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Don't read this if you shouldn't or you don't want to. If you do read it, I'd appreciate knowing what you think.
VickieTern@aol.com

  

Shy

by Vickie Tern

  

i.

I mean, a girl goes to college to get away from her parents and be with her girlfriends full time and scope boys and figure out what kinds she likes and what she likes about them and what she wants them to do for her and everything. To do whatever she likes doing, and learn how to get other people to help her do it. Preparation for Life is what they call it. You know.

So after two years at Webster College I'd finally figured it all out, with two more years to go for enjoying it! All of it, the frat system and the concerts and parties and the fake IDs and having an in at the local bars and where to score grass and knowing which places to go when and what's cool and what's hot. And how to play the dating game so you're never without a guy when you need one. Life was wonderful!

There was studying too of course, books and labs and reports and papers and stuff. But I'd already worked out which gut courses give automatic grades good enough to keep your folks off your back, and I'd built up a decent enough PHR so I could slack off whenever I felt like it. And I knew which boyfriends could write the best papers for you. We all have to pay attention to things like that, because education is very important. I did, so studying didn't bother me any.

Most important was being one of the Quintettes. That's what we call ourselves, the five of us, girls who've shared the same dorm suite ever since we were all Freshmen. In fact we share everything -- clothes, jewelry, makeup, advice, money too when one of us is a little short. Even guys.

Guys are the easiest to share, really, because they pretty much do what you want them to do. They don't have a clue how we pass them around, not even how we make bets on how quickly they'll do what we tell them. They think they're so dashing and attractive that none of us can help ourselves, that we fling ourselves at them as soon as they look available. And it's true in a way. We do. As a Quintette we maintain different stables of guys, each guy in each stable tested and certified for superiority in at least one category. When one of us gets tired of a guy she passes him on to another of us. Our guys are selected and trained, so we don't want to drop them until we've all used them and they're pretty well used up.

Our requirements are fairly strict. For example, there's the poet stable, we call them poets even though some of them just stare soulfully at you and never say much of anything. You know, romantic guys who call on you with flowers, and help you with your coat. Maybe between dates send you sweet poems about how they yearn to touch you. With any one of them a girl can feel really desirable, really delicate, like a fresh-budded flower, you know? They're so very sweet. When one of them's out at night with you and comments on how the stars look so far away, or so close, and you say "Yes!" breathlessly, you can practically see him fly into the air. They're always rapturous about something or other. They hardly ever come down to earth long enough even to kiss you. I sorta like it, I don't mind being worshipped from afar. A girl likes to be a goddess sometimes, to feel she's a soul mate, sublime, spiritually pure. Now and then.

When we date a poet we let our hair down and let it flow free along bare shoulders and bare backs, so it can blow in the breeze and touch our skin and perfume the air -- the poets all think that the flowery aroma is us! They lie on the grass to look at the stars and we lean close over them and let our hair fall forward to caress their faces and they go into a trance! Sometimes they cream in their jeans when they're surrounded by fragrant hair, "tossed in the tangle of my lady's tresses" one of them called it. Make as if you mean to touch their lips with yours and they stop breathing! But you have to keep an eye on their crotch because it happens fast -- they catch their breath suddenly and hold it and that bulge goes THROB THROB and it's done! Then they take a few deep breaths and sigh as if they'd just visited paradise. They've squirted all over themselves without anyone touching anything! Incredible! You realize you've just acted out a starring role in a waking wet dream!

We once held a contest to see who could get the most wet dreams out of a poet in a single month, honor system for the no touching part, but the guy had to have a large visible wet spot on his pants when he brought his date back to the suite for his good night peck on the cheek at the door. There had to be no question that he'd actually come in his pants. Well, it ended the first week. Sally has straight blonde hair that goes down to her waist -- she looks like Lady Godiva without the horse. What she did was, she touched perfume to her palms and wiped it on her hair, then left it flowing free when she went out, not even a hair band to keep it off her face. Doubled up on her eye make-up and touched some more perfume to her lips.

That was all it took. Two nights running she brought off her dates just by surrounding them with hair and letting them breathe when they could. But no one saw the evidence so no one believed her. So the next three nights she invited her guy in for just a minute, supposedly so he could read aloud some marvelous poem or other about her he'd just written, or to wish one of us a happy birthday -- any one of us, we took turns. And meantime the rest of us checked out his crotch, or at least checked out whether he was embarrassed about it, whether he was trying to cover it with a book or with his bare hands.

Then, no question, we declared Sally the suite's Wet Dream Queen. She wiped the floor with us. We kept the contest going for second and third place of course, our poets all seemed so happy to breath us for an hour or so and then be the center of attention when they left us at our suite the end of the evening. I finished fourth, can you imagine? Only four of my dates wet themselves, out of thirteen tries, can you imagine? I never should have gotten my hair cut and re-styled last Christmas! But it was getting in my way all the time, and things that get in my way are always annoying, so what could I do?

We've also got a stable of boy brains. Intellectuals, you know? They talk a lot too, but not about dreams. Instead, they go for long walks and tell you about ethical choices, and political coalitions, and Lacan, and Riemann's hypothesis. Ideas, you know? Whatever they say, all you have to do is reply "You think so?" and then they think you're unpersuaded but respect them too much to say so, so they think you're maybe even smarter than they are, so they feel honored that you allow them to hold your hand. Chances are we'll all end up married to one of them, because the chances are they'll all be earning pots of money sooner than the other guys. Brains know things rich people pay big money to hear, or they figure out those kinds of things soon enough, and the word gets around, and after a while they're rich too. Unless they get so tied up with their ideas they want to become professors and talk about them all the time and never do anything with them. We've got a couple of those in the stable, but we're careful never to get serious with them. They'll never be rich.

But when it comes to girls' brains they haven't a clue. For instance, they don't know any more than the poets that down between our legs we've got slits and needs. They respect us for what they think is between our ears, but they never notice that a little further down is a mouth that now and then wants to be filled with lots of tongue, or would love to wrap its lips around a cock. And way further down we've got another just like it. Teasing a guy with our mouths is how you turn him into a mass of moaning, quivering jelly. And that's so much fun! But lips and cunts aren't intellectually stimulating, I suppose.

I once shocked a brain by kissing him good night after a first date. I forgot myself. He had cute curly hair, so I pecked him on the mouth instead of his cheek. Brian was his name. Brian was so grateful he was ready to do anything for another peck. We talked it over, the Quintette, and decided we'd make him our suite's official tutor, we put him on call to cram any of us for an exam if we'd put off studying for too long or it came at an inconvenient time. He even wrote papers for us when we got too close to our due dates. It didn't matter whether he'd taken the course before or not -- he was always willing to work up the material well enough to get a girl a respectable grade.

Then being as how he was coming over so often anyway we appointed him our official delivery boy, to fetch pizzas and sandwiches bought and paid for and brought to our door any time any of us called him, day or night. Guys envied him, and he got off on it, on doing whatever we wanted, I mean. You know guys like that. Lots of them are like that. Sweet, but ...!

You won't believe this, but one time I called Brian out of a sound sleep at 4:00 am and told him to go to the all night CVS drugstore off campus right away and buy a couple dozen condoms and bring them up to us. Right away, we needed them!. And he did! He handed them over to me at the door and got his peck on the mouth and then he left, no questions asked. I was amazed -- no curiosity why we wanted them? Or why at 4:00 am? When I asked him about it the next day, he had all the answers. He thought I was just testing him, or I wanted to know whether he really was willing to gratify my least whim no matter what it was, or I'd made a bet with the other girls that he'd do it, or for a class project in Psychology I wanted to see if I could make him jealous. One of those answers, he figured, maybe all of them. Isn't he a dear? Always, brains always come up with reasons for things. He thought I wanted to know how far he was willing to go if I asked him. I suppose I did.

But it wasn't a whim or a class project, we really did need those condoms! We each of us had a guy in our beds that night, and we'd run out! You see, what with the poets taking care of our hearts, and the brains cultivating our minds and reassuring our folks about our futures, we Quintettes maintained a third stable, guys who're well-equipped to take care of our physical needs. Hardbodied, cut, horny, uncomplicated guys with big pricks and lots of stamina who'd fuck our brains out all night if we'd let them, if that's what we wanted. And then thank us for letting them do it. You know -- walking reciprocating dildoes, pre-warmed. Big shoulders you can grab with both hands like grabbing the edge of a wall and then pull yourself up and settle yourself back down on their jutting oversized cocks. Now and then we'd call on some special stud of the moment to service us, especially after a romantic date with a poet or after a whole evening talking Life and Philosophy with a brain. We all need now and then to remind ourselves what a joy it is, after all the dreaming and talking, how great it is to be a just a girl with a cunt full of cock and a long night ahead of her.

There are others too -- musicians for example, trumpeters who can triple-tongue a girl's pussy and play her highest notes at the same time, and violinists who can make her moan or sing by fretting her clit with their fingertips. But tending all these stables takes up a lot of time. You know the male ego. Boys don't train to heel as easily as dogs. Even a poet or a brain will get temperamental now and then, as if it's just occurred to him that he has wants and needs too. Then you have to make him think he's special to you for his body also. You tell him, I do anyhow, that you're just dying to see how he jerks off, as if seeing him squeeze out a few drops of his goop was the most important event of your life. Then they're happy for a few more weeks, I suppose hoping that you'll ask them to do it again for you. Or that you'll actually touch them there yourself. Dreamers, all of them.

Then too there's partying, that takes up a lot of time. And shopping. And just hanging out talking. Even studying, when there's no other way to get through a course. Studying can take time now and then. So college can keep you pretty busy!

So you can understand how I was a little wary when my mother came up to my room when I was packing to go back to school at the end of the summer, and then sat down on the bed and looked at me seriously the way she does when one of us has a toothache, or maybe both of us. She wanted a little favor from me, she said. I just kept packing. And then she dropped the bomb.

"Honey," she said. I kept packing. Then "Jennifer Lynn, listen to me" to be sure she had my attention, and then "Just listen!" to tell me I wasn't going to like what I heard but I should keep my mouth shut until she was through talking. "Your Aunt Tracy has asked me to ask you for a favor. It isn't a favor really, it's an obligation, but she wants me to put it to you as a favor so you won't resent it."

I was packing some of my slips into a suitcase. Lace edged around the bodice, pretty in their way, but I didn't want them, and I didn't intend to wear them. Mom insisted I get them when she saw the kinds of gauzy blouses and sheer skirts I was buying to take back to school. You need see-through blouses and short sheer skirts for informal get-togethers and dances, to make sure people notice you. But I made a big show of folding and stowing the slips in the very bottom of my suitcase, where they'd stay until it was time for me to pack up everything and come home again. "I already resent it, Mom. What?"

"You don't have to be so short with me, young lady. We pay all your expenses so you can have all the advantages, all the free time you need for study, and not have to wait on table or work in the library or do the other things other girls need to do to help pay their own way. Every now and then you should feel glad when you have an opportunity to give something back."

Oh God, it was going to be something really unpleasant! I softened my voice so she'd think I repented my honesty. "Yes Mom, of course. I'm grateful. I'll be glad to do a favor for Auntie Trace. Anything. What?"

"Well, you know Donald, her second husband's son, he's just starting at Webster this year? You remember him? Your cousin by marriage? Or whatever he is?"

I tried not to remember him, and failed. A boy two years younger than you is from another planet, but this one came from another galaxy altogether! Talk about dorky? I'd seen cousin Donald at family gatherings, and I'd managed never to exchange two words with him. He made it easy enough! He was so shy around girls he couldn't manage an answer even when you only said "Hi!". He'd just stutter and twist his face and look miserable. Even though I'm only a cousin once removed or something, so I don't matter to him, I don't even exist hardly, he still couldn't say anything to me! The last time I saw him he'd finally figured out both syllables of "Hello," but he was still working on the weather and the time of day as conversation starters. Which wouldn't matter if he was studly. But he was short and thin, all elbows and edges and nervous giggles. A dweeb.

So I just nodded to my mom, and I tried to look away, hoping that whatever was coming would also go away.

"He's petrified about going off to live with strangers," Mom continued. "He's terribly shy. I think you know that. I told your Aunt Tracy that you'd be glad to take him in hand and help him over the hurdles. Help him to meet people. You're lucky -- you have lots of friends. Well, you can introduce him to some of them. Include him in some of your activities and help him get past his shyness. Especially his shyness with girls. He's paralyzed when he meets girls. I suspect you've noticed. It's about time he got over it.

"How do I do that?" I asked her, clicking my suitcase shut.

"You'll know," was all Mom said. "I've seen you work a room full of boys. You know things about boys I don't ever want to know."

"Mom!" I called out in desperation, stretching out that single syllable into four or five, trying to make it a cry of anguish.

She turned her back on me. "Just do it!" she said. And she closed the door between us.

So what could I do? When I got back to school I told the other members of the Quintette about this conversation, and I asked them the same question. How do we do it, I asked. That made it their problem too.

"Well, she gave you one clue," said Sally. Sally like I say was our garden of delight for poets. "The lass with a delicate air" one of them called her -- she always moved daintily, weightlessly, as if she was floating in a dream about music and candlelight. Fairy tale princess pretty -- it took her hours to create that impression when she was going out. But as we all knew and our hardbody stable guys certainly knew too, she was ruthless when she wanted something, and she always got it. She had an insatiable sexual appetite, and an ass that wouldn't quit when there was hot meat stuffed into her cunt.

"Your mother says 'Take him in hand'?" Sally said. "So do it. Easy! Jerk him off! He'll beg for more. Then pass him around, tell him other girls'll do the same thing if he's nice to them, talks to them just a little. That'll give him an incentive. Do the same as you train a horse -- he makes a little effort, he gets a little sugar cube. That'll make him more sociable in no time! We can help, I guess. Is he cute?"

She paused, and then delivered a really wicked smile. "Better yet, tell him that boys jerk each other off all the time, you'll fix him up that way instead if he wants. Even if he doesn't want, that's how he can learn how to get on with guys at least. Maybe that's his problem? He's gay? Introduce him to Gary and Kevin if you can unplaster them from each other long enough!"

Gary and Kevin were one of my success stories. Sally began to reminisce. "You know," she continued, "I really don't think you should have faked up that bet with them the beginning of last year, the one that tricked them into fucking each other? Remember how they hated it, but they'd made the bet and they lost and they couldn't bring themselves to welsh on a girl? So they had to do it, they each had to get off inside the other one's ass? So they did? And they liked it, so now they're roomies and you had to tell them to wear tampons so their asses wouldn't leak so much into their pants, it was embarrassing being seen with them?"

"Of course I remember," I replied. "I also bet them they couldn't not fuck each other for a week. They won that one by sucking each other off all week instead. Which is what I really wanted them to do, I figured they'd discover it for themselves, and they did. I lost that bet, they think. But it cost me only one fuck each to turn them into cock suckers. Sometimes it takes a lot more than that to persuade a guy to suck another guy's cock."

"One fuck each? Well, that's no hardship! I tell you, Jenny, it's lucky for us Gary's bi, the way he's hung. He's an ox. I was afraid you'd ruined him for the rest of us when you got him going with Kevin. Kevin wouldn't've been a loss though, I must say. When he was fucking you, could you tell he was even in the same room? I saw him once when he was coming out of a shower. It was lucky I had my contacts in, or I wouldn't have seen anything at all."

But I wasn't paying attention to Sally any more. I was thinking about my current problem. Take Donald in hand? Jerk off a cousin? Never! Give him to Gary and Kevin? They wouldn't stop with a hand job, they'd want to ream his ass too, for sure. But was that so bad? He'd limp for a week after Gary got into him, but Sally was right, Kevin was such a pencil dick Donald wouldn't even notice he was getting fucked. Of course Kevin could give him a blow job too, then teach him that it's a blessing to give as well as receive. So that wasn't too bad an idea. It would get Donald mixing with other guys, anyhow. The gay crowd. Better than nobody.

"Maybe," I told Sally. "Anyone got any other ideas?"

Beth looked about to speak, then stopped.

"What?" I asked her.

"Nothing. I was just going to say that we shouldn't have to be the ones to take this Donald of yours in hand. He should learn self-reliance. He should take himself in hand."

We all stared. This was the most risque thing Beth had ever said, in the whole two years we'd been together. Beth was the daughter of a minister, a stalwart moral force in his community. At first she'd only dated poets and brains, and only had out of body sex with them, whatever that was. Transcendent sex. Until we'd practically forced her into spending the whole night in bed with Ziggy and things changed.

Siegfried was Ziggy's real name. He had the cock of a horse and about that much intelligence too. But Beth had been one of those teenage horsy girls, same as Sally, equitation, show-jumping, grooming them, all of it. She knew how a big animal can feel between your legs, so she never had a problem with Ziggy. They were going steady now. We never could decide what it was they did together when they were alone, and Beth never said. But clearly once Beth got her heels into his sides and dug them in, he reared back once and then got absolutely docile, well-broken. He'd even decided to follow Beth's father into the ministry, and he'd begun delivering earnest sermons to us, whenever we spoke to him at all. So we never spoke to him if we could. We avoided him.

Beth didn't want to be misunderstood. She suddenly realized that with "he should take himself in hand" she seemed to be counselling masturbation, which in her eyes was the sin of Onan, unless two people did it to each other. So she blushed. "I mean, if he really wants to meet people he will, and if he really doesn't want to meet anyone there'll be no stopping him, that's what he'll do too. So it should be up to him! He should do whatever he feels in his heart he wants to do." She grinned apologetically. She'd delivered her little homily on individual conscience, one of her father's, no doubt, even though she knew the advice she'd just given was useless. Parental voices had spoken, my aunt's and my mother's, and a parent's will be done. We couldn't ignore Donald -- we had to do something with him.

Maureen was crouched in a corner painting her toenails, and hadn't seemed to be listening. Pretty, dark-haired Maureen, always solid and decisive. She was our make-up artist -- she'd done Avon house calls with her mother for three summers running now. Her mother split from her father years ago, so they'd become real close. In her first year chem lab she invented a combination foundation and vanishing cream we all used now -- wipe-on, wipe-off, and you've got a perfect complexion. She was keeping it a secret until she'd invented a whole line of products to go with it, and then she was suddenly going to be rich and famous. We all knew it.

"It's easy," Maureen said suddenly, not even looking up.

We all turned to face her. "How?" I asked.

"We're not shy with each other."

Puzzling. "Why should we be? We know each other. We live with each other." I didn't understand, but I knew she had to be onto something. Maureen liked to withhold ideas until people arrived at them themselves. It was a sales technique -- get people to persuade themselves, and then you haven't sold them anything, they've bought it. Then they stay bought -- lots of repeat orders.

"Well, that's part of it," she replied. Her bottle seemed to be running out of polish. She dipped into it and frowned.

"I'm not sure what you're saying. We know each other. And we're all girls. Girls aren't shy with girls."

"Voila!" Maureen said. "Head of the class! That's the other part." She stretched out her legs and pointed her toes and wiggled them. All ten were now red-tipped. "There! There was just barely enough."

I just stared at her. "Part of what? Other part of what?"

"Your mother said we should include him in our activities. This 'Don' cousin of yours. So, no problem. That's what we should do."

"Oh?" I still didn't get it.

"He needs a ready made gang, friends who can give him advice and set examples he can follow till he's ready to strike out on his own. Teach him how to act with different kinds of people, guys and girls both, how to be popular, how to get on easily with anybody. Things we've all got down cold."

"Get some of our stable guys to help him out?" Beth asked. She liked the idea, make Donald our very own Helping Hands project. "See to it that he pledges a fraternity or something?"

"I heard Jen say he's a dork," Maureen replied. "So it'll do us no good to throw him in with our poets or our philosophers and probably not with our fuckers either. They've each got their own talents, and chances are this guy doesn't qualify." She smiled to herself, imagining whatever it was she was imagining. "So what's left? "

I saw where Maureen was going, and just waited. Now Maureen looked each of us directly in the eye. The closing pitch. "What's the best way to get a guy accustomed to talking with girls? So it's no big deal for him?"

"Of course!" I said aloud, to break the suspense, and also to get Maureen to say it. She did, as if she was repeating it.

"Of course!" Maureen repeated. "Bring him in to live with us and do everything we do. Make him an honorary girl and treat him just like a real one. So he gets used to it. Then he'll be no special hassle, no extra bother, we'll just do what we always do and he'll do what we do, all of us without even thinking about it. We become a Sextette for a while, until he's no more shy with girls or boys than we are. That name's more like us anyhow."

Now all four of us stared at Maureen. She wriggled her toes some more and leaned back luxuriously. "It's not so hard, as long as this Donald has no character to speak of to begin with. Heck, I did it to my brother Jason just this past summer."

"Made him an honorary girl?" Sally asked, amused?

"Made him a real one, as it turned out."

We waited. Maureen saw she had our rapt attention.

  

  

ii.

"He's fifteen, and he'd just started going with girls. Well, girls scarcely know anything at that age, you remember, but we all knew even back then that boys know even less. Well, Jason started up this past summer with a real tease! A sex pot named Cindy! They'd spend the whole night necking, and he'd rub her through her panties and she'd rub him, and if he was real diligent and brought her off she'd let him suck on a nipple before he went home. But nothing more, ever. No release, not a lick! Nothing! He'd come back to the house bent over double, worst case of blue balls I've ever seen. Remember two years ago, that contest where we did that to our guys to see if their balls would really turn blue? Well, for Jason it was worse! Then out again the next night for more punishment. More bliss, more agony. She was turning him into a sub masochist, depriving him that way! My own brother!"

"Well, one night I intercepted him in the hallway. 'Why do you let her do that to you?' I ask him. He was ashamed, and he had no answer. 'At least jerk off when you come home.' I told him. 'Relieve yourself. You can do yourself damage this way.' 'I can't,' he replies. 'Why not?' 'Because Cindy doesn't want me to. She wants me to save all of my energy for her. She says she'll know. And besides, she says that if a boy jerks off a boy, even if that boy is himself, that's being queer, and she wants to have nothing to do with queers. Maureen, is that true?'"

"You ever try a line like that on a guy? What a cunt! Boy, what nerve! Pull that on my own brother? Still, he believed her, so that's what I had to work with. So I just said, 'So why do you go with her? Find some other girl who doesn't have such high expectations!' Well, he tells me there aren't any others, everybody his age is out of town with their parents, or away at summer camp. She's it."

"So the next night when he comes crouching home I tell him, 'Come into my room! Orders!' You know how bossy a big sister can be. He comes in, and sits down on the floor so he won't have to straighten up to sit on my bed or a chair. 'Stand up,' I tell him. 'Strip! To the buff!' He stands but he hesitates. 'I've seen you a thousand times,' I tell him. 'You're a boy. I know, you have a cock. Don't worry, your secret is safe with me!' So he does it!"

"Well, girls, right then and there I dressed him up to look like a princess! Really pretty! He whined and complained when I first handed him a pair of my panties, but when he'd slipped them over that hard little cock of his it must have felt real good, because all the noise died down and he put on everything else I handed him without a sound. As if he were numb. Bra, slip, and a rayon challis dress I had lying around. A flowered print. Anklets and flats. Then a little lipstick and mascara, and I pushed his hair around, and he was a doll! Really! It was amazing!"

"So then I stood him in front of my full length mirror and I asked him, 'What do you see there, a boy or a girl?' He was a little stunned, but he gave me the right answer, 'Girl.' I said, 'Good! Now ask that girl to reach into your panties and jerk you off. That's what Cindy should be doing, and since she won't, you can be just as well pleased that you've found another girl who will. Here's a box of kleenex! Use them, and don't splatter my panties, wait till we can get you some of your own!'"

"And I left the room, trying hard not to laugh. My poor little brother was just staring at himself in the mirror. A half hour later he came bouncing downstairs wearing his usual shorts and T shirt. Still wearing full make-up, I guess he couldn't bear to part with the look just yet, or maybe he'd gotten so used to looking like a girl he no longer noticed it. He said, 'Thanks, Maureen!' He sounded very sincere and humble, but he was standing tall and proud. He'd found a girl who liked him and wanted to make him feel good! I told him, 'You're welcome! Any time!' and I got back to whatever book I was busy with by then."

"Well, he took me literally. 'Any time' for him meant the next night too, and the next one after that. And most of the rest of the summer. He got to love the way that girl in the mirror made him feel, so much so that he kept coming back to her each evening. It was weeks before I found out that he'd broken up with Cindy, that she'd gone off to find someone with more energy saved up to devote to her! By then he'd borrowed some clothes to wear during the day too, and he'd asked me to take him shopping to help him buy more clothes still."

"So we went out to get him a few outfits. Talk about crazy in love? He wanted to buy that girl who was jerking him off everything he saw in every store we went into, sport skirts, evening gowns, everything! She was his first real crush! He actually went out and got her hair done, can you imagine? My brother, the brand new living doll, got himself a permanent! And he got his ears pierced so his new girlfriend could wear prettier earrings! And he started staying out all hours with her!"

"Well, we ran both of our allowances into debt, but it was such fun! None of the salesgirls ever suspected anything, and he came back with some of the prettiest things imaginable! And it turned out that he has exquisite taste when he's mixing and matching and accessorizing, my little brother does. I started asking him for advice about my own outfits, especially when we'd gotten to where we were being two girls together getting ready for our double dates. What he'd come up with for outfits sometimes was as daring and imaginative as anyone'd ever wish for. Without Jason I'd never have looked classy enough to get into Winslow's pants. You remember Winslow? That boy I told you about, came home from Princeton last summer, his father the State Superior Court Justice? Scads of money and more good taste than any family can ever afford? His mother knew I was perfect for him the first time she saw me, the way Jason dressed me. True, Winslow's prick is like a wet noodle, but you can never tell how these things'll end up. He still sends me e-mail every day, nearly. He wants to lend me enough money to start a business bigger than Mary Kay. I may let him. And I owe it all to Jason!"

I had to bring her back to the topic at hand. There was something useful in what she was saying, but I hadn't quite located it yet. "You say you and Jason were two girls getting ready for double dates, Maureen?" I asked. "You actually double dated with your own brother?" I was impressed." "With boys?"

"Oh, a few times," Maureen replied. She stood up and stretched. "Of course with boys! He really turned out to be terrific girl, my baby brother! I was so proud of him! It started when my boyfriend Alfie's cousin Carl came in from out of town for the summer, and we thought it might be fun for all four of us to go out together. I introduced Jason as Jessie, and Alfie looked at him a little cross-eyed but didn't say anything. Then by the end of the summer Jessie and Carl were practically going steady. Jessie'd get home all hours and come into my room, and we'd giggle, and he'd tell me everything."

Beth doubted this. "Everything?" she asked."

"Well, nearly everything. Carl must have caught on quick enough, but Jessie was so pretty he didn't mind. Jessie took a little longer. He didn't understand everything. I asked him once if his boyfriend ever got off, and he just smiled and licked his lips and said, 'Of course!' So I asked him if he ever got off, or if he took care of himself afterward like before, and he said, 'Well, at first I'd use my own hand when I got home, because when Carl kisses me good night I feel so rosy and ... well you know.'"

"Now this part you'll love! What my little sister Jessie tells me is, 'But then Carl found another way we could both get off at the same time! Really wonderful, I don't know why everyone doesn't do it! Though now I have to remember to slip a sanitary pad into the front of my panties whenever I'm dressing to go out, so I'll be the right shape for him in front even when I'm hard, and then I have to remember to slip a tampon pretty quick into my rear afterward, or else his juices drip all over my panties and onto my skirt. But it feels so good when he slides it in and out! So very good! Do you do that with Alfie?'"

"That's what he said, practically word for word! I told him yes, sometimes. It was a while longer before he found out that girls have two places down there for boys to slide in and out of. I didn't tell him, because he really loved being a girl, and I didn't want him to feel inferior. By then he was trying to grow breasts by wearing bras all the time. He thought that's how we did it. Maybe he still does."

"What did your mother think about all this?" Elvira asked her. Elvira was our group dyke. Or would have been if she were into girls, but she preferred domming and bondage, power and control, you know? She liked humiliating boys whenever they'd let her, even hurting them, and she enjoyed training them to like pain just a little, even to appreciate it. She was good looking in a severe way, tall, her brunette hair bobbed even shorter than mine to just below her ears. She was always on. She'd come on even to supermarket clerks when she was out buying groceries, always practicing. She had this great technique! She'd lean in on them and get them to squat right there in the aisle where she told them to, supposedly to get cans from a lower shelf for her. Then she'd practically straddle their heads, and when their eyes and mouths were an inch away from her twat she'd tell them where she expected them to meet her later that night.

But here were some things to do with boys that even Elvira hadn't thought to do yet. "It didn't bother your mother?" Elvira asked. "That the family's only sapling turned out to be a pansy instead?"

Maureen shrugged. "Oh she didn't know for the longest time. She was always getting ready to go out herself when we were dressing up to go out, I think she just thought we were going to a lot of costume parties. She minded a little when he got his ears pierced and started wearing long, dramatic dangling earrings all the time, but then she figured that must be what adolescents were doing these days, it was better than an orange and purple Mohawk or a stud in his tongue. She figured he'd get over it. She never did notice that Jason was Jessie until he was full time, way past the point of no return. Does your mother ever notice how you dress, Elvira?"

Elvira's mother had run off with the woman next door years ago, and Elvira's father and that woman's husband had consoled each other about their lost loves until one day Elvira had found them both in bed together. She'd pretended to be furious, and was amazed at how great it felt. So she'd ordered them to stay there all through the next day. And they felt so guilty about what they were doing and being found out, that's what they did! Her father and the neighbor man! Under orders, their cocks in each others' mouths or asses the whole time, and she pulled spot checks now and then to make sure! That's how Elvira'd found out what she wanted to do with her life. Her mother was long gone.

Elvira just looked at Maureen. "Does my mother ever notice me?" she asked with amused disbelief. "My mother?"

So Maureen figured she'd better ask someone else. "How about you, Jennifer?" she asked me. "Does your mother ever notice?"

"Not while I'm here and she's home," I had to say. Obviously. If she knew how I dress here, and why, I wouldn't be here any more and then we wouldn't be talking about how to deal with Don at all. Everyone was quiet for a minute more.

"So that's my point," Maureen said finally. "Who'll know or notice how this Don looks? What he wears? Or anyhow, who'll care? While he's here." She went into my room to find a shade of nail polish that matched her toes, and came back with a little bottle and started in on her fingernails. "Remember to tell your Brian to fetch me some more of this stuff," she said. "This bottle's almost out too."

"No, I'll tell him," Elvira broke in. "Give me that bottle when you're done with it. You've given me such a terrific idea! I'll ask Brian to find the exact shade by matching the different bottles on display in the store with the color of his own nails. I bet I can even get him to ask a salesgirl to help him find him a matching lipstick he can wear back to campus."

"Brian belongs to Jennifer at the moment," Maureen said, never lifting her eyes off her nails. "You'd better ask Jennifer first."

But I was thinking too hard to care. I'd never found the limits on Brian's desire to please me, so why not let Elvira try? "Be my guest, tell him the bottle's mine, since it is," I told Elvira idly. What Maureen had proposed had a lot of merit. It would accomplish everything my mother wanted with no hassle at all. But how far could we go with it?

"Does Jason wear nail polish too now?" I asked. "I mean Jessie?" "I have no idea what he wears now," Maureen replied. Her nails now had three coats of red, and she was concentrating full attention on her gloss coat. "When the 'Back to School' sales started up Mom finally took a good look at him and how he was dressed. They had a long talk about what he was doing with his life, and what he wanted to do, and so on. He's such a together kid, he had all the answers! He wanted to be beautiful was what. And being an Avon Lady and all, Mom just had to help him! So in the end she let him drop high school and go out-of-town to this terrific Beauty Culture Academy she found, to learn how to be gorgeous, ultra-feminine, and so on. Best in the country, very tough admission standards, she didn't think they'd admit him. But he has this incredible fashion sense to offer the other girls. He sent them photos of himself in the different stylish outfits he'd assembled for different occasions, and that turned the trick. He loves it there. Being beautiful, and learning how to make other girls look more beautiful too."

"Amazing!" I said. I'd made up my mind -- this was the way to go with Don. "Does he still date boys?"

"All the girls there date boys," Maureen said as she cinched the nail polish bottle shut and handed it to Elvira. "Every weekend. They need to be reminded why it's worth while being beautiful. Jessie's a lot in demand, because he gives great head to make up for his lack of a pussy. He takes birth control pills same as the other girls, so he won't feel left out, he says, and also shots now. So his figure has finally started to ripen, I hear, new titties and everything. He still gets stiff, so the girls can still practice their fucking techniques on his cock. They've all been warned though that in another few months he won't be able to get it up any more, that they'll have to practice being lesbians on him then same as they do now on other. But mainly they practice beauty culture on each other, every night before they go to bed. Their homework is always to make each other look gorgeous, and then to flirt."

Elvira nodded her thanks to Maureen for the nail polish, and stowed it in her purse. Maureen continued thoughtfully. "You should see him now! 'Her' I mean. My new sister. Cute? I'm as proud of her as she is of me!"

There was a long silence. "So he gets on well with the other girls," I commented. "He's a girl now."

"Oh yes. He's a girl, same as the rest of them. No difference. Well, he has to wait until he's eighteen to get a real pussy put in, but he makes out pretty well with the openings he's got. They practice their hairdos and everything on each other, and they tell each other their secrets, and they scheme new things to do with boys, same ways we do."

There was another long, respectful silence.

"Same ways we do," I said. Would I have to sell this idea to the other girls? "Maybe cousin Donald could make himself useful here if he were one of us? As a boy, he'd be handy to practice things on. While he's still a boy."

"Yes!" Sally said suddenly. We all looked up startled, she sounded so vehement.

"I'm for it! Girls, Jennifer's problem is our problem, and we can have a lot of fun solving it for her. Let's become a Sextette for a while. Take her Donald in and get him accustomed to being with girls, same as we're accustomed." A wicked smile lit up her face. "For the same reason we are. Because that's what we are!"

"Boys and all?" Beth asked. She looked worried.

"Of course boys and all," Sally said. "That would be part of the fun! I'll teach him. Jennifer's his big sister, sort of, so she'll be in charge. But I'll be his special girlfriend, teach him what girls know about other girls, what girls like, how to be with boys given what boys are, what boys like. The usual. He can share my room, I've got that new Queen sized bed in there, I'll see that he loves it and won't ever want to leave! Which reminds me, who's got that jelly dildo strap-on I got for a prize when I made all those poets come in their pants? I'll need it this weekend. I've got a date with Foster, and what with all this talk I really feel I should try it out on him."

Elvira approved. "Good for you," she said. "Bust his ass! Foster's ego is as big as his cock. He needs a lot of taking down. In fact use my strap on, it's bigger than yours. Way bigger than he is even, and he's bigger than most. But be sure to give him the impression that the strap-on's only average, so he'll feel humble, grateful to you that you bother to fuck him at all, even if only in the ass." She thought a moment. "Mine is in my top drawer left, you're welcome to it. There's still some jellied Gatorade in the balls, I think, for squirting cum into him when you've got him pinned down and helpless. Be sure to warm it up first. But the prick part itself needs fresh batteries."

"So it's agreed?" I asked. "We bring Donald here to live with us?" I looked around. No objections. Done! "Now to what's involved. What should we be thinking about next, Elvira?"

Elvira wrapped her arms around herself and frowned, thinking. We watched silently.

Elvira's not only our resident domme, scheming all sorts of amusingly wicked things to do to guys, she's also the most can-do of us in other ways. She makes all of our business arrangements and does all of our computer hacking. Because she intimidates people easily and she never quits. She did all our phoning for airline tickets and hotel rooms for us, for example, that time when Sally decided she wanted to go trolling for a weekend pickup pot luck at another college, and we all thought hey, why not, so we all went. You should hear her when she's on the phone! She's never yet failed to get us reservations on flights that're already fully booked.

I shouldn't say this, but end of Freshman year we went through this "I double-dare-ya" phase, and it ended up with each of us spending a few nights out on the street as whores. We figured it would uncomplicate our lives, give us each a crash course in kinky sex, get us past all the romantic mystique stuff once and for all, acquaint us with the down and dirty at first hand, all in all give us lots of experience with all kinds of men and cocks. So we'd know instinctively how to deal with boys. No illusions. Y'know?

But it had to be in a city far enough away though so our reputations would be safe. Well Elvira made calls and arranged everything, even arranged for pimps to pay off the cops if the real whores complained to them about us, and of course to protect us in case of rough customers. Actually fixed it so we'd keep half of what we earned!

Well, the guys who climbed onto me that night! I began to think before daybreak that Elvira had a point -- make them beg first! Just because they pay you they think they own you! Still, I must say, there was the cutest guy, blonde curly hair, paid to fuck me but then for a whole hour couldn't get his face out of my pussy, and it was real sloppy by then too, getting on toward morning, maybe eight or ten guys had shot off their wads inside me by then. I think now that it was the cum he wanted, not me. Some guys never can admit to themselves that they're queer. But I still wriggle when I remember how that tongue felt, slurping and sucking and gobbling between my legs!

Beth wasn't too happy about her time out on the town, being so upright and moral and all, and she'd just started in with Ziggy so I suppose she was still feeling virginal too. But I did notice that she brought back way more money than the rest of us. And she looked pleased with herself each morning when we met for coffee. So I figure she did OK. The Protestant work ethic I suppose -- she must've really hustled.

She still goes out now and then locally when she and Ziggy need money for a date. Got him to agree to let her, and now she's even trying to get him to come watch. 'It'll be good for him,' she says. 'Then he won't feel so possessive about me. And if it comes right down to it, it wouldn't hurt for him to turn a trick or two himself, give a few blow jobs maybe. There's a demand for it. But I suppose he hasn't yet realized that it's better to serve other people's needs than your own convenience."

Elvira made all that happen. But it's her skill with computers that's really appreciated. Her hacking is another reason why we never worry too much about grades. She once got some computer repair guy to put a back door access into the Registrar's Office records, it was either that or she'd tell his wife exactly how she'd turned him into a total degenerate. So now everyone's academic records are hers. All she wanted at the time was to re-schedule an inconvenient early morning class, make it later in the day. But it turned out it's a handy way to scare guys, by threatening to lower their grades if they don't do what she says. And she can always raise grades a notch or two if a Professor blows his one big chance to give us a grade we need.

"Jennifer, would your clothes fit this Donald until he can get some of his own?" she asked suddenly. "At least your underthings, maybe a tight pair of jeans? Better, those leather hot pants you've got that are so tight they show the crease in your pussy?"

"No problem," I replied. "Probably. He's about my height." I thought of something, and had to smile. "Shaped different right now, but we can work on it. He's got one femme thing down already. Maidenly modesty. He never looks up at anyone, ever. When his eyelids are frosted he'll look gorgeous."

"We'll change his look right off," Elvira said. "I see no problem changing his admissions office records. "'Donald' is easy to fix. He can be 'Donna' or maybe 'Dawn.' Let's say 'Dawn' so when people call him that he won't notice, he'll think it's just how they say things. I'll switch him to 'female' on his health chart right off too, so he can get his own birth control pills and we won't need to lend him ours. Freshman ID photos are tomorrow. We'll get him a proper ID and then it's done."

"He'll certainly want hormones," Maureen said. "Double doses for openers! Jason's complexion got soft and gorgeous almost as soon

as he started, and they help keep his cock soft when he's wearing tight jeans and needs to tuck. If we're all going to be suite mates, your Dawn has a lot to catch up on."

"How do we get him to agree?" Beth was worried as usual about free will, dignity, individual choice, stuff she'd learned at her family dinner table. She always asked Ziggy's advice about everything, though she always had better sense than to take it.

"How do we ever get guys to agree?" Elvira asked in her impatient monotone. "We tell them to do what we want, then reward them when they do it. They love it! Put them down, put out, put them down, put out, and pretty soon they don't know whether they're down or out, coming or going!" That was Elvira. Her dates measured up or they were out of her life.

"No," Sally said thoughtfully. "He's shy, so let me lead him into it. I'll explain each step so it makes sense to him, get him to agree to everything. You know, smile, be really appreciative and grateful. Then when he's really hooked we can finish him off so fast he won't know what's happening till it's over. Of course if he's a real dork and doesn't understand that it's all for his own good, we'll just tell him it isn't happening to him at all really. That we're practicing on him so we can do it to someone else. Let him try to deal with that."

The others nodded. If he was a real dork and couldn't see how we were trying to help him, he'd buy that logic.

"We don't leave him a road back?" I asked. "I mean, we're talking hormones and all ...."

"Why would he want to go back?" Maureen asked. "Where would he go? Back to what he is now? I say, burn his bridges. Do him a favor, let him concentrate his mind on becoming the best kind of girl he can be and not worry all the time about getting back to whatever he is now. Don't let him know that of course."

"What'll I tell my mother?," I asked. "What'll I say to my Aunt, when she sends us a son, her husband's son anyhow, and we send her back a daughter?"

"Tell her the truth. That he fell in with the wrong crowd. But she should look at the bright side, that now he's exactly what she wanted, really at ease with girls and with boys too. We'll see to that, that he's happier all around!" Sally said.

"He will be too, chances are," Maureen added. "Jason certainly is. Anyhow, your aunt will be his problem, not ours. Are we agreed? It'll probably take us a few months to finish him off."

We were agreed. Certainly helping Don learn to change his appearance and teaching him new social skills would give us plenty to fill our spare time and occupy our minds until the axe fell at mid-term and we all finally had to get some studying done.

Then it occurred to me! If I write this whole thing up as a journal I can get credit for it as an Independent Study project in the Gender Studies Program. It might even make a good Creative Writing project too, for that course I could pretend it's all fiction! Yes! Three birds with one stone! My problem with my aunt and my mother solved, an ungainly boy made over into a graceful girl, and two fewer courses to fake up before I can get out of here! No need for Don to thank me!

  

  

iii.

I decided to get started right away, see what we had to deal with, change his life right away and rescue him from all those orientation lectures they give Freshmen, before they give him the wrong ideas about life at Webster College. So we made a quick plan, and I was on my way.

I found him sitting by himself in the back of a dorm lounge with about fifty other freshmen. An Assistant Dean was telling them about special student services, health, psychiatric, how to study, garbage like that. Same lounge, same talk I remembered from when I came in as a Freshman. As if no one knew how to read the catalogue or if driven to it, how to ask a resident adviser or a Senior, someone who really knows how things work. Boring?

Even when I was a Freshman it was boring. But I remember, I looked around and right off I found a cute guy -- what was his name, Jerry? -- and I joked with him a little, and smiled at him a lot, and whispered a little suggestion, and in no time he on his knees between my legs under my long skirt licking my cunt, while the Dean droned on and on. I clamped his head tight between my thighs. That's how I do -- it feels better that way each time I orgasm, you know, and also he can't move, so he's there for as long as I want him there. Also, with my thighs covering his ears he can't hear a thing, not even all the noise everyone makes when the session ends. So he kept at it the whole time. Everyone leaving looked down at this massive lump under my skirt with the Nikes sticking out from it, and some of them asked me if I knew who it was, and whether they could borrow him when I was done with him.

Mostly girls asked, but some boys too. I told the boys sure, I could fix it so he'd do them too. But here's how, I told them. The first time he'd have to be blindfolded and expect to feel a cunt on his tongue when the head of a cock came into his mouth instead. Then they'd have to show no mercy, they'd have to hold him there tight until he'd swallowed a few different loads of cum, so he'd get used to it, know it wasn't as bad as he'd thought it might be, and anyhow it was a done deal, no big deal, life goes on. And meanwhile take pictures of the whole thing, and then let him know how easy it is to hack into the "Student Life" pages of the college informational URL and post the pictures there so high school applicants can see how getting your cock sucked by this guy is one of the advantages of attending Webster. Then when that sinks in, bring on one more cock for him to suck entirely on his own, his decision, voluntarily, because he wants to. I told them he'd look over the situation and figure finally, hey, what the hell, so I'm already a cock sucker, so that's what I do, so what? And then he'd suck or lick whatever was put in front of him.

I wasn't far wrong. When I let him loose finally he went away with some of the boys who'd hung around waiting. He was a Freshman, and they promised to pledge him to a frat. And they did. In fact after that night Jerry got to be very popular, in big demand for cuntlapping and cocksucking both. The most exclusive fraternity on campus -- Kappa Delta -- bid for him and won him when they realized that with him as a brother they'd get not only an experienced in-residence cock sucker to use whenever they wanted, they'd also get this terrific extra attraction for girls they invited to their parties and dances and things. His tongue got to be dynamite! Talk about orgasmic explosions? Kappa Delt's sister sorority wanted to pledge him as their mascot, but the Hellenic Council wouldn't allow it. Eventually it was understood that if a girl wanted to use his mouth she had to fuck a Kappa Delt first. Some Saturday nights there was a line outside the frat house!

Jerry realized that I'd done him a favor, and made himself available to me any time. I always leave my guys well-satisfied! I still call on him now and then.

So anyhow, up front this Dean was droning about how to study while I stood behind Don and looked him over. Soon to be Dawn. Real thin, a small nose and an underslung chin. A nobody, small chins lack character if you're a boy, that's what my mother once told me about guys like him. So do small noses. But they're great on girls -- girls I guess don't need character. He also had long blonde hair. Lots to work with! Potentially a doll! But can you believe it, while the Dean talked and talked he was actually taking notes!

I came close and put my hands on his shoulders. "All this stuff is in the Freshman Handbook, you know that, Don?" I said. "This lecture is only for the incoming Frosh who don't know how to read."

He heard my voice and recognized it, and his face got bright red with embarrassment, and he tried to stand up and turn around. But all he managed to do was fold himself into his own folding chair. When he pulled himself out he just stood there, shrunk into himself and looking down as always.

"J-Jennifer," he finally managed to come up with after much stuttering. "My mother told me you'd be c-coming by to look me up. I'm pleased to see you."

Pleased to see a cousin? I hid my disbelief and went directly to an Elvira-style bottom line. "Come on, Don!" I said. "This way! Now!"

He did, without speaking even another word. I didn't even look back to see if he was following. I knew he was following. Habit of command is what a guy in the ROTC called it when I wouldn't unwrap my legs from around his waist until he'd gotten hard and ready to fuck me yet again, and we were just lying around and talking while waiting, and I told him to tell me his life story. It works on lots of guys, that tone of voice. When finally his cock got stiff and we'd fucked again and we were done, I got him down on his knees and commanded him to suck all his cum out of me and off my ass and everywhere else and take it all home with him inside his belly, back where it came from, nearly. And he did that too! So I knew Don was right behind me.

When we got back to our suite, by pre-arrangement only Sally was there, her hair already loose. Sally would relieve him of his virginity this very night, we'd agreed ... he had to be a virgin. Then he'd be pliable, grateful, as easily trained and manipulated as a puppy dog. Guys do have this special thing about the first girl who's willing to fuck them. It's as if they were giving them their manhood. Besides, Sally always seems ethereally virginal herself, at least until her first few orgasms warm her up -- then she becomes a voracious animal who can't ever get enough, certainly not from any one guy at a time! So she was just the right girl to debauch an innocent like Don and then make him doubt his ability to become much of a man. I introduced them.

Sally took his hand and breathed "How wonderful!" at him as if he were a teen rock star. She gazed helplessly into his eyes. "Jenny's cousin! You look so much like her! So very pretty!"

I'd forgotten to explain to Sally that we weren't blood relations -- his father and my aunt were related only by a second marriage. Don gargled something and of course tried to creep under the carpet, but he couldn't because she wouldn't let go his hand. She led him deftly into our suite man trap, a couch so low and soft that once in it, the only way a boy can ever get out is by rolling onto the floor and then getting on his knees. Some did, and if they did then it was easy, there are things you can do with boys who are already on their knees. But most boys can't bear to seem that helpless in front of a girl, especially on a first date. So once in the man trap they usually stay in. Sally folded herself in on top of him, and wriggled, and told him that his eyes were marvelous dark pools, that she just couldn't look away. Watching Sally work a guy was always fun, but even so I went off to the bookcase where we keep our liquor to fix Don a Waylayer. That's the drink we use to soften up dates when they come calling -- half a tumbler of vodka laced with Southern Comfort, splash of Coke, and a Prozac. I melted in two birth control pills too, so even though he didn't know it he'd be authentic right from the start, the same estrogen and progestins and things flowing through his veins as ours. For his complexion sure, like Maureen said, but also to get him started on his new boobs, because a girl can't get very far anywhere without boobs for a guy to play with.

But mainly because I wasn't altogether comfortable about this, and it helped if I could think that I wasn't betraying a boy cousin who meant nothing to me, I was helping out a girl cousin who was one of my suite mates. "Here, Don," I said, handing it to him. "Welcome to the Sextette!" He had no idea what I meant, but he wanly smiled his thanks. I handed Sally her usual diet coke. She took it with her right hand -- her left was already somewhere in Don's crotch.

He sipped his Waylayer while Sally cuddled against him and asked him the usual stuff about his major, his classes, his parents, what kind of groups he listened to, whether he had many girlfriends. You know. And kept accidentally rubbing his crotch -- with her hands, her boobs, her own crotch, whatever she could get near to it, all the while he tried not to notice. In no time at all his boner was obvious enough. Not too bad a piece of meat, I thought when I saw the bulge in his pants, large and still growing. Sally's lucked out, I thought. Then I brought him a second Waylayer fixed the same way, so now that was two Prozacs and four birth control pills. Sally'd have no problem. He'd be zonked tonight and inspecting his new zits tomorrow, boobs soon to follow.

When Sally questioned him about his roommate we hit pay dirt. It turns out the roommate he was assigned was a bruiser twice his size who'd already taken over all of their closet space. Don confessed that he was afraid to ask for his share, so he hadn't even unpacked yet. Terrific! That was as good an opening as any.

"Great! It's settled! You'll stay here then!" I said. "Until you can change rooms or your roommate, and that won't happen till the end of the semester chances are. My mother'll be delighted to hear you live nearby. Yours too. They asked me to look out for you."

Don looked surprised and troubled, trying to pay attention to what I was saying while Sally's fingers were still idly stroking his lap. "Can you do that?" he asked. He looked a little zonked -- no wonder! Then the words tumbled out. "This is a girls' suite, isn't it? I mean, can boys ... ?" He looked around a little wildly, as if seeking confirmation.

Sally put her hand on his arm. They'd nearly disappeared into the man trap's soft upholstery. "What a wonderful, wonderful idea! Yes, it's a girl's suite, Don. But we all stretch the rules a little. You'll need to stretch a little too, but I'm sure we can fix it so no one will ever know there's a problem, because there won't be one. There's lots of room here!" She was now cocooned up so tight against him that I doubted he could breathe, and I could see from how her ass moved that she was wriggling her crotch against his cock big time! "You'll love it here, Don! Oh, I'm so glad!"

And she gave him a huge, wet, friendly kiss full on the mouth. Probably his first ever from a girl. I couldn't see what he was doing because Sally's face blocked my view as she rolled over onto him and they both sank all the way down into the couch's recesses. So I left Sally to do what she does best and I went to my room.

When I woke up the next morning there was Don sitting at the foot of my bed, wearing only a T-Shirt and sure enough, a pair of Sally's panties. His panties now, was my first thought, so there's one less pair I'll need to lend him until he can buy his own. I checked out his package, fully visible under the thin nylon and lace. There was indeed a lot there. In fact he was enormous! What's the matter with girls in high school these days? was my first thought. They want the show of it, they want it brought to them on a platter by some team captain or strutting stud? They get off on who they're fucking, not what? And the whole time just around the corner there's this prize hanging back unseen because even its owner doesn't know its true value? I'd want a piece of that myself, I was thinking, except for his being my cousin, sort of, family, so to speak. But I'd better stay neutral.

Don looked fretful to the point of tears. "Jennifer," he said when he saw my eyes were open. "I ... I think I'm in trouble."

"How so?" I checked my watch. Past eight. Early, but not too early. I looked him over. Today a new girl comes into existence, I was thinking. Awesome! But first, let's see what prep work Sally did last night.

"I think maybe I'm engaged. I'm not ready for that! My mother will kill me."

I had no idea what line Sally'd been handing him, or if this was his own lunacy, so I just said, "Oh?"

"She wants us to be roommates."

"Your mother does?"

"Sally does."

"So? What's wrong with that?"

He didn't seem to hear me. He just sat there staring at the spot on my rug where all of the sperm had landed from the suite's First Annual Speed Jerk Off Contest. There was still discoloration where some had soaked in before Elvira's Sub-of-the-Week could get at it to lick it up. I prompted him again. "We don't get engaged to our roommates," I observed. "Not usually. I love your hair, though! What'd did you do to it?"

I saw perfectly well what he'd done, or Sally'd done. She'd given him a permanent. Every strand was up in tight twists and girly-girly curls. It would take setting with some fairly large rollers to straighten it, and with that much body curl his hair would frame his whole head, gloriously bouffant. Then with his next shampoo it'd revert to cute girl curls he could wear when he didn't feel like setting it. He was committed -- he already looked feminine. Not much beard, I'd have more hairs myself if I didn't tweeze them. A little lipstick and there'd be no mistaking him for a boy. This would be a piece of cake!

"I didn't do anything to my hair," he said, smiling weakly, a little embarrassed. "Sally did it." Well, duh! "I'm glad you like it, I worried it might be too much ah ... like a girl's. But Sally says it's beautiful, it's just right for me, and girls know what's attractive, so I shouldn't give it another thought. I'll tell you how she did it if you want to know. But first, I need help! He'll kill me when he hears about this!"

"Who'll kill you?" This sounded like one of Sally's wilder setups. Did she hand him her "Mafia Princess" story, tell him that she's the daughter of a Capo? She'd used that one once to discourage a guy from trying to bed her down a second time when she hadn't yet gotten around to the rest of his fraternity brothers. And she overdid it a little, if you ask me. It was careless and self-defeating. He told his other brothers, and from that point on they were afraid to date her. So she never did get around to them. Eventually it sank in on the guy that he was already in really serious trouble, a dead man if the word got back to her father that he'd had sex with her. He got so scared he transferred to another school.

"Her father. He wants her to stay pure at least until she's engaged. He believes in commitment." He paused, embarrassed but a little proud, too. And sheepish. A moment went by. Then he blurted out "Jennifer!"

He was about to make a momentous confession, I could tell. That he'd taken Sally's cherry? Jesus! He'd found it, after all the other guys who'd gone looking for it had failed? Talk about finding the lost continent of Atlantis!

"What, Don!" I said, trying to sound alarmed and concerned, really and truly and seriously.

Meanwhile my mind was moving on. Of course! Sally was covering her bets. Any time he wasn't persuaded he should look and act like a girl so he could live with us and sleep with Sally every night, he'd have the extra reason that he had to hide from Sally's father. Her father would look for a boy when he was hunting down the villain who'd despoiled his daughter! She'd invented a morally upright murderous father for herself!

What a joke! Sally's real father'd divorced her mother a year after she was born, because after she gave birth Sally's mother wanted bigger and bigger cocks to help fill up her stretched out vagina, and she'd gone out and found them. Sally'd grown up watching her mother attract and use men and then discard them, every month a different man, always as a modest and chaste maiden as the relationship began, always as a man-eating tiger as the relationship peaked. She'd learned that tactic at her mother's knee.

"Sally isn't pure any more. He father will kill me!"

"No, I don't suppose she is," I said. "Did you like fucking her?"

Don was shocked. But also he blushed deeply. "I didn't fuck her! She fucked me!"

I waited. If Einstein had overheard that distinction, he'd have waited too.

"I mean I didn't get on top of her because I didn't want to make a baby with her. But suddenly there I was, my thing was all warm and wet and deep inside her, surrounded, you know? She was on top of me, pushing herself up and down on me over and over and I just couldn't help myself! I mean I kept trying to pull it out of her but each time she lunged down and it slipped in further, and snugged up even deeper. It felt so great! Then she tried to pull herself off me, I could tell, but she couldn't get high enough, and she kept sliding back onto me despite her best intentions and that felt even greater until I felt myself rise way up into her, I couldn't help it, and it was too late, and the next thing I knew she was slippery wet and I was soft and had flopped out."

"So how is that your fault? You didn't fuck her!"

"No, I guess not. But then she told me she wasn't a virgin any more. She wasn't pure."

"No, I don't suppose she is."

"Not with what we did next either. What we did next is embarrassing. She told me that now women are liberated and need to protect their equal rights. So she climbed up on my back and put something big and stiff and soft and slippery into my rear end and she moved that in and out too, and after a while that felt ... well, really wonderful too. Really great! That was fucking, wasn't it? She was fucking me again? She said she'd wet it with the juices she still had inside her, mine and hers, that she just knew I'd love it, feeling a man's sperm pushed deep into my own ass. I ... well, I rose up and squirted again, and when I licked it off the sheets the way she told me to do, it didn't taste bad at all."

This guy was a born cream pie eater. Not only that, he'd passed the entrance exam for Sally's apprentice faggot training program, and he didn't even know it!

"Yes, that was fucking too, Don. That was Sally fucking you over. Did Sally have an orgasm too?"

He looked ashamed. "Yes. She said she would and she did. Toward the end I felt real good that it made her feel so good!"

"Anything else happen between you?"

"She put my thing in her mouth and sucked on it and licked it. That was amazing! I spurted then too! Oh it was glorious!"

"And meanwhile you sucked and licked her thing?"

"That's what she wanted. Fair's fair, she told me. She sucks on my cock and I suck on hers. Sixty-nine she called it. I bobbed my head up and down on it real fast, the way she wanted, and she moaned and then got all tense, just like before."

I bet. It figured. So this was what the Equal Rights Amendment had been all about?

"Then she decided to fix my hair. She told me I was her perfect lover, so I should look as perfect on the outside as I'd felt inside her, and my hair was a little too loose for what she had in mind. And that was why she was rolling my hair up on those little plastic clips."

I waited.

"She told me I had to make her pure again. She wanted me to play lickety split. While my hair was all rolled up out of the way and had stuff on it."

"What? Play what?" This was new!

"Lickety split. She taught me. You know how girls have that split between their legs? Where I'd already put my you-know-what? Yes, of course you know. Well, I'd squirted into hers. So the thing was, I should sleep between Sally's legs, and whenever she woke up and squeezed my head with her thighs I'd lick her split until she moaned out loud, and then I could go back to sleep. She wanted me to lick up all the juices that were dribbling out of her so she could be pure again. Also, so I'd get to like them. Also, because it made her feel good, and that would make me feel good. All night. Then we can sleep together all the time, she told me, whenever she gets home from a date, even a date with somebody else. 'Sometimes there's quite a lot dribbling down there,' she said. 'That's how I am! But I like to feel pure, and you can help."

"So that's what you did?" He nodded. I waited.

"She kept waking up. A buzzer would go off for her to change the different liquids on my hair. It wasn't so bad. There wasn't that much to clean out of her, but she wanted me to lick her anyhow. I made her moan lots more often than she made me."

"It was a contest? So last night how many times did you ... 'rise up' was how you put it? 'Spurt'? Moan?"

"Maybe four times. Once when she was bouncing on me and my thing was inside her. And once with her mouth on my thing, and that was delicious, a lot like being inside her split. All warm and wet. Then when that big rubber thing was slipping in and out of ... ahhh... my backside. And then this morning when her fingers were in me. 'We want to keep it nice and open' she said. 'Like mine.'"

I waited. Then I asked, "So how did all this feel? Nice?"

"The whole business with my rear end felt really strange! I thought it would hurt, and it did at first, but after a little while it felt just wonderful, and then ... oh God it was like when I pull on my thing myself! With her fingers in me even better! I ... well...!"

I nodded my head to let him know I'd heard about such things and understood them. Sally knew how to stroke a boy's prostate to orgasm from inside his asshole better than any urologist could ever imagine. When we asked her how she did it she couldn't exactly explain. So Elvira brought in a sub who was addicted to fisting, with an asshole as wide open as the mouth of a cave, and Sally gave us a demonstration while we could all see all the way in. Slip a finger in about three inches -- careful of your fingernails -- wiggle it a little while pressing in the right place, and a boy will spout like a fountain.

"Anything else?" I asked. Sally'd made good use of only one short night, I had to admire her perseverance.

"It's sort of personal." He hesitated again. "Breasts. Sally asked me to suck on one of hers. It was nice, I filled my whole mouth with it. She said she wanted to get a mouthful of one of my breasts too. She asked me if I wanted her to suck on me the same way. Of course I said yes, so she did. But I don't have a breast like hers, I mean, I'm not a girl, so I felt bad I disappointed her. She couldn't get a mouthful. I told her that, and she told me not to worry, I could be an honorary girl meanwhile. Do you know what she meant?"

"Yes. Don't worry about it."

Leave it to Sally. Don was now practically her sex toy, ready to become anything she asked of him, and in only one night. "So her father thinks she shouldn't play lickety split until she's engaged? Is that it?"

"No, lickety split is all right. He thinks she shouldn't sleep with boys until she's married, because then she won't be pure, that's what she told me. And I did sleep with her. All night. Except when she woke me up to lick her split. And she wants me to sleep with her and lick her every night so she'll always be pure. But if he finds out I'm sleeping with her he'll think she isn't pure, and he'll kill me maybe."

"Did she mention how we can keep him from ever finding out?"

"She said you'd know."

I paused, trying to look grave while wondering whether to offer him my stretch jeans or a long cotton skirt to go with the lacy-neck blouse I'd already decided would be perfect for his ID photo. Quarter crew socks and flats for now. Will there be time to get his ears pierced? Better not push it. Beth still had some clip earrings in the back of her jewelry case -- she'd thought getting pierced was barbaric until only last Spring, when she and Ziggy got tiddly and both got their ears done, so they could wear his and hers ear-rings. Later we talked Ziggy into putting a ring in his cock head too, as a surprise token of his love for her. She was annoyed at first, but now she leads him around by it sometimes. On a little leash he bought her. Ziggy's coming along just fine.

Finally I spoke, slowly and solemnly. "She's right, Don. I do know. And it's just as well. But let me understand you. You want to live here with us for a while, that's what you've already decided, right? You'd rather sleep with Sally than with that roommate they assigned you, right?"

Don just stared at me. Even he knew my questions were foolish.

"Well, how about this? You sleep with Sally every night, and play lickety split and rise up inside her nice warm split, and lick up all sorts of dribbles and squirts from it, and she puts her fingers and other things inside you, every night, and her father will never know."

He looked eager and grateful. I went on. "Neither will the college. There's a rule against guys spending the night in girls' suites, you know. But we can stretch it for you if you're willing to stretch yourself a little. Because there's a way you can live here in plain sight and no one will ever suspect what's happening. So no one will think to tell Sally's father or the college authorities anything. How would you like that?"

(continued)

  

  

  

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