Timeout 1- Stop/Playback/Rewind - Chapter 6

Printer-friendly version
Synopsis:

Another BigCloset TopShelf story.

Joanie learns first hand of the "joys of womanhood". Later her girlfriends devise a plan to make her look more like an adult -- albeit a kinky one -- instead of perpetual jail-bate.

Andy Warhol said,"In the future, everyone will be famous for 15 minutes." What if your 15 minutes came late in life, and fame decided to never let you go? Could you survive the circus your life would become?

Story:

Timeout-Stop/Playback/Rewind: A Whateley Academy Fanfiction

This is fan fiction for the Whateley Academy series. It may or may not match the timeline, characters, and continuity, but since it's fan fiction, who cares? To see the canon Whateley Stories, check out either Sapphire's Place,

(http://www.sapphireplace.com/stories/whateley.html) or the Big Closet (http://bigclosetr.us/topshelf/taxonomy/term/117)."

This is my first attempt at writing a TG/sci-fi piece and you can tell. I’m certain it’s derivative, unimaginative, dull, unitentionally plageristic, ungramatical, and possibly hazardous to ones health and sanity. I ask you be gentle and constructive in your criticism. I’ve been good, scouts honor. I did this for fun and in appreciation of the wonderful Whateley Universe. Take it in that spirit and enjoy. Remember this is non-canon not cannon fodder. All rights reserved in perpetuity, which is a very long time. John from Wauwatosa WI, 2005 yada, yada, yada. See my agent at the Sirius Cybernetics Corp. for details. Share and enjoy. Please don’t hit me!

p.s. Sugestions for a better agent or agency are welcome. I’m desparate here, mind you they’re better than my previous agent Mr. A. B. Normal. He quit to work for L. Ron Hoover and the Church of Appliantology.

(If you figure out these last two silly references, boy do you know the 70’s — my condolences.)

Timeout

By John from Wauwatosa

Chapter 6-Leather
State Street, Madison WI, August 9th, 2006

December 13, 2006 near Albany New York on the Amtrak Lake Shore Limited, 11:30pm CST

And now for something completely different; it’s ... my last entry for the day. Sorry about that diary/journal/whatever I’m remembering my relief at surviving the first few weeks of August. The month started out bad and went downhill from there, or so I thought at first. Funny what you think was so bad at the time wasn’t and might even been good after all. One experience in particular was very uncomfortable, but the implications are joyous in the long run.

My life settled to a routine after those first crazy few weeks in the hospital ended. Sara moved me into a small apartment block just off campus, a sort of half-way house for mutants. Sara and Carrie lived in the building, so help was just an intercom away. Mornings were spent in various physical activities and tests, often with the help from MSG. We followed the game plan suggested by them at the Chinese buffet meeting. This combined strenuous physical conditioning to improve my fitness if possible and my body image awareness, which I definitely could improve on. We hoped as my mental body grew to match my physical body I might discover how to control my power, i.e. mental image=physical reality=BIT=eureka. You can tell I’m not a mathematician, but you get the concept. At least it would keep me busy and make me more comfortable with my new body.

Afternoons were a mix of occasional medical tests (fewer and farther between), basic mutant history and mutant laws taught by MSG or Carrie. Then followed the most important of all, Woman 101 taught jointly by Carrie, Big Red and Ginseng Glory. Woman 101 was increasingly a field course, I found to my delight and occasional horror. From the last week of July on I was subject to a constant and merciless bombardment of womanhood by The Gang of Three. Everything from fashion and makeup styles in vogue today to highly practical lessons like woman’s hygiene or hair care and control i.e. styling. Long hair may be sexy, but it’s high maintenance.

The um ... hygiene lessons came in handy starting at the end of July when I discovered to my joy I was not just a mutant but a PMS’er. I just thought I was a bit moody and well, um sexually frustrated for some reason, stress maybe. Waking August 4th I learned where my moodiness and other symptoms came from. The stress of my mutation had delayed the start of my cycle a few days. I clearly was a heavy flow type, ewh what a mess! I’ll never tease my sister or any woman about it ever again, promise; well maybe a little. It helps to laugh about life’s tribulations sometimes. The really fun part, at least for the gals and my sister when I finally told her, is that none of the usual drugs to ease menstrual symptoms such as ibuprofen or naproxen sodium worked for me. Sara’s tests show I metabolize drugs, any drugs, so fast they can never build up to a therapeutic level in my blood. Oooh such a big word ... and they say a college education isn’t what it used to be.

It’s not that bad at least I don’t get violently sick to my stomach like my mom did up until her first pregnancy. Pregnancy, now that is one way to control my PMS for a while. I’m not sure I like the side effects of that prescription though I’m told getting it filled can be a lot of fun. Enough with the smutty double-entendres and on to what you know you want, dear diary/journal/whatever readers, Shopping! Cue music: Valley Girl by F. Zappa. Sorry, got over enthused there.

I was feeling pretty good by the night of August 8th, so The Gang of Four -- I was now a member in good standing -- decided I needed cheering up so a shopping expedition to State Street was planned for the next day. State Street is a pedestrian friendly area of quirky shops and bistros that cater heavily to the nearby UW-Madison crowd. They explained it to me the morning of the 9th.

“But I’ve plenty of clothes now,” I said in protest.

“Two pairs jeans, two pairs brown slacks, four blouses, one plain blue over the knee dress, four pairs of shoes including trainers, some socks, six bras, ten panties, a red one-piece swimsuit, no stockings, no pantyhose, no skirts and only one bikini -- that’s not a wardrobe, that’s not even an emergency care package, girl,” said Carrie with considerable emphasis.

Red spoke, “How we see it, Joanie,” they all nodded conspiratorially, “You need to develop a style suited to your looks, and build, and acquire a wardrobe to match. We see a proper wardrobe as key to solving two of your biggest problems. Number one, your total lack of a costume or even a personal style, very important for us superhero mutant types.” She grinned. “Seriously, your image is important, and you may want to have a second persona handy if you ever need to protect your personal life from too much scrutiny. Number two, your body screams Female and SEX, your face screams naíve and Jailbait. No one will ever take you serious as an adult, and Carrie has assured Gin and I you are an adult despite looking like you do.”

Gin took over. “What Red’s saying is we need to work with what you’ve got and work around what you don’t have. We’re changing your look from teen SEX object to sexy, confident young woman. We’re gonna make you look older, confident, classy, a bit dangerous and worldly. Face it, you look like the cover girl for some jailbait monthly or worse, 'Tigerbeat'. As your friends, we’ve come up with ‘The Plan.’”

“And ‘The Plan’ is?” I asked apprehensively.

“LEATHER!” they shouted in unison.

“Leather, what do you mean by leather?” I asked,

Red spoke first. “Joanie, with those legs, your tall athletic body, and those breasts, all that hair, and those eyes, you need leather.”

“Like a bomber jacket? I know they look great but in the Summer?” I questioned.

“No, no, no, dear Joanie.”

Why was Red calling me dear?

“We said leather; we meant leather.”

Gin took over. “By leather Red means everything leather. Leather shoes, slacks, hot pants, mini skirts, bustiers, bras, bikinis, vests, caps, gloves, accessories, you name it.”

“Leather everything? That’s going to be awfully expensive and physically uncomfortable,” I argued.

“Not totally leather -- you can wear some great lacy black or red undergarments, black silk blouses, hose and such as necessary, but leather will embody the overriding concept and be the primary components of your outfits,” Carrie explained.

“And don’t forget the boots -- high heeled, high top custom boots,” said Gin with a tad too much enthusiasm for my comfort.

Red was practically drooling after Gin spoke, and Carrie, well, Carrie had that look in her eyes -- that look of anticipation and lust. Ghod I hoped I was truly a card carrying lesbian or at least bi, or the next few hours were not going to go too well.

“Okay, say I agree with your premise, I still can’t see how to afford it.”

~There, I’ve got them. I’m acting reasonable but I’ve put up a legitimate roadblock in their path. ~

Red spoke, “That’s why we’re going to State Street and not some suburban mall. Some of the best, “

“Funkiest,” injected Gin,

“Sexiest,” added Carrie,

“Used and vintage clothing shops are on or near State Street. That’s how we can both get you a distinctive style and do it on a budget,” said Red with real conviction.

“But how are we going to find anything that fits? I’m not exactly a standard size. How many six foot one-half inch tall, 145 pound, 40D-24-35 women are there. Be reasonable.” I was grasping at straws now; I was desperate.

“Ah dear Lady, that’s where our inscrutable Amerasian friend comes in so handy.”

~ Good lord, Carrie’s doing a bad Charlie Chan impression, as if there are there any others. Damn me and my fondness for old films. ~

“What Carrie means is, I know how to tailor and sew clothes, especially leather.” Red gave Gin a knowing grin and a nod. “I’m not just a pretty face, you know.”

Gin made a sexy pout. The gears turned in my mind and something clicked.

“So ... if we can’t find any woman’s leathers that fit you’ll cut down and re-tailor plus size and men’s leather goods. Well thank you, Martha Stewart Jr.”

I raised my arms in surrender and we climbed in Red’s F250 crew cab (red of course) for the short trip to State Street and my date with ... the horrors of retail. Brew ha ha ha!

* * * *

Cue music: Black Leather by Grand Master Flash, sung by Joan Jett

It wasn’t as bad as I thought though; the gods of retail/resale were merciful. Most of the stuff they mixed and matched for me was of good quality and in decent taste. A few items were a tad racy; the dark red bustier, skin-tight hot pants combo in calfskin comes to mind. I have to admit when I saw it on myself in the shop mirror, I had to agree with the choice. I did look good in them, scratch that -- I looked great. The way they clung to my body and complimented my skin tone, hair and copper eyes was amazing. That and those fire engine red go-go boots with the funky 5 inch heels, Steve Zink number twos -- I think they’re called. No one would mistake me for jailbait in that getup. I looked like a refugee from an adult version of Rowan and Martin’s Laugh-in. Sock it to me!

We ransacked the shops like some bizarre Viking raiding party. The shopkeepers weren’t too happy with us at first with mess we made, but we all bought a lot of stuff, especially me. Mind you, Red and I managed to get some serious discounts, if you had to deal with two six foot plus gals who looked like escapees from the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition would you say no? That helped us stretch our dollars, shame on us.

~If Dad can get a senior citizen discount, it’s only fair I get a serious cleavage discount. Particularly after the way that last clerk drooled at me, shame on her! ~

After a while, we had quite a crowd of admirers, male and female, following our manic shop-till-you-drop crusade, and they bought stuff too. Monkey-see-monkey-do I guess, that and the effect of all those hormones we stirred up. We broke from the crowd and carried our loot to the pickup.

“That wasn’t near as bad as I thought, girls. What’s next, lunch and unpacking our stuff?” I asked.

“One last stop, Joanie. Don’t worry you’ll love it,” Carrie said.

~ Oh oh. ~

I didn’t like the mischievous look in her eyes. We locked up and walked back towards the shops.

“Be afraid, be very afraid,” I muttered under my breath.

“You will be afraid,” Gin said, this in her Yoda voice.

She must have heard me. We turned the corner and I saw it.

“Please don’t tell me we’re going in there.”

“We’re going in there, Joanie.”

“I asked you not to say that.”

“Get Smart, Agent 86,” they said simultaneously.

“I think we’ve been spending way too much time together,” I said. I looked at the shop window. “I really don’t feel too good about all this. This place looks like it sells fetish gear.”

“Well duh,” said Gin, ”but they do make the very best custom footwear. Their boots are to die for.”

Gin did a rather sexy turn for me, and I realized the slick looking ankle boots she wore must be from here.

“If yours are an example of their workmanship, I’m game.”

- Note to readers: 'These Boots are made for Walking' is appropriate music at his point. Indulge yourselves.

I ended up ordering three pairs totaling over 1000 dollars, but damn it, I’m worth it. Perhaps it’s being an ex-male, but I’m embarrassed to say my favorite is a pair of custom fit knee high cavalry boots with retention straps and three inch block heels with a steel reinforced insole for motorcycle riding.

“One number seven Steve Zink special modified with motorcycle heel,” the shop owner called back to his shoemaker.

Apparently the number seven usually has a six inch spike heel. The motorcycle is another part of ‘The Plan’. My sexy, confident, competent adult look required a coordinated vehicle, or so they told me.

“But I’ve got a 2005 Focus; it’s barely a year old!” I argued forcefully. Red replied with obvious distaste.

“Yes, but green?”

-- Note: actually light tundra according to Ford. Gees, who comes up with these names? --

“So it’s stealthy. Sometimes a low profile is good,” I said.

“Joanie, it’s so low it’s practically underground,” she replied.

Red saw my feelings were hurting. Man, uh girl can I do a pout or what. She backed off some.

“I’ll admit its practical, but you need something flashier like a pickup,” Red offered.

“Yah, you would say that Ms 4X4,” Gin said in mock anger, “Not that it doesn’t suit you and your Amazon warrior chic, but Joanie here needs something uniquely her.”

“PT Cruiser,” Carrie suggested.

“Too girly in a sexy retro way. Screams suburban mall rat,” said Gin.

~ Odd she drives a PT Cruiser. ~

“A hot convertible in red, yellow or black, maybe a Thunderbird or Mustang, since Joanie’s into Fords?” Red countered.

“Closer but predicable, much too tall blond Barbie Doll-esque for my taste; just picture it in pink, euw!” Gin said.

Mind you, she is barely five foot three.

Carrie spoke carefully, “This is Wisconsin after all -- how about a Harley, at least for the warm weather months?” This had some merit.

“My grandfather worked for them many years, so it’s kind of appropriate though he did forbid his daughters to ever ride on one. He said they were too dangerous,” I replied; Gin argued with that.

“Well you’re not his daughter, and a cycle is like just so kick-ass biker kewl!”

“Oh dear I’m hanging with a Valley girl Hell’s Angel. Did I just say that out loud?” Her steel-toed boots kicking my increasingly sore shins soon confirmed my hypothesis.

“Okay okay, I’ll get a motorcycle sometime next week. Damn it, Gin, that hurts!”

“Not soon enough. Badger Boy has a friend who restores and sells used cycles. I called and he has a couple Soft tails and a Sportster on hand. You’re getting properly dressed, then we’re off to the shop, Today.” Red said pulling up to her full height.

To cut to the quick, I bought a late 1980’s Harley Soft tail in pretty decent condition at a very reasonable price. He threw in licensing and lessons for free. We were friends of Badger Boy, though I think the clincher was the outfit I was almost wearing.

“Girls, this outfit’s positively obscene. You can practically see my nipples out the top of this busti-whatever.”

“That’s bustier, Joanie,” said Carrie. “Don’t worry, the cups have a special gripper lining. You could bounce on a trampoline all day, and they won’t pop out, well, not too often anyway.”

“Okay then, but these hot pants are worse. I swear my cheeks are sticking way out, and the way this leather molds to my skin, I don’t even want to think about what’s on display in front.”

I was upset and scared but more than a little turned-on. I admitted as much to the gals.

“That’s the whole idea, Joanie,” Carrie said.

“To look, and feel, like a slut?”

“No to look and feel like you haven’t a care in the world and could care less about what others think. Anyway your French-cut panties cover all your vital bits,” said Gin confidently.

“Yah and really well too,” said Red with all the gay abandon of an alcoholic in a brewery.

“Down, Red, bad girl,” I said then grinned. “Not that I’m unappreciative of the thought. Just keep it on hold for awhile, okay, Red? I’m still getting used to my mutant makeover.” Red looked a bit embarrassed and disappointed. “Now I’ve hurt your feelings, Red.”

She was fighting back the sniffles. Imagine an Amazon crying. Eeek!

“Carrie, we may need to re-think the privacy seal on my, um ... origins. I trust you and I trust Red and Gin to be discreet. It’s time to let them in on my two little secrets,” I said quietly.

“Red, Gin what we say here never leaves this room, swear it,” Carrie said. They agreed. “You both know that Joanie’s appearance and physical age changed considerably as part of her mutation this July third.”

“So what if she was thirty and a plain Jane, she isn’t anymore and that’s what counts.” Red seemed upset that we’d implied she was a shallow person.

“Tell them, Carrie.”

“What Joanie wants me to say is ... well she used to not ... ah she ... “

“Oh hell I’ll have to say it. I was born December 18, 1957 and my given name was John.” Carrie was stuck, so I bit the bullet.

“You were a 48 year old man?” Gin said in disbelief.

“I saw Joanie partway through her transformation; it’s absolutely true,” said Carrie.

“That explains why you know so much about the past and almost nothing a girl would know. And I thought my mutation was strange,” said Red.

“Strange?” I asked.

“Since you let your cat out of the bag, I guess I should too. When I mutated seven years ago, I was a mumble-four year old dark skinned five foot four inch African American with a flat chest, bad hair and braces. Honest.” We looked at her shaking our heads. “Ok I was five foot-nine and light skinned but the rest is true, shocked the crap out of my family, “ she said, sounding sad and upset.

“Would you believe, I was a five foot eleven blonde fashion supermodel,” said Gin in a Don Adams voice.

“I don’t I believe that,” I replied in mock German.

“How about a five foot seven inch red-head Playboy centerfold?” Gin suggested.

“I don’t believe that either,” Carrie said in faux French.

“A five foot three inch Hmong American with a skinny body, acne and glasses?” Gin admitted.

“Thank you, Agent 86,” said Red in bad Swedish. We all laughed.

Carrie looked scared. “Its okay, you don’t have to tell anyone, Carrie,” I whispered softly to her.

“No,” she said softly. “I have to tell someone someday, and I know I can trust everyone here,” giving us all hugs as she spoke. “I’m sure you wondered why my mom and I come to MSG, and why I rarely participate as other than a moderator.”

“You don’t have to, Carrie,” said Gin.

“I should, and as I said I trust you all. I’m sure you know Mom’s a low level devisor/gadgeteer and an empath, very useful in treating mutants,” we nodded. “I’m an empath/telepath of a fairly high level and a density shifting warper. See why Mom and I conceal my powers.”

“Intelligence agencies and criminal organizations would love to get their hands on you or failing that kill to prevent anyone else from succeeding,” said Red.

“We never speak of this again unless another’s life depends on it, agreed?” I said.

“Agreed.”

* * * *

The last part of ‘The Plan’ was makeup and accessorizing. It was kind of fun. Amazing what a little lipstick, eye shadow and such can do to change your appearance. I thought the blood red lipstick over the top, but it does send my don’t-mess-with-me-little-man factor through the roof. I will need this look at times. For cooler weather, we added lined leather slacks, tight fitting pullover sweaters, the ubiquitous bomber jacket and insulated four inch heeled cowboy boots with a waffle sole for traction, Steve Zink number fourteens, I believe. Add a trench coat for cold weather, my old male one, Gin re-tailoring it and adding a Kevlar lining to the shell. I may not be bulletproof, but my coat is bullet resistant. They picked up an old fashioned aviator cap minus the goggles and insulated gauntlet style teamster’s gloves for really cold days. Gin resized my trusted old Tilley bush hat to complete the ensemble. With the trench coat, leather slacks, cowboy boots and Tilley I thought I looked like Indiana Jones and said so.

“More like Indiana ‘Joan’, Joanie,” Gin said surveying her expert tailoring.

“I’ve never seen a trench coat fit so well. They usually look like a tent, but this fits like an Italian suit.”

“That’s the idea Joanie. Sexy, confident, classy and womanly all in one,” Gin replied.

* * * *

To be continued

p.s. Did anyone catch the James Burke, Connections, reference?

Revised 07/30/2006
Special thanks to my evil blonde sister for proofing assistance.

Notes:

Readers, Please Remember to Leave a Comment

Want to comment but don't want to open an account?
Anyone can log in as Guest Reader -- password topshelf to leave a comment.

up
143 users have voted.
If you liked this post, you can leave a comment and/or a kudos! Click the "Thumbs Up!" button above to leave a Kudos

Comments

Woah... this is fun to

Woah... this is fun to read... Someone who has actually some fun with his/her gender switch. Not the gloomy normal stuff ^^

Thank you for writing,

Beyogi

Connections?

Aljan Darkmoon's picture

p.s. Did anyone catch the James Burke, Connections, reference?

I can only imagine you are referring to episode 5 of the original series, Wheel of Fortune, where Burke traced the development of assembly-line mass production, and then commented on how our individuality has been lost in a sea of mass produced goods that are all essentially the same. I suppose the reference was how Joanie’s friends are going to build an image that is “uniquely hers” out of said mass produced goods. Even if I’ve got that wrong, I still enjoyed your satire of consumer culture, though it may have been unintentional.

If it was intentional, you may enjoy a 4-part documentary series by Adam Curtis, The Century of the Self. It’s a bit difficult to locate on the Internet, these days, because the BBC has been contacting archive and streaming video services with copyright infringement take-down notices, but you still may be able to find it.

Fun! How in depth and

Fun! How in depth and humorous developing Joan.

alissa

Rewind

Well, after several sad or tense stories, this is a romp.

I have to tell you that I don't have a single credential as far as writing or english is concerned. I'm not trumped up or hung up on my own opinion of the writing of others.

Nice work.

Gwenellen

Pure, unadulterated silly, with a touch of romance, eventually

I had lots of fun with my take -- fan fic -- on the Whateley Academy universe, itself a TG twist on the Marvel/DC Comics, X-men superhero and Lovecraft_ian horror universes.

I took real incidents in my past, bits of comics, books, TV, movies, the news and such then warped the heck out of them to produce this. Monty Python, Douglas Adams and tons of other groups and writers influenced this.

Things heat up fast now, pay attenion or the later chapters won't make sense. VERY important characters get introduced soon. If they do make sense to you, let me know. I'd like to figure it out too.

John in Wauwatosa

P.S. Currently I am awaiting Timeout 4, Chapter 6 from edit and have several more underway.

John in Wauwatosa

Warped isn't quite the word I'd use

Think of what the gravitational attraction of a neutron star would do to a structure made of toothpicks, and you'd have a closer approximation.

And pay very close attention, John has a tendancy to bury minor but important details in his stories. A photographic memory is a good thing to have; me, I only have a photogenic "blonde" head, so I have some problems at times.

"Currently I am awaiting Timeout 4, Chapter 6 from edit"
Oh?

Karen J.

"A dress makes no sense unless it inspires men to want to take it off you."
Francoise Sagan


"Life is not measured by the breaths you take, but by the moments that take your breath away.”
George Carlin

Uh...

Maybe I need to go back and read the last three chapters again. But I had assumed that if Gin and Red had been recruited to teach Woman 101 to Joanie, then Sara and Carrie would have explained to them why it was necessary.

Eric

Good Question, I Don't Know

I don't believe Dr. Sara or Carre specifically asked Red and Gin to help with the Woman 101 instruction. I thought I implied it with Red being one of Joanies nurses and Gin being in on the surreptitious powers testing. Also MSG was helping Joanie in general on trying to master her powers..

If it still remains unclear, I could add a few lines to fix it.

John in Wauwatosa

John in Wauwatosa