could get
dressed again.  I don't mind someone trying to get the better of me, but
really!  This was insulting my intelligence.

"I'm not wearing these things!"  Okay, I know you think I was acting like a
sheep, not wanting to wear the dress because it wasn't the sort of thing
boys were supposed to do, and I have to admit I was a bit angry that she
thought I'd be such a pushover, but mainly I wanted to get access to my own
clothes, so I could get away before I had to take more of the pills.
Running away in girl's clothes would be a lot harder as I was far more
likely to be stopped as a cross dresser.  Also dresses don't have pockets!
Was I supposed to take a handbag as well?  It turned out my gesture of
defiance was a mistake.  I told you I wasn't good at social interactions in
wholly new situations.

"You ungrateful little boy!"  Aunt May looked apoplectic, and there's a
Reader's Digest word I don't get to use much.  Her face went red and then
white and she picked me up and threw me face down on the bed where she held
me down with one hand on the back of my neck, forcing my head into the
duvet.  She was intensely strong and I didn't stand a chance resisting her.
I was struggling to catch my breath, as I could only get a little air in
through the side of my mouth, when I heard a sharp crack and felt an
intense pain in my pantie-covered bottom.  I was getting a spanking.
Whack, whack and again whack!  The excruciating pain traveled in waves from
my struck cheeks to my brain making it impossible to think.  Instead I
started screaming.  She yanked down my panties and started laying into my
bare bottom.

"This is my house."  Whack!

"You will do as you are told."  Whack!

"You will be grateful for what you are given."  Whack!

Aunt May's voice cut through my muffled screams and the fog of pain, each
sentence reinforced by an afterstrike.  Soon I stopped screaming and
started crying, and that's when she deemed was the right time for a
ceasefire.  She turned me over, gave me a hug.

"Now are you going to wear your clothes?" she said.

"Yes," I got out through the sniffs and the tears.  I wasn't going to come
out with a smart Alec comment about them not being my clothes as I might
have done at another time.  I honestly couldn't think of anything other
than making sure she didn't hit me again.

She helped me to my feet and took off the blue panties that were wrapped
around my knees, then she lifted my arms in the air and pulled off the
nightshirt leaving me naked.  "Stay there," she said and went over to the
cupboard where she found a pair of the frilliest panties I've ever seen.
Pink silk covered with ruffles, white bows sewn along the top with a little
floral motif in the middle of each, and lace trim along the elasticated leg
holes.  She opened them up and held them for me to step into, then pulled
them up my legs.  When they reached my waist, she cupped my dick and balls
through the soft material.

"These look adorable on you!  I don't know what you were complaining
about."  Aunt May's look defied me to say anything to contradict her, and
I'd had enough.  I couldn't take another beating.  My bottom was throbbing.
I'd just have to roll with it for now until I could find my cases or my
yesterday's clothes, wet or not.  "Hands up," she said, and pulled a pink
satin slip over my head and down until the straps settled on my shoulders.
She smoothed it down at the front, just an excuse to touch my cock again I
think.  Next the petticoat.  This had multiple layers, so when it was
pulled over my head and down, the lower half spread out with all the
frills.

Next came the dress, which again went over my head.  I thought women
stepped into dresses, but I suppose that would have been difficult with all
the petticoat frills.  The top part, which buttoned up the back, was fully
open letting her bend my arms into the sleeve holes and fit the dress over
my shoulders.  Aunt May lowered my arms and smoothed the pink gingham-check
skirt over the white petticoat layers.  She fastened the buttons up the
back, there were at least a dozen or more small fasteners pulling the dress
tight, and then a clasp at the top.  A silver pendant dropped down the
front, an integral part of the dress.  She then handed me the knee highs to
put on for myself, making me fully complicit in the completion of my girly
costume.

She span me around and looked me over.  "You're simply divine, dear.  Now
don't get that dress dirty or Auntie will be annoyed, okay?"  I nodded.
"I'm going to see to Markie now.  You stay in your room and think over your
bad behavior."  With that she looked about to leave the room.  But first
she leaned over the bed and took my money and knife off the cupboard.

"Knives are dangerous and you don't want to leave your money lying around
like that.  It could get lost."  She somehow looked even bigger than she
had yesterday and completely silenced my nascent protests with a glance.
"I'll keep these safe for you."

Satisfied she departed, pulling the heavy door closed behind her.  I
thought I heard something.  She hadn't, had she?  I went over and tried the
door.  Yes, that had been the sound of a key turning.  I was locked in.  I
sat down on the bed and with a grimace just as quickly stood up again.
She'd spanked my ass unfit for purpose.

I looked out of the window for inspiration; the area was a bit of a dump.
All derelict out the back for about a hundred and fifty yards, the only
closer piece of man-made structure beyond the yard being a low brick wall
spay-painted with gang tags.  Nothing inspiring like ivy on the side of the
building for me to climb down, or the fire escape balcony I'd sort of been
hoping for.  Just a sheer drop down to the small, enclosed back yard.

I looked back around the room again.  It was an old house and there was a
gap beneath the solid-looking wooden door.  Someone had once shown me a
trick with some newspaper that you could do to poke the key out of the
lock, let it fall on the paper which you then pull back under the door with
the key on it.  Then you could escape.  I didn't have a newspaper but I had
cloth I could use instead.  Unfortunately this plan requires the key to
have been left in the other side of the lock and it hadn't been.

This was going well.  Yesterday I was a typical thirteen-year-old boy
psycho trying to stay out of trouble, and now I was locked in a fourth
story room with no way out, wearing a pink gingham dress all spread out by
a frilly white petticoat.  Underneath I was wearing pink silk panties with
ruffles and bows, covering a bottom that was spanked pinker than the
panties.  I'd started a course of female hormones, the same thing that
turned my cousin Mark into Marcie and I had no plan as to how to get out of
it.  I'd lost my own clothes and my cell and even if I could get to another
phone, I wouldn't be able to ring my mom because she was off on vacation
this morning and my jailer aunt had the contact details.  Could it get any
worse?

And at just that time I sprang a stiffy.  How crazy was that!

I tried to ignore it, but you know what it's like sometimes in the morning:
a dick can be an insistent thing, and mine, uncaring of my predicament, was
definitely enjoying rubbing against its smooth silky confines.  After ten
minutes I decided I really needed to take care of it.  There were so many
frilly layers to the petticoat I was having trouble getting my hands under
them all.  I angled the dresser mirror so I could see what I was doing but
it was like I needed three hands to control all that cloth.  It wasn't a
full length mirror but I could see enough to know how pretty the dress
looked on me.  Its amazing how much difference that makes.  My face now
somehow looked androgynous.  I had no tits, but apart from my hair I could
have almost passed for a grade school girl.

It wouldn't matter if I took the dress and petticoat off for a bit, I
thought.  I'd put them back on again before my aunt got back as there was
no way I wanted another beating.  The problem was I couldn't undo the
catch.  I couldn't feel the mechanism.  It was at the back of my neck and
with only the one mirror I couldn't turn my head quite far enough to see
how it worked.  If I'd only had my cell phone I could have taken snapshots
and figured it out – and if I only had three wishes and some ruby
slippers I'd be back in DC.

I put a pillow on the floor and lay down on it, being careful to keep my
bottom from touching anything.  In this position I could lift up the dress
and layers of cloth one or two at a time and fold them over my chest.  It
worked and while I couldn't see my cock for all the bunched-up cloth, I
finally reached the slip and my ruffled panties.  My hand eagerly delved
inside, latching on to its rigid target.

I was about to take care of business when I heard a quiet knocking and a
voice.  Not outside my door, but nearby.  A girl's voice.  "Are you there?"

I reluctantly stood up.  If this was an Aunt May trick, I didn't want to
give her any reason to hit me again.  Another knock, quiet, down the
corridor perhaps.  "Jed, are you there?"  Then there was a rattle and the
sound of a door opening.

"I'm here," I said.

"Oh," said the voice.  "Coming."  And after a few seconds I heard the key
in the lock.

I would never have recognized Mark if I hadn't seen him the day before.
This was him, or maybe should I say her, as Marcie.  He used make up as
well as any girl I'd come across: red nail varnish, matching lipstick, eye
shadow accentuating his hazel eyes and I think false eyelashes.  This and
the artfully curled auburn hair not only gave him the appearance of a girl,
but an astonishingly beautiful one.  His slim pencil-style dress narrowed
from some good sized breasts to an unfeasibly small waistline and sported
Chinese designs.  His legs were clad in sheerest hosiery.  He seemed very
far from death's shadow and I gathered Aunt May had been taking some
liberties with the truth.

"Mark?  How are you?  Aunt May said you weren't well."

"I'm fine apart from my condition," Mark replied.  "I was going to ask you
the same thing.  I heard the spanking mom gave you and I thought I might be
able to help."  I realized I hadn't actually heard him talking much
yesterday, mostly shouting from some other floor of the house.  His
speaking voice seemed mannered and oddly childlike, as though his voice had
never broken despite him being fifteen.  It was certainly in a higher
register than mine, which had broken the year before.  No wonder I'd
thought it was a girl's.  Put it together with the look and it was kind of
hot.

"Won't she mind you being up here?" I asked.

"She's gone out.  She likes to visit friends two or three times a week and
she won't be back until after lunch so we've got at least three hours.  She
locked me in my room, but she doesn't know I still have dad's key.  She
never found out where it was, but dad told me years ago so I can use it
whenever she's out."

"I really need my suitcases, Mark.  Where did you put them?"

"I took them to the front bedroom, that's where I thought you were going to
be.  But they aren't there now, I was just in the room looking for you.  I
guess mom will have taken them upstairs."

"Well let's go and get them.  We can both get out of here.  I don't suppose
you have any money?" I pushed past him and started for the stairs.

"You can't.  There are different locks for her rooms; this key doesn't
fit."

"She took the clothes I arrived in for washing.  Do you reckon they'll be
drying in the utility room?"  Mark shook his head and pointed up.  I was
beginning to recognize Aunt May's style.  I winced with pain as my bottom
reminded me of its damaged state.

Mark held up a small green cardboard box about the size that might contain
a toothpaste tube.  "I've brought something that will help with that.  Numb
the pain."

He made way for me as I walked back into my room.

It seemed like defeat to even acknowledge my punished behind when the door
was now open and I could probably get out of the house.  But to what end?
Lost with no money in a downmarket area of a strange town wearing a dress.
The local gangs would love me!

"Can you at least help me get this stupid dress off, please?"  I asked.

He shook his head.

"I'll put it back on before she gets back."

"I don't mean I won't.  I can't.  It's locked."

"What?"

"That was the first dress she ever went and put me in a couple years ago,
after the separation," Mark explained.  "I hated it.  I think she thought
because it buttoned up the back I wouldn't be able to take it off, but I
shucked it in about thirty seconds.  She caught me and paddled me real
good."  Mark instinctively rubbed his bottom from the memory.  "She'd
slapped me a few times before when I'd done something bad, but this time
she laid into me for a good twenty minutes.  The next time she put me in
the dress, it had that hidden metal collar fixed in the top, with the
pendant and the locking catch.  Can't get it open without the key."

I slumped.  No wonder I was getting stymied.  She'd done all this before
with Mark.  And I was having trouble thinking of him as Mark.  He looked
and sounded just like a hot girl.

"Lie down on the bed and let me rub this analgesic cream in.  You'll feel
loads better, I promise."

A hot girl who wanted wanted to pull my panties down and rub my ass.  My
dick really didn't need that sort of encouragement right now.  But she was
right.  No need for me to be in pain.  So I lay face down on the bed.
Marcie lifted my skirt and petticoat layers over my back.  Then she
laughed.

"What?"

"Sorry.  I was just thinking that with the big circle of white cloth and
your pink panties, it sort of put me in mind of a big-assed flower head."

I groaned.  Not funny, not right now.

She carefully peeled my panties down to my thighs, pointedly saying nothing
about my obvious erection, which she lifted back out of the way into the
petticoat cloth and under my belly.  Now she opened the box and pulled out
a metal tube and a latex glove.  She explained that the cream would make
her fingers numb if she didn't wear the glove, but as the latex snapped
onto her hand, me with my ass hanging out like this, I couldn't help but
think of comedy sketches I'd seen on TV of airport cavity searches.

She squeezed the cream onto her fingers reached down to my bottom.  Her
hand was gentle but I tensed up as the cold of the cream met the pain of
the damage.  She rubbed both cheeks lightly, and I could feel the numbing
effect start to kick in.

"Mom was brutal on you," Marcie remarked.  Not just on the surface, but
you'll be getting some bad bruising too.  I'm not sure this cream will be
enough."  I did my best to reassure her that it was already helping, which
it was.

"Just let me lift you up here," she said, and I allowed her to pull my hips
upward from both sides, so my bottom was in the air.  Her ungloved hand
snaked under me and as her other hand gently caressed my sore bottom, she
grasped my hardon and started stroking.  Hell!  That was good.  I really
wanted to do to Marcie what I'd done to Bekka, but I had to remind myself
she was actually a boy and that wasn't possible.  I settled for being
jacked by her and spunking into the folds of my petticoat.  I'd really
needed that and it helped take my mind off my throbbing bottom.

When she'd finished, or perhaps I should say when I'd finished, Marcie
pulled up the silk ruffled panties again, hiding away both my cock and my
red ass from view.

"Better?" she asked as she helped me up off the bed.

"Much."

The she kissed me.  On the lips.  I wasn't expecting it.  I didn't know how
I was supposed to react to it and my body took over and I responded by
kissing her back.  She pushed her tongue into my mouth and let it play with
mine.  It felt pretty awesome.

We broke and I asked, "Why?"  Okay, I'm an idiot and there are times I just
can't leave well enough alone!

"You're cute, Jed.  And I'm sorry you're really a girl."  Marcie's reply
shocked me; she sounded sincere but she'd just finished jacking me, so I
didn't get it.

"What makes you say that?"

"Mom told me you have the same condition as me.  It's okay, Jed, you don't
need to be embarrassed about it."

Now I got it.  Aunt May had spun Mark some sort of yarn to get him to
accept turning into Marcie, and she must have prepped the way for her to do
the same to me.  There could well be some sort of leverage in pursuing the
story.

"I don't really understand it, Mark.  Could you explain it to me?"

"Sometimes a girl is born into a boy's body and when she reaches puberty
her body changes to her real sex.  There's nothing you can do about it, you
just have to accept it."

I couldn't believe it.  I'd spent two hours on the Internet and unless she
was lying, I knew far more about what was happening to Marcie's body than
she'd found out in as many years.

"Go on," I encouraged.

"Well that's sort of the heart of it.  My body has been changing into my
real girl body, and I call myself Marcie now.  Mom says that she wanted to
call me Markie again in front of you, at least for a few days, because it
wasn't going to be easy for you to accept you're a girl and you would find
it difficult when you understood you had the same condition.  It's why
she's locked you into your dress, you know.  So you could grow to accept it
faster.  It's for the best."

Wow.  Aunt May had really done a number on little Marcie.

"It's okay, Jed.  Mom's kept me home-schooled while I transition as the
boys wouldn't understand."  Too right they wouldn't, I thought, and after a
quick look on Google nor would you.  "I'm sure you can be home-schooled
too," she added.  "But next year I can go to a new school as a girl and no
one will know."

"And you like being a girl?" I asked.

"No," she blurted out.  "I hate it.  I'm so weak, and I get upset over
little things and I can't control myself anymore.  I wanted to play with
your penis because I can't get hard.  It was nice feeling a hard dick in my
hand again after so long.  I want to be a boy, but I'm not and that's the
end of it."  Marcie started crying.  "You see!  I just keep crying!"

I hugged her to give her some comfort.  "It's okay, Marcie.  Just let it
out."  She did, her head on my shoulder, sobbing into the pink checked
fabric.

"It's no good," she said finally, and lifted herself off me.  "And it's
going to happen to you, mom said.  So you need to understand."  She
unzipped her Chinese dress down the side and wriggled out of it, revealing
a red and black corset with an integral bra, and straps that attached on to
her stockings, tracing their path under pretty, red, boyshort panties.

"I have breasts, Jed.  And you'll get them too."

She certainly did have breasts.  Black lace trim at the top of the half
cups of the corset only accentuated the ample mounds of flesh which looked
much larger now she was out of the dress.  But that wasn't the half of it.
The corset was tight, giving her a far narrower waistline than she could
have achieved naturally, and the panties showed off the rounded hips of a
woman and no sign of a bulge.  There was nothing male left about her
silhouette at all.

"Best you know everything," Marcie said quietly, and pushed the panties
down.  I'd never seen such a small dick, no more than an inch long and
about as thick as a disposable ballpoint, and her balls were hardly
visible.

"It's been getting smaller as my breasts have grown," she told me.  I
reached out, hesitating for a second before touching her package, but she
made no move to stop me.  It didn't seem real until I touched it, more the
sort of thing I'd expect on a five year old.  I tried stoking the tiny tube
with the tip of my thumb and it was clear Marcie could feel it, but there
was no reflexive movement.

I pulled her pantie shorts back up covering up her embarrassment and I
wondered how long it had taken her to get like this.  "You say you feel
weak?"

"Like a kitten, Jed.  I swear I was stronger when I was ten than I am now."

"And your vitamins aren't helping?"

"I don't know.  Maybe I'd be worse if I didn't take them."

"Perhaps you haven't being taking them long enough," I suggested, and got
the answer I was looking for.

"I've been taking them years.  Since I was eleven or twelve.  And mom's
even given me stronger ones over the last year or two and I still get tired
really easily."

I thought back to my reading on the Internet.  There was no way back for
her, she'd never gone through a proper puberty and now never would.  She'd
be permanently sterile and even if she stopped taking the drugs, her balls
and dick wouldn't grow properly.  It seemed pointless to explain it: how
her own mother had wrecked her body and endangered her life with
"vitamins".  A plan was forming in my mind.  It could work if Marcie really
didn't like being a girl and was as gullible as she seemed.  A way we could
both get out of here without too many consequences.  My way out might
involve counseling but at least I'd escape a full psych evaluation.

I shrugged.  "It won't happen to me, Marcie.  And if you really don't want
it to happen to you any more, you should try Cosmic Ordering."

Marcie looked blank.

"It's simple," I said.  "You write down what you want and don't want and
the universe makes it happen.  You have to be a bit forceful for big things
but it works."

"Oh, come on!  You just wish and it comes true.  How nutty is that?"

"No, you have to write it down and let the Cosmos work its magic.  I got a
new bicycle that way."  Actually I worked damn hard for that bike and mom
confiscated it when I set fire to next door's dog kennel by mistake.  Still
we wouldn't want to let a little thing like truth get in the way of a good
story.  Aunt May certainly wouldn't.

"You wrote down, I want a new bicycle, and next day there it was, all
wrapped up with a bow and a note saying, from the Cosmos?  I don't believe
a word of it."

"It took three weeks and there were a few random events that helped, but
yes, I wrote down that I wanted a BMX bike and I got it.  And the great
thing about it is, you don't have to believe.  You still get the bike!"

"So you're suggesting I write down I want to be a boy again and just wait?"

"You'll have to word it better than that, but essentially, yes."

"No way."

"Because?"

"I'm not an idiot!"  Marcie was adamant.

"You have nothing to lose, do you?  So even if there was only one chance in
a million, it would be worth trying.  And I promise you it's not a remote
chance, it will work."

"It's nuts."

"Nothing to lose, remember.  It works for almost anything.  Look, you can't
tell anyone but I wrote that I wanted sex and I hooked up with a girl
called Bekka that same week."

"I just write it down?"

"Yeah.  Fold the paper and put it under your pillow or somewhere in your
bedroom.  I can tell you how to phrase it."

Marcie was hesitating, but finally... "Okay, I'll try it.  There's paper in
the study downstairs.

We made our way down to the study, two teenagers, one boy dressed as a girl
in a gingham dress and petticoats, one half-girl with tits and a ruined
dick, clad in corset, panties and stockings.  As I walked, my dick, which
had subsided to a semi after Marcie's tender attentions, rubbed itself
against my panties back to fully hard.  Although this constant stimulation
was awkward, I thought about Marcie's condition, as she called it, and was
grateful I hadn't been duped like she had.

We wrote her letter to the Cosmos on the computer, Marcie typing and me
explaining what she needed to say.

*I hate being a girl.  I can't stand wearing these stupid clothes any more.
I can't take being so weak when I used to be strong.  I want to have
erections.  I want to be a boy again.*

*Mom says it's impossible, but I won't live with anything less.  So I offer
myself to the Cosmos.*

"That's really good," I said.  "But if you've ever done harm to the Cosmos,
you probably should apologize."

"I can't think of anything."

"Good," I said.  "Then you'll be okay."

Marcie looked at me and asked, "Should I just put I'm sorry for anything I
may have done?  To be on the safe side."

"Can't hurt, I guess.  But it could be something you didn't do rather than
something you did, or something you said.  Just put, I'm sorry.  I'm sure
the Cosmos will take it the right way.  And sign it Mark, not Marcie."

*I'm sorry,*

*Mark NOT Marcie.*

"Perfect," I assured her.  I hadn't meant her to write the signature like
that, but actually it was cool, even better than just writing Mark.  She
printed it out.

"Now fold it over," I told her.  "You don't look at it again until your
wish comes true.  I'll bet your mom will hear of a new medical breakthrough
or something in days."

"You think?"

"Trust the Cosmos."

We went back up the stairs to Marcie's bedroom, even more girly than her
bathroom.  The linen on the unmade double bed had pictures of butterflies
and flowers. Scattered posters of boy bands adored two of the walls, One
Direction, Taylor Hanson, Lawson, Justin Bieber and others I didn't
recognize.  There were even a couple of posters of completely naked guys.
Full frontal.  I didn't know who they were.  An array of new-looking
stuffed toys sat on top of one of the shelves.  A dressing table was
replete with combs, brushes, bottles of perfumes, an open make-up box, a
couple of discarded scrunchies and what I think was a dildo.  The overall
decor was a sickening, overpowering pink.  Aunt May was taking no chances
femming her boy.

Marcie put the letter under her pillow and I gave her a big hug.  We kissed
again.

"Is that it?" she asked.

"We can kiss more if you like.  I'm staying all summer."

She smiled.  It was the first time I'd seen her smile.  "No, I meant the
letter."

"Sure, unless you want to try another version of the same thing, just to
add power.  Might get results quicker I suppose."

"What's that?"

"Well some people shout out of the window.  I remember this great film
where the news anchorman yells out of the window that he wasn't going to
take it any more.  Worked for him."

"Out the window.  Okay, what the hell!  Right?"

"Right!" I agreed.  "Nothing to lose."

She struggled to open the heavy sash window, but I didn't offer to help.
She climbed on the window ledge to get a better grip.  She must have looked
really hot to any passers by as she hoisted upward, framed by the window,
dressed in that sexy underwear.  She sure looked hot to me.

"Is there anyone out there," I asked.

"Don't think so," she said.  Then she yelled.  "I'm a boy not a girl.  I
want my erections back."  She was magnificent, defying her lot and
demanding the Cosmos give her what she wanted.  Echoes of the old Mark.
She even shook her fist at the clouds.  And while she was doing it, her
attention diverted, I stripped one of the sheets off her bed.

Now came the difficult part of the plan.  If we'd been another floor up I'd
have just pushed her, but a two story drop, even onto the hard-standing out
front, might not have been lethal, and I didn't want Marcie testifying
against me from a hospital bed.  So I helped her down to stop her closing
the window – I didn't want any of my fingerprints on it – and before
she knew what was going on, I looped the sheet around her neck.  We
wrestled for a few seconds before she gave in completely, me holding her
off the ground by the looped sheet.  Marcie was right about how weak she
was; in fact I think the kitten could have taken her two falls out of
three.  Also I'm sure the previous years had already taken most of the
fight out of her, despite my sterling ego-boosting efforts of the last
thirty minutes.  Whatever the reason, she didn't put up a fight worthy of
the name.

When she finally fell unconscious, I tied one end of the sheet medium tight
around her throat.  We were both right handed, so I guessed if I tied the
knot from behind like a tie, some clever policeman wouldn't decide it was
tied the wrong way around and deduce murder.  In retrospect I think I'd
watched too many Columbo reruns and nobody would check for that sort of
thing.  I moved the head of the bed under the window and tied the other end
of the sheet to it.  Next came the hardest bit of all.  I'd thought just
because she hadn't grown much and weighed less than I did, I'd have no
problem throwing her out the window.  Not so.  They don't call it a dead
weight for nothing.  You lift one bit and another bit flops over.

As I attempted to lift the body, I tried make sure her stockings weren't
shredded, showing that she was slid over the window ledge rather than
jumping.  I also ran through the rest of the plan in my head.  Once she was
found hanging outside after years of abuse, a suicide letter in plain
sight, who was going to suspect me?  I had to bring the Chinese dress back
down, put the tube of cream in the bathroom, being careful not to get
prints on it just to be on the safe side.  Once I'd locked up Marcie's room
and me back in mine, I'd throw the key as far as I could from my bedroom
window and wait.  Marcie's very visible suicide would bring to light my own
plight, locked in my room the whole morning, shackled in my pretty new
frock by my demented aunt, nursing a bruised rear end.  In fact other than
when he kissed me on both cheeks last night, I never met Mark this vacation
at all.  Aunt May had told me was ill, but what a tragic end.  If only we'd
had a chance to talk, perhaps I could have helped and he would never have
taken his own life.

If only I could get the damned body out of the window in the first place!

As I thought about Marcie's tongue in my mouth, obviously an event that
never occurred, my dick hardened up in my panties again.  I wondered if
there was going to be a way to steal some panties when I was shipped home.
I remembered reading somewhere that hanged men get erections when they die.
Given her last words, I hope Marcie would.  No, I must go back to calling
him Mark.  Too easy to slip up.

I finally stopped just trying brute force as that clearly wasn't working
and decided to use my head.  I first needed to position him sitting up
under the window.  Get him in a hug, lift the torso up and get his bottom
on the ledge.  Then I could swing his legs around and out of the window and
push.

That was a good plan decided.  And that was when I heard the ruckus
starting downstairs: bangs on the door, shouts.  And that was also when
Mark gave a groan and started to come around.  Troubles never come singly,
do they?  I wish the Cosmos would give me a break sometimes.  What could I
do?  I had no time to finish Plan A.  I couldn't let them find me hovering
over Mark like some failed murderer.  I raced upstairs.  I might just have
time.

I grabbed the tube, the dress and the key and charged back down.  I could
hear really loud thumps two floors below, as though someone was attempting
to break down the door.  I rushed into Mark's room and dumped the dress.
His eyes were open, if a bit glazed.

"I faked your suicide attempt," I told him.  "Play along, and believe me
all's going to be fine."  I just hoped he was conscious enough for the
words to register.

I locked him in, dumped the tube in the bathroom, forget fingerprints, they
were unimportant now, and as I started up the stairs to my own bedroom –
okay, not my own, but you know what I mean – I heard the crash
downstairs as the door gave way and the shouts as several people piled in
after it.

I bounded up the steps two at a time and dived into my room.  Now sirens
added to the cacophony below and I guessed the cavalry were arriving.  I
closed the door behind me, resisting the temptation to slam it.  As I
locked the door, I started shouting.

"Help!  Help!"

Then over to the window to get rid of the key.

"Help!"

It took some time for them to break the door down.  Easily long enough for
me to open the window a few inches, wooden blocks stopped it opening
further than that, and jettison the key.

I must say, I hadn't expected Mark to go along with the story.  I thought
it was going to be his word against mine as to the events, but he just let
them assume a failed suicide and never corrected them.  I had a lucky
escape, I think.  Note to self: thou shalt not kill, it's too damn
difficult to get away with!  It seems that Mark's condition had been
noticed before, even reported before, although nobody had taken action.
His antics at the window were the final straw for some neighborhood
busybody who phoned the police telling them he was going to break in and
sort it out.  Thank the Cosmos for busybodies, right?

In my humble opinion the murder would have been tidier, but life is messy
and never seems to turn out how you plan it.  I think it all worked out
okay in the end.  I went back to DC and had counseling about my ordeal,
Aunt May went to prison, and Marcie committed suicide... but only in favor
of Mark, who went to live with his father.  We correspond a bit, Mark and
I.  He'll always be short and sterile, and even though he's been put on
permanent testosterone replacement his balls will never grow to a normal
size.  Surprisingly to me at least, he not only gets the erections he'd
wanted, his dick has started growing and he texts the photos to me every
time he measures an extra quarter of an inch.  My secret collection of silk
and lacy panties also grows slowly and every time I get a new pair I text
him a photo of me posing in them.

Yesterday he sent me a picture of himself naked on a BMX bike.