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Hormonal Imbalance(tranformation), Part Two
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
2 _Hormonal_Imbalance___________________________________by_Leigh_de_Santa_Fe_
hair out and Dennis must have been thinking along similar lines
because after observing himself for a long moment he discarded
the rubber band and shook his head. The long auburn waves,
free at last, framed his face with a kittenish dishevelment
that literally forced his face into a pouty sultriness.
He turned to Debby. "I look really good, don't I?"
"Really good?"
He blushed deeply. "I mean, do I look okay?" he said,
painfully aware she had caught him basking in the ecstasy of
feminine conceit.
"Yes, you're gorgeous. Now let me brush your hair out."
Dennis smiled and sat down on the edge of the tub like a
princess awaiting her chambermaid. The brush moved through his
tangled curls reluctantly at first but soon Debby's hand pushed
down easily and the snarls resolved into a smooth cascade of
mahogany, the strands aligned like exquisite wood grain. It
felt so wonderful he wanted to purr.
"I've been wanting to do this for weeks," Debby said.
"Weeks?"
"Yes, weeks. It's a sin to have hair this beautiful and not
brush it. In fact, it's a sin not to have it styled."
Dennis turned to look at her. "But I can't do that. I'd have
to leave my room."
"So, you're going to stay in your room forever, Rapunzel?"
"I'd like to. I'd like to have you come brush my hair every
day and talk to me and bring me ..."
"Dresses?"
"Yes. And we could be together like we used to be."
"We'll never be like we used to be."
Dennis folded his hands in a sea of blue taffeta. "I know."
Debby glanced in the mirror and caught Dennis's eyes.
"You know, there's one thing I can't show you here that's
absolutely essential."
"What?"
"Shopping at the mall," Debby laughed. "Why don't we go out
together to the mall tomorrow. You need to get some things
that fit. You'll love it."
Dennis was skeptical. "What would I wear?"
Debby smiled. She knew he was ready. "Anything you want,
princess."
The next day was Saturday. Dennis got up at dawn and was
already possessed by the question of what he would wear on his
mall spree. He also had to get out of the house without seeing
his father. Around nine o'clock his mother knocked on the door
and delivered his breakfast. "You okay, honey?" she said.
He turned to her and smiled. "Yes, I guess. I'm supposed to
go to the mall today with Debby."
"That's great!" she said. "What are you going to ..."
"I don't know."
"What's wrong with jeans and a sweater?"
"Mom!" he said with exasperation, "It's not what I'm going to
wear. It's wearing a bra and stuff out there," Dennis said.
He turned his head to the window, creating a curvy cameo
against the blue sky. His mother put her arm around his waist.
"It'll be fine. No one will ever suspect."
He spun out of her grasp. "No will ever suspect what?" he
demanded.
She stepped back in alarm for a brief moment. Then regaining
her composure she said deliberately, "That you're not a girl."
"Even though I look like one?"
"Yes, a very lovely girl," she added.
Tears welled up in his eyes and he said, "I'm scared, mommy."
She hugged him.
"I know, honey. I know. It'll be fine. Everything will be
fine."
An hour later the door opened and Dennis emerged like a shy
butterfly. He wore his old jean jacket over a tight black
turtleneck sweater and a pair of girls' jeans that Debby had
brought him. The jeans were so tight that the outline of the
credit card his mother gave him was clearly visible in his back
pocket. Furthermore, his sweater accentuated his bust in a way
that both embarrassed and excited him. His mother had brushed
his hair out and pulled it back in a ponytail, tying it up high
on his head in a more feminine way. Dennis protested but
secretly he liked the way it made him look cute and little
girl-like.
They drove to the mall in silence. Dennis looked out the
window and played with the end of his ponytail. When they
arrived his mother said, "You'll be fine. Try to have fun with
it." Dennis made an effort to smile. She watched him walk
across the parking lot, losing track of him as he blended into
a crowd of teenage girls headed for the mall.
Dennis arrived at the appointed meeting place early and sat
down on a bench to wait. His breasts felt bigger and more
conspicuous than ever and he unconsciously began to hunch over
to hide his curvy, new figure. When he saw Debby walking
across the mall he straightened up a little.
"Hi," Debby said quietly.
"Hi."
"You look great."
"Thanks." He blushed. "Everything feels so ... tight."
"That's because it is, dear. And that's why we're here. Are
you ready?"
"Not really."
"Come on, let's go get you a bra that fits." She pulled him up
off the bench and they headed off to the lingerie department at
Dillards.
Debby took Dennis back to the dressing rooms, and said, "Wait
here. I'll be back."
He sat down and fidgeted, trying not to feel like this was the
oddest thing he'd ever done, trying not to listen to the sounds
of dressing dropping and bras hooking.
Soon Debby returned with several bras, slips and even a garter
belt. When Dennis rolled his eyes she said, "You might like
it, you know. Now take off your sweater."
He spent the rest of the afternoon taking off his clothes and
trying on others. Debby was having a great time selecting
things and then having him model them for her. Soon he forgot
who he was and where he was and began to look forward to trying
on the pretty blouses and skirts that Debby handed him.
By two o'clock he had discarded the turtleneck and jeans and
was wearing black tights, a black denim skirt and a white
blouse with puffed sleeves and a plunging neckline. By three
o'clock he had replaced his mother's low pumps with a pair of
shiny black heels and he carried a small brown leather purse.
He felt more at ease in his new role now and even a little
proud of his figure which Debby never stopped praising.
"You're such a fox," she'd say or with mock envy "You're so
stacked. I wish I had your figure." Dennis couldn't help
grinning when he heard these compliments. Even though he felt
comfortable walking along side Debby in his new skirt and
blouse, he found it difficult to take the larger step of
enjoying his femininity. Debbie sensed that this shyness might
be shed if he could see his feminine loveliness reflected, not
in a mirror but in the eyes of his beholders.
"How about a makeover?" she suggested as they strolled through
the cosmetic section. Dennis hesitated and then thought why
not. Moments later an attractive young redhead in a cream
colored lab coat was daubing bright colors on his cheek and
speaking in low soothing tones about contrast and shade.
Dennis found himself enjoying the attention. Especially when
Carole the cosmetician praised his cheekbones or his aquiline
nose. When she finished he swooned at the luscious girl who
stared back at him in the circular mirror. Carole had
uncovered or rather created a glittering creature with her
brushes and paint and Dennis was amazed at this new level of
transformation. He was barely begun to admire himself when
Debbie said, "Let's get your hair done now."
Dennis went pale beneath his blusher. "Oh, I don't know.
Can't I just leave it the way it is."
"Your hair is lovely but it needs to be trained. Just like
your breasts need a bra for support, your hair needs to be ...
tamed."
"Tamed how?"
"You'll see. Come on," she said, taking him by the arm and
leading him into Hair Designs.
When he left the salon an hour and a half later the
ambisextrous pony tail was gone but you couldn't really call
what replaced it tame. The hairdresser, obviously delighted to
get her hands on Dennis's thick, abundant hair, had taken this
raw rapunzel and worked his hair into a frothy bouffant.
Parted on one side it now sinuously fell over his face in a
dramatic cascade which culminated at his shoulders in a thick,
bouncing wave.
Dennis was mortified when he saw what had been done to him.
Debby couldn't stop laughing. He looked as though he should be
wrapped in ermine and carrying a chihuahua, a soap opera vixen
at a supermarket opening. It was the worst possible outcome:
big, starlet hair which called attention to his burgeoning
femininity. In fact, it was the perfect complement to his
glamorous makeover and a small part of his girlish self was
celebrating. The rest of him found his new look, like his
pouffy coif, to be an unwieldy burden, top heavy with sex.
"You look faaabulous," Debby said over and over in her best
Fernando Lamas ooze. People were staring at him. He could
feel heads turning as he walked past. And when they reached a
knot of teenage boys his composure, already on shaky ground,
completely abandoned him and suddenly he was a teenage girl,
giggling with nervous energy, embarrassed and proud of his
beauty, knowing and innocent. It was as though he'd been
handed a scepter that had compelling power but he had no idea
how to control it. And so he passed through the crowded mall
causing small whirlwinds of sexual confusion in his wake.
The two girls made their way out into the silent twilight and
fell silent themselves. Dennis felt his nipples stiffen in the
October chill. He drew the jean jacket tighter.
"How are you going to get all this stuff home?" Debby said
finally.
"I guess I should call my mom but I don't really want to."
"Why not?"
"I don't know. She's never seen me like this."
"Yeah. Well, I could call my mom, I guess."
"Does she know?"
"Not exactly."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"She knows."
"Oh, great."
"Hey, it's not a big deal."
Dennis exhaled a bitter laugh. "Okay, well let's go call her."
Debby's mother was not discreet. She gawked, she stared, even
her silence was uncomfortably intrusive and Dennis was glad
when they dropped him off at home. He gathered up all his
purchases and went up the walk. His mother opened the door.
"Is that you?"
"Yes," Dennis said, bowing his head so that his bounteous hair
shrouded his face in shadow.
"Let me take a look at you. Oh my God!" She reached out to hug
him but he pulled away. "What's the matter, honey?"
He ran past her up the stairs to his room. When he got there
he was shocked to find the room had been transformed. Gone
were the beige curtains, the brown bedspread and the dresser
he'd had since childhood. In their place, were pink draperies,
a chenille bedspread and a vanity replete with a tableful of
cosmetics. A long, rectangular mirror encircled by tiny bulbs
completed the picture. A note was taped on the mirror. It
read: "For our new daughter, Mom and Dad."
Dennis didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He did neither.
Instead the girl in the mirror beckoned. Finally alone, she
demanded his undivided attention. The androgynous jean jacket
fell to the floor like a discarded husk and her delicate hands
covered her decolletage. It was a gesture of instinctive
modesty. Head tipped forward in shy retreat of her own
loveliness, hair spilling over her naked shoulders, she
resembled a little girl simultaneously chastened and adored for
wearing Mommy's good blouse. A mischievous smile now overtook
her diffidence and she swiveled in a three quarter turn to see
just how big her hair was in back and how much space her
breasts displaced in profile. The small smile turned big as
she took note of her own womanly grandiosity. Hands went to
hips next and back arched, trailing her mane down to her waist.
The little girl had disappeared. A starlet was emerging.
"Dennis!" his mother called from behind him.
He wheeled around and felt the free fall of his hair over one
shoulder. The little girl suddenly returned, blushing crimson.
"Are you okay, honey?" she said, unable to conceal an amused
smile.
Dennis looked down. His mother gave him hug and it crossed his
mind that his breasts were bigger than her's. "I'm so proud of
you," she said softly. Dennis pushed her away.
"Let's see what you got," she said, trying to break the
tension.
"Maybe later. I think I'd like to be alone."
"Don't you want to show your dad ..."
"No!"
"Dennis, you've got to face him sometime. You can't hide up
here for the rest of your life."
His glittering eyes flickered with a laser beam of hatred and
his mother beat a hasty retreat. He locked the door, stripped
his clothes off and looked at his body in the full-length
mirror his parents had installed on the back of his door. His
body was a conundrum with its voluptuous curves and a big cock
swaying between his legs. He touched it. Not with the manly
intent of his pre- girl years but daintily, gingerly, as though
it were a foreign part of his body, an incongruous artifact of
a forgotten time. Amazingly, it sprang to life in his delicate
hand and the sight of his nodding tool in concert with his
swaying breasts aroused him. He began to play with his image
in the mirror. Legs spread and pelvis thrust out, he proffered
his stiff rod with one hand and gathered up a shock of brunette
hair with the other while his lips pouted with babydoll
insouciance. It was an arresting image and one filled with
coarse sensuality. Suddenly a wave of enormous shame mingled
with a knowledge of raw, unbridled power swept over him and he
lay down on the pink bedspread to catch his breath. His head
was swimming with strange hormonal drumbeats and even though
the blood drained from his cock, his mind retained the image of
the lusty androgyne for a long time after.
"Dinner's ready, hon," his mom called out from behind the door.
Dennis stood up and turned to look at himself once again. A
strange and mischievous smile overtook his mouth and he picked
up his bra and twirled it around his finger. Then he put the
bra and panties back on, tucking his maleness demurely between
his legs. Pawing through the bags from the mall he selected
the tightest jeans and a red sweater with pearl buttons that
celebrated his new convexity to stunning effect. For shoes he
chose a pair of black heels with ankle straps. Glancing in the
mirror he smiled at his kitten- with-a-whip look, freshened up
his lipstick, brushed his bounteous hair over his shoulders and
bounced down the stairs to dinner.
His mother raised an eyebrow as he plopped into his customary
seat. He smiled back at her, spreading his napkin over his lap
with careful good little girl aplomb. When his father finally
emerged from his own hiding place he turned white at the image
of his son, whom he had last seen in uncomfortable transition,
as a red lipped little hussy flaunting her breasts like Lana
Turner.
"What's the matter, Dad?" Dennis said in a breathy,
Marilynesque whisper. "I thought you wanted this," he said,
resting his hands modestly over his breasts.
His father struggled with his emotions for a moment and then
sat silently, a frozen smile fixed on his face.
"Dennis went ..."
"I'm Denise now, Mom."
She nodded in his direction. "Denise went to the mall today."
"Oh," his father said, trying to seem interested.
"He ... she bought all kinds of stuff ... on your credit
card."
"Oh."
They ate in silence. Denise watched them carefully. They
didn't look up once for 10 minutes.
"Look! My nipples are hard," Denise finally said, nonchalantly
breaking the silence. "What causes that, I wonder?" he said,
throwing his shoulders back to emphasize his bust. His parents
looked up for a moment and then down immediately at their
plates. He toyed with a strand of spaghetti for a long moment
and then said, "Look, I'm a girl now. You'd better get used to
it because I have." He got up suddenly and went back to his
room.
"What was that all about?" his father said.
"I don't know," his mother said.
"Maybe you'd better go see if he's ... she's alright."
"Why don't you. I think that little performance was for your
benefit."
"What do I say?"
"Just accept her."
"But she's so ... whory."
"Have you looked around lately? That's the way girls are these
days."
"It's hard to adjust to him that way."
"Her. And you'll just have to try."
He got up and walked slowly up the stairs.
"Denise, uh sorry, Denise," he called out. When no response
came, he tried the doorknob and finding it unlocked he opened
the door a crack and poked his head in. Denise was sitting at
his new vanity. The sweater and jeans were gone. He wore only
a black brassiere, panties and heels. His hair was piled up on
his head casually in Gibson girl splendor. He turned to look
at his father. In his hand he held a mascara brush. "Hi,
Daddy," he said with a coy smile.
His father eyes dropped to Denise's expansive cleavage and he
withdrew hastily. "Sorry, I thought you were ..."
"Dressed," Denise finished. "But, Daddy, I am."
Hiding behind the door, his father grew purple with
embarrassment and rage.
"Listen, Daddy, I'm not what I was. Physically or any other
way. I'm your little girl now with not so little breasts. And
I'm pretty and I like it. So you better get used to me this
way because I'm not changing back again." Slowly the door
closed and Denise smiled into the mirror for a moment before
resuming the brush strokes of his mascara.
* * *
On Sunday Denise went over to Debbie's and the two spent the
entire afternoon trying on clothes and making up. He was an
avid student, absorbing as much information as he could about
make up, clothes and hair. Debbie was surprised at the new
lack of self-consciousness about his femaleness. Though late
in the afternoon, as Debbie fussed over his hair, he admitted
that he was worried about school.
"Why?"
"Why? I left there six weeks ago as a boy and now I returning
with this?" he said, pointing to the the frothy pile of curls
atop his head. "And these," he said, cupping his breasts.
"But everyone knows something happened to you."
"They do?"
"Well, yes. I mean, it was happening before you left, you
know."
"What are they saying about me?"
Debbie stopped teasing his hair for a moment. Their eyes met
in the mirror. "They're saying you're a girl now, a beautiful
girl."
"How do they know that though?"
"I told them," Debbie blurted out.
"What did you say?"
"I said that your body had changed and that you and your
parents decided it was best if you started wearing ... girls'
clothes for a while."
Debbie's matter of factness made Denise blush.
"And I said that you were really pretty."
Denise sighed, his bosom heaving beneath his blouse. "Do you
really think I'm pretty, Debbie?"
"Shut up, big tits and let me finish your hair."
"I hate that word."
"What? Tits?"
"Yes. Do you really think my breasts are big?"
"Oh, you just want to hear me say it. Yes, of course they're
big. 36 C cup is big, darling. The boys are going to love
you."
Denise looked up at the mirror. "No, they won't. They'll
think, 'He's a boy who looks like a girl.'"
"How long do you think that will last?"
"Well, I'm not a complete girl, you know."
"They won't be seeing that though, will they. And besides how
will they know it's still there?"
Denise smiled at his reflection. "It's kind of like being a
spy. Like Mata Hari," he said, covering his face like a veil
with a thick coil of brunette curls. Debbie casually
recaptured them and resumed brushing.
"At least you won't have to take P.E. anymore."
* * *
The next day Denise and his parents met with the school
counselor, Mr. Belson and the school nurse, Miss Ashley, to
talk about "Denise's" return to school. Denise wore a long
sleeve ribbed knit dress that revealed the contours of his new
topography with such drama that Mr. Belson had trouble looking
at the statuesque young tart without staring in awe. It
pleased Denise no end to see that the slightest shifts in his
posture reverberated throughout Mr. Belson's libido like tiny
seismic disturbances.
"Denise seems to be adjusting to her new role very well," Mr.
Belson said, looking first at Denise's father who shifted
uncomfortably in his seat and then at his mother who beamed
with pride at her son's beauty and finally at Denise himself
whose demure lips opened and seemed to Mr. Belson to mouth the
words, "Fuck me." Belson turned crimson and then said, "Well, I
guess that's it unless you have anything else, Miss Ashley."
"I'm just wondering what bathroom Denise will use," Miss Ashley
said matter of factly.
"Well, I, uh," Belson stumbled.
"Why can't he use the girls' bathroom?" Denise's mother asked
impatiently.
"She could but I'm afraid of what would happen if she was ...
indiscreet," Miss Ashley said, politely correcting his mother's
slip.
"Denise is a lady," his mother insisted. His father winced.
"Well, I'm sure she is but some of the students know that
Denise is not . . completely feminine. I would hate to put
her in an awkward position."
"Why don't we try it for a while and see how it goes," Mr.
Belson intervened.
Miss Ashley sighed and retreated. The meeting was over.
That night Denise stared at the ceiling and thought about Mr.
Belson. "How nervous he was. He couldn't take his eyes off my
breasts. I controlled him just by touching my hair or shifting
in my chair. These are powerful," he thought to himself as he
cupped his heavy bosom in his hands. He decided to experiment
more with his new powers and when he appeared at the breakfast
table in the morning, his clothes were even more provocative.
He wore an ultratight v-neck red sweater and designer jeans
which left nothing to the imagination. He hair was tied high
up on his head and bounced merrily against his back in a thick
spring-loaded ponytail. His adorable bangs belied his
tantalizing couture. He chose the brightest red lipstick he
could find and his alabaster cheeks were brushed dramatically
with pale rose blush. He was ready to turn heads.
First class was English with Mr. Bostick. The usual preclass
din was in full sway until he appeared in the doorway. Then
the heads not only turned, jaws dropped and tongues fell out as
the prettiest boy in school took his old seat. He waited for
Mr. Bostick to make a speech about his return and it seemed as
though that might have been the teacher's plan until he'd seen
the statuesque boy's transformation. He was literally
speechless before such a bewitching metamorphosis. Denise
breathed a sigh of relief (an event followed by every male in
the room) and felt secure in the knowledge that his imposing
beauty had helped him escape an embarrassing situation.
The rest of his classes followed a similar pattern. The few
who weren't aware that he'd left school weeks earlier as a boy
were soon apprised of the fact and turned to stare with
undisguised wonder. He smiled politely at the girls and
suggestively at the boys and basked in the reflected heat
generated by his homecoming. No one talked to him between
classes and he spoke to no one until he saw Debbie in the halls
between classes.
"How's it going?"
"Not too bad, I guess. Everyone thinks I'm a martian but I
don't care."
"You're too beautiful. That's the problem. They can't believe
someone with a set like yours was a boy a few weeks ago."
Denise smiled. "Gotta go."
"Bye."
He walked down the corridor feeling the tightness of his
sweater against his breasts, the swish of his pant legs and the
clicking of his heels. He felt good. He felt alive. This
feeling stopped abruptly when he pushed the heavy door into the
girls' bathroom. A mangy quartet of tough girls fixing their
hair and makeup turned to look at him. He smiled and went into
a stall and shut the door. Like most stall doors the lock
hadn't functioned in years and only gravity kept it shut.
They girls resumed their conversation in stage whispers.
"I don't think he looks that great."
"His bra's gotta be padded."
"I heard he still had his dick."
"He's probably standing over the john right now."
"Hey, leave the seat down, will ya?" Laughter. They moved to
the front of his stall and began whispering in earnest.
"Hey, Denise."
"What?"
"We want to see it."
Silence.
"Come on, Denise, we're all girls here right?"
Denise tried to move his knee against the door but it was too
late. As the door flew back he stood up hastily and made a
futile effort to pull up his jeans.
"Oh gross!"
"It's huge!"
Denise tried to cover himself but it was too late. He burst
out crying and made the impromptu decision to cover his face
rather than his privates. It was a bad decision. One of the
girls had a polaroid camera and flashed a quick snap of the
pretty girl and the unquestionably large remnant of her
manhood.
"You won't be so haughty after this gets around, Big Dick."
"See if his tits are real," one of the girls said. Another
girl responded by ripping Denise's sweater open, exposing his
pert 36 C cup breasts bouncing in a lacy black brassiere.
The camera whined again capturing the conundrum of Denise's
body and her anguish at its rude exposure. Denise took his
hands from his face to scream at his antagonists but that only
served their interests better when a third picture was snapped
that showed the pretty girl with the bouncing ponytail
revealed, cock flopping and cleavage popping.
This was the picture that went into wide circulation throughout
the school the next day, reaching Mr. Belson's desk sometime
in the late afternoon. It was a crude xerox of a xerox but
Denise was still clearly recognizable. Curiously, his look of
anger had mutated in the copy machine into cartoonish surprise
giving the photo the look of a burlesque postcard, the kind
where an airbrushed cutie loses her bathrobe to an obliging
gust of wind. The fact that much more was revealed than a pair
of white buns added a certain piquancy. What remained in the
viewer's mind after the picture was gone was the magnitude of
both his male and female attributes and, of course, his
stunning face.
The next day when Mr. Belson called Denise into his office he
expected a somewhat chastened version of the vixen he'd met at
the parent conference. He was surprised to find that Denise
was unrepentant. He wore a scooped-neck leotard that exploited
the fulsome beauty of his bust and a denim sheath skirt fit
tightly around his derriere. He wore his hair down and it
framed his face in soft waves of kittenish abandon. There was
nothing about him that suggested he had a secret surprise in
his panties or that the humiliating events of the past two days
had daunted his hussy image.
"You don't seem bothered by this, Denise," he said, holding the
picture up.
"I am but I can't let it show or it will only get worse."
"So you hide your true feelings."
"I suppose."
"Is that wise?"
Denise looked into his eyes. "Mr. Belson, I know I'm a girl
now. I have breasts and a girl's figure. I also happen to
have a penis. Now everyone knows it. It's not a big deal."
Belson stared in awe at the lovely boy/girl's insouciance.
Then he looked down at the key in his hand and said, "Well, I
don't think it's wise to use the girls' bathrooms anymore. I'm
going to give you the key to the faculty bathroom. Do me and
yourself a favor and keep the door locked from now on."
Denise took the key and headed for the door. He turned round
as he touched the doorknob and said "Don't worry about me, Mr.
Belson. I know what I am."
Yes, you're a slut, Belson thought as the pretty boy/girl left.
The next few days were difficult ones for Denise as her
notorious picture circulated throughout the whole school.
Taunts of "Big Dick" and "Cock Girl" were whispered behind her
back in the corridors and her old friends, including Debbie,
were embarrassed to be seen with her. She didn't seem to mind
much during school but at night, as she sat before her vanity,
she would burst into tears when she scanned her lovely image in
the mirror and saw her big cock resting peacefully beneath her
tricot panties like a python in repose.
Nevertheless she was determined not to back down and each day
her provocative clothes reflected a "Take No Prisoners"
attitude that did little to let the controversy around her
subside. One day she arrived at first period English class in
a bustier and short black skirt with a bolero jacket that
mitigated her delicious cleavage but not by much.
"Denise, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to go home and
change," the principal had said after calling her into his
office.
"Why?"
"I think that's fairly obvious," he said, uncomfortably.
"Not to me."
"You can't come to school dressed like Madonna and expect to
get away with it."
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