GIRLIFIED: 15 BOOKS MEGA BUNDLE

by Nikki Crescent

  When I first found out that I was going to be a female while they hunted down Steve Anderson, I figured I would just stay in the house all day: sleep, watch TV, lounge around the pool, and so on. But by day five with Cassandra, I was determined to get out. I was starting to feel claustrophobic, starting to worry that I was losing my mind. It didn’t help that the Internet was heavily censored. I’m not sure how they did it, but I wasn’t able to access Facebook or Twitter or even YouTube. I felt cut off from the world. I knew it was for my own safety, but I was starting to wonder if I really cared that much about my own safety.

  Cassandra took off for a few hours to meet up with friends. She told me to stay inside the house while she was gone, but I was already planning to sneak out. I waited for her car to disappear into the distance, and then I got myself ready. I was going to go out as myself—as a man. I didn’t plan on going anywhere that there would be lots of people—just to a park or maybe a hiking trail outside of the city. I got myself out of my dress and my heels and my makeup, and I found the most masculine outfit in the house—which wasn’t terribly masculine: a tight t-shirt and a tighter pair of jeans. The look was a bit effeminate (especially considering it was technically a woman’s t-shirt and a woman’s jeans), but I figured it would be fine for a quick stroll.

  I rushed down to the front door and I reached for the handle, but I wasn’t able to turn it. I was suddenly overwhelmed with fear. The image of Steve pulling that trigger filled my mind. I could vividly see Rupert’s bloody corpse, and then I could picture my own face on Rupert’s face. Steve had men all over the country, and he had men in the police force. There was a good chance that he knew I was in California, and there were probably people looking out for me.

  I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t bring myself to open that door. My legs and hands started trembling and a nausea filled my gut. I had to step back from the door. I was having a panic attack. I thought about putting on a pair of sunglasses and a baseball cap—but even then, I felt like they would recognize me.

  So I found myself staring at my wardrobe of women’s clothing. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea. Maybe being a woman really was my best bet until everything blew over with Steve.

  “What an improvement,” Cassandra said to me the next day, after watching me do my own makeup. I even picked out my own clothes, and I did my own hair. “Even your voice sounds better. Were you practising a lot while I was out yesterday?”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “A little bit,” I said. I’d been doing some extra practising. There was a recording program on the laptop they gave me, which I used to record my voice over and over while I worked out all the little masculine kinks. I stayed up late, until I felt like I had something I could work with—something that wouldn’t raise eyebrows out in public. I even went to sleep in one of the little satin slips that were in my closet. It actually felt quite nice, being clad in satin while I slept. All of the female clothes felt nice, as if everything was made with higher quality fabrics than whatever they used for male clothing.

  On the morning of day six, Cassandra had a present for me: a box wrapped in pink gift-wrap. She watched me with a big smile while I opened the little gift box, and then she started laughing when I saw what was inside. My face must have turned a shade of white. She’d gifted me a series of dildos: a floppy dildo, a suction-cup dildo, and a hard vibrating dildo. There was also a little bottle of lubricant in the box. “Surprise!” she said, and then she started laughing again.

  “What the hell is this for?” I asked. I was worried it was going to be part of my preparation. I was already dreading the moment when she would tell me to bend over and stick one of the fake cocks into my ass. And would she blackmail me? Would she threaten to tell her dad that I wasn’t participating if I didn’t humiliate myself with her selection of sex toys?

  “They’re just for you to do whatever you want with,” she said. “Every girl owns at least a vibrator.”

  “I don’t want them,” I said.

  “Just take them. Stick them under your bed. You’ve got porn on that computer, you know,” she said.

  I felt my cheeks turning red. I hadn’t even thought about porn or jerking off since being arrested. But now that she mentioned it, I realized I hadn’t gotten off in almost two weeks. That must have been some sort of record. And now that she mentioned it, I was suddenly looking forward to having some time alone.

  I got my alone time that night, when Cassandra went out with a few friends. I went onto my computer and I searched for porn on the Internet—but all of the websites were blocked. I must have tried fifty different websites before I gave up. It was a lie—the computer couldn’t access porn.

  Just as I was about to give up, I remembered Cassandra’s wording: ‘You’ve got porn on that computer,’ she had said. Maybe I couldn’t access porn—maybe it was already on the hard drive. So I started looking in folders. It only took a few minutes before I found a folder that was literally labelled ‘Porn’. There were twenty videos in the folder. I opened the first video, and was disappointed to see that it was some mushy porno from the 90s. They hardly showed the girl’s twat at all—but they showed plenty of the guy’s big oily dick.

  I tried another video, but I ran into the same problem: they were all pornos for chicks. They were all 90% story and 10% sex. And sometimes the sex wasn’t anything more than two people lying together and kissing while gently thrusting their hips together. Boring. I was better off using my imagination. So I closed my computer and then I closed my eyes. I reached my hand down between my legs and I started stroking.

  And before I was even hard, I started imagining myself as a woman. Even when I was picturing myself with a beautiful woman—there I was in a skirt and a pair of heels. I tried hard to get those images out from my head, but they wouldn’t go away. Feminine thoughts were all I was allowed to have for almost a whole week, and now feminine thoughts were all that I was able to muster up. I couldn’t finish. I sighed and fell back on my bed and I stared up at the ceiling.

  “Well, I’d better get ready for bed then,” I said to myself. I brushed my teeth and then I went to the closet to find another satin slip to wear to bed. And that’s when I found some sexy lingerie: a strappy lace one-piece with a garter belt. I found a pair of fishnet stockings nearby, and then I became overwhelmed with curiosity. Cassandra was still out, so I decided to try on the sexy outfit.

  It felt nice—like everything else. It was tight, but strangely comforting. My legs looked amazing in the fishnet stockings, and my butt looked fantastically perky once I slipped into a sleek pair of black heels. I did a few poses in front of the mirror, and then something happened: I started getting hard.

  I wasn’t attracted to myself, but for some reason the sight of myself in lingerie was arousing. I continued posing, and it wasn’t long before I was rock hard. I had to slip my cock out from my bottoms, as it was just too tight otherwise. And then I remembered that box of dildos and my heart started pounding. I didn’t want to penetrate myself, but the thought of messing around with the sex toys was making my heart throb at a mile a minute.

  I didn’t end up touching the toys, but I did end up stroking off my cock. I stood in front of the mirror with eyes wide open. I reached up with my free hand and cupped my breast, which was just a pad slipped into the cup of the lingerie. I said a few dirty things to myself, and then I coated the mirror with my white substance. I had to get a wad of toilet paper to wipe it all up. And once I was finished, I had a cold realization: I was starting to become a little bit too comfortable with this whole cross-dressing thing. And maybe that was a good thing for the sake of my safety—but it certainly wasn’t a good thing for the sake of my manliness.

  CHAPTER IV

  I had terrible nightmares on my sixth night in Cassandra’s California bungalow—the kind of nightmares that just don’t seem to end, that you can’t wake yourself up from even once you’ve realized you’re having a nightmare.

  Or maybe I shouldn’t call them nightm
ares; they were more like flashbacks, to that night with Steve Anderson. It was rare that I got to spend time with Steve. He travelled a lot, and usually when he was in New York City, he liked to hang out with higher ups in the organization. But that night he pointed at me and said, “You—come along with me tonight. I need some help finding a guy.” I was excited for the opportunity to hang out with one of the most infamous modern American gangsters—and a man who had the power to make me very, very rich.

  He asked me to drive, because he had some business on his phone. Mikey and Jer also came along for the ride—and they were almost just as excited as me to be with Steve in that car. I asked Steve where we were going, and he told me just to drive around Queens. So we drove around Queens aimlessly, wasting gas while Steve thumbed away on his phone. No one objected to the seemingly massive waste of time. And no one bothered Steve while he was on his phone.

  Finally, after half an hour of aimless driving, Steve blurted out an address. It took me a moment to realize he was blurting the address out at me, as if I was a cab driver. I looked over at Mikey, who quickly punched the address into his phone’s GPS. It was only a few minutes away. We pulled up to an office building, which was lit up despite the late hour.

  “Come in with me. One of you stay at the door. One of you watch my back.” As we were getting out of the car, I saw Steve tuck a handgun into the waistband of his jeans. My heart stuttered and I knew the gun was going to be used. I’d never actually seen a gun in use before—I’d never even been to a shooting range. Sure, lots of guys in the organization carried guns around with them, but no one ever came close to using them.

  I was hesitant to follow Steve into the building. Jer noticed the gun and his face turned pale. “I’ll watch the door,” he said. I could tell that he was going to run away as soon as we were out of sight. I’d never seen so much fear on a man’s face—though I was about to see even more in just a few minutes.

  We went up the stairs, ignoring the elevator. Mikey stayed in the back. He had a gun, too, but I knew for a fact that Mikey had no idea how to use it. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to be doing. I wondered if Steve thought that I was armed—I wasn’t. I didn’t own a gun and I never even thought about owning a gun.

  We reached the eighth floor and then quietly slipped into the hallway. There was an open door at the end of the hallway. Steve looked over at me and whispered, “This is what happens to rats.” He walked up to the door. I stopped and started slowly backing up, back towards the stairs. Steve kicked in the door and then I saw Rupert. He looked up and his face was white with terror. Steve raised the gun and fired many times, emptying his whole clip. It was loud—so loud. My ears were ringing for hours afterwards.

  And the image of Rupert in that pool of blood stayed in my mind for days—hell, it was still stuck in my mind.

  And in one of my many nightmares that night, I was the one in that office looking down the barrel of Steve’s large handgun.

  Cassandra shook me awake after I’d relived that moment for the tenth time that night. It was bright in my little bedroom. “You’re all sweaty,” she said. “You feeling okay?”

  I forced a smile. “I’m fine,” I said. I sat up and noticed my hands were trembling. Maybe I wasn’t all right. Maybe I had that PTSD that so many organization members were always complaining about.

  “We’re going out today. You’ve officially graduated lady school,” she said to me. So my heart only had a few seconds to relax before being sent into another throbbing panic. Was I ready to go out? Did I even want to go out and take the risk? Would anyone recognize me? These were just some of the many anxieties that came surging through my head. “I’ll let you pick out your own clothes and do your own makeup. You’re in charge of your own style now,” she said before leaving me alone to wallow in my stress.

  At first, I started picking clothes that would cover me up the most: a sweater and a pair of jeans, with a pair of black boots. But it was a warm day, and covering myself up would only draw attention to myself. If I was truly going to blend in, I needed to dress down. So for my second attempt, I picked a short white floral dress, a pair of white thigh-high socks, and a cute pair of black flats. I curled my hair the way Cassandra taught me.

  I wasn’t quick to get ready. I wasn’t quick to do anything that morning. I spent extra time with each little step. It probably took me twenty-five minutes just to get my eyeliner right—but it had to be just right. Girls don’t leave the house with shoddy makeup, so I couldn’t leave the house with shoddy makeup either. I tried to be quick with my eye shadow, but the image of Steve found its way into my head, so I took a breath and I slowed myself down. Cassandra came knocking on my door a number of times. “Are you ready yet or what?” she would ask.

  “Almost,” I would say, and then I would find ten more little details to perfect.

  Once I was done, I took a step back and I looked at the finished product for a good five minutes, scrutinizing every detail. I wasn’t recognizable—I hardly recognized myself. Cassandra was right—the look was more than just the clothes and the hair and the makeup. I was especially unrecognizable when I was holding myself like a woman—posture and mannerisms are so important.

  When I emerged from my room, Cassandra’s face lit up. She made a big smile and said, “We’re going to have a lot of fun today.”

  My heart was throbbing as I stepped out the front door for the first time in a week. My legs were trembling and I was worried my knees were about to cave in on themselves. But the panic quickly started to fade when we started passing people on the street. People either didn’t notice me, or they looked at me with warm smiles. No one looked at me with confused glares. They really thought that I was a woman. Cassandra really had turned me into a girl.

  Cassandra leaned in close to me after just five minutes out in the real world. “You’re doing great, Kylie.” And until that moment, I’d forgotten that my female name was Kylie. But hearing it now, it suddenly didn’t sound so bad. Kylie. It had a nice ring to it. It seemed strangely suiting.

  “Thanks,” I said, unable to fight the smile from my face. I pushed that smile away after a few seconds. It was a strange dilemma to have: I didn’t want to smile and make Cassandra think that I was actually enjoying myself, but I didn’t want to look miserable and risk compromising my identity. So I did my best to look slightly uncomfortable whenever Cassandra was looking—and at times I truly did feel uncomfortable, especially when there was a slight breeze that would lift up the skirt of my dress. But after just twenty minutes of seeing the warm smiles of strangers on the streets, I felt strangely comfortable for the most part. And I even felt excited at times, but I did my best to hide that excitement. “So where are we going?” I asked.

  “We’re going shopping, so you can pick some clothes out for yourself.” It hadn’t occurred to me that I’d been wearing Cassandra’s clothes. The witness protection program’s budget must have been truly tiny.

  It was a weekend and I could see from three blocks away that the mall was busy. The parking lot was nearly full and there were constant streams of people filtering in and out of the packed place. My heart stuttered. I knew I had to be careful or risk humiliating myself in front of hundreds of people. But it wasn’t the humiliation I was worried about—it was Steve Anderson that I was worried about.

  CHAPTER V

  I think Cassandra was trying to embarrass me. She was trying to push me to my limit, to see what she could get away with. And I think she was having a bit of fun at my expense. We weren’t in the mall for ten minutes before Cassandra said, “We need to get you some of your own lingerie. Every girl owns lingerie.” So she dragged me over to the lingerie store and she started pulling options off of the rack for me. “You would look good in this, and this—oh, and this—you need to try this on!” It wasn’t long before she had a large pile of lingerie in her arms.

  My heart pounded every time I interacted with someone—and it didn’t help that the first person I interacted wi
th was one of the lingerie store employees. She took the pile of lingerie from Cassandra and then looked at me. She looked right down at my body. She was silent. Could she tell that I was actually a man? She slowly looked back up at my face. “What size is your bust?” she asked. And my heart skipped a beat.

  “A three or a four,” I said, taking a blind stab into the dark.

  She gave me a strange look, as if I’d just responded in Mandarin. Thankfully Cassandra stepped up and came to my rescue (after leaving me out to dry for a good ten seconds, probably for her entertainment). “She’s a 32 C,” Cassandra said. I had no idea what that even meant.

  “If you want to take off your top, we can size you here. You look more like a 32 double-D to me,” the woman said, staring at my chest.

  I didn’t know what to say. They may as well have been speaking Mandarin with one another. “I think we’ll just try this and see how it goes,” Cassandra said, and then the woman finally let me into the change room.

  I felt silly in the change room, which had a little pot of flowers in the corner, and free perfume samples on a small ledge. Strangely, I was tempted to try one of the samples, but I didn’t want Cassandra to smell me all perfumed up. I stared at the pile of clothes and wondered what she wanted me to do. Did she want me to try them all on? And then what? Did she want me to come out to show her how I looked?

  “How’s it going in there?” Cassandra asked, but I hadn’t even gotten undressed yet.

  “Fine,” I said.

  “Did we get the right sizes?”