GIRLIFIED: 15 BOOKS MEGA BUNDLE

by Nikki Crescent

  THE END

  SISSY CAMP

  For years, Derek has fought a strong desire to wear his sister’s clothes. But one night when Derek finds himself home alone, he can’t help himself—the temptations have grown too strong. But Derek makes one big mistake and his religious father discovers his secret.

  Within twenty-four hours, Derek finds himself pulled from school and on his way to a six-month religious ‘pray away the gay’ camp on the other side of the country. He’s expecting the worst, so he’s surprised when he shows up to a camp full of dolled up sissies who just want to relax and have a bit of adult fun.

  CHAPTER I

  The temptations had been there for almost two years—getting stronger and stronger… And until that night, I’d managed to fend them off. I knew they were wrong and I knew that I didn’t want to be one of those guys…

  But that night, the temptation was just too strong and opportunity was just too perfect. My parents were out watching some play and my sister was out at a friend’s house on the other side of town for a sleepover (at least that’s what she told my parents—she was actually out at a party and she planned on staying the night with her boyfriend). I had the house to myself—even the neighbours were out of town.

  And usually, my sister, Beth, kept her bedroom door locked (she started locking it after she found out my mom was reading her diary), but that night she’d left the door open—probably by mistake. The nanny cam in the living room had recently broken after our family dog smashed into it—the circumstances couldn’t have been more perfect.

  So I found myself in my sister bedroom—just to look at first. I was just teasing myself—I didn’t actually plan to put on any of her clothes. There was a pair of white heels on the ground. As a joke more than anything I tried them on, and I was shocked to find out they actually fit. In fact, all of my sister’s shoes fit. We were apparently the same shoe size, which I didn’t know until that night… Okay, so they were a bit small, but they looked great and they didn’t hurt my feet.

  I took the shoes off and I put them back where I found them—and I was about to cut myself off when I noticed a tinge of red lace poking out from the bottom of Beth’s sock basket. I pulled on that red lace and out emerged a piece of sexy lingerie: a one piece romper that my parents certainly didn’t know about; if they did know about it, my sister would have been sent away to some sort of super-strict boarding school. I couldn’t believe she actually owned it. What was she doing with it? Scratch that—I didn’t want to know. But I did want to try it on.

  I took the little red romper to my bedroom and I locked my bedroom door, just in case my parents came home super early for some reason. I slipped into the romper. It felt good against my skin: the tight lace, hugging me in all the right spots.

  My heart was pounding. For two years I’d resisted the urge to get dressed up in my sister’s clothing—and now that streak was over. I’d finally indulged. I’d finally given into my wrong cravings. I looked at myself in the mirror and I was shocked to see that I actually looked kind of good. But there were a few distractions: mainly my leg hair. It was the middle of December and I didn’t plan on wearing shorts for another four months at least, and that was plenty of time for my leg hair to grow back. So I found myself in the bathroom, shaving my legs, and shaving my crotch, and shaving the tiny bit of hair off of my chest.

  And I looked in the mirror again, and now I looked better. But I could still do more. There was a costume wig in the basement from one of my sister’s old Halloween costumed. It was long and blonde and perfect for the red romper. So I grabbed it—and I looked even better. But I knew I could do more. So I snuck back into my sister’s bedroom and stole some makeup supplies. I spent a good twenty minutes getting my eyeliner perfect. And then I used a sparkly gold eye shadow, which made my eyes look big and stunning. I painted my lips with a ruby red lipstick, and then I brushed a bit of blush onto my cheekbones. And once again, I found myself in front of the mirror. Now my lips were parted and I was frozen: I really looked like a chick. I was trembling with excitement. I wanted to take photos of myself, to post anonymously on the Internet. There was a thread on 4chan that I visited regularly—the trap thread: sissy guys posting sexy photos in their sisters’ clothing. I’d stumbled onto the site a couple of years before by accident, and it quickly became an addiction—an addiction I was severely guilty about, but an addiction I couldn’t break, no matter how hard I tried.

  I fetched my camera from my room and then I snapped a few shots in the mirror. I looked over the shots and then I took a few more. The adrenaline was intense, pumping through me, making me jitter and twitch. I couldn’t stop smiling—and I couldn’t will away my erection no matter how hard I tried—so there was a huge erect bulge in every photo (but somehow that only made the photos sexier). I couldn’t get enough. I wanted more photos, so I found myself back in my sister’s room.

  I’d lost track of time. I’d completely forgotten that my parents would be coming home soon. But I just couldn’t stop. I was like a drug addict on a binge. I dug through my sister’s closet and I found another piece of sexy lingerie. I couldn’t get into it fast enough. I grabbed my camera and this time I took the photos in my sister’s pink bedroom. I couldn’t wait to post them online. I couldn’t wait to read the comments from all of the guys who wanted to be with me—and all of the guys who wanted to be me.

  I was touching up my lipstick when I heard the door downstairs open and close. I froze and heard my parents coming up the stairs. I was in my sister’s room, and I was dressed in her lingerie, with a face full of her makeup. I was doomed. I didn’t have anything to wash the makeup off, and I didn’t have time to get the lingerie off. I should have done something—anything but stand there. But I just couldn’t move.

  And then my parents walked right past my sister’s bedroom and headed straight towards their own room. A wave of relief washed over me. When I heard their door close, I ran across the hall to the bathroom. I locked myself in and I got myself undressed and cleaned up. I waited until I knew the coast was clear before returning to my sister’s room to clean up.

  But in the frenzy of the moment, I forgot all about my camera. I left it sitting on my sister’s dresser, and it wasn’t until the next morning that I remembered it. But by then, it was too late.

  CHAPTER II

  I dug through my sister’s bedroom looking for the camera. I was sure I left it on the dresser the night before, but it wasn’t there. I tore apart my own bedroom, thinking that I maybe put it down while I was in the heat of my cross-dressing moment. But it was nowhere to be found.

  My mother caught me digging through the bathroom vanity. “What on earth are you looking for?”

  “I, uh, can’t remember where I left my camera,” I said. My hands were trembling. There were photos on that camera that I couldn’t have anyone see.

  “Oh, that? Your father borrowed it. He’s gone out to take some photos of one of his new rentals. Do you want to borrow my camera? It’s not as nice as yours, but you’re welcome to use it.” My heart dropped into my stomach. I nearly fell to the ground, overwhelmed by an intense nausea.

  “Where’s the new rental?” I managed to ask before the lump in my throat was too big.

  “In the south—why?” my mom said. She was staring at me with a concerned look now. My face must have been bone white. I parted my lips to reply but I couldn’t get any words out. My jaw just trembled. “What the hell is wrong with you?” my mom asked—and she never swore.

  “Nothing,” I said, and then I ran and hid in my room. My heart was pounding. I kept gagging but I couldn’t make myself throw up. I was doomed—my life was about to end.

  When I heard my dad’s truck tires pull into the driveway, I thought I was going to black out. I had to force myself to breathe. I heard his footsteps enter his house, and then I heard my mom saying, “What’s wrong, dear?” He didn’t respond though. Instead, he stormed past her and climbed the stairs towards my bedroom. I pulled th
e covers over my body and I tried my best not to cry. My bedroom door opened, and there stood my dad, holding my camera in his left hand. He didn’t say anything—he didn’t need to.

  My mom appeared behind him. “What the hell is going on?” she asked. She saw the camera in his hand and her face began to turn white—but not nearly as white as mine. She knew it was bad but she didn’t know how bad it was.

  My dad just stood there staring at me for a minute. And then he turned around and closed the door without saying a word. He didn’t have to say a word. I already knew that I was doomed.

  It was a dreadful four hours before my father finally returned to my bedroom, this time with something to say. “I’ve called your school,” he said. “You’re going to finish this year at summer school.”

  “But it’s only December,” I said. My voice was weak and broken. I hadn’t cried, but I probably sounded like I’d done nothing but cry since I saw him last.

  “I’ve made some calls. You’re going away until June. This isn’t easy for me.” He couldn’t look me in the eye.

  “Going away where?” I asked.

  “To a place that will help you,” he said, and then he left the room. He didn’t come back in that night. My mom brought me a plate of food. Usually they called me down to the dinner table for dinner, but I don’t think my dad wanted to see my face at the dinner table. I tried to eat a few bites, but the food only made me sick. So I left it on my dresser.

  My future was uncertain. I had no idea where I was being sent—though I had a good idea. My dad was catholic and he did a lot of volunteer work for the church—and I’d seen the flyers posted on the billboard at the church: flyers for special camps where young gay men would go to ‘pray away the gay’. I had a feeling that’s where I was headed, even though I wasn’t gay.

  I didn’t like guys. In fact, the thought of a man’s cock made me gag. The thought of a chick’s cock on the other hand… I don’t know why I found traps to be so attractive, and I don’t know why I felt so excited by the idea of being a trap—but I did know that I wasn’t gay. I knew I didn’t want to have sex with a man unless that man made a perfectly convincing woman, and wore cute lingerie. Did that make me gay? Was there some sort of gay spectrum that I fell onto? My dad apparently thought so.

  I didn’t sleep that night. I had no idea when I was being shipped away and I had no idea where in the world I was going. Was it in town? Was it a few hours in a car away? Was it a plane ride away? Was it multiple plane rides? As far as I knew, my dad was sending me to South Africa.

  It was around 4:00 AM when I heard footsteps coming up the stairs. I was in bed, but I wasn’t asleep, and I hadn’t been asleep for almost twenty-four hours. I sat up as the steps approached my bedroom. For a moment I thought that I was having a bad dread. But in order to dream, one has to first fall asleep—and I was pretty sure I hadn’t done that.

  The door swung open and two strangers stood in my doorway. I perked up and froze, terrified. They looked mean, even though the nighttime shadows were obstructing their faces. Then, my dad appeared behind the men. “Son, these men are going to take you away for a while. We’ll see you in six months.” I wanted to resist—but I knew there was no point. I knew that my father was going to get his way.

  I was eighteen and he didn’t control me, but I didn’t have anything without him. I had no home, no job—nothing. If I refused to go with the strangers, my father would have kicked me out, and I would have been a homeless. And I didn’t want my father to hate me. I didn’t agree with my father much of the time, but I didn’t want him to disown me. So I got up slowly. “Should I pack anything?” I said, trying not to cry.

  “No—they have everything you need at the facility,” my dad said. The men stepped into the room. I wondered why they were there. Were they going to drag me out if I refused? Could they not have just waited in the car while I came out on my own?

  “What about my toothbrush? And toothpaste?”

  “It’s all at the facility,” said one of the men.

  So I went along with the men, wearing nothing but a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. We got into a slick black car. I had the backseat all to myself. I looked out the window and saw my mother crying next to my father on the front step. My sister came up next to them, rubbing sleep out from her eyes. I could almost read her lips as she said, ‘What’s going on?’ No one replied to my sister, so she just stood there, looking afraid and confused.

  But she wasn’t nearly as afraid and confused as me. I don’t know how I wasn’t crying, and I don’t know how I wasn’t throwing up. The car started to pull away and I watched as my family became smaller and smaller—and soon enough, they were gone.

  CHAPTER III

  I was told to go to sleep because it was going to be a long drive. I told myself that I wouldn’t go to sleep—that I would stay awake and keep a close eye on the road signs, so I knew where I was (not that it really mattered). But after an hour on the highway, I started to drift off. My sleepless night had caught up with me, and the repetitive prairies weren’t helping at all.

  When I woke up, it was bright out—so bright that I struggled to open my eyes. It took a moment to remember why I was in a car, and then it took another moment to realize the car wasn’t moving. I sat up quickly and looked out the window. I had to wait for my eyes to adjust before I could see that we were at a gas station in the mountains—though I had no idea which mountains. There was no town around the little station—just forest and steep rocky cliffs.

  I was alone in the car, and I couldn’t see anybody outside of the car, but there was the odd car passing on the highway. I thought about running out and hitching a ride with someone—running away from my captors and starting a new life somewhere. But I had no idea how to start a new life. I’d never worked a job before and I had no money to get an apartment or even a room in some slummy house. Hell, I didn’t even have clothes—just the pyjamas that were on my back.

  I waited for five minutes, but no one came back to the car. So I finally opened the door and stepped out. The air was cold. I didn’t realize until I was out of the car that it was snowing. I wrapped my arms around myself, but that didn’t do much. I looked around and found myself in awe of the massive mountains—I’d never been to the mountains before. I’d only ever seen them in pictures, and once from a plane to California.

  I began to tremble, but not from the cold; I was living in a nightmare. My whole world had changed in an instant. Just twenty-four hours before, I was waking up happily in my bedroom, and I had nothing in the world to worry about. I had wealthy parents that were going to pay for my college and I had a comfortable room to stay in for as long as I needed. I was privileged—and now that was all gone. Now I had nothing but pyjamas and a six-month sentence at some ‘pray away the gay’ camp, and I wasn’t even gay…

  Would anyone believe me? When I told them that I was just messing around and indulging in a silly curiosity, would they care? And if they didn’t believe me, what were they going to do to ‘fix’ me? I’d heard of these camps before in the news—they were always being shut down for using extreme methods. I heard about one camp that tried to literally beat the gay out of a group of young men. They all had broken bones and bruises and cuts—and I have a feeling they were all still gay.

  I needed some sort of strategy going into the camp. Maybe I could lie and say that I was gay, and then after a week, say that I’d been cured. Maybe they would believe that. But if they think I’m lying from the beginning, they’ll never think that I’m telling the truth.

  I walked around the gas station and saw a number of cars parked on the other side. They were all black and slick like the car that had brought me to those mountains. And upon closer inspection, there was a young man in the back of each car. Some of the men were sleeping and some were staring blankly at the mountains.

  I heard a rumbling behind me. I turned around and saw another black car pull into the gas station parking lot. And once again, there was a youn
g man sitting in the back of the car. I could see that he was angry and possibly yelling at the driver, but with the windows closed, I couldn’t hear anything he was saying. It wasn’t until the car stopped and the doors all opened that I heard, “You can’t do this, you know. This is kidnapping. I’m going to tell everyone!” The young man looked at me. “Hey—you! I’ve been kidnapped. Call the police.”

  The driver of the car looked at me with a tired and unimpressed look. “He’s here voluntarily—he hasn’t been kidnapped,” he said to me. Then he looked back at the young man. “You can go if you want. You’re eighteen—I’m not stopping you.”

  But the young man didn’t go. He was silent for a minute. “I want a lawyer. I have a right to an attorney, don’t I?”

  “You haven’t been arrested,” the driver said.

  “Take me home,” the young man said. “I demand it.”

  “Your parents paid me to take you here. They said you aren’t welcome home until June.”

  “This is all a big misunderstanding. I want to see my lawyer. Where’s my lawyer? Why hasn’t one been provided for me?”

  The driver rolled his eyes. I could tell that the arguing had been on going for hours, so I didn’t envy him.

  A few minutes later, a bus pulled into the gas station parking lot. It was a short black bus with tinted windows. There were no markings on it, unless you count the license plate on the back. A chill crept down my spine as a cool gust blew through that mountain pass.

  The driver of the newly arrived black sedan walked towards the gas station and went inside. And that’s when I realized the gas station was filled with older men, sipping coffees. I recognized the two men from my car; they were chatting with another pair of men. We were all here for the same reason. Every young man at that gas station had been brought in from different parts of the country, and now we were all going to be shuttled to the dreaded camp.