Author's Note: I'm a big fan of Kate's terrific forced fem stories featuring the "Sissy Mister" store, so this is my attempt at writing something along those lines. However—because it's me—it's different, so while some elements may seem familiar to readers of those stories, I've tried to treat them primarily as loose inspirations. The biggest difference is that while forced fem stories focus on the humiliation aspect—and this story has plenty of that!—I quickly realized that the story I wanted to tell explores what happens on the other side of that humiliation, when instead of being an end in itself, it becomes a crucible that destroys some who must pass through it but changes others. Think of it as a sexy and cruel forced fem story with heart. :) I hope you enjoy it!

Shameless

By Jenny North

Shame is an odd thing if you think about it. It depends so much on the individual's perspective since an experience that might be deeply humiliating for one person might qualify as just another Friday night for another. Shame is often associated with exposure, and in that regard it's custom-made for a person, like a handmade garment that's tailored to conceal a hidden truth. A truth that's buried in the dark, like a pearl inside an oyster, waiting to be found.

It's this hidden truth that fears discovery which makes shame so deeply personal, so private and yet so public. Because a secret that must be hidden at all costs also yearns for release. The humiliation, the guilt...the pain of keeping the secret is what keeps the shame alive.

Of course, it's not an easy thing to live with a secret, and many people who carry such an invisible weight will seek out a place where they can unburden themselves. A place where they can let their secret out in a safe space, to trustworthy and well-meaning people, free of judgment and derision.

This was not that kind of place.

Downtown there's a store, the sort of place that you'd drive by all the time to which you'd never give a second thought. Oh, you'd notice it—the ornate pink awnings draw the eye, as do the big display windows filled with gaily-dressed mannequins in their frilly and elaborate dresses—but most would write it off as an expensive girls' clothing store. The black edging on the awnings may give a subtle clue that perhaps the store has a harder edge than the pink and ruffles might otherwise suggest, but not so much as to draw unwanted attention.

Occasionally, a woman out window shopping or a teenage girl searching for a prom dress might give the displays a closer look, but they would quickly lose interest once they examined the styles of the dresses. A few were modern, but many were old-fashioned, and all were in delicate, soft-hued pastel colors that were embellished with a sumptuous abundance of frills and lace in florid and froufrou designs. Teenage girls walking past with their friends would pause to laugh at the styles, and even the most girlish balked at the idea of wearing such pretentiously feminine outfits.

Distracted as they were by the appearance of the clothes, such casual shoppers could hardly be faulted for not noticing the gender of the mannequins, artfully arranged as they were in such girlish and feminine poses.

People would sometimes look for the name of the store and quickly give up when it wasn't present on the awnings or display windows. They would then shake their heads and marvel how a store that size must surely be going out of business, selling such prissy and outdated clothes and not even bothering to advertise its name. However, the store was doing just fine since it catered to a very specialized clientele, and sharp-eyed visitors who made their way through the heavy front door could discern the name that was discreetly written on a small metal plaque by the entrance: The Ladywood Academy.

The inside of the store was surprisingly large, and at first blush appeared to be a boutique with a spacious beauty salon. But towards the back of the store, tasteful signage directed customers who were "in the know" to doors that led to even more expansive areas with unassuming names such as Classrooms and Studios.

But of course, the first thing any visitor noticed was all the pink.

Filled with racks of dresses, shoes, wigs, and all manner of girlish accessories, the interior was the most extravagant celebration of over-the-top femininity this side of Barbie's Dream House. The displays were fastidiously arranged and the store was tastefully decorated with a modern sensibility, but everything about the decor and presentation screamed femininity, as though the designer was in desperate competition with the Ladies' Intimates section at Bloomingdales and was trying to make their rival seem like a high school boys' locker room by comparison.

A subtle waft of perfume filtered through the air, and although the ostentatious clothes and well-appointed beauty salon were the most apparent, soon other details would come into focus. For instance, the signs that directed customers to other sections of the store that had curious and tantalizing names like Shapewear, Prosthetics, or Pharma.

But before very long, one hears the crying.

Distressed wails, cries of complaint, and forlorn sobbing were the norm within the Ladywood Academy. Any lingering misconceptions that a visitor may have had that this was merely a fancy boutique for girls quickly evaporated when they realized that said lamentations were uniformly male, and the expert services that the Ladywood Academy's expert staff provided to the forlorn young men were decidedly involuntary...

Over by the changing rooms, a chorus of delighted cheers and laughter could be heard from a small group of young women who watched as a young man emerged from behind a changing screen wearing a pale blue tea-length dress. The dress had a halter neckline and was fitted to clearly showcase his curvy feminine figure that was a sharp contrast to his boy's hair and face, giving him the odd and comical appearance of a Barbie doll whose head had been removed by a mischievous little girl and replaced with the head of a Ken doll. His dress had a tiered skirt that showed off his freshly-waxed legs as well as his matching satin pumps with four-inch heels that seemed to be giving him some difficulty. The outfit had been beautifully accessorized with a pearl necklace and earrings, and his face was a bright red as he faced the assembled girls.

He glanced down at himself in despair. "Mom, I said I was sorry!"

"Poor Kelly can't be a bridesmaid because of your stupid prank, Danny," his mother retorted as she gestured to a girl who had a cast on her leg. "That means you're filling in."

"But everyone will see me! They'll take pictures!"

"Of course they will, it's a wedding."

"But it's not even for another week!"

She looked at him seriously as the girls watched the exchange with delight. "Young man, you are not going to embarrass your sister on her wedding day. You're going to practice every day, and if you do anything—anything—to upset her, you'll be wearing dresses for a lot longer!" she warned. "Now come along, we need to get your hair and makeup done."

As they pulled the agitated young man away, one of the girls paused to fetch Kelly's crutches for her. Once the others were out of earshot she asked, "You're still coming to the bachelorette party, right?"

"Are you kidding? There's no way I'm gonna miss 'Danielle' get the full bridesmaid experience," she said with a smirk.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the store over by the beauty salon, another girl clapped gleefully as she watched the finishing touches being put on her boyfriend's over-the-top dramatic makeup.

"I can't believe how good he looks! Nick, you're going to kill at the womanless pageant!" she said brightly.

The prettily crossdressed high schooler flushed in embarrassment and grumped as he beheld himself in the mirror with the glamorously overdone makeup. He apprehensively fluttered his long eyelashes and gingerly touched his plumped-up and glossy crimson lips with one of his long fingernails while the technician checked on his pedicure. He peered at her past the protective sheet that was draped over his body and tented out by his big prosthetic boobs. The makeup artist had put the sheet there to protect his outfit while he got made over, but the clear plastic did nothing to provide him any privacy or hide his stunning female figure and clingy glittering gown from view as he squirmed in the chair.

"I look like a streetwalker," he muttered as he surveyed the damage in the mirror. "This sure is a lot of work just to look like a girl for one night."

The makeover artist looked up at them in confusion. "Wait. You said to use the IndeliGlam makeup," she said to the girl.

"Yeah, those vibrant colors really pop!"

"Honey, that's semi-permanent makeup. That won't come off for eight weeks. Eight weeks minimum."

"What?!" the two teens cried in unison.

In another corner of the store in the Prosthetics section, a mother and her two teens were in the midst of their own unfolding family drama.

"Mom, please! Don't let her do this!" the shirtless young man wailed. He looked to be a high schooler and was clad in a lacy black bra with two large cups that at the moment were filled to overflowing with a very large set of silicone breast forms. He was sporting a very realistic "breast plate" that covered his chest and created a strikingly lifelike illusion of a stupendously overendowed woman's bosom. Between that and the brassiere he wore, he was sporting an eye-popping amount of cleavage.

"A bet is a bet, Tyler," his mother Rachel declared neutrally. In point of fact, she had significant misgivings about all this, but in a lot of ways it was good to see the two siblings interacting. When they were little they were always making stupid bets and dares like this, but in recent years they'd gone from being competitive to adversarial to downright antagonistic towards each other, in no small part due to Tyler's increasingly crude and misogynistic behavior, to say nothing of the hoodlums he'd taken to hanging out with.

However, a couple months ago after Rachel and Kim had returned from a trip, Tyler seemed more willing to engage with his sister in a civil manner. Rachel wasn't clear on the reasons for her son's change of heart, but she wasn't complaining. But now it seemed like Tyler and his sister were up to their old tricks...although based on the large prosthetic breasts that he now sported, it looked like Kim was in the mood for some serious payback.

"Yeah, so 'woman up,' little brother," his sister Kim teased. She'd just started community college last fall but was living at home as she tried to get her grades up so she could transfer to a state university. But with her little brother still in high school and the two of them living together under one roof, the old rivalry didn't seem to be in danger of fading anytime soon.

Rachel looked at her son's new endowments dubiously. "Kim, don't you think you're overdoing things a little? Or a lot?"

"Mom, he was going to shave my head if he'd won! Do you have any idea how long that would have taken to grow back? Even after the rest of the summer I'd still have looked like a boy. It's only fair that he have an equally—interesting?—few months for the rest of his summer, donchathink?"

She smiled broadly as she held up a frilly dress against Tyler's jutting chest, and he swatted her hand away in embarrassment.

"Hey, don't get angry with me, tastycakes! It's up to you. Once that glue sets in a couple minutes you can take that bra off and put your shirt back on—assuming it still fits, haha!—and you can go back to hanging out with your skeevy friends as a boy with a very bouncy and jiggly set of knockers."

Tyler's face went ashen. "What?!? I can't do that! I can't let anybody see me like this!" he wailed.

"Well, there's always the other option."

"I am not doing that!"

"What other option?" Rachel asked suspiciously.

Kim brightly responded, "The one where Tyler will spend the entire summer with family from out of town...and meanwhile, cousin Tyra will be staying with us for a few months."

"Who's cousin Tyra?"

"Oh, you'll like her. She's a little bit girly for my taste but she's super friendly and very very...stacked," she teased as she gave Tyler's protruding bosom a little pat as he gaped at her in open-mouthed horror.

"I'm not dressing up like a girl!" Tyler insisted.

"Hey, you're gonna be stacked all summer no matter what. At least as a girl you'd look normal walking around with boobs. But you'll be doing it from the skin out, 'Tyra.'"

Rachel shook her head in disbelief as she watched her kids argue. It seemed like they were always doing some crazy thing to torment the other, but this one took the cake.

"How are we getting along over here, Mrs. Valentine?" a smartly-dressed saleswoman asked Rachel. The smiling young woman was polite, fresh-faced, and professional almost to the point of obliviousness as she gave no indication that a teenage boy sporting a huge set of breasts was in any way out of the ordinary.

Kim piped up, "We're just waiting for the glue on my brother's titties to dry."

Rachel shot Kim a look of disbelief while Tyler blushed furiously. She could hardly blame him. Most women would be humiliated to have breasts that size, much less her teenage son. And Tyler seemed particularly shy around the young saleswoman, a pretty thing who looked to be only a few years older than Kim. She playfully looked at Tyler and gave him a sly wink that caused him to blush even harder.

The saleswoman then checked her watch. "Oh, yes, those should be ready." She then turned to Tyler. "Would you like a little help with your bra, honey? You probably don't have a lot of experience. Well, not yet," she teased as he stood there in shock and undid the clasps in back. As she slid it down his arms, his big new boobs bounced free.

They were surprisingly realistic but still obviously wildly out of place on his male body, especially topped as they were with an equally huge pair of protruding rubber nipples. However, they must have been made of some kind of special rubber or something because the second they were loose of the brassiere they bounced around energetically as the young man grabbed at them in a panic.

"Will your son be needing more brassieres, then?" the saleswoman asked in a helpful and pleasant tone that suggested that the notion didn't sound utterly preposterous.

"Oh, Tyler is a boy, and boys don't wear bras, isn't that right, little brother?" Kim teased as she enjoyed the sight of her brother groping his new additions.

"Kim, you can't possibly expect him to go around braless all summer with those?" Rachel admonished her.

Kim shrugged. "That was the bet. Unless...Tyra is coming to visit...?"

"I'm not doing that!" Tyler insisted as he fussed with his falsies in distress. They seemed unusually animated.

Rachel made a little face. That seemed to be an unusual and highly specific stipulation for them to have incorporated into the bet, but then, the pair had a history of strange wagers. Given the sophistication of some of their contracts, she'd half expected Kim to demonstrate an interest in Pre Law. At the moment, however, Rachel was rapidly starting to tire of the siblings' latest shenanigans. She turned to the saleswoman, figuring that the limitations of the adhesive—or simple physics—might help curtail this insanity.

"If he won't be wearing a bra, will those even stay on? With showering, swimming, running, outdoor activities...?"

"Our neighbors have a trampoline!" Kim interjected brightly. Tyler shot her an angry glance and she waggled her finger up and down and quietly mouthed, "Bouncy, bouncy!"

"Oh, yes, certainly! We guarantee it," the saleswoman said cheerfully. "Did you need the removal agent?"

Kim looked over at the two of them. "Mom, no! He needs to leave them on! A bet is a bet, remember?"

Rachel sighed and shook her head. "I suppose there's no hurry if this is going on all summer."

"Of course. Though for security reasons I'll need to make a copy of your photo ID," the saleswoman said.

"What for?"

She smiled. "Young men in your son's situation sometimes try to remove their prosthetics. Of course they soon realize that it'll take something a good deal stronger than paint thinner, so they very often try to come in here and buy the special removal agent themselves since we're the only store that sells it. That's why we only let the person who purchased the adhesive buy the remover."

Tyler stared at his boobs in dismay and set himself to pulling them off his chest, but they were stuck fast. Then as he finally released them, they bounced and jiggled around playfully as they pulled heavily on his chest.

"Mom, buy the remover!" he implored her.

"Nice try, funbags," Kim joked. She slapped him on the shoulder and watched as his boobs wobbled back and forth. "Wow, those things really move."

"So just the silicone breast plate, then?" the saleswoman asked pleasantly.

Kim handed Tyler his thin white t-shirt and he stared at it vacantly, obviously uncertain if he'd be able to squeeze his new boobs into the little shirt. Even if he did, it seemed obvious that his big dark nipples and areolae would be wildly evident through the thin fabric, especially if they kept bouncing and jiggling as they did.

"Can—can I at least wear the bra?" Tyler asked. His face burned in shame as he asked for the feminine garment.

"Don't be silly, little brother," Kim said. "You're a boy. Boys don't wear bras."

"Mom?"

Rachel raised her hands in surrender. "Oh, no. I remember the last time I got in the middle of one of your little wagers. I'm not getting involved in this. You're both old enough to settle this yourselves."

She watched as Tyler clutched the fabric of his shirt against his soft and bountiful woman's chest. Rachel had to admit that it was interesting how he'd only had breasts for a few minutes and yet his first instinct was to cover them up like a modest girl. What would he be like after he'd had them for weeks? Or the rest of the summer?

His sister sidled up beside him. "Or," Kim said as she once again held up the flirty dress against her brother's chest, "I bet that 'cousin Tyra' has some pretty bras that you could borrow to manage those big titties."

"Oh, are you still shopping?" the saleswoman asked.

"I don't know," Rachel said slowly as she fixed him with a look. "I think my son got everything we came here for—and then some—but now it sounds like I may have a 'niece' that's coming to visit?"

Kim's eyes cut over at her brother as she enjoyed watching him squirm. "Just think all the fun Tyra and I can have, it'll be like one long slumber party," she teased.

Tyler shifted awkwardly and grabbed and pawed at his boobs as he held his t-shirt against them. Even then they were still mostly visible and totally impossible to miss.

"Yeah," he said softly.

His sister's face lit up. "Come again?"

"I said yeah," he repeated more loudly. The women said nothing and Rachel raised an eyebrow, obviously surprised by his decision. Faced with their quiet, Tyler added, "I don't want anybody to see me like this. I'd rather be a girl."

Kim looked overjoyed at his decision but his mother regarded him more levelly. "Tyler, you understand what this means, right? This isn't just tossing on a dress. You're going to have to try to convince people—maybe even people that you know—that you're a real girl."

The saleswoman interjected herself. "I'm sorry to interrupt this, ah, family decision, but for what it's worth, we actually do offer a wide array of services to help young men like Tyler here become lovely young ladies."

Kim looked like she was about to jump out of her skin with delight. "Oh, God. Please, Mom? Please?"

"It's his decision. Tyler, are you sure this is what you want?"

Tyler looked down at his big fake woman's chest again sullenly, obviously imagining what his summer was going to be like.

He nodded.

"Fine," Rachel said simply, her disappointment all too evident. "If this is what you want, this is how it's going to work. Your name is Tyra, effective immediately. Tyler isn't leaving this store. Kim will pick out all your outfits."

"What?!?" Tyler exclaimed even as his sister's face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. "Mom, I—"

"Tyra, no. If you're going to try to pass yourself off as a girl—especially with those—you're going to need her help. And my patience with this nonsense ends with having to pick out pretty outfits for my son so he can spend his summer vacation pretending to be a girl."

She turned to her daughter. "Kim, I'm trusting you. I know you and your brother have had your differences, but I'm hoping that you can set them aside for the benefit of your new sister, here. I don't think I have to remind you the trouble she may find herself in if people find out who she really is, and I'm hoping that you love her enough that you don't want to see anything bad happen to her."

Kim's smile faded. "Um, yeah, Mom. Okay." She looked over at her very nervous-looking brother. Sister? Well, soon-to-be sister. "Don't worry, Tyra, this is gonna be fun."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

"Oh, and one more thing," Rachel declared. "I hope you understand the magnitude of what you're asking for, but let me make one thing clear. For the rest of the summer, you are a girl. Full stop. 24/7, evenings and weekends, no time off and no exceptions. It's bad enough you have to have—those—but I won't have you making a mockery of women by making a big joke out of this."

Tyler seemed rattled as he considered that. "But what if I don't fool anybody? What if they figure out who I am right away?"

"I don't care if people figure out that you're Tyler on day one, you're not giving up and going back to t-shirts and shorts. If that bothers you then I suggest you jiggle right on out that door exactly as you are. That is not your fallback if things don't work out. You are going to see this through to the end, capisce?"

Unsure what to say, he looked to his mother, but her mind was clearly made up. Then he turned to his sister.

Kim's brow furrowed slightly as she read his face. Then she stood alongside him and put her arm around his shoulder. "It's okay, Mom. She understands."

The saleswoman cleared her throat gently. "Well, then. It seems like you ladies have a good deal more shopping to do! Let me know if I can help you with anything. You already know where the bras are—obviously—which is where you can find panties, stockings, and lingerie if she needs it. Outerwear and shoes are to the left. To the right you'll find the makeup counter as well as wigs. Oh, and you may wish to visit the prosthetics counter again, too."

Tyler's eyes went wide as she rattled off the long list, no doubt wondering what he'd gotten himself in for. "B-but why prosthetics?" he asked. "I've already got..." He shrugged his shoulders and felt as his upper arms pressed his faux bosom from the sides, causing it to press into an impressive cleavage.

The woman smiled. "Tyra, you're very well-endowed for a girl your age, but women have other curves. A girl with breasts the size of yours would almost certainly have developed curves on her hips and—"

"Booty!" Kim proclaimed as her face lit up. "Oh baby, you're gonna look like a rapper's girlfriend with a great big—"

"Kim! What did I tell you," her mother warned.

"Okay, okay! Fine, I'll take it easy. I just want to make sure that my bosomy little sister is well-balanced."

Tyler shyly looked down at his canyon of cleavage, obviously wondering what would "balance" such mountainous endowments.

The saleswoman added, "Oh, and you may want to check with our pharmaceuticals department. I appreciate that Tyra may not be looking to make any permanent changes yet, but they may have some suggestions for some temporary improvements. Oh, and of course we're also having a special on feminine deportment classes."

"This is sounding expensive," Rachel muttered. Fortunately disposable income wasn't a big issue for the family after her father passed away and she'd liquidated the shares that she'd inherited, but since she hadn't come from money she knew better than to throw it away frivolously. However, she was still image-conscious, a leverage point that Kim had adeptly made use of several times in the past to get her mother to loosen the purse strings.

"Mom, you don't want her to look cheap, do you?" Kim said, taking careful aim at her mother's bias.

Rachel groaned and handed over her credit card. "Still not the stupidest use of money we've ever made," she said, mostly to herself.

Kim accepted the card with a big smile and said, "Not gonna let dad forget about buying that stupid sailboat, are you?"

She ignored the question and picked up her purse. "All right. Kim, I leave...Tyra...in your capable hands. I'll be back late this afternoon, at which point I look forward to meeting my new niece."

Kim had a panicked "who, me?" look on her face. "Where are you going?"

"I am going to have a nice quiet lunch, and I am going to drink some wine. A lot of wine. And I'm going to figure out how to explain to your father that his son is going to be a very curvy girl for the next few months. Unless of course you'd like me to cover things here while you have that conversation?"

"No, no. Good plan," Kim agreed. "Vaya con Dios."

With that, Rachel and the saleswoman both walked off, leaving the two teens standing there in the middle of the store. The topless Tyler was still holding his t-shirt in his hands against his soft naked "breasts." Kim, meanwhile, stood next to him and looked around at the impressive selection of items and garments that were designed to feminize boys.

She pursed her lips and thought for a moment. Then she turned to face Tyler, who returned the glance uncertainly.

"Describe the kind of girl that Tyra is in one word."

Tyler seemed surprised by the question and paused to consider it. He self-consciously squished his arms against his big boobs and looked around the store at all of the dresses, many of which were particularly prissy and sissy. Then he once again glanced down at his chest.

He made a little face and then looked like he was going to say something and then checked himself. Then his eyes cut nervously over to his sister.

"Hottie," he said with a mischievous little smile.

Kim tilted her head in surprise and gave him a discerning glance.

"I can work with that," she said as she led him over to the prosthetics department. "C'mon, sis. A hottie needs booty."

"So, uh, how did the conversation go with Dad?" Kim asked her mother several hours later as they walked towards the back of the store.

"It's...evolving."

"You didn't tell him, did you?"

Rachel sighed and paused for a moment to look her daughter in the face as she lowered her voice. "I wasn't able to get him before he got on the plane. This isn't exactly the kind of situation where you leave a voice mail."

"But he does know about our bet, right? He knew that Tyler might...uh..."

"Blossom?" Rachel said flatly. "Kim, you know your father and I frankly don't understand or especially approve of some of these 'unconventional' bets you make with your brother. But it keeps the peace so we don't interfere. And if a little embarrassment teaches the two of you a lesson about standing by your word, then I suppose there are worse things to learn. But this time don't you think you went too far?"

"He was going to shave me bald, Mom. Bald! Like Dr. Evil bald. And he's been teasing me about my boobs and snapping my bra. So he has to be embarrassed by having a pair of boobs over his summer vacation, so what? Besides, if you or Dad had a problem with it, why didn't you say anything?"

Rachel bit her tongue. In point of fact, she hadn't mentioned any of it to her husband since she never actually thought it would go this far. And if she was being honest with herself, she never thought that Kim had any chance of actually winning the bet, so she never really considered this outcome as a genuine possibility. At the time she merely quietly enjoyed the comedy of a brief mental image of Tyler sporting a pair of falsies.

The reality was proving to be a good deal more disquieting.

"That's not important," she responded as they sat down in a short row of chairs near the changing rooms. "Although it never occurred to me that you'd be quite so generous with his bustline."

"Hey, he didn't specify, so I got to choose. Those were the rules. Besides, Tyler went along with it."

"Kim, whether you choose to admit it or not, your brother looks up to you. And those things were grotesque. Bad enough they were as large as they were without those big brown nipples sticking out. They were like udders!"

"Bald," Kim retorted, pointing to her flowing chocolate brown locks.

"I can't believe you even found such horrid things. Or this store, for that matter," she said as she looked askance at some of the other customers, many of whom had mortified-looking teenage boys who were in various stages of female dress. "Anyway, I'd hoped you'd exercise a little restraint. A nice set of B-cups would have taught him a lesson."

Kim looked appalled. "Mom, there are chubby boys in his school with bigger boobs than that. You are always going easy on him, always letting him off the hook. When he and I make bets, we don't do that."

Rachel made a small grumble, unwilling to admit that she had a point. "And now you've got him pretending to be a girl."

"Hey, you said it yourself, it was his choice! He could have walked right out of here any time, but he was too embarrassed for everyone to see his lady lumps. So if he wants to try and fool people, I don't care."

"I honestly can't believe he's going through with this. When I left you two here I was certain that I was going to come back to find that he'd changed his mind. He actually let you dress him up like a girl?"

Kim shrugged. Then she read her mother's face. "Wait. You were just calling his bluff? You're still going to let us go through with this, though, right?"

Rachel rubbed her temple as she nursed the headache that was settling in. "I'm committing to nothing. And I can't even imagine what your father is going to say to all this. I don't even know why I'm considering going along with this insanity."

"Mom, seriously, what's the worst thing that happens? People figure out who he is in five minutes and he spends a few months wearing dresses and calling himself Tyra. Tyler is always doing crazy stuff. And who knows, this could be good for him. Maybe he learns a few things about girls along the way. That's a valuable lesson, right?"

Rachel glimpsed over at her daughter. "I was wrong. Maybe you should have been the one to talk to your father. When you say it, it almost makes sense. Almost." She sighed and glanced around, ready to get this ordeal over with. "Where is he?"

"She," Kim corrected. "She's in the changing room. I'll go get her. It's just..."

"What?" Rachel groaned.

"I'm just saying go easy on her, okay? It's a work in progress, but she's trying her best. You can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear, and all that."

"Okay," she sighed. Kim left to head into the changing rooms and Rachel closed her eyes. Three months of Tyler stomping around in dresses. What were the neighbors going to think?

"Was that your daughter?" a woman asked.

"Yeah," Rachel said absently as she opened her eyes and nearly did a startled double-take. The woman was a stunning blonde who looked to be in her early or mid-20s and was dressed in a skanky club outfit that practically screamed "trophy girlfriend." The clingy metallic pink minidress showed off her outrageous and very obviously surgically-enhanced curves. Even her voice was shrill and grating, making her seem even more insipid.

The woman wrinkled her nose and said, "So...your 'daughter.' Boy or girl?"

"A girl, of course!" Rachel said defensively.

"Hey, you can't be too sure in this place," the blonde said as she sat down in the chair next to Rachel. "I'm Amber, by the way," she offered as she held out her hand, showing off her long manicured fingernails and glittering jewelry.

"Rachel. So, do you have a boy, uh—shopping—here?"

Amber pressed her plump limps into a simpering pout. "Oh, for sure. My boyfriend's son. He's over there trying on party dresses right now. The little shit is practically in tears."

Rachel was appalled at this horrible woman. What the hell kind of place was this that catered to these kinds of people?

"And his father approves?"

"He's away on business and thinks taking care of kids is 'women's work.' But I bet he feels differently once he learns that his pride and joy has been spending a couple weeks in high heels," Amber said with a vacuous giggle.

"You're condoning child abuse!"

"Lighten up, honey. They're just clothes. It'll serve him right to see what we women have to wear!"

Rachel pulled away in disgust as she looked down at the woman's big round breasts on display in the tight pink metallic dress. "I would never wear what you're wearing."

Amber responded with a cocky little smile. "Hey, if you've got it, flaunt it," she teased as she arched her back.

Rachel was up out of her seat like a shot. "Oh, my God! You—this place—" she shook her head. "You are everything that's wrong with women, do you know that? Dressing like a bimbo and dragging a young man here to be feminized against his will!"

Amber responded with a carefree little shrug. "Jeez, cut me some slack, I've only been a woman for a few hours, Mom."

Time stood still as Rachel tried to process that statement. She blinked once and shook her head.

"I—I don't—" she started. "You're not—?" Then she leaned forward to peer more closely at the blonde woman, scrutinizing her extravagantly made-up face that now sported a very playful smile. "Tyler?" she gasped.

"It's Tyra, Mom, remember?" Kim said as she came skipping up from behind her. She plopped herself down in the seat next to "Amber" and played impishly with "her" blonde hair, arranging the flowing locks over her feminized brother's shoulders. "Although I am kind of digging 'Amber,' we might want to go with that, instead. You look like an Amber."

"I like Amber," Tyler agreed.

Rachel was still staring at her transformed son in shock. Now that she knew it was him she could see little bits and pieces peeking out from under the wig and makeup—and those boobs should have been a dead giveaway—but the whole package left her totally flabbergasted.

Tyler cocked his head to the side as he looked at his mother. "I think we broke Mom," he joked.

"But...your voice! Your face! Your...body!"

"The voice is great," Tyler said. It was a preposterously squeaky and breathy high-pitched voice, the kind that some guys loved and all women loathed.

"They called it the 'sexy baby voice,'" Kim said. "They had some medication that tweaks his voice. He'll sound like that for a week before he needs another dose."

"Or longer!" Tyler chirped in a breathy soprano, laughing.

"I can't get over what a bimbo you sound like," she joked.

"I demand that you take me seriously!" he declared as he mocked a serious pout. But his squeaky little voice made that demand seem hilarious.

Kim laughed out loud. "Oh, my God, you're killing me!"

Rachel wasn't laughing. "Tyler, what happened to your lips?" she asked, seeing his plumped-up pout.

"I know, they feel so weird," he said in his chipper little voice as he poked his lower lip gently with a long manicured fingernail. "They had a special on lip injections. They said it'd go down in a couple months."

"Three to five," corrected Kim.

Rachel stared at them in disbelief. "Three to—? Tyler, you're going back to school in three months!"

"Mom, it's Amber, remember? Or Tyra?" Kim reminded her.

"Amber's good," Tyler interjected.

"Stand up," their mother commanded sharply.

Tyler's smile faded and he stood up in front of her, swaying slightly as he did so. "Whoa. How do girls walk in these things?"

"We usually don't start with 'fuck me pumps' our very first time out," Kim joked.

"Quiet! Both of you!" Rachel snapped. As the kids fell silent, she cast her eyes in shocked disbelief over the busty and curvy blonde bimbo that her son had become. They hadn't missed a single detail. His beautiful golden-blonde cascade of hair, his overlong painted fingernails, the huge hoop earrings and tacky jewelry...even his eyebrows had been plucked and shaped into quizzical little lines. Then her eyes settled on his trim waist and wide feminine hips.

"Turn around," she said, and as he obeyed she beheld his big round butt and shot an angry and disbelieving look over at Kim, who looked rather sheepish.

She reached down and grabbed her daughter by the wrist and pulled her out of the chair. "You, come with me. You," she said, turning to Tyler, "just...ugh," she groaned in disgust.

"Okay, so we overshot the mark," Kim conceded as her mother dragged her off to one side. "He doesn't have to dress like that all the time. We only wanted to surprise you."

"Mission accomplished!" Rachel exclaimed. She touched her temple desperately as she tried to get a handle on her racing thoughts. "Kim, you turned your brother into a prostitute."

"Okay, see, first of all, we needed a way to make the boobs make sense, right? It figured that he would look older. You never said he had to look his age."

"I didn't say you shouldn't turn him into a caricature of an overstacked blonde streetwalker either, because I didn't think I had to."

"He asked for this! He practically begged me!"

Rachel said nothing but was clearly dubious. She took a deep breath, exhaled deeply, and nodded. "No. You know what? This is good. You actually did me a favor, this makes it easy. I'm pulling the plug on this stupidity. I should never have let it go this far, but now I see how wrong I was."

"Mom, you can't—"

"Can. Did. Done. Where's that saleswoman? We're getting that remover so we can get those ridiculous things off of his chest. You go find someone who'll get that makeup off of him."

"No!"

The objection caught Rachel off guard, in no small part because it hadn't come from Kim. For a moment she didn't recognize the squeaky little voice until she turned and found herself faced with a very determined-looking Tyler, who seemed more like a pouty little piece of jailbait in his ridiculous costume.

"Tyler, I'm not joking. Take those clothes off. The bet is off, we're going home."

"No, it's not!" he insisted. "You said! 24/7. Full stop. See it through to the end! And I'm gonna."

"Tyler, sweetheart," she said gently. "I have a little life lesson for you: if your hope was to win me over with a persuasive argument, I would have been more apt to listen if you hadn't turned yourself into a slutty blonde chipette bimbo who looks and sounds like she has more boobs than brains."

"I don't get it," Tyler whined. "When you left here this morning you were all set to see me dressed as a girl, and when you came back I did such a good job that you didn't even know it was me! My own mother!"

Kim quietly interjected, "For what it's worth, the other outfits we picked out aren't quite this slutty."

"Quiet, you. Look, Tyler—"

"I'm not Tyler!" he said petulantly as he unevenly wobbled his way over to the seats and plopped himself down sullenly.

Rachel stared after him in disbelief and then faced Kim. "As God is my witness, if this is some kind of prank the two of you are pulling, I will give you both up for adoption."

"Mom, he's been acting funny all day. Ever since they glued those boobs on. And you should have seen him when they made him over, I swear he was about to start crying."

Rachel sighed. Her headache had settled in nicely and was in for the duration. "Kim, driving your brother to tears is not something to be proud of."

"Mom." Kim's voice was quiet and firm. "I don't think they were tears of embarrassment."

The two of them stared at each other for a long moment and then finally they both cast their eyes over at Tyler, who was still sulking in the chair.

Rachel moved closer to her daughter and lowered her voice. "Kim, how exactly did you find this place?"

Rachel and Kim walked over to where Tyler was sitting and took the seats on either side of him. He was slumped down in the chair with his arms folded, practically cradling his faux bosom.

"Tyler..." Rachel said as she reached out to him. He pulled away from her touch.

"Okay," she said quietly. "Tyler, honey, I'd like for the three of us to have an honest conversation, so it's really important that we tell the truth."

"Even you?" he chirped accusingly.

She tilted her head in acknowledgment. "I suppose I had that coming. Yes, even me. Okay?"

He made an infinitesimal little shrug.

"Let's start at the beginning. That bet you two made. Tyler, you lost on purpose, didn't you?"

He glanced up at her through his long fake eyelashes and then looked away and pursed his lips.

"I'm going to take that as a yes. Kim, did you know that Tyler was going to throw the bet?"

Her eyes darted over to her brother. "Not at first? But I did kinda get the impression that I had a better chance of winning than he was letting on."

Rachel nodded. "So was it you that came up with Tyler's punishment if he lost?"

"Well...yeah. I mean, kinda. He sort of goaded me into it."

"And you found this 'Ladywood Academy' how?"

"We got a flyer from them in the mail a few weeks ago."

"Did you notice who it was addressed to?"

Kim considered that. Once she saw the flyer and realized what the store was, she took it to her room and read the whole thing avidly as she planned her revenge on her little brother. Mentally she unfolded the flyer and tried to remember the front and back.

"No. It's funny because I wondered how we got on the mailing list for a place like this, but now that I think of it I don't think there was an address label." As she puzzled over that her eyes fell on one of the cash registers in one of the nearby departments and the stack of neatly-folded advertising pamphlets.

She gasped aloud and looked at her brother. "Tyler...?"

"Kim, one last question. How exactly did you choose those false breasts that your brother is wearing right now?"

Kim stared at her brother intently. "I didn't think much about it at the time, but I was kind of caught off guard by the big selection they had, and the woman over there at the counter started making suggestions and we ended up with these."

Rachel turned her attention to her son, who was cradling his bosom even tighter now. "Tyler, honey? I think it's pretty obvious you've been in this store before today and that's how you got that flyer you planted in the mailbox for Kim to find. But if I walk over and talk to that lady behind the counter over there, do you think she might remember my son talking to her about losing a bet and how she should steer his sister to that particular type of prosthetic?"

At first Tyler didn't say anything, but very soon he sucked in a tremulous breath and as he exhaled he quietly started to sob. He fell into his mother's arms crying, as his sister touched his back supportively.

After a few minutes, he finally managed to collect himself and he dabbed away his tears. "I have to take all this off now, don't I?" he asked.

His mother made a low throaty grumble. "Kim? Do me a favor and settle up, will you?" she said.

As Kim headed over to the cash register, Tyler looked at his mother uncertainly. "What does that mean?"

"It means that when your sister comes back we're going to have a little talk. But not here."

Rachel parked the car and wordlessly led the two siblings across the parking lot into a local restaurant and bar. The place was busy with a number of people standing and sitting around, just as Rachel had hoped. It was a family place and not sleazy in any way, but she hoped that exposing Tyler to such a crowded environment might help dissuade him from this ridiculous idea.

The three of them made their way up to the hostess stand and almost immediately Tyler was the center of attention as he received a number of looks from the people gathered around. The men were particularly blatant about it, ogling and leering at what they perceived as a sexy and curvaceous blonde woman, dressed to thrill. The women were only slightly less obvious, but the disapproving side-eye glances were difficult to miss.

Or at least Rachel had thought so. She was embarrassed for Tyler and even Kim seemed to be blushing slightly in embarrassment in empathy for her brother, but Tyler himself seemed to be largely heedless to the attention he was getting and had a prettily vacuous little smile frozen on his face as they waited. Rachel was flabbergasted. Surely he couldn't be that oblivious?

"Hello, ladies!" the hostess said, greeting them. Kim snorted loudly at the greeting, drawing a warning look from her mother, but the hostess didn't seem to notice anything unusual. "Table for three? There's a bit of a wait, I'm afraid."

"Oh, that's not necessary," Rachel told the hostess, sensing an opportunity. "Is it all right if we just grab a table in the bar?"

"Sure, sit wherever you like!"

Tyler and Kim followed their mother as they made their way through the restaurant towards the bar, and heads turned as they passed by several tables. At one point Rachel distinctly heard the word "hooker" as they passed one table, but Tyler made no visible reaction and gave a blithe little toss of his hair.

"This will do," Rachel said as she selected a small elevated table and perched herself on one of the stools. "Why don't you sit here...Amber," she said, trying not to sound sarcastic when she used the feminine name. She indicated the chair across from her, which not coincidentally put Tyler on best display to the other patrons.

Presently the waitress came and took their drink order. Kim glimpsed nervously around.

"Wow, I feel kinda invisible," she said, noting that her brother seemed to be drawing all the attention.

After the waitress returned with their drinks, Rachel looked at Tyler. "So—Amber—is this everything you dreamed?"

Tyler took a sip of his soda and leaned slightly across the table. "Are you actually okay with this?" he squeaked in his new voice.

"I am about a hundred light years away from being 'okay' with sitting in a crowded bar across from my teenage son who is dressed as a blonde exhibitionist."

Tyler was taken aback at her brusque response. "Then why are we here?"

She sighed heavily. "Because, Amber, I have absolutely no idea what to do with you. And despite your carefully premeditated plan to trick your sister and me into abetting you into getting exactly where you're sitting right now, I wanted to have some small assurance that you were actually serious about this. You are, aren't you?"

"Yes," he admitted quietly.

Kim watched her feminized brother with fascination. "Ty—I mean, Amber—I get all the lies and everything if you were embarrassed about coming to us, but why, you know, this? You look like jailbait. You were seriously hoping to be stuck looking like a blonde bimbo for your entire summer vacation?"

"Excellent question," Rachel said as she took another longer sip from her drink.

Tyler made a pained expression. "I know that I'm supposed to say no, but...yes?"

"But why?"

"Because spending the summer as a normal girl with a normal figure and a sensible haircut and plaid skirts sounds really...boring. No offense."

Rachel set her drink on the table and looked at Tyler seriously. "'Amber,' everything about you is offensive."

Tyler started to say something in his defense, but she cut him off. "I mean it. You are a walking, jiggling, squeaking-in-a-breathy voice cliche of the male sex fantasy of women. If you were my twentysomething daughter, I doubt I would even speak to you. Not only because I disapprove of this kind of woman, but because I seriously doubt that we could possibly have anything in common worth discussing. But you're not my twentysomething daughter, you're my teenage son, and it absolutely horrifies me to think that this is what you think of women."

She leaned closer. "I won't kid you, I am sorely tempted to let you have everything you're asking for if only in the hopes that you might learn a lesson from this. But I am terrified that sending my teenage son out into the world as...as..."

"Fuckbait?" Kim offered.

Rachel shot her a look but didn't correct her. "...will very probably end in disaster."

"Can I say something?" Tyler asked.

"I really wish you would, yes."

Tyler took a deep breath. "This...isn't what I think of women. But...I, I dunno, I want this. I don't know why, it just feels right! I won't dress like this all the time, but I don't want to hide under baggy clothes, either. Maybe that makes me a bimbo, I don't know. I'm just asking for the same opportunity to figure out what kind of person I want to be if I were your daughter."

They sat there quietly for a moment. Then Kim turned to her mother.

"Wow, you're not kidding, that stupid voice completely undercuts any kind of persuasive argument."

Rachel tapped on the table. "See, that's the kind of mess you're walking yourself into. On your best day you're going to be a second-class citizen. Men won't take you seriously because of your big boobs, and the second you open your mouth, nobody else will take you seriously, either. You'll be a laughingstock. Is that really what you want?"

"It's only for the summer," Tyler contended.

Kim's eyes cut over at her mother. "That is kind of a good point, Mom."

Rachel exhaled a long, slow breath. She didn't believe this act for a second but until she found out what was really going on she wanted to see how far Tyler was willing to take this little game.

"I am not agreeing to this. At all. But...purely hypothetically, I would have some conditions."

"I'll do it!"

"Settle down. You may not like what you hear. But I am...curious...how committed you are to this. Because if this is all just some elaborate prank you'd better come clean now, or you're going to have plenty of cause to regret it," she warned.

Tyler shrunk back a little but shook his head quietly, causing his sparkling earrings to swing back and forth.

"First, what I said before goes. There is no backing out. And there's no toning it down, either. If after a month you decide you want a more modest figure or a normal voice then you can cry me a river in that 'sexy baby' voice."

"I can do that."

"I doubt you'll feel that way after a couple of weeks," she retorted. "Second, I don't care how old you look like, you are a teenage girl, and you'll be treated like one. We'd revisit your list of chores, and you'd have the same curfew that Kim did at your age. You'd be home before dark every weeknight and home by 9pm on weekends."

"What? That's worse than what I've got now!"

"Tough bein' a girl, sis," Kim quipped.

"And no getting together with friends without adult supervision, either."

"That's not fair!"

"You already sound like a teenage girl," Rachel muttered.

"What else?" he asked.

"I really don't like this whole 'cousin Tyra from out of town' business. It just feels like a bomb that could go off at any moment. All it takes is one wrong person to figure out who you are and the game is up."

"I fooled you," Tyler reminded her.

"You fooled me for less than a minute when I wasn't looking for you. But if you show up at the neighborhood block party with me, your father, and your sister, people are going to be a whole lot faster to put two and two together. To say nothing of your friends."

Tyler shifted uncomfortably. "What are you saying?"

Rachel mulled that over, noting the distinct edge of concern in Tyler's demeanor, the first he'd shown since getting dressed up in that preposterous outfit.

"You agreed to see this through no matter what happened," she said. It wasn't a question.

"Yes," he responded nervously.

"Then like I said, if people figure out who you are, you stick with this."

"People won't figure it out," Tyler said. Kim looked down at her brother's figure and she tilted her head in silent agreement.

"In that case, I think Plan B should be the new Plan A. There's no reason to wait for the bomb to go off, we may as well get out in front of it."

Tyler sat up in his seat as he realized where she was going with this. "Wait, you mean we tell everybody who I really am?"

"We don't have to go shouting it from the rooftops, but yes, for anybody who knows you, or asks, or needs to know, you're my son Tyler and you've decided to spend the summer as a girl named Amber or Tyra or whatever you like. To strangers like people here at the restaurant, I'm okay with saying that you're my daughter Amber unless that becomes...inconvenient."

"Inconvenient?" Tyler echoed. "What am I going to do for school in the fall? Everybody will know I spent the entire summer as a girl!"

"Then I suppose that Tyler is going to have to lie in the bed that Amber made. But I'm not budging on this one."

Rachel watched Tyler's reaction as he looked down at himself in dismay. It was one thing to say that he had to spend the summer looking like an anonymous blonde bimbo but it was something else entirely to come right out and say that his parents were allowing him to spend the summer as a blonde bimbo.

"You know," Kim offered, "we could still say that Tyler lost a bet with me and that's why he has to dress that way."

"Kim, no. I'm not involving you in your brother's lies. If he wants to do this, he can tell people the truth."

"Technically it's not a lie. I mean, we did make a bet and he did lose and I did make him glue the big boobs on his chest. And you said he could pretend to be a girl. So it is sort of our fault. Sort of."

Rachel shook her head in resignation.

Tyler perked up at the suggestion. "You'd really do that for me?" Tyler asked her.

"Hey, I promised to take care of my little sister! Besides, this way I get to see you prancing around looking like a skanky ho, which I won't lie to you I really am looking forward to seeing. And the fact that everybody will know that you're actually my stupid little brother jiggling his boobs as he minces along on his high heels because I made him do it?" She made an exaggerated a little shiver of delight. "That's just too good!"

"Thanks," Tyler muttered.

"Any time! And I mean that. Seriously. Any time."

"Enough, you two," Rachel said. Then she gave Tyler a pointed look. "No hiding, understand? We use discretion, not deception. Agreed?"

Tyler hesitated for a moment but then nodded.

Kim looked between them uncertainly and then said to her mother, "Does this mean he can stay as Amber?"

Rachel made a little snort and shook her head to herself as the two siblings looked at each other in puzzlement. Rachel then finished her drink and retrieved her wallet from her purse and put a couple bills on the table before putting the wallet back and slinging her purse over her shoulder.

"What does that mean?" Kim asked.

"It means we're done here."

"Where are we going now?" Tyler said apprehensively.

"Home, so your father and I can decide how we feel about adopting a daughter."

Rachel watched as the two "girls" collected their purses and how Tyler's demeanor had perked up, making him look even more like the chipper and brainless bit of fluff he appeared. She didn't like this at all. But now that it had escalated beyond a teenage prank, against her better judgment she found herself wondering if Tyler might actually be serious about this.

But she was also dead certain that he wasn't being totally honest with her, either.

That evening, Kim and Tyler sat side by side on the plush couch in the family room of their house. Tyler looked enormously apprehensive and his sister held his hand supportively while they waited for their parents who were up in their bedroom. Even through the closed door they could hear the muffled sounds of raised voices.

"It'll be okay," Kim said. Then she smiled at something.

"What?" he asked.

She shrugged. "I was thinking it's funny since you look older than me. I feel like I'm the little sister sitting here with my big sis who just came home to announce to Mom and Dad that you've decided to drop out of school. Maybe because of a guy."

"Funny," Tyler said dryly.

"In order to become a stripper."

"That's hilarious."

"Also, she thinks she might be pregnant."

"You're not helping."

Kim got a funny look and then peered at her feminized brother's face. "Amber? You've got a little lipstick on your teeth. Here, go like this," she said as she ran her tongue across her teeth. He mimicked the gesture. "No, go like this with your finger—actually, you know what, just check it in the mirror over there."

Tyler stood up and walked over to check his reflection in the mirror over the end table. "I don't see anything. Did I get it?" he asked.

Kim fixed her eyes on her brother. "You've worn high heels before."

Tyler swayed a little, obviously having trouble keeping his balance on the slender five inch spikes. "I guess I'm getting better," he observed.

"Nuh-uh. Nice try, hot legs. I was watching you at the store. You put on a good show of wobbling and stumbling when Mom and I were around, but when you thought we weren't looking you didn't make a mistake once."

"Kim, c'mon."

"Don't even. I saw how you got off the couch just now. You didn't clamber out of it like a boy, you did this."

As Tyler watched his sister, she quickly but gingerly sat up straight and scooched her butt forward to the edge of the couch. Then, instead of pushing off the couch with her hands, she placed her palms against her upper thighs and used her leg muscles to lift herself in a graceful-looking if slightly clumsily executed move as she kept her back straight. As she stood, she cocked her head slightly to the side, smiled, and arranged her feet in a model's pose with one hand on her hip.

She maintained her simper for a moment and then dropped the act as she visibly relaxed her pose. "God, I can't even do it in sneakers. I'd break my neck if I tried that in those stilts you've got on. That's not 'getting used to it,' you learned that somewhere. What's going on?"

Tyler's mouth moved slowly as he fumbled for words. He looked like he was about to say something when they heard the sounds of their parents' footsteps coming down the stairs.

Kim sidled up next to her brother as their mom and dad paused at the entrance to the family room. The space was quiet for a few seconds but felt like an eternity as Tyler and Kim awaited their parents' judgment.

Finally, their father broke the silence.

"Kim, I'd like to speak to Tyler for a few minutes by myself, please." It wasn't a request, and his eyes were riveted on his son.

Kim gave her brother's hand a quick squeeze and executed an orderly retreat. As she was about to leave she paused and turned to her father and said, "She likes to be called Amber, Dad."

"Is that right. Shut the door on your way out."

After the door swung shut, Ian Valentine stood there for a long time, staring at his son.

"Amber?" he said finally.

Tyler shrugged slightly. "I like Amber. It just felt right."

"That seems to be a theme," Ian said.

Tyler shifted uncomfortably. "Did you tell Mom?"

"About what happened while they were away?" He shook his head. "I wanted to. I almost did, but you obviously didn't tell her, either."

Tyler gave another little shrug.

Ian stood there quietly for a long interminable moment. Then he took a breath and said, "Are you doing this to punish me?"

Tyler sighed and gave a disconcerted wriggle of his shoulders as he hugged himself. "No!" he declared. Then he peered up at his father through the blonde hairs of his wig and glanced away. "Yes? Maybe? I don't know!" he declared despondently as he threw himself into the chair that was next to the sofa.

Ian edged his way over towards his crossdressed son and sat down on the corner of the couch, so close that their knees were practically touching. He looked in wonder at Tyler's sexy shaved legs in his high heels, the envy of any woman. His eyes traced upwards over his exaggerated feminine physique that was on bawdy display in his skimpy and revealing dress, up to his beautifully made-up face.

Ian raised an eyebrow. "I can't get used to that voice," he said.

"It's growing on me," Tyler responded flatly, although it came across more as a petulant little chirp.

They sat there quietly for a moment. "Do you want me to tell your mother the truth?" Ian asked.

Tyler looked up at his father in surprise. "Why would you want to do that?"

"Son, I know you're angry at me for what I did, and you have every right to be. And if you want me to tell your mother what happened, I will. You don't need to make this little...protest."

"Is that what you think this is?" Tyler said, incredulous. "I'm not doing this to embarrass you."

"Why are you doing this, then? And don't you dare try to sell me that line of crap you fed your mother. I want the truth."

Tyler looked down and shifted uncomfortably. When he glanced back up to meet his father's gaze he said, "I don't think you're going to like it."

As he looked his feminized son in his prettily made-up eyes, Ian saw something there.

"Son..." he said in a hoarse whisper, "did I do this to you?"

SPRING BREAK, TWO MONTHS EARLIER
SATURDAY

Ian grumbled as he put his key into the front door lock and opened the door. The garage door wasn't working—again—and he'd been forced to park all the way down the street. On the plus side, at least he was home earlier than he'd expected. He hated having to work on a Saturday but fortunately it was only for a few hours. And although he'd arranged to work from home the rest of the week he wished it was for a better reason.

He put down his work bag and a creak of floorboards upstairs caught his attention. Apparently Tyler was home, after all. Ian was actually fairly surprised by that, but of course Tyler was supposed to be home since he'd been grounded for a month after that business with those punks from school, to say nothing of what had happened with Kim. Those troublemakers Tyler had been hanging out with were a bad influence, and he was getting more and more out of control. Ian thanked God that he and Rachel had known the storekeeper for years and were able to keep the police out of the picture. They'd made Tyler pay for the damages and for the few items he'd shoplifted, but any goodwill they'd built up over the years was history now.

Ian and his wife were at their wits' end trying to figure out ways to rein Tyler in before he did something even more dangerous and stupid.

And Tyler's interactions with his sister Kim were beyond troubling. Growing up, she and Tyler had always been adversarial in a competitive way, but of late Tyler had been snapping at her more and running her down. Rachel told Ian that she thought that Tyler was developing a serious misogynist streak that he'd probably picked up from those miscreants he ran with, but at first Ian thought she was overreacting. But then later when Tyler blew up at his sister and in the heat of the argument called her a "cocksucking whore," all of them had been startled. Rachel practically hit the roof.

Since this week was Spring Break, Ian and Rachel had decided it was best to cancel their beach plans and for Tyler to remain home grounded. However, rather than punish Kim, it was decided that she and her mother would take the week off by themselves to visit Rachel's sisters for a few days and maybe tour a couple of colleges along the way. That way, the girls could do their own thing while the guys fended for themselves at home.

Ian took a deep breath as he started to head upstairs. He had been hoping to spend some quality time with Tyler, but his projects at work were at a sensitive stage. Even if they'd gone to the beach, he probably would have been chained to his laptop. He wished he could take more time off, but at least he'd arranged to work from home as much as possible. Ostensibly, it was so that he and Tyler could spend time together, but Tyler snarkily commented it was so that his father could act as his jailer while he was under house arrest.

As Ian reached the top of the stairs, he paused. He heard noises coming from Tyler's room, but then he noticed light streaming into the corridor from both his and Kim's rooms, which was odd since he was fairly certain that Kim's door had been closed when he left that morning. Curious, he took a step closer and heard more clearly the sounds coming from Tyler's room through his open door.

"Oh! Oh, yeah! Ooh! Oh, God! Ohh...fuck me!" a woman cried in orgasmic delight, obviously from a video.

Had Ian been in a better mood, he might have handled things differently. But as it was he was on his final nerve with Tyler. He was supposed to be grounded, and now he was home masturbating to pornographic videos?

His face burned with anger as he quickly and quietly made his way towards the open door, fully intending to catch his son in the act. Maybe a little humiliation would teach him a lesson, he thought. But as he reached the doorway and stopped to look into his son's room, what he saw stopped him dead in his tracks.

Just as Ian suspected, Tyler was seated at his desk, masturbating to some pornographic internet video on his laptop. But he'd apparently failed to spot his father standing there in the doorway, partially because his attention was obviously otherwise occupied, but also because the wig he was wearing obscured his peripheral vision.

Ian gaped in stunned disbelief as he beheld his only son, fully dressed up as a woman. He quickly surmised this wasn't some spur-of-the moment impulse on Tyler's part or some unsophisticated juvenile attempt at humor...Tyler had obviously put some effort into this. He wore a cheap blonde wig that might have been a leftover from Halloween and a clingy bright red tube minidress that Ian didn't recognize. He didn't think it belonged to Kim because if it did, he and Rachel would have immediately sent her back upstairs to change if they'd ever caught her wearing it. The cheap rhinestone jewelry and earrings looked like they might have been hers, however. Tyler was also wearing pantyhose along with some very tall stiletto heels that Ian recognized that belonged to Rachel. She'd bought them on impulse and had only worn them one time, when she'd surprised Ian in a negligee while the kids were both spending the night with friends.

"Ohhh, you're so big! Oh, yeah, fill me up! God, I want it so bad!" the woman on the video exclaimed.

"That's enough," Ian said, finally finding his voice.

Under different circumstances, Tyler's startled and horrified response to being caught by his father might have been amusing. After practically jumping out of his seat in fright, Tyler snapped his head around in a sudden move that caused his wig and earrings to swing around in a gesture of girlish surprise as he gaped wide-eyed at his father standing there in the doorway. He leapt to his feet—or rather tried to as he stumbled on his high heels—and quickly began a comical game of "what do I try and cover" as his hands darted around from his erection to his fake bosom to the video that was still loudly playing. Unfortunately he took a bad step and lost his footing on his high heeled shoes and slipped and fell backwards, landing on his rump on the floor.

As he beheld his startled son's performance, Ian was taken aback as he noticed other things about Tyler's appearance. For one thing, his 'breasts' were enormous and stretched the fabric of his dress to bursting...and he'd apparently not neglected his hips and ass, either, which were similarly overstuffed and jutted out almost comically to the back and sides. He looked absolutely ridiculous. It was at best a crude attempt at feminine impersonation, on par with a last-minute Halloween costume. However, based on what he had caught his son doing, Ian doubted that verisimilitude had been Tyler's primary concern.

Now, Tyler sat on the floor staring up at his father with a terrified open-mouthed expression that was made all the more exaggerated by the bright red lipstick he wore, along with eye makeup that was heavily if artlessly applied. As he sat there breathing heavily, his huge fake bosom rose and fell with every breath and both hands tugged down on his short skirt in a failed attempt to cover his erection.

"Are you all right?" Ian asked.

Tyler stared at him, unable to speak.

"I'll take that as a yes."

"Fuck me! Fuck me harder! Oh, baby, I'm cumming!!!"

Ian took a few steps into the room, up to Tyler's desk. "I think that's enough of Miss—" he looked at the screen, "—Misty Melons? Really?" He shook his head and closed the lid of the laptop, cutting short Misty's cries of orgasmic ecstasy.

He then reached down and offered Tyler a hand up, who indelicately hauled himself to his feet as he had difficulty in his high heels. Tyler still hadn't said anything, but his hands were trembling like leaves. As he helped his son to his feet, Ian did a double-take as he looked on the bed and saw a copy of 'Big Knockers' magazine with the cover model of Misty Melons, the same large-breasted blonde woman he'd seen on the video a moment ago.

Then, turning his gaze to Tyler, he saw the resemblance.

He bent over and righted Tyler's desk chair and motioned for him to sit.

"Have a seat, 'Misty,'" he said scornfully. "Or would you prefer I call you Miss Melons?"

"I-I can explain..."

"Can you? Really?" Ian asked. Now that the shock of the situation was starting to fade, he felt his anger returning. "Do you mind if I take a crack at it first? Let me see. You go rummaging through your mother's and sister's closets to steal their clothes so that you can dress up as your idol, a woman with freakishly large breasts who makes pornographic videos. Then you like to look at her nudie pictures and watch her X-rated videos while you masturbate and pretend that you're her. Then after you cum, you—well, I interrupted you before you got to that part, didn't I? So, what, I suppose you prance downstairs in your high heels, drink a big glass of orange juice, and spend the afternoon playing video games while dressed up like some big-breasted bimbo. How'd I do? Is that pretty much how your day goes?"

"I'm sorry..."

"No. Do not apologize. You have no reason to be sorry, Miss Melons. If your life's ambition is to be seen as nothing more than a walking set of tits who's an easy lay and loves to fuck, that's beautiful. You're an inspiration to all the men who jerk off in front of their computers as they watch your videos."

Tyler glowered silently at his father.

Ian shook his head in anger. "God damn it," he muttered. "God damn it!" he yelled, pounding the nearby dresser in frustration as Tyler jumped in fear. "If your mother and sister could see you right now."

"Please don't tell them!" Tyler exclaimed.

Ian looked at him in mock confusion. "But Misty, I thought you loved sharing your photos and videos!" Then he seemed to make his mind up about something. His hands practically trembled as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone and held it up.

"Wait, no, please!" Tyler cried as the flash went off. And again. He jumped up and looked down at himself in a panic, once again trying to decide how to cover his shame. He looked up again at his father. Another flash. He tried to cover his huge fake breasts before he realized the futility in that. Flash. Belatedly, he came up with the idea to cover his face.

"Now all of a sudden you're camera shy?" Ian taunted. "That's all right, I got some good ones. Maybe we can send this one to your grandmother. We can go out later and get some prints made and you can pick out a nice frame for it. She'll be so proud."

Tyler whimpered a little and stifled a sob. Then he pulled off his wig and started to remove his earrings.

"Why, oh my goodness! You're not Misty Melons at all! You're my son, Tyler!"

Tyler sighed as he took off the other earring. "Dad, it's not funny. Can we just get on to the part where you ground me or give me chores or take away my video game privileges?"

"Because that's been so effective, right?" his father shot back. Ian sighed and shook his head. "This really is all a big game to you, isn't it? Objectifying these women, sexualizing their bodies until they look more like overinflated pool toys than actual people? Can you not see how wrong this is?"

"Okay! Fine! Whatever!"

"Tyler!"

Tyler pointed at the closed laptop. "Hey, she's the one who decided to get those huge boobs! She's the one who took those videos and put them online!"

"You're just the victim here, is that it?"

Tyler said nothing but reached past his dad to open one of his dresser drawers and started to fish around inside.

"What are you doing now?"

"I'm changing, okay? Is that all right with you?"

"Right. Because now you've had your fun, and it's time to change back so that you can live free from any consequences of your actions."

"Sure."

Ian stood there seething for a moment then got a peculiar look on his face. "C'mon," he decided as he grabbed Tyler by the wrist and pulled him along.

"Hey!" the young man protested as he stumbled along in his high heels. He was still carrying his wig and earrings in his hands and had trouble navigating down the stairs as his dad led him towards the front door.

"W-what's going on?" he stammered.

His dad put his sunglasses on and opened the front door wide. "We're going for a drive, Misty."

Terrified of being spotted, Tyler practically dove to the side as he retreated from the view of the open door like a vampire retreating from sunlight, which actually wasn't far from the truth given how bright and sunny it was outside.

"I can't go outside like this!" Tyler protested.

"Fine, you can put your wig on if you like. I don't care. Honestly, you women, always so concerned with the way you look."

"Dad!"

Ian took a step towards his son and lowered his voice into a deadly calm. "Tyler, the car is outside and as God is my witness you are going to get in it. You can go willingly, or I can put a dog collar around your neck and drag you screaming out there on a leash. I really don't care, but you have ten seconds to decide."

"Dad, this is nuts. I'm sorry, okay? Don't make me do this!"

"Seven seconds."

Tyler's eyes darted towards the open door. "Please."

"...Four...Three...Two..."

Tyler's hands shook as he pulled the wig on over his head and adjusted it as his father guided him outside. He took a final step over the threshold in his high heels as his anxiety mounted, feeling enormously self-conscious in his ridiculous outfit. With his brassy blonde hair and enormous tits and ass there was absolutely no way he could remain inconspicuous, and even less chance of being mistaken for an actual woman.

BAM! went the door as his father yanked it shut behind them. Tyler jumped about a foot.

He gulped hard and realized that he was still tightly clutching his earrings in one hand. With a brief glance to his father he clipped the dangling sparkles to his earlobes, one after the other. His hands were trembling so hard that he could hardly work the clasps.

"You're gorgeous, Miss Melons," his father deadpanned. "Ready to go?"

"W-where's the car?" Tyler asked as he craned his neck back and forth, peering down the street.

"Close enough to be an easy walk even in those ridiculous shoes. Far enough for you to be admired by your adoring public."

The walk to the car was the most terrifying and humiliating experience of Tyler's young life. Adrenaline gripped him, and his whole body seemed to be on high alert as he minced after his father as quickly as he could manage in his mother's shoes. He looked down and tried his best to hide his crudely made-up face behind the blonde tresses of his wig, and he hunched over in a vain attempt to diminish the size of his huge breasts that stuck out in front of him as though they were clearing a path for him. Eventually he gave up entirely and crossed his arms over his jutting chest in a vain attempt to hide them. It was a completely unnatural gesture, but at least he figured he wouldn't be giving as conspicuous a show to any onlookers. His mind raced as he tried to think of a way to hide or minimize his equally large hips and ass, but nothing occurred to him. He tried not to think about what he must look like from behind with his huge bubble butt waggling back and forth.

To Tyler's consternation, his father was obviously in no big hurry to get to the car, but even at his slow pace he had to stop several times to let his crossdressed son catch up. Tyler had never walked this far in high heels before, and certainly not on pavement. To make matters worse, they were a little small on his feet and had started to pinch his toes terribly. He began to realize why he'd never seen his mother wearing these shoes.

Ian paused and turned to watch Tyler's progress. When he saw his son's hunched-over posture, he laughed once.

"Oh, yeah, you've clearly got nothing to hide," he joked. "Could you possibly try to look any more suspicious?"

Just at that moment a car drove past. Tyler didn't think it was his imagination that it seemed to slow down as it drove by, and he hugged his jutting chest even more tightly. Meanwhile one of the neighbor ladies came out with some pruning shears, dressed to do some gardening. She and Ian politely exchanged pleasantries but she was obviously caught off-guard by the presence of the hyper-curvy "woman" who minced past. The neighbor said nothing, but scowled at Tyler in seething disapproval.

When they finally reached the car, Tyler's dad held the passenger door open for him.

"See, Misty? Chivalry. You get this, now that you're a woman. I guess having a man occasionally hold a door for you makes all the other bullshit you have to go through totally worthwhile, huh?"

Tyler said nothing but quickly climbed in and ignored his father's smirk as he fumbled to stretch the seat belt over his new endowments. He was mostly just thankful for the brief reprieve from the public exposure that the car afforded, to say nothing of how good it felt to get off his high heels for a few minutes.

As they drove, Ian watched as Tyler tried to remove his shoes in an attempt to massage his sore feet but he was hindered by his big bosom getting in the way as he tried to lift his knees and further stymied by the little ankle straps that kept the shoes securely in place.

"I guess that's an occupational hazard for you, isn't it, Miss Melons?" Ian said conversationally. "You're probably not used to spending so much time on your feet. It must be more comfortable on your knees or on your back."

"Dad, don't be disgusting."

"You're the one who decided to pursue a career in pornography. But am I wrong? You're the expert. I'd love to hear how Misty Melons spends her days at work."

Tyler just focused his attention out the window and brushed the hairs of his wig with his fingers to try and obscure his face from any passing cars. They rode in silence for a little while, but the farther they got from home the more nervous he started to feel.

"Where are you taking me?" he asked.

"It's a surprise," his father said as Tyler squirmed in his seat. He looked down at himself in his ridiculous getup and worried about what his father could possibly have in mind for him.

"Dad? I-I really am sorry. Please don't show those pictures to Mom, okay? I don't want her to know that I do this."

Ian glanced over at his son, who looked all the more forlorn and pathetic in his clumsily-applied makeup.

"You know something, Misty, I'm really starting to like having you around. You're well-mannered and contrite, and if you don't mind me saying, easy on the eyes. You're so much sweeter and better behaved than my son, Tyler."

Tyler tried to fold his arms defiantly but found himself frustrated by the size of his chest. "Maybe there's nothing wrong with your son, maybe it's you. You ever think of that?"

"I like to think of myself as pretty open-minded, but I draw the line at vandalism and larceny. To say nothing of a complete and utter disrespect for women."

"I'm wearing a dress!"

"What, you think that gives you some special insight into the minds of women? I've seen how you treat your sister. And your mother, for that matter. You're rude and disrespectful and you demean them with your words and your attitude. So forgive me if I'm skeptical that dressing up like a pornographic actress while you engage in self-abuse makes you sensitive to a woman's feelings."

Tyler pressed himself into the seat. "So now what?"

"Tyler, I'm at the end of my rope with you, I really am. The thing is, you're not a bad kid, but you seem hell-bent on putting yourself on a course for self-destruction just to spite your mom and me. You need discipline and boundaries and to learn that your actions have consequences, but nothing I do seems to get through that thick head of yours," he said as he gripped the wheel tightly. "Until today."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that evidently I've finally discovered a punishment that you'll take seriously. I ground you, I take away your video games, I take away your computer privileges, and every time you keep coming back for more. But you and I are going to have a breakthrough this week if it kills me."

"And if we don't?"

"If we don't, then when your mom and Kim get back I'll show them those pictures I took so that you can apologize to them for masturbating while wearing their clothes."

"What?!?"

"Oh, that's just for starters. As God is my witness, if you give me any shit this week or I think for one second that you're not putting in your best effort, I will post those pictures to every social media site I can think of. Everyone you know—friends, family, classmates, teachers—everyone is going to see you exactly like you are right now, 'Miss Misty Melons.' Hell, I'll even send them to the real Misty Melons! Maybe she'll send an autographed brassiere to her biggest fan."

All the blood drained from Tyler's face. "You wouldn't!"

"Try me."

Tyler recoiled in horror. "I hate you," he whispered. "I hate you!"

Ian set his jaw and nodded. "I can live with that. Because right now and for the first time in a long time I've got your undivided attention and your willing compliance."

"I don't care. You can take everything away from me. I don't care."

"See, that's it exactly. I think you've hit on the problem. Your mother and I were so focused on punishing you by taking things away from you that we never thought to do the opposite. I'm going to give you something."

Tyler's insides were still roiling with a sea of turbulent emotions—anger, fear, disgust—but his father's words captured his attention. "What are you going to give me?" he snapped petulantly.

Ian pulled the car to the curb and parked. "Misty, I am going to give you everything you ever dreamed of."

Confused, Tyler maintained his scowl and turned in his seat to look out his window to see what his father was looking at. It was some kind of impressive boutique with large pink awnings with black edging and elaborately-gowned mannequins in the window displays. There was no obvious signage, but as he peered at the entrance he could just made out the name on the small metal plaque by the door: "The Ladywood Academy."

Tyler's scowl faded into a puzzled and apprehensive look as he surveyed the exterior of the store. "What is this place?" he asked.

Ian returned to the store several hours later. As he entered, Charlotte Mercer, the owner of the store, was on hand to meet him. She was a tall and slender woman with short dark hair and hawkish features and was dressed in what Ian had come to think of as a "New York woman" style—sleek and stylish without being overly trendy, but very, very expensive. When he'd brought Tyler in she was quick to take interest in the "challenge" that Ian had brought her, and equally quick to politely but firmly banish Ian from the store so he wouldn't be underfoot while they "worked their magic" on Tyler. He'd found a quiet coffee shop nearby and had attempted to get some work done and check email on his phone, but he'd been too nervous to focus, wondering if he had done the right thing. Three mocha lattes later, he was wired and on edge.

Now as he entered, Ms. Mercer regarded him primly. When she addressed him it was with the air of someone who was accustomed to being heard when she spoke.

"Ah, Mr. Valentine, welcome back, you're right on time. Please, follow me. I think you'll be very pleased with the results."

Ian glanced awkwardly around the store, trying not to let his discomfort show. If he squinted hard he might be able to fool himself into thinking this was simply an elaborate and old-fashioned boutique for girls and young women, but he knew full well that wasn't their target clientele. He'd heard about this place and had even driven past it a couple of times while running errands, but he was always skeptical about the stories he'd heard. Though never in a million years did he think he'd ever set foot inside the store, and certainly not to leave his irascible son to the tender mercies of the women who worked within. But here he was.

"I, uh, hope that Tyler didn't give you too much trouble," he said as he watched a panic-stricken teenage boy hurry past. The young man was wearing a tight pencil skirt and heels, as well as a satin blouse that was tented out by prominent feminine breasts. His champagne blonde hair had been styled in a dated bouffant hairdo, and he was pleading with his stone-faced mother for clemency.

"I think you mean Misty," Ms. Mercer corrected him, waving a finger in the air like a schoolmarm. "And think nothing of it, it's what we do. We're used to dealing with high-spirited boys around here," she said with a hint of a smile. "Have you given any further thought to a curriculum for her studies?"

Ian had perused the materials she'd given him and if anybody else had shown him the list of classes the Ladywood Academy provided he'd have been certain they were pulling his leg. However, knowing what he knew and having seeing what he'd seen, he realized she was all too serious.

"I circled a few things that caught my eye, but we'll see. I'm hoping that he comes around on his own—"

"Ah. 'she.'" Ms. Mercer interrupted.

"Right. I'm hoping that she comes around on her own, but she may need a...firmer hand," he said, faltering on the feminine pronouns.

Ms. Mercer perused the list that he handed over. "Oh, yes, these are good choices. Very popular. As I mentioned, the methods we use to incentivize our young charges may seem to some to be a bit strict, but they always provide results, and very quickly. You'll scarcely believe the change."

"That's what I'm looking for, Ms. Mercer. Ty—that is, Misty's—mother will be home a week from tomorrow, so we don't have a whole lot of time."

"I understand. Though if you don't mind my asking, what do you hope will happen when she returns?"

Ian flashed his eyebrows. "I think that's going to depend a lot on Misty."

"Indeed," she said as she paused in front of a small raised platform that was like a small stage surrounded by mirrors. "I hope you don't mind the imposition, but I wanted to be here myself for the unveiling. This one is special," she said to him. Then she clapped her hands twice. "Misty, dear! Come out here, please!"

Ian held his breath, not sure what to expect.

"Good God," he whispered as Tyler emerged.

His son was unrecognizable. The boy in clumsy drag that he'd dropped off earlier had been obliterated, and in his place stood a stunningly beautiful young woman who looked to be in her early twenties. Blonde, slender, and with an amazing set of legs that were perched on her strappy stiletto heels, she could turn the head of any red-blooded man who saw her. However, Ian had left behind very specific instructions, and Ms. Mercer and her talented staff did not disappoint. After introducing Tyler to Ms. Mercer, he had explained that since his son obviously liked to dress up as the porn star Misty Melons, that they should do everything in their power to make his wish come true.

And brother, did they have a lot of power.

Tyler was wearing a gold lame minidress that looked to be a pretty fair approximation of the dress that the actual Misty had been sporting on the cover of the 'Big Knockers' magazine, and it was skimpy, it was skanky, and it clung to Tyler's curves in a scandalous way that moved the dress from "rather inappropriate" to "OMFG outrageous!" territory. His tits—because judging from the copious cleavage visible through the keyhole window of the dress that's exactly what they appeared to be—were huge and round, disproportionate on Tyler's slender frame, albeit not quite as pronounced as the genuine Misty. His slender waist then exploded out into a truly profound set of hips and a big bubble butt that seemed to be about one inch short from being comedic.

From the neck down Tyler had a body that could stop traffic, but the women in the boutique hadn't missed a single detail. The ultra-long fingernails with the glittering gold nail polish, the tacky gold jewelry, everything. They'd even replaced his cheap blonde wig with a stunning and overdone blonde hairpiece that had been teased out to give it lots of volume and fell in sultry waves that fell sexily about Tyler's face and shoulders, barely obscuring the huge glittery dangling earrings that hung from his ears and peeked out from behind his tresses.

But perhaps most striking of all was Tyler's makeup. Ian had expected a perfect study of a porno queen's makeup, ridiculously over-the-top sexy but just short of being totally gaudy. However, instead of being tawdry and clownish, the artfully-applied cosmetics gave Tyler an aggressively sexy, even predatory femininity that transformed his every blink and gesture into a seductive come-on, a suggestive and alluring tease that would beckon men into this vampish temptress's clutches.

And this temptress was his teenage son.

Knowing Tyler as he did, Ian had fully expected his son to emerge furious and screaming at being subjected to this outrageous treatment, but instead the young man stood there absolutely stupefied, much like his father.

"Tyler?" Ian whispered.

At first the transformed young man didn't respond, still apparently in shock. But after a moment Ms. Mercer snapped her fingers and Tyler jumped in fear. Ian wondered what "strict methods" she'd used to "incentivize" such a response.

"H-hi, Dad," Tyler responded absently. It sounded bizarre to hear his son's voice coming out of that bombshell's mouth. After a moment Ms. Mercer tilted her head in a meaningful gesture and Tyler obviously picked up on it and quickly added, "But my name's not Tyler anymore, i-it's Misty." He paused for a moment and a flash of bewilderment crossed his lovely features. "I'm...I'm Misty Melons," he said, his voice tinged with genuine disbelief.

"I really must thank you for bringing us such an interesting challenge," Ms. Mercer commented to Ian as he continued to gape at his son. "Much of our clientele enjoys dressing their boys in frilly and lacy froufrou dresses—which is always such a delight!—but seldom do we get a chance to have a young man express his newfound womanhood quite so meretriciously and, ah, protrusively. I fear my staff may have been a bit overenthusiastic." Ian didn't respond so she continued. "That said, I do apologize for not following your directions to the letter."

Ian tore his attention away from Tyler. "I'm sorry?"

"Misty's bosom, of course!" she responded, gesturing at Tyler's chest.

Up on the stage, the crossdressed lad's face flushed beet red in embarrassment, obviously humiliated by having his prominent woman's chest being the subject of conversation even while he was standing right there in front of them.

"Misty's namesake is in fact better endowed—though one scarcely imagines how such a thing could be possible—and while we do have silicone falsies in that—improbable—size, they do have certain limitations."

"Limitations?"

"I won't bore you with all the details but suffice to say I thought that the ones that she's wearing might be more apropos. It's what we refer to as a 'breast plate' since it covers Misty's chest and has the benefit of creating a very realistic look and as you can see, impressive cleavage. Her bosom is quite persuasive and since it's glued to her chest, her breasts are capable of a range of motion that our clients find quite, well, entertaining."

Ian turned to look at Tyler's chest again. "They're glued on?"

"Oh, quite securely, I assure you! They won't come off until we take them off. Here," she said, giving Tyler another cue with a waggle of her finger.

Tyler bent over slightly at the waist so that his big breasts hung down pendulously from his chest. Then he shook his shoulders back and forth sexily so that they wobbled back and forth energetically.

Ms. Mercer gave a satisfied smile at the bawdy show. "I'm quite proud of those. I would say that they sway, bounce, and jiggle just as much as the real thing, but in truth these are far more elastic and bouncy! We like to use these for some of our more problem cases since boys find all the movement terribly embarrassing. Usually after a few days the little dears are begging to be allowed to wear brassieres."

She peered over at Ian inquisitively. "Would you like her to take her top off so that you can see the nipples better? They're overexaggerated of course, but quite lifelike."

Ian shook his head as he tried to process the question. "Would I like...?" he repeated. Then, "No! I-I mean that won't be necessary," he said. Tyler's big fat nipples were already practically poking through the thin gold lame dress, he didn't need to see any more.

"I take it you're satisfied, then? Everything you imagined?"

"And then some," Ian muttered.

"Delightful! You can settle up on your way out, but please do give some thought to those classes for Misty. We did what we could with the short time we had, but I'd love to have more time with her."

Then she turned to look at Tyler. "Misty, dear, your purse is on the counter over there. It has a compact and lipstick...remember to practice like we showed you! Oh and your goodie bag is over there, too. It's a little heavy, so hopefully you can prevail on your father to carry it out for you. Men are good for something, after all," she said teasingly.

After she took her leave, the two of them stood there staring at each other for a long moment, not sure what to say.

Tyler fluttered his long eyelashes as he blinked in distress. "I want to go home, please," he said.

After Ian paid for all of Tyler's purchases, they walked outside to the car. Ian fully expected for Tyler to pitch a fit the second he hit daylight like before, but he seemed...calmer, somehow. Or maybe he was just more resigned. Or in shock.

Ian noted that Tyler was still obviously having some trouble navigating in his heels, but his body language was completely different. Unlike the hunched-over boob grab from before, Tyler stood up straight with his breasts sticking straight out in front of him, and he seemed to be taking greater pains to take measured steps and walk from his hips. His impersonation was a long way from perfect, but he already moved in an enticingly feminine fashion that was reminiscent of a runway model. As Ian carried the packages and followed Tyler to the car, he tried not to notice how his son's new stride had given an extremely provocative sway to his prodigious backside.

But others noticed. Two guys and a girl who were walking along the sidewalk literally stopped in their tracks as Tyler strutted past.

"Daaaamn, woman!"

"Oh, shit, man, check out that junk in her trunk!"

The girl laughed at them and said, "You got played, fools! Look where she just came from! Guess Mercer bagged herself another sissy! You havin' fun bein' a lady, sissy boy?"

Tyler looked mortified and Ian was so caught off-guard by the unexpected catcalls that he was split between jumping to his son's—daughter's?—defense and getting Tyler out of there as quickly as possible. He decided that no good would come from confronting these delinquents and put his arm around Tyler as he guided him towards where he was parked.

When they finally reached the car, they got in and Ian started the engine. Tyler looked to his father with a forlorn expression.

"They knew I was a guy?"

Of all the concerns that he thought his son would have, that one was not even in Ian's top ten. "Misty, just ignore them. They're idiots. You're very...feminine."

Tyler glimpsed down at himself. "I thought...with all of this..." He took a little breath. "Ms. Mercer said I needed to work on my walk or I'd get clocked. She was right."

"The only reason they picked you out was because you walked out of that store. They knew about it."

Tyler looked over at his dad and made a funny little smile. "When you called me Misty just now it sounded like you really meant it."

Ian frowned. "Did I?"

Tyler glanced down at himself again and then peered over at his dad. "How long do I have to stay like this?"

"All week," Ian responded flatly. He was definitely having second thoughts about it, but he made an effort to give no outward sign that might give Tyler the slightest notion that he harbored any intentions of backing down.

"Or you'll post those pictures of me. And probably of me looking like this, too, right?"

"I don't want to have to do that, Misty," he said, picking the name more deliberately. "But, yes. If you don't go along with this, that's exactly what I will do."

Tyler fretted a little as he seemed to consider that. "Dad, do you really think this will help?"

The tone of the question caught Ian off guard. There was no tinge of sarcasm in it, it sounded like a genuine question born of some hidden worry.

Ian looked his crossdressed son in the face as he tried to separate the boy he knew from all of the feminine artifice within which he was now cocooned.

"I think it might already be helping," he said.

The ride home was quiet, and Tyler spent much of the time staring out the window, which again was a sharp contrast to their earlier ride over when Tyler desperately tried to hide behind his wig and avoid being seen. Ian wondered about the change and then suddenly realized that Tyler was catching glimpses of himself in the glass and was discreetly trying to admire his feminine reflection. Later, he neatly folded his hands in his lap—obviously another bit of feminine body language advice he'd received at the Ladywood Academy—and quietly examined his manicure, peering down at his long painted nails and jewelry. For a moment Ian thought that's all it was until he noticed that Tyler was holding his hands very close in his lap, which gave him the ability to ogle his exposed cleavage under the pretext of looking at his nails.

It's gonna be a long week, Ian thought.

Suddenly the car lurched and bounded, catching both of them by surprise before they realized they'd entered a construction zone that had a long stretch of unpaved road. They smiled at each other for a moment but then a look of concern crossed Tyler's made-up face.

At first Ian thought he'd imagined it, but as they drove down the bumpy road he did a little double-take since the bouncing motion of the car had set up a distinct counter-motion in Tyler's breasts. And the sympathetic vibrations were growing.

Tyler had a visibly pained look on his face as he stared straight ahead and fretted with his hands that were still neatly folded in his lap, obviously hoping that his father hadn't noticed what was going on and not wanting to make the situation worse by doing anything to draw attention to his little problem.

Just then the car hit a pothole and Tyler's breasts bobbed up and down violently and he let out a startled little yelp.

"Um, if you want to hold on to them..." Ian ventured.

In a blink, Tyler's hands darted to grab on to both boobs and his fingers with the long manicured nails gripped his frolicsome jugs as he pressed his palms against his protruding nipples as he tried to constrain their motion. Unfortunately the sizable breasts were a good deal bigger than his hands could manage and whatever mad genius Ms. Mercer had hired to create these falsies had done an above-and-beyond effort in making them as bouncy as possible. They practically wriggled under Tyler's hands like squirmy puppies trying to get loose.

Suddenly the car hit another pothole and Tyler scrambled to get his tits under control.

"Dad!"

"It's not my fault!" Ian laughed.

"This isn't funny!" Tyler said as he wrapped both of his arms around his frisky globes.

They hit another pothole.

"You aimed for that one!" Tyler cried.

Ian laughed again, "I swear, I didn't!"

As they bounded along, Tyler started to feel more than a little bit of discomfort as the heavy boobs pulled on his chest painfully.

"Dad, I'm not kidding, this is starting to hurt!"

"We're almost through!" Ian said. Then they hit one last huge bump as the car lurched back up onto the paved road, and Tyler let out another yelp. He continued to cradle his tits for a long moment as they drove. His eyes cut accusingly over at his father, who looked like he was trying desperately not to laugh.

"BWAH-ha-ha-ha-ha!" Ian burst out.

"That wasn't funny," Tyler said petulantly as his lip twitched in the beginnings of a smile.

"Oh, my God," Ian gasped.

"Stop laughing at me, this is serious! I could have been hurt," Tyler said.

"Maybe you can write your namesake about it. 'Dear Ms. Melons, I've had boobs like yours for less than a day and you won't believe what I learned!'"

"This is a stupid punishment. And you're not funny."

"Uh huh."

"I'm not gonna learn anything."

"Yeah, well, enjoy the week, Miss Melons."

Tyler made an indignant little sniff and folded his hands in his lap has he had before. But this time Ian quietly observed that Tyler had pressed his arms more firmly against the sides of his boobs and was giving them little nudges when he thought his father wasn't looking.

The two of them sat in the car as they stared wide-eyed out the window.

"This is a problem," Ian said.

The car slowly crept forward as they pulled up their street closer to their house. The sidewalk was swarming with people.

The two of them glanced apprehensively at each other and then back out the window as the implications of what they were looking at settled in. Ian then pulled the car to a stop as they mutely surveyed the scene.

"This is a problem," Ian repeated.

"I changed my mind. I want to go back to the sissy school place," Tyler said in a near panic as he watched a pack of screaming kids running around their neighbor's front yard.

The neighbor's house seemed to be bursting with people having some kind of big party. It was a pleasant evening and still light out so people were standing around or sitting on the front steps, drinking and talking.

"With this crowd, the closest parking is going to be several blocks away," Ian said as he looked over at Tyler significantly and they both realized the myriad problems that introduced. "I guess we'll have to go someplace and wait it out."

"What? I'm not going out anywhere looking like this!"

"You're not going to hide indoors at home all week, Misty."

"But tonight?" Tyler pleaded. Then he struck a more conciliatory tone. "I mean, come on! I've only been like this for a couple hours! I'm not...I'm not ready," he said pleadingly.

"I guess we could park someplace and sit in the car," Ian said, frowning at the mental image. A middle-aged man and a busty blonde floozy parked in a car somewhere for hours on end. He could just imagine the conversation he'd have with the police: "Officer, she's not a prostitute! This is my teenage son!"

"Also, I really have to pee," Tyler said.

Ian stared blankly at his son.

"Don't worry, I'm sure Misty Melons pees, too. It won't hold me back from this amazing learning experience," Tyler said sarcastically.

"I liked you better when you were quieter."

Just then an impatient car horn honked behind them. Ian gave an apologetic wave and moved the car forward.

"All right, here's what we're gonna do," Ian said. "We can't hide here and you don't want to go out, so we have to go home. I'll circle around and drop you off in front of the house, and then I'll go park the car."

Tyler was aghast. "You want me to walk by all those people? Looking like this?"

"Do you have a better idea?" Ian asked as he took the next turn to circle the block.

Tyler's eyes darted around desperately. Then he looked at his father with a mortified expression.

"Yeah, me neither. Look, you look fantastic. Nobody is going to recognize you. Just make a beeline for the front door and get inside the house."

Tyler looked like he was going to pop a blood vessel from worry but as Ian made the final turn onto their street he tried to give his feminized son a supportive little smile. "Look...just own it, okay? You're a woman and you have every reason in the world to be there, got it?"

"Got it," Tyler said nervously as the car slowed and then came to a full stop in front of their house. He gave one last look to his father, took a deep breath, and opened the car door.

The sounds of the party were even louder out here as he gingerly stepped out of the car on his high heels. He hesitantly closed the car door behind him and the sound it made felt for all the world like the sound of a cell door slamming shut.

"I'm a woman...I'm a woman and I belong here," Tyler told himself. Next door he noticed a pair of guys talking to each other in front of the house, and they both turned to look in Tyler's direction, obviously enjoying the show. Suddenly he flashed back to all of those stupid little exercises that Ms. Mercer's staff had subjected him to and in a flash he realized that those lessons were the only things keeping him from being discovered. He tried to remember all the things they'd told him. Smile! That was the first thing. Always have a big smile.

He forced himself to smile as broadly as possible and glanced nervously back over at the party. He quickly realized that his positive demeanor obviously had some effect since now the two guys were eyeing him even more intently. And he was smiling and looking directly back at them.

"And now you're flirting with them, dumbass," he said to himself in a panic as they stared at him. "Look away, look away, look away...just get moving and get inside."

He tried to remember all the tips they'd given him. "Stand up straight, knees together, chin up, chest out, smile-smile-smile. Now walk from the hips, pretend I'm walking on a tightrope," he said. He was so nervous that he figured it would be best to really play it up, so he put a bit more effort into his movements and his face burned in shame as his unrestrained boobs started to bounce and jiggle playfully on his chest, but there was nothing he could do about it.

Watching from inside the car, Ian watched as Tyler minced his way up the walk in his too-tight and too-short gold lame minidress, swinging his hips in a super-exaggerated fashion like a model on a catwalk which caused his big round bubble butt to swing back and forth provocatively.

"Ohh man," he muttered.

Another annoyed car horn honked behind him, and he took one last look at his son doing his sexy sashay up the walk. The car honked again, long and loud.

"Okay, okay," Ian said, determined to make sure that Tyler made it to the house unmolested. But as the car behind him honked its horn again repeatedly he suddenly became aware that many people were starting to look in his direction to see what was going on, and he realized that it wouldn't take much imagination for them to wonder why he was waiting and soon everybody would be looking directly at Tyler.

Another long honk. However, now Ian saw that Tyler had made it safe to the front porch and he turned and gave his dad a little wave. Thank God. He pulled away quickly, determined to find a parking spot as swiftly as possible so he could get home, too.

As Tyler saw his dad pull away in the car he breathed a little sigh of relief, still stressed out from his experience. Of course, he'd been so preoccupied with his "step-wiggle-smile-jiggle" mantra and the importance of getting to the front door, he'd forgotten one teensy weensy detail.

"Oh, shit!" he cried as he spun around and grabbed at the doorknob. Locked!

In a panic he looked down at himself and realized that it wasn't like his outfit had pockets. Then, remembering his purse, he fumbled with the little bag in his trembling hands and fussed with the clasp for several interminable seconds, cursing his long painted fingernails.

"How do women do this?" he said to himself as he fretted at the clasp. When he finally got it open he looked inside to find a tube of lipstick and a little compact mirror. And nothing else.

He snapped it shut in frustration, but after a moment he realized what the problem was. When his dad had hauled him off to the Ladywood Academy, he had been dressed in his homemade Misty Melons outfit. His keys and phone were still upstairs in his room!

"Okay, think. Think think think," he said to himself as he saw his stunning reflection in the window that was next to the front door. He froze and did a double-take, scarcely able to believe that the curvy goddess was actually him.

"Stupid bimbo! Stop looking at yourself and get in the house!" he chastised himself. "Wait! The spare key!"

He bent over to look under the flowerpot where they kept the spare house key, a maneuver that he found to be enormously more difficult in his high heels and scant minidress. As he reached downward, he nearly pitched over due to the steep slant of his stiletto heels, and he became disoriented first by the long blonde hair that swept down into his face, followed by the shifting weight of the two big counterbalances on his chest which threatened to topple him forward.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" he said as he awkwardly managed to right himself. Realizing that wasn't going to work—and wondering how the real Misty Melons could so much as pick her shoes up off the floor—Tyler sidled alongside to the flowerpot and gingerly lowered himself by keeping his back straight and bending his knees, a girlish maneuver he found difficult to do in his heels. He sighed heavily—or as heavily as his tight waist cincher would allow—and moved the flowerpot.

The key wasn't there.

Desperately, he looked all around the area, but it was nowhere to be found. He could have cried from frustration.

"Dammit, Kim," he swore, knowing full well that his sister was to blame. She was always losing or misplacing her keys so she'd taken to using the spare key all the time and had doubtless misplaced it, as well.

"Kim, we are so even for me wearing your clothes without permission," he said to himself as he stood upright and tried to figure out his options. His need to pee was becoming quite desperate but at this point about the only thing he could do was to wait for his father to show up, whenever that was going to be. He pressed his thighs together and swayed back and forth in the "I gotta go to the bathroom" dance, a shimmy that was decidedly more sexy than usual given his voluptuously curvy and swervy figure. He looked at the window next to the front door and bent over and peered inside as he looked for some inspiration for how to get in the house.

"They're not home!" a girl's voice called from the sidewalk.

Tyler froze. He remained stock still, petrified like a frightened bunny as he tried to convince himself that she had actually been addressing her comment to someone el—

"I said, they're not home!" the girl repeated more loudly.

Now certain that she was speaking to him, Tyler straightened himself up. As he did so he became acutely aware that when he was bent over at the waist and doing his "bathroom dance," he probably looked like he was waggling his huge butt in her direction. Slowly he turned around to face her.

And the two guys who were standing next to her and looking right at him. Shit.

He recognized the girl as Darcy Iverson, one of Kim's friends from up the street. He thought that one of the guys might be Darcy's older brother who just started college, and the other guy looked to be a friend of his. A flash of panic surged through Tyler as he realized that Darcy might recognize him, but he tried to reassure himself with the knowledge that she didn't know him all that well, and right now he looked like Misty Melons.

A fact that obviously did not go unnoticed by the two guys.

"Whoa, duuude!"

"Oh, my God!"

The three of them started to approach, and the two guys turned into complete imbeciles as they ogled Tyler's chest and figure, laughing and shoving at each other, not believing their good fortune at actually stumbling across what appeared to be an honest-to-goodness porno goddess wandering through their neighborhood, or at least some slutty girl with similar aspirations.

Darcy rolled her eyes at their juvenile shenanigans, but even she made a little face as she got closer and got an eyeful of Tyler standing there on the porch.

She said, "Kim and her mom are out of town all week, and her dad works weird hours. Her brother is probably out with his creepy friends somewhere."

"Oh," Tyler said, raising the pitch of his voice a little and adding a little breathiness in an attempt to mimic a girl's voice. He didn't think he was doing a very good job, but fortunately the sound of the music playing next door helped to cover it up. But now as Darcy looked at him with growing suspicion he was left trying to figure out what this buxom blonde stranger was doing standing on his front porch.

"I, uh..."

"Are you a hooker?" the brother blurted out, causing his friend to snort loudly.

"No!" Tyler said emphatically.

"Hey, it's okay if you are. Hookers are cool."

"Dude, she's only a hooker if she works the streets. If she's on call they like to be called escorts." He turned to look at Tyler. "Hey, do you like 'hooker' or 'escort' better?"

"Oh, my God, ignore them," Darcy said, mortified. "She just said she's not a hooker!"

Despite the strangeness of the situation which was quickly surpassing "Through the Looking Glass" levels, Tyler couldn't help but notice that he'd just been called 'she.' These three really thought he was a girl...he thought it was kind of cool in a weird sort of way.

"Well, yeah, but it kind of makes sense for her to be one if you think about it," her brother explained. "I mean, first of all, just look at her. And second of all... second of all... uh... Crap, I lost it."

"You are an argument for 63rd trimester abortion."

"I don't get it," he said vacantly. Then his face lit up. "Oh! I remember now. And second of all, you said it yourself. The kids aren't home and the old lady is out of town, so maybe the old man is looking to score some fine-ass trim while the cat's away."

His friend looked at him in wonder. "Dude, you're like Sherlock Jones or something."

Darcy looked like her head was going to explode. "Holmes, you genetic throwback. Sherlock Holmes. And you! I can't believe we came out of the same uterus. You—"

With the brief respite that Darcy had bought him as she tore into the forensic duo, Tyler froze as he realized that the guy had a point. He did look like a hooker. And if his dad walked up just then and these three watched as Tyler and his father marched inside the house together—and then spent the night together!—the neighborhood gossip would spring into high gear. (Assuming it hadn't already...lots of people had just watched him march right up to the front door of their house, Tyler belatedly realized.) If any of that got back to his mother, he'd either have to come clean and Tyler's life would be over as he got outed for being a crossdresser, or alternatively his mom would reasonably conclude that his dad was sleeping around with a big-titted blonde, and their marriage would be over.

Tyler wasn't at all happy with his dad for making him dress this way, but he didn't love any of those options.

Darcy, having finished her tirade, turned to Tyler. "But I'm sorry...who are you, again?"

"Hi, I'm Misty!" Tyler chirped, desperately trying to think of a way to get out of there. "I guess maybe I have the wrong house? I was looking for 214 Maple Street?" He plastered a big friendly smile on his face.

Darcy peered at him like he'd grown a second head. Slowly she lifted her hand and pointed to the large "212" sign on the house that was right next to Tyler's head.

"Oopsie!" Tyler said vacantly. "I'm such a goof! Well, I tried! I guess I'll be going!"

He took a few steps off the front porch and Darcy held up a hand to stop him.

"The reason you're looking for 214 Maple...could it maybe be because you were invited to a party?"

"Uhh..."

She again held up her hand and then pointed her finger towards the house with the huge party going on next door that had the big "214" in bright gold lettering in front.

Darcy's brother leaned over to his friend. "Dude, bimbos are so hot," he said.

Darcy stared at Tyler in disbelief and then turned to her brother.

"You know what? I take it back. She's perfect for you. Just do humanity a favor and don't breed, okay?" She then stalked off as she shook her head and muttered something to herself about evolution.

Tyler stood there before the two guys and flashed them a nervous smile.

"I like your hair," the brother offered.

"I like her tits!" said the friend.

"Hey, when you do threesomes, do you charge both guys full price, or does the second guy get a discount?"

"Oh, yeah, like splitting a cab!" the other one said. "That's a really good point! Dude, you are on fire today!"

Every step Tyler took was a step farther away from home and a step closer towards the big crowd of people at the party, and the closer he got the more he saw heads turn in his direction. He was terrified of being discovered and drawing a lot of attention, so he focused all of his mental resources on not jumping out of his skin and desperately trying to maintain the most feminine body language and presentation that he possibly could. As such, he was enormously distracted, especially as his two new chaperones seemed to take interest in his big braless boobs that bounced and jiggled and tugged heavily on his chest with every step as he wiggled sexily along in his shiny gold dress.

Under his breath he repeated his mantra of, "Chin up, tits out, swivel on the hips, smile on the lips," as he forced himself to maintain his panicked grin while navigating in his challenging footwear.

"Do you like being a hooker?"

"What?" Tyler snapped. Dealing with these idiots was doubly hard while trying to keep focused on the endless details of his feminine body language.

"Hey, yeah. What's it like, fucking guys for money?"

"I told you, I'm not—!" he started to object, then stopped short as he saw the two stoners' vacant expressions. "It's awesome," he said flatly.

"Ha! Man, I told you, the bimbos love riding the baloney pony!"

Darcy's brother laughed and turned to Tyler. "You know, I just had a birthday last week. Maybe you want to give me a late birthday present, babe? I'll even let you unwrap it for me!"

"I guess the card I sent got lost in the mail," Tyler muttered, the comment clearly sailing over their heads.

"That'd be way better than that mountain bike your parents got you," the friend said. "It's so stupid. There aren't even any mountains around here. Why would they give you something like that, anyway?"

"Fresh air and exercise?" Tyler deadpanned.

The comment hovered in the air for a moment before the dimwitted pair exploded into uproarious laughter.

"Man, who knew hookers could be so funny?"

Tyler was a nervous wreck as the two guys took position on either side of him and guided him towards the party, feeling even shakier on his high heels than he already was. As they reached the front walk he saw heads definitely starting to turn his way and absently he wondered if the looks of shock and amusement he was receiving were because people could tell he was really a guy, or if they were simply admiring the comely bit of female flesh that he appeared to be. Based on the decidedly lustful looks he was getting from many of the guys—and the looks of disdain and disapproval from the girls—he figured it was probably the latter.

A guy licked his lips in an obscene gesture and Tyler did a double-take and stumbled on his heels.

"Oops!" he cried out as his two "chaperones" were quick to lend him a hand. They were decidedly slower, however, to release Tyler as they made their way inexorably forward towards the house.

"Hey, my name's Max by the way," Darcy's brother said as he continued to offer Tyler some unneeded support by holding his hand on the crossdressed teen's upper arm. His fingers brushed against Tyler's fake breasts in a move that was none too subtle.

"And this here's my friend Reuben," Max said as he 'adjusted' his grip. "What's your name, by the way?"

Tyler was about to open his mouth, but then Max cut him off. "Wait, let me guess...it's...Goldie," he said, looking down to ogle Tyler's big jutting boobs in his tight gold metallic minidress.

"It's Misty," Tyler corrected him as they made their way up the stairs to the house. A couple of girls shot Tyler a look that would melt steel. "I should...I should go," Tyler said as he tried ineffectually to tug loose of their grips.

"Aw, dude, that was a good guess, you were close, though," Reuben said vacantly as Tyler tossed his blonde hair over his shoulder to gape at the stoner in disbelief.

The two morons did serve one useful function, however, and that was to keep Tyler distracted with their idiocy. Because otherwise he likely would have passed out unconscious from the sheer terror of what he was now experiencing. However, now that he was indoors in close quarters with the crowd, no amount of distraction was going to help.

The party was in full swing and appeared to be a mostly college-aged crowd, making the teenaged Tyler feel all the more out of place, and if there was a reason for the party, like somebody's birthday or graduation, he couldn't tell. In fact, it seemed like he was the only one who was particularly dressed up in his skimpy gold dress, as most everyone else was in shorts and jeans. Several of the girls seemed to be a little bit more put-together but were still in casual dresses or skirts, and by comparison, Tyler, with his blonde hair, oversized boobs, curvy figure and flashy and skanky outfit was definitely out of place for this party, a feeling that was confirmed by all the looks he was getting.

Fleetingly he wondered how the genuine Misty Melons might feel in this situation, but he definitely didn't feel sexy. As some of the guys (and girls) gaped at his cleavage in varying degrees of shock, amusement, and disbelief, he started to feel less like a person and more like a blow-up sex doll that Max and his friend had cheekily brought to the party to get a rise out of everybody. And there was a lot of drinking going on. That's when Tyler realized that he didn't feel safe. Dressing up in the privacy and safety of his bedroom or even the Ladywood Academy was one thing, but this was off the Richter scale.

"Here you go!" Max said as he handed Tyler a cup filled with some beverage. Tyler hadn't even realized that Max had been gone, he'd been so distracted. But he was genuinely thirsty and took a sip and wrinkled his nose.

He'd had beer before, recently when he and his delinquent friends had scored some a couple months ago. He didn't particularly care for the taste, but despite the strangeness of the situation he found himself rather enjoying the fact that looking like he did, nobody thought to wonder if he was old enough...not that they seemed to be doing much checking of IDs at this party.

"An amber ale for an amber goddess," Max said.

"Dude, her hair is blonde, not amber," Reuben corrected him.

"Shut up, I'm being poetic!"

"My dad would be so angry if he knew I was doing this," Tyler said in a high and breathy voice above the din of the party as he took another sip.

Max and Reuben glanced at each other and looked at Tyler.

"Uh, my dad is, um, Amish," Tyler explained.

"Whoa, your dad is like Elrond? Does he have pointy ears?" Reuben asked.

Tyler was about to say something but a sudden and insistent twinge reminded him that had a much more pressing concern. He handed his cup over to Max. "I gotta go pee!" he announced.

Max nodded. "Yeah, I saw some porta-potties out in back!" he responded, nodding over towards the large windows that looked out onto the backyard, which much to Tyler's horror was a teeming mass of people.

He was starting to seriously consider peeing his panties and making his evening perfect when a nearby girl who'd overheard him leaned over and said, "There's a girls' bathroom upstairs!"

For once, Tyler didn't mind availing himself of his apparent new gender and quickly excused himself to head upstairs. He was still nervous about the attention he was drawing, a fear that was confirmed when he accidentally made eye contact with a guy he was trying to scooch past on the narrow staircase and distinctly felt his prosthetic boob shift in a way that suggested that he'd just been groped. At first he thought he might have imagined it, but the guy's smirking face definitely suggested otherwise. For a fleeting moment Tyler considered confronting him, but he was drawing too much attention as it was and still desperately needed to pee.

He blushed and shyly retreated up the stairs.

When he got to the top he discovered a short line of girls already waiting to go inside. The door had a crude handwritten sign that said "GIRLS ONLY!" so Tyler figured that given the circumstances, he qualified.

He got in line and hugged the wall tightly, surprised when his big prosthetic-enhanced butt made contact sooner than he expected. He smiled nervously at the few girls ahead of him who gave him a once-over before they continued on with their conversation. The one girl in front of him glimpsed his clubbing outfit and said, "I didn't realize this was that kind of a party!"

"It's not," a female voice came from behind Tyler. He turned to face her, right into the disapproving eyes of a brunette coed who was giving him a decidedly unwelcome glare. Tyler, nervous about maintaining his female impersonation, straightened up slightly and gave her a little smile, but she was having none of it. As he stood there next to her with his big fake chest sticking out, he felt like an even bigger impostor.

"Are you going to a club later, or something?" the first girl asked him.

Tyler, nervous that his voice might give him away, just responded with a dismissive little shrug. The girl tried for a bit to make small talk, but Tyler's quietness and one-word answers eventually shut her down, and she gave him a bit of a dirty look. At first Tyler was a bit put off that she didn't simply assume that he was shy, but then he realized that "shy" was not a word that anyone would ever use to describe someone who looked like he did. Instead, the other girls seemed to conclude that he was being snobby and stuck-up. That hurt his feelings a little, but then he reminded himself that he really wasn't there to make friends.

Eventually it was Tyler's turn and he sighed with relief to finally have a few moments to himself. He closed and locked the door behind him, even though he noted that the lock didn't seem to be working very effectively. For a moment he stared at his reflection in the mirror over the sink, still hardly able to believe that the busty blonde sex goddess was actually him. He could see why people at the party had been staring!

His need was becoming urgent, so he set himself to the task at hand and wiggled his skirt over his broad hips and bubble butt, a task made even more difficult by the long painted fingernails that he now sported. Fortunately—or at least fortunate for his current exercise—the hip and butt prosthetics had been glued onto him using whatever adhesive they'd used for the breast plate, so at least he didn't have to worry about them getting in the way. He then tugged down on his panties before struggling against the tight elastic of the gaff that held his penis tucked safely back out of sight. Unfortunately in the process he managed to poke himself in a particularly tender spot with a long sharp fingernail, and fought down what would have been a decidedly unladylike yelp of discomfort. As he glanced up in the mirror, he did a double-take as he saw himself, the image of himself as a gorgeous woman made all the more bizarre with his manhood hanging out in front of him.

He was about to lift the toilet seat to pee when he paused to consider that his brunette antagonist was only a couple short feet away through the thin door, and the sound of peeing into the bowl might be heard over the sounds of the party.

Suddenly, a crashing noise came from the door as the girl outside pounded on it heavily.

"C'mon, bimbo! Move it!" she yelled.

Tyler practically jumped in alarm, doubly so when he realized that the lock had very nearly given way. He imagined the coed bursting into the bathroom to find him standing there with his dick in his hand, a scenario he very much doubted would end happily.

He quickly turned around and sat down to pee and relieved himself. After he finished, and following much squirming and wiggling and painful poking at his penis, Tyler managed to get everything tucked back away before tugging down his short skirt. He took a heavy breath and examined himself in the mirror as he wondered if he should touch up his makeup.

He needn't have bothered. A scant second later, there was another loud banging on the door and this time the lock didn't hold. The door swung violently open, and Tyler found himself staring in shock at the agitated brunette.

"Jesus, funbags, how the hell can it take you so long to pee? Does a slut like you even bother to wear panties?"

Tyler stammered a quiet apology and made a quick exit, even as the girl shoved past him to get inside and very noticeably brushed up against his jutting tits on the way in. With a disgusted groan she slammed the door shut, and Tyler was left to face the perplexed and accusatory looks of the other girls in line.

By the time he slunk back down the stairs, Tyler was eyeing the front door enviously. It struck him that everything he'd originally thought he wanted—to be noticed, sexy, and desirable—was pretty much the exact opposite of what he actually wanted right at that moment. His clothes were tight and uncomfortable, and he felt like a freak. He'd have given anything to be a fly on the wall. But before he could make a move to escape, another guy sidled up beside him.

"Hey, I'm Dwayne," the guy said.

"Misty," Tyler sighed in a tired tone.

The guy made a cackling laugh. "Yeah," he said. Then he leaned over close to Tyler's ear and whispered, "I know what you really are."

Tyler stared back at the guy in shock. He glanced down at himself and then nervously over into Dwayne's wickedly grinning face. "Oh, God, please don't tell anyone. If anybody knew—!"

Dwayne laughed again as he held up his phone, but it wasn't to take a picture. Tyler looked down in confusion to see the screen where a raunchy sex video was playing, and at the center of the action was an overly-buxom blonde woman.

"Oh! Oh, God! Yeah, fuck me!" the real Misty Melons cried out in ecstasy on the video.

A few people nearby could obviously hear the sounds of the video even over the significant ambient noise of the party and turned to look in their direction. Tyler then grabbed at the phone to silence it and was again startled by the contrast of his feminine fingers with their long nails next to Dwayne's masculine hands that held the phone.

"I, uh, don't want anybody to know it's really me," Tyler said girlishly.

Dwayne smiled back. "How about a selfie, Misty?" he asked as he put his arm around Tyler and snuggled close. Tyler forced a smile and looked up at the camera, noting that Dwayne had been careful to hold it at an angle that would show off Misty's "best assets."

A few photos later, Max and Reuben zeroed in on Tyler again, and Tyler soon found himself holding court with the three guys off to the side of the party and drawing the attention of others. Max and Reuben had tried to convince Tyler to dance, but as he looked at the girls swinging their bodies energetically on the dance floor he worried about the effect such dance moves would have on his overly-frolicsome falsies and begged off. In the meantime, Tyler nursed his beer and did his best to avoid talking too much.

"Here, try this instead," Dwayne said as he handed Tyler a different drink.

Tyler eyed the drink skeptically as he traded it for his beer but took a tentative sip.

"Oh!" he said in relief at what seemed to be a familiar flavor. And since he hadn't had anything to eat or drink since being made over at the Ladywood Academy, he was feeling quite parched.

"I read online that you like those," Dwayne said.

Tyler, relieved to be rid of the beer, polished off the drink, much to the amazed and slightly amused looks of the three guys.

"That was good!" he declared. It was different than what he expected, but it was tasty and refreshing.

"I'll get you another one," Dwayne said. "One more Long Island Iced Tea, coming up."

"I would love to dance!" Tyler declared brightly as he put down his empty cup. Earlier he'd been pretty mortified at the way the guys had been ogling him, to say nothing of Dwayne's increasingly pointed questions about what it was like to work in the porn industry. But although he didn't realize it, he had started to become increasingly inebriated due to his low alcohol tolerance, the fact that he hadn't eaten anything since that morning, and his total lack of unawareness that the "iced teas" that he'd been drinking with such abandon were in fact nothing of the sort.

Ironically, getting drunk actually helped his impersonation, if only because he quickly started to loosen up, much to the approval of the guys. And now, any gawkiness or awkwardness he exhibited were chalked up to the fact that "Misty" was apparently quite a lightweight.

As he chatted with the guys, Tyler's eyes were riveted on the coed girls who were out there on the improvised dance floor, dancing and twirling around. When Tyler had dressed up in his sister's clothes in the privacy of his bedroom he'd sometimes done a little dance or spin to see his skirt twirl around, and now to see the girls out there having a good time was fascinating to him, especially as his inhibitions started to dwindle.

He giggled and allowed an equally drunk Max to lead him by the hand out among the other dancers and started to move to the rhythm of the upbeat dance tune that was playing. It was so fun! He smiled and wiggled his hips and shook his shoulders as his long blonde hair tossed around, and although he bumped into a couple people who gave him kind of a dirty look, he was having the time of his life. Of course, his dance movements and gyrations absolutely had the effect on his playful breasts that he'd been concerned about earlier, but that didn't seem to matter...and in fact, Max seemed suitably impressed. And appreciative.

"Oops!" Tyler cried as a misstep landed him squarely in Max's arms. At first the teen thought to extricate himself, but as the song ended and changed to something slower, Max wrapped his arms around Tyler's waist and pulled him close for a slow dance.

"Wait, your hands...no, my hands..." the intoxicated Tyler said as he tried to figure out how to get himself organized. "Oh, wait, I'm the girl," he said with a laugh as he draped his arms around Max's shoulders.

Tyler stumbled again and pressed himself up against Max. "High heels are so tough," he complained, not that Max seemed to mind as they swayed together.

"Your boobs are amazing," Max said.

Tyler's face contorted into a befuddled expression. He had absolutely no idea what to say to that.

"Um, thanks?" he replied uncertainly.

"Mmm...you like that, don't you," Max said, the alcohol on his breath all too evident at this close distance.

"Sure, it's great," Tyler said absently as he scanned around the room, not sure what they were talking about.

"That's right, you're a bad girl, you like this," Max slurred.

Tyler, puzzled, made eye contact with Max and was taken aback at how lasciviously he was staring at him. The crossdressed teen wrinkled his nose in confusion, but then as he felt one of his jutting falsies shift slightly on his chest, he looked down to see Max's meaty hand giving Tyler's big fake tit a squeeze even as his thumb flicked obscenely over the protruding nipple that was plainly visible through Tyler's tight gold dress. Tyler, of course, couldn't feel any of these bawdy ministrations, but it was clearly getting Max worked up. Meanwhile, another couple on the dance floor stared at this blatant display with reproving looks.

"Eww!" Tyler cried as he shoved Max back, hard.

"Just 'cause they're not real doesn't mean you get to do that!" he exclaimed.

"I don't mind if they're implants," Max said, misinterpreting Tyler's meaning. He moved closer to put his arms around the teen. "Besides, you said you liked it."

Tyler, upset and fuzzy-headed, suddenly realized that he had no idea how to handle himself in this sort of situation. He stumbled backwards, not wanting Max to touch him but equally uncertain how to express himself. Max may have been a dolt, but he was still bigger and older than Tyler, and Tyler realized that getting into any kind of physical altercation wouldn't be what a girl like him should do. He was still fumbling with his burgeoning sex appeal and for him, playing at being a sexy woman was a lark, not something with actual consequences, certainly nothing like he was facing. His inebriated brain fumbled with words to express his displeasure even as Max wrapped his arms back around his girlish waist and cupped his big padded rump possessively.

"Knock it off!" Tyler complained as he struggled to squirm out of Max's grasp.

"Hey, she said back off," a male voice came in a commanding voice. Tyler stopped as he caught sight of the new guy. He was tall and athletic with sandy brown hair and a face that might be called ruggedly handsome but for a nose that was slightly too big for his face. This new guy interposed his arm between the couple, and his attention was focused completely on Max.

"Lay off, Nate. I saw her first," Max said. He was a full head shorter than the newcomer and was slurring his speech slightly as he sized up the competition.

Nate fully interposed himself, and Tyler found himself hiding behind the new guy as he peeked around him to keep his eyes on the evolving confrontation. Fortunately, however, Max seemed to be inclined to back down, especially when a couple of Nate's friends moved in to provide support if things got physical.

At that moment, Max's friend Reuben came up and grabbed Max by the arm.

"Dude, she's just some bimbo. She's not worth it," Reuben said.

"Fuckin' cock tease is what she is," Max slurred. "Cock tease! Fucking cock teasing whore cunt."

Tyler was taken aback by Max's harsh words, scarcely believing such horrible names could ever apply to him. But he breathed a little sigh of relief as Reuben led the drunk Max out into the crowd, many of whom were now turned to look directly at Tyler. As Tyler struggled to cope with all this he suddenly became conscious of the fact that the muscular wall that he'd been hiding behind had now turned to face him.

"I...I..." Tyler stammered.

Nate looked at him and lowered his voice. "Are you okay?"

Tyler couldn't even verbalize a reply and without thinking, he threw his arms desperately around the larger guy. Nate responded uncertainly and then lowered his arms delicately into an awkward hug.

"Let's get you some coffee or something," he said.

Presently, Nate led Tyler outside onto the front porch which was a good deal emptier than when Tyler had first arrived at the party, and they sat down on a bench outside. The cool night air helped to clear Tyler's mind a little, and he glimpsed up at the athletic young man sheepishly.

"I'm sorry," Tyler said.

Nate seemed surprised by that. "For what? You didn't do anything."

"I...I let it go too far," Tyler slurred. "I thought I was just having fun."

Nate made an amused little face at that. "What do you mean you think you were having fun? You're either having fun or you're not, right?"

Tyler laughed a little at that. The cool breeze was starting to get to him, and he shivered visibly as he rubbed his bare arms. Without really thinking about it, he snuggled closer to Nate, who draped a big arm around him protectively.

"That's nice," Tyler said absently as he leaned his head against Nate's chest. Then after a moment with a heavy sigh he said, "I knew I shouldn't have come."

"Why not?"

Tyler looked at him, confused. "You know, 'cause of the way I look."

"Hey," Nate said seriously. "There's nothing wrong with the way you look. I like the way you look." The way he'd said it had a certain earnestness to it that caught Tyler off-guard. After fending off advances and come-ons, he'd gotten used to thinking of himself as a sexpot, so the idea that he might simply look nice was kind of refreshing.

Nate's arm was draped around Tyler's shoulder, and as Tyler beheld the big manly hand with the little hairs on it he then lifted his own hand and held it there for comparison, looking very small and feminine next to Nate's, particularly with the glittery fake jewelry and the long ladylike nails. He made a little giggle at the funny contrast.

As they sat there, Tyler snuggled against the college jock and looked down at himself. Casually, he poked at one of his big fake breasts.

"Do you like tits?" Tyler drunkenly wondered.

"Uh, yeah...I think they're...great."

"Me, too," Tyler agreed. He prodded at them experimentally. "You see 'em all the time, but you never think you're gonna end up with them, y'know?"

Nate made a little frown. "Not really."

Tyler made a contented little sigh and nestled up against Nate and fell asleep.

Soon, Tyler felt himself being jostled awake gently.

"Misty?" Nate tried.

Tyler groggily straightened up and brushed the long blonde hairs of his wig out of his face. "Who's Misty?" he wondered.

Then as he started to wake up he looked down at himself in woozy befuddlement, and then up at Nate. He raised a manicured finger into the air and waggled it knowingly. "I'm Misty," he informed Nate.

"You sure are," the athletic young man said as he helped the buxom teem unsteadily to his feet. "I called you a cab," he informed Tyler, indicating the yellow taxi that was idling by the curb in front of the house.

"Whoops!" Tyler exclaimed as he stumbled into Nate's arms. He looked down and laughed as he leaned on Nate's arm for support as they slowly made their way towards the waiting cab. "My mom's and sister's heels aren't this high. These are stupid."

"I'll take your word for it. But at least you look good in them," Nate offered.

"Wow, don't I, though?" Tyler said. He looked downwards at his chest. "I don't see them very much, though," he said with a giggle. Then, by way of explanation he added, "It's 'cause my boobs are in the way."

"Yeah, I got that."

As they got to the curb and the waiting cab, Tyler turned to face Nate. "You know, I have a little confession," Tyler slurred.

Nate responded, "You're not really Misty Melons."

"You knew!" Tyler said brightly, slapping at his arm girlishly. "When did you know?"

"I kind of figured that the real Misty wouldn't be such a lightweight."

"Hahaha!" Tyler cried out in a loud annoying laugh. Then he poked Nate in the chest with his index finger. "Hey, I think I'm doing really good for my first time. And I have lots of other secrets," he proclaimed with a drunken giggle.

"I'm sure."

The two stared into each other's eyes for a long moment.

"You're really nice," Tyler decided. "Those other guys just wanted me to bounce and jiggle, but you're...nice. You're really just..."

"Nice. I get it. Thanks."

Impulsively, Tyler threw his arms around Nate and gave him a big kiss on the lips. Nate seemed surprised, but no more so than Tyler himself who blushed furiously at his action as they broke away.

"Thanks," Tyler said quietly.

Nate shuffled Tyler into the cab and as soon as he was in, Tyler rolled down the window and gave him a big smile.

"I had fun."

"Me, too," Nate said. Then he leaned over into the window and reached one arm into the cab. For a moment Tyler thought he might be coming in for another kiss, but instead Nate reached past him and swiped his credit card in the reader.

"You get her home safely," he said to the cabbie, who gave a disinterested little nod.

Then Nate looked to Tyler and handed him a small piece of paper.

"What's this?" Tyler asked as he flipped it around in his hand.

"It's my number. If you ever want to do something sometime."

Tyler, startled, looked down at the piece of paper in surprise.

Nate wished him a good night and headed to go back inside. But then he stopped and turned around and called back to Tyler.

"Hey! What's your name?"

"It's...Amber."

"Good night, Amber."

Tyler sat back and pressed himself into the back seat as he smiled and hugged himself contentedly. "Good night, Amber," he whispered to himself. He was distracted and smiling off into space as he became aware that the cabbie was looking at him in the rear-view mirror. As they made eye contact, the cabbie spun around in his seat to get a better look at Tyler.

"Oh, my God, are you Misty Melons?" the guy exclaimed.

"I'm a star," Tyler proclaimed, throwing his hands in the air dramatically.

At first, Tyler thought that he might sober up a little during the cab ride home before he realized that the cab ride home was about a hundred feet in reverse. The party had largely dispersed by this point so he directed the befuddled cabbie to go around the block and pull up in front of his house. The cabbie was clearly expecting more of a fare and was obviously put off by what he assumed was Tyler's little prank, but he relented in exchange for a particularly grabby selfie with "Misty."

Tyler, once he was confident that he could make the short walk from the cab to the house without being observed, headed out onto the sidewalk and made his way towards the front door.

"Ohh, baby, this is gonna suck," he said to himself.

As he stumbled along, he looked at his house thinking that he'd never seen a more welcome sight in all his life, even knowing the reception he was going to get from his father. There had been several times during the party next door that he could just make out his house over the fence, just there through the thin line of trees and bushes, so close and yet so far away.

He climbed up onto the porch and was about to knock on the door when suddenly the front door burst open and Ian raced outside to give him a big hug. He hustled Tyler inside and touched his face and hair in relief as he pulled him into another desperate hug. Tyler hugged him back and absently thought how funny it felt for his big boobs to be squished between them like that.

"Tyler! Where have you been? I've been looking all over for you! I've been going out of my mind!"

Tyler was still foggy-brained, but he knew this wasn't going to go well. But he figured that the truth was probably better than trying to make up some kind of lie.

"I had to go next door."

His father looked at him in confusion. "Next door to the Chesterton's house? But they're out of town in Florida, they—"

Tyler wagged his finger vaguely in the opposite direction. "The other next door."

"The other next—?" Ian began before realization dawned. "You went to a party? Dressed like that?" Then any remaining sense of worry or concern evaporated as he looked down at Tyler's face. "Tyler, have you been drinking?!?"

"I can ecshplain," Tyler slurred. "It's all very complicated..."

Ian looked like he was going to explode. "We'll discuss it in the morning," he said with an affected air of calm. "Go to bed. Now."

"But, Dad, I can—"

"Go to bed! Now!" Ian shouted.

"But it's not my—"

"Right now, young—" He fumbled for the proper identifier. "—young lady!"

Tyler grumpily stomped up the stairs to his room, although his current footwear made that exceedingly difficult. He stormed into his bedroom and slammed the door, practically ready to burst into tears from the accumulated stress of the evening.

And then, in the mirror on his wall, he saw himself.

His mood abruptly changed as he stopped short and stared at his feminine reflection in the mirror across from his bed, still surprised by the extent of his transformation. After a minute he sat himself down and fussed at the little ankle straps on his shoes before he was finally able to get them loose and remove his uncomfortable high heels. As he planted his feet on the floor and buried his aching feet in the carpet and curled his toes, he thought he might actually have an orgasm from the sheer bliss of the relief.

His bedroom door burst open as his father stormed inside.

"Dad! What—?"

Ian wasn't paying attention. He closed the door behind him and dropped the toolbox he was carrying and set to working on the door.

The loud dual bangs of the door slamming shut and the toolbox hitting the ground startled Tyler even further.

"What's going on?" he asked.

Ian said nothing, but quickly and efficiently, he removed the hinges from the door and then lifted the door from the frame and carried it out into the corridor.

"Dad?!?"

Ian popped back into the now-open doorframe. "Go to bed right now, 'Misty.'"

"And the door...?"

"You don't get privacy. I'm not letting you out of my sight for a second! You're free to do what you want—wear your slutty clothes, do your makeup, masturbate to your heart's content—but you're not hiding when you do it!"

Ian stormed away and Tyler heard him banging on something else down the corridor for a while but decided not to investigate. He turned to admire himself in the mirror and then reluctantly pulled the long blonde wig off of his head. It was startling how quickly the illusion was shattered, because even with his woman's figure and heavy makeup and earrings and everything, suddenly "Misty" was gone and he was back to being Tyler in women's clothes. Although even the sight of himself with his male head atop this oversexed female body gave him a funny feeling. He actually did consider masturbating since the picture turned him on, but he was so exhausted both physically and emotionally he just wanted to get out of those clothes and go to bed.

He fumbled to remove his earrings and jewelry and then managed to unzip his dress and peel it down over his curves before he realized that he had new problems. First, his oversized boobs weren't going anywhere as they'd been glued on for the duration, along with the significantly rounded hips and butt prosthetics. His second problem became apparent when he tried to remove his corset only to realize that despite his best efforts he was unable to undo the laces of his corset with his long fingernails. He reached and wiggled around in discomfort, but the only effect his exertions had was to cause his rounded tits and ass to jiggle and wobble about merrily. Eventually, despite his discomfort he was forced to concede defeat, and he flung himself onto his bed.

Then, after laying there for a few seconds, he grabbed his pillow and screamed into it in frustration.

He knew he was tired—in fact, overtired—and wanted nothing more than to let sleep's blissful oblivion come and rescue him from the nightmare that his life had become, but he couldn't find any rest. In no small part that was due to his current "body" since everything about it seemed to conspire to make him uncomfortable. The corset squeezed his waist tightly, and if he tried to sleep on his back, the big bubble butt of his prosthetic backside stuck his pelvis uncomfortably into the air. Sleeping on his side was equally uncomfortable due to his jutting hips, and sleeping on his stomach was a laughable notion given the two huge feminine torpedoes sticking from his chest.

Tyler sighed and sat up in bed. His eyes darted towards the open doorway and the dim hallway outside, but he didn't hear his father, so he edged across the darkened room over to his desk. He opened up his laptop, and by the faint light of the screen he looked down at his prodigious falsies, topped obscenely with their dark areolae and prominent nipples. Glancing again towards the door, he gave them a mischievous little heft and a grope. Then he returned his attention back to his laptop, opened up Instagram, and—fumbling with is long nails as he typed—ran a search for "Misty Melons."

The images that came back were of Misty in various outfits, showing off her boobs to terrific effect. But then as Tyler viewed the images that were most recently posted, in amongst all the other pictures he saw photos of himself from the party.

Most of the pictures had been taken by Dwayne, but a few had been taken by other people, apparently having been informed of the busty blonde's supposed identity. Tyler looked at all of the pictures in wonder, scarcely able to believe that it was him. There was no trace of the teenage guy at all, and while the girl that stood in his place didn't look as much like Misty as he'd thought, she was undeniably all girl. He couldn't get over it. In one picture from early in the night he appeared awkward and mortified as he talked to the guys, but in another from later on he was laughing at someone's stupid joke. He then paused when he saw the selfie with the cabbie with the guy practically pawing at Tyler's boobs with a huge smile on his face. There was already an argument brewing in the comments if the girl was the real Misty Melons. Tyler giggled quietly and absently bit at one of his long fingernails.

And then there was the last one. Tyler did a little double-take since he didn't remember the picture, but there in front of him was a shot of him curled up with Nate on the front porch. It looked like Tyler had drifted off to sleep and despite his big boobs and slutty outfit the sleeping girl had a quiet innocence about her. Meanwhile, Nate, apparently fully aware someone had stopped to photograph the two, was looking into the camera with a boyishly flummoxed look. Tyler found himself staring at the photo for a long time, and he reached over to retrieve his purse and pulled out the small piece of paper with Nate's phone number on it.

Intellectually he knew that he could never call the guy for all of the ten million and six obvious reasons. And yet, as he held it and pored over the photo, he felt a stirring inside of himself. Of a possibility that had begun to awaken that he never dared allow himself to imagine. Only that morning he'd been seated in this very chair while dressed up in an awkward teen's attempt to dress as Misty Melons, and tonight...well, a lot had happened, hadn't it?

Quietly, Tyler put his head down on the desk in the quiet glow of the picture and dreamed.

SUNDAY

Morning came early as Tyler, still hunched over at his desk, awoke to a banging knock on his bedroom door...or rather, on the open door frame where his door used to be.

"Rise and shine, party girl," Ian said in a humorless tone as he entered.

"Ooh, too loud," Tyler winced at the noise as he woke up and turned to face his father who was dressed in jeans and a casual shirt—his usual weekend attire—but he had a haggard look about him like he hadn't slept.

"What time is it, anyway?" Tyler asked as he blearily looked over at his clock.

"It's ten o'clock, and hangovers are like that. C'mon, get moving, I need you to—"

He stopped suddenly and grimaced as he raised his hand to shield his eyes. "Jesus, Misty, cover your shame!"

Tyler was still fuzzy-headed and exhausted but looked down as he felt his heavy falsies tug on his chest. Since he wasn't wearing a top, they hung free and his dark protruding nipples were on prominent display.

"Oh!" he exclaimed as he looked around for something to cover himself with. Finding nothing close by, he did his best to cover himself with his hands, which weren't entirely equal to the task.

Ian groaned. "Look, get dressed. You're not on vacation this week anymore."

Tyler made a sour face at that, as his father obviously blamed him for the family's aborted trip to the beach. "What's going on?" he asked with a wince as his head pounded. He reflexively almost reached for his temple before he remembered that his hands were fully occupied covering up the protruding nipples of his big fake boobs.

"Never mind that, just get moving. Clean your face and get yourself made up for the day, Misty."

Tyler was puzzled and turned to look at himself in his bedroom mirror, and it was a startling sight. From the neck down he looked like a practically naked girl from the boob, hip, and butt prosthetics, apart from the corset that bit uncomfortably into his midsection. Without a wig he looked a bit like his head had been placed on this Barbie doll body. His makeup, however, was now a horrific mess since he'd fallen asleep wearing it.

As Ian turned to leave, Tyler interjected, "Dad, I, uh...I'm not so good with makeup." His face burned red at the pronouncement, although he wasn't sure why that should be any more embarrassing than appearing as a topless titty porno queen in front of his father.

Ian didn't even turn around, but he made a guttural noise and shook his head in disbelief. "Just...do your best."

"Aren't we going to talk about last night?"

Ian said nothing and stalked out of the room.

Tyler's embarrassment flashed to anger at being summarily dismissed like that as he dropped his hands and felt as his braless falsies bobbed in response. Despite his situation he found it to be a bit of a turn-on as he looked down at the breast plate that had been adhered onto his chest, giving him a realistic and very sizable pair of breasts. He may not have been as big as the real Misty Melons, but he was bigger than any girl in school, and the thought made him smile a little. He hefted his boobs in his hands and marveled at the feel and weight, to say nothing of the lifelike protruding nipples.

He found himself getting aroused by the experience and was about to indulge his curiosity further when he looked up to the open doorway and realized that his father might walk past at any moment and catch him like that. His face flushed in embarrassment at the idea, especially since it had only been yesterday that his father had caught him similarly while dressed as Misty. But his fake tits and curves then hadn't been nearly so authentic then.

Tyler blinked quickly and tried to gently shake the fuzz from his head as he headed to the bathroom. His heavy boobs bobbed in response to the motion and at first he thought he should find a shirt or something to cover himself, but instead he smiled at the thought of walking around like that. Tyler figured if his father was bothered by the sight of his son walking around with great big boobs, he shouldn't have made him get them in the first place.

As he rounded the corner he saw that his father had apparently removed the door to the bathroom as well in order to ensure that Tyler had no private sanctuary there, either. Disgusted, Tyler fumbled with his panties and gaff, struggling to get them over his significantly enhanced hips and backside, and winced as he again poked himself in the privates with his long feminine fingernails in his efforts to free his member. For a minute he considered standing there and peeing into the bowl in the hopes that his dad would walk past to be treated with the site of Tyler with his big boobs and butt sticking out as he stood up and peed. However, for some reason, he found himself feeling a little bit awkward about doing that and instead sat down on the toilet to relieve himself.

Once he finished, he looked at himself in the mirror to check out the damage to his makeup, which was a mess. The long false eyelashes looked like they were in danger of falling off and he had a serious case of raccoon eyes from the eye makeup run amok. It wasn't a pretty picture.

When he'd dressed as "Misty" in the past he'd experimented a little bit with his mother's and sister's makeup, but nothing nearly this elaborate or sophisticated. However, he'd learned enough to know that soap and water wasn't always up to the task, and he'd need makeup remover. And he only knew one place to find it.

Shyly, he padded his way down the hallway to his parents' bedroom, feeling a lot more self-conscious about his naked woman's chest in case his dad was still up there. At first the notion had seemed like a fun prank, but as he entered the master bedroom and saw his mother's things, he felt...he wasn't sure what he felt. But he found himself self-consciously crossing his arms over his naked breasts. However, it seemed that his dad had already headed downstairs, so Tyler made his way into his parents' bathroom where he knew from his earlier "scouting expeditions" through his mother's things that she kept some makeup remover under the sink.

As he applied it and cleaned his face, he glanced around at his mother's makeup that was sitting out on the counter. This wasn't his first time through here, and he'd played with her makeup and even worn her clothes before—Kim's clothes too, for that matter—but now it all felt different. Now his father knew, and if Tyler wasn't careful, his mother and sister would find out, too. It was all so mortifying. And yet, as he looked at his denuded body with the oversexed prosthetics, he felt a twinge of excitement. His eyes cut over to his mother's wardrobe and he wondered what it would be like to try on her clothes now that he had sexy female curves.

He returned his attention to his reflection in the mirror, scarcely able to believe that the buxom and shapely figure was his. In all of his experimentation with his sister's and mother's clothes he'd never come close to anything like these expensive prosthetics. Even without a wig and with his makeup in shambles, he found himself getting aroused at the sight of the figure in the mirror. He turned to admire his jutting boobs and big round butt, and smirked a little as he ran his fingers over the curve of his faux bosom.

The sound of his father moving around downstairs brought Tyler's explorations to an abrupt stop, as his dad was no doubt impatiently waiting for his crossdressed son to make an appearance, so it wouldn't be long before he came up to find out what was taking so long. Tyler felt his cheeks flush in embarrassment at the thought of being seen like this again by his father—or anybody, for that matter—and felt a little flustered as he examined his regular male face and started to pick through his mother's cosmetics to attempt to make himself up again. But as he did so, a flash of annoyance ran through him as he imagined his dad downstairs, obviously still angry at Tyler for last night despite the fact that it was totally not his fault. How was that fair? It wasn't like he'd had set out to make a spectacle out of himself or get drunk, but his father wouldn't even hear his side of things.

Just like always.

He sighed as he looked down at himself and grumped for a moment before an idea popped into his head and he got a slow smile.

Ian was in the kitchen checking something on his laptop when he heard Tyler coming down the stairs.

"It's about time. You need to—" That was as far as he got before he turned to look at his son.

Tyler had washed the makeup off his face and reapplied it in a garish and colorful style that made him look like a slutty college girl who was on her way out to a bar to get laid. He'd replaced his wig which had been brushed into an approximation of its former style so that the loose and layered blonde curls sexily framed his face and shoulders, and on his feet he was once again wearing the gold-colored stiletto heels that he'd worn the night before. However, rather than putting on the racy gold dress again, he'd apparently raided his sister's closet and instead wore some denim shorts that showcased his sexy waxed legs but were stretched to extravagant proportions across Tyler's prosthetic hips and ass. Above the shorts he wore a tight white camisole top that was stretched obscenely over his big fake tits that showed a startling amount of cleavage, and the thin fabric did little to hide his falsies' fat protruding nipples. And stretched prominently across his boobs in a bold anarchic font were the words, "SLUT LIFE."

"I told your sister to throw that in the trash," Ian said.

Tyler responded with a cheeky little smirk as he minced by his father over to the refrigerator to get some juice. Tyler was feeling a little giddy since underneath the outfit he was wearing his very favorite bra and panty set, a matching navy blue set that he'd snitched from a particularly buxom neighbor. One time the woman had invited him into her house to clean up in the bathroom after he'd done some yardwork for her, and Tyler had been practically giddy when he discovered the bra with the big lace cups in her laundry hamper along with the matching panties. Unfortunately the neighbor lady had moved away not long afterwards, but the bra was big enough even to hold his impressive new endowments. Tyler girlishly flipped the long blonde hair of his wig over his shoulder to show off the bright blue strap of his bra that starkly stood out against his pale skin and the thin white strap of the cami top.

Ian rubbed his tired eyes and shook his head in growing anger. "So, Miss Melons, did you have fun masturbating yourself to sleep last night?" he sniped.

Tyler turned around to face his father, seemingly puzzled by the question. He then cocked his head to the side with a vacant expression and fluttered his eyes as he raised his manicured hand to his bosom in a provocative way. Meanwhile, his other hand slowly snaked its way down to his crotch and slowly scratched at the front of his shorts with his long nails. He leaned back against the counter as though breathless and threw his head back dramatically.

"Oh! Oh, God! Oh, you're so big! Fill me up, I want it so bad!" he cried in an imitation of one of the real Misty's videos.

Ian was unimpressed. "Good. That's good. Nice to know you have career options."

Tyler dropped the act and his face contorted into an angry pout. "What happened last night wasn't my fault."

"I don't want to hear it," Ian said as he turned to walk away.

"Those guys thought I was a hooker, Dad!" Tyler cried at his father's back.

Ian spun around. "So your first thought was to run off with them to a party, get drunk, and dance and shake your—" Flustered, he gestured vaguely in the direction of Tyler's chest. "—-for all of the guys?" he shot back. "I left you alone for ten minutes and look what happened!"

Tyler gaped at his father helplessly. "You think this is easy for me? You don't have any idea how hard this is!"

"Wow, Misty, I had no idea. Who knew that dressing up like a balloon-breasted porno actress wouldn't be as much fun when you can't just play with yourself in your room and watch X-rated videos?"

Tyler's face flushed at the remark but said nothing.

Ian shook his head slightly. "All right, come on," he said as he headed out of the kitchen.

"Come on where?" Tyler said a little nervously. He was still anxious about the idea of his father making good on his threat to expose him like this.

"Your bedroom. I want to see what you've been doing with your free time."

Once they arrived upstairs, Ian commanded Tyler to reveal all of the women's clothes that he had "acquired." Tyler squirmed under his father's silent gaze as he dug the clothes out of his hidden caches here and there, such as under some shirts in a drawer or hidden beneath the mattress of his bed. Ian said nothing, but Tyler heard him expel an obviously annoyed little snort when he saw some of the items that Tyler had obviously purloined from various women.

"Is that all of it?" Ian asked when the clothes were all piled up on Tyler's bed.

Tyler gave a slight little shrug. Being dressed as a buxom blonde in front of his father was weird, but it also felt a little bit mischievous. But having all of these clothes laid bare made him feel nervous and awkward, especially now that there was no question exactly what he'd been doing with them.

"I said, is that all of it?" Ian repeated more pointedly.

"Yes! Yes, that's everything. God! Okay?" Tyler answered in an exasperated tone.

"Now you sound like a teenage girl," his father muttered.

Ian scowled at the pile of crumpled-up clothes on Tyler's bed. "If you're going to be a woman, you need to take better care of your things," he declared. "I want you to launder and iron all of these and then hang them up in your closet, right there, in plain view. For this week, these are your clothes."

Tyler looked in dismay at the feminine apparel. Several pieces were overly sexy and he felt sick at the thought of wearing them, even if it was just in front of his father.

"Oh, c'mon!" he protested.

"In fact, there's a big pile of dirty clothes and sheets in the laundry room. I want you to clean and iron all of them, too."

"Those are Kim's chores!"

"And I'm sure she'll be very grateful to you when she gets back from her trip for being such a thoughtful sister, Misty. Unless, of course, you'd prefer to do Tyler's chores? He's been blowing them off lately, so there's lots to do. Mow the lawn, clean the gutters...if you want, maybe you can put on a little bikini and wash the car out in the driveway. I'm sure the boys would appreciate the show."

Tyler blanched at the thought of doing any of that out in plain view of the neighbors. "Fine, I'll do it," he grumbled.

"And no slacking off," Ian warned. "If you don't do a good job, I'll find something else for you to do—and I promise it won't be an indoor activity."

Later that afternoon, Tyler was still in the laundry room as he ironed and folded the dirty clothes. He was angry with his father and hated being bossed around, but with his father holding all those incriminating pictures of him in drag there wasn't much he could do. Since his father was outside doing the yardwork, he debated trying to steal the phone and delete the pictures, but he knew his dad had probably backed them up somewhere, anyway. And even if he managed to eliminate the photos, with his huge glued-on boobs it was all pointless anyway...he was living proof.

As he ironed one of his dad's shirts, the long hair of his wig fell into his face again, and he tossed his head in a feminine gesture. He then smiled a little and looked down at himself. As stupid as the rest of this was, he did kind of enjoy the little "upgrades" to his feminine look that he'd gotten at the Ladywood Academy. The wig was much sexier than the cheap one he'd had, and the prosthetics were pretty amazing. He liked the way the huge boobs tented out the front of his top and the distracting way the weight of them pulled on his chest, especially in the navy blue brassiere that peeked out from the cami top. Even the hip and butt prosthetics were kind of cool, giving him womanly curves and a big round booty. He glanced to the door, then gave his shoulders a little shake as they jiggled playfully in the brassiere. This bra was his favorite since the cups were big enough to allow him to have a big chest like the real Misty Melons, but he'd been relegated to stuffing it with socks. The breast plate was much better, he decided.

A loud and insistent beep from his cell phone caused him to almost jump out of his skin for fear that someone may have spotted him like that. He checked his messages and saw that it was one of his buddies asking where he was, and if he'd be able to sneak out tonight with Hector and the other guys to hang out and "find some action."

Tyler shuddered at the thought. Usually, that was their code for getting into trouble and/or finding some pretty girls to pick up or hassle, and right now he was the kind of girl they'd target. His hands trembled as he fumbled with his long feminine fingernails to type out a response explaining how he was grounded and under house arrest for the week. His friend said he could swing by that night and set off a car alarm or something to stage a distraction for Tyler to sneak out, and he didn't seem very satisfied when Tyler begged off, saying he wasn't feeling well, anyway.

"UR SUCH A PUSSY," the text came back. Tyler looked down at himself, thankful the guy didn't realize how close he was to the truth.

"Do I have to confiscate that?" his father said as he entered the laundry room. He was dirty from the outdoor work and had a bottle of water in his hand. "You're still grounded, you know."

"Like I'd go anywhere looking like this," Tyler grumped.

"If you're feeling lonely, feel free to invite some friends over. I'm sure they'd love to see the new you," Ian shot back as he took a long drink from the water bottle.

Tyler made a little face and went back to ironing as Ian inspected the piles of cleaned and folded sheets, towels, and clothes. He nodded approvingly.

"Not bad. I also have a couple of shirts that need to have buttons sewn on them. Maybe we can see if you have a knack for sewing, Misty."

Tyler held up his hand and flashed his long nails. "It's all I can do to fold a towel with these things. You're enjoying seeing me do all this women's work, aren't you?"

Ian took another drink from the bottle and wiped his mouth. "The work doesn't care who does it, Misty. When I was in college I did my own laundry, and sewing a button on a shirt is hardly needlepoint. It's a good skill to have. But since you're the kind of woman who likes to wear her nails that long, you need to learn to handle them."

Tyler cringed a little at being referred to as any "kind of woman" as he stood there before his father looking like a domestic Misty Melons while he ironed away. He said nothing and just grabbed a hangar to hang up the shirt he'd just finished before grabbing the next one.

As Ian looked around, one of the piles of clothes sitting on the dryer caught his eye. It was separated from the others and had some colorful lingerie sitting out, and he recognized it as having come from Tyler's hidden stash of women's clothes.

"Misty, you can't put lingerie like that through the washer and dryer. It's too delicate, you have to hand wash it," he said.

"Guess I know for next time," Tyler grumped sarcastically as he flipped the shirt over and continued to iron.

"If you insist on wearing these...things...you..." Ian said as his voice trailed off. He put down the water bottle and picked up a pair of lace panties from the stack and spotted a matching brassiere. The maroon-and-black underwear was elegantly made and accented with delicate lace.

"Where did you get these?" Ian asked pointedly.

Tyler looked visibly nervous at the question but gave a little shrug as he continued to iron. "I, uh, bought them."

"You sure you didn't steal them from someone like the other clothes?" his father challenged.

"No. I bought them."

Ian regarded him carefully. "Really. From where?"

Tyler hesitated for a moment but tried to play it off as he continued ironing the shirt. "Victoria's Secret."

"Oh," Ian said with a satisfied nod. "The one in the mall?"

"Yeah, that's right."

Ian smiled. "I bet that's a story. Did the saleswoman give you any grief for buying women's underwear?"

Tyler cleared his throat. "No, I just told her I was buying them for my girlfriend."

Ian nodded gamely and eased his way up in front of Tyler, just on the opposite side of the ironing board. He gave his son an easy grin and Tyler smiled back nervously.

Then Ian slammed the lingerie down on the board.

"You lying little..." he started, then cut himself off as he fought to get his temper under control. "Victoria's Secret, my eye." He held up the panties so the tag was visible. "I recognize this logo, it's from an upscale boutique downtown. Very upscale. I bought your mother a silk nightie there last year."

"I know," Tyler said quietly. He instantly regretted saying it after seeing the shocked expression on his father's face, no doubt upset that his teenage son had very probably worn the nightie that he'd purchased as a romantic gift for his wife.

"This lingerie must have cost $200," Ian said accusingly. "No way did you buy these. Who do they belong to?"

The room fell quiet apart from the sound of the dryer that was humming through its cycle. Tyler looked very nervous.

"I—I found them—" Tyler stammered.

"Don't lie to me!" Ian yelled. He spun around and pounded his fist on the countertop in frustration. Silence again filled the room as he took a deep breath to collect himself.

"Misty," he began, choosing the name carefully, "these other clothes that you stole...they're worn, they're out of style...I might believe you got them out of a pile of dirty laundry or from the bottom of your sister's dresser. But you didn't find these in any laundry hamper. Now you tell me how you got them, and if you lie to me one more time, I'm posting those photos. Today."

Tyler's face went ashen. "I-I got them...I-I mean, I took them from—" he took a breath, "—from Ms. Dalisera." He winced as he said it, and he quickly averted his eyes from his father's stunned face.

"Oh, my God," Ian said. Constance Dalisera had moved into the neighborhood five years ago and lived only a few blocks away. She was a young and attractive divorcee who'd quickly developed a reputation of turning several men's heads since she arrived. And to make matters worse, she was an English teacher at Tyler's high school. One of Tyler's former teachers, in fact.

"I-I was over by her house and next to her car on the ground I saw the little purple bag, and I looked inside and found these," Tyler said, glancing down at the ladies' undergarments. "She must have dropped the bag when she went inside. I swear that's what happened! I saw them a-and they were s-so pretty that I just—"

Ian held up his hand. "You expect me to believe that?"

"It's true! I swear, it's true. That's what happened. I'm really sorry."

"Constance. It had to be Constance," Ian muttered. He then groaned and ran his hand down his face. "Right, I'm going to go change. You grab your purse. And take those, too," he said, casting an eye at the bra and panty set.

Tyler stared at him in alarm. "What's going on?"

Ian looked at Tyler and sighed. "What's going on is we're going out and you're going to apologize. If I were you, I'd make it good."

Fifteen minutes later, Tyler was seated in the passenger seat of his father's car as Ian pulled into Constance Dalisera's driveway. He noted that her car was also parked there, so she appeared to be home. It would only have been a short walk from their house, but mercifully Ian drove them over rather than subjecting Tyler to a humiliating walk through the neighborhood. Fortunately for Tyler, one of the chores that his father had undertaken that afternoon was to repair the garage door opener, so at least Ian had been able to park the car in the garage rather than force Tyler to endure another embarrassing walk to the car. However, driving Tyler to Ms. Dalisera's house seemed to be the only concession Ian had been willing to make, and he'd remained adamant about going to apologize despite Tyler's panicked protests and begging. Tyler had asked to at least be allowed to change into his regular clothes, but his father had been unmoved.

"Please?" Tyler had pleaded as his father led him into the garage.

Ian turned and looked his son over in his oversexed outfit. "Misty, you made your bed and now you have to lie in it." Then, faced with Tyler's distraught expression that was seemingly amplified by his feminine makeup, he sighed. "Listen. You have to make this right. But I know Constance and if you show up there in your usual jeans and ratty t-shirt there's every chance she's going to call the cops. Maybe—all this—will help to explain why you did what you did. But you have to be honest with her. No more lies."

"And if she calls the cops on me anyway with me looking like this?"

Ian had paused for a long moment. "You'd better...just get your purse," he said.

Now, the two of them sat looking at the attractive two-story home with the beautifully maintained landscaping and perfectly-manicured lawn. Neither one of them seemed keen to move, but eventually Ian took a little breath and reached for the door handle.

"Dad?" Tyler said, stopping him. "Can you maybe wait here? This...this is gonna be hard enough."

Ian looked at his crossdressed son and glanced up at the house. "You sure you don't want me to come with you?" he asked in a level tone.

"I'm sure," Tyler said, with a noticeable quaver in his voice. Then, before Ian could push the matter further, Tyler opened the door and stepped outside.

The walk to the front door was short, but it seemed like a hundred miles to Tyler as he stepped unsteadily on his feminine footwear. His experience going to the party had been stressful enough, but at least then people didn't recognize him, and they'd thought he was actually a girl.

Not this time.

He took a deep breath as he walked and felt the soft breeze against his shaved legs and as it blew through the hairs of his long blonde wig. He felt ridiculous, like he was trick-or-treating dressed like a woman with his heavy makeup, and big boobs and butt. Nervously, he looked around thinking he might be spotted by a neighbor, and as he approached the front door of the house he had an even more horrible thought that Ms. Dalisera might not be home alone. He imagined there might be other neighborhood wives in there, and what they would think, and how quickly news would spread.

Tyler approached the door and tried to shove such thoughts out of his mind as he went to push the doorbell. He was about to jab it with his finger like he usually would but stopped short when he saw his long nails and instead delicately pushed the button with the pad of his finger in a feminine gesture. He prayed Constance might not be home, but his prayer went unanswered as very soon from inside the house came the distinct sound of high heels on hardwood floor approaching the door. He held his breath.

"That was fast! Did you forget your key, or—"

The door opened wide to reveal Tyler's former teacher. She was stunning. He'd had a crush on her ever since Freshman English, just like every other guy in school. She was in her late 20s and when she was in school she favored conservative outfits that nonetheless teased at her figure, but nothing like what she was wearing at the moment. Tyler could only guess that he'd caught her getting ready to go out on a date or something since she was wearing a sexy little off-the-shoulder black minidress with her long dark hair styled loosely about her shoulders. Her makeup was more dramatic than what she usually wore to school, and her eyes were dark and beautifully defined.

And they were staring at Tyler with a decidedly perplexed expression.

"I'm sorry, can I help you?" she asked uncertainly. Tyler half expected her to give him a sweeping once-over look but was surprised when she maintained eye contact. The previous night at the party, he'd felt sexy to be dressed like a blonde bombshell, but now faced with his teacher's more natural femininity he felt more than ever like a kid in a bad Halloween costume of a buxom woman.

"Ms. Dalisera," Tyler croaked, "I'm...I'm Tyler. Tyler Valentine."

"Tyler...?" she echoed in disbelief. This time she did look him over, and the look on her face was somewhere between amusement, confusion, and disgust. "Why...what...why are you here?"

Tyler gave an awkward little half-shrug. "Would it be okay if I come in?"

Constance blinked once. "No. No, Tyler, I feel like that would be a really bad idea," she decided.

"I-I'm here with my dad," Tyler said as he looked over towards his father in the waiting car. "I'm here to apologize."

An odd look passed over her features as she tried to process that statement. "Uh huh. Look. Tyler, I don't know what's going on here, but I don't think—" Her voice cut short as she glanced downward and saw the bra and panties in Tyler's hand. She stared at them for a second as if not entirely sure she was seeing them correctly, but when her eyes cut up and beheld Tyler's guilty face, her expression changed and became much more serious. She looked at the crossdressed teen for a long moment, and then over at Ian in the car, and back to Tyler.

"You'd better come inside," she said.

As Tyler entered and quietly closed the door behind him, Constance took a few steps away from him, her high heels making staccato clicks on the hardwood floors of her foyer. Tyler stood there nervously, acutely aware that his own heels were making a similar little click with every subdued step back and forth.

Constance stopped and looked towards the ceiling and then spun around to face Tyler accusingly.

"It was you," she said sharply. Then she gestured up and down at Tyler, especially at his oversized falsies that tented out the "SLUT LIFE" cami top so provocatively. "And I suppose this disgusting display is some kind of depraved joke?"

"No," Tyler said. Then, faced with her angry and incredulous expression, he fumbled for words and his shoulders slumped. "I...like to dress like this," he confessed, practically choking on the words. The admission made him feel physically queasy and a shiver gripped him as a thin film of sweat crossed his forehead, but he forced himself to press on. "My dad...he caught me. So I'm spending the week like this. Then he found these," he said, holding up the undergarments, "and he brought me over to apologize."

"Apologize?" Constance snapped. "You stole my things! You vandalized my car! And I'm supposed to feel sorry for you because you're dressed like Barbie?"

Tyler weakly responded, "I didn't do that...stuff...to your car..."

"That stuff? That 'stuff' is called vandalism, Tyler. Breaking the windows, painting whore and slut in big letters across it? I bet that was fun."

"That wasn't me! I swear! I didn't know!"

"But you know who did it, don't you? You know because you were there."

"I don't...I don't know. Not for sure. I didn't see it until after. The guys were all laughing. I don't know which ones did it."

"Oh, I bet they had a good laugh, didn't they?" she said. Then she looked him over. "In fact, I bet they'd have a good long laugh at you if they saw you like this, wouldn't they?"

Tyler felt like the wind had been kicked out of him. When he spoke, his voice was hardly above a squeak. "Oh, God, no, please! Please, nobody can find out!"

Her eyes flashed in anger. "You're worried about being embarrassed? Is it anything like having slut and whore written across your car? Is it anything like having to fill out a police report with two smirking male cops so that you can file an insurance claim for $300 worth of 'ladies unmentionables'?"

She snatched the lingerie out of his hand and marched over to a trash basket and angrily threw them in. Then she looked down at the side table by the door and picked up her phone and held it out threateningly. "Give me one good reason I shouldn't call the police right now. Vandalism, property damage, burglary...I wouldn't mind seeing you hauled away in handcuffs dressed like that. I wouldn't mind that one little bit."

Tyler was shaking as tears started to run down his face. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I tried to help, I did!"

"Help yourself to my panties, you mean."

"N-no, it wasn't like that!" Tyler said, wiping his tears. "The other guys, they opened the car and were laughing and going through your stuff. But I saw your bag on the floor of the back seat—that big brown bag that you bring to school—and I knew it had your laptop and school stuff in it. So I took it before they found it. I hid it and then later after they all left, I put it back. I didn't want you to lose that stuff."

Constance said nothing but merely watched him as he sniffled and then continued. "But...when I was putting it back it opened up a little, and I saw that purple bag. I looked inside, and...I'd never seen underwear like that before. So I took it. I...stole it." He looked up at her piteously. "I'm really sorry."

Constance's face had become an unreadable mask and she stared at him and then blinked and sighed heavily. "Do you wear them?" she asked pointedly.

He cringed and shrugged a little.

"And I imagine you've been masturbating gleefully in them all this time?"

Tyler averted his gaze and then glanced back up at her.

"Ugh. Well, you've probably had more fun wearing them than I was going to. That guy was a dud." She looked at Tyler and arched an eyebrow. "I suppose congratulations are in order. I think half the guys in that stupid school have fantasized about getting into my panties, but you actually succeeded."

Tyler looked up at her shyly and studied her pensive face. "I want to pay you for them. I really am sorry."

"And if I call the police? How sorry will you be then?"

He cowered slightly and said nothing.

After a moment, she nodded. "Okay. Okay, here's what we're going to do," she said as she turned around and picked up the trash basket and held it out in front of him. "Go on, take them."

Timidly, Tyler reached in and retrieved the bra and panties. After he did, she put the basket on the floor and then held up her phone. "Fine. Pose pretty, now, I want a great big smile."

"What?" Tyler asked, alarmed.

"It's this or the police. Your choice, princess."

Tyler's brow furrowed as he looked at her. If she shared that picture, his life was over. But he didn't see a lot of choice, either. So, reluctantly, he smiled as best he could while she took a couple of pictures.

"Now take your wig off."

Tyler's jaw dropped, but her no-nonsense demeanor told him that she wasn't going to budge. Shyly, he removed his blonde hairpiece, feeling all the more ridiculous standing in front of her dressed up like a woman. When he was wearing the wig he'd felt a little more complete or at least better masked, but without it he looked and felt even more like a guy dressed up like a woman. Which, he guessed, was the point.

"Good," she said after she took a few more pictures. "There's no question that it's you." With that, she reached over and snatched the undergarments out of Tyler's hands and tossed them back in the trash basket. Then she held up her phone. "This is my insurance. If I ever get even the tiniest little whiff like you're involved in bullshit like that again, we'll see what your thug friends think of your perverted little hobby. You get me?"

Tyler nodded quietly.

"Right. Now, since you got so much enjoyment out of my undies, I expect to be fairly compensated for them."

"How much did they cost?" asked Tyler.

She took a step closer. "Oh, no, honey. I don't want your money. The insurance covered that. I said I want fair compensation."

Tyler looked at her apprehensively. "What do you mean?"

"I want yours."

"W-what?"

"You heard me. I want the bra and panties you're wearing right now."

He looked at her, aghast. "But why?"

"Because I want you to feel exactly as violated as I felt. Then you'll feel like a woman. Then we're even."

A few minutes later, Tyler stepped out onto the front porch and readjusted his wig as his face burned in shame. He shrugged his shoulders nervously and felt his big fake breasts jiggle freely. He was thankful that he’d worn his gaff to avoid exposing himself in front of his teacher when he’d pulled down his shorts and panties, but it was a small comfort. Removing his bra and panties and handing them over to his teacher as she stood there and watched had been absolutely mortifying. Constance had said nothing throughout the exchange, not even when Tyler had removed his bra, baring his fake breasts with the big protruding nipples. They wobbled in response to his motion, but they didn’t feel fun and exciting, anymore. They just felt like two big fake rubber things that were a mockery of a woman’s real breasts.

As he took trembling steps down the front steps towards the walkway, Constance looked at him.

"Tyler?" she said. Her tone of voice wasn't as sharp as it had been, and when he turned back to look, she had a disappointed look on her face.

"You're better than this," she said simply, and then closed the door.

Tyler made his way back to the car and as he got in, he made eye contact with his father. Neither one of them said anything as Ian started the car and drove back home.

The remainder of the evening was quiet since neither Ian nor Tyler seemed keen on talking very much and kept their chitchat to a minimum. Once home, Tyler sullenly finished folding the laundry, but his previous fascination with how he was dressed had evaporated, especially with this former teacher's words still ringing in his ears.

"Disgusting."

"Perverted."

"Depraved."

He blinked away tears and after he wiped his face he saw a dark streak on his hand from his eye makeup that had started to run.

He gathered up his neatly-folded women's clothes and clutched them against his fake bosom that earlier had felt like a fun and erotic facsimile but now felt like a ridiculous and humiliating sham, especially as the braless falsies shifted around on his chest. When he got up to his room Tyler made space in his closet and drawers for his "new clothes," and as he beheld them there looking so out-of-place among his regular guy clothes he felt sick to his stomach. What the hell had he been thinking? He felt stupid and perverted and his shoulders shook as he made a silent sob.

His faux bosom jiggled in response to the movement, and in Tyler's current frame of mind he felt like the fake boobs were giggling at his plight. Frustrated, he grabbed at them and pulled at the breast plate that had been glued to his chest, but it refused to budge. He lifted up his camisole top to find the deftly-concealed edge against his skin, and while he ran his finger along the edge he couldn't get a grip or purchase on the border of the breast plate.

"Damn it!" he swore as he threw himself on the bed, hating as the breasts once again shifted in response and the prosthetics on his hips and rear end pressed against him. The tears came freely now and he clutched tightly to the hairs of his wig and nearly yanked it off, but he stayed his hand when he remembered how Constance Dalisera had made him remove his wig to make him look even more ridiculous, a teenage boy making play at being a sexy and desirable woman. He realized that he could yank off the wig and scrub off the makeup but he'd still be a guy with huge boobs and big round hips and a bubble butt. Then he morosely realized he couldn't even do that much since his father was determined for Tyler to spend the week as "Misty Melons" to get a proper feel for what it was like.

This was it, Tyler decided. No more after this. He'd put up with whatever humiliations he had to in order to get through the week, but once it was all over, he would throw all of this junk in the garbage and he was put it all behind him. He was done. After this, he'd be normal.

He breathed a heavy sigh and tried to ignore the foreign sensations that resulted, but as he lie there thinking, he felt like a great weight had been lifted. All of his perverted preoccupation with this woman junk had clouded his mind for so long, but now he felt like there was some clarity. This week would be hard, but he was tough and he could endure. But once it was done and he ditched all of this girl crap, he'd never have to be ashamed again.

MONDAY

"Wake up. Come on, you need to get moving."

Tyler cringed as the sound of his father's voice roused him from his slumber. "Five more minutes," he murmured.

"Misty, I'm serious. You need to get up."

"Misty?" Tyler groaned, puzzled. But as he rolled over in his bed to turn towards his father, he was treated to a plethora of tweaks, pinches, and insistent tugging weights that reminded him of his situation.

"Oh, right."

He blinked indistinctly in the direction of his father's voice and was treated to a curtain of blonde hairs that swept across his face. That caught Tyler off guard, and again even moreso when he went to brush it away and poked himself in the cheek with the long feminine nails he'd forgotten he still had. Flustered, he looked down at himself and saw the "SLUT LIFE" camisole top tented out by the falsies still stuck on his chest. As he shifted he thought he was sitting on a pillow when he realized that the hip and butt prosthetics were still firmly attached, as well. As the previous day started to come back to him, he realized that he'd fallen asleep in his clothes.

"You seemed pretty out of it last night so I decided to let you sleep," Ian explained. "But we need to get going. I have to go to work."

"Oh," Tyler said as he sat up, adjusting his outfit as best he could. He noticed that his father was fully dressed and wearing a suit like he usually did for work.

"I thought you were off this week?" Tyler wondered.

"Something's come up. C'mon, hurry up, we don't have time," he said as he started to leave.

Tyler caught sight of himself in his bedroom mirror and winced at the horrible mess his makeup was in again. He started to realize that if he was going to keep doing this all week he'd need to develop an evening routine to get ready for bed.

"Wait, my makeup," he said to his father's retreating form. "I need to get it fixed up."

Ian paused and groaned slightly. "Misty, I'm really not in the mood for your vanity this morning. Just use the bathroom if you have to and get downstairs, pronto." Then he left.

Incensed at his father's cavalier dismissal, Tyler made his way into the bathroom and took care of his morning duties as quickly as he could, but between the clothes and prosthetics he wasn't exactly moving at lightning speed. He groaned when he saw himself in the mirror, he looked like a fright. He brushed the worst of the tangles out of his wig with his fingers and then dabbed at his face with a tissue to remove the worst of the streaking eye makeup, but he still looked like a stacked blonde coed the morning after a drunken hookup.

Then something else occurred to him.

He hurried downstairs and was treated to the bouncing sensation of his braless boobs as he made his way down the steps. His first thought was that a brassiere would help that a lot, then he recalled his encounter the day before with Ms. Dalisera and remembered why he wasn't wearing a bra. He didn't even have another bra that was big enough to fit his breasts anymore, he realized. He felt his face flush in embarrassment as he realized that it hadn't been a bad dream. It made him feel awkward and uncomfortable to know that his teacher had seen him that way—and had kept photographic evidence!—but he tried to push it out of his mind as he arrived in the kitchen to find his father checking the contents of his briefcase.

"Dad, if you're going to work, then what—"

Ian checked his watch and grabbed his work bag. "Not now, Misty. Here." He reached into the fruit bowl on the table and tossed Tyler a banana.

Tyler looked at it in confusion. "What's this for?"

"It's either breakfast or for you to practice on. You're the porno star, Ms. Melons, you figure it out. Now, let's go."

Tyler nervously followed after him towards the garage. He'd chosen his outfit the day before to get a rise out of his father but was less enthused with the idea of being seen dressed as he was, especially considering that his makeup was a good deal from passable. Belatedly, he wished that he'd at least put on some lipstick, although as he looked down at the banana and imagined leaving lipstick stains on it, he wasn't sure that was such a great idea, either.

"Shy about getting swarmed by all your fans?" Ian said derisively. "Get in the car, Misty. Now."

His father's no-nonsense tone startled Tyler into submission and as they got in the car and drove along, Tyler quietly nibbled at the banana. For a moment he'd considered making a big pornographic show out of it to infuriate his father but thought better of it.

Tyler looked out the window apprehensively, worried about where they were going and who would see him dressed as he was.

"I could stay home..." Tyler ventured.

Ian scoffed. "Misty, if I've learned anything over the last couple days, it's that there's no way I'm leaving you unsupervised for even a minute."

Tyler recoiled at his father's harsh rebuke. If he'd been wearing his regular clothes he would have picked a fight and started yelling, but dressed as he was he realized he'd probably look ridiculous, like an overendowed pouting girl, upset with her daddy. Besides, at the moment he was completely at his father's mercy.

"You're not actually taking me to work like this, are you?" he asked.

His father gave a mirthless chuckle. "I'm sure the secretaries at the firm would love that. You could fetch coffee for the men like a proper little 'sexytary.' Maybe they'll even have you working the reception desk dressed like that, would you enjoy that, Misty?"

Tyler said nothing.

Ian rubbed his eyes. For the first time, Tyler realized how tired his father appeared. "No, I'm not," he said finally. "But I'm not leaving you unsupervised, either. So I'm leaving you in day care." With that, he pulled to a stop and parked. There, just a short walk up the street, Tyler saw the fluttering awnings of the Ladywood Academy.

Ian was all business, but Tyler got out of the car with trepidation as he beheld the Monday morning commuters walking up and down the sidewalk, urban professionals carrying coffee, people talking on their phones, and others who were generally starting their workday.

Once again, Tyler was a spectacle as they made the short walk to the hated boutique. Some people who didn't look too closely merely smirked at him, obviously assuming that he was a bimbo doing her "walk of shame" the morning after a night of wild sex, while others who looked more closely at his face openly snickered. At one point as they crossed the street at a crosswalk, Tyler had to mince his way along in front of a car that was stopped for the red light and yelped in alarm when the driver honked his horn in appreciation. The occupants burst out into laughter at Tyler's animated response as he scampered along. By the time they reached the comparative safety of the inside of the store, he didn't feel sexy anymore, he just felt like a freak.

"Wait here," Ian said. He cast an apprehensive glance around the store and then went to talk to Charlotte Mercer.

After a few short minutes he returned and in a clipped fashion said, "I'll be back this evening. Until then, they have some...classes...for you. Try and behave yourself."

Tyler didn't even have a chance to respond before his father started heading out the door. He watched as his father left and wondered what was in store for him. He didn't have long to wait.

"I'm delighted to see that you're getting into the spirit, Misty," Ms. Mercer observed as she read his shirt. "Now come along."

Ms. Mercer led Tyler through the store on a somewhat meandering and casual path, as though they were quietly touring the various departments. This immediately made Tyler skittish. From her stern demeanor, he guessed that nothing that the woman did was ever without purpose, and so her silent inspection of some of Ladywood's edgier feminization services came across as a very clear unspoken threat. Tyler kept his mouth shut and followed her along, but his tension mounted when she entered the beauty salon area and her mood suddenly brightened as she paused to check in at a station where a stylist was brushing out a young man's hair.

The other teen looked to be only a couple years younger than Tyler and seemed on the verge of bursting into tears as the stylist brushed out his extremely girlish hairdo, a mess of tight curls that was in such a shocking shade of blonde that it couldn't possibly have been his natural color. The boy was only lightly made up with light foundation, touches of mascara, and a pale lipstick, but he just needed the addition of a little sailor suit and cap to look like the biggest pansy Tyler had ever seen.

"Isn't that precious," Ms. Mercer said to the stylist, who responded with a self-satisfied smile that sent shivers up Tyler's spine. "It's hard to believe this is the same unkempt and ill-mannered young man that walked in through our doors only last week. What will you be doing with his nails, Anita?"

The stylist continued to fuss with the distraught teen's hairdo. "He'll be getting a full set of acrylic extensions today, isn't that right, Derek?"

The boy blushed furiously and his eyes kept cutting over to Tyler, who looked away nervously. "Y-yes, ma'am," he stammered.

"How exciting! That's a big step!" Ms. Mercer enthused as she turned to Tyler. "As you can see, Misty, Derek here is taking a somewhat slower path in his transformation. He still looks like a boy, so that way it'll be less of a shock to his friends and classmates if he ends up in dresses."

From the look on her face and the tone of her voice, it was obvious to Tyler that the woman knew full well what was plainly obvious to his own eyes. What they'd done to the young man so far was so shocking and obvious that the fact that he wore slacks as opposed to a full-on princess ballgown would be totally irrelevant when it came to the reaction of any of Derek's friends or classmates once they laid eyes on the unfortunate teen. Whatever he'd been before, he was a roaring sissy now.

"Derek, dear, Misty's facade is a bit more advanced than yours, but just think, if you play your cards right you might look like her in the near future! What do you think of that?"

Tyler squirmed uncomfortably as everybody looked at him and the look on Derek's face was somewhere between horror, pity, and fascination, especially the way that he stared at Tyler's big round breasts that were on display in his low-cut "SLUT LIFE" cami top. For not the first time, Tyler wished he was wearing a bra since the equally oversize nipples of his falsies were wildly evident as they poked out visibly and prominently.

Ms. Mercer stared pointedly at Derek, clearly awaiting an answer to her question.

"T-that'd be, uh, great," he responded nervously. "Though I'm not sure my mom would want me to be so...advanced."

"Mmm. Well, I'll be sure to inform her that you expressed interest," she said, clearly enjoying the veiled threat. Derek looked like he wanted to try and dissuade her but wisely decided to keep his mouth shut.

"Misty's breasts really are something, aren't they?" she wondered aloud as Tyler shifted awkwardly. He wasn't sure what was worse, to have his breasts be the subject of attention and conversation, or the fact that they were being referred to as though he weren't even there. "As you can see, she's chosen not to wear a bra since she doesn't have to."

She then addressed Tyler directly. "Misty, why don't you give Derek a better view?"

Tyler edged closer to the teen in the chair, and when Ms. Mercer continued to give him a very pointed look he bent over to move his breasts closer and show off his cleavage.

Ms. Mercer clicked her tongue in a little tsk of disapproval. "Misty, dear, there's no need to be modest. We're all girls here...or well on the way," she added teasingly.

At first Tyler didn't understand her meaning, but as he followed the stern woman's line of sight and read her expression, his mouth opened in shock. He looked at her in stunned disbelief at what she was suggesting but—much like Derek—he soon realized that she was totally in control and wouldn't hesitate to make his life a lot worse if he didn't comply.

Tyler's breath caught in his throat as he averted his eyes while his trembling fingers sought out the bottom edge of his snug camisole top. He hesitated a moment and then as they all watched he pulled his top up to bare his fake tits.

Intellectually, Tyler knew that his breasts weren't real and were just a clever prosthetic trick made to resemble a woman's bosom. But their authentic appearance combined with their big size and huge prominent nipples made his shameless act all the more sexually provocative. The boobs tugged on his chest as they gently wobbled and swayed, and Tyler felt his face flush in embarrassment as they all watched his bawdy display.

"That model breast plate is brand new," Ms. Mercer said as though she was describing a new model car on a showroom floor. "It's glued on with a nearly transparent edge that makes it difficult to tell from the real thing. They tell me that the range of motion is really quite something. Perhaps more frolicsome than real breasts, but certainly quite attention-getting. Has that been your experience, Misty?"

"Yeah," Tyler agreed as his face burned in shame and he prayed for this humiliation to end. Ms. Mercer and Anita seemed amused, but the look on Derek's face had changed, and apparently the opportunity to observe a lifelike pair of large naked female breasts in such proximity had overcome his consternation that he might soon be sporting a pair very much like them.

Anita paused her work on Derek's hair to give Tyler a smirk. "C'mon, honey, don't tease. Let's see it."

Tyler gulped hard, but based on Ms. Mercer's pointed silence he knew what was being asked of him. Reluctantly, he bounced up and down, a little bit at first and then more briskly, and then shook his shoulders back and forth so that the heavy boobs jiggled, bounced, and wobbled energetically.

As he did so, Ms. Mercer turned her attention to Derek who was now staring at Tyler's kinetic display as though hypnotized.

"Derek, feel free to ask Misty questions while she demonstrates. I'm sure she'd be happy to answer."

The teen's eyes cut up for a moment to meet Tyler's embarrassed gaze but then his eyes cut back down to the bouncing breasts. "Uh...are they...are they heavy?"

Tyler's cheeks burned so hot that he thought he must have been bright red. Worse, his provocative display had started to gather attention from stylists and their victims at other stations.

"Yeah, they're pretty heavy. It's easier with a bra."

"But where's the fun in that?" Anita joked. "You know, we sell tassels right over there. I'd love to see you slap a couple on those honeys and give us a show."

"Perhaps later," said Ms. Mercer. "Misty, honestly, that's quite enough. Show some restraint. Now cover yourself up."

"You give a boy a pair of tits and they just can't help themselves," Anita said with a laugh.

"Misty in particular. I understand that she was no stranger to dressing as a buxom woman long before she came here."

Anita gave Tyler a discerning look. "Is that right, sugar? I guess that explains how you took to this so fast. This must be a dream come true for you."

Tyler stared at them in shock. "I'm not—I mean—I-I'm not—"

He looked at Derek and suddenly the other teen was regarding him very differently than he had a moment ago. His earlier expression had been with the piteous and furtive glances of a guy forced to share the same miserable debasement. But now his expression was angrier, as though certain that Tyler had enjoyed his little display and was somehow in league with these women.

"You know what, Misty, maybe you can help with something," the stylist said. "Derek was having trouble deciding on a color of nail polish for the pretty new nails he'll be getting, but maybe what's needed is a woman's opinion."

She held up a tray with a dozen different bottles of nail polish, each more vibrant and lurid than the last. Intense and eye-catching pinks and reds were by far the most prevalent, clearly there to make the wearer look as effeminate as possible. Tyler's eyes cut over to look at the other teen, who was glowering at him intently.

As he scanned over the choices, Tyler spotted one that was a bit more muted than the others. It was hard to tell in the light, but it looked like more of a silver. It was glittery but seemed to be a less obtrusive option than the other colors.

"I like this one," he said, pointing at it. As he did so, his own long glamorous painted nails were patently obvious.

Anita's face lit up. "See, I told you!" she proclaimed to Derek, who seemed decidedly unhappy with Tyler's choice. The stylist picked up the bottle and held it up so that it shone better in the lights of the salon. It practically sparkled and twinkled in the light in a rainbow of glittering colors. "This is the holographic polish. Honey, once you get this out in the sunlight, people are gonna see your manicure from a block away. Trust me, you're gonna get tired of girls asking you where you got your nails done." She then turned to Tyler. "Great choice, Misty!"

Derek, meanwhile, was shooting Tyler a look that could kill.

Ms. Mercer watched the exchange with obvious satisfaction. "Well, I hate to light up a room then leave, but Misty here has a full schedule ahead of her. Shall we?"

As he turned to follow her, Tyler gave one last pleading look to the other teen, but Derek was obviously having nothing to do with it as Anita returned to fussing over his shiny blonde curls.

Tyler scampered on his high heels to catch up with Ms. Mercer's quick and businesslike pace, but when he finally caught up to her, she stopped in her tracks and paused to look at him.

"You have the look of a young woman with something on her mind."

Tyler set his jaw and glared at her.

She nodded understanding. "Ah. You think it's a trap. You think that I'm merely offering you the opportunity in order to bait you into saying something angry and foolish, and then I'll use that as an excuse to punish you."

Tyler kept his mouth shut and raised his eyebrows.

"You're smarter than I gave you credit for. Very well, there are two things you need to understand. First, I don't need an excuse to punish you. I thought I'd made that clear. Second, if you spontaneously volunteer your opinion you will do so at your peril, but when I ask a question I expect a direct answer. Now before you say anything, I will offer you one piece of advice for free: my tolerance for angry outbursts, teenage sass, begging, and pleading is precisely nil. But if you have a genuine concern that you would like to share, my metaphorical door is, for the moment, open."

Tyler grit his teeth and attempted to ball his hands into fists only to be stymied as his long fingernails bit into his palms. Then he blinked twice and took a deep breath as he tried to get his emotions under control.

"Why did you do that?" he said, fighting to keep his voice level and respectful.

"I have my reasons."

"That's not an answer!"

"And yet, it's all the answer you're getting. But why don't you try asking me what's really bothering you?"

Tyler maintained his gaze for a moment longer before he glanced away and then back to her. "Why did you have to tell him?" he asked.

"Tell him what? Be specific."

He expelled a little sigh of exasperated embarrassment. "You know. That I..." His voice trailed off and he gave a little half-shrug.

"That you enjoy wearing women's clothes."

"Yeah. That. But I don't!"

"Really. Your father seemed quite clear on the matter."

Tyler squirmed a little. "I...used to. But I don't anymore."

She nodded. "Misty, I'm going to make an observation, but I don't want you to respond because to be perfectly frank I don't think you're capable of answering it honestly, and my tolerance for lies is even lower than it is for begging and pleading. But I would like you to think it over. Yes?"

Tyler nodded uncertainly.

Ms. Mercer wagged a finger over towards the salon area. "That young man over there, if he's remarkably fortunate, is going to leave this place looking like Little Lord Fauntleroy, and if he's only slightly less fortunate, he'll more closely resemble Marie Antoinette. So it's curious to me why his opinion seems to matter so much to you. But what I find particularly interesting is that I just made you bare your breasts and shake them in that young man's face, and yet the thing that really bothers you is he might believe that on some minute level you might possibly enjoy being dressed as you are right now."

Tyler wanted to say something, but when he opened his mouth a warning look from the taciturn woman shut him up.

He then looked at her uncertainly. "What happens now?"

She looked him over and regarded him with a look of disdain. "Young woman, your makeup looks like it was troweled on by a toddler, you smell like a gym sock, and you're dressed like a trailer trash whore, and not in a good way. Understand, I have absolutely no misgivings seeing you dressed up as a street-walking prostitute, but under this roof you will at least endeavor to present yourself as a street-walking prostitute with some small pride in her appearance."

"Uh...you don't have to go to any trouble..."

Ms. Mercer fixed him with a withering gaze, and when she spoke, her voice was tight and firm. "Was there anything in what I just said that resembled the sound of a question mark to you?"

"Uh, no, ma'am."

"Fortunately, you're not my problem. Come with me, and I'll introduce you to Ms. Boulet. Makeup instruction is one of the things in her curriculum today, and if I were you I'd make an effort to be diligent. You're already well behind the other students, and you'll find that her punitive measures for negligence and sloth can be quite...memorable."

The day did not go the way Tyler had planned.

That evening when Ian came to pick up Tyler, the crossdressed teen had changed outfits again. His makeup had been redone and was sexy and overblown as the last time he'd gotten a makeover there, but with a slightly less polished look that made Ian wonder if Tyler might have done it himself. He wore a bright red short sleeved top that on a different girl might have been considered casual wear except for how the sweepingly low-cut front showed off his fake boobs and vast cleavage to near pornographic dimensions. His denim shorts had been replaced by a leopard print miniskirt that screamed "hooker," a look solidly reinforced by the silk stockings and black patent stripper heels he was sporting. A small leopard-print purse dangled from his shoulder, and it looked for all the world like Tyler was either a stripper just getting off work, or a prostitute just getting ready to start.

They said nothing, and Tyler merely glared daggers at his father and watched passively as Ian, after conferring with Ms. Mercer, carried out several boxes and garment bags that contained various outfits for "Misty." Neither Tyler nor Ian seemed keen on discussing how the outfits had been selected, but Ms. Mercer assured Ian that Tyler had tried them all on and they would be, in her words, "Highly appropriate for the persona that Misty wishes to emulate." However, based on how Tyler blushed at her words, it didn't seem very likely that Tyler was in any hurry to demonstrate. For his part, Ian hardly questioned the contents of the boxes nor the cost, and was clearly anxious to depart the store as expeditiously as possible.

"I also took the liberty of including some of Misty's homework materials," Ms. Mercer added cryptically, eliciting another embarrassed reaction from Tyler. "Though I will say that Misty did very well today. She took to her studies like a natural."

"Great," Ian said flatly.

By the time they got in the car and Ian started to drive home, the tension between the two had grown to epic proportions. After some fussing, Tyler had managed to cross his arms underneath his falsies in what was clearly meant to be a defiant gesture to silently register his displeasure. However, the move caused him to cradle his breasts into an even deeper cleavage, and between that, his heavy makeup, and big fake eyelashes, his angry glare came across more as a pouty little huff.

Still, Ian got the message.

"So...how was school?" Ian inquired in a carefully measured tone. It wasn't mocking, but neither was it particularly earnest.

Tyler sarcastically retorted, "Do you mean did you get your money's worth? Did they humiliate me in horrible ways and did I break down crying 'Boo hoo hoo!' with big fat tears falling down onto my big fake boobs?"

"Oh, good. There's the son I remember. I was beginning to think I'd lost you underneath all of that silicone and makeup."

Tyler set his jaw defiantly. "You suck," he retorted.

Ian glanced over at Tyler then back at the road and then back to Tyler again. "I suck? That's your snappy comeback? I'd hoped you'd be at least a little grateful."

"Grateful?" Tyler said, aghast. "I spent the whole day getting humiliated! Learning to do my makeup and walk in heels and trying on these stupid outfits and you wouldn't even believe the rest!"

"So basically, all the stuff that you were doing in the privacy of your bedroom at home. This must be like a trip to Disney World for you."

"The only reason I'm doing this is because you're blackmailing me!"

"And yet the only reason I'm able to blackmail you is because you like to dress up like a big-breasted porno star. The lady doth protest too much, methinks."

"What does that mean?"

"It means, Misty, that I'm not buying into your little hissy fit. Oh, I believe that you don't like this, but I also don't think that you're giving me a straight answer. And unless and until you do, you'll be going back to Ladywood every day this week."

Tyler's eyes went almost cartoonishly wide. "I'm not going back there! You can't make me!"

Ian shrugged. "Suit yourself. I'm sure your mom and sister will enjoy seeing pictures of Misty. And the rest of the family, of course. I'm not sure how to get pictures to your hoodlum friends, but I bet if I share them with a few of your classmates it'll make the rounds fast enough."

Tyler said nothing but his ashen pallor was obvious even underneath all the makeup he was wearing. "You won't do that," he decided. "If you do, I'll tell Mom all about you dragging me into that place."

"Appropriate choice of words," Ian said. "But you're right, she'd be pissed. However, I'm prepared to have that conversation. The question is, are you?"

Tyler stewed on that for a minute and then noticed that Ian had made an unexpected turn down a side street. He was about to ask where his father was driving them if not home, but then he realized that Ian had simply taken a longer route home...one that wouldn't take them through the construction site with its rough unpaved road that had had such unfortunate effects on Tyler's fake bosom last time.

Tyler shifted uncertainly. "Why did you turn there?" he asked.

Ian sighed. "It doesn't matter. Look, Misty, I'm not going to waste my breath lecturing you. But based on your behavior lately, you're on a trajectory that ends up with you in prison, and I'm not ready to give up on you just yet. So as God is my witness you and I are going to see this insanity through to the bitter end if there's even a chance you can learn your lesson and get it through your thick head."

"Yeah? What lesson is that?"

Ian glanced over at his son. "I'm hoping you figure that out for yourself."

They drove in silence after that and eventually pulled into the garage. As the garage door closed behind them, Ian shifted the car into park and looked over at Tyler. "Ms. Mercer explained that I need to help you with your 'homework' tonight. Of course, I guess that only matters if you decide you want to go back to Ladywood tomorrow. Have you made up your mind?"

Tyler hugged himself and fidgeted in his seat like a naughty child. He squirmed uncomfortably but eventually his eyes cut over at his father and he nodded quietly.

"All right, then. Let's get all these clothes unloaded and put away, and then you can demonstrate how committed you are to your 'homework.'"

"Daaaaad, not again," Tyler whined.

Ian held up the sheet of paper. "Eighteen out of twenty, Misty. We go until you get a perfect score, that's what it says. I'm not enjoying this any more than you are."

"Yes, you are," Tyler muttered under his breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing!"

Ian sighed and looked down at the scorecard again. One of Tyler's classes that day had been "An Introduction to Flirting," and the "homework" had been a take-home exercise where Tyler was to put his skills to good use. The task had been customized for "Misty," and Tyler's task was to flirt with a pizza delivery guy. The checklist was so complete and overt that the scene practically played out like something straight out of one of Misty Melons' porno videos.

Ian moved the latest pizza box out of the kitchen and put it in the adjoining laundry room on top of the stack of the previous five boxes, the byproduct of Tyler's failed attempts.

"At least we'll have leftovers," Ian said to himself.

So far, Tyler was off to a good start on his current effort, having flirted shamelessly on the phone when he placed the order, giggling and making insipid and suggestive comments. Meanwhile, Ian listened on the other line and checked off items on the list. Constantly smile, even on the phone, check. Provocative language, check. Playful come-ons, check. The list was ridiculous, but after six failed tries even Ian was starting to appreciate the difficulty of the assignment. At first, Tyler's attempts were half-hearted at best, but once he realized that his father was serious he'd actually started to put in an effort...especially when he realized that a bad report to Ms. Lockridge might have unfortunate consequences.

The doorbell rang, and Tyler sighed heavily as Ian set his phone to video record the encounter and placed it on a bookcase before hiding out of sight. Tyler had implored his dad to have some sympathy and let him get off easy, and although he didn't want to admit it to his son, Ian was fully ready to do exactly that. However, since the Ladywood instructors had been explicit about reviewing a video record of the encounter—ostensibly so they could double-check Tyler's performance—Ian's hands were tied. It wasn't lost on him that he wanted to abandon this absurdity just as much as Tyler, but they were both prisoners to this little game, now.

Tyler checked his hair and makeup in the hallway mirror and tugged down on his top and gave his cleavage a little fluff for good measure. Then he took a deep breath and plastered a smile on his face.

"Coming!" he sang as he bounced gaily to the front door and threw it open wide.

For the seventh time that evening, Tyler was faced with a comically surprised look on a delivery guy's face as he took in the sight of the buxom blonde that answered the door. Tyler made a show of it and paused dramatically in the doorway with his head held high and his shoulders back as he stuck his hip out in order to make sure that the delivery guy got an eyeful of his luscious curves.

"Oh, yay!" Tyler enthused in a silly high-pitched voice. "You got here soooo fast! I am soooo hungry!" He clapped his hands girlishly and bounced up and down excitedly, causing his big breasts to jiggle up and down.

"That'll be, uh, $16.50," the guy said absently as he tore his eyes away from Tyler's bouncing knockers.

Tyler cocked his head to one side and smiled vacantly. "Oh, duh! I forgot my purse inside. Come on in, 'kay?"

He opened the door slightly and stepped inside, taking care to crowd the guy as he stepped into the house. He then "accidentally" brushed his breasts against the guy's arm as he entered.

"Ooh, you're so buff," Tyler cooed as he touched the guy's bicep. In point of fact the guy was nothing of the sort, and appeared to be a skinny young guy who was probably working his way through college. "I'm Misty, by the way. What's your name?"

"It's, uh, Michael," the guy said, pointing at the little plastic name tag pinned to his shirt.

"But I bet you have a nickname, don't you? Like Mike, or Mikey, or Mickey? You look like a Mikey to me," Tyler said, playfully touching the name tag with his long manicured nail.

"It's just Michael," the guy said. "B-but you can call me whatever you like," he amended.

"Hahaha!" Tyler laughed a little too loudly in a high and rather annoying pitch. "Aren't you sweet! Buff and funny, I bet you're quite a ladies' man, aren't you, Mikey?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "I, uh, guess I do okay."

"Ooh, I bet you're more than okay," Tyler purred as he licked his lips and moved close. Michael was still holding the pizza box in front of him, but now Tyler was up against it on the other side, and his bosom was jutting over the top of the box.

"Did you bring me the sausage?" Tyler asked suggestively in a low and throaty tone.

"P-pardon?"

"I told them I wanted it large, with extra sausage. Extra big and extra thick," he said slowly and seductively, enunciating the words. He raised his eyebrows and fluttered his eyelashes girlishly. "God, I want it so bad."

"R-right," Michael stammered. "Th-that'll be $16.50."

Tyler broke into a slow smile. "Sure, Mikey," he said as he gave a coquettish little toss of his hair. He playfully fingered the necklace that he wore, with its glittering pendant teasingly positioned right at the top of his cavernous cleavage. "I think my purse is over this way," he said as he threaded his arm around Michael's and then pressed his breast against the guy. Michael seemed to be thrown by all of this but based on the looks he was giving Tyler he clearly was warming to the encounter.

"This is a nice place," Michael offered as Tyler guided them into the kitchen.

"Thank you!" Tyler chirped. He pulled away but let his hand linger on the guy's arm as he did. He then turned around and struck a little model's pose that showed off his curves, and Michael made no attempt to hide his interest.

"You know, Mikey, I really have to apologize. You caught me right in the middle of getting ready. I'm sure I must look a fright," Tyler said with a pout.

"What? No, no, you look...you look terrific," he said as his eyes drunk in Tyler's figure.

"That's nice of you to say, you're such a gentleman," Tyler said with big doe eyes. "Hey, could I get your opinion on something? I've been thinking of getting my belly button pierced. Do you think I should?" he asked, lifting up his shirt to expose his bare midriff.

"Absolutely," Michael said quickly. "I-I mean, yeah, that'd look good on you."

Tyler gave a little smirk and moved close. "Ooh, your collar is crooked, let me fix that," he said as he adjusted Michael's shirt. His hands lingered there and slowly traced down the delivery guy's chest. "I, uh, have a little problem, Mikey. I'm hoping maybe you can help me with it," he whispered.

"I hope I can."

"Mmm, I bet. You see, I've completely forgotten where I put my purse! I'm such a bimbo sometimes. But I'm soooo hungry and I want a big, thick sausage soooo badly." Tyler took the pizza box out of Michael's hands and put it down on the counter. "Can you help me, Mikey?"

Michael slowly wrapped his arms around Tyler's waist and pulled him close so that Tyler's big breasts were pressed up against the delivery guy's chest. His hands reached down and cupped Tyler's big round booty even as he leaned in slowly for a kiss.

"Misty! Is that pizza here yet?" Ian called loudly from the next room.

Michael, startled at the sound of a man's voice, quickly disentangled himself from Tyler who pulled away with a little pout and played girlishly with a lock of his hair.

As Ian entered the kitchen, Tyler said, "Oh, hi, Daddy! The pizza just got here. But I can't find my purse."

Ian shook his head as he fished out his wallet and handed a bill to the startled-looking Michael. "Misty, I swear. How were you planning to pay for this?"

Tyler shrugged vacantly and gave a disappointed look over to the flummoxed delivery guy.

"I, uh, I need to go," Michael stammered as he made his way for the front door.

With Michael's back now turned, Tyler breathed a huge sigh of relief and slumped his shoulders. But then as he chanced to look over at his father, he saw that Ian was giving him an insistent and very pointed glance. Tyler was puzzled until he saw his father's eyes dart over to the retreating delivery guy significantly.

"Oh, shit," Tyler said under his breath as he rushed after Michael, hurriedly clicking along on his heels.

"Mikey!" he called, catching the guy on the front porch just as he was starting to close the front door. Tyler chased after him and affected an over-the-top prancing gait that caused his big tits to bobble energetically. He lowered his voice as he got close. "I'm sorry I wasn't able to get my sausage. Maybe some other time?" he said suggestively.

Inside, Ian waited as he heard the two talk in hushed tones followed by another vapid giggle from Tyler. A few seconds later, Tyler emerged through the front door and closed it behind him and breathed a sigh of relief. He then leaned heavily against the door as he waggled a small piece of paper in the air that had the guy's phone number written on it as Ian turned off the video.

Tyler crumpled up the paper and tossed it in the wastepaper basket. "Thanks," he said.

"I just didn't want to go through that again," Ian said. The two of them stood there awkwardly for a moment, not sure what to say. The whole evening had been bizarre, but now that it was only the two of them it seemed all the more strange with Tyler standing there dressed like a buxom blonde hooker.

Ian sighed and headed into the kitchen and upon seeing the pizza box sitting on the table went into the adjoining laundry room to retrieve all the other boxes. He shook his head and dumped all but one of them in the trash cans outside. On his way back in, he saw Tyler's purse in the laundry room and carried both it and the remaining pizza box back into the kitchen. When he returned, he caught sight of Tyler standing there, admiring himself in one of the narrow mirrors in the hallway.

Ian stopped short, unsure what to say as Tyler seemed distracted by his own reflection. The teen twisted and turned as he coyly checked out his voluptuous figure in his slutty getup.

Ian cleared his throat loudly, and Tyler practically jumped.

"Do you want anything to eat?" he asked, gesturing to the pizza.

Tyler turned away and glanced over his shoulder at the box. "I'm not real hungry."

"Yeah, me neither," Ian agreed. "Oh, and here's your, uh, purse." He hesitated as he said it, still uncomfortable with the notion that his son would even have a purse, much less leave it laying carelessly around the house. He tried to play it off by offering it in a casual manner.

"Thanks," Tyler said. He took a few steps backwards to approach his father while keeping his back to Ian. He then sidled over to grab at the small satchel and gripped it in both hands.

Ian looked at him strangely. Tyler was certainly acting weird all of a sudden, almost awkward. He could hardly imagine why. Tyler had just spent the last several hours dressed up like a call girl and parading around like an oversexed minx, what could he now possibly be embarrassed ab—?

Ian froze as he saw Tyler staring directly at him with a distressed expression on his face. And he was holding his little purse exactly in front of his crotch.

Ian's eyes cut upward. "Oh! Uh..." he stammered, not wanting to draw attention to Tyler's growing problem.

Tyler glanced down at himself and fidgeted a little on his heels. "I think I'm gonna to go to bed?"

"Yes. Yes, you should. You've had a very busy day," Ian agreed, maintaining eye contact at all costs.

Tyler began to back up slowly, keeping his purse positioned over his crotch. "I, uh, I might shower first," he said.

"Right," Ian said, nodding in understanding. "Yes. Well, I'll be down here for a while. Watching some TV. For a while," he repeated. "I'll see you in the morning."

Ian hurried over to grab the remote and flipped on the television. He then turned the volume up to a distractingly high level as Tyler awkwardly scampered up the stairs.

"I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing," Ian groaned as he rubbed his tired eyes.

TUESDAY

"Dad!"

The cry came from Tyler's room, and Ian did a startled little double-take at the summons. He was downstairs in the kitchen checking some work emails on his phone as he waited for Tyler to come down. Normally nothing short of a nuclear holocaust was capable of raising Tyler at this hour, but whatever motivational techniques the Ladywood Academy had employed had obviously made an impression on the lad since he was already up and moving when Ian had gone to wake him that morning. Ian had nearly blushed when he saw his son half-naked with his female prosthetics sticking out as he leaned over the bathroom sink to peer in the mirror at himself as he applied his makeup. And judging by the glare that Tyler shot him, if there had been a still been a bathroom door attached to the hinges, he would happily have slammed it in his father's face if given the opportunity.

For all that, the last thing Ian expected to hear that morning from his son was a cry for assistance.

Ian bounded up the steps, and when he rounded the corner to Tyler's room—again, wide open due to the lack of a door—what he saw stopped him dead in his tracks.

Tyler was standing in the middle of his bedroom with his back to the door and wearing a stunning glittering blue sequined evening gown, which was a stark contrast to the long fall of golden blonde hair of his wig. The gown clung to Tyler's curves incredibly snugly and showed off every inch of his extravagant female curves, and the sight of his big round hips and abundant rear end alongside his corsetted nipped-in waist gave him an eye-popping figure. The dress came down to his knees, and Ian observed that it was so tight that it seemed to hobble Tyler's legs together as it practically bound him at his knees. Between that and his strappy stiletto heels, Ian wondered if Tyler would even be able to walk like that.

"Um...what's wrong?" Ian said uncertainly, his mind reeling.

Tyler was using one hand to hold onto his desk and steady himself, but he twisted in place and reached behind him with his other hand against the small of his back and groped about in a constrained gesture of helpless frustration.

"I can't— Can you—-" he said as he wiggled his fingers, flashing his long gleaming feminine nails. Then he sighed. "Can you zip me up?" he grumbled.

"Oh," Ian said as he noticed the zipper partway up Tyler's back. He stepped forward and tugged it up before pausing awkwardly. "Your hair is in the way. Could you...?"

Tyler gave a huffy little sigh of exasperation as he swept the long blonde hairs over his shoulder, which exposed his back as well as the fact that he obviously wasn't wearing a brassiere.

Ian pulled the zipper a little bit higher. "It's stuck," he said. "Are you sure this is the right size?"

"Yes," Tyler snapped testily. "It's just tight."

"Ugh. Maybe it needs a little more slack from up...front... Oh."

Ian moved around to Tyler's front and stopped short when he found himself scant inches away from his son's huge bosom that projected forward on lavish display in the low-cut gown. The two little spaghetti straps of the dress seemed to have their work cut out for them. The effect of his curvaceous chest contrasted against his corsetted waist going down to his wide hips was an even more even more impressive display than it had been from the rear.

After a moment, Ian realized that he'd been staring and looked up into Tyler's beautiful but angry face. His makeup was overdone as usual but between that and his long twinkling earrings and glittering jewelry, the overall effect kind of complemented the glitzy and glamorous evening look, and might not have been out of place at a flashy and formal evening event. But since it was 7:30 in the morning in his teenage son's bedroom, it remained every bit as crazy and bizarre as ever.

"Right," Ian said as he returned to Tyler's back and fussed with the zipper. After a few seconds, he gave up.

"I'm going to break this if I pull it any harder. Isn't there something else you can wear?" He found himself swiftly becoming annoyed with this nonsense since they were already running late, but even more desperately he just wanted this encounter to be over. It was one thing to put up with Tyler flouncing around in these outlandish outfits, but it was something else entirely to be a party to actually dressing him up in them.

"This is what I'm supposed to wear! You're the one who signed me up for these stupid classes. Besides, this fit yesterday."

That was a lot for Ian to process. He tried to imagine Tyler trying on outfits like this and wondered how that might have played out. And loathe as he was to admit it, he did have to grudgingly concede his own personal culpability in this situation.

He tugged on the edges of the zipper, trying to focus on the problem at hand. "I just need a little bit more slack to get past this part. Can you...maybe...?" His voice drifted off suggestively.

"Can I what?"

Ian didn't want to say it. "You know, with your hands..."

Tyler made an annoyed grumble as he realized what his father was proposing and pressed his hands firmly against his jutting breasts and smooshed them down as best he could while his father tugged from behind. After a few seconds, they were rewarded the sound and feel of the zipper as it went the rest of the way to the top.

Ian breathed a sigh of relief. Tyler would likely have done so as well, if not for the snugness of the dress.

"Do you need anything else?" Ian asked, dearly hoping that the answer was—

"No!"

Ian gladly retreated downstairs, only too happy to disengage from this insanity. He checked the time in the hopes that Tyler might be nearly done getting ready but as several more minutes passed he found his patience wearing thin. He was just about to yell up the stairs when he noticed his crossdressed son standing at the top of the staircase. He was carrying a glitzy little purse and seemed ready to go, and Ian was just about to entreat him to get a move on when he realized that Tyler seemed to have encountered a new problem.

With his legs effectively hobbled together at the knees and swaying on his towering high heels, Tyler was unable to walk down the stairs. He held on to the banister and daintily dipped one foot down onto the next step, only to retreat as he proved unable to extend his leg far enough, coming up inches short of making contact with the stair.

"Jesus wept," Ian muttered under his breath. "Tyler, we're late. Do you need help?"

"No!" Tyler snapped as he twisted a little and made another ineffective play for the stair, a task made all the more difficult as he craned his neck to try and see past his jutting bosom that prevented him from actually seeing his feet.

As Ian watched the absurd struggle, he could clearly imagine Tyler taking a bad step which would doubtless turn in to a full-on tumble down the staircase. He wondered how the conversation would go in the emergency room as he tried to explain how his teenage son had injured himself while dressed up like a red carpet diva on her way to the adult film awards.

"This is ridiculous, I'm coming up," Ian said.

"I said no! I don't need your help," retorted Tyler, all evidence to the contrary. But upon seeing his dad's approach, he squatted down as best he could and then plopped down onto his well-padded rear end at the top of the staircase. Then, as Ian watched, Tyler scooched down the steps on his butt one by one, like an inchworm in drag.

Ian watched in disbelief as Tyler testily wriggled his way to the bottom. He offered his hand to help him up, but Tyler just glared at him and instead used the banister to hoist himself awkwardly to his high-heeled feet. He brushed the blonde hairs of his wig out of his face and shot his father a look that Ian suspected was meant to be one of angry defiance, but it came across more as the huffy and petulant pout of an overindulged debutante who didn't get her way.

Ian gestured vaguely towards the kitchen. "Do you want some breakfast?"

"I thought you said I'd made us late," Tyler said petulantly.

As bizarre as the entire situation was, to his annoyance Ian realized it was starting to have an all-too-familiar feel to it. Tyler was clearly spoiling for a fight, and as Ian felt his blood pressure rise, he was increasingly inclined to give him one. Just the thought of going back to that store made him highly uneasy, but he was determined not to show it. He took a calming breath and said, "Misty, do you want something or not?"

Tyler held his defiant glare for a moment and then looked away sheepishly. "This corset is kind of killing my appetite."

That was more information than Ian needed or wanted. He gave a curt nod. "Are you ready to go?"

"Would it matter if I said no?" he sniped. He fumbled with his sparkling clutch purse, which he held tightly against his body like a football. "Though they're gonna teach us how to handle a clutch purse today, which will be so super fun," he said sarcastically.

The teenage sass was something that Ian had become all too familiar with in recent months.

"Of course it matters, Misty," he shot back. "If you're not enjoying your classes, you don't have to go. You can stay home and I'll just post all those photos of you. Then you can go out like that whenever you want once everybody's seen how you like to dress. How does that strike you?"

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Tyler said accusingly. "You'd love to see me humiliated. Of course, then you'd have to tell everyone that your son likes to run around dressed as a slut with a big pair of tits."

They stood there for a long tense moment glaring at each other. Tyler's chin was raised defiantly at his father while Ian felt his face redden, determined not to rise to Tyler's vulgar taunt.

Ian looked Tyler over with a mirthless smirk and shook his head slightly.

"No, Misty, what I would have dearly loved is for all of us to be sitting on a beach this week, having a relaxing vacation together as a family. But instead, your behavior led us here. You've made it plainly obvious that you don't want my advice, so I'll just say this: if I were in your high heels right now I'd go back to that school. Hell, you might even learn something. Because if you decide to call my bluff, I will post those photos far and wide. I suppose you'll still learn something then, but I doubt it'll be a lesson you'll enjoy nearly as much."

Tyler stood there defiantly for a moment longer, but the outcome was never really in question. With a rebellious little sniff he contorted his prettily made-up face into a seething scowl and stalked past Ian to march as angrily out to the garage as he could manage while his glittering blue evening gown flashed with every step.

Ian felt his blood boil when he witnessed Tyler's mincing gait with his tiny little steps and the way he waggled his big padded butt back and forth, clearly another one of Tyler's obviously disrespectful attempts to try and provoke him. But just as Ian was about to say something, he stopped as he realized that Tyler's stride was so limited by the dress and heels, it was the only way he could walk. He actually was doing the best he could.

Ian took a breath and watched his feminized son's flouncing retreat. He found himself reminded of a time when Tyler's sister Kim was about that same age and had tried to sneak out while dressed in a particularly oversexed outfit. Ian had sent her back upstairs to change, and she'd stormed back up to her room with almost exactly the same huffy attitude. The irony wasn't lost on Ian that his daughter's outfit which he had sternly vetoed at the time was nowhere near as bawdy and licentious as the outfit that his son was now wearing.

"If it isn't sissy Misty, back for more."

Tyler's face burned in embarrassment as he entered his "classroom" at the Ladywood Academy. After his father dropped him off, Ms. Mercer had imperiously directed Tyler to go there to start on his "assignments" for the day. The back of the store seemed to be a veritable labyrinth of rooms and corridors filled with heaven only knew what types of feminizing horrors, but none more so than the crucible of humiliation and fear that was simply marked, "CLASSROOM #1." When Tyler had reached for the doorknob, if there was any question or doubt in his mind about where he was going or where he belonged, a lingering look at his feminized hand with the long painted nails was a teasing reminder that this was exactly where he was meant to be.

The inside of the room was a curious mix of accoutrements and appliances, obviously specialized to help instruct recalcitrant young men in the arts of womanhood. Part classroom and part dance studio, there were several desks set up in front of a whiteboard, and another area which looked like it was set up for a dance class. Against one of the walls it looked like nothing so much as the crowded backstage area for a theatrical company...or a burlesque show. There were several racks of feminine clothes, costumes, wigs, and shoes, and a row of chairs in front of a huge dressing table with lighted mirrors where the "girls" could sit and practice their makeup, all arranged neatly and color-coded for each person according to the color and style of makeup he was wearing that day. The other side of the room had a large area with spacious countertops and a few sinks and ovens, set aside for cooking, baking, and other Home Ec classwork.

The moment Tyler stepped into the classroom, his high heel sounded loudly on the hardwood floor. All of the floors back here were like that, specially designed so that the boys were constantly reminded of their feminine footwear, as though reminders were needed. The sharp report of his stiletto heels on the floor caught everyone's attention, and all the talking and whispering stopped as he entered. But when the others saw who it was, they visibly relaxed. Most of them.

There were a half-dozen teens in there, all around Tyler's age...some younger and some older. This "class" apparently consisted of all of the boys who were taking instruction at the Ladywood Academy for a week of "feminine immersion training" since they and/or their female tormentors were off for Spring Break, just like Tyler was. Almost everybody had been coming to the Ladywood Academy for some time already, and it was blatantly obvious that nobody was happy about being there.

It was like the Island of Misfit Toys in drag.

Tyler quietly noted that the morning instructor, Ms. Boulet, was nowhere to be seen. Like all of Ms. Mercer's staff, she was a stern taskmaster who seemed to take cruel delight in instructing the boys in "charm classes" and "feminine deportment," and promised that even the most difficult boy would proudly walk out at the end of the week as a "Boulet lady." At first, Tyler had been dismissive like the other boys, but after only a few hours the previous day with the horrible woman he was starting to take her threat seriously. Her methods used a combination of humiliation, fear, corporal punishment, and psychological intimidation techniques, along with sweetly saccharine praise for those who toed the line and showed effort.

And Tyler was...conflicted.

His protestations to his father notwithstanding, Tyler secretly did get a little thrill out of some of the "classwork," and his own solitary explorations with his mother's and sister's clothes provided him an early advantage over the other students when it came to things like learning how to do his makeup or walk in high heels.

Although he'd never admit it, that part actually wasn't so bad. What made it horrible were the other students.

At various times during the day—such as right now—the students were left on their own recognizance, ostensibly to work on some sissy assignment on their own or in pairs. The first time they'd done this, Tyler had assumed that the staff was merely shorthanded and focused on other duties or students elsewhere, but he soon came to realize the subtle genius of Ms. Mercer and her staff at twisting the knife: they left the boys alone so they would torment each other.

Tyler's introduction to the class the previous day had been utterly humiliating. It was bad enough that he had been pulled to the front of the classroom to introduce himself while looking like a busty porno queen, and the way the other students lustily stared at him it had left no doubt that they were still randy teen guys underneath all of the lipstick and paint. For a fleeting moment Tyler had hoped that he might find some camaraderie with the other forcibly feminized teens since clearly none of them seemed to want to be there, either. However, that hope had been quickly shattered when Ms. Mercer made her introduction.

"Class, please welcome our newest student. Her name is Misty Melons. Her father caught her masturbating to pornography while she was dressed as a large-breasted pornographic actress, and now she'll be spending the week with us to improve her presentation. Do be sure to give her a proper Ladywood Academy welcome, won't you?"

Tyler's face turned ashen as the energy in the room suddenly changed. All six sets of eyes continued to eye his feminine curves in lecherous ways, but now many of them had accusatory looks on their faces. Before Ms. Mercer's pronouncement Tyler might have passed himself off as an ordinary guy who was here being feminized against his will, but now after being outed to the group as a closet crossdresser it was clear that everybody believed that this was apparently a fun little vacation for him as he played at being a big-breasted bimbo. The others, fighting tooth and nail to hold on to whatever scraps of masculinity they could in this horrible place, saw in Tyler the face of the enemy.

He had been caught between a rock and a hard place. Any time he used his meager knowledge of makeup or women's clothes to gain an edge in his "studies," Ms. Boulet had been quick to notice and point it out to the other boys, earning him an unwanted reputation as the teacher's pet. On the other hand, if he intentionally messed up, she was quick with a sharp reprimand...or worse. When Ms. Boulet had left the boys alone the first time, Tyler had been quick to try and deny the accusations and fit in with the others, but most of them were having nothing of it.

Especially "Kitty." Kitty was a problem.

When the boys were left on their own, discipline was usually lax as the Ladywood staff apparently liked the idea of the boys policing themselves. Some, cowed by the instructors and feeling fearful and emasculated in their feminine dress, were quick to do what they were told, but other more willful boys instead tried to assert their dominance as they fought vehemently against what was being done to them. In some ways they reminded Tyler of the crew that he had taken to running with, tough no-nonsense independent-minded guys who liked to buck authority. Except these "toughs" were wearing makeup and high heels.

However, while the instructors had been willing to give the boys some slack, they had made one rule plainly and painfully clear that if ever broken was met with swift punishment: no male names. Once enrolled in these classes, the young men were required to have proper female names, and if they didn't already have one, the Ladywood staff were happy to assign them a suitably flowery and florid girl's name to help twist the knife.

Whatever names the boys may have had outside the walls of the Ladywood Academy, referring to another student by his male name brought down the full power of the place upon the one violating the rule, and they had a variety of persuasive and macabre ways to enforce compliance. It was, Tyler realized, a subtle way of reinforcing their new identities. Because while he might introduce himself as Tyler or insist the other boys call him that, the name only had power so long as other people used it, and nobody was willing to risk punishment just so some other guy could enjoy being called by his male name. And while being referred to by your female name might provide some positive feminine reinforcement, it could also be wielded like a pretty vicious club against their increasingly fragile male egos.

"Welcome back, sissy Misty," Kitty teasingly said. "I thought you said you weren't going to be coming back."

Tyler wasn't entirely clear on Kitty's deal, but from what he'd pieced together the older teen had been in trouble with the law and gone through a few foster families. He'd even bragged to the others about attempting to force himself on his latest foster sister, which was apparently when she and her mother had decided to take justice into their own hands, and Ladywood got a new recruit.

"Hello, Kitty," Tyler taunted back in a babyish tone of voice. The older teen's face flushed beet red with anger, so he knew he'd hit the mark by using the hated name. "You look so sexy I couldn't stay away."

Tyler strutted across the room to the Home Ec area where the other guys were gathered, and did his best to project an air of confidence even as his constraining dress bound him together at the knees and he minced along on his stilettos. He noted from the open cookbooks they were apparently supposed to be working on some cooking assignment, but it didn't appear as though they'd made much progress, instead choosing to stand around and bitch about their situation.

"Look at you, all decked out, tits and all," Kitty said as he moved to block Tyler's path. As an intimidation move, it was pretty laughable on its face since Kitty was dressed in a fuzzy pink sweater and matching miniskirt and even in heels was scarcely taller than Tyler himself. Like the other boys, he was prettified and made up, but he still retained some masculine features like his short male haircut and a modest but very noticeable bosom visible under his tight sweater. However, Kitty's implied threat was more effective since he was backed up by "Cici."

Cici was also older than Tyler, and might even have been in college. He was a much bigger guy...or at least, a taller one. The rumor was that Cici was a football player, but apparently whomever had brought him to Ladywood was taking full advantage of their pharmacological services, since whatever muscles he might have once possessed had now melted away, leaving him with arms and legs that were as skinny as a scrawny teenage girl. Yesterday Cici had sported a cute little schoolgirl uniform, but today his overseers had dressed him in a pink-and-white cheerleader uniform with the word "SISSY" stretched across his prominent bosom, obviously a teasing reminder that if Cici was ever again going to set foot on a football field, it would be in a miniskirt and carrying pom poms. Cici was heavily made up and sported a sunny blonde wig with big and bouncy loose feminine curls, but with his masculine bone structure and jawline, even in makeup he had a rough time passing for a girl. The only thing even more ridiculous had been his deep male voice which was a bizarre clash against his feminized appearance.

The other four "girls" in the class hung back, clearly reluctant to involve themselves in this altercation.

Kitty looked Tyler over lasciviously. "Damn, it's too bad you ain't a real girl. I'd totally do you, but I ain't into crossdressing freaks. But maybe if you ask real nice, I'll let you suck my dick." Then he gave Cici a nudge. "Hey, you want in on that? This bimbo's lips look pretty talented."

Cici sniffed once and gave a little shrug of agreement, obviously a less enthusiastic response than Kitty had hoped for.

A feeling of consternation flashed through Tyler as he faced down the two of them. The whole situation had taken on a surreal quality...did they actually expect to get into a physical confrontation, dressed as they were? Faced with their challenging glares, Tyler felt embarrassed to be standing there in his fancy evening gown and heels with his big boobs on copious display, and for a moment he wondered how a real girl might handle this situation. Unfortunately, he had no idea. But he knew exactly how he'd handle it if one of his miscreant troublemaking friends tried something like this.

Tyler took a step closer to Kitty, both of them acutely aware how Tyler's jutting chest was encroaching on the older teen's personal space. "If you're looking for a cat fight—Kitty—you came to the right place. I've got—huh?"

Tyler's challenge was cut short as he felt a pair of hands wrap themselves insistently around his left elbow. He turned to look down into the pleading eyes of Brianna, the youngest member of the group. He was a pretty little thing and almost painfully timid. He grabbed Tyler's hand and gave it an impassioned squeeze and shook his head desperately, setting his pretty brunette locks to swishing.

"Please," Brianna whispered, "don't—"

"Ladies!" a woman's commanding voice came from the entryway, causing them all to straighten up.

This place was a shame factory, Tyler had come to realize. And class was now in session.

The voice had been that of Ms. Lockridge, their primary "instructor" who made the elder Ms. Boulet seem like a kindly old aunt by comparison. She was a stern-looking middle-aged woman with dark brown hair that she wore back in a tight bun. She looked like she might have starred in S&M films back in her day, a look only reinforced by her all-black outfits and the riding crop she habitually carried. When Tyler had first seen her he scoffed at the campy image, but the humorless woman was a strict disciplinarian and was not at all shy about using the riding crop. As with most things at the Ladywood Academy she tended to use the threat of punishment to coerce compliance rather than the punishment itself, but—again, as with most things at the Academy—it worked so effectively because the students were fully aware the instructors had no compunctions about making good on a threat.

"I leave you girls alone for a few minutes and just look at you! Standing around and gossiping like debutantes at a tea party," Ms. Lockridge said reprovingly, causing the boys to blush in embarrassment as they realized they probably actually did look the part. "Now take your seats!" she said, punctuating her command with a crisp slap of her riding crop into her open palm that made a sharp clapping noise that caused several of the boys to jump. All seven boys quickly made their way to their assigned desks, looking and feeling quite ridiculous as their skirts swished and their high heels clicked along on the hard floor.

As Tyler made his way to his seat, his gaze was drawn to the large mirrored walls that adorned the room, looking more dance studio than classroom. It was all very distracting. Being dressed like Misty Melons, especially in front of other people, was incredibly embarrassing, but it was also a bit of a turn-on to be dressed that way, and he found himself stealing glances at the blonde seductress in the mirror or down at his exposed cleavage that was on shameless display. However, the mirrors-looking-at-mirrors design also allowed the boys to slyly check each other out without looking like they were doing so, and Tyler frequently found himself stealing glances at the other crossdressed boys in their fancy outfits. But the real artfulness of the design became apparent to Tyler once he figured out certain lines of sight to discover that the other boys were also checking him out.

Dressing up like Misty Melons gave Tyler quite a little thrill, but seeing how the other boys leered at him gave him more than a little pause. The blonde hair, the big tits, the big round butt, shaved legs, and high heels were all designed to attract the male gaze, but Tyler was used to the male gaze being his own. Seeing the other teens ogling him in that way made him feel rather funny. It bothered him to know full well why they were looking at him—no doubt the same reason he looked at some of them—but he also found that he liked the power that he found there, and he would sometimes cross and uncross his legs or lean forward to show off his chest a little just to enjoy how he would distract the others.

"I've been reviewing your homework assignments, and I'm very disappointed," Ms. Lockridge said briskly. "Of the seven of you, only three of you completed your assignments to my satisfaction. Misty, Brianna, and Margaret, well done."

Despite the insanity of the situation, Tyler felt a little flush of pride at getting praise from the authoritarian instructor, to say nothing of the sense of relief at avoiding any punishment. As he breathed a little sigh of relief, his eyes darted over at the other two fortunate students. "Margaret" was a teen about his own age, but his aunt had turned him into a caricature of a woman from the 1950s with big heavy foundation garments and dated fashions, so that he resembled an oversexed June Cleaver in his 50's house dresses and pearls and with his torpedo tits stuffed into a bullet bra. Instead of a wig, Margaret's hair had been dyed a shocking shade of red, and the teen had been made to grow it out long enough to style into a sexy Marilyn Monroe flip. Apparently his aunt insisted on him putting his hair into curlers every night like a 50's housewife. Like all of the boys, Margaret was practically drenched in a girlishly flowery aura of perfume, scented moisturizer, and deodorant, but even through that florid haze, Tyler could always tell that Margaret was nearby from the overpowering aroma of hair spray he used to keep his hairdo in place.

Tyler's eyes then cut over to Brianna, who seemed quiet and withdrawn, as usual. He was the youngest member of the group and was unique in that he was dressed in a style for a typical teenager, albeit a particularly girly one. Cute and soft-spoken, it was Brianna's attentiveness during the lessons that had caught Tyler's attention. For his own part, Tyler actually found some of the lessons...not so bad. At home, trying on his mother's or sister's clothes had been a clandestine thrill, so the notion of actually being taught how to do makeup or to walk in heels was actually kind of fun, though he'd never admit it. But while the other boys in the class only participated under the threat of punishment, Tyler noticed that Brianna didn't often require threats to comply. The young teen didn't talk very much, and Tyler hadn't had a chance to find out why he was at Ladywood, but Brianna had apparently started to gravitate to Tyler, almost like an older brother...or sister.

"Now, as for the rest of you—" Ms. Lockridge admonished.

The "twins," Posie and Pansy, looked at each other in alarm and both shot their hands up into the air desperately, asking permission to talk as they practically jumped out of their seats. In point of fact, the "twins" were nothing of the sort...Posie and Pansy were actually stepbrothers and looked nothing alike, despite being the same age. Tyler wasn't entirely clear on their situation, but he gathered that Posie's sister had extorted her brother into dresses, and her mother had been so delighted at her daughter's deviousness that the two women had teamed up to similarly entrap Posie's stepbrother. Their father had all but disowned the boys and left them to the women's tender mercies, so now Posie and Pansy always wore matching outfits, and usually in overly sissy party dresses that were far more suitable to little girls. Today they looked particularly adorable with their big matching hair bows in their wigs, and they wore elaborately frilled dresses with wide petticoats—Posie dressed in lavender, and Pansy in a pale yellow.

Ms. Lockridge eyed the two crossdressed boys contemptuously. "Pansy, am I to assume from this unladylike display that you feel you have been treated unfairly?"

Pansy stood up and his stiff petticoat fanned his little dress out girlishly. "Yes, Ms. Lockridge. I-I mean, no," he quickly corrected at seeing her deadly glare. "I-I mean—"

Posie cut in. "Ms. Lockridge, we did the assignment—"

"Posie, I did not call on you. Fifteen minutes with your pacifier."

"But—!"

"Thirty minutes. Would you care to try for an hour, young lady? And you had best suck more energetically than you did yesterday or I'll be forced to fetch your special pacifier."

Posie's eyes went wide and he shook his head in alarm, setting his pigtails to bobbing. He then silently grumped and plucked at the pacifier that was tied to his dress with a long ribbon and unceremoniously popped it in his mouth and began sucking on it disconsolately. With his makeup and big hair bow he looked like such a pouty little girl that Tyler nearly laughed out loud. He and Brianna made eye contact and traded smirks.

Pansy's eyes cut over at his brother and then back to Ms. Lockridge. "He's right, ma'am—"

"Ahem!"

"I-I mean, she's right. Posie is," Pansy hurriedly corrected, catching a glare from her brother from the hated name.

"It was a simple enough assignment," Ms. Lockridge said. "Ninety minutes of supervised playtime, in your front yard, during daylight hours."

"But we did!" Pansy insisted. "We skipped rope, we played with dolls, we played tag...Dani even made us do cartwheels in our dresses! Half the neighborhood saw us! I thought I'd die, the way they were all laughing—"

"Pansy!" Ms. Lockridge said sharply. "What have I told you about your attitude?"

Pansy forced a halfhearted attempt at a smile that came out as more of a grimace. "No, no, I m-mean, it's fine...it's great," he said as he fretted with the hem of his short little dress.

"And yet, if 'half the neighborhood' saw you, one would think you have some evidence of this?"

Posie, who was still sucking on his pacifier, flashed an insistent glare over at his brother.

"R-right," Pansy said. "Y-you see, um, our sister, Dani? She got video of the whole thing, but then—you see, she says she accidentally deleted it, but we don't think she did—" Pansy said, as Posie nodded emphatically.

Ms. Lockridge scowled at them. "Girls! I am shocked at the two of you. Danielle is your big sister, and I should have thought that by now you've learned how sisters look out for each other."

She sniffed indignantly. "I suppose this is the 21st century version of 'the dog ate my homework.' Very well, I'm giving you one more opportunity to get the footage tonight, and I had better see some girlish frolicking or you two will be back in diapers!" she said as the two boys reacted with shock and dismay. "However, I have some good news. If you feel that you've been treated unfairly by your sister, then you'll be happy to learn that she asked permission to excuse the two of you early this afternoon so that she can take you girls to the petting zoo. Perhaps some time with the other children supervised by your big sister will convince you how much she loves you. Now, sit down, Pansy."

Posie and Pansy stared at each other in horror as Pansy sat back in his seat. Absently he tucked his skirts underneath him as he sat, likely not even realizing how the girlish gesture had become second nature.

"Cici," Ms. Lockridge said, turning her attention to the tall cheerleader in the front row. "I thought that having you perform a few easy cheers was as simple a task as I could give you. With all that time on the football field, surely you had time to ogle the girls on the sidelines. Or perhaps you were busy ogling the other boys?" she teased.

He didn't respond, so she casually said, "Cici, why don't you come up here to the front of the class and show everyone your new cheers?"

Cici's eyes went wide and his mouth dropped open. He shook his head in fear and the blonde ponytail perched high on his head swung gaily from side to side.

Surprised at his disobedience, Ms. Lockridge snatched up her riding crop and viciously smacked the edge of Cici's desk, making a sharp crack that caused the entire group to jump. When she spoke, it was in a tightly controlled voice that was quiet and ominous.

"Do not make me repeat myself, young lady, or I guarantee you'll regret it. Now, up out of that seat, and don't forget your pom poms."

Cici was practically in tears as he picked up his two oversized pink-and-white pom poms from next to his desk and walked to the front of the classroom. Tyler was puzzled. Compared to what happened to the two brothers—or for that matter what Tyler had to endure, flirting with those pizza delivery guys the night before—having to stand up and do a couple embarrassing cheers in the privacy of the Ladywood Academy seemed like getting off really light. Cici had no idea how easy he had it.

The former football jock stood there in front of everyone and looked like he was about to burst out crying as he sniffled once and held his colorful pom poms at his sides.

"Whenever you're ready, Cici. Nice and loud," Ms. Lockridge said, the impatience evident in her voice.

Cici took a tremulous breath and lifted his pom poms up against his bosom. Then he began his cheer.

"S-I-S-S-Y!" he cried out, and all the boys' jaws dropped.

Cici's deep manly voice was gone, and had been replaced by an absurdly high-pitched and breathy voice like a girl might affect if she were jokingly trying to sound like a brainless airhead. Tyler—indeed everyone, apart from Ms. Lockridge—was in absolute shock. They'd heard Cici's deep, masculine voice only the day before, and there was absolutely no way that he was doing this as some kind of a joke or because he'd been told to affect this ridiculous chirpy vocalization...clearly the Ladywood staff had done something to him to make him like this! Suddenly Cici's earlier sullen demeanor made perfect sense. They'd taken away a part of his manhood that he never imagined they could take away, and replaced it not just with a woman's voice, but leaving him trapped with a sexy and girlish vocalization, a breathless bimbo temptress on helium. If the boys harbored any remaining doubt of the Ladywood Academy's power to remold the young men into whatever kind of women they wanted, there was no question now.

Cici broke down in tears. Even his crying was ridiculous, like a cartoon girl chipmunk. "P-please..." he pleaded in a plaintive little squeak.

Ms. Lockridge was unmoved. "Begin again, Cici. Nice and loud."

When he just stood there trembling, she sighed in resignation. "Very well. It's a shame, you seemed so—enthusiastic—the other day. Perhaps another session with your former coach will help you rediscover your Ladywood Academy spirit?" she said as she gave him a meaningful look.

All the blood drained from Cici's face. He was obviously terrified by whatever implied threat she'd just made, but whatever it was, it had the desired effect. He sniffled again and wiped his tears and brought his pom poms back up to his jutting chest in the ready position. Then he took a breath and forced a huge and pained smile onto his face as he began to cheer:

Cici maintained his big fake smile throughout his entire routine and shook his pom poms vigorously as he jumped up and down, a motion that caused his girl's chest to jiggle and bounce energetically. But despite his forced feminine demeanor, his prettily made-up eyes were a portrait of anguish and despair as he finished his humiliating routine in his ridiculous new voice. He choked out a sob that sounded like a high-pitched little hiccup.

For a long moment, silence filled the room as Tyler and the other boys stared in stupefaction at the crossdressed cheerleader who appeared to be absolutely mortified and broken. Then suddenly the stillness was shattered by a series of slow, methodical claps as Ms. Lockridge applauded his performance, an odd and disconcerting sound that punctuated the quiet since it sounded so deliberate and forced. One by one, the boys got the hint and began to clap along, but there were so few of them and they were still so stunned that the smattering of applause communicated their shock and disbelief every bit as effectively as their silence had.

"Very good, Cici," Ms. Lockridge said. "For homework tonight, I'll give you some dance videos to review...cheerleaders and exotic dancers, I'm sure you'll be thrilled. I want you to work out some sexy moves to match your wonderful little routine, something certain to arouse the passions of all those big muscular men on the field, to say nothing of everyone in the stands who I'm sure will be watching your every move. Perhaps tomorrow you can entertain the class with another one of your cheers."

Cici nodded quietly and sullenly began to return to his seat. But at a warning look from Ms. Lockridge, he straightened up and executed an awkward little curtsy. "Yes, Ms. Lockridge. Thank you, Ms. Lockridge," he chirped. He then shuffled over to his seat and slumped over in utter defeat.

"Who else didn't finish their homework?" the instructor mused. "Ah. Kitty. I might have known." She looked over at the sour-faced young man. "You were supposed to write a coming-out letter and post the video of your makeover to your social media sites. I presume you have an explanation for your delinquency?"

Kitty sneered at her. "You can make me do all this crap in here, but there's no way I'm going to humiliate myself to everybody I know! All these other fags may enjoy dressing up like trannies, but you're never going to make me do that shit."

An audible gasp filled the room. Tyler and the others all turned to Ms. Lockridge to see her reaction to this insubordination, but the woman was calm and composed.

"I'm very disappointed to hear that, Kitty," she said.

The young man rankled at the girlish name. "Don't call me that, bitch. I'm outta here," he snarled at her. Another gasp.

Ms. Lockridge gave him a faint smile. "Your foster family had hoped that this would be a good experience for you. I'm sorry it hasn't been to your liking. Still, the Ladywood Academy isn't a prison. If any of you feel that you're not benefiting from the curriculum, you're free to leave at any time," she said as she motioned towards the door.

Silence filled the room. Tyler made nervous and questioning eye contact with the other boys, but nobody seemed keen to take the obvious bait.

Almost nobody.

"So I can just go?" Kitty asked.

"Of course. Don't forget your purse, dear," Ms. Lockridge said distractedly as she returned her attention to the other students. "Now, ladies, today we'll be practicing new makeup techniques—"

She was interrupted by the sound of high heels crossing the hardwood floor. The boys turned towards the staccato click-click sound and watched as Kitty strode purposefully over to the exit. When he got to the door, he put his hand on the handle and then paused and turned to face Ms. Lockridge, who remained unperturbed.

"Did you change your mind about joining us, Kitty? I think you'd benefit from the 'smoldering eye' makeup tutorial."

The rebellious teen gave a little sneer and yanked the door open and walked through it. As the door closed behind him, it did so with a heavy and ominous click.

Untroubled, Ms. Lockridge then turned to the remaining students. "Now, then. Evening makeup allows you to feel particularly feminine, because—"

Slowly, Tyler raised his hand.

"Yes, Misty, what is it?"

Tyler's eyes were still drawn to the closed door but he tore his eyes away to face her. "Ms. Lockridge, what's gonna happen to hi—er, to her?" he corrected himself, stumbling on the pronoun.

"Oh, don't worry about Kitty, she'll be back soon enough. We've never once lost a student."

The rest of the day was spent learning makeup techniques, practicing walking in high heels, studying feminine fashion, and "learning their personal style" as they tried on new outfits. Under different circumstances Tyler might not have minded learning all that stuff, and he was fascinated by his reflection every time he saw the blonde temptress in the mirror, but the berating of Ms. Lockridge and the reactions of the other students made it patently clear what they were enduring was meant to humiliate them and that anyone who actually had the temerity to enjoy any of it was some kind of perverted deviant. It made him uncomfortable.

The teens were all fiercely defensive about their sexuality, a leverage point that Ms. Lockridge exploited often. It wasn't enough that the boys were made to dress and act like feminine and sexy women, but she used every opportunity to erode their masculinity further by suggesting that the reason they were engaged in these activities was to make themselves more enticing and appealing to men. So while Tyler felt a secret turn-on at wearing the clothes and learning how to walk in heels, the fantasy was tempered when Ms. Lockridge complimented their efforts and said that the sight of all of them reminded her of teenage girls who were wearing their first real pair of high heels and practicing before their first prom.

"Just imagine how girlish you'll feel twirling around in your dress, all eyes on you as you melt into the arms of your big strong handsome date. He'll hardly be able to keep his hands off of you, especially in the back seat of his car afterwards," she teased. "Men love a girl who loves being feminine. Wiggle those hips and butts, ladies!"

Adding to Tyler's sense of apprehension was that Kitty had never returned to class after his outburst. He had no love lost for the other teen since he seemed to be a bully even all done up in his makeup and dresses, but Tyler couldn't help but wonder what had been done to him. Based on Ms. Lockridge's smug and overbearing attitude, Tyler doubted that Kitty had made a clean getaway.

As a result, that evening when Ian picked him up after "class," Tyler had been unusually quiet, although Ian noted that at least Tyler's temper seemed to have cooled since their encounter that morning. Ian had fully prepared himself for more death glares and silent treatment, but now Tyler seemed different. Preoccupied.

Ian cleared his throat uncertainly. "So, uh, did they teach you how to carry a purse?" he asked, trying to keep his voice neutral and casual.

Tyler looked at his dad, perplexed. "What?"

"This morning you said they were going to teach you how to handle a purse like that," Ian said awkwardly, nodding towards the sparkly little clutch purse that sat in Tyler's lap, a pretty complement to his sequined evening gown.

"Oh," Tyler said as he absently ran his manicured fingers over the purse. "I guess they forgot."

"Oh," Ian echoed. "It's too bad, since you got all dressed up for it." He stumbled over the words, having absolutely no idea how to make small talk with his teenage son about how things were going at crossdressing school.

When they arrived at home, Ian pulled into the garage and they got out of the car and went inside.

"Man, I'm starving," Ian said conversationally. "I had to work through lunch. I could eat a horse."

"Me, too," Tyler said as he tossed his purse on the table. "They fed us these little salads today for our 'eating etiquette' lesson, and even strapped into this corset, that wasn't cutting it."

Ian nodded, feeling uneasy about this line of conversation. He wasn't entirely comfortable with all of the crossdressing stuff, so to hear Tyler talk about it so casually made him feel a little awkward. Especially when Tyler's boobs were practically hanging out of his sparkling dress, making him look like the winner of the evening gown competition in a beauty pageant for exotic dancers. However, Tyler's comment wasn't delivered in a snarky, sarcastic, or antagonistic way, which was a dramatic improvement. It was actually strangely refreshing.

"What's for dinner?" Tyler asked.

"I was thinking pizza," Ian said.

He turned around to see Tyler staring at him in open-mouthed shock. It took a second for the penny to drop.

"Oh! Oh, you thought—because last night—you thought I was going to make you—" Ian laughed, as Tyler sighed in relief and smiled a little, himself. "I just meant that we have those leftovers from yesterday, so—"

"I get it," Tyler said, shooting his father a look. Then he glanced down at himself. "I'm gonna change into something less, uh..." His voice trailed off and he stared off into space as he mentally ran through his new wardrobe. "I'm gonna change into something else," he decided.

He took a few mincing steps, still hobbled by the tightness of the skirt, and then paused when he saw the stairs.

"Um, Dad...?" he said.

Ian turned around and saw the predicament. "Oh!" he said as he came over to Tyler's side and examined the steps. "Do, uh, do you need help?" he offered, not entirely sure what that help would entail. He didn't relish the idea of carrying his feminized son up the staircase like he was carrying a bride across the threshold.

"I can manage," Tyler responded. "Up is easier," he added, although Ian didn't care to know exactly when or how he'd come by that information. But then Tyler turned his back to his father and swept the long blonde hairs of his wig out of the way. "But if you could, uh, unzip me...?"

"Oh," Ian said as he took the zipper, relieved beyond measure when it went down without incident. He then retreated to the kitchen.

Tyler was gone a while and by the time Ian heard his footsteps coming down the stairs, he'd already changed clothes himself and heated up a couple of the pizzas he'd saved from the night before.

"Good timing! I was just about to put out...the...plates..." His voice trailed off as he turned to look at Tyler as he entered the kitchen.

Tyler had indeed changed out of his clingy sequined gown, and now wore something that provocatively explored the boundaries of the phrase "something else." His outfit was scant to the point of scandalous, and he wore a pleated microskirt in a neon fuchsia color that almost hurt the eyes to behold. Up top, he wore a clingy and stretchy off-the-shoulder crop top in a shade of pink that was only slightly less obnoxious and was stretched across his big breasts in a scandalous way, and based on how the big protruding nipples on his falsies were sticking out of the tight top, it was wildly apparent that Tyler wasn't wearing a brassiere. Ian was about to take issue with that immodest decision, but as he thought about it Tyler didn't seem to be wearing a brassiere much lately, and he reasoned that it was possible that the women at the store had thought it would be more "instructive" for him to bounce around without one in his skanky little outfits. Still, it wasn't too great a loss. Because as prominent as the big nipples were, much of the attention on Tyler's chest was drawn to the glittering red rhinestones that were stretched across his oversized jugs that spelled out "BOOBS" in great big round letters.

The two of them stared at each other for a long awkward moment.

"What?" Tyler said defensively.

"I didn't say anything."

The buxom teen fidgeted a little. "It's not like Ladywood had a lot of casual outfits," he declared. He had his hand on one outthrust hip, and gave his father a slightly exasperated look. It was an expression that Ian recognized as the same one that Tyler's mother used when she was annoyed with something.

"I did not say anything," Ian repeated.

They served their plates in silence, and then sat down to eat. The tension grew as they sat across from each other, quietly munching away on their pizza.

"I mean, what was your next best option...?" Ian said, fighting back a smile.

Tyler dropped his hands to the table in annoyance. "Dad—!"

"I'm just curious! Did they also have a stretchy miniskirt that had the word 'BOOTY' written across the butt? Because I really think you could pull that off," he teased.

Tyler glared at his father and set his chin, inadvertently affecting an angry little pout. "This isn't funny."

Ian snorted loudly. "Oh, my God, it absolutely is," he chortled.

Tyler's face flushed in embarrassment, feeling very self-conscious as his father chuckled away. He tried to do something with his arms, but no matter what he did he kept bumping them against his boobs, which only drew more attention to himself. Finally, in disgust, he snatched a slice of pizza off his plate and took an angry bite. A piece of sausage then fell off of the slice, bounced off his boob, and fell smack onto the table where it rolled to a stop between their two plates.

Ian's eyes lit up and he bit his lip as he struggled not to laugh. He looked like he was going to hurt himself trying to keep it bottled up.

Across the table, Tyler curled his shoulders self-consciously as he stared at the sausage. "I have no idea how that managed to miss my cleavage," he said.

Ian lost it completely and burst out laughing and this time Tyler broke out into a stifled little giggle which soon grew into a laugh. The two of them laughed harder as they made eye contact and as they finally began to quiet down, Tyler gave a shy little embarrassed shrug.

"I guess Misty Melons has that problem, too," Ian offered.

"Probably," Tyler said.

They went back to eating in awkward silence.

As they finished dinner, the doorbell rang. Ordinarily the interruption would be a minor curiosity, but normally Tyler wasn't dressed as a blonde sexpot wearing a croptop with the word "BOOBS" written in huge round letters over his equally huge round breasts.

He was up out of his chair like a shot as he gaped at Ian in a panic.

"Oh, my God," he said to himself as his hands darted this way and that across his body, obviously trying to figure out what he could do to cover his shame. It was a hopeless task.

Ian chuckled in spite of himself at the scene.

"This isn't funny!" Tyler hissed as he looked in the direction of the front door. His hands had settled on grasping his protruding female chest and his prettily manicured fingers covered up just enough of the text that it now read, "OOB."

"You keep saying that, but it's just not true," Ian said with a smile as he leaned over to the side window to see who it was.

Meanwhile, Tyler frantically looked around, clearly looking for a place to hide. At the moment he was hidden from view, but that would change the second the front door opened. His obvious lines of escape would expose him to view from the small windows that were alongside the front door, and whomever was standing there would certainly hear the frenetic clicking of his high heels and wonder who the busty blonde in the microskirt was, and why she was in such a hurry not to be seen.

"Hey, it's your friend Zack," Ian informed him. "I haven't seen him around in forever. Why don't you get it? I'm sure he'd love to see you."

Tyler glared at him. "You can't let him see me like this!"

"Why not? You let all those pizza guys see you yesterday."

"That's different, and you know it!"

"I always liked Zack," Ian mused. "Good kid. Much nicer than those thugs you've been hanging out with lately. Good thing for you it's not them hanging on the bell, huh?"

"Dad, please," Tyler whined.

The doorbell rang again.

Tyler's prettily made-up face was contorted into a grimace of worry and panic. But then he nodded understanding. "Good. Good idea. We'll just be quiet. We'll pretend that nobody's ho—"

"Just a minute!" Ian called cheerfully.

"I hate you."

"You sure you don't want to answer this? You and Zack might make a really cute couple. I bet if you play your cards right he'll even ask you to the prom."

Tyler just glowered at him.

"Just like a woman to play hard to get," Ian teased as he headed over to the front door. He paused a moment before opening it, and his eyes cut over towards the kitchen where he saw Tyler on his hands and knees crawling for cover behind the island countertop. The last thing he saw was Tyler's big round butt waggling back and forth followed by his stiletto heels.

"Zack!" he said as he opened the door. "Long time. Won't you come in?" he asked pleasantly. From over in the kitchen he could hear Tyler's soft muffled growl of displeasure.

The tow-haired teen entered, looking a little out of sorts. "Hi, Mr. Valentine. Is Tyler here? I tried calling and texting, but he's not answering."

"Tyler's been really busy with some new extracurricular activities," Ian said casually as he walked over to the kitchen. He fetched a glass from the cupboard and poured himself a glass of water so that he was standing with Tyler immediately at his feet, just out of Zack's view hidden behind the island. "You'd hardly recognize him. He's really blossoming."

Ian's eyes cut down for a moment to see Tyler glaring back up at him.

Zack looked down at the dirty plates and leftover pizza on the kitchen table. "I guess I just missed him," he said, when a funny look crossed his face. At first Ian wasn't sure what he was looking at, but then he noticed the lipstick smudge on Tyler's glass.

"Uhh, did you need me to give him a message?" Ian asked, suddenly nervous. He quickly approached the teen to block him from coming any closer.

"No, I guess not," Zack said absently as they started to walk towards the front door. Ian glanced over his shoulder and saw a little flash of blonde hair and put his hand on Zack's shoulder as he guided him towards the exit.

As he opened the door and Zack took a step out, the teen turned to look at Ian. "He's not angry at me, is he?"

The bluntness of the question stopped Ian in his tracks. "No. I don't think so. Why do you say that?"

"I dunno. It's just that we used to hang out all the time, but lately he keeps dodging me. And those friends of his..." His voice trailed off.

"Yeah, I don't like them, either," Ian agreed as his eyes cut over to where Tyler was hiding. "I'll make sure he knows you stopped by," Ian said as Zack left and he closed the door.

Ian stood there for a moment and by the time he turned back to the kitchen, Tyler was already standing there behind the island, looking very petulant.

"That was a shitty thing to do," he said accusingly.

"For once, I agree," Ian said. "That's a pretty lousy way to treat a friend."

Tyler seemed a bit thrown by suddenly being on the defensive. "Who, Zack? He's just a loser. He didn't even go anywhere for Spring Break, he's working all week," Tyler said, evidently unaware of what a bitchy girl it made him look and sound like.

"Is that what you think, or is that what your new miscreant 'friends' told you to think?"

"It's not about them."

Ian nodded. "You know what, Misty, you're right. You get to choose your own friends. But if you ever get tired of scrabbling around on the floor and hiding on your hands and knees, you might want to ask yourself which of those friends will accept you as the person you are rather than the person you pretend to be for their benefit."

WEDNESDAY

The next morning at the Ladywood Academy Tyler sat in his seat and discreetly tugged at his latest dress in an ongoing effort to avoid exposing himself. It was a sultry and sexy bright yellow clubwear minidress with halter ties and an open back that ran down to his plump posterior, and in front featured an ultra-low plunging cowl neckline that draped downwards almost to Tyler's belly button. He felt practically naked in the scant garment, and the sunny yellow color combined with his golden blonde wig made for an eye-catching display even without all the curves he was showing. The dress was an almost exact replica of one that the real Misty Melons had worn in one of Tyler's favorite photoshoots, and he had to admit that he found his current view even more tantalizing than in Misty's photos. The loose cowl neck fabric of his dress did nothing to constrain his braless boobs and showed a shocking amount of cleavage, especially since the animated movement of his breasts made them seem determined to escape their flimsy fabric confines.

At home that morning when he'd first put it on, Tyler had been driven to distraction by the look and feel of the dress and how he filled it out. Even without the privacy of a bedroom door he'd nearly attempted to jerk off that morning when he saw his voluptuous and barely-dressed reflection, and he would have done so if his long fingernails hadn't frustrated his efforts to remove the gaff that held his penis securely tucked back. His father had walked by in the hallway outside just as his fingers had found purchase on the tight elastic, and his dad did a startled double-take at Tyler in his whorish outfit with his skirt lifted up. Both of them were embarrassed by the encounter, and Tyler quickly readjusted things and pulled up his panties as though he was just getting dressed. His father flushed beet red and quickly headed downstairs, leaving Tyler to reluctantly grab his purse and follow meekly along, feeling enormously hot and bothered as his sexy shaved legs brushed against each other and his big fake boobs wobbled freely with every step.

Now, Tyler squirmed in his seat as he repeatedly stole glances at himself both downwards and in the mirrored walls of the classroom, barely able to concentrate.

It was going to be a long day.

Fortunately, class started largely without incident except when Ms. Lockridge stopped to chew out Pansy and Posie for being dressed "incorrectly." The boys seemed befuddled by her criticism, and Ms. Lockridge had then turned to the rest of the class to see if anybody could identify what they'd done wrong. Tyler was reluctant to speak up and get another student in trouble, but in this instance he was just as lost as the two stepbrothers, dressed as usual in their ridiculous sissyish dresses and huge pigtails and hair bows.

For a moment it looked like Ms. Lockridge was about to punish the entire class for the oversight, only for the group to be saved at the last minute by Brianna's halting observation that the boys were dressed in Sweet Lolita style dresses when Ms. Lockridge had specifically told them the previous day to dress in a Princess Lolita style. That might have been the end of it, but when the brothers started to protest, Ms. Lockridge decided to make an example of them.

The two gaily-dressed lads were hoisted to their feet and escorted out of the room by a muscular female guard whose presence around the Academy seemed to set the entire group on edge, Tyler observed. She hauled the struggling boys away and when they finally returned some time later, Tyler's eyes nearly bugged out in disbelief.

The boys returned silent and with defeated expressions and seemed to have been crying. But most striking of all—and totally impossible to miss—were their hugely plumped-up lips that had been inflated to striking proportions. Their big puffy lips appeared as though they were stuck in a perpetual "trout pout," almost like they were making ready to give out kisses in a kissing booth. Or engage in something far more salacious and wanton.

"Welcome back, ladies," Ms. Lockridge said as the pair despondently swished over and took their seats.

With that, she announced that the rest of the morning the group would be practicing the makeup techniques they'd learned the previous day while she reviewed their progress, but not before casting an imperious gaze over at the two sissyish boys, who licked and pursed their lips disconsolately as they struggled to cope with the changes that had been inflicted upon them—pouting and tumescent emblems of feminine desirability that were impossible to hide or disguise.

"Normally I would suggest you two girls stick with pink lipstick to match your outfits, but since I'm sure you're excited to see how sexy and provocative you can look, feel free to experiment with more vibrant colors," she said in a tone of voice that indicated that it was not meant to be taken as a suggestion.

Soon, after a short group refresher lesson, Tyler and the others were seated at the dressing tables along the long row of lighted makeup mirrors where each of them was directed to "practice their art" so that Ms. Lockridge could critique their efforts. She watched every brush stroke like a hawk.

"Mmm...very nice, Cici. That lovely smoky eye look will stand out nicely as you cheer the boys on from the sidelines," she said appraisingly as she examined the mortified young man's makeup.

For this lesson they were "encouraged" to experiment with bold colors and exotic looks, and as Tyler cast an eye at the other students, he thought they all looked like cheap hookers. Pansy and Posie in particular with their big inflated lips and scarlet "wet look" lipstick looked like they were all set to pleasure a man...or had just finished doing so. Posie's eyes kept cutting over to his reflection and his jaw trembled in anguish, an action that caused his swollen pout to quiver in a decidedly provocative way.

"Hmm. Margaret, this is quite seductive—perfect for meeting your man at the door when he gets home from a hard day's work—but a trifle modern for your 1950s look, yes? Perhaps more of a flat palette next time?"

"Yes, Ms. Lockridge. I'll try harder," Margaret said nervously.

The stern-faced woman paused in front of Tyler and scrutinized him closely. He held his breath as she took his chin in her hand and turned his head from side to side.

"Misty, you continue to impress. I'm glad to see that someone was paying attention," she said. "Girls, look at what Misty has done to enhance her eyes with the liquid eyeliner and her false eyelashes. See how it contrasts with her eye shadow? This is the 'bedroom eyes' look that men adore."

There was a quiet murmur of agreement from the boys, a calculated response that was just enough to respond to the teacher's inquiry without tempting her wrath. Meanwhile, Tyler felt his face flush in embarrassment to once again be put on the spot in front of the others, especially to have Ms. Lockridge praise his efforts. He had already been getting grief from Kitty and a couple of the other boys for his crossdressing, and when she was out of earshot they teased him mercilessly about obviously wanting to be at the Ladywood Academy. Tyler vehemently asserted otherwise, but his protestations were undercut every time their instructor praised his "natural talents" so effusively.

Once again the older boys were giving Tyler that same accusatory look, although as he blinked and fluttered his long false eyelashes he noticed that their looks had also taken on a decidedly licentious quality and their eyes leered at his half-exposed breasts in his low-cut dress, then back up to his face, his hair, his earrings, and back to his breasts. It reminded him of his misadventure at the house party and how the guys then had eyed him like a piece of meat. Tyler and the boys all glanced away nervously and shifted uncomfortably.

The next activity had them all learning the proper technique to touch up their lipstick, which at first Tyler didn't think sounded so bad, but he quickly realized the activity had nothing to do with repairing their already flawless makeup. Far more than the coy flirting techniques they'd learned the other day, this was intended as raw, sexual seduction for the benefit of their imagined male dates. They were each given a small compact mirror and were made to touch up their lipstick slowly and sensuously, pouting and primping like vanity-obsessed sluts and all the while making flirtatious contact with their "date," which in this case was represented by the rest of the class.

When it was Tyler's turn, he quickly realized how uncomfortable it was to sit there and practically proposition himself to the rest of the class, most of whom watched him with undisguised interest at his performance. Any attempt to hurry an end to this humiliation was cut short by Ms. Lockridge who instructed him to do it again and more slowly. The final humiliation was that she had an assistant come in and take pictures and video of the boys as they preened, ostensibly as a training tool but really just a way to embarrass them so they each could see what they looked like as they vamped to the camera, playing at being lusty and wanton seductresses.

Just then, there was a noise by the entrance and as the door opened, the boys almost gasped in surprise as they saw who entered.

"Welcome back, Kitty," Ms. Lockridge said. "Will you be joining us for the rest of the afternoon?"

"Oh, yes, please, Ms. Lockridge," Kitty said contritely as he affected a perfect little curtsy in his delicate little flowered dress. He was prettily made up and for once even wore a long wig rather than just his short male hair. "I'm very sorry about my behavior yesterday."

As he approached the group, his face turned to wonder. "Oh, wow! You girls all look amazing! I'm so jealous!"

Tyler's brow furrowed as he studied the usually-acerbic young man, assuming that this was either sarcasm, a put-on, or some fake pronouncement that Kitty had been instructed to make out of fear of some reprisal. But shockingly, Kitty's newfound passion seemed genuine. Either that, or he was a much more talented actor than Tyler gave him credit for.

Kitty paused in front of Tyler. "Misty, I love your eyelashes! You'll have to tell me how you did your eyes like that!" he gushed enthusiastically. Then he looked pleadingly over to Ms. Lockridge. "Can I maybe stay late after class today to practice my makeup?" he asked hopefully.

"We'll see," she said with a self-satisfied look on her face. "Now all of you, take your seats."

Kitty pranced gaily and dutifully over to his seat, but Tyler and the others were frozen in place.

"What did they do to him?" he asked Ms. Lockridge.

She let out an exasperated sigh, obviously debating whether to entertain the question. "It's a little cocktail we call 'The Feminine Persuasion.' It makes sissies more...compliant."

Tyler was appalled. "Is he—uh, she—going to be like that forever?"

She made a dubious little pout. "No, they only upped her dosage a little bit. I expect Kitty will be back to her usual charming self tomorrow...though if she's smart she'll have a better attitude, or she won't be so lucky a second time."

"But what did she—"

"No. That's enough questions, Misty. Go and take your seats, now. If you wish to know more, I suggest you ask Cici."

Tyler and the others were stunned, but as they wandered over to their desks they all turned to look over at Cici in his cheerleader uniform. His eyes were riveted on Kitty and even under the thick coating of makeup it was plainly obvious that his face had gone deathly pale.

Ms. Lockridge pulled down a screen in front of the board and picked up a remote to turn on the projector.

"Now girls, this afternoon we're going to work on your dancing. Later we'll do some ballroom dancing, so I'll divide you up into pairs. Unfortunately, since we don't have any boys here, you'll each have to take turns playing the male role. However, since girls your age seem to be more interested in modern dance, I thought you might enjoy it if we started with that. And luckily, Misty can help us there."

"Huh?" Tyler blurted out. "I-I mean, I can?"

"Certainly! To catch a man's eye, a woman's moves in a dance club can be very...suggestive. So this instructional video should help."

With that, she turned down the lights and started the video, and even after only a few seconds, Tyler recognized it immediately.

"Oh, God," he whispered.

"Hi, girls! I'm Misty Melons, and welcome to my Strippercize video!" the real Misty said onscreen. She was wearing what might have been exercise gear apart from her high heels and the fact that her boobs and butt were obscenely stretching out her scant tube top and tights. "Girls are always asking me about my killer dance moves, and I tell them the best gals to learn from are strippers! But you don't have to become a stripper—unless you want to, haha!—to get some great exercise, and learn some moves that'll drive your man wild!"

Tyler shrunk back in his seat, and in the mirrored walls of the classroom he could see the others boring their eyes into him, obviously blaming him for this latest humiliation. The only one whose attention remained glued to the screen was Kitty, who seemed absolutely enthralled.

"Oh, yay!" he clapped, positively giddy.

By the time the boys were done with the "modern dance lessons" they were all exhausted, especially since they'd been required to perform all their moves perfectly in their high heels. But even worse than the feminine footwear had been the plethora of suggestive moves they'd been forced to emulate as they winked, pouted, strutted, and shimmied around like hookers in heat. At one point Ms. Lockridge had brought Tyler to the front of the class to demonstrate all of Misty's raunchy and sensual moves, and his face flushed in embarrassment as the eyes of the others traced the movement of his body and jiggling endowments with decidedly predatory leers. Belatedly, he wondered if he had the same expression on his own face when he'd watched the videos of the real Misty Melons in his room.

As the class stopped for a breather, Ms. Lockridge paused to appraise the group.

"Girls, I'm impressed. You use those moves out on the dance floor, and I imagine you'll have your pick of whatever man you like. I think you all did very well, so you've earned yourselves a little reward."

She had an enigmatic tone to her voice that made Tyler apprehensive, as any "good news" she purported to deliver was usually nothing of the kind. However, the boys who'd been at the Ladywood Academy the longest all had a definite reaction to her pronouncement, but it didn't seem to be the usual anxiety and stress. It was strange, Tyler thought. There seemed to be a sense of anticipation from the guys, but he noticed that they were all making pains to avoid eye contact with each other as they glanced furtively about.

"Come along, ladies," Ms. Lockridge said as she led them all out of the room and down one of the corridors. Finally, she guided them to a hallway with a series of doors, lining them all up so that each of the seven boys stood in front of his own door.

"For this exercise, you will each be on your own for 30 minutes in a private vanity room. Your makeup is no doubt a mess from all that dancing, so you'll have this time to retouch it. In fact, feel free to try out some of the makeup tips you've learned. Really express yourselves. Then once you're done, we'll all get together for a little show and tell. Any questions? No? In that case, your 30 minutes begins now."

The other boys entered their respective rooms and closed the doors, so Tyler followed suit. The "vanity room" was tiny and aptly named. It was the size of a small bathroom and had mirrored walls on all sides, with one wall dominated by a large lighted vanity mirror like the ones they'd just used for their group makeup activity. Unsure what to do, Tyler seated himself at the vanity and looked over the variety of makeup and brushes, box of tissues, and cotton balls on the small counter. The only unusual things that caught Tyler's attention were two items: a touch screen mounted on the wall that had the pictures of the boys in their whorish makeup they'd taken earlier that day, and off to the side, very prominently, was a large digital clock.

"I don't get it," Tyler said quietly to himself, not understanding the point of the exercise.

He spent a minute checking his makeup and made a couple minor fixes, but the waterproof makeup didn't require much correction. Was Ladywood simply short-handed and Ms. Lockridge was needed elsewhere? He shrugged mentally and flipped through the images of the boys on the screen, pausing as he came to one of his own videos. It stopped him in his tracks. At the time, he'd simply followed Ms. Lockridge's directions and did his best to flirt seductively for the camera as he reapplied his lipstick. But suddenly he saw the look that she had guided him to was very deliberate. Eyebrows up, eyes half-lidded, mouth slightly open...at the time it felt ridiculous, but now as he stared at his picture, he saw how the buxom blonde porno star in the skimpy outfit looked like she was in the throes of orgasm! She was stunning and sexy and slutty...and "she" was him.

Tyler licked his lips and tasted his lipstick as he gaped first at the video and then at his own reflection. The mirrored walls gave him an unobstructed view of himself, not just of the wide-eyed sex goddess that faced him, but also from behind. He gawked at how his corseted waist set off his big round bubble butt that his short little dress clung to scandalously. He gasped audibly as he saw what he looked like from behind, a view that was certain to catch the eye of any red-blooded man, and a perfect counterpoint to his big tits in front. Everything about him from his slutty makeup and hair to his flashy but tacky jewelry to his skyscraper heels screamed "bimbo." And the sensations were driving him crazy!

Tyler gulped heavily as he found himself becoming aroused by his own reflection—reflections!—and he flashed back to his "play times" back in his bedroom at home where he'd clumsily dressed up as Misty Melons and then jerked off as he watched one of her videos. But now—

"Oh, God," Tyler gasped.

His eyes darted over to the large digital clock and he suddenly realized why Ms. Lockridge had made such a big deal about telling them exactly how much time they had. And why they were alone. These "vanity rooms" had nothing to do with doing their makeup.

From the room next door, Tyler heard a muffled gasp and labored panting that whomever was in there was obviously trying to mask, as well as the quiet noise of an insistent rhythmic motion. Tyler tried to remember which of the boys had gone into that room—Margaret? Pansy?—but he quickly realized that it didn't matter. Everybody was doing the same thing.

Tyler whimpered slightly and found himself running his hands over his jutting breasts and the bimbo in the mirror did the same. He blinked and "she" gave him a very personal come-hither look that he'd never gotten from one of Misty's videos. He watched as "her" pretty manicured hands tracked downward, and his passions started to rise. Then he glanced over at the clock to see how much time was remaining.

"And that's time!" Ms. Lockridge said loudly...perhaps a little too loudly. A moment later, one by one the boys all emerged from their rooms into the corridor, all of them steadfastly looking down and away from the others, not even trying to hide their embarrassment as they tried discreetly to adjust their outfits. Tyler furtively glimpsed over at Margaret, who in turn looked startled and then looked away from Tyler to focus on arranging his skirts and petticoats. Tyler was surprised by the curiously strong reaction, but then suddenly the purpose of the video screen became screamingly apparent. The horny teenage boys were being encouraged to pleasure themselves to the sight of their feminized reflections, but if any of them were being subjected to a kink that didn't turn them on, they also had pictures of their classmates to pick from! Tyler shuddered as he remembered his sexy and suggestive photos and videos and glanced around at the other boys as he wondered how many might have used him as their masturbatory fantasy. He felt a little unsteady at the thought. He then flashed back to a teasing comment that the real Misty Melons had once made in one of her interviews, joking about how much cum had been spilled from guys jerking off to her pictures and videos. At the time Tyler had thought that was pretty funny, but all of a sudden it didn't seem quite so hilarious.

Sullenly, the boys all marched back to the main room where they each put on a show about how they redid their makeup while the others all oohed and aahed about "how much better it looked," as Ms. Lockridge sat there with a smug and knowing look on her face. But Tyler noted that nobody had changed a thing.

After a short break they changed outfits into short and sexy little prom dresses. The outfits had an abundance of girlish frills, but with Tyler's figure and makeup he thought he looked like a total prom skank, the kind of girl who would be turned away for violating the dress code less because of her outfit than for how she was filling it out. They then paired off for ballroom dancing lessons, and Tyler found himself partnered up with Cici, who didn't seem especially pleased with the pairing.

The two boys were in each other's arms and swayed back and forth on the dance floor with all the others. Half of the boys were playing the male role and leading, although it scarcely mattered since everybody looked incredibly awkward. Tyler and Cici in particular were a problematic pairing given the size of their breasts—Cici wasn't as buxom as Tyler, but whomever was directing his transformation obviously wanted the sissy cheerleader to be more voluptuous than athletic.

"Ladies, don't be afraid to talk!" Ms. Lockridge exhorted. "This is an excellent time to practice flirting."

Tyler glanced nervously at Cici, who glared at him in response. Cici didn't talk very much, obviously still embarrassed by the breathy and squeaky bimbo voice that he'd been given.

"I'm sorry about your voice," Tyler offered. "I know that must be rough—"

"Do you?" Cici said in a petulant little chirp. "Do you really know that? This may be dressup playtime for you, you little fairy, but my life is over." The words and cadence communicated his anger, but the tone of his voice was so silly and preposterous that was hard to take him seriously.

"That's not fair. You don't know anything about me. This is hard for me, too."

"Oh, poor baby, is it hard?" Cici shot back, obviously not realizing how suggestive a come-on it sounded in his breathy bimbo soprano. "I had a full-ride football scholarship, and now I'm more of a skank than any cheerleader I used to screw! I look like a queen, I sound like a horny girl chipmunk, and my muscles have wasted away to nothing!"

Tyler peered down at the older boy's skinny little arms that were draped around him. Cici's arms and legs were as slender and scrawny as a Barbie doll, and Tyler tried to imagine the svelte and lanky sissy trying to put on a football player's pads and helmet. The mental image was totally ridiculous.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Did they have drugs or something that did that to you?"

"Yeah."

Tyler was quiet for a moment. "Did they use that mind control stuff on you, too?"

Cici shot him an angry look, but then he relented when he saw Tyler wasn't trying to tease him. "Yeah."

"What happened?"

Cici was quiet and they swayed together as they both tried to ignore how their fake boobs were pressed up against each other. Tyler thought Cici wasn't going to answer, but then the older boy let out a girlish high-pitched sigh.

"They started by feeding me that crap to kill my muscles, but then they tried to make me dress up like a bitch. I didn't have any strength left but there was no way I was going to do that. Anyway, they injected me with that 'Feminine Persuasion' mind control stuff and I couldn't say no. It was like I was watching a video of myself as I did everything they told me. I put on makeup, wore a dress, flounced around like this in front of my entire team...I couldn't fight it. They made me act like I enjoyed all of it, acting like a fag and offering to play 'two-hand touch' with the guys as I flirted with them. I thought I'd die of shame."

"Oh, my God," Tyler whispered. "They did all that just to make you dress like a girl for no reason?"

Cici seemed uncomfortable with the question. "I'd been...kinda rough with my girlfriend, I guess? I mean, it was just a couple of times and she was fine," he said hesitantly, making Tyler wonder how close to the truth that really was. "So making me weak and a girl was getting me back for that. It's not fair!"

Tyler nodded but said nothing. Cici was obviously furious, but between his sexy makeup and his silly high-pitched voice, he seemed more like a pouty and whiny little girl who didn't get the flavor ice cream that she wanted...or a whimpering and mewling slut who was begging to be used by her man. Cici gripped Tyler more tightly as he tensed up in impotent frustration, a move that made Tyler relieved that the abusive former football player didn't have his old muscles anymore. Tyler wasn't sure if Cici had beaten his girlfriend or not, but he definitely knew guys like that who liked to bully and intimidate girls just because they were bigger and stronger than their victims. But Cici wasn't going to be intimidating anybody, anymore...with his skinny little arms waving around his pom poms, he was about as threatening as a flower girl.

The older boy had been right about one thing, though...when Tyler had first come to the Ladywood Academy it maybe had seemed like kind of a wonderland for his crossdressing desires. However, the longer he stayed there, the more nervous the place made him. He felt conflicted about what was being done to guys like Cici or Kitty—maybe they deserved it, but it sure did seem like overkill. And even though Tyler had run with his own rough crowd, he was starting to realize how different he was from all of these toughs who were being forcibly feminized into something that he had to admit that he rather enjoyed. A week ago if someone had told Tyler that he'd be going out in public looking he the way that he did, he'd have laughed in their face since he was so ashamed of being discovered, much like Cici and Kitty and the others were humiliated by what was being done to them. But as he leaned against Cici and they danced slowly together, Tyler had to admit that he didn't feel all that humiliated...it just felt kinda nice.

By the time the "dance lessons" were over, even Tyler had pretty much all he could take, and the other guys looked like they were about ready to stage a revolt, as though that would have accomplished anything. So when Ms. Lockridge finally called for them to take their seats, there was a mutual sigh of relief from the class. Pansy in particular was looking particularly annoyed and haggard since he'd been partnered with Kitty through most of the lessons, who while still under the effects of the hypnotic drug had been an annoyingly enthusiastic partner.

"Fuck off," Pansy hissed under his breath when Kitty tried to give him a little sissy kiss of appreciation. When Ms. Lockridge's back was turned, Pansy gave the mesmerized teen a firm shove away, and a pouting Kitty blew him a girlish air kiss as he scampered obediently to his seat.

Tyler's eyes cut over to the clock on the wall, thankful that the day was nearly over. He wasn't relishing having his father see him in his "prom dress" and looking for all the world like a slutty girl waiting for her date to pick her up. Tyler squirmed uncomfortably in the tight elastic gaff which held everything in place, and it was stretched to the breaking point trying to accommodate his prominent hip and butt prosthetics. His garters and stocking tops were plainly visible which normally would have been a fashion faux pas if modesty were any kind of consideration, which it decidedly was not.

"The end of another school day, I'm sure you girls must be disappointed to have to go. The time flies by, doesn't it?" Ms. Lockridge said in a mock cheerful tone. "But you will all be delighted to hear that I've arranged a very special surprise for you!"

The guys all straightened up as they made nervous eye contact with each other.

"I've been in touch with your parents and guardians this afternoon, and I've been sure to appraise them of your progress. Or lack thereof," she added casting a glance over at some of the students, especially Kitty. Kitty, however, was so enthralled that he smiled vacantly as the insinuation sailed right over his drug-addled brain. "And I told them you've been working so hard that I thought you deserved a treat. So tonight instead of going home, you're all going to stay here and have a proper sissy slumber party!"

Tyler and the others knew better than to complain out loud, but the collective groan of complaint was impossible to miss. However, it was masked somewhat by Kitty's girlish squeal of delight and animated clapping.

The remainder of the afternoon was spent in the main showroom of the Academy where the group was made to pick out outfits to wear to the slumber party. However, Ms. Lockridge was clearly not going to let the guys get off easy, and they were each made to try on a variety of lingerie that was more appropriate for a slumber party at the Playboy Mansion. The selection process was like a fashion show where they each had to come out onto the showroom floor (much to the delight of the other customers) and twirl in their selected outfit while they gushed about why they thought it suited them so perfectly. At first Tyler didn't even know the difference between a teddy, nightie, negligee, and babydoll, but he quickly learned since the slightest mistake sent him back to wandering the store in his scant lingerie as he looked for something that would make him feel "more desirable."

Tyler was fortunate when his fourth selection finally passed muster with Ms. Lockridge and the staff in the lingerie department. It was a scandalous sheer and lacy black babydoll cut low in front to show off his faux bosom and short enough that it hardly covered his enhanced buttocks in the rear. He'd then paired it with some sexy 5" mules that were clearly never designed to see the outside of a bedroom. The other boys soon followed suit choosing their racy ladies' unmentionables, although Ms. Lockridge finally had to call a stop to things when Kitty came out in his eighth outfit, unable to decide which ensemble he liked the best.

The early evening was spent back in their classroom which had been outfitted with a number of sleeping bags on the floor in a variety of exaggerated girly designs. Under Ms. Lockridge's close supervision they engaged in a number of slumber party activities and games that she claimed were traditional, although Tyler found himself wondering if real girls actually did that kind of stuff. He certainly doubted that any girls their age did so, and certainly not dressed up as lingerie models. The most objectionable part of the evening had been when they played "Spin the Bottle" and Ms. Lockridge made them repeat their kisses if their first attempts were too halting or chaste. Posie and Pansy with their new plumped-up lips seemed particularly distraught, especially when they had to kiss each other. To get through it, Tyler tried to pretend like he was kissing real girls as opposed to crossdressed boys, and he felt a little funny when he realized that the others were apparently doing the same with him. He couldn't be sure, but at one point he could have sworn that Margaret had surreptitiously copped a feel of one of his boobs when they leaned in to kiss.

Over the course of their games, Tyler noted a distinct change in Kitty's demeanor as whatever drug they'd given him apparently started to wear off. He'd been an enthusiastic participant in the games and gushed girlishly over their cute and sexy outfits, but as the festivities wore on, he became more quiet and reserved. Towards the end, Tyler saw Kitty look down in revulsion at the hot pink chiffon dressing robe with the feathered trim that he was wearing, a preposterously girly outfit that only a couple hours earlier he wouldn't shut up about.

Ms. Lockridge smiled warmly at the group.

"Aren't you young ladies just to die for in your outfits! Always in such a hurry to grow up and find a man to settle down with." Then she peered over at the clock, which read 9:00 pm. "But all good things must come to an end. Chop, chop, ladies, it's time to get ready for bed! It's been a full day, but you have a busy schedule tomorrow, too!"

Tyler and the others glanced at each other in puzzlement but dutifully climbed into their sleeping bags. It had been years since he had a bedtime this early, but after hours of being treated like a little girl, it seemed like just another insult to add to their injury. Still, if it got them out of playing another round of Spin the Bottle or Seven Minutes in Heaven, Tyler wasn't complaining.

Once they were all tucked in, Ms. Lockridge walked over to the door, her high heels echoing loudly on the hard floor as she paused by the light switch.

"Now, girls, normally I'd encourage you to take off your makeup and do your nightly beauty regimen before bed, but since it's something of a slumber party tradition to stay up and gossip in your sleeping bags, I thought you'd enjoy staying pretty a little while longer. Especially if you feel like, ah, having a little more fun together?" she said suggestively. "I'll leave the light on in the hall so you can go wash up when you're ready. Sweet dreams, girls." With that, she turned off the lights and left.

The silence in the room was deafening as Tyler lay there in his sleeping bag, feeling the silky friction of his satin babydoll as it slid between the bag and his girlish curves.

"Is she really gone?" someone said.

As Tyler's eyes adjusted to the dim light he heard someone's sleeping bag unzip, followed by a few more. In the darkness he saw someone—Margaret, he thought, based on the flowing 1950s-style nightgown—sneak quietly over to the door. A moment later there was a soft and tentative CHA-CHUNK as the door opened a crack and light from the hallway poured in.

"Holy shit, it's open!" he hissed.

The door silently closed, and after a couple quiet seconds some of the ceiling lights sprang to life and illuminated the room at half intensity. As they did, Tyler could see Margaret over by the light switch and the rest of the guys were all up and out of their sleeping bags.

Most of them.

In the sleeping bag next to his, Tyler turned to see Brianna, the youngest of the group, staring at him wide-eyed. The normally quiet kid looked like he was about to have a panic attack.

"We're gonna get in trouble!" Brianna whispered.

Tyler unzipped his bag and stood up, feeling self-conscious with the abrupt change in attitudes. It was one thing to look like a blonde and busty beauty in a skimpy babydoll when they were all playing at being girls, but now that a decidedly male energy had entered the room, he felt uncomfortable with some of the looks he was getting from the guys.

"What are you doing?" Tyler asked as he beheld the group. Margaret was still over by the door on lookout and the other guys were up and about, searching the space.

"We're getting the fuck out of here is what we're doing," Kitty snapped, obviously back to his old self. He growled and yanked off his wig, throwing it to the ground. Cici, Pansy and Posie all followed suit, tearing off their wigs to reveal their short boyish hair. Margaret, however, had his bright red hair up in curlers in a 50s style, and over by the door Tyler could see that he was yanking the curlers out and dropping them on the floor.

The sight of them all scampering around in their lingerie was preposterous, especially since they were still wearing their makeup. Tyler thought they looked even more like sissies than usual, like boys sneaking around in their sisters' clothes. He might have laughed out loud, except that he realized that he was a guy who snuck around in his sister's clothes and so wasn't exactly in a position to pass judgment. He played nervously with a lock of blonde hair, deciding to leave his own feminine hairpiece in place.

"Go where?" Tyler asked. "We're dressed like centerfolds!"

"Quiet, you homo," Kitty snapped as he ran the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing his lipstick as he tried to remove it.

"Over here!" Cici said. He was off to one side of the room in front of a large metal cabinet. He tried the handle, but it was locked. Practically everything in the room had been cleaned up and was under lock and key.

"I think our stuff is in here," Cici said. His high squeaky voice had taken on a tinge of breathless desperation that made him sound like even more of a bimbo than usual. Although now Tyler understood their plan. Whenever they were dismissed at the end of the day, they were given access to their outfits along with their purses, which had useful items. Some of the guys like Pansy and Posie weren't allowed to have anything but makeup in their bags, but Tyler had his phone and wallet in his purse.

Cici chirped another frustrated grunt as he tugged vainly on the locked cabinet. "Maybe I can force the lock," the former football player said, but a quick look at his skinny little arms and legs that poked out of his lacy little nightie shot that idea down fast.

Pansy stepped forward. "Lemme try. I got a nail file. I bet I can jimmy the lock or the hinges."

Tyler stood watching as they worked, and he nearly jumped when someone gripped tightly on to his wrist.

"No no no no no," Brianna whispered.

Tyler lowered his voice. "It's okay. I doubt they're even going to be able to get that that thing op—"

There was a click followed by a soft bang of metal. "Got it!"

But as they opened up the cabinet door, the jubilant mood quickly changed.

"Shit!"

"Oh, you gotta be kidding me."

Instead of their regular outfits and purses, the cabinet contained what Tyler assumed were going to be their outfits for tomorrow morning after they woke up from their "slumber party." There were matching getups for all of them, and as Posie took one of the hangars out of the cabinet, Tyler could see what Ms. Lockridge had planned for them. It was a short and sexy pink-and-white cheerleader's uniform with a pleated miniskirt that seemed shorter than most regulations would allow and a top that would definitely show off a good bit of cleavage. However, right across the boobs where the logo or name of a school might go was the word SISSY in big capital letters.

"I am not wearing that," Posie declared as he fussed with the edge of his short cornflower blue negligee. This earned him a withering glare from his stepbrother, who as always was decked out in a matching outfit, his in a bubblegum pink. Tyler had observed that Posie tended to be the more craven of the two, always quick to cave in or give up. Apparently after discovering how easy it had been to intimidate the spineless teen into dresses, Posie's older sister had been emboldened to similarly feminize their stepbrother. Pansy had not been appreciative.

"Why did it have to be fucking cheerleaders again?" Cici griped. Now that he'd ditched his wig, his silly soprano voice sounded even more bizarre coming out of his mouth than usual.

Pansy looked in the cabinet. "Wait, if it's cheerleaders, maybe there's sneakers?" he said hopefully. But as he reached in, he pulled out a pair pink high heeled pumps that he dropped on the floor.

"I am not wearing that," Posie repeated.

"You can wear that, or you can wear what you've fucking well got on, but we're getting out of here," Kitty growled. He grabbed the hanger with his name on it and turned his back as he started to shuck off his chiffon robe and put on the cheerleader uniform.

The other guys looked at each other and then down at what they were wearing and decided to follow suit. Cici retrieved Tyler and Brianna's outfits and handed them over.

"No!" Brianna said, quietly but emphatically as he pulled away from the outfit and hid behind Tyler. "No no no..."

Kitty stormed over. "You are not fucking this up for me you little shit!" he snarled to the cowering Brianna.

"Hey, back off!" Tyler said.

Kitty looked him in the face. "Keep your tits out of this, fag boy. Maybe you're happy to stay here and play dress-up and kiss the boys, but you got no idea what this place can do."

Posie edged up to them as he tugged at the hem of his short skirt in a useless attempt at modesty. He was obviously cowed by Kitty's domineering attitude but looked at Tyler inquisitively. "Wait, you're coming with us, aren't you?"

Kitty snorted derisively as if the idea was preposterous. "Misty Melons loves it here too much to leave. Ain't that right, pussy-cakes?"

The accusation brought Tyler up short. When he first came to Ladywood, he'd thought the place was like a big dollhouse, but after seeing what Ms. Lockridge had done to Kitty with that mind control serum or whatever she'd used on him, or Cici with his voice, or the two brothers with their over-the-top plumped-up Hollywood lips, the power of this place started to make him nervous, to say nothing of how casually they used it against unwilling guys. Tyler didn't think that his father would consent to anything like that, but then he never in a million years thought that his father would leave him somewhere like this in the first place, either. But it was clear that Lockridge and the others were escalating their offensive, and Tyler didn't like where that was headed.

"I'm in," Tyler said, grabbing his outfit from Cici. "He's out," indicating Brianna. When Kitty seemed to take issue with that, Tyler said, "He doesn't know anything, and he'd only slow us down."

Kitty glared at him for along moment. "You'd better be goddamn right about this, 'Misty,' or those plastic tits of yours are gonna be in a sling."

Kitty left to finish dressing, and Tyler turned to Brianna.

"It'll be okay. You didn't do anything wrong. Just go back to bed."

The youngster didn't seem very satisfied with that, but soon obeyed and then watched from his sleeping bag as the others got ready. Tyler dressed quickly in his outfit and made a little face at the amount of cleavage he was showing, but it was a lot better than his babydoll. The only thing that gave him a bit of trouble was the zipper that went up the back of the uniform's top, but he'd had some experience with them before from when he'd tried on one of his sister's dresses. It had been a bit of a crisis since he'd had a lot of trouble getting the zipper back down and had nearly dislocated his shoulder in a panic to get the dress off before Kim got home and discovered him. Tyler smiled a little at the memory, remembering the nervous and excited feeling of getting the zipper all the way up since it was snug and fitted and felt a bit like being imprisoned in the dress...which, ironically, he nearly had been.

As he fluffed out the hair of his wig, Tyler noticed that a couple of the guys were having trouble with their zippers, and he walked up behind them and zipped them up. They looked at him mildly startled, and as he saw their expressions it made him feel self-conscious as they obviously recognized both his own expertise as well as his role in "trapping" them in their outfits.

The matter of shoes became a debate because a heated getaway in stiletto pumps seemed like a bad idea, but since their footwear from the slumber party was even sexier and less practical, it was that or go barefoot. The pink pumps had ankle straps and almost modest 3" heels. Tyler wondered what would have precipitated the consideration for Ms. Lockridge to give them a lower heel when he realized that she had probably planned for them to run cheer routines in the shoes. Ultimately, Tyler and the two "sissy sisters" Posie and Pansy reluctantly stuck with the high heels, while the others elected to go barefoot.

Soon the six of them were ready and they looked like the gayest cheerleading squad ever. With their jutting falsies, from the neck down they resembled girls, but since many of them had abandoned their wigs, they looked like exactly what they were: guys in makeup. Tyler noted that he was the only one still fully "in costume," but as weird as he felt walking around fully in drag, after his experience with Constance Dalisera where she'd made him take off his wig, it felt even more strange to walk around half-guy, half-girl. He noticed that the others seemed to sit in silent judgment regarding his decision to maintain a fully female presentation, but they had other things to worry about.

Following Kitty's direction, the group crowded together and sneaked down the hallway, but instead of turning left to head towards the bathroom they headed in the opposite direction, deeper down the winding corridors past other rooms and classrooms. Tyler's heart pounded like a jackhammer as he expected Ms. Lockridge or a guard to jump out and grab them at any minute, but so far it had been quiet. He reminded himself that regardless of how bizarre the place was, the Ladywood Academy was a boutique and not a penitentiary.

"We're gonna get caught," Posie whispered nervously.

"Shut up. I worked it out. There's only one night guard and he's doing his rounds in the store up front," Kitty said as he paused in front of one of the doors. It was locked, but he shoved hard against it and it made a shrill noise that caused them to all look around apprehensively. Then he put his shoulder into it and the door gave way and swung open.

It was a storage closet.

"We can't get out that way! They're gonna hear!" hissed Posie.

Kitty retrieved something small from one higher shelves and then grabbed the nervous teen and yanked him close. "Pull it together! Just 'cause you're dressed like a pussy don't mean you gotta act like one." Then he flashed the contents of his hand: a small set of keys.

"I lifted these off a guard last week," he said as he led them down the corridor.

Tyler started to have more confidence that Kitty might actually know what he was doing, a feeling that began to evaporate as they wandered down the corridors, having to double back a couple times.

"It was around here somewhere," Kitty muttered. "Here!"

The door was locked but after trying a few of the keys, he was able to get it open and Tyler saw the small sign: LOADING DOCK.

They quickly entered and closed the door behind them, and the group breathed a small sigh of relief to be out of the corridor. And there, on the opposite end of the open space, they saw a plain white van.

"There's the keys," Kitty said to Pansy, peering over to the small office area where there were keys hanging on a hook. Pansy retrieved them and Kitty said, "Everybody in the van. When I hit the button to open the door, you start it up and we burn rubber outta here, yeah?"

The boys all hurried over and loaded into the van. If he wasn't so nervous Tyler would have laughed at the picture. Scampering along in their cute little outfits, they looked like a high school cheerleading team sneaking out after curfew to meet with their boyfriends.

A minute later they were in the van, and the clattering metallic noise of the door opening coincided with the sound of the van's ignition as Pansy started it up. Kitty raced over and jumped in the passenger seat just as the metal door fully opened and Pansy hit the gas. The van lurched as they backed up and then raced out into the darkened city streets. Nobody said anything and Tyler half expected there to be a loud wailing of an alarm, but it was silent as Pansy drove farther and farther away. After several blocks, the guys all breathed a sigh of relief and gave a loud cheer.

"Fuck yeah!" Margaret said.

"Told ya," Kitty said in a self-congratulatory manner. "Fuck that place, anyway."

Posie made a nervous smile. "Oh, God, it's over. It's finally over." Then he looked down at his chest and probed at his fake woman's bosom experimentally. "Hey, how are we gonna get these tits off? Lockridge said they were the only place that sold the remover."

Cici grabbed his boobs in a panic. "Shit, I forgot! Man, what are we gonna do? I can't have boobs the rest of my life!" Tyler almost winced at how annoying Cici's voice was, especially when he was complaining.

"Quit whining, bitch." It was Kitty who spoke, and there was more of an edge to it than usual. Tyler wondered if the insult had been delivered intentionally to emasculate the other teen, or if Kitty had momentarily forgotten that the high-pitched voice had actually belonged to a guy. In either case, it had the intended effect, and Cici fell silent.

"That's bullshit anyway, that only they can take these off," Kitty continued. "But I'm gonna fuckin' cut these things off with a knife the first chance I get."

From up in the driver's seat, Pansy said, "Um, hey, guys?"

"After that, I'm gonna kill that Lockridge bitch," Kitty swore.

"Word. After I get all this shit off, I wanna get a bunch of guys and burn that place to the ground," agreed Margaret.

Tyler hugged himself a little as the guys mouthed off. He knew they were just pissed and letting off steam, but with all the talk of revenge and violence, it struck him that he didn't really know these guys all that well. His buddies in Hector's crew would talk a big game, but their threats were mostly just hot air. Tyler strongly suspected that's all this was, as well, but the fact that he didn't know that for sure made him nervous.

"Guys?" Pansy repeated.

"I'm gonna put on a pair of sneakers and I'm never taking them off again," Posie said, trying to wedge one of his fingers inside his pump to massage his foot.

"If I never see another cheerleader uniform again it'll be too soon," Cici grumped prissily as he tugged at his short skirt.

"Guys!" Pansy yelled.

"What?!"

"Where the hell are we going?"

"Are you fucking shitting me?" Pansy swore after he found a quiet street to pull the van over. "We finally break out of there, and we don't know where we're going?"

The normally irascible Kitty fell silent as they realized the hole in their master escape plan. Tyler said nothing as the group fell to arguing, but he wondered to himself if maybe they never actually believed they'd make it this far in the first place. But without any phones or money or visible means of support, their options were few. They didn't dare return to any of their homes because to do so would be to enter the waiting arms of the very people who'd condemned them to the Ladywood Academy in the first place. Reaching out to friends wouldn't work, either. The guys whose friends already knew about their effeminate punishment were more likely to turn them in either for a reward, or just for the pleasure of seeing the sissies carted away crying in their pretty little outfits. And for those whose debasement hadn't yet been made public, they were reluctant to out themselves.

"Fuck that," Kitty said. "No way am I letting my crew see me lookin' like this."

For once, Tyler had to agree with the elder teen. He imagined showing up at his friend Zack's place unannounced in the middle of the night dressed like a bimbo cheerleader with a whole sissy cheerleading squad to back him up. Even if Zack were able to help, which seemed unlikely, Tyler would never live it down in a million years.

Kitty thought for a moment. "What we need is a place to lie low."

"What we need is to get out of these damn clothes!" Margaret interjected. "People see us looking like a bunch of trannies on parade and they'll find us for sure."

"We need money," Kitty said. Then he turned to Pansy. "How much gas we got?"

"Half a tank."

"Fuck."

As the group fell to arguing again, Tyler's mind raced to think of a better option. He didn't dare go back home, not like this and not with all these other guys. His father had been the one to bring him to the Ladywood Academy in the first place, and then learning that Tyler had broken out and stolen a car would completely cement his father's poor opinion of him. Even if his dad didn't call the cops on them he'd absolutely call the Ladywood Academy to contact the other guys' parents and guardians. They were on their own.

"What about hooking?"

It had been Pansy who spoke, and he had made the startling declaration in such an offhand manner that the group fell silent, stunned. They turned to look at him in the front seat, and saw that he was gazing down towards the end of the street where some women were hanging out under a street lamp.

"Are you out of your fucking mind?" Posie said to his stepbrother.

"We need fast cash, right? We can't rob anybody looking like this, and we're gonna at least need gas money soon. Even if we sleep in the van, we're gonna need food and to get outta these stupid clothes."

"Well, count me out! I'm not blowing some guy for money!"

Tyler was seated in the back of the van and quietly nodded his agreement to rejecting the ridiculous plan. But then when he looked up, all five sets of prettily made-up eyes were staring right at him.

"Me?!" he exclaimed.

"Good idea," Posie said.

"Why me?" Tyler said in a panic.

Margaret shrugged. "You look the most like a girl."

"Plus you got the biggest knockers," Pansy noted.

"Don't forget he's gay," Posie said.

Tyler gaped at them, aghast. "I'm not gay!"

"Lockridge said that you like to dress like this."

"Also he kisses just like a girl," Posie added. Everyone nodded.

"I-I'm not—that doesn't mean—it's not—" Tyler stammered. "I'm not gay!" he repeated, even more fervently.

"You don't have to go all the way," Posie suggested. "Maybe you could just give hand jobs."

"Not much money in hand jobs," his stepbrother said. "He can charge more for BJs."

"Plus tit fucks," Cici added helpfully.

"Oh, yeah, good point. Definitely those."

"Should he charge more for BJs or tit fucks, do you think?"

Tyler felt like he was falling down a well as the conversation had quickly turned from whether he would be whoring himself out as a street hooker to exactly how he would do it. The guys were scant minutes from coming up with an itemized list of services for him to offer.

"Forget it! I'm not a hooker!" he yelled.

"You do look like a hooker," Cici said.

Posie ran his eyes over Tyler. "You maybe want to practice first?" he asked with a shrug. He then did a double-take as the others stared at him. "I-I'm not gay or anything, but...c'mon," he said, gesturing at Tyler appreciatively.

"I don't need practice!" Tyler exclaimed. As soon as the words were out of his mouth he regretted how he'd phrased that.

Kitty, who up until this point had been silent, angrily snarled, "The fruit can take it up the ass for all I care. We need money, and we need it right now! I'm not going back there!"

The forcefulness of the proclamation caught them all by surprise, and Tyler was struck speechless. Kitty gave a curt nod to Posie to open the side door of the van, and the loud CHUNK-SHHHRUNK noise as the door slid open wide resonated loudly in the silence.

Tyler shrank back in his seat. He shook his head, fumbling for words. "L-look, guys..."

"Fuck this," Kitty swore as he opened up his passenger door and jumped out, and then reached in to grab Tyler forcibly around the wrist. He was stronger than the younger teen and yanked him out of his seat, hard. Before Tyler knew what was happening, he found himself stumbling on his heels out on the sidewalk next to the van. His heart raced as he struggled to comprehend what was going on, and the gentle touch of the cool night air against his skin reminded him exactly how skimpy his scant little outfit was. He cast an eye towards the hookers down at the end of the block, who had started to take an interest in the goings-on. Tyler then glanced down at himself and realized that he might not look all that out of place among them, a fetishy little sissy cheerleader eager to show her "team spirit." A sudden and overwhelming feeling of dread rose within him.

The metallic thunks of the van's doors closing jolted him back to the moment. The others were all watching him, and Tyler longed for the comparative safety that the van had afforded. Kitty rolled down the passenger-side window as Tyler's voice trembled.

"Kitty—I-I mean—please, you can't be serious," Tyler said, seeing the older teen's face darken when he referred to him with the hated female name.

"Just think how many guys will pay to get a blow job from Misty Melons," Kitty said with a sneer. "Damn, you already look like a whore. Now get your fat tranny ass down there and make us some money."

Tyler cringed, but as he leaned against the van, he realized that he probably did look like a hooker negotiating her services through the rolled-down window.

Over in the driver's seat, Posie started up the engine.

"Wait!" Tyler said desperately. "I—I can't—"

Tyler's mind raced as he tried to think of something to say, but he knew for certain that nothing was going to dissuade Kitty. And none of the others were going to stick their necks out for him, either. He was totally on his own, without any money, and God only knew where downtown dressed up as a big-titted sissy bimbo. Even if he didn't actively prostitute himself, he was walking fuck bait. It wasn't like he could make a run for it in his high heels. It was only a matter of time before—

"Wait a second."

The voice had been Margaret's, who had been quiet through most of this exchange. Tyler hoped that maybe he might help talk some sense into the others, but the hesitant tone of his voice suggested that he was debating something. If Tyler had hoped for any help coming from that quarter, Margaret didn't seem to have any misgivings about whoring him out, either.

"What?" Kitty snapped.

Margaret turned to the group and his loose bright red curls bounced a little as they framed his face. Even in the cheerleader uniform he looked like a refugee from the 1950s, a guy dressed as a girl ready to scamper off to the malt shop to flirt with the boys after cheerleading practice. "My uncle lives up north, but he's got a vacation cabin a couple hours outside the city. It's not much, but I doubt they'd think to look for us there, at least not for a while. We can crash there and there's probably some food and a change of clothes."

"If it's got a liquor cabinet and a knife I can use to cut off these tits, then I'm in," Cici chirped.

The group fell silent as they considered that proposal, and Tyler practically hugged himself as he watched Kitty process this new information. Kitty's eyes cut over to Tyler, then down to the group of hookers by the corner, and then back to Tyler.

"Get your ass in the van," he growled.

Tyler almost cried with relief as Posie opened the side door and he climbed back inside. But as the door closed behind him and the van started to drive off into the night, Tyler found himself trembling hard, and it had nothing to do with the temperature.

Much to Tyler's great relief the group agreed that Margaret's suggestion was the better option, although he was definitely apprehensive that whoring him out had not been entirely rejected and instead relegated to "Plan B." But as they drove through the night and the van fell quiet, Tyler started to realize the consequences of the path that he was on. He wasn't just running away from the Ladywood Academy. He was running away from home.

Running away was something he'd considered in the past, usually after one of his knock-down-drag-out fights with his father and most recently after he'd been brought home in a police cruiser after getting caught tagging a derelict building. Fortunately for Tyler the cop was friends with Tyler's father, or it could have been more serious, but the screaming match he faced when he got home nearly pushed Tyler out the door that night. But he'd changed his mind.

Tyler looked down at himself. This was epic stupidity, he knew that. No money, no real plan, they were dressed like girls—worse, dressed like guys pretending to be girls—this was lunacy. The other guys were driven by desperation by what was done to them or had been threatened to be done to them at the Ladywood Academy, and he could hardly blame them. He thought of Brianna choosing to remain behind and at the time he thought the younger teen a coward, but now Tyler started to wonder if maybe Brianna knew something he didn't.

He couldn't get his head around things. Nothing made sense anymore. Would his father—

"Why are we stopping?" Kitty demanded from up front.

"There's something wrong!" Pansy said as the van started to slow. He was barely able to pull over to the shoulder before they ground to a complete stop.

"I thought you said this thing had half a tank!"

"That's what it said!"

Tyler looked outside and saw that they were on a dark road just outside of town. There wasn't much traffic on the road, either in their direction or on the other side of the divided highway. But as Pansy tried to get the van started again, Kitty leaned forward to look outside the front window and a moment later he and Pansy seemed to spot something that put both of them into a near panic.

The two of them glanced at each other for an instant and then yanked open the doors.

"Get out! Alla you!" Kitty commanded as he jumped out of the van.

The others in back were slower to respond, and they looked at each other in confusion as Kitty opened the sliding door.

"That was a cop car in the other direction! If he flips around, he's gonna find us! In a stolen van! You assholes wanna go to jail lookin' like this?"

That was all the encouragement it took for the others to execute a frantic dismount from the van. Tyler was the last one out, and he slammed the door shut behind him and turned to see the others moving quickly for the tree line alongside the highway. He followed after them, having difficulty traversing the grass and dirt in his high heels as they reached the cover of the trees.

Kitty, however, wasn't pausing to regroup just yet and plunged deeper into the undergrowth towards what appeared to be some kind of large field on the other side of the tree line. Tyler paused a moment to look back at the van and couldn't make out exactly what was going on, but there definitely seemed to be another set of headlights pulled up behind the stalled vehicle.

By the time he caught up with the rest of the group, they had reached a dirt road that was running perpendicular to the road they were just on, but he had no earthly idea where they were. He was huffing and puffing and his braless fake tits were jiggling energetically by the time he stopped. He lamented his decision to wear the high heels, but the guys who were barefoot seemed to be in even greater discomfort.

"It looked like somebody stopped by the van," he informed the group.

"Cop?"

"Couldn't tell. Maybe."

Kitty looked down the darkened road that was dimly illuminated by the moonlight. "We gotta keep moving. They're gonna be looking for us."

They were quiet for a long moment as they caught their breath.

"Maybe we should go back," Posie said.

Kitty was up in his face in an instant. "Fuck that. Fuck. That. You wanna go back there and have them give you a sex change or somethin', you be my guest. Not me." As he said it, he jabbed his index finger against Posie's chest for emphasis, roughly poking the cowering Posie's jutting false bosom.

With that, he stalked off down the dirt road, and one by one they all followed after him. Tyler was the last and after taking one last look over his shoulder in the direction of the van, he followed the rest of the group, a gaggle of sexy sissies all alone at night on a lonely road with their short little skirts swishing along.

The march prompted a number of complaints from the group, with Posie in particular getting under Kitty's skin as he probed for details of the so-called "plan" that were not forthcoming. Only Kitty's sharp rebuke to "shut up and man up" got them to fall silent as they trudged along.

Soon, however, they noticed a lighted structure ahead which on closer inspection seemed to be a bar or restaurant or club of some kind. It was off on its own there in the middle of nowhere, but the parking lot was surprisingly full given the fact that it was a weeknight and the lateness of the hour. There was a neon sign that identified it as "SNOOKUMS."

"What is that place?" Tyler asked nervously.

"I'm not going in to find out," said Posie.

Pansy had clearly had enough and turned to his stepbrother and snapped, "What do you wanna do, skulk around in these outfits 'til the sun comes up? Maybe we find a high school and pretend that we're recruiting for Sissy University?"

Kitty was still inspecting the parking lot. "I'll tell you what we're gonna do. We look inside those cars and see if there's anything we can use. Clothes, blankets, anything to cover this shit up. Maybe if we get lucky we can boost a car and get back on the road."

Nobody seemed to like that plan, but nobody had a better idea either, so shortly the group huddled together and made its way to the edge of the parking lot. They were just about to split up to search around when they passed a big black SUV and were startled by an unexpected voice.

"Out for an evening stroll, ladies?"

They spun around as one, skirts twirling from the quick pirouette as they recognized the voice.

"Ms. Lockridge?" Pansy gasped.

The guys almost bolted, but their escape was blocked on two sides by the muscular female guard Sam from the Academy along with another brawny woman who could have been her twin apart from her dark black hair. Sam's chief function at the store seemed to be a strong-arm used to intimidate and control the sissies, often interceding in the case of a futile attempt at escape or defiance.

Meanwhile, Ms. Lockridge leaned against the big black SUV as she beheld the group. Tyler noted that she was dressed more casually than she had been at the Academy with her long hair worn loose and dressed in a sexy black bolero jacket over a plunging black top and dark fitted jeans that showed off her figure.

And she was looking at all of them like you'd look at a dog who had just peed in the living room.

"H-how did you find us?" Posie stammered.

"I didn't," she replied as she stepped forward to look them over. She shook her head in disapproval.

"I told you that little shit would sell us out," Kitty muttered.

Ms. Lockridge turned to look at him. "I assume you're referring to Brianna? No, she was vexingly loyal. We'll need to work on that. But no, the reason I didn't have to find you is because I never lost you girls in the first place."

"Bullshit. The van—"

"Remote kill switch. The problem with sissies is that I can dress you up like Cinderella and run you ragged, and yet you still have all of this boyish energy and spirit. I find that these 'field trips' give you an outlet for all that pent up vivaciousness."

Posie was actually trembling. "W-what are you going to do to us now?"

She shrugged. "That's entirely up to you. I see three options. You are of course free to leave anytime, if you like."

They glanced at each other uncertainly. The last time she'd made such an offer, Kitty had taken her up on it and had returned to them as a bubble-headed Stepford Wife. "What's the catch?" Cici asked.

"No catch. I suppose you can go back to the main road and hitchhike, although at this time of night in those scrumptious little outfits you may not appreciate the attentions of the people you flag down nearly as much as they'll appreciate you," she said with a leering little smirk. The boys all cast an uneasy eye at each other, realizing what they would look like.

"Or I suppose you could go inside the club over there and see if someone will give you a ride. Although without any money or belongings, you'll have to purchase their goodwill with whatever, ah, 'services' you're able to provide," she said, lingering on the word to make the insinuation clear. "Oh, but in either case, I'd strongly recommend against making for the cabin that belongs to Margaret's uncle. The reception that awaits you there is...less than agreeable."

Margaret's jaw dropped. "How did you..."

"Please."

"We'll go to the cops," Pansy said defiantly.

Ms. Lockridge nodded as though something had occurred to her. "Ah, yes, thank you, Pansy. That slipped my mind. I suppose that I could point out to the authorities that you're my charges because your parents and guardians gave me their kind permission to see to your 'education.' I would of course be quite out of sorts that you would run away like that," she said, as though considering that option. "But no, instead of that, I think the police might be more interested to hear about the group of delinquents who broke into our girls' boutique and stole our van, but not before stealing girls' clothes and outfitting themselves in the most outlandish attire you can imagine! Why, heaven only knows what depravity those queer little ruffians had planned. They even knocked our night guard unconscious!"

"That's bullshit! We didn't break in, we broke out! And we never assaulted no guard!" Cici shrilled in his breathy airheaded soprano. Tyler cringed a little as he imagined the former football player pleading to the cops in that bimbo voice that he wasn't really a sissy, and that he had been forced to dress up like a girl.

"Really? I have witnesses who will claim otherwise."

"I gotta bump on the head," the hulking Sam volunteered.

Tyler's eyes cut over at the musclebound woman as he tried to imagine how it could conceivably gone down had they actually tried to assault her. Then he turned to Ms. Lockridge.

"You said we had three choices."

"Well done, Misty, always the attentive listener. Yes, your other option is that we all pile into the car here and return to the Ladywood Academy, where you will finish your slumber party like good little girls."

The group groaned.

"Of course, after all the inconvenience you've put me through I'm afraid I would have to be compensated for my trouble. Let's call it...five hundred dollars? Payable in advance."

"But we don't have any money!" Posie complained.

She clicked her tongue in disappointment. "Honestly. You girls, always in such a rush and leaving your purses behind. Most unladylike. But as it happens, I've made alternate arrangements."

The group looked at her uncertainly but then turned to follow her gaze. To the main door of Snookums.

"Oh, shit," Cici squeaked in a decidedly unladylike chirp.

"Hi, my name's Misty Melons, can I take your order?"

The table had half a dozen women there for some kind of hen party, and they squealed in delight when they saw Tyler. They took pictures, giggled over his outfit and pawed at his boobs while he struggled to write their order down on the little pad he'd been given. He'd only been at it for thirty minutes and already he was at his wits' end. As his eyes cut around the rest of the establishment, however, he noticed that the other guys didn't seem to be faring much better with their customers.

Once the decision was made—or more accurately that the foregone conclusion had been reached—Ms. Lockridge marched them into the rear entrance of Snookums which Tyler quickly surmised was a gay and lesbian club. The crowd was off the hook for so late on a Wednesday night, but apparently they were having a drag show that featured guest performances from a few well-known queens who'd been on television.

The other big draw had been the presence of Celestina Carducci, the rising pop star. She was a local lesbian woman who'd started to make it big and had a hit single that had been making the rounds. She was there with a few of her friends, along with her steady girlfriend Destiny, who was apparently a trans woman. Evidently when word leaked that Celestina would be hanging out in her old stomping grounds even if she wasn't slated to perform, the place went standing room only.

"You're a little young to be serving liquor in a place like this but you all look so mature that it can be our little secret," Ms. Lockridge teased. She hadn't overlooked a detail, either. Apparently having noted that three of her charges had abandoned their heels at the Ladywood Academy in favor of going barefoot, she thoughtfully brought what she referred to as "alternative footwear."

The three guys blanched when they saw the towering platform heels, higher than anything she'd ever made them wear before. Tyler, Posie, and Pansy traded quick glances, obviously grateful to only have to deal with their 3" stiletto pumps. For the others, it was going to be a very long night.

"You're working for tips tonight, girls. The place closes at 2:00, but I expect the show will be over before then so you'd best smile and work those tables to even have a chance of earning the money you owe me. Oh, and you will be earning every penny of that money tonight, because if you come up so much as a nickel short you're going to be earning it bent over in the backs of those cars you seemed so keen to break into."

A flamboyantly dressed and overweight drag queen with garish makeup and a gigantic red bouffant hairdo poked his head in.

"Hey, are they ready to go?" he asked in a gravelly male voice. Then he turned to look at them. "Just look at you honeys! Oh, they are gonna eat you girls alive," he said in a lascivious growl.

Before they knew what was going on, the group was herded just offstage and the drag queen—obviously the emcee for the evening—strode onto the stage and swept his feather boa over his shoulder in an over-the-top fey gesture and preened to the delight of the cheering crowd.

"Boys and girls and everybody else, we have a special treat for you!" he announced over the microphone. "Tonight the show isn't just on the stage since we've got some very special waitresses who'll help you with any...cravings...you might have," he said as the crowd roared. "C'mon out, girls!"

Tyler and the others reluctantly stepped out onto the stage, feeling especially embarrassed in front of the big crowd, especially with the blinding spotlight that highlighted their vibrant pink-and-white cheerleader costumes with the word SISSY in bold letters stretched across their bosoms. The crowd immediately went bananas and Tyler quavered a little as he heard some indecent proposals shouted their way. For perhaps the first time that evening he was glad that he had chosen to maintain his feminine appearance, since the others, having ditched their wigs or smeared their makeup in an attempt to reassert their masculinity, looked even more like sissy boys than he did. Not that anybody in this crowd harbored any illusions about his true gender.

The guys stood there stock still for a moment while the audience hooted and cheered, but eventually the drag queen emcee seemed to tire of someone else holding the spotlight. He gave them an emphatic look and mouthed the word "Go," as they reluctantly climbed down the steps to start taking orders from the tables. Kitty took a bad step down the stairs and stumbled in his unfamiliar platform stripper heels and fell right into the arms of a muscular guy, much to the delight of the audience as the spotlight swung over to illuminate the embracing couple while everybody laughed. Kitty looked like he was about to take a swing at the guy, but a stern warning look from Ms. Lockridge made him think twice, and he headed obediently into the club after the others.

Tyler was a nervous wreck not just for being seen and teased for his sissy bimbo appearance, but also because he found himself stressing out over keeping everybody's order straight. As he went up to the bar to get more drinks, one of the bartenders, a short woman with a no-nonsense haircut and a number of piercings, smiled as she looked him over and poured the drinks.

"Honey, relax. If you fuck up a drink order, just flash that cleavage and toss your hair like a ditz. They came here to see a show, and tonight that includes you."

Her pronouncement surprised Tyler, but he realized she was right. In his embarrassment and rush to get things right he'd blown off several questions and comments made by the customers at his tables and they were clearly put off. And considering the amount of money they needed to earn in tips that night, he couldn't afford any stingy or dissatisfied customers. The humiliation of the evening had come from how he felt like he'd been debasing and degrading himself to the amusement of everyone who saw his clumsy and bawdy impersonation of a real woman. But he'd discounted the possibility that there might actually be some fun to be had, and that people were looking to get in on the act. He figured it was worth a shot.

"This isn't what I ordered," said a guy at one of his tables. He was an older guy with silver hair, a well-manicured beard, and a boyish face who was dressed in what looked to be a pretty expensive leather jacket.

Ten minutes ago Tyler would have meekly apologized and scampered off to fix his mistake, but instead he flashed a bright smile, cocked a hip and said, "I thought you'd like this better." The other guys at the table seemed amused by Tyler's antics, but Tyler kept his attention on the guy and gave him a little smirk as he tried to remember his flirting lessons that Ms. Lockridge had drilled into them the other day. Tyler fought to keep his nervousness from showing as the guy sized him up, worried that making a pass in so brazen a fashion might get him more attention than he bargained for. But based on the place and the male company the guy was obviously keeping, Tyler wasn't sure that the guy would be into someone who looked like he did, anyway.

"Damn, but you queens crack me up, all attitude and lipstick. I wish I could be a queen for a day."

"I know people who can make that happen," Tyler quipped as the guys all laughed.

"Don't do it, Gabe, these girls recruit!" another guy joked.

A third guy shook his head in wonder as he looked Tyler over. "Man, I don't even like girls and I'd do you," he said to more laughter.

"Beauty is such a burden," Tyler sighed as he tossed his hair back. "You boys need anything else?"

"Nah, we're good, Misty."

Tyler made a little pout. "Not too good, I hope," he said with a playful wink as he headed off to check on his next table and put a little extra wiggle in his butt as he heard the hoots from the guys behind him. His heart was pounding like a jackhammer but it seemed to be working.

He then returned to the table that had all of the women at the hen party. They were quiet and a couple of them were surfing on their phones.

"Hey!" Tyler said as he stopped short in front of them. "You've got perfectly good cameras on those phones. You get bored, you aim 'em right here!" he said, pointing at his boobs.

The girls seemed mildly amused. "Hate to break it to you sunshine, but we've got those too, and ours are real."

Tyler bent over to show off his cleavage. "I've got bad news. Your boyfriend does not care," Tyler said with a playful smirk.

The girls laughed and he looked over their table. "I see empty glasses. You gals want another round?"

"Wow, another round?" the bartender said as she took Tyler's order later that evening.

Tyler smiled and nodded but as he did so he realized that someone was staring at him. By this point in the evening he was getting used to that since he was flirting up a storm, but this penetrating gaze was all too familiar. He sidled over to her.

"Having a good night?" he asked Ms. Lockridge.

"Yes, thank you Misty, I'm very much enjoying the show," she responded, choosing to ignore his sarcasm. "I must say, you're quite the butterfly this evening."

"Just doing what you taught me," Tyler said with a self-satisfied expression.

Ms. Lockridge gave him a peculiar look at that and said, "I wouldn't presume to take too much credit." Then she blinked and sipped at her drink. "Though I wouldn't be too smug if I were you, missy. It looks like you have other problems," she said as her eyes cut over to another part of the club.

There was a disturbance and a raised voice that cut above the din of the crowd and the show that was up on stage. It didn't last very long, but it was singular since it had come from Celestina's table and the voices were decidedly angry. Tyler couldn't tell who said what, but from the flash of curly red hair he could tell that it was Margaret stomping away from the table, looking like a petulant little girl in his sissy cheerleader uniform. And Celestina's girlfriend Destiny was storming away in the opposite direction.

"Shit," Tyler muttered to himself.

Margaret was heading towards the backstage area of the club and Tyler hurried to intercept him. By the time he caught up to him, Tyler saw that Margaret was standing there seething about something while Kitty and Pansy were standing by, obviously already hiding backstage.

Tyler was incensed. "Are you out of your minds, standing around back here? If we work our asses off maybe we earn that money for Lockridge. You really think this is as bad as it gets?"

"Shove it up your bimbo butt, 'Misty'," Kitty said contemptuously. "I been watching you sashay around all night like queen of the prom. Don't tell me you're not looking forward to blowing a few guys."

Tyler walked up right in front of Kitty so they were practically tit-to-tit.

"You talk a good game, 'Kitty.' You were quick to volunteer me to suck cocks to earn you a few bucks, but now that you've got the opportunity to whore yourself out, you're doing everything you can to make it happen. Truth comes out, huh?"

Kitty practically pounced on Tyler, but Margaret and Pansy grabbed him and subdued him in the nick of time.

"You fucking drag fag, I'll kill you," Kitty swore.

Tyler stepped back and said, "You all need to get back out there, right now. I can't cover for all of you. Man up, smile, and suck it up, or Lockridge might have us sucking something a lot worse."

Tyler's hands were trembling from the stress of the confrontation. He needed a minute to pull himself together, so he headed over to the restrooms, stopping short when he saw the signs on the doors and was confronted with was normally a no-brainer question of gender. He shrugged and went into the ladies' room, figuring that he at least somewhat looked the part, and given the demographics of the crowd was likely to be less crowded. As he entered he discovered that his assumption was correct, and the washroom was largely empty apart from a couple women in the corner who were making out with each other.

He walked up to one of the sinks and examined his hair and makeup and sighed as he tried to repair the worst of the damage with a paper towel. He'd just finished washing his hands when one of the stalls opened and Celestina's girlfriend Destiny walked out.

Tyler didn't know all of the details, but he knew that Destiny was Celestina's long-time girlfriend and that she was a trans woman, although that part seemed kind of obvious just to look at her. Destiny's presentation was on the femme side of androgynous with mannish hands and shoulders, a chiseled jaw, and short styled hair that was offset by heavy makeup, big metal earrings, and a skimpy criss-cross club dress that showed off her curvy hips and an impressive set of breasts that were obviously both real and surgically enhanced. Her eyes flashed over to Tyler for an instant and then she turned her attention to the mirror as she started to touch up her lipstick.

Tyler wasn't quite sure what to make of Destiny. He'd never met an actual trans woman before, only people like the other students at the Ladywood Academy who were forced into doing this. He suddenly felt strange to be standing in front of her, like he was play acting a role that she obviously took very seriously.

He started to leave but then changed his mind and said, "I'm sorry about my friend. He—er, she—um, is under a lot of stress."

"Don't worry about it." The voice was raw with emotion in sort of a synthetic female range, the fabricated tonality of a man doing an impersonation of a woman.

"It's just that—"

Destiny put her lipstick down and turned to look straight at Tyler. "How are you enjoying your time at the Ladywood Academy?"

Tyler's jaw dropped.

Destiny made a rueful laugh. "Heh. First time meeting an alumnus, huh? We don't exactly have class reunions."

Tyler's gaze fell downwards to gawk at Destiny head-to-toe. Suddenly all of the obvious surgical enhancements took on a very different significance.

"Y-you..."

"Hey. Does that witch Ms. Bain still work there?" Destiny asked in a matter-of-fact tone.

"I-I don't know."

"Huh," Destiny said, returning to her lipstick. "I once made fun of her fried-egg tits. I'm pretty sure she's the one who talked Tina into springing for these," she said as she gave a little shake of her shoulders that caused her generous boobs to wobble. "I never thought that old lesbo had a sense of humor, but I bet she's laughing her ass off now."

She straightened up and tucked her lipstick into her purse and then stepped in front of Tyler and looked him over.

"Damn, you do look good. Those things real?"

Tyler shook his head.

"Guess the technology's improved, lucky for you." She poked one of Tyler's boobs experimentally in a familiar way. "Nice. Maybe if you stay lucky you won't wake up one day in an operating theater with a big pair of your own and a pain in your crotch that tells you that you're gonna be sitting down to pee for the rest of your life."

After the drag show wound down, the crowd started to get a little restless and was obviously getting ready to leave, especially given the lateness of the hour. Then the drag emcee came out onto the stage and exclaimed, "Hey, hey, hey, folks! Don't grab your coats, the evening is just getting started! 'Cause now we're gonna have karaoke!"

A broad groan erupted from the audience, and even those who gamely smiled at the notion seemed far more interested in flagging down Tyler and the others to settle up their bills before they left.

As they did so, the emcee brightly said, "Okay! So our first taker for kamikaze karaoke tonight is..." He looked down at the piece of paper in his hand. "Wow, your handwriting is atrocious. What is this? Katie? Tina? Katydid?"

The crowd was busy getting their coats and purses but seemed mildly amused by the antics on stage although some had paused when they sensed something unusual was going on. Then, suddenly, the lights dimmed and a spotlight came out to highlight Celestina as she skipped out onto stage wearing an elaborate costume vaguely reminiscent of a biker outfit.

The crowd went wild clapping as they hadn't expected her to actually treat them to a performance. However, she split the difference by indeed performing karaoke, but of her own hit single.

As she sang and performed, the crowd clapped and cheered along and laughed as she jokingly paused a few times to review the lyrics on the screen. Over the next several minutes the scene repeated itself a couple more times as she sang two more of her own songs followed by a rousing rendition of Lady Gaga's "Born this Way" that the crowd ate up.

By the time she was done, Tyler and the couple other students who were still waitressing had settled up the tabs, and Ms. Lockridge beckoned them over to her. Kitty and Margaret practically had to be forced by the muscular Sam and the other burly guard.

Tyler had a sinking feeling.

Ms. Lockridge looked askance at the total on the slip of paper. "I'd love to say you put in a good effort, but..." She made a face.

"What?!" Cici shrilled. "I even sat in a guy's lap!"

"Well, as you work off the difference you'll have the opportunity to get a closer look at the contents of his trousers. Go ask him. Remember to pout, men like that. Pansy and Posie, just...be yourselves," she said as she pressed her lips into a teasing little moue.

The two stepbrothers went pale. They gaped in horror at each other's huge puffy lips, living mirrors that reflected how wildly suggestive they appeared. Earlier that night Tyler had even overheard a couple guys make lewd propositions to Posie over how he might make use of those lips.

"Oh, c'mon! We gotta be close!" Tyler implored Ms. Lockridge. She handed over the paper, and he read the total.

"Ohh, man."

"How short are we?" Pansy asked.

"Almost two hundred," Tyler whispered.

"Not nearly close enough, I'm afraid. You girls will be getting a real education tonight, it seems."

Posie licked his big lips as his eyes darted around nervously. "No. Oh, no..."

Tyler glared at Kitty and Margaret, knowing their feeble contributions had led to this. He'd thought maybe if the group was at least somewhat close, Lockridge might let them slide, perhaps in exchange for some other humiliation. However, this was nothing less than a brazen act of defiance. And if there was one thing Tyler had learned about their instructor, it was that she had no compunctions about making good on a threat, especially if some idiot was stupid enough to challenge her over it.

They were in trouble.

Tyler looked around in a panic as people around the club were starting to pack up and leave. He shoved past Sam and headed over to the table with the group of well-dressed gay guys who he'd been flirting with all night.

He hurried up to them and played with his hair girlishly. "Hey, where you guys going? The place doesn't close for another hour! Another round, maybe? Gabe, how about you?" he said, addressing the silver haired guy with the beard. The group had tipped well and hadn't been shy about spending money, so Tyler thought if he could get them to stick around maybe he could get close enough to beg for leniency from Ms. Lockridge.

Gabe gave him a game smile. "Sorry, beautiful, the show is over and it's a school night. Time for us old queers to be off to bed."

"Speak for yourself," one of the other guys chided him.

"The entertainment isn't over!" Tyler insisted desperately, looking over to the karaoke machine.

"I'm guessing the entertainment never ends when Misty here is around," another guy joked.

"That, I don't doubt," Gabe said. "I'd pay real money to see this little firecracker shake her moneymaker."

Tyler looked at him seriously. "How much money?" he asked.

"Well, folks, it looks like we've got one more bit of entertainment tonight!" the emcee said brightly as a spotlight highlighted Tyler up on stage holding a microphone. Half the crowd had cleared out so it wasn't as jam-packed as it had been earlier but in some ways the smaller crowd made it more intimate and immediate and much more terrifying. The last time Tyler had been up on the stage at the beginning of the night it had only been for a few seconds and he'd been with the rest of the Ladywood students, but now it was just him.

In his harried negotiations with Gabe and his friends, Tyler had been quick to reject karaoke as a possibility since he knew singing in a female voice was beyond his range, but when he realized he was in danger of losing the deal entirely, he proposed as an alternative that most traditional of drag queen performances: lip sync.

There were a half-dozen guys in the group and they were certainly feeling no pain, but they were also in little mood to pay two hundred dollars for a lip sync performance from a pretty queen that didn't involve some manner of sexual favors. However, a desperate Tyler flirted, flattered, charmed, and wheedled most of the guys into donating twenty bucks each before finally getting to Gabe.

"This is going towards the widows and orphans fund, right?" the silver-haired man asked skeptically.

"I'll make sure they get it," Tyler said with a little smile.

Gabe chuckled. He then fished a crisp hundred dollar bill out of his wallet and held it up. Tyler reached for it, but Gabe pulled it back.

"Ah, ah! Only after," he said, raising his eyebrows. "And you, my pretty dear, had best be nothing short of extraordinary."

Now, with Tyler standing up on the stage and squinting into the bright spotlight, the men were all seated at a table in the front row, watching him expectantly.

Tyler nodded to the guy who was running the music, and the song started loud and sudden with a ripping guitar chord and the teasing sound of a woman's voice. "Oh, yeah!"

He'd listened to this song countless times because he'd watched a video of the real Misty Melons dance to it at a strip club. Tyler was hoping he wouldn't have to go quite that far, but he knew he had to really throw himself into it. He closed his eyes and imagined he was back in his bedroom at home, mouthing along to the words.

He made eye contact with the guys and threw his head back in a mimicry of a woman in the throes of orgasm and gave a little wink.

Tyler tossed his hair dramatically and started to strut confidently around the stage as he planted a smirking smile on his face and tried not to let his nervousness show. The few people at the bar and those who had been settling up their bills paused to watch him prance around on stage.

He winked at Gabe and the others and then held his wrists together.

The people in the audience were starting to get into Tyler's performance and laughed and clapped as he played out the scene. But then, as the song got to the chorus, he spun around so that his short little cheerleader skirt gave an energetic twirl, and he swung his big butt back and forth as he looked coyly over his shoulder.

The crowd lost it entirely as his sexy and enthusiastic hip-swinging caused his little skirt to swing around in a very provocative manner over his big bubble butt. The giggles and laughs gave way to outright cheers for his performance.

Tyler enunciated every word suggestively as he mouthed along to the lyrics, bending over so that his big falsies hung down to give a little show, but by this point he had the crowd eating out of his manicured hand, and he knew it. At first he kept trying to remember all the dance moves he had to learn at Ladywood or the moves that the real Misty Melons had done in her video, but as he got into the music he let himself go and just reveled in his self-expression.

A strange sense of freedom and liberation came over him as he danced for the crowd. He was having fun, and they were having fun with him, despite the fact—no, he realized, because of the fact—that he was dressed up as this sexy blonde minx.

By the time he got to the next refrain and was shaking his big booty back and forth in time to the music, the smile on his face was entirely genuine.

As the song began to wind to a close, Tyler made eye contact with Gabe, who was looking at him with something between amusement and awe at the youthful exuberance. Tyler then tossed his hair again and went into his dance.

He then spun around, legs spread wide, and bent over at the waist as he looked up and his blonde hair fell sexily across his face as he sensuously mouthed the final words:

The room erupted into applause and Tyler blushed in response and gave a little smile and wave of gratitude. By the time he got to the edge of the stage to climb down the steps, Gabe was already there waiting for him and held out his hand to help Tyler down the stairs.

"Well, now. I see they saved the best for last," he said.

Tyler, still somewhat breathless from his exertions, just smiled and nodded and licked his lips as he caught his breath.

Gabe handed the money over to Tyler. "This is probably the best money I've spent all week. Honey, I don't mind telling you, if I were twenty years younger, I'd be making you an indecent proposal right now."

One of his friends interjected, "I am twenty years younger! So not for nothing, but—"

"I have a boyfriend," Tyler said quickly. He wasn't sure where that lie came from or why it came so quickly to his lips, but it seemed to nip the offer in the bud.

"More's the pity. He's a lucky man," Gabe said as he took Tyler's hand and kissed it in a genteel gesture. "Hope to see you here next week, Misty."

Tyler smiled and headed over to Ms. Lockridge and handed over the money with a cheeky self-satisfied grin. The woman said nothing but merely accepted the money with a rather cryptic expression.

"Ladies, it seems as though you all owe Misty here a great debt of gratitude," she said as she collected her purse.

Tyler, still grinning, turned to face the other guys and his grin immediately faded as he saw the looks on their faces, like he'd betrayed them or something. That puzzled him since if anything he'd just rescued all of them from a decidedly horrifying alternative when he realized that the scornful looks he was getting weren't for betraying them, but for betraying their gender.

As they all filed out to the parking lot, Tyler's mind was a whirl of emotions as he tried to reconcile that against the emotional high he was still riding from what he'd felt on stage. But as he grappled with that and stepped out into the cool night air, he felt a woman's hand touch his arm to get his attention.

He turned and saw that Celestina was looking right at him, as she'd apparently slipped outside for a cigarette. She smiled and looked him over and said, "Girl, you are extraordinary. Don't let anybody tell you different."

Across town, Ian was lying awake in bed and staring at the ceiling, worried about Tyler. When that woman Ms. Lockridge had suggested that Tyler would do well to participate in a group "slumber party" there at the store, Ian had serious misgivings. When he'd first dragged Tyler to Ladywood his first thought was that it seemed like poetic justice for him to be humiliated not just for the crossdressing and stealing clothes, but also for his rapidly growing misogynistic attitudes towards women. He didn't really have a grand plan, but in just a few days Tyler had become...better. More attentive, maybe. Hell, they'd even had dinner together and had something approximating an honest-to-God conversation.

Ian harbored no illusions that Tyler's sudden change of heart was due to anything other than the blackmail evidence that he was holding over him, and Tyler's fear of being exposed for being seen parading around in women's clothes was an effective lever. After all of the punishments and groundings had failed to have any effect, Ian was desperate. And if this was what it took...

It still didn't make it right.

If Tyler actually was a—what? Crossdresser? Transvestite? Something else?—he didn't even know the right words to use. But if that's what he was, then demonizing that behavior and then threatening to expose it was a pretty lousy way to set a good example.

But as "Misty," Tyler was...better.

Ian threw his head back on the pillow. Rachel and Kim would be back on Sunday. Just a few days. He had no earthly idea what would happen then. Tyler couldn't very well parade around as "Misty Melons" when they returned. Whatever Ian was going to do, he had to do it before then.

He had one idea but it was a crapshoot if it would have any meaningful effect on Tyler. It would require him to exhibit empathy, which wasn't exactly Tyler's strong suit.

In the dark of the room, Ian's phone beeped loudly as he got a text message.

He checked the time. It was much too late to have come from Rachel unless it was an emergency, so his first thought was that it was from Tyler, but that seemed equally unlikely. Even given the troubles the two of them had been having, Tyler would certainly have felt free to contact him if there was anything wrong, but what the hell could go wrong at a slumber party?

He opened the text and saw that it was a message from Ms. Lockridge. It read, "I know it's late, but I thought you'd want to see this. The students put on a little show."

There was a link to a video file and when he opened it, Ian gasped. Tyler was on what looked like a stage or something although it was hard to make out from the video since it was zoomed-in and a bit grainy. Ian wondered why they would have a setup like that at the Ladywood Academy, but he shoved that question out of his mind since he didn't want to know the details. Tyler was dressed in a sexy and skimpy pink-and-white cheerleader outfit with the word SISSY written across the chest in big letters, and he was dancing and lip-syncing along to a rock song.

"It's your duty duty, to shake that booty booty!"

The video was only about 30 seconds long so he didn't see the whole thing, but Ian reeled as he saw it. The performance was no doubt perfectly calibrated to humiliate the young man—how could it not?—but as Tyler shimmied and cavorted around in time to the music it was clear to Ian that there was more going on. When he'd caught Tyler crudely dressed up in his room that first time, his clandestine transvestism seemed dirty and shocking, especially as he abused himself to images of women who sold themselves as sex objects for men. But this seemed...different. Familiar, somehow. Wanton and oversexed, certainly, but also...

Shameless.

Ian paused to consider that word as he watched his son dance and twirl and shake his feminized body promiscuously, but with a look on his face of almost wild abandon. It had been years since he saw Tyler look like that, not since he was a small child.

Then Ian's jaw dropped when he realized why it seemed so familiar. It was almost exactly like—

His phone beeped again as a follow-up message came in, which read, "Misty came up with that all on her own without any prompting at all, isn't she something? She's a real natural. You must be so proud."

Ian grimaced as he turned his phone off and tossed it on the bedstand, landing next to his wallet. He stared at the leather billfold for a long moment before picking it up and retrieving a well-worn business card that he'd tucked into a side pocket. He looked at it and sighed.

He knew what he had to do. But first he needed to be sure. Two more days. Two more days and then he'd do what he should have done the first time.

THURSDAY

Morning at the Ladywood Academy came fast and harsh since Ms. Lockridge didn't give the "girls" much of a chance to sleep in following their previous night's adventure. The order of the day was a particularly grueling feminine deportment training, and in an apparent fit of pique she made all of them change into towering stiletto heels to further abuse their still-aching feet. Tyler was still sore from having to waitress in his high heels the night before, to say nothing all of this new swishing and mincing around in addition to having to practice sitting down and standing up girlishly. Even his cheeks were starting to ache from having to maintain a constant vacant smile on his face as he flitted to and fro.

The others were having a difficult time of it, as well, but once again to his consternation Tyler quickly became the star pupil as he'd already been wearing the ridiculous heels for the last several days, and while he was a long way from being used to them, he was more acclimated to them than some of the other students.

"No, Kitty, no!" Ms. Lockridge said reprovingly. "You see, there's a big difference between walking in 3" heels and 5" heels! Misty, come up here and show the girls again."

Tyler shyly headed to the front of the class as Kitty stared daggers at him. It rattled him a little and he stumbled, but he managed to quickly correct himself. He fully expected to be chastised for his mistake, but once again he became a teacher's model.

"There!" Ms. Lockridge said, pointing at his feet. "Did you see what Misty did there? She masked her stumble with a little 'stripper skip.' They call it that because that's the kind of move strippers do before they jump onto the pole. Very good, Misty!"

By the time they were done, they'd gone through the moves so many times that Tyler was starting to worry if he might accidentally slip into his effeminate body language once this whole feminine ordeal was over and he went back to being a guy. Though it seemed to him like his more immediate concern were the dirty looks he was getting from most of the other students, clearly resentful of Tyler's status as "teacher's pet." Although Tyler observed that didn't stop any of them from checking out his big bubble butt when Ms. Lockridge made him repeatedly demonstrate the proper technique for bending over at the waist to pick up a pencil.

"Misty likes showing off her booty-booty," Kitty snarkily teased as the others laughed.

When they were finished, the guys collectively sighed in relief as Ms. Lockridge directed them to again take their seats.

"Misty, Margaret, and Brianna. Not you, though," she said, stopping them. "You three go down to see Ms. Callahan. Brianna, you know the way."

"Why? What'd we do?" Tyler asked.

"Misty, you've been a model student all morning, but I'll have none of your backtalk. Go. Now."

"Yes, Ms. Lockridge. Sorry, ma'am," he apologized as he followed the other two out the door.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Tyler said, "What's going on? What'd we do?"

Margaret blushed and looked flustered at the question, a demure reaction that actually worked very well with his "1950s housewife" look. But when no answer was forthcoming, Tyler looked more insistently to Brianna.

"It's not us, it's them," Brianna said quietly. When Tyler shook his head in confusion, Brianna looked a little hesitant. "It's sex stuff," he said.

"What?" Tyler said, shocked. The young Brianna didn't seem keen to explain any further, so Tyler looked to Margaret.

"The kid's right," Margaret said as he fidgeted with the pretty lace apron on the front of his flowered skirt. "Right now they're probably getting their dildos out for blowjob practice."

Tyler's jaw dropped. Deep down he'd suspected that Ms. Lockridge's threats the night before about making them service guys at the club for money was merely an empty threat she'd been using to motivate them. But now he wasn't so sure.

"So how come we aren't in there?" he asked. Then he quickly amended, "N-not that I want to be."

Margaret stopped and glared at Tyler. "The only reason I'm not in there is because today I had a conflict with my cooking class," Margaret said with a sneer. "I guess they figured you two were already experts at going down on a guy." With that, he walked off quickly down the corridor, his high heels clicking loudly as his skirts and petticoats swished along.

Brianna stood there quietly and looked over at Tyler. "You have to be signed up for it. I guess the person who registered you didn't go that far," the younger teen explained. "C'mon, we can't be late."

Tyler followed quietly along as he thought about what was going on back in the classroom, to say nothing of all the other doors they passed as they headed down the corridor. The Ladywood Academy was definitely starting to give him the creeps, and if there were lines they wouldn't cross, Tyler had yet to see them. But he was thankful that his dad hadn't gone so far as to sign him up for such sexually explicit classes, especially given that his father might easily have decided that he wanted Tyler to experience a deeper insight into what it was like to be a porno star like Misty Melons. Tyler thought about all of the things that he'd seen her do in her X-rated videos and felt a little shudder about having to learn how to do all that stuff himself, especially dressed as he was and in front of other guys. Even if they were wearing dresses.

Ms. Callahan was a taciturn old woman with short gray hair, angular features, and if anything an even less welcoming personality than Ms. Lockridge. The next couple of hours were like a Home Ec class from the 1950s and started with the proper way to set a table and ended with them having to prepare a meal for their "husband," including dessert. Evidently the Ladywood Academy liked to force the sissies into adopting old-fashioned women's roles "to prepare them for their futures as obedient housewives to real men," as Ms. Callahan put it. Since this was Tyler's first time he was completely lost, so for the cooking assignment he was paired up with the quiet Brianna, while Margaret was left to fend for himself.

Before she set them to their work, Ms. Callahan fixed Margaret with a piercing stare, saying, "Margaret, I expect to see great things from you." Her tone was crisp and humorless, and the obviously-intimidated Margaret anxiously brushed his hands on his frilly apron and grabbed clumsily at his skirts and petticoats to dip into an obedient little curtsy before diving in.

Tyler sighed and looked over at Brianna, who was seated up on the countertop next to where the ingredients were arranged. Unlike his other classmates who were always dressed in various over-the-top sexy and feminine costumes, Brianna was always dressed in clothes appropriate for a young teenage girl, albeit a very prissy one. Today the teen was dressed in a sweet and ruffled floral Lolita dress and his seemingly natural long brown hair had been styled into cute little bangs that came to the top of his beautifully made-up eyes, giving him the look of a wide-eyed ingenue. Many of the other boys—Tyler included—were feminine in various exaggerated or outrageously sexy ways, but Brianna was like a little fawn that had an innocence combined with a nascent sexual appeal. Tyler frequently had to remind himself that the soft-spoken Brianna was actually a boy.

"Okay, preheat the oven," Tyler said as he checked the temperature and then read the cookbook. "Let's make sure we've got all our ingredients."

As Tyler read off the list, Brianna dutifully picked up or pointed out all of the items spread out next to him, not saying a word.

Tyler gave the boy an uncertain look. "You don't talk much, do you?" he observed.

Brianna responded with a mute little shrug, causing the two of them to share a playful glance.

"What's your story, then?" Tyler asked as he retrieved the mixing bowl and began to add the ingredients. "Who's doing this to you? Evil stepmother? Wicked aunt? Wickedly evil step-aunt?"

Brianna broke into a little elfin grin and shook his head.

"All right," Tyler said as he cast an eye at the younger teen. "How about this, then. If I guess why you're here, you have to talk to me. Deal?"

Another shrug. Although this time Tyler detected a little sparkle in Brianna's eyes.

"I should warn you, I'm pretty good at this," Tyler said as he busied himself preparing the ingredients and gave the bright-eyed teen a discerning sidelong glance. He thoughtfully tapped his chin with a wooden spoon and then raised his manicured index finger and wagged it in the air slowly. "I think...you have a very wealthy grandmother. No! An...aunt? No, it's not an aunt," he said, reading Brianna's face, which was a picture of amused disbelief. "Mmm...a wealthy great-aunt. That's it. Named Millicent. She's going to leave you her fortune, but she thinks you're a girl and she'll only leave her money to a female relative. So your greedy step-parents—who are of course also evil and wicked—have sent you here to learn to be a girl so you can trick your great-aunt Millicent out of her money."

Tyler glimpsed over at Brianna, who was fighting not to smile. "So? How'd I do? I nailed it in one, didn't I?" he said with mock confidence.

Brianna smiled brightly and shook his head, causing his long brunette locks to shake prettily.

"What? That's impossible. I think you're trying to trick me. And you should be ashamed of yourself, trying to steal all that money from that nice old lady."

Tyler sniffed indignantly and returned his attention to the cookbook and made a face as he tried to interpret the directions.

"You're not like the others," Brianna said.

"She speaks!" Tyler said as the younger teen broke out into a shy little grin. Then Tyler stopped short. "I—I meant 'he.' Sorry. I know they want us to use girl names and all, but—"

"It's okay," Brianna said gently. "I don't mind."

He had sounded earnest when he said it, but his eyes were fixed on Tyler in an appraising way that made Tyler feel rather uncomfortable, although he wasn't entirely certain why. After dressing up like a sex bomb all this time and getting ogled by guys it felt strange that a pretty little crossdressed teen would be able to fluster him like it did. There was nothing sexual in Brianna's gaze, but there was something else discerning that made Tyler feel embarrassed and awkward.

Tyler broke his attention away and pretended to look at the cookbook again. "You have a pretty smile," he said.

"So do you," Brianna said, still staring.

Tyler cleared his throat a little. "Okay, eggs, we need eggs," he said as he fumbled with the egg carton. He delicately plucked one out, which proved to be a little bit more challenging given his long fingernails. He held the egg uncertainly like it was an alien object and held it over the bowl.

"I, uh, I've never really done this before," he admitted.

Brianna reached past him and plucked another egg out of the carton and held it up for a brief moment, and then in one fluid gesture rapped the egg on the edge of the bowl to crack the shell, plopped the contents into the bowl, and then tossed the shell into the sink.

"Seems easy enough," Tyler muttered. "Okay, here goes..."

Hesitantly, he tapped the egg on the edge of the bowl in a tentative and delicate gesture, but the shell didn't break. He tried again, harder this time, but not only did the shell break, but his grip was too strong and he crushed the entire shell in his hand so that it practically exploded in his fingers, making a huge mess.

"Ah! Paper towel!" he cried as Brianna retrieved one for him and he sopped up the gooey mess that was all over his hand and the countertop. He looked over at Brianna and the second they made eye contact they both started giggling.

Their outburst did not go unnoticed. "Girls, is there a problem?" Ms. Callahan said sharply.

"No, no problem. Sorry!" Tyler apologized, acutely aware that Margaret was also scowling at the two of them, apparently not very amused that the two of them might be having fun with their assignment.

"I guess I'm not cut out to be a housewife," Tyler said to Brianna. "Maybe you should do this part."

As Brianna obligingly added the rest of the eggs, Tyler checked what was next on the recipe. Or pretended to.

"What did you mean when you said I wasn't like the others?" Tyler asked, trying to keep his voice casual. Then, anticipating another quiet shrug, he turned to look at the pretty teen. "I'd really like to know."

Brianna considered that, obviously choosing his words. "The others," he began quietly, not wanting to be overheard, "they're mean. And they're angry. And they're really, really scared. They only try to do a good job because they're afraid of being punished."

Tyler's lip twitched uncertainly. "This is punishment for me, too. My dad is making me do this."

Brianna's brow furrowed. "Oh," he said uncertainly.

Tyler picked up on the tone. "What's that mean?"

"But...you like it, right?"

Tyler's jaw dropped a little, uncertain how to respond. "I used to dress up..." he began and then shook his head. "It's stupid. I'm only here for the week. My mom and sister will be back on Sunday and everything will go back to how it was."

Brianna nodded. "Oh. I guess that explains it."

"Explains what?"

The young teen licked his lips. "It's just...at the end of the day? When it's almost time to go home, all of them get angry and frightened," he said, casting an eye over towards Margaret. "But not you. You look kinda sad."

Tyler gave a rueful smile as he absently ran his fingers along the pages of the cookbook. "You're wrong about me, you know. I'm exactly like them. My dad says I'm rude and disrespectful. That I'm demeaning to women. And the guys that I hang out with? If they ever saw a couple guys that dressed like us, they'd beat the shit out of them."

Brianna sat quiet for a long moment. "Misty?" he said finally.

Tyler sighed. "Yeah, what is it?"

"I'm glad that you're not like that when you're in here."

Tyler smiled in spite of himself. "Yeah, me, too," he said softly.

Then he looked in dismay at the mess of ingredients arrayed before them. "Alright, let's finish this before Ms. Callahan forces us to do this while dressed up like Margaret over there." The two of them glanced over to where Margaret was scampering about in his kitchen area looking every inch the 50s housewife in his pearls and petticoats, pausing every few minutes to check his hair and makeup in a little compact mirror as he primped and preened under the watchful eye of the strict old woman.

Brianna and Tyler shared a little grin before checking the cookbook again. Then Tyler paused to look at the younger teen.

"And when your great-aunt Millicent dies and leaves you all that money, you're gonna remember who your friends were, okay?"

"Okay," Brianna said with a smile.

After the class was finished, Ms. Callahan made Tyler stay after class so she could berate him for being so careless and slapdash in his efforts. He rankled under her criticism, a scene that was only too reminiscent of how his parents had been chewing him out lately. More than anything he wanted to sass her back, but he bit his tongue when he realized she would only invent some contrived punishment to humiliate him further.

When she finally released him to return back to Ms. Lockridge's classroom his cheeks were practically burning in anger and shame. He was really upset since he had actually tried to do a good job, and it stung to have his efforts so casually dismissed. But as he thought about it, Margaret actually had done a pretty amazing job and he'd practically left in tears after Ms. Callahan had uncharacteristically praised his efforts, saying that he'd obviously found his true calling as a dutiful housewife and now he only needed to find a real man who'd make an honest woman out of him. As Tyler trudged his way down the hall, he realized that the common denominator wasn't praise or criticism, it was humiliation. And the Ladywood Academy seemed adept at identifying the hot buttons of the "students" and using them to ensure compliance.

Tyler had similarly chafed under his parents' reprimands and lectures, but even when they were angry at him—which was often—at least they hadn't been intentionally hurtful or belittling. Well, up until this little "vacation" at Ladywood, anyway. But even then, his dad didn't seem to want to rub Tyler's face in it like the other guys. He wanted...Tyler wasn't sure what he wanted, actually. But one way or another it'd be over in a few days. Tyler wasn't entirely sure how he felt about that.

He was so preoccupied that as he turned the corner he wasn't watching where he was going and walked smack into Ms. Lockridge.

"Oops!" he cried out as she dropped the papers she was carrying. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" he said in a panic as he squatted down to pick them up.

"Mmm," she murmured as she watched. "Young lady, you seem determined to divest yourself of all of the goodwill capital you've accumulated this week."

"Sorry," Tyler repeated as he straightened himself up and handed her the papers. She accepted them impassively and cast her eyes over at one remaining paper that had fluttered to the floor a few steps away.

"Oh!" Tyler said as he scurried over to retrieve it. She was standing behind him and he had no doubt that she was watching him like a hawk, so he made a point of bending over sexily at the waist to pick up this last sheet in the manner in which he'd been instructed, an act that required him to stick his big round butt in her direction as he dipped down.

"Impressive," she said. Tyler wasn't sure if she was referring to his technique or to his huge prosthetic-enhanced bubble butt, but if it put her in a good mood he wasn't complaining.

He was about to say something in response but as he picked up the sheet the contents caught his eye. It said POP QUIZ at the top and it appeared to belong to Kitty, who had written both his name and all of his answers in a loopy, exaggerated attempt at a girl's handwriting. Across the top in big bold letters the title read, "Sexy Dirty Talk Phrases to Drive Your Man Horny!" There were twenty blank lines and Kitty had written in about a dozen with answers like, "Fuck me, baby," "I want your cock so bad," "Make me your fuck doll," and "I want to taste your cum."

Tyler's face flushed as he read the paper, startled by how explicit it was. Distracted as he was, he suddenly became aware of Ms. Lockridge's eyes on him and he quickly handed it over to her.

"We missed you in class today," she said as she accepted the paper, letting the implication hang that he could just as easily have been participating in whatever adult-oriented instructional activities they had been engaged in. "How was Ms. Callahan's class?"

He cringed a little. "I don't think I did very well," he admitted nervously. Failure invariably led to punishment so he was loathe to admit it, but the two teachers were bound to talk to each other anyway.

Ms. Lockridge gave him a tight smile. "Too bad. I suppose you can't excel at everything," she said.

The faint praise caught Tyler off guard, but he thought it might give him an opening to catch her in an uncharacteristic good mood.

"Ms. Lockridge, may I ask you a question?"

The stern-faced woman said nothing in response and merely stared at him and raised an eyebrow.

"D-do you really think that I'm—" he began. Then he realized that fishing for a compliment was likely to backfire on him, and he changed his approach. "I-I mean, this place. Why do it? The whole thing of making boys be like girls?"

She studied him for a long tense moment. "You're an intelligent young woman, Misty. Why do you think?"

He didn't have to think about his answer. "It's to humiliate them," he said. "I mean, us," he amended.

"That's an intriguing theory. I agree that it can be a very effective way of motivating willful young men, especially the ones who have, shall we say, unflattering opinions of women." Then her lips curled into a small smirk. "Although the entertainment they provide to the women in their lives shouldn't be discounted."

Tyler felt self-conscious at her remark and did his best not to shrink back from her piercing gaze.

Ms. Lockridge sniffed a little. "You don't even know who to hate anymore, do you? Your father, for bringing you to this place? Me, for all these humiliating little assignments? Yourself, for enjoying it?"

Tyler said nothing.

"Misty, let me give you a little bit of advice, woman-to-woman. This place is filled with horrors and delights, and only you know which is which. So while you may resent what I'm doing to you, nobody can save you except you."

"So it's nothing personal," Tyler said, with more than a hint of defiant sarcasm in his voice.

"Oh, honey. It's always personal."

She regarded him again and then glanced about the corridor. "Ladywood is impressive, but it's not without flaws. It's effective enough, apart from the one Achilles heel."

"What's that?" Tyler asked.

"Really? I'm surprised. I'd thought you were well on your way to figuring that out for yourself."

He looked down, unable to meet her gaze. "You mean it's not embarrassing if I like it," he said quietly.

Ms. Lockridge scoffed at his assertion. "Please. Drop by any Saturday evening and I'll be delighted to introduce you to a number of individuals who would love to dress as you are right now and who are also deeply humiliated by it."

"So, what, then?"

She fixed her eyes on Tyler for a long moment. "You need to get to class, young lady. The other girls are on a short break, but I'll be along presently. On your way, now," she said firmly.

Tyler sighed softly and headed down the corridor, the click-clack sound of his high heels against the hard floor echoing in the quiet of the hallway. He noted a distinct absence of those selfsame sounds coming from Ms. Lockridge's footsteps behind him and realized that she was still standing there, observing his retreat. He made a concerted effort to adopt the hip-wiggling gait that he and the other guys had been made to learn, causing his big bubble butt to sway sexily—and embarrassingly—behind him as she watched.

When Tyler entered the classroom, he noted that the others did indeed seem to be on break and many of them were clustered over by the front of the room. However, he noticed two of the students—the "twins," Posie and Pansy—were seated together over by the vanity mirrors, looking very much like a pair of frilly little flowers in their sissy dresses and voluminous froths of petticoats, but he did a startled little double-take as he noticed that they were in intimate embrace and kissing each other fervently. Tyler blinked in surprise at the display and was taken aback that the two stepbrothers would be involved in such a bawdy activity, but as he looked closer, their roaming hands explored each other's bodies in awkward, stilted ways and their prettily made-up faces had mortified expressions as they pressed their plumped-up lips against the other's. None of the other students were paying them any mind, so Tyler deduced that this little impromptu makeout session was punishment for some transgression during class. Tyler couldn't make it out, but they also appeared to be passionately whispering something to each other in between kisses, and based on the "sexy dirty talk" pop quiz he'd seen, he guessed that Ms. Lockridge was making sure the "sisters" were getting in some practice.

"Let me go!" Brianna cried from the other side of the room.

Tyler turned to look and saw that Kitty had backed the younger teen up against the wall and had his hands all over Brianna. Cici and Margaret were also standing close at hand, keeping Brianna fenced in and obviously enjoying the show.

"Leave her alone!" Tyler said as he moved over to confront them.

Kitty turned his attention to him and scoffed at the picture. "If it isn't Miss Misty Melons, come jiggling to the rescue," he said with a sneer. "Something you want to say, Sissy Misty? Or maybe if you want to get down on your knees and blow me, I'll show you what a real man has got," he taunted as he looked to the other two guys who smirked at his jeer.

On its face it was a patently ridiculous put-down, clad as they all were in various types of feminine dress. Kitty was the most masculine-looking of the lot with his short-cropped hair and more modest bosom, but even that wasn't saying much with his feminine curves under his tight sweater and miniskirt. However, much of Kitty's masculine presence came from his mannish demeanor...where the other guys had become cowed or outright programmed to adopt more feminine mannerisms, Kitty had steadfastly rejected any manner of female comportment, and as a result looked like a guy in a dress, regardless of his curves, makeup, or high heels. He cut a preposterous figure, but for the boys like Cici and Margaret who still clung to the quickly-fading scraps of their masculinity, even this little bit of rebellion seemed like strength.

Tyler wasn't having any of it, however. As he saw Brianna shrunk back sheepishly, still surrounded by the others, he made his way over confidently. He held his head up high and fixated on Kitty even as the clacking sound of his high heels on the hard floors echoed throughout the room. He knew that his hip-swinging walk and feminine body language were only opening him up to more taunts and disparaging remarks for his female presentation, but what was his alternative, to clomp over there like a gorilla?

"I mean it. Leave her alone."

Kitty pretended to be confused. "Wait. Leave who alone? Who's 'her'?" He looked to the other two guys. "You two see any girls around here?"

"I don't see any," Cici said, although he immediately blushed and clamped his mouth shut when his taunt came out sounding more like a breathy bimbo's come-on.

"Oh, yeah, you're a big man, Kitty," Tyler answered mockingly. "You're the meanest thing on two shaved legs. Love your high heels, by the way. You look so sexy."

Kitty's face visibly reddened as Tyler stopped right in front of him. "At least I don't have a pair of tits like you, funbags. I may gotta dress this way but fuck if I'm gonna pretend I'm a bitch."

Tyler's eyes cut down to Kitty's own prominent bosom. They were smaller than Tyler's certainly but were unmistakable as they tented out the older teen's tight sweater. He was just about to snap back his own comeback when Kitty smiled and took a half-step closer so they were close. Dangerously close.

"Or maybe you don't like being called Sissy Misty. Maybe instead I should call you something more familiar. How about...Tranny Tyler?"

Tyler, stunned, gaped in shock at the other teen.

"W-what?"

"Yeah, I fuckin' know who you are. Tyler Valentine, right? You run with Hector's crew, don'cha? Damn, I wish I had a camera right now, I bet they'd love to see you like this, all tits and lipstick."

Tyler was absolutely rocked. The Ladywood Academy's prohibition on using male names notwithstanding, he'd done nothing to tip his real identity to the other guys. Even Ms. Mercer when she'd introduced him to the class and humiliated him by telling everyone how he had been caught masturbating while dressed up as this big-breasted porno star hadn't crossed that line. His mind raced as he tried to figure out how Kitty had identified him, even as he tried to figure out what he could possibly do about it.

"Oh, nothin' to say, funbags? Don't you worry, I'm looking forward to making sure they find all about Tranny Tyler, the sissy crossdresser."

Tyler licked his suddenly-dry lips. "They won't believe you. A-and you can't tell them about me without them finding out about you being here."

Kitty laughed once. "Fuck that. Lookit me and lookit you. These bitches may have made me wear a kilt for a few weeks but the second I get out from under these whores there's gonna be no doubt I'm a guy. But you? You went full-on fairy princess day one. You're a cocksucking tranny bitch and I'm gonna make sure everybody—everybody—knows it."

His threat hung heavy in the air between them and the others were all silent as they watched to see what would happen next. Even Posie and Pansy had ceased their ministrations and looked over at the group to observe the altercation.

Acutely aware that all eyes were on him, Tyler felt his emotions roiling within him, bouncing from embarrassment to fear to outright rage at the smirking face of this overconfident punk that stood before him. He could feel his face redden as his cheeks burned and he lowered his head submissively as a lock of blonde hair swept across his face. As he thought about what he was in for if Kitty made good on his threat, he could have cried from shame and despair.

He could have cried. But he didn't.

"RAAAAGH!" he screamed inarticulately as he launched himself at Kitty with ferocious rage. Everybody—Kitty included—seemed startled by the move, and as a result Tyler was able to knock the other teen to the floor and land a few vicious body blows. However, where the others stood stunned into mute inaction, Kitty was no stranger to a fight and quickly mounted a defense against the assault and started to fight back.

Tyler got the wind knocked out of him as Kitty's knee came slamming up into his gut, which was swiftly followed up by a wild but effective punch to his side. The two grappled with each other on the floor, rolling around and venting their pent-up frustrations upon each other as they fought. If he'd stopped to think about it, Tyler would almost have laughed at the picture the two of them presented, a couple of crossdressed teens going at each other like a couple of skanky girls in a full-on catfight.

"Enough!" a woman's voice commanded sharply.

But both teens were well past reason. However, a brief moment later Tyler—who was on top at the moment—felt a strong pair of hands grab him from behind that yanked him to his feet like he was a rag doll. He struggled against the grip but found himself held fast by Sam, Ladywood's muscular female guard. As Tyler struggled in her implacable grasp, he saw the other brawny female guard haul Kitty to his feet, whose furious efforts to extricate himself were equally fruitless.

"I said, that will be enough!" Ms. Lockridge commanded as she approached the pair.

Tyler and Kitty put up a perfunctory struggle, but they soon quieted down as the two muscular women held them in place. Tyler turned to look at Ms. Lockridge as she strode over towards them, and although she glared at the boys with the look of a stern disciplinarian, to his surprise she looked less furious than he expected. And behind her and standing over by the door, Tyler spotted the owner of the Ladywood Academy, Charlotte Mercer, watching the proceedings with sharp-eyed interest. That caught him by surprise since he'd never known her to take a personal interest in their classes before.

As Ms. Lockridge stalked her way across the room all of the other boys quickly cleared a path for their determined-looking instructor and looked at the floor sheepishly, doing their level best to look invisible. However, her attention at the moment was riveted on Tyler and Kitty.

"This is unacceptable behavior, ladies," she said tightly. "Kitty, you seem bound and determined to get another dose of 'The Feminine Persuasion.' It seems the only way to ensure your good behavior."

Kitty's face went pale. "Oh, God, no, please," he begged. "It wasn't my fault! He started it! He—!"

Ms. Lockridge fixed him with a deadly glare. "Interrupt me one more time, young woman, and I will make what you've gone though so far look like summer camp. And with that plus another injection, I guarantee you'll not only be my star pupil, but you'll be the most enthusiastic sissy ever to mince out of the doors of this august institution. Do we understand each other?"

"Yes," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Good. Now, all of you take your seats," she commanded. Kitty and the other students hurried obediently over to their seats but before Tyler could take a step, Ms. Lockridge looked right at him.

"Not you."

As the others sat down and Sam and the other burly female guard headed towards the exit, Tyler found himself standing alone in front of the authoritarian woman, just out of earshot of the others. She sighed heavily.

"I'm extremely disappointed in you, Misty," she said with a shake of her head. Then after a long quiet moment she said, "Though at least you know better than to interrupt me. I imagine you have some extremely good reason for this altercation?"

Tyler's eyes cut up at her and when he responded there was an edge of defiance to his voice. "Would it matter if I did?" he asked.

Ms. Lockridge shook her head. "Not even a little."

She reached over and plucked at his tousled wig and quietly regarded a rip in the fabric of his dress. She then glanced over at the clock on the wall and back to Tyler.

"We're nearly done for the day. I think you should go into the store and shop for some new underwear."

Of all the punishments that he envisioned, this was not one that Tyler had imagined.

"I'm sorry?"

"You heard me. Collect your purse and go shop for some new panties," she said in a perfunctory manner before walking away to return her attention to the rest of the class.

Tyler was bewildered but wasn't about to question his good fortune as he went over to his desk and gathered up his purse and slung the strap over his shoulder. As he did so, he and Kitty made eye contact and while the other teen was clearly not looking to start something with their instructor standing there, his intense glare made it obvious that his assertion about exposing Tyler was not an idle threat.

A sick feeling settled into the pit of Tyler's stomach as he thought about what that would mean. This entire week, as weird and awful as it had been was at least private. He'd been seen in public, certainly, but at least nobody knew who he really was. But once Kitty told Hector and the rest of the crew about him, he'd never live it down. His friends would know, his family, his classmates, everybody. He was going to be exposed to the world as the crossdressing freak that he was, and there wasn't a blessed thing he could do to stop it.

Distracted as he was, Tyler approached the door and nearly walked into Ms. Mercer, who was still standing there and watching him intently. Cowed, he cast his eyes downward and hurried out the door and out into the main store.

"Shit," Tyler muttered to himself as he listlessly picked through a display of panties. "Shit, shit, shit!" he cursed under his breath and gripped his hands into fists as he berated himself for his stupidity. A couple more days and he would have been done with this stupid punishment and could have walked away from all of this, but now not only did that punk know who he really was, Tyler had antagonized him to the point where there was absolutely no doubt that Kitty would make good on his threat. And even if Tyler tried to turn the tables and tell them that Kitty—whoever he was—was also at Ladywood, the damage would be done. After Hector and the others found out about Tyler's time dressing up as Misty Melons, his life would be over. They weren't the kinds of guys to limit themselves to some good-natured teasing...once they learned that he had been sashaying around like a big-titted transvestite, he'd be lucky if they didn't beat the shit out of him. If he was lucky, they'd just expose him to everybody as a guy who liked to dress up like a woman.

And the worst part was, it was all true.

"Shit," he repeated as he picked up a pair of panties and threw them down in disgust. Why did he have to be like this? Why couldn't he be normal? He would be better off if—

"Oh, my God, that's hilarious! And he has absolutely no idea?" a teen girl said in the next aisle over, obviously talking to a friend.

Their close proximity startled Tyler out of his malaise, and he straightened up and quickly brushed his hair into place with his fingers. They were on the other side of a long rack of dresses and hadn't spotted him yet, but he reflexively fell into his feminine impersonation. Best case, they'd see him as a buxom and overdressed girl who was shopping for lingerie, but that was still better than being read as a busty crossdressed sissy.

"No idea at all, it's fantastic," the other one replied. Tyler wasn't sure, but they sounded to be about his age and as he listened he pretended to look through the display of panties. "That fucker tried to molest me, and now he's gonna be a sweet little tranny named Kitty."

Tyler froze.

"Serves him right, his own foster sister," the other one agreed. "I still can't believe you got Keith to wear girls' clothes. God, this place is so messed up. Hey, check this out, maybe you can make him wear this!" she said as she picked out some dress off the rack.

The other girl laughed. "We'd have to put him back in diapers! But pretty soon he's gonna be too stacked to fit in that."

"Yeah, I don't get that. How can Keith not realize that he's growing boobs?"

"They told my mom they've got him on some low dose of some drug or something. It's like hypnosis. So he's been on these hormones for the last few months and doesn't even know he's getting curvy."

Tyler paused as he listened in to the girls' conversation. Suddenly Kitty's taunt about not having tits like Tyler's made more sense. He wasn't just saying that Tyler's falsies were bigger, Kitty was oblivious to the fact that he had a chest of his own. And his breasts were real!

"I'm a little jealous, he blossomed fast," the other one teased.

"Oh, it's so much better than that," Kitty's foster sister said, lowering her voice in a conspiratorial tone. Tyler edged his way closer to overhear. "Wait'll he gets his boob job! He's gonna be..." Tyler couldn't see them clearly, but she apparently made some gesture with her hands that caused the other girl to snicker loudly.

"Shut up!"

"It's true! But best of all? You know how that little turd keeps calling me a cow and going 'moo' behind my back?"

"That's so juvenile."

"Well I hope he likes it, 'cause the reason his titties have been growing so fast is because they're filling up with milk!"

"No way!"

"Shh!" the foster sister admonished. "I overheard them talking to my mom and they said they gave him a post-hypnotic phrase or whatever that'll make his titties start leaking."

"Bullshit."

"The woman at the counter said it was like how a nursing mom will spurt milk when she hears a baby cry. So anytime Keith hears the phrase, 'Kitty Kaboodles lactates oodles' he's gonna have to change his shirt, 'cause it's gonna have two big wet spots on it!"

The two girls fell into fits of giggles. "Oh, man, I hope he likes being the cow," her friend said. "Hey, you think they sell nursing bras here?" she wondered.

Suddenly Tyler straightened up as he realized that he was standing right next to the display with all of the brassieres. Just as he did so, the two girls came around the end of aisle and one of them almost walked straight into him.

"Oh, my God!" she said with a laugh as she lifted her hands defensively as she'd stopped barely an inch short of giving Tyler's falsies a friendly grope.

"Sorry," she said with a smile as they edged their way past. As they did so, Tyler saw the two girls glance over at each other in disbelief and they tittered loudly behind his back. As he took a couple of steps away he heard one of them say, "Some big milkers on her," as the two girls giggled.

Tyler's face flushed in embarrassment, but as he looked down at his big protruding falsies he thought that at least his were fake. Kitty, on the other hand, had a big, wet surprise coming.

Soon, Ian arrived to pick Tyler up. Ian was in a weird and conflicted mood since the video of Tyler performing his routine the previous night was still fresh in his mind, although two nights ago at dinner Tyler had been more communicative than he had been in months. But now he noted that Tyler seemed to be surly and preoccupied, and it left him unsure what to say. His most obvious question was to ask about the "slumber party" the previous night, but knowing what he knew, Ian was reluctant to ask a question since he knew he might not like the answer.

Tyler's sour attitude practically filled the car during their whole ride home, so by the time they pulled into the garage and Ian put the car in park, he felt obligated to say something.

"Is everything okay? You look like something's bothering you."

"I'm fine," Tyler grumbled as he gathered up his purse and headed inside. He slammed the door a little too hard behind him, and the sound of his heels against the concrete of the garage practically echoed as he stomped inside.

At any other time, Ian might have written this mood swing off as a bout of teenage moodiness, and in fact Tyler's huffy attitude was all too reminiscent of some of Kim's tumultuous moods a few years earlier when she was deep in the throes of puberty. Unfortunately, however, rebelliousness and insolence were exactly what had gotten Tyler into this whole mess in the first place, and Ian had a short fuse when it came to such matters. Especially from Tyler.

By the time Ian followed him inside, Tyler was already heading to march up the stairs. Ian had had enough.

"Misty, I've had it with this disrespectful attitude of yours! If you won't talk to me, then—"

Tyler spun on his father. "Oh, that's right, I'm Misty now," he said mockingly. "I'm not your juvenile delinquent son, now I'm your skanky ho of a daughter. Must be tough."

"Now you listen to me—"

"No, you listen," Tyler shot back as he threw his purse on the end table and advanced on his father. "You want to know about my day in tranny bimbo day care? Did I learn anything new? Did I make any new friends? Yeah, actually, I did! Today I learned that one of the crossdressed thugs in my class recognized me! That's fun, right? And now he's gonna tell all my friends not only how I like to hang out at Ladywood dressed up like a top heavy porno queen, but I've been doing it all week! Even better, he's going to let them know that I like to dress this way!" Tyler was struggling to keep it together but stood there in his slutty little outfit and struck a pose with one hip out as he gestured at himself.

Ian stared at him in dismay. "Tyler..."

Tyler sniffled and blinked back tears. "No, no, it's good. This makes everything easy. Now we don't have to worry about me changing back, since everybody is going to know, anyway. I'll just stay like this and when Mom and Kim get home we can tell them that I've decided to stay looking like M-Misty M-M-Mel-Mel—" He couldn't even bring himself to say the name as he lost his composure completely and hugged himself as he started to cry.

Ian fumbled for words. "Tyler, I-I'm sorry..." he said quietly as he started to move closer to his son.

Tyler jerked away and glared at his father. "No! No, you don't! This is all your fault! It's because of you that this happened! I hate you!" he cried as he broke down and made his way over to the couch in the family room and threw himself into it, bawling miserably. "I hate you," Tyler repeated. "I hate you so much. I hate—" he was about to say something else and checked himself. "I hate you," he said again quietly.

Dumbfounded, Ian stood there quietly for a seemingly endless moment as he beheld his crossdressed son sniffling inarticulately and choking out sobs. With his big mane of blonde hair, skimpy dress, and his shaved legs and high heels it was like some buxom and beautiful distraught stranger had entered their house and promptly had an emotional meltdown about her cheating boyfriend or some other trite and vapid drama in her life. But appearances aside, that image couldn't have been farther from the truth.

Slowly, Ian became aware that he was still carrying his work bag that he'd never put down and dropped it on the floor. He then numbly walked over into the family room. Tyler was turned away from Ian and was jammed into the corner of the couch and was hugging one of the throw pillows there. For a moment Ian wondered where to sit and almost sat in the chair that was next to the sofa, but he then moved to sit down on the couch next to Tyler, who was still sniffling and taking ragged breaths. Ian sat forward on the edge of the seat and absently started to fool with the stack of plastic coasters that were on the corner of the table there. They were imprinted with the logo of the beach resort that they were supposed to have gone to that week before they canceled their plans due to Tyler's grounding. That all seemed like a million years ago, what with everything that had happened.

Ian took a slow, ragged breath and looked ahead as he spoke.

"You're right," he said finally. "I've failed you, Tyler. And I don't know how to help you. I don't. I don't just mean about this, I mean about everything. The last couple of years I've watched as you set yourself on this trajectory for self-destruction, and I feel helpless. Like there's nothing I can do but bear witness to the train wreck that's happening in slow motion in front of me. I've tried reasoning with you, I've tried being there for you. I've tried punishing you, I've tried tough love. And every day, I watch you slip further away, and I know that every day I'm failing you. And...I'm sorry. But I'm most sorry for...this," he said, gesturing to Tyler's outfit.

Tyler didn't say anything, but his wet red eyes cut over to look at his father.

"When I—caught you—last weekend in your room and you were watching those videos and dressed in that ridiculous outfit as you jerked off, I just lost it. I should never have taken you to that awful place."

Still withdrawn, Tyler regarded his father uncertainly. "You told me you brought me there to learn some kind of a lesson."

"I only said that to make you go along with all this. There's nothing to learn in that place."

There was a pregnant pause as Ian's pronouncement hung heavy in the air for a long moment, but eventually his eyes glanced over at his son and they made wary eye contact before Ian looked away again.

"Tyler, I didn't take you to that place to learn anything, I took you there because I was embarrassed. I was embarrassed by you. And for you." He gripped his hands tightly into fists. "I wanted to punish you and make you feel embarrassed for debasing yourself like that and...I'm so, so ashamed of myself for having done that." His eyes cut back over to Tyler. "You're right to hate me."

Tyler sniffled and shifted slightly. "Dad, I..."

"But then, the last couple of days you've seemed so different. Even wearing these ridiculous outfits, you've started to seem...I don't know, more like you, I guess. Not the Tyler I remember, but...changed. I watch as you smile and work to overcome adversity, and all I know is that the only thing I've ever wanted for you is to be happy. But now—with all this—I just...I don't know how to help you. I want to, but I don't know how."

Tyler took a tremulous breath and sniffled again as he made a little shrug. "It's not all bad."

Ian laughed ruefully. "Said my son dressed as the adult movie actress." He sighed and shook his head. "Tyler, I'm sorry. I took my anger and frustration out on you, and now look at you. First thing tomorrow we're going over there to get those ridiculous things removed and it'll be over. But as for this other young man telling your friends about you...I don't know what to do. Would it help if I talked to him? Maybe convinced him to do the right thing?"

The image of his father talking to Kitty and trying to plead Tyler's case so that the crossdressed tough would see reason was so absurd that Tyler let out a little snort. But faced with his father's wounded and helpless expression, Tyler quickly covered and wiped his tear-stained cheeks as he sat up a little. "I don't think that would be a good idea," he said.

Ian nodded glumly. "Tomorrow we'll get you back to normal and we'll figure it out," he promised.

"No. That's not what I meant. I mean, I don't think any of that would be a good idea," Tyler said. He took a little breath. "Dad, I have to go back."

"Absolutely not. Tyler, this has gone too far already. That store—"

"Dad...maybe just this once, could you try not being there for me?" he said quietly.

Ian looked at him in confusion.

"I feel—I feel like maybe I may have learned something after all. Maybe. I don't know. But I need to face this."

"Tyler..."

"It's not only for me," he hurriedly added. "There's also someone else. Another student. She needs my help." Faced with his father's doubtful expression he mustered as much confidence as he was able and said, "Dad, I have to go back. I want to go back. I do. I need to see this through. I really...I need you to trust me. Please?"

Ian tried to look strong for Tyler, a facade that was quickly belied by the rough-throated sob that escaped his lips that he quickly choked back. But he looked Tyler square in the eyes as he gave a shaky but definitive nod.

Tyler's lip twitched uncertainly and he tried ineffectually to force a smile. "Don't worry, I'll—I'll make you...pr—" he began before he dissolved into heaving sobs. Ian grabbed Tyler into a tight hug as he also began to cry, and the two of them clung onto each other as they wept, neither one of them able to remember the last time they'd ever felt like that around each other.

As they quieted down, Ian smiled and kissed Tyler on the top of his head through the blonde hairs of his wig.

"I've always been proud of you," he said.

Tyler laughed once and choked back another sob as he pulled back slowly. He wiped his nose and dabbed girlishly at his eyes, trying not to further ruin his makeup. "I, uh, guess I probably need to clean up a little, huh?" he said.

Ian smiled again and gave an unsteady laugh as he wiped his own face. "Yeah, you're kind of a mess," he said as he beheld Tyler's tear-smeared makeup and then reached out to pat some of Tyler's loose blonde locks back into place the same way he used to do for his daughter Kim when he consoled her when she was little.

Clambering unsteadily to his feet, Tyler excused himself to go to the restroom and returned a little while later with his makeup largely repaired, even if his eyes were still puffy and red. By then Ian was milling around in the kitchen looking to put together something for dinner, fully expecting Tyler to quietly head upstairs to his bedroom since he always made himself scarce whenever domestic duties arose around the house. So Ian was surprised to turn and find Tyler standing there volunteering to help with the meal.

The two didn't say much as they worked, although they shared a little smile when Ian accidentally referred to Tyler as "Kim" as he chopped the vegetables, obviously more used to having Tyler's sister around the kitchen.

Dinner was quiet and while they made an attempt at small talk they were both too preoccupied to be very good company, and neither one was comfortable talking about what was really on their minds. The end of the meal was then punctuated by the sharp insistent ring of Ian's cell phone. He checked the sender and picked up the call.

"Honey! How's the trip? You and Kim getting along okay?" He listened for a bit and nodded along. "Good, good, glad to hear it." Then a pause and his eyes cut over to Tyler, who was frozen in his seat as he watched his father apprehensively.

"Yep, same here. No, it's good. No trouble. We're just finishing dinner. Yeah, he's right here."

He looked at Tyler uncertainly and covered the receiver with his hand. "It's your mom, if you want to talk to her," he said.

Tyler stared at the phone. Normally by now he'd have retreated to his bedroom in an attempt to avoid any such conversation. His attention remained riveted on the phone but Ian watched as his son's manicured hand fretted with the end of a lock of his golden blonde hair. Ian almost smiled when he recognized the nervous habit as one that Kim shared.

"You don't have to," Ian said.

"No, I...I want to," Tyler said as he accepted the phone.

"Hi, Mom. Good. Yeah, good. Yeah, we just had dinner. I know. How's the trip?"

Ian watched Tyler on the phone. He was obviously nervous and no doubt felt strange talking to his mother dressed as he was, even though she obviously had no idea. Absently Tyler continued to play with a lock of his blonde hair as he spoke, and despite his wanton appearance for a moment he seemed more like a shy teenage girl on the phone. It was especially jarring to hear Tyler’s normal male voice coming out of that blonde sexpot’s body.

In fact, it wasn’t until that moment that Ian fully appreciated the effort that Tyler had been putting into doing a female voice. When Tyler had been vamping it up for the pizza delivery guys he’d adopted a breathy contralto, but now Ian realized that even when it was just the two of them, Tyler had obviously been softening his voice and adopting a more feminine tone. It was a long way from perfect, but it was likely passable enough for a girl given his reedy teenage timbre. But now that Ian was confronted with the difference, it was obvious that Tyler was making an effort. Just like with the rest of his presentation.

"Uh huh. Uh huh." Then a pause. "I love you, too," Tyler said quietly. Then he handed the phone back over his father.

"Okay, so we'll see you this weekend, then," Ian said. "Right, safe travels. Love to Kim. Love you, too."

As Ian hung up the phone, Tyler fidgeted in his seat for a moment and then stood up.

"I think I'm going to turn in early," he announced and then quickly strode out of the kitchen to head upstairs.

"Good night," Ian said. "Misty."

FRIDAY

Ian shifted the car into park as the two of them stared out the window at the Ladywood Academy. In the soft morning light with its pink awnings and frilly pastel displays, the exterior gave little indication of the casual cruelty and callous misdeeds that went on inside.

Ian looked at Tyler, whose attention was fixed on the front doors of the boutique. "You don't have to go in there, you know."

"I know," Tyler responded, still looking at the store.

He took a deep breath, collected his purse, and opened the door as he climbed out of the car. If he'd given any consideration to downplaying his feminine impersonation in an attempt to defend his masculinity, it certainly didn't show from the clothes he was wearing. He was dressed to kill in a skimpy and revealing metallic red minidress that would turn heads in a Miami nightclub as it put his exaggerated feminine curves on immodest display. He showed enough cleavage that the little glittering pendant necklace he wore seemed more like a miniature lighthouse twinkling from within the deep cleft of his false bosom.

Tyler tossed his long hair in a casual and matter-of-fact way as he slung his purse over his shoulder. He then took a couple confident steps before his father rolled down the passenger window.

"Hey," Ian said as he beheld his extravagantly feminized son standing there on the sidewalk. As Tyler turned to face him, Ian could see a fleeting trace of worry cross Tyler's beautifully made-up features. "Give 'em hell," he said.

Tyler made a faint smile and then nodded and headed inside. As the door closed behind him, Ian's supportive and confident smile vanished and he gripped the steering wheel in frustration as he sat there staring at the place. Several minutes passed, and eventually he sighed heavily and shifted the car into drive and pulled away.

The Ladywood Academy was relatively quiet since it was still early, but Tyler definitely made an impression as he crossed the main floor to head over to the doors that led to the classrooms. With his head held high he strode in a self-assured manner in his stiletto heels and tried to project an air of confidence that he didn't entirely feel. A voluptuous blonde in a skanky little outfit wasn't exactly out of place in the Academy, but one who carried herself with such assurance and brashness was unusual. Few of the instructors dressed in such outrageously sexy outfits, and the students who were forced to dress that way were usually mortified to be seen in anything that showed off their newly-acquired womanly attributes in such a brazenly wanton fashion.

Tyler strode into the classroom ready for a confrontation, and to his surprise the beefy Sam was waiting there, just inside the door. The powerfully-built woman was obviously there to discourage any further physical confrontations, but standing off to the side as she was, she seemed more like a vaguely disinterested prison guard. Unusually, Ms. Lockridge was nowhere to be seen, and the other students had grouped up over on the far side of the studio by the long row of lighted vanity mirrors. It seemed like everybody was there, and based on their body language it appeared like Brianna was withdrawn and cowering slightly from whatever Kitty had just said. But based on Sam's disinterest, whatever was going on there hadn't escalated to a point that warranted her intervention. Yet.

As always, the mirrored walls of the classroom gave Tyler an excellent view of himself, and in the bright lights of the studio even he was startled by his appearance. For a moment he felt a twinge of regret for having chosen to wear something so sexy, but as he made a confident beeline towards the group, he was also startled by how self-assured the woman in the mirror appeared, brassy and unashamed.

"Damn, check out tranny Tyler Valentine," Kitty said admiringly. "You plannin' to work a street corner like that, or are you gonna blow the guys in your old crew first? Hector and his guys are pussies, but once they see you with those tits hanging out, I bet you'd give 'em wood," he cackled, giving Cici and Margaret a nudge.

The taunt bothered Tyler more than he wanted to admit, but he made an effort not to let it show. He knew there wasn't much he could do to stop Kitty from telling the others his secret, but now he had ammunition of his own to use against this bully, and he wasn't about to waste the opportunity.

"Funny you should talk about tits, kitty-cat. Maybe you'd like a nice saucer of...milk?" Tyler taunted back as he beheld the other teen. As usual, Kitty was dressed in something like a sexy schoolgirl outfit with a pleated microskirt and towering high heels, but today he was wearing a particularly tight white top that showed off his perky little B-cup tits nicely. His chubby nipples and dark areolae were visible through the thin fabric, and it was wildly obvious that he wasn't wearing a bra. The other students no doubt thought that Kitty's boobs were just glue-on falsies, like more modest versions of the ones that they were wearing. But Tyler knew better.

Kitty was obviously irritated by Tyler's remark, but of course he had no idea what was coming. If what Tyler had overheard was true, the tough teen was oblivious to the fact that he was sporting a nice pair of milk-laden titties on his chest. Tyler thought it was too bad that couldn't do this after Kitty had gotten his boob job, but now that Tyler knew the subliminal command to cause him to start lactating, he was about to land a devastating blow that would annihilate this punk.

It was perfect.

Kitty said something, but Tyler didn't even hear it. He stared at Kitty's titties, round and perky as they pressed against the thin white fabric of his form-fitting top. He couldn't have imagined anything better. When Kitty started squirting, he was going to look like a skanky coed in her first wet T-shirt contest.

Tyler shot him a confident smile. "Kitty Kaboodles lact—"

Waitaminute, Tyler thought.

Why was Kitty wearing that shirt? All week long he'd been wearing tight little sweaters and printed tops, and now all of a sudden he was wearing a snug-fitting plain white top, and no bra? Today of all days?

This was perfect, Tyler realized. Too perfect.

Puzzled, he stopped for a moment to look over towards where Sam stood guard over by the door. If they were so worried about a physical altercation that they felt the need to bring her in, then where was Lockridge? They had to know after yesterday's fight that there'd be a confrontation. They'd set this up. They wanted a confrontation, just not a physical one.

Yesterday, Ms. Lockridge had clearly arranged for Tyler to "go shop for panties" so that he would overhear the conversation with Kitty's foster sister. He'd thought that maybe she'd given that opportunity to Tyler as a way for rewarding her "star pupil" with a little well-deserved revenge against this bully. But now...? He wasn't so sure.

"Hey! Tyler Ta-tas! You fuckin' listenin' to me, fag?" Kitty snarled.

Tyler looked at him strangely. "How do you know my name?" he wondered.

The other teen seemed startled by the question. "I told you, I know you run with Hector's crew." He didn't sound very sure of himself.

"No. Bullshit," Tyler retorted. "You recognized me just because I hang out with Hector? I'm wearing so much war paint right now my own sister wouldn't recognize me, but you pegged me from some half-remembered encounter months ago? You've got a good memory, Keith."

Kitty's jaw dropped. "How do you—"

"The same way you know mine. Lockridge told you, didn't she? Or she arranged for you to find out."

The look on Kitty's face told Tyler that he hit the mark. But Kitty was unconvinced.

"You know what? Fuck you. This doesn't change anything. I'm still gonna out you as the fat-titted tranny cocksucker you are."

Tyler stared into the determined teen's heavily made-up face, with his angry glare undercut by the fluttering of his prettily mascaraed eyelashes. He imagined Kitty's reaction if he just said those four little words that would cause his rival's perky tits to start spouting milk. He could see it so clearly. Confused and horrified, Kitty would grab at his chest in desperate anguish as he felt his very real breasts for the first time. He'd squeeze them to confirm they were genuinely part of his body, and in doing so it would be like he was squeezing a cow's udders to express more milk from his teats. He'd soak the front of his sheer white top and put his boobs on display like a girl in a wet T-shirt contest. Meanwhile, the other students would look on in horror as they realized what had been done to him, no doubt ensuring their compliance. Ms. Lockridge would probably time her entrance to enter and chastise Tyler for "spoiling the surprise" even as she informed Kitty of his upcoming boob job, after which his foster sister would have lots of fun referring to him as the "cow" from now on. Kitty would never want for a saucer of milk.

All Tyler had to do was say the words.

Silence filled the room and for an endless moment Tyler stared defiantly into Kitty's angry face. Then he sniffed once and walked right past him and took Brianna by the hand.

"Come on," he said.

The younger teen made a tiny mewling protest, but followed Tyler obediently as he tugged Brianna towards the exit. Tyler half expected Sam to block them from leaving, but she merely stood there and watched their approach impassively. But by the time they reached her, the door opened and two people entered.

"And where do you think you're going?" Ms. Lockridge said imperiously. Standing right behind her and watching the exchange with interest, was Ms. Mercer.

Brianna cowered like a frightened chipmunk, but Tyler maintained a firm grip as he paused and looked Ms. Lockridge square in the eyes.

"Brianna and I are going to have a spa day. We are going to march out there and get facials and makeovers and get our nails done. Then we're going to go to the cafe next door for a nice ladies' lunch, and this afternoon we're going to come back and get pampered and try on lots of outfits that we have no intention of buying. How's that strike you?"

Then he leaned closer to her and said, "I'm not afraid of you anymore. You can do your own dirty work." He then led the astonished Brianna out the door.

Tyler breathed a sigh of relief as he headed out into the corridor. He felt lighter, like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

Unfortunately, not everyone shared his assessment.

"Pleeease," Brianna whined, tugging insistently on Tyler's hand. "We gotta go back. We're gonna get in trouble."

Tyler turned to face the younger teen. "No, we're not. Everything will be fine."

"No, it's not! When Kitty left, they used that mind stuff on him and made him all different! They're gonna use that on us, and we're gonna—"

Tyler sighed heavily and guided Brianna out into the main showroom and sat him down in some chairs near the doorway. "They're not going to do that to us," he said reassuringly.

"You don't know that! They—"

Tyler held up a hand. "Okay, first, I doubt they can use that stuff on us without permission. You said the people who signed us up for this place had to choose what they could do to us. Do you think the person who signed you up would want that?"

"Well, no, but—"

"And second of all, Lockridge doesn't want to use it."

Brianna was perplexed. "Sure, she does. She used it on Kitty. And Cici, too."

"If it's that easy, then why don't they use it on everybody the second they walk in the door?"

"I dunno. Maybe it wears off?"

"Brianna, it's a threat. It's a good threat," he admitted. "But they don't want perfect obedient mindless drones. They want us beaten. They want us so ashamed, afraid, and humiliated by what we are that we'd never give them trouble ever again."

He could tell that he wasn't doing much to reassure the younger teen, who was gripping his skirts tightly with worry. "Look. Why do you think Lockridge is always saying what a good job I'm doing?" he asked.

Brianna shrugged. "Maybe she likes you?"

Tyler laughed out loud. "Uhh, no," he said. "She does it because she knows it embarrasses me. I don't want people to think I'm too good at this. It's her way of reminding the others that I'm only here because my dad thinks I like to dress this way. That way they give me a hard time."

"But...you do like to. Dress this way, I mean?" said Brianna.

Tyler stopped short. The lie was right there on his lips. It would be so easy to issue another denial (“I don’t like to dress like this,” or, “I used to, but I don’t anymore”), but as he looked at Brianna’s expectant face, he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

"Yeah," he admitted. He sighed heavily. "Yeah, I do."

"Me, too," offered Brianna.

Tyler's lip twisted into an uncertain little smile. "Birds of a feather, huh?"

"Do you want to be a girl, too?"

The words hit Tyler like a punch. "I, uh..." he stammered, not sure what to say.

Brianna nodded. "I get it. It's hard."

Tyler blinked and looked at Brianna more pointedly. "See, that's what they want. They want us ashamed. They want you to be scared to stand up for yourself. They humiliate us and make us frightened, and they use that to control us way better than any drug."

Brianna's brow furrowed into a crease of worry. "What do we do?"

"We're doing it right now. We don't have to be afraid anymore. Are you scared right now?"

"Oh, wow, yeah," Brianna said, wide-eyed.

Tyler laughed a little. "Yeah, so am I. But I just told you something I didn't think I could admit out loud to anyone, and I'm still here. You just have to be brave. Like, what's something you always wanted to do?"

Brianna chewed his lip in an adorable little gesture. "I do like wearing these clothes," he confessed. "But...sometimes? I'd like to just maybe wear some shorts. And maybe some sneakers?" He looked over at Tyler like he was asking permission.

"I think girls are allowed to do that," Tyler said with a smile.

Then, as he looked over Brianna's shoulder, Tyler noticed another figure standing there by the door. It was Ms. Lockridge, and she'd obviously been listening in to their conversation.

Tyler maintained his cool as he stood up. Brianna, puzzled, turned around, but then practically jumped backwards in his seat when he saw her. For her part, Ms. Lockridge regarded the two of them with an aloof expression.

"Your boss Charlotte Mercer once told me that I should express any genuine concerns I had," Tyler said.

"Did she happen to mention the very real likelihood of reprisals as a result of that self-expression?" she asked ominously.

She took a few steps closer to him and never broke eye contact. "You think you're special. That you've beaten the system. But Misty, allow me to assure you that many boys exactly like yourself have stood right where you now stand, and invariably come back with their tails tucked neatly between their prettily shaved legs."

"I'm not afraid of you."

Ms. Lockridge smiled. It wasn't a haughty or threatening smile like Tyler expected, but it was tinged with a sad amusement, like she was wise to an unfortunate but inevitable truth. She tilted her head slightly. "That is an extremely premature assessment. But in any case, I'm not what really terrifies you, am I?"

She leaned in a little closer and lowered her voice just slightly, as though she was sharing a secret. "You only think this is over. However, I'm willing to be magnanimous and let you have your little victory. I can be patient. But make no mistake, you are every bit as scared as the day your father first dragged you in here, a frightened little teenage transvestite dressed sloppily in his mother's clothes as he made play at being a top-heavy porno queen."

Tyler stood before her, though less confident than before. "You don't know what you're talking about."

Her expression changed into a look of relaxed nonchalance. "Then I suppose you have nothing to worry about, do you?"

She smiled politely and looked the two of them over. "Well, now. Remind me again what it was the two of you were planning to do with all of this newfound freedom?"

Tyler was still disconcerted by her words and said nothing. But then, quite unexpectedly, Brianna stood up and with a shaky voice announced, "We're going to try on clothes. A-and get our nails done. And I'm—I'm gonna go try on some shorts. Cute ones. And maybe some sneakers."

All three of them seemed surprised by the pronouncement. Brianna then took Tyler by the hand and tugged him over towards the racks of clothes.

As they left, Ms. Lockridge said, "Enjoy your day, girls. I'd say you earned it."

To Tyler's surprise, she actually sounded like she meant it.

That evening, Ian arrived at the Ladywood Academy earlier than usual. He hadn't gotten a lick of work done that day, preoccupied as he was with Tyler's predicament and checking his phone every two minutes for messages. He practically barged into the store fully ready to demand that they immediately produce his son, and threaten legal action against everyone who worked there if anything had happened to him.

So he wasn't entirely prepared for what greeted him.

"Oh, hey, Dad! You're early!" Tyler enthused from over by the cash registers. He was glamorously made over in a stunning silver floor-length fitted sequined dress that was cut incredibly low in front and had a long side slit running up to his thigh. Like all of his outfits it clung to his womanly curves like a second skin, and as he moved his leg flashed to reveal some matching silver stiletto-heeled slingback pumps. Tyler snapped his matching purse closed and gathered up some bags from the store as he sashayed over to meet his father.

He wrinkled his nose and said, "I, uh, ran up your credit card a little. I hope that's okay?"

"Sure," Ian said absently. "You look...good."

"Thanks!" Tyler enthused girlishly. "They have this skin care treatment you wouldn't believe. I got some for home," he said, holding up the bags. "I also got some for Mom and Kim as a present when they get back. Oh, and don't worry, it doesn't have the name of the store on there or anything."

"Right. Good thinking," Ian said, shaking his head in disbelief. "So...that thing this morning? Everything's okay?"

Tyler considered that. "I'm not sure. But I think I did the right thing."

Ian gave Tyler an appraising glance. "Sometimes that's all you can do," he said.

Just then Ian watched as a pretty young brunette teen with bangs came up to Tyler and tugged on his arm.

"Misty?"

Tyler turned and faced the newcomer, who was dressed in a cute little T-shirt, shorts, and sneakers. "Hey! Don't worry, I wasn't going to take off without saying goodbye. You have fun today?"

"Yeah."

"Me, too," Tyler said as he gave the younger teen a hug. Then he said, "Though you really should rethink trying to trick your great-aunt out of her fortune. She deserves better."

"Okay," Brianna said with a little grin before hurrying off.

Ian looked at Tyler in confusion. "Friend of yours?"

"Brianna? Yeah, we're...yeah," he said with a little shrug.

Ian nodded slowly. "Oookay. You ready to go home?"

Tyler got a contemplative look on his face and gazed thoughtfully at the rest of the store before he turned back to face his father.

"Yeah, I think I'm done here," he decided.

That evening they had dinner and although Tyler wasn't very talkative, Ian noted that it wasn't so much because he was sullen and withdrawn but rather seemed a little pensive and preoccupied.

"Everything okay, Misty?" he asked as he served himself some more salad. "Um, sorry, I mean Tyler," he corrected himself. "Force of habit."

Tyler tucked his long blonde hair back and made an embarrassed little grin. "It's okay, I don't mind."

Ian looked at him strangely and cleared his throat. "I guess I wasn't thinking earlier," he said as he absently poked at the meatloaf on his plate. "Since we were at—that store—this afternoon we probably should have gotten those removed," he said with a slightly disapproving look towards Tyler's falsies.

"Oh," Tyler said as he glimpsed down at his exposed cleavage and then up at his dad before glancing away. "It's just...I thought you said that I had to stay like this until Mom and Kim got home. And since they're not getting home until the day after tomorrow..."

"I did say that. Though after the week you've had, I'd have thought you'd be jumping at the chance to get out of that getup."

"Well, yeah!" Tyler said, more forcefully. "But you're always saying I need to take responsibility. I'm only trying to serve out my punishment as best I can."

"That's very...mature of you. Of course if you feel that way, I suppose we could leave you like this for another week or two. I'm sure your mom and Kim would love to see you like this."

Tyler's face went pale and he nearly dropped the fork he was holding. "I, uh, y-you wouldn't—I don't—they—" he stammered.

"That's what I thought," he said with a little smirk.

"That wasn't funny," Tyler said.

Ian took a bite of food and observed how Tyler was taking smaller bites than usual and chewing his food rather than just wolfing it down like he usually did. Earlier that week when he'd signed Tyler up for classes at Ladywood he hadn't been all that discriminating since the whole situation made him ill at ease. Now he wondered if there had been some kind of etiquette lesson in there. In either case, he was surprised that Tyler seemed to be taking it to heart.

He'd been taking a lot of things to heart that week, it seemed.

He gave Tyler an appraising look. "Tell me. How do you feel you've done this week?"

"I have done an amazing job!" Tyler insisted. Then, faced with his father's dubious glance—obviously recalling the various missteps of the week—Tyler amended, "I, uh, think I've put in a good effort."

"I'll give you that," Ian conceded. Then a strange look crossed his face, and when he spoke it was mostly to himself. "Maybe it's just as well, you staying like that another day. There was something I was thinking about taking you to see, anyway."

Tyler looked at his father in puzzlement and then down at himself and then back to his dad. "Take me somewhere? Like this? Where?"

"Don't worry about it," Ian said dismissively, although he noted that the tone of Tyler's voice was more one of curiosity than anything else. Three days ago if he'd even suggested taking him anywhere dressed as "Misty," Tyler would have jumped out of his skin in a raw panic. Now he sounded almost casual about it.

He looked at the clock and changed the subject. "Hmm, it's still early. Unless you'd planned to go out and hit the dance clubs?"

"Ha, ha," Tyler responded dryly. But then he played with a lock of blonde hair and gave his father a coy little side-eye glance. "Though I did see that tonight the movie channel was running the unedited versions of Zombie Gunfighter Splatterhouse, Parts I and II..."

Ian groaned. "You know your mother hates it when you watch that junk."

"I figured that since I was so mature..." Tyler said hopefully. Ian wasn't sure if it was an intentional move on Tyler's part, but his accompanying move to highlight his "maturity" involved subtly bending over to show off his fake cleavage. Ian rolled his eyes in response.

"Go turn it on, I'll make some popcorn," he said in resignation as Tyler smiled and scampered over to the living room.

Late that evening as the credits rolled on the second movie, Ian looked over at Tyler who had fallen asleep on the couch. Every time his son had cheered or squealed or gone "Eww!" or averted his eyes from the gory parts of the movies by peering through his fingers, Ian had shook his head in wonder. Two weeks ago they couldn't spend ten minutes in the same room together without ending up yelling at each other, and now Tyler looked and acted like a teenage girl going to a scary movie. Although Ian chuckled to himself that there was no way he'd let any daughter of his go out on a date in that outfit.

He sighed and pulled the blanket off the back of the couch and draped it over his sleeping child before he turned off the lights and went upstairs to bed.

SATURDAY

That morning came slowly for Ian as he slept in a little. That was uncharacteristic for him even on the weekend but he had to admit that it had been an emotionally draining week. By the time he made his way downstairs, he saw that Tyler was already up and dressed and scurrying around the kitchen and was putting away the dishes from the dishwasher.

"Good morning," Tyler said as Ian entered. He handed his father a mug. "Here, I made coffee. You want some breakfast? I'm not so good with eggs, but maybe some toast—?"

"Coffee is fine," Ian said as he sat down, eyeing Tyler uncertainly. Normally any consideration like this preceded either bad news or a big request. Tyler seemed to be enjoying playing at being domestic, but old habits died hard.

As he sipped his coffee Ian took in a good look at Tyler's latest outfit, a tube top and miniskirt combo that looked like something the scantily-clad actresses had worn in the horror movies they'd watched the night before.

"You're certainly bright-eyed and bushy...tailed..." he said as Tyler turned around to put a dish away, practically waggling his big round butt as he did so. Ian averted his eyes and cleared his throat.

"You know that I don't have to work today," Ian added. "So you don't have to go to...uh..."

"Tranny bimbo day care?" Tyler said, recalling his earlier words. "Yeah, I know."

Ian rubbed his eyes and checked the time. "Look, your mom and sister are back tomorrow, so I thought I'd spend the day in the back yard to clean up the garden and surprise your mom. You can stay inside and watch movies or play video games, or—" He looked askance at Tyler's outfit. "—or whatever."

"Oh. Sure. Okay," Tyler agreed as Ian took another sip of coffee and went upstairs to get ready.

A couple hours later, Ian had gotten back from the nursery with a variety of plants and flowers and was busy digging up weeds from the overgrown garden when he heard the back door of the house open. He looked up, and standing there on the back deck was Tyler. As he walked down the steps, Ian noted that he had changed clothes again and was now wearing a black crop top with a plunging neckline with a tie front that was knotted under his breasts, displaying a shocking amount of cleavage but leaving his midriff bare. Below, he was wearing leopard print tights that were stretched across his thickset hips and ass along with high heels with cork wedges. He was wearing his hair up in a messy bun and as Tyler got closer Ian noted that he'd also redone his makeup, which was subdued by the standards of what he'd been wearing the rest of the week, but still striking and more appropriate for dancing at a rave than hanging around the house.

"I, uh, thought maybe I could help?" Tyler said hesitantly.

Ian looked him over uncertainly.

Tyler shifted uncomfortably under his father's gaze. "I don't exactly have a lot of work clothes as Misty, and you said I shouldn't borrow any of Mom's or Kim's things..."

"I get it, I get it," Ian said as he blinked in disbelief before shaking it off. "Let me get you some gloves," he said, eyeing Tyler's manicured nails.

By late that afternoon any lingering doubts that Ian had harbored over Tyler's sincerity had been dashed as he'd genuinely been a lot of help with the work, pulling up weeds and planting flowers along the outside deck and walkway.

"I'll go get some lemonade," Ian said as he went inside. Tyler was on his hands and knees planting some flowers and smiled brightly. His face was smudged with dirt but between his glamorous makeup and hair and how his scant little outfit showed off his buxom breasts and curves, he looked like a Playboy Playmate doing a photo shoot as she pretended to be gardening. Ian smiled to himself and shook his head at the picture.

As he went inside, Ian stopped to use the bathroom and wash his dirty hands. Over the sound of the water running he thought he heard something like a shout but when he turned the water off, it was quiet and he figured he'd just imagined it. Then as he headed into the kitchen to get the pitcher of lemonade from the refrigerator he thought he heard something again. He stopped, listened, and then shook his head. But when he went to retrieve glasses from the cupboard he definitely heard the sound of cackling male laughter, coming from right outside.

Ian's heart leapt into his throat as his mind raced, and he bolted over to the small window above the kitchen sink that looked out into the backyard to see Tyler standing up and facing four guys. They appeared to be a little older than Tyler and rough customers from the look of them. Ian recognized the leader as Hector, one of Tyler's hoodlum friends.

Ian rushed to the back door and was about to storm out there to drive the thugs away, but the moment he had his hand on the doorknob he saw Tyler cut his eyes over towards the house in a subtle but insistent way. He flashed his hand in a discreet but definite "stop" gesture, no doubt signaling his father to stay put and not get involved.

Ian gripped the door handle in frustration. Tyler knew these guys better than he did, so he was likely trying to keep the situation from escalating, but standing there and doing nothing ran counter to Ian's every instinct, especially with Tyler dressed as he was.

Outside, the guys laughed again loudly, obviously enjoying the titillating picture that "Misty" presented. They'd formed a half circle around Tyler and eyed him with both lust and amusement. Hector said something that Ian couldn't make out, and one of the other guys made a clumsy grab at Tyler's big round butt. Tyler slapped his hand away girlishly as the guys cackled again in response. Tyler was obviously trying not to provoke them, but his shy demeanor and slutty appearance were nothing if not provocative.

Ian was fully ready to storm right out there, consequences be damned, but as if reading his thoughts Tyler made another pleading look towards the house with a subtle shake of his head.

Watching this scene unfold was driving Ian insane. When Tyler's sister Kim had started dating, Ian played out any number of worst-case scenarios in his head about what might happen to her on a date gone bad. And now here he was watching his son dressed up and looking like an oversexed pinup model, and his worst fears were taking place right before his helpless eyes. He desperately wanted to march right out there and slap those smirks off those punks' smug faces.

Then suddenly, a thought occurred to him. Based on how the guys had been acting he'd been assuming that they were ogling and lewdly flirting with Tyler as a girl, but a new and more terrifying idea popped into his brain: what if they knew "Misty" was actually Tyler? Tyler had said that the other student at the Ladywood Academy had threatened to expose him. So it was possible they'd merely come here looking for Tyler and were pleasantly surprised to find this sexy blonde girl, but what if they knew?

Ian looked desperately at the encounter. He couldn't tell either way. The guys' laughter and provocative moves might have been a come-on for what they thought was a slutty girl, but the way they were keeping their distance suggested that they knew something was up and didn't want to seem overly interested in front of the others.

Ian grit his teeth as he replayed the previous night's conversation with Tyler in his mind where Tyler had convinced him to "serve out the rest of his punishment." He kicked himself mentally for having allowed this impersonation to go on one minute longer than was necessary. And now look at what had happened. All he could do was stand there and watch and trust Tyler's judgment to not interfere.

Hector made another taunt, but this time Tyler snapped back with some cutting remark of his own that seemed to catch Hector off guard, even as the others looked to their leader how to react. Unexpectedly, Hector moved close to Tyler and caressed his cheek and hair in a possessive gesture while Tyler stiffened up and stoically allowed the larger guy to touch him while the other guys hooted their approval. Hector whispered something that caused Tyler to shrink back, even as the punk lifted his hand and cupped one of Tyler's boobs in an indecent grope.

Ian slammed his fist into the palm of his other hand.

"All right, that's it," he growled as he grabbed the doorknob. But just as he started to turn the handle he clearly heard Hector say, "Let's get out of here," as he led the other guys away.

As the four toughs left their backyard, Ian stepped out onto the back porch and paused. Tyler was scowling and hugging himself and looked to be trembling and on the verge of tears. Meanwhile, Ian froze in place as he helplessly witnessed the hurt on his crossdressed son's face. He wanted to do something, to say something, but he lacked the words.

Suddenly Tyler burst out a sob and began to run for the house. Ian quietly stepped aside from the door so that Tyler could go inside. He didn't expect it when Tyler ran straight into his arms.

Gently, Ian wrapped his arms around Tyler as he wept. He struggled with what to do or what to say, but soon he realized that words were unimportant and focused on comforting his weeping child.

Tyler sniffled as he sobbed into his father's chest. "I'm not like them," he said hoarsely.

The tone of his voice was funny, as though the pronouncement was half assertion but also half realization, a simple statement layered with both awareness and despair as his self-image was shattered. And perhaps, out of the broken pieces, remade.

"I know, baby. I know."

After a few minutes, Tyler had spent himself, and he dabbed at his face to wipe the tears without damaging his makeup any further.

Ian's eyes cut over in the direction the other guys had left. "They know, don't they?"

Tyler nodded solemnly.

"Oh, God, I'm so sorry. Tyler, I never meant for you to—"

Tyler cut him off. "Dad, don't—don't worry about it. It's fine. It'll be fine. I made a decision, I kind of knew this was coming."

Ian looked at him uncertainly. "But now they're going to tell everyone, right? About...you, I mean?"

"Not if they know what's good for them," Tyler said cryptically. But when his father's expression turned to one of suspicious disapproval, he added, "I told them if they said anything about me, I'd tell everyone who tagged the school last month."

Ian raised an eyebrow at the implication that Tyler was involved in that misconduct but decided to let it pass.

Tyler cleared his throat uncertainly. "Also, who stole Logan Lancaster's bike. And who vandalized Ms. Dalisera's car—"

"Okay, I get it," Ian said, holding up his hands in surrender. "I'm not sure I want to know about all this."

"Sorry," Tyler said sheepishly. Then he sniffled one last time and got a faraway look for a moment before looking again to his father.

"Hey, do we still have those cardboard boxes downstairs?" he asked.

Ian was perplexed. "I think so?"

Tyler considered that for a moment. "Cool," he said, and then went inside.

"Cool," Ian repeated to himself. He felt like he'd just agreed to something but wasn't quite sure what it was.

Later, while taking a break from his work in the yard, Ian went upstairs and passed by Tyler's room with the still-vacant doorframe. As he peered inside he could see a sizable cardboard box that was sitting out on the bed. Meanwhile, Tyler busily typed away on his laptop, clearly working on something.

Tyler looked up from the screen towards his dad in the doorway. "Everything okay?" he asked.

"Sure," Ian said before wandering off.

Shortly, after he'd retrieved the mail and tossed it on the kitchen countertop, Ian sighed and started to head back outside but paused when he heard the family's shared printer start up from over in the little nook where they kept it. A couple pages printed out and Ian stared at it for a moment, curious as to what had captured Tyler's attention so unexpectedly. He made a furtive glance towards the staircase and took a half-step towards the printer when Tyler came hurrying downstairs in an animated fashion and carrying the cardboard box.

"Okay," he said breathlessly as he put the box down and began going through the drawers of the desk where the printer sat. "Tape, good. Oh, marker, yeah. And paper," he said to himself as he put the items on top of the box. "Pen, need a pen," he said as he retrieved one from a cup and grabbed the papers on the printer and quickly wrote something on them.

Ian watched the scene with interest, but tried not to seem too inquisitive. "Everything good?" he wondered.

Tyler glimpsed up and casually blew away some blonde hairs that had fallen into his face. "Huh? Oh, sure. Hey, do we have envelopes?"

"Bottom drawer."

Ian watched as Tyler retrieved an envelope and put the papers inside.

"What's in the box?" he inquired.

A distracted Tyler looked down at it and shrugged. "Just, you know, stuff."

"Right."

Tyler licked his lips and winced slightly. "Say, Dad...would it be okay if I borrowed the car for a few hours? I need to run some errands."

Under anything like normal circumstances the question would certainly have been met with a strident and immediate 'No' given Tyler's incredibly untrustworthy track record. In point of fact, Ian wasn't entirely comfortable with the notion of Tyler driving the car even if he was sitting in the passenger seat next to him. But faced with his feminized son's earnest expression, he felt decidedly thrown by the question. At the very least he felt obligated to ask if Tyler was aware of what he was wearing, as though it might have slipped his son's mind that he was dressed like a Playboy Playmate.

He blinked once and looked askance at Tyler's outfit.

"...Sure," he said finally, surprising even himself.

When Tyler continued to look at him expectantly, he realized that he was waiting for his father to give him the keys, so he absentmindedly fished them out of his pocket and handed them over.

"Thanks," Tyler said as he grabbed his purse and the box with the other items on top.

"I should be home by dinner," he called as he headed out to the garage.

Ian stood there, not quite sure what to do. After the door closed, he quietly said, "Be safe."

Tyler's first stop was to the bank, and he took a deep breath as he strode across the parking lot and went inside. There was a line of people there and as he queued up he was acutely aware of the fact that people were looking at him. It wasn't overly obvious and he tried to just look straight ahead and ignore everybody and act like he belonged there—which he did, he reminded himself—but there were definitely some surreptitious glances being thrown his way.

As he made it to the front of the line, one of the other customers, an old woman with a pinched face, stopped right in front of him. She gave him a blatant up-and-down once over, and made a face at his low-cut bare midriff crop top and leopard print tights.

"Well, I never," she huffed indignantly. "In my day, young women would never dress like that in public."

Tyler, unsure how to respond to that, gave her a tight little smile as the teller waved her hand for him to come up. She smiled politely and when the old woman was out of earshot, she leaned close and lowered her voice.

"Don't listen to her. Back in her day, the tribe was probably too busy trying to avoid being eaten by saber-toothed tigers. I think you look great."

"Thanks," Tyler said, blushing. "I need to get all the money out of my account, please," he said, handing over the slip.

The woman nodded. "Okay, I just need some ID?"

Tyler hesitated for a moment and handed over his driver's license.

"Oh, I love your nail polish," the teller said, admiring his long manicured nails as she accepted the card. Then she looked down at the license. "Oops, you gave me the wrong one."

The smile on Tyler's face froze. "No, that's me," he said.

The look on the teller's face was priceless as the penny dropped. She glanced back down at the card and then back up to Tyler.

"Damn, girl," she said with a smile as she handed the card back and typed away at the computer, pausing occasionally to steal a peek at his outfit. "Those old guys in line checking you out? If they only knew what I do right now."

Tyler's next stop was to a store downtown, but it was mercifully brief and fortunately the saleswomen there seemed more interested in making a sale than they were in inquiring too much about the blonde woman with the stunning figure who paid in cash.

On the drive to his next stop, Tyler was sitting at a stoplight and was somewhat lost in thought when he caught sight of a familiar set of pink-and-black awnings on a store just up the block. The Ladywood Academy. That was definitely not on his list of places to go, but as he looked at it he glanced down at himself in the racy and revealing outfit that had come from there. Absently, he looked down at himself with the seat belt stretched across his big boobs that were on prodigious display in the scant top.

The impatient honking of the car behind him alerted him to the fact that the light had changed, and he gave a flustered little wave of apology as he started driving. His eyes cut over to the Ladywood Academy as he drove past.

He checked the time. "One quick side trip," he decided as he turned at the next intersection.

Tyler's "quick trip" took him decidedly longer than he'd planned, and as he wandered through the women's section of Target he was starting to feel a sense of profound anxiety. He was nervous about being seen shopping in the women's section, but when he realized that nobody seemed to be paying him any mind, he relaxed a little. But he soon realized that his mission to buy a less revealing outfit was complicated by the fact that he was largely ignorant of fashions and sizes. All of the women's clothes he'd worn were items he'd snitched here and there or were chosen for him at the Ladywood Academy, so the idea of shopping for women's clothes was a fairly alien concept.

As he navigated the aisles he tightly clutched the light blue scoop-neck tee, denim skirt, and sandals he'd found that were inexpensive enough to work within his very constrained budget. But he realized there was one other thing he needed.

Walking into the "Women's Intimates" section made his stomach to a little flip-flop of both apprehension and fascination as he saw the racks of brassieres all hanging in neat little rows. He glimpsed furtively around to see if anybody thought it was funny for him to be looking, and he felt his face flush in embarrassment as he examined the options. Bralettes, demi bras, racerbacks, underwire, full coverage...he felt like he was reading a foreign language. He tentatively picked one off the rack and felt strangely conflicted. Normally he'd be admiring these on a girl, but suddenly he found himself wondering about more mundane considerations like comfort, fit, and price. It felt weird, but also oddly conventional.

"Do you need any help?" a woman asked. She was middle-aged and friendly with her hair in a cute but low-maintenance style. She seemed like somebody's mom that Tyler would see at a school bake sale.

"No! I mean, I'm—I'm just browsing. Looking. Around, I mean." Tyler said. He tried to modulate his voice into a feminine range but it was already so high and nervous he almost needn't have bothered. He hurriedly tried to return the bra he was holding back to the rack, but he fumbled and it dropped to the floor.

The woman bent down to pick it up. "Yeah, I have one of these. They're not bad." Then she looked at the tag and over at Tyler. "You buying this for someone else? This seems kinda small for you."

On the one hand, Tyler desperately wanted this conversation to be over since having a girl-to-girl chat about bras put him way out of his depth. However, he even more desperately needed help.

"It's for me," he admitted. Then he sheepishly added, "I've never actually bought one of these before."

The woman did a little double take and then made a quick but definitive look down at Tyler's breasts.

"Never?" the woman asked incredulously.

Tyler gave her a timid little shrug. "Growth spurt," he explained.

Later, the teenage cashier looked up from his cash register, slightly puzzled when someone walked up with no items on the belt. He was about to say something when he found himself face-to-face with a cute blonde coed there in front of him who'd just tossed a handful of price tags down to be scanned. The girl was pretty and with a bodacious figure that was stretching out her light blue top and denim skirt in interesting ways. The top was cut low enough to show a bit of cleavage, just enough to draw the eye and make it interesting. The cashier mentally kicked himself for staring so obviously at her boobs and swiftly turned his attention to her face, fully expecting to see a look of annoyance at having gotten caught ogling her chest.

He wasn't prepared for the look of stunned surprise.

"Zack?" she whispered in apparent shock, an emotion that seemed to redouble after she realized she'd said his name out loud.

He gave her a strange look. A girl this hot would never so much as give him the time of day, so it seemed strange that she'd know him. And the confident smile she'd first had upon walking up to him was gone, replaced with a flummoxed expression. She suddenly seemed to take interest in some gum that was on display by the register as she tugged self-consciously on her long blonde hair.

Zack was equally thrown, unsure how to respond to this pretty girl. But when faced with the impatient faces of the people in line behind her, he gulped once and started ringing up her tags.

"Sorry, do I know you?" he asked.

She looked down and then away, peering quickly over at him through her blonde hairs that obscured her face. "I, uh, it's on your name tag," she stammered. Her voice was high and reedy.

"Oh, right," he said. He looked at the register. "Okay, that'll be—"

"Here," she said, jamming a wad of bills into his hands. He sifted through it and handed fully half of it back to her before ringing up the sale and giving her the rest of her change.

"Have a good day," he said to her swiftly retreating form.

The next guy in line stepped up. He was a weathered-looking man in a cowboy hat with salt-and-pepper stubble on his face. He gave the teen a knowing look and said, "Son, lemme give you some advice. There was never any doubt you were going to get shot down, but if you had even a one percent chance of scoring with that fine filly, you definitely shoulda asked for her number."

Soon, Tyler found himself standing on a front porch not too far from his home. He had the big cardboard box in his hands and struggled a bit to bend over to reach the doorbell.

"I feel like this would be easier without the boobs," he muttered as he shifted his grip on the box to ring the bell.

A few moments later the door opened and Darcy Iverson was standing there. The last time they'd seen each other was before the big party the previous Saturday when she'd caught him standing in front of his house, but as she peered at Tyler he could see the recognition dawn on her face. Before he could say anything, she nodded, held up her hand, and took a half step forward out onto the porch.

She gestured to the big numbers alongside the front door that showed the address.

"The purpose of these numbers, seen here on the front of the house and again on the mailbox, is to uniquely identify each house," she explained. "You may notice that the houses are conveniently numbered in ascending order—"

"I got it, thanks," Tyler said. "I'm here to see your brother. Is he home?"

Darcy furrowed her brow but then opened the door wide and made a sweeping gesture for Tyler to enter that was both silent and sarcastic at the same time. As Tyler stepped inside he practically jumped as Darcy slammed the door and yelled, "Max! You've got—" she looked Tyler over, "—I'm gonna go with 'company!'"

Almost immediately, Max appeared, followed closely by his friend Reuben.

"Dude! It's the hooker from the party!" he said brightly.

"Man, I didn't know hookers made house calls!"

Darcy turned to Tyler and put her hand on his shoulder as she gave him a serious look.

"You're a young woman with your whole future ahead of you. Please, for the love of God, don't throw your life away on...that," she said as she beheld the approaching duo.

Tyler nodded gamely as Max and Reuben walked up, and Darcy rolled her eyes and took her leave.

Tyler bent over and put the box on the floor and realized that in doing so he'd flashed his cleavage to the guys, who were snickering and elbowing each other.

"You guys like games, right?" Tyler asked, doing his best to ignore their puerile chatter and leers.

"Sure we like games, baby," Max said suggestively. "Hey, Reuben, what's that game we like? Hide the Sausage?" The two of them practically fell over each other laughing.

Tyler's eyes narrowed as he beheld the sight of the two idiots cavorting. It was like watching a pair of orangutans.

He shook his head in wonder. "You know, I'm new at this, but I have to ask. Has this routine ever worked for you on girls?"

"You don't want the answer to that!" Darcy's voice called from the other room.

Tyler bent down and opened up the top of the box to reveal a brand-new game console and a number of games.

"Dude!" Max said as the two of them inspected the treasure trove. "Whoa, check it out! Sniper's Fury, Police Action 4, Bloodshed and Bandoliers!" he said as he thumbed through all the titles. He looked up at Tyler. "Holy shit, are you a gamer girl?"

The question brought Tyler up short. "I...I guess I am," he decided. "Sometimes."

He sighed a little and said, "Look, you've got something that I want, and I'm willing to give you all that stuff to get it."

Max and Reuben looked at each other for a second. Then Reuben said, "Hey, I don't mean to tell you your business, but I don't think you understand how being a hooker works. Usually, we're the ones who have to pay."

"Oh, dear Lord," Tyler groaned.

"I actually have to live with this!" Darcy yelled.

A few minutes later, after some light negotiating that ended with the declaration, "You couldn't afford me," Tyler wheeled the brand-new silver mountain bike down the driveway and loaded it onto the bike rack on the back of his dad's car while the guys watched, clearly enjoying the sight of Tyler exerting himself.

Not long after, Tyler pressed the doorbell at a house a few miles away and then ran away, leaving the young guy who answered the door to discover the bike sitting on the porch. Taped to the handlebars was a note in black magic marker that simply said, "SORRY."

Tyler's next stop was much more familiar.

The front door to the house opened and his teacher, Constance Dalisera, once again stood before him.

She looked him over. "What, you're not living the 'slut life' anymore?" she asked.

"May I come in?" he responded. "Please?"

She shook her head in disbelief but opened the door and he went inside.

"Tyler, if you're here to beg me to delete those pictures, I'm not—"

"It's not that. I just wanted to give you this," he said as he handed her an envelope.

She took it uncertainly. "What is it?" she asked. When he responded with a little shrug, she opened it and examined the papers inside.

"It's a statement," he explained haltingly. "From me, about the night your car got trashed. Everything I can remember about what happened and who was there. I thought you could give it to the police or your insurance company or whatever."

Constance looked down at the papers and then up at him. "You know what this means?" she asked him.

He nodded quietly.

"Tyler, this could get you in a lot of trouble. And maybe not just with the cops," she said, reading some of the names.

He sighed heavily. "I'm always in trouble. I'll deal. You just do whatever you think is right."

With that, he started to leave and then stopped.

"Oh, wait, here, this is for you, too," he said as he fished another smaller envelope out of his purse and handed it to her. It was a vibrant shade of purple and bore the logo of the expensive lingerie store.

"It's a gift certificate," he explained. "They said they don't make that style of underwear anymore, but this amount would cover it." When she didn't respond, he gave a helpful little shrug. "Just in case the next guy isn't a dud."

"Funny," Constance said.

His business concluded, Tyler turned and opened the door and headed outside. He'd only taken a few steps before Constance called to him from the doorway.

"Hey, Tyler?"

He stopped and turned to face her.

"The other day, when I told you that you were better than this?"

"Yeah?" he said uncertainly.

She had the hint of a smile on her face. "Told you so," she said before closing the door.

It was late in the afternoon by the time Tyler was done making his rounds, now with just one final stop to make. He was seated at a table on the sidewalk outside a Starbucks and checked the time again. It was a nice day, and it was kind of fun to just sit there and people watch as the pedestrians strolled by. It was sort of a novel experience to be out and about dressed as a girl and having people pay him no mind, apart from maybe a few appreciative glances that were thrown his way. It was weird that it was so normal. Dressing up in private had been all about the sex, and dressing up for the Ladywood Academy had been all about the humiliation, but this seemed more everyday. Mundane, but also kind of exciting in a different way.

He absently tugged on a bra strap that had migrated to an uncomfortable place and wondered what he was going to do after this week was over. He liked this, but this was all still fabricated, just playing at being a girl. It was one thing for strangers walking by to think he was some random girl, but it was something else entirely for everybody he knew to learn that he enjoyed this. And he wasn't even sure what the "this" was about this that was what he enjoyed.

Things were confusing.

Tyler checked the time again and tapped his foot impatiently as he fretted with the little piece of paper in his hands. This was probably a mistake, he realized. The other things he'd done that day were difficult, but they felt right. This felt...

Well, confusing.

He grabbed his purse and stood up. "This was a mistake," he said under his breath.

"Amber! Hey, I'm sorry I'm late," a guy's voice came.

Tyler turned around and Nate was standing there, the guy who'd rescued him at the party. He was casually dressed in shorts and a fitted shirt with his college logo on it that showed off his athletic physique.

He was taller than Tyler remembered. Attractive and toned, with that easy boyish grin. Tyler felt a rush of conflicting emotions overtake him. He wasn't attracted to Nate, exactly, but if he had been a girl he could imagine going for guy like him. But of course he wasn't a girl, he reminded himself. Not really. But standing next to the bigger and more muscular guy, it was hard not to feel like one.

"Thanks for coming," Tyler said briskly, trying to push the thoughts out of his head as the two of them had a seat.

"It is Amber, isn't it? Not Misty?" Nate said playfully.

"Amber's good. I like Amber," Tyler said nervously. Then by way of explanation he said, "That stuff at the party, I'm not...like that. Some—friends—convinced me that I looked like that stripper, and they wanted to see if I could fool people."

"Well it's nice to meet the real you, then."

Tyler blushed slightly and brushed away a lock of his hair. "I'm kind of still working on that."

"I was glad to get your call. After a few days, I was starting to give up hope."

"It's been a really long, really weird week," Tyler said honestly. "But that's not actually why I called you. Here, I wanted to give you this." He fished around in his purse and handed Nate some money.

"Five dollars?" Nate asked. "What's this for?"

"That was the cab fare. You said you put it on your card."

Nate regarded the bill, puzzled. "You can't get very far on five dollars."

"You'd be surprised," mused Tyler. He then blinked hurriedly and stood up and grabbed his purse. "I gotta go."

Nate stood up. "Hey, wait, I just got here. Can we at least get a cup of coffee?"

Tyler grinned at him. "That'd be great, except that you are literally holding my last five dollars in the world."

"Okay, then let me buy you a coffee," he tried.

Nate's persistence was strangely flattering to Tyler. "You're sweet, but I really do gotta go. My dad's waiting for me. I wasn't exactly clear when I told him where I was going. He probably thinks I've burned down a hospital by now." Tyler shrugged. "We have trust issues."

Nate stepped forward and looked Tyler right in the eyes for a moment that seemed to hang suspended in time. The physical proximity made Tyler flush.

"I'm not going to see you again, am I?" he said gently.

"I, uh..." Tyler started, confused by the feelings he was feeling. "...No. No, you're not," he confessed. "Look. I'm kinda not really...me...right now? It's really—"

"Complicated?"

"Yeah," Tyler said with a little smile. "Sorry."

"It's okay, Amber. I hope you get things sorted out." He gave a friendly little smile and then turned to leave.

"Nate?" Tyler asked.

"Yeah, wh—?!"

Nate's response was muffled by the sudden pounce of the stacked blonde girl who threw her arms around him and kissed him. He stood there surprised for a moment but then gently embraced Tyler and returned the kiss.

When they finally parted, Tyler glanced away, flustered.

"Sorry. I just—I just needed to know something," he said.

"Hey, I'm happy to help," Nate joked.

Tyler gave an awkward shrug and motioned over his shoulder with his thumb. "I, uh, really do need to get going."

"Hey, Amber?"

"Yeah?"

Nate lowered his voice a little and touched his finger to his hairline. "Your wig needs to come down just a little bit."

"Oh!" Tyler said as he touched the edge of his wig and started to make a discreet adjustment. Then his jaw dropped as he looked into Nate's smiling face.

"You—?"

"I'll see you around, Amber. Good luck getting that stuff figured out," he said as he gave a little flash of his eyebrows and walked away.

That evening after he finished up outside, Ian walked in through the garage door carrying his work boots. Rachel was going to be thrilled...he hadn't originally intended to do quite as much work fixing up the backyard as he had, but the physical activity helped to take his mind off of what happened with Tyler's hoodlum "friends" that afternoon. He was still rattled by both the encounter as well as his own culpability in exposing Tyler. And then when Tyler took off so abruptly, Ian worried that he might have run off to do something rash.

So as he entered the house and heard pots and pans clattering around in the kitchen, Ian breathed a little sigh of relief to know that Tyler was home safe.

"AHHHH!" Tyler shrieked.

The scream had come from the kitchen and Ian dashed to help, fully expecting that those punks had returned and for Tyler to be in some kind of dangerous altercation. His mind raced with all the terrible possibilities. So as he rounded the corner he was perplexed to discover the kitchen in a mess with pots and pans and all sorts of ingredients scattered over the countertops, and there in the center of the chaos was Tyler wearing a little flowered apron and looking terrifically stressed-out with the long blonde hairs of his wig looking disheveled. He appeared to be distracted by the twin disasters of a blender spewing its contents around because of an insecure lid as well as the steaming hiss of bubbling water that was overflowing one of the pots on the stove. As he retreated from the mess the blender just made, Tyler poked ineffectually at the controls for the range.

Ian felt both a rush of both relief and confusion, but quickly interceded as he grabbed an oven mitt from the stove and then used it to remove the overflowing pot from the burner.

"Misty, what on earth are you doing?" he asked.

With the crisis averted, Tyler froze, looking all the more ridiculous in his spattered apron and surrounded by the disarray.

"I was making dinner," he offered weakly. "I wanted to surprise you."

"You did," Ian said as he felt his heart rate slowly returning to normal. "I thought you were in trouble."

Tyler's eyes cut over at the mess. "Am I not? In trouble, I mean."

Ian chuckled. "You would be if your mother ever saw this. What were you making, anyway?" he asked as his eyes scanned over the mess. He casually put his hand on the countertop and pulled it back in disgust when he touched something sticky he couldn't readily identify. Tyler could have claimed to have been enriching plutonium and Ian would have believed him.

Tyler licked his lips uncertainly. "I'm not sure, anymore? I guess I'm pretty terrible at this."

"No kidding. It's a good thing you're beautiful," Ian teased as Tyler blushed a little. "It could be worse. This is still better than the time that Kim tried to make your mother breakfast in bed that one time for Mother's Day."

"Right," Tyler said, wincing at the memory. They both gazed upwards at the discoloration that was still on the kitchen ceiling.

"I was worried about you, taking off like you did," Ian said. "Are you okay?"

Tyler made an enigmatic smile. "Yeah, I think so."

Ian regarded him for a long moment. "You changed."

The smile broadened. "Yeah, I think I did," Tyler agreed. Then, noticing his father's odd expression, he glanced down at himself. "Oh, my clothes! Yeah, I thought this was more...um, you know, better for running around."

"Right," Ian acknowledged. Then he surveyed the kitchen with a slightly pained expression. "Okay, well, whatever this was supposed to be, I'm ending it here. I suppose it's high time that you learned how to make our family's spaghetti sauce, anyway."

Tyler gave his father a little nod and paused as something occurred to him. "I don't have to crack any eggs for this, do I?"

His father gave him a strange look. "No, Misty, there are no eggs in spaghetti sauce."

"Oh, good. That's good."

Preparing dinner that evening was a comedy of errors for what should have been a fairly simple recipe, but Ian didn't mind since it was good to see Tyler smiling for a change. Reflexively he'd fallen to referring to him as Misty, which at first caused Ian to check himself since he'd initially used the name as a teasing rebuke, but the more time he spent with his son dressed as a young woman the less it seemed like an insult and more just an acknowledgment of their situation, strange as it was. And if Tyler minded being called Misty, he gave no indication.

During dinner the two of them made idle chitchat, which Ian shortly realized was the longest and most normal conversation that the two of them had in ages. Normal, of course, excluding Tyler's over-the-top feminine display. Watching Tyler, Ian was struck by how matter-of-fact the impersonation had become, with his little feminine affectations and mannerisms becoming almost second nature, if not entirely polished. Ian found himself feeling uncomfortable with how it was becoming easier to see Tyler as "Misty," although he had to admit that a lot of his discomfort came from Misty's oversexed presentation, which dredged up a lot of unpleasant memories.

As those memories grew in his mind, Ian found himself running his finger absently along the edge of the well-worn business card that he'd been carrying around. At first he wasn't even fully aware that he'd been holding it until he looked up at Tyler, who had finished eating and was standing at the sink, rinsing off his plate.

"Where was it you wanted me to go?" Tyler asked.

"What?" Ian said, visibly jumpy. He jammed the business card into his shirt pocket.

"Yesterday. You said there was someplace you wanted to take me. Where was it?"

Ian shifted uncomfortably and then stood up to take his own plate to the sink. "You don't need to worry about that now. It's not important."

Tyler swiveled around to face his father. "You made it sound pretty important yesterday."

"I thought you'd—" Ian stopped and leaned against the counter. "You've been through enough. Let's just go to bed and this will all be over tomorrow."

"Dad...what happened today with those guys...it sucked. But that was my—well, it was my decision," he said. Then, facing Ian's uncertain gaze, he continued.

"That jerk at Ladywood who threatened to out me to those other guys...I had a chance to bully him into keeping quiet, but I didn't. I knew something like this might happen. And I don't know how far it's gonna go. But I still think I did the right thing."

"It can be tough to live with the consequences of a decision," Ian said quietly. "Even one you think is right."

"What was it you wanted me to see?" Tyler pressed. "I'd like to know."

Ian distractedly touched his shirt pocket and then sighed heavily. "You'd better sit down."

Tyler dried his hands with a washcloth and apprehensively sat down at the dinner table next to his father. The last time he'd seen his dad this flustered it had been years before when he'd given Tyler the "birds and the bees" talk.

They sat in silence for a long moment. Finally, Ian said, "You probably don't remember your aunt Jenna, do you?"

"Not much," Tyler said. Jenna was his father's sister and he hadn't seen her in what must have been ten years, and even then he only remembered seeing her a handful of times. She never seemed to have much use for kids. She never married, although Tyler did vaguely recall one visit where she was accompanied by a boyfriend who had a loud motorcycle.

"She was...a dancer," Ian said carefully. Then he took a breath and corrected himself. "She was a stripper."

"I didn't know that," Tyler said, doing his best to summon his memory of her. He remembered her as a kind of pretty but frequently haggard woman who was skinny and smelled of cigarettes and booze. Her visits were seldom, unpredictable, and brief, and often punctuated with the adults arguing. Tyler's clearest memory of her involved some big argument between her and his parents. Afterwards, neither his dad nor his mom seemed keen on sharing the details with Tyler and his sister Kim, but their father had spent a couple nights after that sleeping on the couch in his den.

"You gave her money," Tyler realized.

Ian nodded. "Never as much as she wanted, or as often, but yes. Jenna had...problems. I actually didn't begrudge her the dancing—it was the one thing she enjoyed and she was actually really good at it. But she made bad decisions. Drugs...sex...she was mad at the world and took it out on herself and everybody around her."

"What did you do?"

"I tried to stay involved in her life. I'd help her out when I could, but I soon realized that giving her money wasn't helping her...I was just feeding her worst habits. Eventually all I could do was watch as she fell down this dark hole. It was like she was hell-bent on her own self-destruction."

Tyler shifted a little in his seat at his father's words. "What happened to her?" he asked quietly.

"One day she came around looking for money, and I finally said no. I didn't know what else to do. I offered to get her into rehab or counseling, but we got into a screaming match and she...she left." Ian's voice was raw with emotion at the memory, and there was a strange tone to his voice. Regret mixed with something else that Tyler couldn't identify.

"Where did she go?"

He seemed uncomfortable with the question. "I'm actually not sure," he said haltingly. "She just disappeared. I asked what few friends she had at the strip club, and they thought she might have gotten into some sex work or S&M stuff. Nobody knew. She was just gone."

Ian's hands were folded on the table and Tyler reached out to hold on to them. "Dad...I'm not her."

Ian took a ragged breath and nodded. "I know," he said, his voice barely a hoarse whisper. "I just...I can't—I can't lose you..."

Tyler sniffled and threw his arms around his father, who returned the hug with an intensity that neither one of them could remember, as though they were desperately clinging to each other, trying to shield themselves from the world.

When they broke their embrace, Ian forced a weak smile. "God, I love you so much. You didn't deserve this. I know that doesn't mean mu—"

"I love you, too," Tyler said earnestly. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd said those words to his father, but somehow as Misty it felt natural.

Ian seemed caught off guard by the gesture and put his arm around Tyler and kissed him on the head.

Tyler gave his father a more serious look. "I meant what I said. I'm really not like her, you know."

Ian nodded. "Neither was she. At least, not at first. She was smart. And beautiful, and funny. Talented. And she threw it away, a piece at a time. I tried to help her, to be there for her, to be her confidante or disciplinarian...but at the end of the day all I could do was stand there and bear witness as she destroyed herself." He shook his head. "I should have given her the money. At least it gave me some leverage over her. Or maybe I should have called the cops on her. Maybe..."

He dwelled on the memory for a moment and then seemed to snap out of it. "You want a little bit of life advice from your old man?"

Tyler said nothing but just flashed his eyebrows a little.

"You keep telling me what you aren't, but you need to figure out who you are. I never looked down on Jenna because she was a stripper...it was amazing to see her do something she loved. You need to figure out what that is for you. Then everything else will make sense."

Ian took a cleansing breath and stood up from the table. But as he turned to leave, Tyler turned around in his seat to look at him.

"Where was it you were going to take me?"

Ian gave a dismissive little roll of his shoulders. "It was stupid. I was going to take you to the club where she used to dance. I thought if you saw how those men look at the women who work there, it might teach you that it's different than looking at it through a laptop screen. But, uh, I guess you've probably learned that, already," he said, glancing down at Tyler's figure, stunning even in the casual outfit he was wearing.

Tyler nodded slowly as he searched his father's face. "Yeah, and then some. But that's it? Just that?"

Ian shrugged and shook his head.

As his father stood there, Tyler arose from his chair to give him another hug, along with a girlish kiss on the cheek that seemed to catch Ian a little by surprise.

Ian cleared his throat and made a little gesture down the hall. "I'm, uh, going to work in my den for a bit, okay?"

"Sure. I'll finish cleaning up, here," Tyler responded with a smile.

As Ian turned and headed down the hallway, Tyler's smile faded and his expression became deadly serious. Then, once he heard the door to his father's den close, he glanced down in his hand at the dog-eared business card that he'd lifted from his father's pocket.

And his jaw dropped.

"Son of a bitch," he whispered.

A few hours later, Ian emerged from his den to find Tyler in the family room watching television. The teen was all curled up under a blanket, apparently engrossed in a movie on television.

"It's been kind of a long day, I think I'm going to bed," Ian informed him.

"'Kay," Tyler replied.

Ian stood there for a moment. "Your mom and sister get back tomorrow afternoon, and everything goes back to normal."

"I know."

Ian started to head upstairs and then paused a moment to look back. "I know this week has been tough on you. But I'm really proud how you saw it through to the end."

Tyler made a little side-eye glance at his father, who was still looking right at him. "Thanks, Dad," he said, with a tight little smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

Ian nodded to himself and trudged upstairs towards his bedroom. As he was halfway up, he called, "Don't stay up too late!"

"I won't!" Tyler called back, his face now one of grim determination as he kept his eyes riveted on the stairs. He waited to make sure his father was gone and counted his blessings that his dad hadn't come any closer and noticed that Tyler had changed his makeup. After a few minutes, once he was certain that his father had gone to bed, Tyler turned up the volume on the movie a couple of notches and then threw the blanket off of himself to reveal that he was dressed to kill in a sexy metallic silver crop top with a deep V neck, along with a short leather skirt and stilettos. His purse was already in his lap, and he had the car keys in his hand.

"Son of a bitch!" Tyler swore as he pounded the steering wheel in frustration. He'd been angry with his father all week, but this latest betrayal had him seething. He needed answers, and he needed to get them for himself.

Sneaking out of the house had been simplicity itself since he'd become something of an expert over the last several months. Earlier, while his father had still been in his den, he'd opened the garage door since he knew there was less chance it could be heard from there than from his parents' bedroom. He'd then carefully backed the car out of the garage without turning on the headlights until he was safely in the street.

His one remaining act of defiance had been when he realized that it was a cool evening outside, and he might be chilly in his skimpy and sexy little outfit. So he'd grabbed his dad's leather jacket from the closet and put it on.

Belatedly he realized that he had mixed emotions about wearing the jacket. On the one hand, it felt like a well-deserved little vindictive slight, but on the other hand, being garbed in something that belonged to his father only served to roil his emotions further. Nothing made sense anymore. But loathe as Tyler was to admit it, there was only one place he was going to get any answers.

Shortly, he pulled up in front of the Ladywood Academy. It was after 11:00 on a Saturday night, so the rest of the shops on the boulevard were all closed for the night, but the Academy still seemed to be open given the number of cars in the parking lot around back. It was, in fact, far more cars than Tyler remembered seeing during the week. He hoped that might work to his advantage.

He checked his makeup in the mirror and got out of the car as he strode towards the main entrance. His palms were sweaty and his heart was beating like a jackhammer, but he did his best to at least appear confident and collected, two feelings he was definitely not experiencing at the moment.

When he'd spoken to Ms. Lockridge in the hall of the Academy the other day, she'd alluded to the fact that the store had some more adult-themed goings-on on Saturday nights, so Tyler figured they'd still be open and busy. But he knew that a lone teenage student would draw far too much attention, so he figured that dressing himself up like a badass domme might at least buy him some time in there. Badass apart from the fact that he couldn't keep his hands from shaking.

He arrived at the entrance and pulled on the door, finding it to be locked. However, he could definitely hear voices inside. For a moment he considered knocking or ringing the bell, but this time of night he figured they'd be more circumspect about who they allowed inside, and he didn't dare risk inviting scrutiny.

His train of thought was shattered when the door suddenly opened on its own, and a middle-aged couple emerged from the store unlike any that Tyler had seen before. The woman's ample breasts were practically falling out of her red corset top and she was scantily clad in a short red miniskirt and black thigh-high boots. Her makeup was exacting and harsh, which complemented her cascade of honey blonde hair that had been teased into a wild mane. But what was most singular about her was the leash she was holding.

The other end of the leash was attached to a collar around the neck of her companion, and it took Tyler a moment to process that the person he was looking at was male. He was heavily made up and wore a shiny black rubber French maid's outfit with a high collar that fit snugly against his large jutting breasts. He made for a mannish but attractive woman, but based on his clumsy body movements and obvious difficulty in the towering stiletto heels he was wearing, he was unmistakably male. He'd only taken two steps, and Tyler could have read him from across the parking lot, regardless of his outfit. He wondered if it was the guy's first time.

"P-please, Carmen!" the guy begged. "I don't want anybody to see—!"

The looks of the couple as they beheld Tyler standing there could not have been more different. The man's eyes flashed up at Tyler's face then down to his boobs and then quickly down at the ground as he cringed, obviously mortified. The woman, however, had a smug and superior look on her face and her lips curled into a knowing and wicked little smile as she made eye contact with Tyler, looking as though she was proudly showing off a new poodle that she'd just bought at the pet store.

Tyler's stomach was doing flip-flops, but he forced himself to maintain eye contact with the woman and returned her smirk. Then he turned his attention to her crossdressed companion and forced his voice into his best feminine contralto and said, "Honey, this is just the tip of the iceberg."

He kept his voice low and throaty with a bit of breathiness in order to sell the look, and from their reactions he could tell that they bought it. The guy looked absolutely horrified, and the woman returned Tyler's smile with a suggestive little eyebrow flash that could easily have been a come-on. However, he didn't stop to find out and simply walked past them and through the closing door into the store.

For as many times as Tyler had been inside the Ladywood Academy, the store could not have looked more different. Many of the boutique's clothes were still on display, but several had been moved or wheeled to the sides to make room for what was obviously some kind of a party inside with an abundance of people. The lighting was completely different and the bright lights had given way to a much darker look with spots and underlighting, almost like a club. There was still an abundance of pink in the store, but with the darkness and lighting, the feminine touches took on a sense of foreboding, giving the store a decidedly more ominous air. Even the cloyingly girly muzak was gone, replaced with more of a hard-thumping beat. But nobody was dancing.

Tyler suddenly became aware that the muscular female guard Sam was standing not far from the entrance and had started to look in Tyler's direction, no doubt noticing that he was just standing there by the doorway. Tyler gave a haughty little toss of his hair in the hopes of obscuring his face as he strode into the mix of people with a confidence he didn't feel.

There were a number of people in the store for the party, but it wasn't desperately crowded like he would have expected in a club. And the clientele was far different. For one thing, they were a lot older...there were no complaining teens mincing about in girls' clothes, these were all adults. They, too, wore costumes, but with a decidedly darker and more fetishy flavor. There was an abundance of leather and an even greater abundance of skin and outright nudity. One woman confidently walked past Tyler wearing nothing but high heels as she playfully twirled a set of handcuffs on her finger. He felt his face flush when he saw her, not sure if it was for her nakedness or her brazenness.

Many people were paired off, and other small groups began to form as they started to show interest in each other. Tyler heard one guy loudly cry out, and he looked in that direction to see that the man was on all fours and dressed in skanky female clubwear, while a woman in a bikini top and a strap-on dildo plowed into him from behind. Tyler couldn't see much, but he did a double-take at the scene, not only for how explicit it was, but because absolutely nobody seemed to be paying them any mind. What was all this?

A man's hand grabbed Tyler by the arm, and the squeal that escaped his lips was fortunately lost in the sounds of all the goings-on. He spun to face the man and saw that it was some dude in his early thirties who was wearing leather pants and a fitted black shirt—and who appeared to be either drunk or high, he wasn't sure—as he stared at Tyler lasciviously.

"Lookin' good, honey," the guy slurred.

The way this creep was looking at him made Tyler feel unclean. And extremely nervous. He was bigger than Tyler, and with everyone's inhibitions reduced to zero there was little question what the guy was after.

Tyler shrugged his way out of the guy's grasp. "Not interested," he said, looking away.

The guy was undeterred. He took a step closer and wrapped his arm around Tyler's waist and pulled him close. "C'mon, baby, it's a party, and you got all dolled up. Let's play."

The aggressiveness of the act caught Tyler off his guard. It was like a caveman move, raw and animalistic as this jerk just reached out and took what he wanted, heedless of the consequences. Tyler had never experienced being objectified in this way, and it made him feel very vulnerable.

"Fuck off!" he said, shoving the guy back, hard. Before the creep could respond, Tyler turned and walked away, striding quickly towards the back of the store. A chill ran up his spine and a tremor ran though him from the encounter. Belatedly he wondered if it was wise to turn his back to the guy as he had. He wondered if the slimeball would push the encounter or try something, and he felt a surge of relief when he heard him mutter something obscene and stalk back towards the rest of the party.

By the time Tyler reached the doors to the classrooms at the rear of the store, his face was flushed and he was awash in a sea of emotions. As he put his hand on the cool metal handle of the door he wondered for a moment if it might be locked in case it was off-limits during the "play party," and felt enormously grateful as the handle clicked open and he made his way through the doorway.

The quiet and well-lit corridor was a sharp contrast to the main showroom outside, but Tyler was still on edge. He knew that he was more exposed here, but took a moment to collect himself since his heart was still pounding. This place was like a bottomless well of depravity, he thought. Every time he thought he'd found the bottom, they found ways to sink down further.

But as he caught his breath, he started to consider that. Now that the shock had started to pass, he quietly realized that nobody at the "party" had seemed to be especially unwilling. It had been weird and startling, but unlike what he and the other students had been through all week, people out there had been enjoying themselves, apparently. He looked down at himself with his big fake boobs on copious display in his scant little top and felt a little tickle of enjoyment from the sight. He felt like a weirdo, himself. Who was he to sit in judgment over what turned other people on?

A noise just down the hall from the direction of the classrooms snapped him back into the moment, and Tyler quickly made his way in the opposite direction. He'd never been down this set of corridors before, and the echoing report of his high heels down the corridor made him jumpy, but he knew he had to find what he was looking for before he was discovered.

He turned a corner and found a series of office doors that had name plates on them, and some of the names he recognized as belonging to his teachers at the Academy.

Mercer. Boulet. Callahan. He then stopped in front of the one he was looking for.

Lockridge.

He leaned closer for a second and thought he heard someone moving around inside.

He paused for a moment, took a deep breath, and went inside.

Tyler froze the moment he walked through the door as he beheld the space. It was a dungeon. And standing right there in the middle of it, was Ms. Lockridge.

She was dressed differently than Tyler had ever seen her, in a sexy leather catsuit and heels. The catsuit had form-fitting black leggings but the top showed a lot of skin, rather like a strappy black bathing suit with a plunging neckline and cutouts on the sides to show more flesh. Her hair was loose and leonine and although Tyler had never fully appreciated it before, she was strikingly beautiful in an aggressively sexy way.

Though at the moment, she had a rather puzzled look on her face.

"Misty?" she said.

To her credit, she didn't seem overly startled or surprised at the unexpected intrusion. Tyler, however, was still processing what he was seeing. Now that he had a chance to look around, the "dungeon" with its apparent torture devices was actually more of a BDSM "playroom" with dark maroon walls that was filled with whipping benches and suspension devices. Various tools of the trade like floggers and paddles lined the walls. That this wasn't an actual dungeon didn't make Tyler feel very much better.

"I—I thought this would be your office," Tyler said.

Ms. Lockridge put a hand on her hip as she regarded him. "This is my office. I keep a filing cabinet in the break room. I'm not much for knickknacks." She then gave Tyler a once-over. "You're looking quite fetching, yourself."

Despite the strangeness of the moment, Tyler found himself remembering why he'd come. "We need to talk," he said seriously.

She walked over to him. In her tight little outfit her hip-swinging gait practically oozed sex appeal, which made for a distracting counterpoint to her otherwise businesslike attitude as she reached past him towards the door. "Make an appointment. I've got a client waiting—"

Tyler interposed himself. "We need to talk. Right now, Aunt Jenna."

She stopped in mid-reach and then turned to look Tyler in the face. The moment hung suspended in time as the two of them stared at each other.

"Well...fuck," she said.

Tyler blinked. "That's it? That's all you've got to say to me?"

Jenna scoffed and made her way across the room towards a cabinet on the wall. "Were you hoping for a family discount?" she quipped. As Tyler watched her, he noticed that her demeanor had changed. The haughty schoolmarm persona that he'd always seen her with had slipped and she had a more casual air to her, as though being a dominatrix in a BDSM playroom was the most natural thing in the world.

"I think I deserve some answers!" Tyler contended.

"Little one, I don't owe you a damn thing." She reached into the cabinet and retrieved a pack of cigarettes and a lighter and as he watched, she took one out and lit it up.

Tyler glared at her. "You made me play 'Spin the Bottle' with Kitty. I think you owe me something."

Jenna chuckled a little. Then she took a drag on her cigarette and held it before giving a long, slow exhale. "God. Ten months I went without cigarettes. Ten months. And then you showed up. This is your fault," she said, holding up the cigarette. Then she sighed. "So your dad finally told you, huh?"

Tyler reached into his purse and held up the business card. "I had to figure it out for myself."

She laughed out loud. "Oh, that is classic Ian," she said as she took the business card and looked at it. It had the name and logo for the Ladywood Academy along with the contact information for "Ms. Lockridge." On the front, in a feminine script, was the handwritten name, "Jenna."

"I remember the day I gave this to him. Maybe four years ago? It was the last day I saw him." She handed it back to Tyler. "Sanctimonious prick. He never approved of anything I did."

"That's not how he tells it. He said he supported you."

She smiled and shook her head. "This should be good for a laugh. Do tell."

Tyler straightened up a little as she smoked her cigarette. "He said that you were a dancer...a stripper. He said that you were really good."

Jenna sniffed dismissively.

"He also said that you got into some bad stuff," Tyler said.

She reached over to the cabinet and put her cigarette out on a wooden paddle. She then reached in and fetched a riding crop which she brandished in a casual, offhanded way. It was one that Tyler recognized from some of their classes. "Don't be coy, Misty. No need to pull punches," she said.

Tyler cleared his throat. "He said you got into drugs. And sex. That it got bad. He told me he tried to help you, that he gave you money, that he tried to be supportive. That you threw it all away."

"That's a sad story," Jenna said in a mocking tone. "Go on."

Tyler watched as she strode around in little circles, flexing the riding crop. She tried to look casual about it, but her fingers clenched the handle so tightly that her knuckles were white, even as her other hand gripped the narrow leather tongue at the end.

"He told me that you had an argument. You came around looking for money and he said no. You had a big fight and you left." Tyler paused. "I think I remember that day a little."

She turned to look at him and her expression softened a little. "I'm not surprised. I was...unhappy...with his decision." The way she said it was distant, sounding more like the Ms. Lockridge that Tyler knew.

"Keep going," she prompted.

Tyler shrugged. "That's it. He said you disappeared after that. He never saw you again. He said there were rumors you got into S&M stuff." His eyes flashed over at the large X-frame against one wall, along with the binders and ropes that were on conspicuous display.

Jenna stared impassively at Tyler. She then tilted her head slightly as though she had heard him incorrectly. Her face was an unreadable mask, but Tyler noticed that the flexible shaft of the riding crop was bowed in the middle, clearly under tension. Her eyes flashed as she took a step towards him.

"Really." She carefully enunciated the word, obviously straining to keep control. She nodded. "All right, Misty. You want the truth? Permit me to set the record straight. Absolutely everything your father told you was true. But allow me to entertain you with The Life and Times of Jenna Valentine, Volume 2."

She wandered over to a table and casually ran her finger along a short metal wand with bright blue feathers on one end. "I was an addict. I was out of control. And he rejected me."

"You mean he didn't give you money," Tyler challenged.

She turned sharply to glare at him and met his gaze for a moment before breaking eye contact. "Yes. All right," she admitted. She turned and perched herself on the edge of a padded bench that resembled an elaborate wooden saw horse. "I hit bottom. I was going through the motions, trying to feel alive and to not feel alive. The sex wasn't even the worst part of it. At least that was human contact."

"So what happened?"

"I met someone," Jenna said almost wistfully as she stared into space at the memory. "I don't know what the hell she saw in me. I still don't. She was my friend at a time in my life when I didn't have friends...I just had people that I used, and who used me. But she stayed with me. She gave me a reason to pull myself up out of the hole I'd so painstakingly dug for myself."

"Charlotte Mercer?" Tyler guessed.

Jenna laughed. It was the first genuine laugh he'd heard her make. "God, no. She's...let's just say she's not my type. She came along later." She seemed to consider the memory. "By the time Charlotte found me I was already a dominatrix. I was working in a BDSM dungeon in New York. Mistress Kassandra Lockridge," she said, waving the riding crop with a flourish.

Tyler regarded her carefully. "So you were still into...you know...sex stuff."

"God, you're adorable," Jenna said with a smirk and a dismissive shake of her head. "Kid, it's not always about sex. Do you have any idea what it feels like to be in total control of your body? As 'Ms. Lockridge' I could be anything I wanted to be. Sexy, vicious, sweet. And utterly, totally, unapologetic. I took shit from no man. I was confident. I had respect. I didn't have to explain or excuse myself to anybody. And I was handsomely compensated for my efforts. Do you have the least notion what I'm talking about?"

"Yeah," Tyler said quietly.

She paused and looked at him standing there in his sexy outfit. "Maybe you do, at that." Then she shrugged. "That's when Charlotte recruited me to come here...four, maybe five years ago? I never thought I'd come back to this town again, but life's funny."

Tyler's eyes narrowed. "That's when you met my dad," he said, running his fingers along the business card that was still in his hand. The edge was soft and worn, no doubt from all that time hidden in his father's wallet.

"I didn't go looking for him. I had no idea what to say to him. We just bumped into each other one day. The fucker of it is, Misty, all those years ago, he did try to help me out. He helped me, even supported my dancing. If I'm being honest, he probably added years to my life."

"What did you say to each other?"

"It was funny, I was almost giddy. I was so proud of myself. I was clean, I was successful, I was living life on my own terms. I was madly in love with a woman I absolutely did not deserve. For the first time in my life I felt like I could approach him as an equal. All I wanted was for him to be happy for me. I gave him my business card. We hugged, we said our goodbyes, we promised to keep in touch. And that was the last time I saw him."

Tyler was perplexed. "What? Why?"

"A couple weeks went by. And then a couple more. Long enough for me to realize it was intentional. I called him at home and he nearly lost his shit, worried that someone else might have answered the phone. Turns out he didn't approve of this place," she said waving her arm, "or the work that I do here. And he made it pretty damn clear he wasn't comfortable with the thought of his little sister being a lesbian, either." She shook her head in disbelief. "Do you love the irony? When I was a drugged-up, strung-out stripper he stood by me, but when I finally got my life together, he's back on his high horse, judging me."

Tyler put his hand on his hip and raised his chin defiantly. "You're actually defending what you do here?"

She pointed an accusatory finger at him. "Fuck you, 'Misty Melons.' I don't apologize for who I am or what I do. Not to you, or anybody. Not ever." She stood up from the bench and stalked around the room. There was a large mirror on one wall and she stopped in front of it and turned to look at him in the reflection. "You think those little twerps don't deserve it? Try talking to the women in their lives. You think your little friend Kitty is a handful, ask yourself what he's like with a bunch of thugs to back him up. Or have a look at the pictures of Cici's cheerleader girlfriend. She's lucky she got away with just bruises and a broken wrist. But now he won't be hurting anybody anymore. He'll be lucky if he can muster the strength to swish his pom poms."

"And what about the others?" Tyler challenged. "What were their crimes?"

She turned to look at him. "Oh, please. They wronged the women in their lives. If what I do here stops another angry and abusive boy from becoming an angry and abusive man who victimizes the women in his life, I won't lose a wink of sleep over it. Don't act so high and mighty, 'Misty.' You come in here looking like a porno queen and expect me to believe you're deeply respectful of women? Tell me, how's your relationship with your mom and your sister, Kim? I'm sure you've been treating them with nothing but respect, yes?"

Tyler shrunk from her words. "And what about Brianna?"

Jenna stopped short. "She...that's different."

"I guess I missed that subtle nuance," Tyler said sarcastically.

Jenna wagged a finger at him. "Honey, I appreciate you're processing a lot right now, so I'm demonstrating enormous patience. But if you'd ever sassed me like that in class, I'd happily have introduced you to some of the more kinky pharmacological concoctions this place has to offer." She held her glare for a second and then flashed her eyes. "You probably would have enjoyed that, wouldn't you?"

She made a low grumble and made an equivocal gesture. "Brianna...she's not like the others," she conceded. "Not all of the cases we get here are discipline cases. Sometimes these budding little flowers need a pat on the back, and sometimes they need a kick in the butt. They don't generally call me in if they need hugs."

"And that works?" Tyler said skeptically.

Her lip twisted into a knowing little smirk. "I don't know, Misty. You tell me."

The question brought Tyler up short. "I—I—"

"Yes, that's what I thought," she said in an officious tone that was more reminiscent of the Ms. Lockridge that Tyler had come to know. She eyed him carefully. "Have you even talked to your dad about it?"

"About what?" Tyler stammered.

Jenna rolled her eyes. "Jesus Christ. After everything you've been through this week, you're honestly going to stand there in front of me and try and play this off as some innocent little hobby? You know what this is just as much as I do. Brianna saw it. Hell, even that douchebag Kitty could see it. So isn't it singular that the one and only person who seems totally blind to what you're going through is the same person who brought you here? Would you like to know why?"

She tossed the riding crop onto the table and started to move closer to Tyler. "You do have to love the hypocrisy. He disowns me for working at Ladywood, but when the chips are down he sends his own kid here. And the best part? The asshole didn't even have the guts to tell me himself that you were coming here! I found out when Charlotte told me you were enrolled. You could have knocked me over with a feather."

She was close to Tyler now, barely an arm's length away. "Don't you get it? He's ashamed of you. He's ashamed of both of us. He caught you dressed up like this Misty Melons bimbo and he sent you straight to the one place he knew where we could rub your nose in it and make you feel just as ashamed of yourself as he is of you."

"That's not true," Tyler said tremulously.

"You and I are just broken little dolls to him." At this point she was right in his face, so it was a surprise when she looked over Tyler's shoulder, towards the doorway. "Gosh, Ian, what do you think?" she asked.

Tyler spun around to see his father standing there in the doorway.

"H-how?" Tyler sputtered.

“We put a GPS vehicle locator on the car,” Ian explained.

Tyler was nonplussed. "I didn't know the car had that."

"You weren't meant to. You were the reason your mother and I put it on there in the first place."

Jenna clapped her hands. "Oh, that is classic. Always in control, always charging to the rescue, and always—always—one hundred percent on your own terms."

Ian remained impassive. "I didn't come here to argue, Jenna."

"No, that's not your style, is it? What, did you come to get a report card about my star pupil, here?" she teased.

Jenna slid away from Tyler towards Ian until she was a few steps away from her brother. It made for a bizarre picture. Ian was casually dressed in slacks and a knit shirt, while Jenna was in her black leather catsuit that showed off her curves and skin. But there in the BDSM playroom it was Ian who looked totally out of place. He stood there quietly with his back straight, but Jenna was the one who exuded fiery confidence. If she felt in any way self-conscious about standing in front of her brother the way she was dressed, there was absolutely no sign of it.

She glanced over at Tyler. "Misty? Anything you'd care to share?"

Tyler said nothing, so Jenna shook her head and turned back to Ian. "You must be loving this. The white knight riding in to save the broken and helpless girls. Tell me, Ian, are you upset that you weren't the one to rescue me, or is it just easier for you to sit in judgment of my life when I don't need saving?"

"This isn't about you and me."

"No. No, I guess it isn't." She glanced over at Tyler and then to Ian before heading for the door. "My client gets here in ten minutes. I'd advise you to be gone before then, or you'll get to see what your little sister does for a living."

Tyler and Ian stood there quietly after she left.

"Come on, Misty, let's go," Ian said.

Tyler's jaw dropped. "Seriously? You're not going to talk about this?"

"Not here."

Tyler took a few steps away. "No. Right here. Right now," he said as he walked over to a heavy black wooden table. He tried to lean back against it in a casual manner, and his hand brushed against some leather cuffs and metal chains that he was pretty sure weren't used as necklaces. He jerked his hand away but tried to play it off. "So let's talk," he said, trying to take control of the situation.

Ian nodded. "All right. Fine. Which part would you like to talk about? The part where you steal the car? The part where you sneaked out of the house after curfew? Dressed like a hooker? So that you could go to a bondage play party?"

"Welcome to the Ladywood Academy," Tyler said sarcastically, as he threw his arms wide. "But then, you wouldn't know what it's like in here, would you? You just sent me here for them to humiliate me!"

Ian glanced uncomfortably around the room. "I had no idea it was like this."

"It's not. Usually," Tyler said, folding his arms. "That's not the point. You lied to me about Aunt Jenna!"

"I didn't lie. I told you what I thought you needed to know."

"You didn't think I needed to know that I was getting worked over by my own aunt?" Tyler asked, incredulous.

Ian sighed. "Would it have made any difference? And before you answer that, I'll remind you that you hadn't even seen her in ten years. You didn't even recognize her."

Tyler brought his manicured fingers up to rub his temples. "It's like...I can't even..." He took a breath. "Don't you think it matters why you brought me here?" he complained.

Ian stood there for a moment and then groaned and ran his hand down his face. He looked very tired. He shook his head and then sidled up next to Tyler and then leaned back against the heavy table, so the two of them were side by side. Tyler looked over at his father, thinking that his old man looked different, somehow. For as long as Tyler could remember, his father always seemed to have the answers, even if those answers weren't to Tyler's liking. Even when the two of them had fought and argued, there had been an aura about his dad that suggested if not infallibility at least a sense that he always knew what to do. But bit by bit this week it had seemed like that facade had eroded away before Tyler's eyes, so that now his father just looked like a man like everybody else.

"I meant what I said before. That wasn't a lie," said Ian.

"It wasn't the whole truth, either."

"Point," his father conceded. He shook his head as he looked around the room with all the strange and threatening-looking instruments. "I'm so sorry. Not just for this stuff with Jenna, but for everything. I was just so desperate. I was losing you day by day and I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to lose you the way I lost her."

"Dad, you didn't lose her. She's still here."

Ian gave a rueful laugh. "She doesn't want anything to do with me. We are in two totally different worlds."

"Yeah," Tyler said, glancing around the room and tilting his head in agreement. "But I'm still here."

Ian smiled and put his arm around Tyler's shoulders and pulled him close. "Against all odds," he sighed. Then he added, "I am sorry."

Tyler looked up at his father. "I'm not."

Ian looked at him in surprise and the two of them smiled at each other.

Tyler took a deep breath. "So...what happens now?" he asked.

"Now?" Ian asked with a puzzled look on his face as he straightened up. "First, I'd like to get out of here before we find out what's coming through that door."

"No argument there," Tyler agreed. Then as he slung his purse over his shoulder he noticed that his father was giving him an odd look. "What?"

"Did you take my leather jacket?" Ian asked.

Tyler shifted uncomfortably. "This outfit was a little, um..."

"I get it," Ian responded. "Keep it, it looks good on you," he said with a little smile, which Tyler returned. Then as he looked down at Tyler's chest he said, "Actually, there is one more thing we need to do..."

Later as they drove home, the quiet city streets only helped to punctuate the uncomfortable silence that filled the car. Ian had braved the "play party" going on in the store and after a few inquiries managed to find a Ladywood staff member who was able to remove Tyler's fake boobs and hip and butt prosthetics. The process had been mercifully quick, but Tyler had an almost wounded expression throughout the whole thing.

Now, sitting in the car next to Ian, Tyler seemed like a different person. It wasn't the figure so much as his whole demeanor had changed, despite the fact that he was still all made up and dressed in his skimpy outfit. He sat sullenly in the passenger seat of the car, all wrapped up in Ian's jacket. One of his hands slipped underneath the jacket to rub his flat chest.

"They said the redness should go down in a couple days," Ian offered. "Then everything will be back to normal."

"Right. Normal," Tyler said absently as he looked out the window. They drove in silence after that.

When they got home and pulled into the garage, Tyler started to get out of the car, but Ian stopped him.

"One more thing. Those empty boxes down in the basement. Tomorrow morning, I want you to grab a few, and box up all of that...stuff...you've been wearing this week so you mom and sister don't see it," he said. "I'll take it all to the dump later this week."

Tyler, stunned, turned to Ian, but his shocked expression quickly faded to one of quiet resignation as he looked down and took a quick sideways glance at his father. "I-I thought I might keep...some of it," he said quietly.

Ian quickly opened his mouth as if to object, but stopped when he read Tyler's face. Obviously rattled, Ian looked away and made a disconcerted grumble.

"I don't want you 'borrowing' any more of your mother's or sister's things, anymore, understand?" he said firmly. "Or anybody else's, for that matter."

He thought for a moment and then said to Tyler, "In the basement I have a footlocker with a combination lock. You know it?"

Tyler nodded.

"The code is 831. There are some papers in there, but just put them in my den. You can store that in your closet to keep a few things."

"It's not very big," Tyler said.

"It's big enough. Keep what you need and dump the rest. Your mother won't like the idea of you keeping a locked box in your room," he said significantly as he made eye contact with Tyler, "but if she asks, I'll explain that I know the combination and that this is a way for you to have some privacy and for us to rebuild some trust. Which I suppose isn't too far from the truth. Agreed?"

Tyler opened the car door and started to get out.

"Tyler?" Ian pressed more emphatically, raising his eyebrows.

"Fine," Tyler said as he flashed an annoyed look and got out of the car. As he shut the car door and went inside, Ian sat there for a minute and sighed heavily.

SUNDAY

The next day it was almost noon before Tyler finally surfaced, and Ian did a little double-take to see his son once again looking like his regular unkempt male self. After a week of seeing "Misty" making an appearance every morning, it was almost strange to see Tyler looking like himself again. For a split second Ian wondered when he'd gotten used to seeing his son as a stacked blonde girl before he realized that Tyler looked like hell. He wasn't sure when or even if Tyler had gone to bed the night before, no doubt reluctant to remove his final female outfit. But now all traces of Misty had been scrubbed away. Even his previously long polished fingernails were back to normal.

Ian had retrieved a few boxes from the basement and left them out in the kitchen for Tyler. Neither of them said anything, but Ian made a point of commenting that Rachel and Kim would be home by six o'clock, so his implication was clear. By five o'clock he observed that the boxes were all taped up and tucked away in a corner of the basement, and that Tyler's room was looking back to its normal state, with the footlocker tucked away in his closet.

That evening when the girls got home, Ian noted that Tyler was a little bit more upbeat and seemed genuinely happy to see them. Rachel and Kim were both surprised when he presented them with "apology gifts" of the skin care products that he'd gotten at the Ladywood Academy and they made uncertain eye contact with each other.

Kim regarded the gift warily as she shot a look at her brother. "This isn't going to turn my skin green or anything, is it?"

Tyler rolled his eyes. "No..."

"Hm. Well...thanks," she said as she gathered up her bags and headed upstairs.

Just then, Rachel let out a delighted squeal as she cast her eyes out the kitchen window and saw the backyard. She hurried outside and gushed over what they'd done, and Tyler blushed a little as his father gave him credit for planting all the flowers.

"You two were busy!" Rachel enthused as she gave Ian a hug and a kiss and then did the same for Tyler which he stoically accepted.

Kim joined them outside and she made a befuddled little face as she looked at her brother. "Wow, you guys did all this?"

Tyler responded with a little shrug, and then Kim added, "How come your bedroom door and the bathroom door are down off their hinges?"

Ian glanced nervously over at Tyler. "Uh, they weren't closing properly. Tyler was helping me with that."

"Oh. Well, I'm not using that bathroom until it has a door," Kim warned.

"Yeah, I think we're good to put those back, now. Tyler, why don't you go upstairs. I'll be right up."

As the two kids left, Rachel watched them as she snuggled up close to Ian.

"What'd you do? He's like a whole different person. This is like the invasion of the pod people."

Ian laughed. "It was a long week, but I think we've come to an understanding."

Rachel gave him a shrewd look. "After all that, you expect me to believe that a little man-to-man talk was all he needed?"

Ian cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Something like that. Look, it's between him and me, and let's just leave it at that, okay? I think things will be better from here on out."

"Okay," she said with a dubious look as she gave him a little kiss on the cheek. Then she turned back to behold the garden and shook her head. "You are a bona fide miracle worker, you know that?"

Ian made a tight smile and nodded.

PRESENT DAY, TWO MONTHS LATER

That earlier time suddenly felt like a swiftly fading memory to Ian. Now, he sat on the corner of the couch in the family room and held his breath as he stared at the heavily made-up Tyler who had once again been glamorously and extravagantly transformed by the Ladywood Academy.

"Son..." he said in a hoarse whisper, "did I do this to you?"

Tyler let out a disapproving noise that with his changed high-pitched voice came out sounding like a querulous little chirp. "Dad, this isn't about you."

"Isn't it? Tyler, look at yourself. I thought we were done with this."

"You thought! What about what I think?" he exclaimed as he jumped up out of his seat and took a few quick steps away.

"And you figured this was the way to go? Didn't you learn anything?"

"I learned plenty," Tyler said petulantly.

Ian sat there helplessly and shook his head. "And what exactly are you hoping to accomplish with all this?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

"Tyler, the only thing that's obvious is how much skin you're showing. Again! You need help—"

"I'm asking for help!" Tyler interrupted. "But you only want to offer your help if it's on your terms. I want this!"

Ian looked at him skeptically. "You want to live like that full-time from now on, is that it?"

"It's only for the summer," Tyler murmured.

"Unless it isn't. Right?"

The crossdressed teen shifted uncertainly. "I don't know. But I have to find out!" he insisted as he got up from his seat and moved around, turning his hands in little circles as he fumbled for words.

"Dad, I know what this looks like. I just...I need more time with this. To see how this feels, to figure out what it means. But I know this is part of me. I can't hide it away in a box because it makes you or anybody else uncomfortable. I'm not ashamed of this."

"You're not ashamed," Ian echoed, as he stood up from the couch and took a few steps before turning around to face him. "Tyler, you intentionally lost a wager with your sister so that you could tell everyone that the only reason you look like this is because you lost a bet and she forced you to do it."

Tyler recoiled slightly. "Kim knows the truth now."

"Only after she and your mother figured out what you were up to. So now she's going from your unwilling dupe to your willing accomplice just so that you can avoid taking any responsibility! Tyler, this isn't the behavior of someone who's ready to stand up for himself. You’re just hiding behind your sister’s skirts. I'm trying to protect you—"

"The way you protected Aunt Jenna?" Tyler challenged.

His words landed like a punch, and Ian struggled to get his surging emotions under control. He closed his eyes and shook his head in resignation before running his hand along the end table against the far wall, and a rueful laugh escaped his lips.

"I can't believe this. I can't believe this is happening again," he said to himself. "It was right here. I was standing right here when I lost her. She was here asking for money—that's all she ever wanted—and I told her I was cutting her off. I was done financing her self-destruction. And I lost her."

Tyler took a tremulous breath as he took a step forward. "Dad, I'm not asking for money, and I'm not on drugs. I just need time. And...understanding. I know I haven't given you a lot of reasons to be patient with me, but this is different. I don't know how to make you understand, but it is."

"Is it?" Ian said, unconvinced. "Do you have any idea what you're asking me for? Tyler, this isn't a week hiding out at home and skulking behind furniture every time there's a knock at the door. Are you honestly ready for everyone to see you like that? Not 'Misty,' not 'Amber,' I mean see you like that. Your friends? Your classmates? Your cousins, your grandparents? Are you going to get a job this summer looking like that? And tell them why you look like that?"

Ian took a heavy breath. "Tyler, I'm sorry. I'm your father, which means I can't always be your friend. But this ends now. We're going back to that store—tonight—and you're going to take that crap off, and we're going to put this nonsense behind us forever."

Tyler stood there quietly for a long moment as he held his father's gaze.

"Fine," he said.

Ian blinked in surprise. "Well...good. I'm glad you decided to see reason and—"

"No," Tyler said. "The rest of it. You're right. I'm leaving Kim out of it. I'm going to tell everyone I'm doing this because it's what I want. And I don't care who knows. I'm not lying anymore. I'm not hiding anymore." Tyler felt a lump form in his throat as he faced his father. "Dad, I know...I know you don't trust me. Or have much reason to be proud of me," he said, choking back tears, "but I can't accept your help if it's always going to be on your terms. This time it has to be on mine."

Ian's face was carved out of stone as Tyler struggled to maintain his composure. Eventually Ian nodded slowly.

"If that's your decision," he said. Then he took a breath and moved over to the closed doors to the family room.

"What are you doing?" Tyler asked.

"This affects the whole family. It's only fair that your mother and sister hear this, as well," Ian said as he reached for the doors. But as he flung them open, both Rachel and Kim practically stumbled into the room, both obviously having been eavesdropping outside. They looked chagrined to have been caught, but Rachel quickly flashed her husband a "what did you expect" look even as Kim hurried over to Tyler and held his hand supportively.

"Are you going to let him stay like this?" Kim asked.

Ian took a deep cleansing breath. "No. No, I'm not."

"What?!?" Tyler wailed. "Dad, please, you have to—"

"No." Ian said it with such an air of finality that it startled Tyler into silence. The young man looked utterly wounded and betrayed at his father's decision, and started to break down crying. Kim moved to comfort her feminized brother even as she turned to plead his case to her father.

"Dad, I don't think you know how much this means to him. He—"

"Kim, you and Tyler don't understand what you're asking. I understand that this isn't just one of your pranks or wagers, but we're your parents, and parents sometimes have to protect their children, even from themselves and their own bad decisions. I know this isn't what you wanted to hear, but my mind is made up."

Even Rachel was surprised by the intensity of Tyler's reaction. As she saw him crying, she quietly sidled up to her husband.

"Ian, I know this is—unusual—but it means a lot to him..."

He turned to face her. "Rachel, I'm serious. There's no way I'm going to let her go out looking like that."

Rachel looked like she wanted to say something more, but finally she nodded slightly as she looked at her husband with disappointment and resignation. Meanwhile, Kim was hunched over with her arm around her crying little brother and looked like she was going to throw a punch at someone. But Tyler just sniffled and through tearful eyes turned to look at his father's face.

"Did you say 'her?'" he asked.

Ian's lip twitched slightly as he gave Tyler a firm look. "My mind is made up, Amber. No daughter of mine is going out in public looking like that. I wouldn't let Kim do it and I won't let you do it, either," he said firmly as he approached Tyler who was looking at his father in disbelief through tear-stained eyes. "Understood, young lady?"

Tyler smiled and nodded as he cried.

Ian, now standing directly in front of Tyler, cradled his child's face in his hand. In a halting voice he said, "You...are the bravest person I know. And by far the most stubborn," he added as Tyler choked out a little laugh. "I could never be embarrassed by you. And I could not be more proud," he said. "But as far as trust goes...I guess it's time for me to trust you. I know you'll do the right thing."

Tyler threw himself desperately into his father's arms as they cried, and pretty soon even Kim and Rachel were teary-eyed.

Eventually when they all came around and took a breath, Kim looked to the rest of her family uncertainly. "So...what happens now?" she wondered.

Downtown there's a store, the kind of place that you may have driven by dozens of times and never really given a second thought. Its pretty pink awnings with the black edging flutter in the breeze, and from the girlish mannequins on display in the front windows many people assume it to be an upscale boutique or clothing store for prissy teen girls. But that was only partly correct.

Inside, the Ladywood Academy was a buzz of activity and Jenna Valentine was making a slow orbit around the store, discreetly looking here and there. She was in full “Ms. Lockridge” mode, looking every inch the stern disciplinarian. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun and she wore a slim and flattering black suit and stiletto heels along with a carefully practiced look of icy intensity that caused many within to look away the moment they saw her.

As was so often the case, the air inside the Academy was filled with the whimpers and complaints of various boys and the tittering laughter of the women and girls who accompanied them.

In the shoe department she noticed the teenage boy with the bright red hair that had been coiffed into an elaborate and dated style. He was dressed in a 1950s style outfit with a pencil skirt and a snug angora sweater that showed off his torpedo tits in his bullet bra. His aunt chastised him for having such difficulty in his high heels, but she relented when the saleswoman cheekily observed that when he went to the dance that night, his coquettish awkwardness would force him to stick to slow dances where he and his handsome male date could snuggle tight, which would no doubt give rise to any number of amorous ideas.

Not far away, a bright-eyed young woman had just selected matching sissy dresses in lavishly girlish fashions for her brother and stepbrother that were adorned with big fluffy petticoats and a plethora of bows and frills. The prettily made-up boys were holding hands and kissing each other with their big puffy lips, both of them blushing furiously as she took pictures with her phone, much to their distress.

After she put her phone away, she then informed the pair of her plans to take them to the American Girl doll shop downtown, where they would create custom dolls that matched their outfits. She then went on to say that afterwards she’d arranged for them to host a tea party with cupcake decorating to which she’d invited a number of girls from their high school. As the boys wailed in displeasure and plucked disconsolately at their lookalike dresses, Jenna passed by and smiled at the girl’s wicked creativity.

Over in the prosthetics department, a group of pretty girls in cheerleader uniforms all giggled and clapped as a tall and skinny young man came out in a cheerleader uniform of his own. His colors matched the team colors of the girls’ uniforms, but his outfit was like a skanky caricature of what they were wearing. His hair and makeup were smutty and overdone, and unlike their uniforms, his top had a plunging neckline that showed off his new and very realistic prosthetic breastplate that showed off a scandalous amount of cleavage. The thin fabric of his top made plainly evident that he wasn’t wearing a brassiere, and his sleeveless top and skimpy little cheer skirt showed off his skinny little arms and legs that lacked any muscle tone at all.

Fortunately, however, in his new role nobody expected him to lift anything heavier than the big fluffy pom poms the girls had shoved into his hands.

The young man gaped in dismay at his whorish reflection, and a bubbly and breathy high-pitched cry of protest escaped his painted lips, causing the cheerleaders to erupt into a new round of giggles at his feminized voice. The girls then informed him that even though he’d been kicked off the football team, his old teammates were looking forward to hearing all the sissy new cheers he’d learned, as well as his other “new skills for raising the team’s spirit.”

Jenna watched as he fought to get away, but it was a joke--his emaciated muscles were no match for even their girlishly athletic physiques. A look of horror crossed his made-up features as he realized how laughably futile his struggles would be against the brawny and pumped-up football jocks, and his chirping sobs had the girls in hysterics.

His whimpers could probably have been heard over by the lingerie department if not for the squeals of delight in that section that drowned them out. Jenna paused there to observe the heavily made-up teen with short boyish hair who was standing in front of his foster mother and foster sister in a miniskirt and a brassiere.

Based on how dramatically he was filling out the cups of his bra it seemed that this lad had recently returned from his breast augmentation procedure and was in the process of buying new brassieres to fit his voluptuous new shape. Unfortunately, the store’s selection was somewhat limited since his particular condition forced him to wear nursing bras, as evidenced by his current dilemma.

The young man clutched his big new boobs in despair since his foster sister had just given him his post-hypnotic command to start lactating, and two big wet spots now soaked the front of his bra, much to his obvious distress. Evidently the young man’s foster sister had decided that causing him to let down milk in public was her new favorite thing in the world, and she enjoyed teasing him by saying ‘moo’ behind his back, and at the moment she was entertaining herself by forcing him to perform a shameful little shoulder-shaking dance to the tune of Kelis’s “Milkshake.”

Jenna smirked at the preposterous figure he made. Angry tears ran down the young man’s face, and between his scowl, short hair, and masculine body language, it was impossible to mistake him for a genuine girl, regardless of his extravagant makeover or womanly chest. She could tell this one was close to breaking completely. The fierce young man had rolled his entire self-image into clinging on to his last shreds of masculinity, heedless of the fact that it only made him look more ridiculous. She knew that the more he struggled, the quicker he hastened his utter capitulation.

She hoped they wouldn’t rush it.

Just then, Jenna spotted a lone girl in a floral Lolita dress cut a beeline across the store. Not many people would appreciate it, but a pretty young thing like that going unescorted in the store was an unusual sight, so it grabbed her attention. The feminized boys were seldom left to their own devices, and any girls that age who were at the store to enjoy the sight of their feminized brothers or boyfriends usually weren’t dressed so gaily, nor did they wander far from the young man who was being made over.

Jenna was just about to flag down Sam to rein in this stray, but she soon recognized the long brown hair with the cute little bangs, to say nothing of the carefree attitude--a disposition seldom seen within the walls of the Ladywood Academy. The teen was blithely admiring the new manicure she’d gotten in the salon that morning, and Jenna watched as the young charge met her mother and gave her a kiss hello and flashed her nails brightly before the teen tugged her mother over towards one of the new displays, chatting away.

And then there was the scene that was unfolding over by the changing rooms.

Jenna noticed her brother Ian standing off to one side by himself as Amber stepped out onto the little mirrored platform, looking absolutely radiant with an expression of pure joy...something else not often seen in the store. The feminine sexpot caricature of "Misty" was gone, and in her place stood a cute blonde teenage girl with long straight hair, modest heels, and a fitted peach-colored skater dress that flared out into a short skirt and hinted at her curvy figure beneath. She was perhaps buxom for her age, but not shockingly so...though she would no doubt warrant a second look from the boys her age, whose eye she was certain to catch.

Ian made eye contact with Jenna and he raised his eyebrows in silent invitation. She found herself taken aback at the gesture and berated herself mentally for demonstrating any misgivings, a lapse unbecoming her persona as the draconian “Ms. Lockridge.” She kept her back straight and her face impassive as she silently sidled up next to him, and the two of them watched as Rachel and Kim jumped to their feet to rush over to welcome the new addition to the family.

"Not exactly how you thought this was going to turn out, I imagine," Jenna remarked.

"Not exactly."

Just then, a heavily made up teenage boy rushed past, dressed in an over-the-top lacy pink party dress with an abundance of frilly and elaborate petticoats.

"No! I won't do it! I'm not going to school like this! I hate this!" he wailed miserably as he stumbled on his high heels and made a break for the front door.

Jenna's face remained impassive as she watched the display, but Ian was unable to mask his shock and disapproval.

Her eyes cut over to her brother and she tilted her chin just slightly towards him. "We pride ourselves here on customer satisfaction. Of course, we mostly consider our customers to be the boys' mothers. Mothers and other guardians. Also sisters. Step-sisters, of course. Perhaps the occasional girlfriend or female cousin."

Ian made a carefully measured tone of neutral acknowledgment. "Also their fathers?"

Jenna pursed her lips knowingly. "It's a growth market." She looked at him and said, "You don't approve of what I do here, do you?"

"I'm not looking to start a fight, Jenna."

"But you're so good at it," she countered.

He gave her a serious look. "You're wrong, you know."

She shot him a sardonic smile before practically wriggling her shoulders in anticipation. "Ooh, here it comes. Don't hold back, now. I'm a big girl, I can take it. Tell me how I'm wrong. Because the great Ian Valentine always knows what's best for everybody."

"I thought I did," he said as his eyes cut over to the smiling teen on the platform. "Until I didn't. That's why I sent what I care about most in this world to the one person I thought would know how to help."

She scoffed. "Oh, please."

"It's true. But to answer your question, no, I don't approve of what you do here. And deep down I will always suspect that if Amber achieved anything here, it was in spite if you, not because of you. But the one thing of which I'm absolutely certain is that just when I was about to lose my son forever, you helped to discover a daughter I didn't know I had. You did what I never could. And for that, I'm grateful."

Her eyes narrowed just slightly as she scrutinized his face.

"Jenna, I don't think you're broken. But you were. And I wanted—desperately wanted—to be the one to help put you back together. But now I realize that I wanted it to be on my terms, and that wasn't fair to you. I'm sorry."

She blinked as her mouth opened slightly. "I never thought you'd admit that."

"It's been a big couple of months for personal revelations," he conceded. "I seem to have been blessed with a lot of remarkable and willful women in my life."

"You have no idea. And that one is going to give you a run for your money," she said, nodding towards Amber.

"I suppose you think that's pretty funny, her giving me a hard time."

"I'm not happy because she stood up to you, Ian, I'm happy because she stood up for herself. Most of the boys that come through here are arrogant, disobedient, entitled little shits that I'm only too happy to take down a peg. Some act out because they're furious at the world, others because they're afraid. But some are just unhappy. Unhappy because they're not who or what they need to be. And most of them aren't ready to admit it, even to themselves."

Ian smiled a little to himself. "Neither are their fathers," he said.

Jenna said nothing, but across the store she saw as Brianna and her mother headed towards the exit. They paused just a moment to glance in Jenna's direction and gave her a friendly little wave goodbye before leaving. She stared at them impassively as they left.

"Oh, which reminds me," she said. "Rachel invited my girlfriend and me over to your house for dinner next weekend."

Ian's eyes went wide. "I—uh—that is, I—" he stammered.

She let him twist for a few seconds before a little sparkle of amusement crossed her face.

He sighed with relief. "That wasn't funny."

"Mmm," she replied with a self-satisfied smile.

Then he cleared his throat and made a little shrug. "I'll get there," he offered. "Eventually."

"I'm sure," she said. He looked like he was about to say something else, but she cut him off. "Go. Be with her."

Ian simply nodded and he headed over to join the rest of his family. As Jenna quietly observed the familial scene she was soon joined by Charlotte Mercer, who stood next to her for a moment before giving Jenna an appraising glance.

"My, you're looking very 'in character' today," Charlotte observed, noting Jenna's severe appearance.

Jenna's eyes cut over at her boss. "Haven't you ever just wanted to feel wicked?"

"Constantly," Charlotte purred. She noticed how Jenna was watching the Valentine family and said, "You know, Ms. Lockridge, I believe your reputation would survive if you wanted to go over and be with them."

Jenna stiffened up and she made a little face. "They're huggers," she said by way of explanation.

"Oh. Ugh," Charlotte said, her voice dripping with disdain as she suppressed a shudder. Then, more conversationally, she said, "By the way, the Pharma group has come up with something new. It's a food additive that's supposed to promote rapid weight loss while heightening feelings of humiliation."

"Ooh, intriguing."

"The ladies in Marketing suggested we call it 'Curl Up and Diet.'"

Jenna made a throaty grumble of displeasure. "You know, it's difficult enough intimidating these little cretins without all the cutesy product names. I think I'll go have a word."

Ms. Mercer gave a slight nod as Jenna took her leave. A moment later, the teen boy in the little girl's party dress was dragged past her by Sam, the muscular female sentry. The struggling boy was practically in tears as his two giggling sisters held up a plethora of frilly dresses and accessories as he wriggled ineffectually in Sam's unyielding grip. As he looked in dismay at the outfits his sisters had chosen, the boy craned his head to behold the smiling blonde teenage girl up on the mirrored platform and watched as she struck a little pose and plucked at her modest but feminine outfit that she showed off to her father.

"Why can't I dress like her?" the boy lamented as they hauled him away.

"Another satisfied customer," Ms. Mercer said contentedly to herself. Then her thoughts were interrupted by the tinkling sound of the bell above the door as someone new entered.

"Hello! Welcome to the Ladywood Academy. I'm the owner, Charlotte Mercer. How may we help you today?"

THE END