Copyright 1999, 2002 by Wanda Cunningham. Lainie, Vickie, Rebel, Bashful, and everyone else thanks for the encouragement. There is no actual sex or transformation in this chapter, but I guess it should be rated R for context. So, nobody under 18 should read this, or whatever is the appropriate age in their community. This story deals with transgenderism in children and may be uncomfortable for some readers.
Note: The "Permanent Dirt" chapter got really long so I broke it into smaller pieces. This is part 1.

    

Kelly Girl

by Wanda Cunningham

Chapter 11

"Little Big Girl"

  

The brothers Mann made an imposing sight on the football field. There were bigger boys at school but the pair of them with their red hair, blue eyes, trim bodies and cheerful, good-natured aggressiveness were unique.

And the girls of Corona del Mar High School certainly watched them carefully.

Sarah Willoughby sighed in delicious teen-age frustration. Richie Mann had been her dream boy since the fifth grade and he just kept getting hunkier and hunkier. She fluffed her mahogany locks and hoped he would glance her way, but so far no such luck. A ninth-grader herself, she had come to the first varsity football practice with her big brother, Jon, in hopes that Richie would accompany his older brother, Pete; perhaps to talk about freshman football signups next week or whatever. And he had.

But he seemed intent on ignoring the gallery of feminine smiles arrayed on the green benches of the grandstand. Shorts and skirts and culottes accompanyied tanks and tees and halter tops, in all the bright colors of summer, and the girls of Corona del Mar and Newport Coast oohed and aahed and giggled in gangs and gaggles.

Christina Stranck nudged Sarah and pointed but Sarah had already noticed Richard talking to Debbie Vance, another ninth grader. Sarah glowered, Debbie was another kid from the mansions along the seacliffs, where Richie lived. Sarah and Christina were from Corona del Mar, too, but from the other side of PCH, against the foothills. Even among the affluent, there are ranks and social stations.

"He doesn't seem that interested in talking to her," observed Sarah.

"Huh, yeah? Maybe he doesn't like blondes?" Christina said.

Sarah nodded, but Debbie had charms besides blond hair. She was tall for one thing, Sarah was short, barely five-foot-one. Debbie also had lots more curves in comparison to Sarah's slender, almost twig-like figure.

"I hear she pads her bra," Christina suggested.

Sarah had just been wondering if she should try that. She sighed. "I just hope, if she's interested in him, that he doesn't like her type."

"What type is that?"

"You know, the slut type." They giggled.

Richie had wandered away from the blonde temptress at last. He paused for a moment and leisurely surveyed the girls (and mothers and kid brothers) that filled the lower benches of the grandstand. Sarah waved, Richie smiled and waved back.

"He saw me, he waved, do you think I should go over and talk to him?" Sarah asked her friend.

"Why not? You guys have known each other since forever? Like, go for it girl?" Christina pushed gently on Sarah's shoulder.

Sarah stood and brushed the seat of her denim shorts and smoothed imaginary wrinkles out of her floral-print blouse. I know I look like a little kid, next to girls like Debbie, she told herself, but I've just got to talk to Richie, I haven't even seen him since June!

She fluffed her hair, letting the sun catch the red and gold highlights in the rich, warm brown mass of carefully tousled mane. She touched her earrings, checking to be sure they were both still there; she'd gotten her ears pierced over the summer and still felt aware of something in her earlobes at times, even if she wasn't actually wearing earrings. When she started looking at her shoes, Christina pushed her gently again. "Go on, he's getting away," she said.

Sarah quickly checked Richie's whereabouts but he had only moved a few feet to stand beside his more massive brother. They were talking softly while the coaches murmured platitudes about effort and committment and teamwork. She couldn't hear what the boys were saying but Richie turned slightly and seemed to be looking around for someone he didn't expect to find. She thought about waving again but restrained the impulse. Taking a deep breath, she resolutly started walking toward Richie.

* * *

 

"I wish we hadn't missed saying bye to Kelly," Richard said to his brother.

"You said that already," Pete commented. "Hey, I miss the chicklet, too, she's a good kid but, crud, you're going to see her this evening. Andie just took her to the mall."

"I know," said Richard. "But I'd rather have gone with them than be here smelling you."

Pete shoved him away, pretending to be annoyed. Richard almost stumbled into a petite brunette who had walked up behind him. "Oh, hey?" he said.

"Hey," Sarah replied, a little tongue-tied.

Richard grinned down at her, "Sarah, you want to go someplace less smelly?"

She blinked. "I guess?" Is he asking me out? She tingled just thinking about it.

"Pete, I'm gonna go buy Sarah a coke at the Del Taco."

"'Kay," said Pete. "Nice seeing you, Sarah." He winked at the little brunette and grinned.

"Bye?" Sarah waved vaguely, a bit too pleased with herself to be more polite.

"So what did you do with yourself all summer," asked Richard. "I haven't seen you since school was out?"

 

Kelly tried to get a better look at his new sunglasses in the mirror on the back of the visor in Andie's little sports car. The frames were pink and decorated with little lavender dolphins. Cute, he decided. Too cute. "I'm going to need insulin shots," he observed. Still, the shades, even little girl shades were better than facing the glare of the August sun.

Andie laughed. "You're just shore 'cause I won the bet." She tooled the little car into the streaming traffic on Pacific Coast Highway and headed toward Costa Mesa. To the left lay the Outer Newport Bay and Balboa Island, to the right, the Inner Bay with its nature preserves and salt pans. If Andie had gone straight ahead, Jamboree Road would eventually have led them to the ferry ride Barbie and Kelly had taken only yesterday.

"Hey!" said Kelly. "You turned the wrong way!" He pointed back toward Corona del Mar where the Mann home clung to the cliffs along with other multi-million dollar oceanview mansions.

"We're going to my shop, remember?"

"Oh, yeah." Kelly squirmed a bit. "Everybody's going to laugh at me..." The six women and two men who worked in Andie's hair salon all knew him; he'd been in for haircuts by himself and had accompanied his mother on her excursions there several times. They were nice people, most of them but Kelly felt paranoid about meeting anyone who knew him as a boy while he was dressed in the pink-red-and-white dress Andie had picked out for him.

Andie grinned. "Well, maybe a little teasing, but they won't be mean about it. Just maybe have a little fun. If they recognize you at all."

"Hah," said Kelly. He knew that even in all his little girl finery he still looked like a miniature version of his mother, Barbie. How could they not know who he was?

"I'll tell them you're Barbie's little sister, Shkipper," offered Andie.

Kelly made a noise suggesting despair but ruined the effect with a giggle. It's not funny, he told himself, but Andie's mangling of 'Skipper' seemed particularly absurd at the moment.

"And you're only five years old," added Andie.

"Hey! You said you would let me off that part of the bet!" He had promised to act like a five-year-old for the whole day if Andie could convince the optometrist that that was his true age. And the doctor had certainly seemed fooled by Andie's acting and Kelly's pretty-little-girl clothes.

"Oh, relax," Andie snickered, still hugely pleased at winning their little wager. "I said I'd think of a different forfeit for you. Maybe I'll tattoo your cute little butt."

"You better not! Besides," Kelly grumped, "you cheated. You carried me the whole time we were there and talked baby talk to me." The idea of some future indignity or embarrassment chosen by Andie made him feel edgy. He was pretty sure she wouldn't really tattoo him, though. Barbie would have a fit.

Andie laughed.

Kelly went on, still somewhat annoyed, "Dr. Olson never saw me standing up, till right at the end! You wouldn't have got away with it if you'd let him see how tall I am, right away." At only 4'5", Kelly knew he was tiny for a twelve-year-old but at least several inches taller than any real five-year-old.

"'She'll be shix in just two weeks,'" Andie self-quoted, chortling.

"Cheater! Andie, you cheater!" But it was hard to stay mad at Andie who seemed to enjoy everything about the situation, so he giggled and squirmed in embarrassment mixed with—what? "Stop giggling," he said aloud, to both Andie and himself.

"Well, we have to go back later to pick up your glasses, hon," said Andie. "You'll have another chance to win your bet."

"Foo. Only if you don't carry me around!" He couldn't stop the giggling now and he kicked his legs in annoyed amusement. And that didn't help since it drew his attention to his bare legs and the little heart decorated socks and the patent leather shoes he was wearing.

"'Isn't she just the darlingest thing? Auntie could just eat her up, yes, I could! Num, num, num!'" Andie quoted herself again. She had been way over the top and had enjoyed every minute of her act.

"Stop it!" protested Kelly, laughing. "A certain five-year-old might pee on the leather upholstery if you make her laugh too hard!"

Andie snickered but looked at him curiously when they stopped for a light. "You just referred to yourself as 'her'," she pointed out, looking back at the traffic madly swirling around them.

"Yeah, well," Kelly squirmed some more. "It's just part of the game." He'd almost forgot, an amazing idea. How could he forget he was dressed as Harold Mann's idea of a perfect little princess of a daughter. He covered his face with his hands and giggled in embarrassment again.

"You, you aren't crying are you, hon?" asked Andie when she noticed. She reached across the central console of the little sport convertible to touch him lightly on the arm but had to interrupt the gesture to avoid another idiot.

"What if I am?" asked Kelly, still hiding his face. Andie sounded slightly worried and that intrigued him.

"Well, this is supposed to be just silly fun, honey," said Andie. "If my teasing is getting rough..." She stopped, apparenlty considering. "Well, we can't really avoid carrying it through at the moment, but I don't want you to think I'm just a bully."

Kelly looked up and grinned saucily at her.

Andie laughed. "You little shcamp, you faked me out, you were giggling." She laughed again, "You have no idea how cute you look!"

"Oh, fooey," he said. "It's disgusting to be constantly told how cute I am."

Andie kept grinning. "You, well, you are, you know? You're just as cute as your mother, cuter 'cause you're littler."

"But," he began then paused a moment. "But I'm not really a girl, this is all a misunderstanding and why the heck are we still going along with it?"

"I thought it was because we were having fun?"

"You're having fun," he said. "I'm worrying about what's going to happen when those elk you call nephews find out I'm not a girl."

"Don't worry about it. We just won't let them know until you and Barbie have moved to Arizona or shomething."

"Ha, ha. We might have to."

"Uh huh. It's eleven, hon," Andie noted, turning on Newport Boulevard to head toward Costa Mesa. "You want to go to lunch now or after we go to my shop? And if you really need to pee, can you hold it?"

"I'm not hungry, and yeah, I'm okay on the bathroom," said Kelly. "What are we going to your shop for?"

"Well, I *do* own it and I want to make sure the employees are actually working. Also, I have a client coming in for an appointment with me, myself, at two. And I want to trim your hair and pierce your ears."

"Pierce my ears!" His hands flew to the threatened lobes. "No! Why do you want to do that?"

"'Cause you'd look even cuter with some darling little hearts in your ears, or maybe cute little bunnies, sweetie."

"Nuh, uh!" said Kelly adamantly.

 

"So," said Dr. Mann, "we give you a Valium so you're not all anxious and worried about things and a local anaesthetic, then I make a tiny incision in your cute little belly button—" Barbie giggled and Harry smiled, "—and I stick in a couple of small tubes to run up to your breasts."

"Under my skin?" asked Barbie from her perch sitting crosslegged on Harry's private desk in his Las Vegas clinic.

"Yes, that part would hurt but the local anaesthetic will keep you comfortable so that I can send balloons up through the tubes."

Barbie giggled again, "Balloons?"

Harold smiled even wider, she looked so cute. "That's what we call them, they're the implant sacs which I will begin filling with the emulsion when I've got them in place."

"How will you know when you've got them in the right spot?" Barbie squirmed a bit, this was all a bit scarier that she had expected, though, a tiny cut in her navel didn't sound so bad. Not like her friend Millie whose doctor had made a much bigger cut in her armpit.

"I'm an expert," said Harold, simply. "It's what I do, explaining how would take too long and not mean a lot to you since I'd have to get technical."

She nodded. She knew that the showgirls in Vegas had nicknamed Harry "Dr. Pygmalion." She'd had to ask the girl who told her that who exactly was Pygmalion. Her answer had sounded romantic; a sculptor who was so good his statue came to life and he fell in love with her. Also the original story from which "My Fair Lady" had been derived, she had been told.

It was while she was still a little dazzled from the romantic images that information had sparked that Dr. Mann had proposed and she had accepted last night. Three Tequila Sunrises might have had something to do with it, too.

In the sober light of day, she had her doubts that such a marriage would ever take place. Especially after she found out how confused things had gotten back home over Kelly's identity.

Totally unaware that she was sitting there staring off into an imaginary distance with the tip of her pink little tongue sticking out, she considered whether she should try to explain to Dr. Mann that Kelly was really a boy. Heck, she told herself, he didn't really believe me when I told him Kelly was twelve.

She wriggled reflectively, oblivious to Harold and the clinic office and Harold's bemused, appreciative stare. What to do about Kelly? He really was too pretty for a boy, it caused him endless problems at school. She remembered her own childhood, she'd been even tinier then and everyone's darling. Her mother had called her "Trinket" as a nickname.

As if being named Barbie wasn't cute enough. She shook her platinum curls and grinned. Dr. Mann, still watching her, smiled.

No one gave Kelly a cute nickname, though. They called him "Bug" and "Fairy" and "Tinkerbell," and those were the nicer nicknames. It was just different for a boy; being too cute was sort of a curse.

She frowned and Harold scowled in reaction but she still didn't notice him watching her. She remembered how relieved she'd been when Kelly had been born a boy; at least, she had thought, he wouldn't end up pregnant at age thirteen, like she had.

Being too cute could be a curse for any child, she decided. She nodded and poked her glasses back onto her nose. She was wearing them in order to see the displays and read the information that Dr. Mann had been showing her. The plain wire frames did not detract from her looks, she knew, but neither did they enhance them, so she avoided wearing them when she could.

"Oh, hey?" she said looking around.

Harold smiled at her, "You were thinking pretty hard. What did you decide?"

She blinked, "About what?" She really hated when she lost track of conversations like this.

Harold laughed at her and she giggled and wiggled in self-defense. Yup, I'm cute, she said to herself, I'm so cute I could puke. "No, really? What were we talking about?" she asked when they had stopped laughing.

Still grinning, Harold took out a couple of clear plastic bags that seemed to contain—mayonaise? --yogurt? "You still have to decide how big you want to go."

"Uh, oh yeah. Are those boobies?" Stupid ditz. "Implants, I mean?"

"Yes," said Harold falling into a little bit of a professorial mode, which almost derailed Barbie again with thoughts of Rex Harrison. "These come in various sizes, measured in cubic centimeters, but you probably think in terms of cup sizes." He held out the smaller one, "This is a 175 cc High Pro bag, it would fill you out to a round, firm C-Cup from your present B-minus size. High-Pro's are the narrower bags, because you have a small ribcage."

"Yeah? They make special boobie bags just for teeny tinies like me?" Giggle like an idiot, why don't you, you ditz, she accused herself.

"Well, sort of, you're kind of an extreme case? I don't think I've ever had a client as small and slender as you. Well, at least not an American one," he amended remembering a Japanese teen-ager he had turned into a miniature oriental Pamela Anderson.

Barbie picked up the larger bag, it looked to be about the size of a coffee cup though breast-shaped rather than cup-shaped. "And this one?" she asked. "How big would this be on me, in me?"

"That's a 350 cc High Pro," Harold sighed. He'd promised her whatever she wanted, but he felt very reluctant to spoil the perfection of what he thought she already had. After years of implanting large breasts in actresses, showgirls and ordinary women, he had discovered a personal preference for petite figures. "That would take you up to a D-Cup."

Barbie put it down, "How big could you go? I mean, how big could I go?"

Harry wanted to groan, "Bigger," he admitted. "But you don't have enough flesh on you to go even up to a D-Cup all at once."

"Huh?"

He explained. "You're small, and slender besides; we already said that but there isn't enough skin and flesh, you don't have enough, to stretch over D-Cup implants without leaving stretch marks. So, I'd have to put in—" he held up the 350's, "—these, and underfill them, to only a little bigger than these." He pointed to the smaller bag. "Then in a week or so, with proper preparation, I could use the tubes and inflate them a bit more after your skin had time to stretch and grow and not leave marks. It would take two or three fillings to get up to full size for these. Bigger ones would take even longer, more fillings."

"How big," she asked again, "could you go?"

Harold frowned, in information mode he tended to answer questions with unnecesary precision. "Well, the largest size implant bags sold in the US are 1200 cc by FDA regulation. But—"

Barbie's eyes got very round, "Wow!" She looked down at herself in her yellow shorts and green polo shirt. "How big would *those* make me?"

Harold wanted to yell, "NO!" but instead he said calmly, "It's silly to talk about cup sizes past D because there are no real standards of measurement." He shrugged. "I think the showgirls would call that size double-G or maybe H. I don't think you want to go that large, do you?"

Barbie looked at him, "Well, maybe not? But I'm tired of waiting tables; with big tits I can work as an exotic dancer. And with really big tits, I might do even better?"

Harold looked as disappointed as he felt. "Is that what you want to do? Dance half-naked for men you don't even know?" Ouch, he thought, I'd never say that to another client. But Barbie, damnit, I love her, I think, I'm pretty sure.

"Believe me, dancing is way better than waiting tables," Barbie assured him, apparently unperturbed at his less-than-professional remark.

Harold sat quietly watching her for a moment and she returned his gaze calmly. He said finally, "But if you marry me, you won't have to wait tables or dance on them."

Barbie looked at the floor and sighed. "I don't know, Harold. You're rich and smart, and I'm poor and dumb. Besides being good in bed together, what the heck do we have in common?"

"You're not dumb!" he protested.

"Yes, I am," she insisted. "I never even went to high school, I got pregnant when I was thirteen and dropped out of the eighth grade. Now that's dumb." She nodded emphatically.

For some reason Harold could not fathom, Barbie's brief tale of misfortune had given him a hard-on. Then again, she could do that to him just watching her eat a banana. He grinned ruefully and she grinned back.

"Okay," he admitted. "That was dumb, or at least unlucky, but you were just a kid. You could go back to school. Heck, the way you look even now, I bet I could enroll you in the local high school back home as a ninth grader and no one the wiser." And that idea made him twitch pleasantly, too.

Barbie laughed. "Harry, you say the cutest things!"

He laughed with her, "I could say the same about you."

She shook her head, "Yeah, well, I've made sort of a career of it. I like you, Harry. But I don't think I love you."

"Not the way I love you," he admitted. "I can see that. But, Barbie, you make me—I don't know how to say it. I feel all protective about you, and um, I want you at the same time. Sex. But that isn't all of it."

She took her turn watching him for a bit. The clinic staff had left them alone to have this talk in his private office. "Harry, do you have a 'thing' for little girls?"

"Uh, not like that." He grinned, "Little big girls, maybe?"

She giggled. "Yeah, okay. but I want to be a big little girl," she made motions at her chest. "Call it social security insurance for if you get tired of me?"

"I won't," he promised. "But, we are still planning on getting married? Rich, smart me and poor, silly you?"

She laughed again. "Silly? Silly is better than dumb?"

"Much better," he assured her.

"Okay, um, I guess so." she said, not wanting to tell him no, at least, not just yet. "Now this is a silly question, are you still gonna love me if I get these implants?"

"Yes," he didn't hesitate. "I like the way you look now, but Barbie, it's not your looks that made me love you. They just attracted my attention."

She sighed, slightly exasperated. "Harry, we've known each other, what? Forty hours? About that?"

He blinked. That was almost exactly right. Little Barbie constantly surprised him with subtle tricks of mentation that proved she wasn't the complete airhead she appeared to be. He nodded. "Yeah, but—"

She waved her hand, "No, we've been over that already. Love at first fuck. Whatever." She grinned to show she wasn't mad and Harold had to smile back. "Can I ask another silly question?"

"Sure?"

"Just how big have you actually made someone?" She gestured again.

He sighed. "For bigger than 1200 cc they have to get their own implants from Europe, I can't sell them here; but I put 5500 cc implants in one woman."

"Holy fuckamoley!" said Barbie. Harold had to laugh at that and Barbie got the embarrassed giggles. "How much is that in...quarts?" she asked.

"About a gallon and a half each side. Those were replacements for the 3000 cc ones she had had before and, I think, those weren't her original implants either. Probably started at about 800 cc's. That's the largest most surgeons will go with a first set of implants. And," he added, "the largest size High-Pros come in."

Barbie looked down at herself then back at Harold. She grinned a bit goofily, one of the expressions he had come to adore. "Can she walk?"

He grinned back. "Yes, she's six-foot-one and she was born with the name Dustin Weber, but she's sort of an exotic dancer now, uh, I think she calls herself Dustee, on stage at least?"

"She used to be a guy? One of your Tijuana specials?" Barbie seemed intrigued.

"No, she got that surgery done somewhere else, though I did do a little fix-up for her. Down there."

Barbie shook her head, "Well, I don't think I need to go that far. She should call herself Three Gallons o'Cream, or something."

Harold chuckled. "She doesn't make a secret of her past, or I wouldn't have told you about it. She actually uses it in her act, does comedy as well as dancing. I'll tell her that line about three gallons, next time I see her, she might use it. She's a nice person, sweet and funny. You'd probably like her."

Barbie nodded. Actually there were very few people in the world Barbie had met that she didn't find worth liking, at least a little bit. She smiled at Harold, "I like you, Harry."

He touched her face, gently. "I like you, too, Barbie. And I love you, they're different things, you know?"

"Yeah, but I don't love you, I mean. I like you a lot, but we've known each other less than two days? How can you say you love me?"

"You're very lovable." They were back to this again.

"Be serious," she murmured. Having the large and powerful Dr. Mann looming over her did things to her self-control. "You just like having sex with teeny, tiny pussy."

Harold laughed softly, he loved the way she surprised him everytime she talked dirty. "It was love at first *sight*, honest. It really does happen that way. Even before we had sex, I loved you."

Barbie looked at him carefully, holding her breath a moment. "Harold, I think you're 'in love' with me but I'm not sure that would last? There are things about me you just haven't found out yet." Like that I have a son, not a daughter, she reminded herself that Harry didn't know that.

"I can't imagine you having any sort of secret that would cause me not to love you. You're not a secret Nazi, are you?" He grinned, kissed her on the forehead then straightened up. He continued. "We better not get started necking here in my office, doll, my staff wants to go home sooner or later."

She giggled. "Okay. I guess I'd better make up my mind on how big I want my boobies to be?"

Harold nodded, reluctantly. "So, what have you decided?"

"Is there some way I can try these on before? I mean, you know?"

"Sure," he said. "I think I've got a sports bra small enough for you." I don't think I'm going to talk her out of this, he realized.

"I take a six and seven eighths," she said in a cartoon voice.

  

  

  

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