by Jeff Gelb
She sat motionless, like a vulnerable child.
“One…”
Eric had been careful not to command Wendy to fuck. This way, it would be her decision.
“Two…”
And while she would never knowingly fuck Eric, if she subconsciously saw him as Jake, she just might do it. Hell, it was certainly worth a try!
“Three…”
As Wendy slowly opened her eyes, her face became instantly flushed. Tears flowed down both cheeks and her lower lip quivered. Eric couldn’t believe the transformation: Jake’s control over his girlfriend was uncanny—eerie, almost.
Wendy cleared her throat and wiped her eyes. “Oh…when did you get home?” she asked, her voice strangely subdued. And she hadn’t leaped into his arms, as Eric expected. But at least she saw him as Jake. It was a damn good sign.
“Hey!” Eric chirped. “You don’t seem very pleased to see me.”
Wendy stared at him in silence. She’s at a loss for words, Eric thought. But just wait until she unwinds.
“Jake, I’m surprised that you…” she sobbed.
She called him by Jake’s name! Eric leaned forward and stroked her golden hair. “I’ll tell you about the trip later,” he said softly. “Right now, let’s party!” It was Jake’s favorite expression. Eric knew it would make his role sound more convincing.
Wendy raised her head, sniffled, and forced a smile. “That’s what you always want,” she said. “I should have known.”
Eric’s eyes widened as Wendy pulled her sweater over her head, unbuttoned her blouse, and loosened her bra. Her tits sprang forward, straight and proud. They looked delicious!
“You seem upset,” Eric cooed tenderly. “This will make you feel better.”
Her expression remained unchanged as Eric licked and sucked her breasts. His arousal became so intense, he could hardly stand it. But she continued to sit motionless, keeping her arms to herself, until, without warning, Wendy hit him hard against the side of his head with her purse. Eric tumbled off-balance to the floor and scrambled to locate his dislodged eyeglasses as she fumbled inside her handbag.
“You son of a bitch!” she screamed. “I told you I’d never forgive you, and I meant it!”
“But Wendy”—Eric looked up with a puzzled expression—“I don’t understand—”
But now the barrel of a .38 Special was pointed directly at his forehead.
“You couldn’t control yourself, could you?” Wendy screamed. “You’re such a stud, you just had to make it with my sister! Right under my nose!” She sobbed and wiped a new stream of tears from her cheeks. “You didn’t think she’d tell, did you, smart ass!”
“But wait, Wendy, it’s me, Eric—”
“Let’s party!” she mocked in a crazed, high-pitched tone. Then she jammed the cold steel barrel against the bridge of his nose. “Party with this, you two-timing bastard.”
The gun wavered in her grasp. She’s gonna do it, Eric realized. She’s gonna fuckin’ shoot me!
Beads of sweat dampened Eric’s cheeks. A warm stream of urine ran down his leg. Got to break the trance, he thought. Got to stay calm.
“Wait a minute, Wendy,” he muttered breathlessly, as calmly as possible. He swallowed hard and wiped perspiration from his brow. “At the count of three—”
“That’s right, you son of a bitch,” she interrupted as she got ready to squeeze the trigger. “At the count of three…”
Genderella
Ron Dee
It wasn’t fair.
Tom held his chin in his palms, sitting on the bed. He was attractive, wasn’t he?
He smiled at his long but gently defined face in the mirror across the bedroom. The reflection hung on the wall beside his closet door that was filled with the brightest clothes he could pick out. They looked good on him.
Because he was attractive!
Even without eyeshadow and blush.
But he wasn’t going to the prom.
Because he was different.
In his makeup, he looked better than any of the girls who were going, and they all had dates. Good-looking dates, too. Ones he’d had his eyes on all year. But no matter how sweetly he talked to them or how sweetly he talked to them or how accessible he made himself, the hunks ignored him completely.
Grant was the one he really wanted. Grant, with his suave manner and wondrously hairy chest, and muscles that made him look like he was wearing shoulder pads even when he wasn’t. Tom often batted his eyes at Grant the way that Candy, the cheerleader, did.
But Grant barely smiled.
Tom stood and stared at his slim, naked body in the mirror, imaging Grant there with him, imagining himself in Grant’s arms at the prom.
Imagining himself in the backseat of Grant’s car after the prom.
The problem was, Grant was straight and too embarrassed to be seen talking to him. When they had been younger and more naïve, it hadn’t made a difference. Grant and Tom had spent the night in the same bed when they slept over on weekends. Sometimes they’d walked together holding hands. Like most girls, Tom had an earlier awakening into his sexual identity than his male friends, and he cherished those moments of his youth, even though they meant little to Grant.
But in middle school, Grant had grown aware of sex, too. His eyes were riveted to the opposite gender, and he spent less and less time with Tom. Tom missed him, and he started hanging around with another guy who was more like himself. Before long, everyone was talking about Tom and Donnie. About the queer boys. The faggots. Then Donnie moved away and left him alone.
Tom blinked back a tear. Grant had deserted him, too. He had called Grant then and tried to talk to him.
“I can’t talk to you,” Grant had said. “I don’t want to be called a pansy, too. I like girls!”
But Tom didn’t believe him. He wanted to be with Grant, especially tonight. Because despite those denials, Tom knew Grant was like he was, deep inside. He knew the sensations he’d had for Grant all his life were real and that, secretly, Grant really felt the same toward him.
One summer, when they were fifteen, they had each been invited to Candy Wadd’s sixteenth birthday party. Candy’s parents had left the house to their daughter and her friends until midnight. The party turned into a free-for-all, and Candy took advantage of it. She went up to her room and invited the boys to form a line at the door, to initiate her into womanhood.
Grant, in a state of unrequited love for Candy, had taken it badly. Fueled by the alcohol he’d imbibed, Grant wandered off by himself into Candy’s dark back yard to sit on the swing set. Grant had been teary-eyed when Tom followed to see what was wrong. Tom felt sorry for him, but he rejoiced at the opportunity nonetheless.
Tom put his arm around Grant and led him to the bushes surrounding the back fence. “You don’t want to let the guys see you crying,” he’d explained.
That made Grant wail louder, and Tom suddenly clutched him tightly in a secure hug, then planted his lips squarely on Grant’s.
Grant had opened his mouth, maybe in surprise, but Tom didn’t care. He jumped at the chance to dive his tongue inside.
For a moment the boys had wrestled inside each other’s mouths. Tom felt the surge of true love, and though Grant pushed him away a moment later, he knew Grant felt it, too.
“Hey—don’t you dare do that anymore!” Grant had blustered, punching Tom in the face and backing off. “I’m not a queer like you!”
The pain inflicted by Grant’s fist had made his mouth sore for days, but the harsh words had badgered Tom for years. They hurt, but all the more because Tom knew they weren’t true. Instead of quelling his feelings for Grant, his love for the husky boy increased. Tom knew Grant had enjoyed their closeness, too, somewhere deep within his subconsciousness. Hadn’t Grant hesitated before pulling away and striking him? Tom just hoped Grant would someday overcome the fear of ridicule and make his hidden love for Tom known—publicly. Tom had harbored the desperate hope that Grant would even take him to
tonight’s prom.
But Grant was taking a bitch instead. Not Candy, but another cheerleader. Her name was Ginger, and she was prettier than Candy. Bigger tits, too, but just as much of a slut. Tom had seen her sucking off the coach after practice.
“I wish I could be a girl—one of those bitches—for just one night,” Tom murmured to himself.
He had no sooner said it than the air seemed to grow sharper, electric. Tome stared into the mirror at the yellow pastel walls of his room as they grew dim, fogged.
“That’s not all you want,” said a loud voice. “Methinks you want a lot more.”
Tom’s eyes grew huge at the glare taking shape in the room’s center: a woman in a tight blue dress, her sleek blond hair flowing madly around her face to her wide shoulders. Tom blinked.
“I’m Selina, your fairy godmother,” the woman said. But as she stare, Tom knew it wasn’t a woman, but a man. One of the sexiest men he’d ever seen.
“Don’t get any ideas,” said the glowing transvestite, holding out a limp wrist to keep Tom back. “I’m not a wish come true, okay? I’m only here to make your true wish come true.”
Tom grinned, moving closer.
The wildly dressed man waved a gaudy wand with a star at its end, and a solid, invisible force field rose up between them. Tom touched the dense air disbelievingly.
“I’m magic. I’m your fairy godmother—get it?” The man whistled with giddy laughter. “No drugs, no fake. I’m real.”
“You’re very pretty,” Tom said with a smile, disappointed that he couldn’t touch his strange visitor.
“Ease up, Tom. I’m here to give you your wish for a night as a girl, okay? Flat stomach, nice hips, big boobs, snatch instead of tools. You know the rules.” He laughed at his rhyme. “You can do whatever you want as long as you’re home by midnight. The clock strikes, and you’re a gat dressed like a bitch, got it?”
“This is full of shit.”
“So what. Enjoy yourself.”
Poof.
The brightness of the room faded. Salina disappeared, and Tom was staring dazedly at himself in the mirror. He gasped at the way his hair suddenly blossomed into long auburn curls that reached down to expanding, firm breasts; how his legs grew supple, and curly hair spread between them, replacing his dissolving anatomy. He saw his sweet face, covered in perfect makeup, with red, luscious lips.
“Wow.”
Poof.
A second later, his new nakedness blurred, and he was clothed in a white satin dress wrapped tight about his delicate hips. The low-cut top with opaque ruffles almost exposed the protruding nippled of his newborn breasts.
“I don’t fucking believe this!”
Poof.
Tom’s ears popped. An unexpected gust of wind whipped his dress. He was standing in the high-school parking lot. He opened his mouth wide and held down the fabric as voices cut in, then blinked and sniffed the air with astonishment. Despite the stink of car exhaust, the night smelled of fresh spring weather. Bright overhead lights illuminated rows of parked cars and guys in tuxes escorting their gown-clad dates to the doors. Tom stared blankly, trembling.
It was real.
Someone whistled.
It’s real, Tom though. He pinched his dainty arm with misgiving but was still in the parking lot as teenagers ushered past him on either side.
“Looking good,” whispered a voice in his ear.
Tom swung around to see Jim Turtle, the asshole from geometry who always made the “queer” jokes.
“Too good for you,” Tom sniffed, coming to grips with his transformation.
Jim backed up and bowed his head. “I didn’t mean anything by it,” he explained. “It was a compliment.”
The squeaky snivel in Jim’s voice made Tom chuckle—except it came out as a giggle.
“M-maybe a dance inside?” Jim asked.
Tom frowned as more classmates passed by. He giggled again and looked into the forlorn face of the boy who had tormented him for years. He couldn’t bring himself to feel sorry for Jim, and he had to hold in the laughter. Revenge was sweet. “Want to escort me inside?”
Jim dropped his jaw and nodded quickly, taking Tom’s arm. Tom giggled again, almost wishing he could change back into his true form at that moment so he could see the expression on Jim’s face.
But there was no time for that. He wanted to dance, and more—with Grant.
Jim’s sweaty palm held Tom’s elbow tightly as they stepped to the glass doors with the other students. The three-story school building loomed high above, reaching toward a clear sky full of stars. Tom’s heart soared to the heavens, to pinpricks of twinkling light, and he smiled as several of the other boys glanced his way, uttering murmurs of approval.
Inside, Jim clasped Tom’s hand tightly as they joined the crowd climbing the stairs to the second-floor lobby. The big, open space was decked out with banners and balloons colored with the blue and gray school colors and ribbons and posters celebrating graduation. The loud music of a live band rumbled down the locker-lined halls. The local rock group was almost hidden from Tom’s sight by the dozens of couples gyrating back and forth over the lobby’s checkered tile floor. Chaperoning teachers drank Cokes and watched with boredom from the sidelines.
And then Tom saw Grant, already dancing with Ginger.
“Wanna dance?” begged Jim.
Tom smiled, pursing his lips. “Not now, little boy.” He walked carefully in his high heels to the center of the room, giggling his new tones at Jim’s disintegrating grin. But there was no time for a colder vengeance. Tom eyed a wall clock that displayed 8:45 and strolled with careful balance to Grant and Ginger, swaying together on the dance floor.
The song ended.
“That was great, Grant,” Ginger said, crushing her corsage and stiff pink gown against him.
Tom stepped forward and stared at Grant. The square-jawed football player was more handsome than ever in the white tux and ruffled shirt. The lines of his body were strong and perfect. He was too good for Ginger, with her reputation of being hot to trot. Tom hated seeing them together. Grant deserved better.
Grant deserved him!
“Hi,” Grant spoke uncertainly, as though Tom seemed familiar.
Little did he know.
“Hi,” replied Tom delicately. “Are you Grant?”
Grant’s lips tightened as he nodded, and Tom thought of all the things he’d always wanted to say to him.
“And you are?”
Tom batted the long lashes. “Tom…uh…Tommie.”
Ginger was making a face. Grant took Tom’s slender hand cautiously, and the touch of those strong, smooth fingers sent a chill through his new body. “Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Grant said, smiling.
“I’m pleased to make yours. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Really?” Grant’s face turned pink.
“Really,” replied Tom, licking his lips and moving nearer. His heart exploded as he felt Grant’s hot breath lick his forehead. They were just an inch apart. Grant’s attention was focused on him so entirely.
“Are you here with a date?” asked Grant, again drawing Ginger’s frown.
Tom thought fast. “Uh…my cousin Tom brought me, but he wasn’t feeling good and left as soon as we got here. He pointed you out and said, uh, that, uh, you’d take care of me. He said you two used to be good friends.”
A slow frown crept over Grant’s face. He glanced at Ginger quickly. “That was a long time ago.”
Tom pouted.
“Still, I’ll keep you company for old times’ sake. What was wrong with Tom?”
“I just don’t think he could go through with it, you know? Being here with a girl, I mean.”
The band started playing again. Coupled began to drift from the tables of munchies and punch toward the center of the dance floor. Ginger tried to lead Grant away.
“Come on, Grant. Let’s dance.”
Tom looked at Ginger, then back at Grant. “Won’t yo
u dance with me this time?” he asked in a high voice, pouty again. “Maybe you could let me have one dance and then I’ll go. I just hate to think I dressed up for nothing at all.”
Grant returned Tom’s stare with growing interest, gulped, and faced Ginger. “I’ll give this one dance to Tommie, okay?”
“Instead of me?”
Tom put his small hand into Grant’s, and their fingers intertwined. “Just once dance,” Grant said.
Ginger’s face twisted, and she looked around the room. “Maybe you can dance with me later, then. Maybe.” Ginger walked to one of the food tables and tapped a burly jock, Ralph Mahoney, on his shoulder. Ralph turned around, looking like an overweight undertaker in his black tux, then smiled happily. Ginger’s hand went into his, and Ralph nodded with excitement when she spoke inaudibly.
“Looks like I messed up your date. Sorry.”
Grant rubbed Tom’s fingers gently. “Maybe you just made yourself my date.”
Tom blushed, for real. “Don’t tease me.”
Grant put his other hand on Tom’s waist, pressing their bodies together and letting loose a fire in Tom that grew intense. “I’m not teasing,” Grant whispered.
They danced slow, and Tom laid his head on Grant’s shoulder, smelling the football player’s manhood through his sea-water cologne. The second dance was slow, too, but their hips ground together faster and faster. The third was a speedier tune, but they stepped out of rhythm, still close and touching.
Grant kissed Tom’s full red lips, gently and shyly, but Tom kissed back with pent-up lust, his excitement growing as Grant’s hands dropped down to Tom’s ass and pulled their sexes even closer together. Tom smiled as Grant’s bulge rubbed against him.
When they broke, the next dance was midway through, and rather than try to catch up and take part, they walked together to the rail beside the stairs. Grant leaned against it, and Tom supported himself against the muscular body he’d wanted for so long.
“I feel somehow like I’ve known you before,” whispered Grant. His face stretched between an honest confusion and a smile. “That’s not a line, either. I mean it.”
