Something Feels Strange…

Chris is your average good teenage boy.  He has a wonderful girlfriend, is an avid runner, and near the top of his class in school.  He leads a well ordered life and he likes it that way.  Things are going good until...

 

Chapter 1:  Panic!

Something feels strange.

Something is not right.

The last thing that I was aware of, I was in bed: drifting off to sleep after another challenging day of school, homework, running practice, and dealing with parents who don’t really remember what it was like to be a teenager. Add to my list of woes the unexplained problem that my girlfriend was too busy to spend time with me today.

Don’t get me wrong, I think life is good. It’s just difficult.

My one consolation is that it is Friday night, looking at a weekend without anything particular to do. Maybe I can sleep in, get in a good run, then spend time with my girlfriend. If I can find her.

Anyway, back to the present. Something is out of place. I’m pretty sure it is me.

Why? You ask; because it is obviously the middle of the night and here I am standing in the middle of the Junior’s section at the local big box department store where my older sister, Marla, works after school and on weekends. You know the kind of store. It covers a couple of acres and has everything: food, clothes, hardware, house wares, furniture, etc. I am all by myself. I am also still in my pajamas. To top it all off, I don’t know how I got here. I am just here.

The store is lit dimly by the night security lights and everything is deathly still. I figure that I am in big trouble if a member of the night crew, a security guard, or a janitor shows up. This realization greatly elevates my anxiety level. I would expect some night time employees restocking everything but I don’t hear anything. I figure that this is a good thing. Maybe I am alone.

You see, I am the type of kid who really likes staying out of trouble. I figure that life is a lot more enjoyable if you’re not wasting time trying to dig yourself out of a hole. I get nervous just crossing the street, afraid that if I don’t stay precisely within the lines some policeman will write me up for jaywalking. So, to be caught in a store–after hours–where I am not supposed to be and without a good explanation as to why I’m here causes me major trauma.

Not only that, but getting caught wearing only pajamas would be very embarrassing. Particularly wearing these pajamas! Any guy would like to hide the fact that he still wears Sponge Bob pajamas at the advanced age of sixteen.

If that was all, my anxiety level would only reach the level of ‘nervous wreck’. Unfortunately, taking me to ‘near panic’ level is the fact that I am surrounded by girl’s clothing. Some of it of the “intimate” variety. Like all men everywhere (young and old alike), I find that visits to the girl’s clothing section of any store is like walking into uncomfortable foreign territory. Men only go there when dragged there by a female relative or girlfriend. It is never a comfortable place. In fact it is quite unsettling. Most of us are happy to stay just outside the region, or at least in the major aisles, while trying hard to not to look like we are checking out the strange and personal items that are so much a part of the female existence.

After checking out and cataloging the unexpected external environment, the “feeling strange” issue now comes to the fore. I am used to being pretty light. Running up to 15 miles a day, I am a lean 135 lbs while being six feet tall. I don’t have any fat. None at all. Unfortunately, right now I am feeling a bit more padded. And in strange places. I’m a bit shorter too, or everything else suddenly got a little bit bigger. Hair is tickling my ears and neck, which is odd since I had a crew cut when I went to bed this evening. This is strange indeed!

I am beginning to get a very bad feeling about this situation. I’m in the wrong place, at the wrong time, wearing the wrong clothes, and having problems with my body. So I my anxiety level is definitely at ‘near panic’. But only for a few minutes.

Now I hear footsteps! Not just any footsteps, put the clicking of women’s heels on the hard floor. I am now in ‘full panic’ mode and thinking that it is time to hide.

Taking a closer look at the clothes racks around me, I see several circular racks holding long skirts on one side and racks of lingerie on the other. Thinking quick, it looks as if the best hiding place is behind the skirts. Lingerie just doesn’t provide enough coverage.

After ducking behind the rack of skirts, I hope that whoever is here will soon move on so that I can figure out how to get out of here without any trouble. It is a good thing that whoever is out there is wearing heels so I can keep track of where they are.

Unfortunately, the footsteps are coming my way. They don’t seem to be in any hurry either. As they get closer, my heart is in my throat. I really don’t want to be caught.

The footsteps stop just on the other side of the rack. I am caught. I just know it. Unfortunately I don’t have a good excuse for being there. As a matter of fact, I don’t know how or why I am here. What am I going to say?

Things revert to deathly still for a few minutes. Why won’t she just go away? My heart is beating so wildly I can hear it. Maybe she hears it too. The beating sounds like those Japanese drummers that my girlfriend and I went to see last weekend. If it doesn’t stop soon, I think that I will be in cardiac arrest.

“Chris,” a very familiar voice calls out, “we have a lot to do. Come out from wherever you are hiding!”

A mixture of surprise and relief hits me as I realize that the woman on the other side of the rack is none other than my girlfriend, Laurie. But how does she know that I am here? Why is she here? Why does it seem that she thinks that this nothing out of place?

“Laurie?” I enquire as I slowly stand up. “You scared the crap out of me! Do you know what's going on? Why are we here and why do I feel strange? And, most importantly, how do we get out of here without getting caught? I want to leave like, right now!” Being in ‘near panic’ mode, it barely registers in my mind that something is wrong with my voice. I have more pressing matters to worry about, like how to get out of here!

“Whoa! One question at a time!” she says. “How about starting with the feeling strange part?”

“How about starting with the ‘let’s get out of here’ part then dealing with the’ feeling strange’ part?” I suggest.

She looks at me with an easy grin on her face, “Well it is the ‘feeling strange’ part which is the reason for being here, so I think that you should start with that. Anyway don’t worry about getting caught. That won’t happen. It is just you and me… for now. So relax. We are safe.”

Now I am really confused!

“Come with me”, she requests then turns to walk over to the changing rooms. In a state of total confusion, I follow her. She looks like she knows what she is doing so I just go along for the ride. My anxiety level drops back down to ‘nervous wreck’ but I still think we should find a graceful way to get out of here as soon as possible. I am keeping my eyes open for someone official to nab us.

The walk is not a long one, but the movement involved really highlights the ‘feeling strange’ problem. Things don’t feel right. My center of gravity appears to be off and my chest seems to be having some problems with flab. Something about my crotch does not seem right. I also find that Laurie and I are now around the same height which seems strange since last time I saw her I was a good four inches taller than her.

Arriving at the dressing room area, Laurie stands me in front of a full length mirror. In the mirror I see two girls who could be sisters. One dressed ready for a night on the town and the other wearing oversized boy’s pajamas. It takes me a couple of seconds to realize that the pajama-clad one is me! The anxiety level is now back up to ‘full panic’. The scream that ensues seems somehow appropriate. I am lucky to not pass out.

A thousand questions flash through my brain as I try to get my mind around what I am seeing. The girl in pajamas is clearly the younger sibling of the other, but not by much. The family resemblance is strong. They are both fairly tall–for girls–have strawberry blonde hair and big green eyes. Laurie, the older one, has a wonderful figure accentuated by the form fitting dress that she is wearing. The loose pajamas on the other girl–who must be me–make it difficult to see what the body looks like, but it obviously the body of a young teen girl. Laurie has long, well maintained, straight hair that extends to the middle of her back while the other girl’s hair appears to be shoulder length and motley. She really could use some time in a salon.

Laurie was right, the ‘feeling strange’ part seems to make the ‘let’s get out of here’ part seem a bit insignificant. All I can do is stare at the younger girl knowing that she is me, but not able to mentally make the connection between her and me. I am staring at a stranger.

Just so that you know, I have always considered myself to be an average boy. I like girls, sports, macho movies, male ‘rituals’ and not sweating the details. I have always considered social grace to be over rated. I spit, fart occasionally, and am generally insensitive. I don’t like long involved relationship chats and am mightily confused by all the intricacies of human relations. I don’t even want to know the intricacies of human relations! Like most teenage boys–and some adult men–I am pretty brain dead when it comes to noticing the world around me. I only focus on the things that interest me. I am a typical boy, and I really like it that way. I mean that I REALLY like being a boy.

To find myself suddenly female is such a foreign concept that I can't really get a hold of it. Having a mother, two sisters, and a girlfriend I am not totally uneducated about females. However, my perspective on female life has, up to now, been that of a stranger looking in from the outside. The extent of my research has been to try to figure out how to keep them relatively happy so that we can peaceably coexist. Like most males, my research had yet to yield many useful insights. None of my research was even remotely slanted towards trying to figure out how to BE a girl!

To say that I felt like a fish out of water would be an understatement. Heck, up to this point in my life I had yet to actually see a real live bare female breast or the anatomy found under a woman’s skirt. My hands have never wandered to these mysterious regions of female anatomy. Like I said, I was a good boy and followed my parent’s advice–mostly–to avoid porn and to treat girls and women with enough respect so as to not violate their privacy.

So to find myself on the other side of the gender fence is an extremely traumatic experience. As my mind struggles to get a handle on what it is seeing I must have just frozen up after the initial shock.

“Chris? Chris? Hey Chris! Are you in there?”

It has become apparent that Laurie is trying to get my attention. I turn to look at her, keeping one eye on the mirror.

“Chris. Snap out of it girl! As I said, we have a lot to do.”

“Whoa! Girl? Did you just call me GIRL?” I ask as her comments began to seep into my brain, “What is going on!?”

“Well… sweetie, as you can see in the mirror, you are now a girl,” she explains patiently, “If the mirror is not enough, try lifting your shirt and dropping your pants. I think that you will find that you are now configured a bit differently than you were earlier. Go ahead, try it.”

Back to ‘full panic’ mode we go! She is asking me to do something that is totally against my good boy character. Good boys do NOT go around looking at naked women! After all, I did not attain the Eagle rank in Boy Scouting by being disrespectful or perverted. Don’t get me wrong, like any hormone rich young man, I have always been curious, but good training had made such things so taboo that the thought of what Laurie is suggesting is just beyond me. I think that she saw the panic in my eyes.

“Chris, get a grip. I know this must be a real shock but you are now a girl and you will need to be familiar with your body because you will have to live in it and take care of it for a long time. So… strip!”

WHAT!?!?!?!? my mind screams. What is this talk about being like this for a long time? Hey, I haven't quite related that girl in the mirror to me just yet and now she is talking about this being a long term arrangement!

“Laurie. Whoa! Whoa! Back up a minute. What do you mean ‘for a long time’? ”

“I’ll explain that later, Chris." she says. "First things first. I need you to take your clothes off so that I can take a few measurements. No worries. After all it’s just us girls here. You don’t have anything that I don’t see every day.”

“Ah… But I now have things that I have never seen," I point out. "And I am not sure that I am ready to see them now.”

“Chris, I said to not worry about being caught" she says displaying a little impatience. "That is true if we get moving with the task at hand, but we don’t have unlimited time. So get with the program and get out of those clothes.”

Did I mention that Laurie can be a bit bossy at times?

“Ah… so what is the task at hand?” I ask in confusion. Things are still not adding up. There are a LOT of missing pieces in this puzzle.

“Our first task is to outfit you with a basic wardrobe before morning.” She states as if it is obvious. “You can’t go to school Monday morning in boy clothes and you must be ready to present yourself as any other teen girl. That means more than a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. The first step is to get undressed; then I can take a few measurements so we can find your sizes. We only have about four hours to get this done, which not nearly enough time. So, if you please…” she waves her hand at my current attire as if she expects me to take it off.

“Laurie, tell me again why are we are here doing this? “

“I never said why," she responds. "We don’t have time for the full explanation and a partial one won’t do. Just suffice it to say that your safety and the safety of others is a major part of the reason. You’ll have to trust me on this one.”

“Uh… I’m not so sure about this” I point out to someone who apparently doesn't care.

“It doesn’t matter what you are sure of right now" she says, impatience clearly evident on her face. "What is is what is. You can’t do anything about it right now. I am here to help you and what you need most of all right now is to get your wardrobe together. And it needs to be done tonight. So move it!”

Okay… so what would you do at this point? For me it is pretty obvious that explanations are not forth coming so I figure that I need to trust her as requested–after all she IS my girlfriend and someone that I have learned to trust.

Feeling extremely embarrassed about undressing in front of my girlfriend, I step towards a dressing room to do this discretely.

“Uh… Chris?" she asks. "Where are you going? I’m going to have to see you naked whether out here or in a small dressing room. It will be easier out here.”

Stopping, I turn my back on both Laurie and the mirror. I don’t want to get undressed in front of the other girl either. So–you are thinking–the other girl is me, but my mind has not caught up with that idea yet.

Unbuttoning the shirt, I start to open it. Looking down at my chest I get my first ever view of naked female breasts. Up close and very personal. I quickly close the shirt back up again and slam my eyes shut. My face turns a bright scarlet and I am in serious danger of hyperventilating.

“I have breasts!” escapes from my lips.

“Chris… Get used to it. Keep moving” she says.

“But Laurie, they're girl’s breasts!" I whine. "I am not supposed to be looking at topless girls!”

“That rule only applied when you were a boy. They are hard to avoid if you are a girl” she points out.

“What happened to me?!?!?!” I ask. It is obvious to me that Laurie knows a lot more than she has been sharing.

“Again… it is a long story but we need to save it for later. How about we try this a different way? Why don’t you just keep your eyes closed for now and I’ll undress you and take the required measurements?”

That idea seems better, but I still feel out of place thinking it will be embarrassing for me to be naked in front of her, still not grasping the concept that what she will be seeing is nothing all that unusual for her. I hesitate.

“Come on,” she says. “I’ll make it quick.”

“All right” I finally concede. My anxiety level is down to ‘extremely nervous’ now, which allows my mind to wander away from of survival mode.

Closing my eyes tightly and keeping my hands from wandering to areas they have been trained to avoid I submit myself to the careful ministrations of my unusually calm girlfriend. The thought hits me that, given the situation, perhaps I should be thinking of Laurie as my ‘girl friend’ instead of my ‘girlfriend’.

This new thought really hits me hard.

We have been dating for almost eight months now. It started in the first week of the new school year. I was sitting at a bench in an introduction to electronics course on the opening day of class when this very cute girl walks in looking definitely out of place in the all male class. It was apparent that she's quite nervous so the instructor asked her if she is lost. She showed him her class list and he told her to find a seat. About the only seat open in the classroom was on the other side of my work bench so she took it. Later in the day I found that she was also in my band class (I play the trumpet and she the flute) and my math (pre-calculus) class. As she's a year ahead of me in school she seems a bit out of my league. Heck, I am very tongue tied around non-relative girls anyway. It turns out that she struggled with the electronics and math classes so I offered to help. Before too long I found myself walking her home after school to study. We end up on our first official date about six weeks after school started (Hey… I’m cautious!). After the big first date not a single day has gone by without us being together at some time. That is until earlier today. (Or was it yesterday? I just realized that I don’t have a clue as to what time it is.)

We have kept our relationship completely with the accepted limits. A lot of necking, but the hands have not strayed. For either one of us. We talked about taking our relationship to the next level, but we both decided that we were not ready for the deep emotional ties that getting physically intimate causes. We have watched sex mess up several of our peers in recent years–both physically and emotionally. We don’t want the baggage, so we have been close but have taken the physical side of our relationship slowly.

I really like having Laurie for a girlfriend. She is soft, warm, caring and willing to let me do some of the guy things that I like to do without complaining about neglect. She has a life of her own as well. We have developed a special bond that we both feel has the potential to turn into true love, if we don’t do anything to screw it up.

For example, my turning into a girl would screw things up.

Given Laurie’s calmness I figure that either she knows this condition of mine is short term or she is not as committed to our possible future as I thought she might be. Given her earlier statement about taking care of this body ‘for a long time’ tends to cause me to lean to the second conclusion.

That hurts.

Another potential alternative is that she is into girls. I’m pretty sure it's not that either because she is treating this as a business venture. So I’m back to the lack of commitment idea.

It still hurts.

While my mind is trying to get grasp on my relationship, Laurie is busy taking my pajamas off me. First the shirt goes then the pants. Commenting on the lack of appeal of male apparel, she pulls my jockey shorts off too. Just as well. The male underwear is feeling uncomfortable in ways that I would never have guessed before tonight.

Laurie finds a measuring tape somewhere nearby and starts measuring me.

“How’s it going?” a new and very familiar voice suddenly asks, returning me to 'extreme panic' mode.

My eyes snap open and I scream again. Finding another convenient clothes rack, I start to dive for cover. Laurie is quick. She catches me by the arm in mid launch.

“What is she doing here!” I squeak, looking first at my older sister Marla then desperately for something to cover up with. She is wearing running shoes, which accounts for her stealthy approach.

“For that matter, what are we doing here!?” I ask again.

“Marla works here, remember?” Laurie reminds me. “She will help us find what we need much quicker than we can ourselves. Not to mention that she has lots of experience helping other women and girls with their clothing selections. Not only that, but she can ring up the sale.”

“Some clothes would be real nice right now” I point out. “It is more than embarrassing standing naked in the middle of a department store in the middle of the night in the presence of my girlfriend and my sister.”

Marla smirks as she mentions, “Oh, and our mothers will be in after parking around behind the building.”

'Please earth, just open up and swallow me whole,' I silently plead to whatever higher power might be listening. 'Oh… and do it quick.' What did I do to deserve this?

“Okay, Marla, are you ready to take down her measurements?” Laurie asks, getting back to business.

“Sure… measure away!” my grinning sister replies happily. I think that she is enjoying this more than she should.

“Well," starts Laurie, "so far I have found that Chris’s hips are thirty-six inches, waist twenty-four inches, and bust is thirty-four inches. She measures out to have about a large ‘B’ cup size. That will be a good place to start when trying on bras. Her height is five foot six inches. We will have to check shoe size later. Did you get all that?”

“I’m jealous,” Marla admits. “I’d like to be as trim in the butt, but at least my breasts warrant a ‘C’ cup.”

As they go on about my measurements, it seems that they have forgotten that I am still there. Maybe I have become their Barbie doll.

"Uh… ladies?" I ask. "Can I go hide now?"

“Sure,” says Marla, “Why don’t you duck into the changing booth for now? We’ll bring you some things to try on.” Her face is wearing her trademark mischievous grin. I am in trouble now!

She didn’t have to ask twice. Fortunately the dressing booth is unlocked or I would have crashed the door down! Unfortunately the door is more like one of those saloon doors you see in the old western movies: it is missing a foot or so at the bottom and only comes neck high–on a short person. It is also made of louver slats. Not real private, but better than standing out for the whole world to see.

No sooner than I dive into the booth, but I hear two more female voices–I think I've been set up. Apparently I am the only one here who doesn’t know what is going on. I am also apparently the only one who seems concerned about the fact that some kind of gender switch has been flipped.

As the two newcomers get brought up to speed, I am still feeling very exposed. And I am getting goose bumps from the chill.

“Hello ladies! Remember me?" I call out. "I'm the confused one here in the dressing room. I'm also getting cold. Will someone pass me my pajamas so that I can get dressed? Oh, and while you are at it, PLEASE tell me what's going on.”

“Chris–forget the pajamas,” my sweet mother–Amanda Quinn–says. “They should have been tossed out long ago. Anyway, we are here to get you something to wear so we’ll get you covered soon. As far as to what is going on, that explanation would take longer than we have time for now, so it will have to wait.”

Where have I heard that before?

“I think you'll need to hang on to those pajamas–at least for tonight,” says Jennifer Mercer, Laurie’s mother. “I’ll just set them over here for now.” She puts them on a chair in the waiting area.

Mom quickly takes charge of the proceedings. She always does. She has a strong personality that has served her well as an engineering project manager. She also knows how to give orders and expects obedience–instantly. She is also a great organizer.

“Okay girls, let’s get started here." Mom starts. "Laurie thanks for getting the measurements. It appears the new member to our club will be easy to outfit. I think that we are looking at size 5 or 6 panties, 34-B bras, and probably a size 7 dress. Remember, we are looking for stuff a nice sixteen-year-old girl would normally purchase. Laurie and Marla, you are the age appropriate fashion experts here so keep us on track–and avoid anything slutty.“

“Marla," Mom continues, "will you head over to the sales table and pick out a pair of panties for our princess? Maybe just one pair so that we can see if we guessed right on the size.”

“Sure, mom, I am on it,” Marla responds with glee.

“Jennifer," Mom turns her attention to Laurie's mother, "will you find a couple of bras in the right size that she can try. Let’s keep it simple with something comfortable and probably white for now. We are looking for fit at first. Then we can branch out from there.”

“Okay, I know what you want, Amanda. I’ll be right back,” Jennifer responds eagerly.

“Laurie," Mom says, "why don’t you get your new cousin a couple of dresses to try on so that we can check the size. Let’s stay on the conservative side for now. Nothing too revealing.”

“I think I know just what we need!" Laurie responds enthusiastically. "I saw a couple last weekend while shopping here. I’ll be back in a flash Mrs. Quinn.”

Like I said, she knows how to get things going.

While this is going on, I am studiously trying to ignore my new anatomy while I try desperately to make sense of this bizarre situation. There is simply just not enough information to sort things out. It feels just so wrong being here. Alone with a naked girl–even if that naked girl is me. Honestly–I've been a good boy. I really don’t need to fill my mind with images of a naked girl right now.

Before Mom gets done with all the instructions, Marla is back with a scrap of colorful material with a few strings attached. She hands the item over the door while looking to see that Mom is distracted.

She is grinning from ear to ear.

“Um… Marla? What's this?” I ask in confusion as I untangle a very small scrap of material with a string for a waist band and another that comes up from behind. “You can’t be serious!”

“It’s a thong” she quietly tells me. “Slip it on before Mom notices. I can’t wait to see my little brother in a thong!” Did I mention that Marla has a playful streak? In fact it runs into a fairly wide mean streak sometimes when the practical jokes start getting really intense. She is obviously having a good time tonight!

About this time Mom figures out what Marla is up to.

“Marla!” she says sternly, “We don’t have time for practical jokes right now. You know what we are looking for, now go get it! We really need to confirm sizes here and a thong is not the right piece for that.”

“But, Mom, she is going to need it anyway!” Marla points out.

“You are right, Marla," Mom responds, "but she doesn’t need it now. We need to ease her into this. Look at her. She is still in shock. Come on sweetie, work with us here.”

“Okay Mom. I’ll be right back,” Marla pouts.

Around this time Mrs. Mercer is back with several bras. As Mom looks them over Marla is back with some pink fabric that is much more substantial than the last, but still pretty small by male standards. She holds up the panties for Mom’s inspection before handing them over.

Okay, I know that I was the one with Sponge Bob pajamas, but in normal everyday life, I like simple plain clothes just like any guy. Plain white jockey shorts, blue jeans, a relatively clean T-shirt, some black or white socks and a pair of running shoes and I am ready to go. Having lived around three women for my whole life I know that things are not going to be so simple now. But these pink panties have pictures on them! Little cat faces and the phrase “hello kitty” scattered around on them. They appear to be made out of some kind of silky shiny fabric as well. I am still pretty apprehensive.

The assembled women grin a bit as Mom says “Well the hipster style is all right and they are cute.“ Since when did ‘cute’ become a criterion for choosing underwear? Turning to me, she says “Go ahead and try those on Chris. If they fit I’ll send our mischievous one back for some plain cotton panties of the same size.”

Taking the fabric from my sister over the door to the cubicle, I quickly slip them on, after I figure out which side is the front. The panties feel very tight. I find that I have to use my hands to pull things into place. They really are hesitant about arranging the panties around the crotch. Danger signs are flashing through my brain as my hands seem to shout back that they are going into forbidden territory. As I reach around to tug the back into place I notice that my butt is a lot bigger than it used to be! I am still trying to look the other way as I do this. It just doesn’t seem right to violate my own privacy!

Did I mention that I still view my mind and my body as belonging to two entirely different people? Of different sexes?

I am brought back to the present by the Queen controller.

“Come out, sweetie, we need to see the fit”

All right. Having panties on makes me feel a whole lot less naked, but I am still feeling very exposed. I hesitate to open the door. On the other hand, Marla seems to have no such hesitancies and she pushes the door open when I am slow to do so.

Grabbing my arm she pulls me out for inspection by the assembled masses. Oh yeah, Laurie is back by now also.

“Give us a spin, darling,” Mrs. Mercer suggests, making a twirling motion with her hand.

I look at her blankly, so young miss bossy grabs me by the shoulders and slowly turns me around. All four females are staring intently at my nether regions as I turn around.

“We like snug panties,” Laurie says “but those are a bit too tight. What size are they?”

“Size five,” Marla replies, “but I think that the pink goes well with the bright red!” referring to my extreme blush from standing nearly naked in front of four women. “The goose bumps are a nice touch, don’t you think?”

“Enough of the guff young lady,” Mom orders. “Let’s try a size six. Marla go find another pair while we try a bra on her.”

The first bra up is white–thank goodness!–and is fairly plain, if you ignore the bit of lace around the edges and subtle embroidery on the cups.

“I’ll help you get this adjusted, darling,” Mrs. Mercer says as she finishes fiddling with some straps. “Hold out your arms and I will slip it on you.”

I put my arms through the proper straps as Mrs. Mercer holds up the garment. Mom goes around back to fix the clasp. Mrs. Mercer seems to have no compunctions about handling my anatomy as she lifts and adjusts my new breasts in the bra cups. I, on the other hand, get pretty weirded out about all the handling. Strange messages start finding their way to my brain. There are sensations arriving to the control center that my brain has never registered and it is not sure what to do with them.

The new breasts, however, respond on their own. Marla is back just in time to observe.

“Ooh... Someone's getting a thrill!” She says with a smirk when she sees my hardening nipples through the light fabric of the bra.

“Marla! You are not making this any easier!” Laurie comes to my aid as she sees my face turn crimson. “Let’s please try to make this easier on the poor girl. She didn’t ask for this you know.”

I'm glad to see that someone notices that this was not my first choice for a good time on a Friday night.

Marla grumbles to herself but agrees to tone it down a bit. Fortunately, I know her too well and can see a plan brewing in her eyes. I’ll need to watch out for her. Unfortunately for me, she knows the territory and I do not.

Back to the bra fitting.

“It looks a little loose in the cup. How does that feel, darling?” Mrs. Mercer asks.

“Okay, I guess," I respond. "It feels kind of like the heart monitor sensor that I use sometimes while running. A little uncomfortable. Nothing hurts, but I have no frame of reference for analysis.”

“Well that one had a ‘C’ cup so let’s try the ‘B’ cup one next, but before you do that, try on these new panties that Marla brought.”

Without waiting for permission, I duck into the changing booth again with Marla’s latest prize in hand. It is a relief to get out of the pink panties. The new ones, a powder blue pair of cotton panties are definitely more substantial than the other pairs that she found. Again I try to avert my eyes as I swap out the garments. Once the new ones are on, I find that they extend quite a bit higher than the others. So do the leg openings. This is just too strange.

While I am doing this, the four ladies are discussing a variety of options that I don’t understand. Apparently some kind of plan is developing. It is also apparent, that while I am the center of the plan, they don’t feel that I need to provide any input to the proceedings. Apparently I don’t know enough about what is going on to make useful contributions.

Stepping out of the booth–on my own this time–I stand for inspection again.

There I am. Standing in front of four women wearing panties and a bra. My mind has pretty well shut down. It is no longer trying to make sense of this mess. It has been fried by too many inputs that don’t fit its programming. The inbox has overwhelmed the system.

Four of the five senses are passing in information that the brain is not prepared to handle.

My eyes are seeing things that are totally off limits for a good teen boy to see. The images of naked female flesh are being indelibly imprinted on my mind.

My skin is sending in signals of strange feelings on virtually every surface. Not just the feel of the clothes but the strangeness of breasts and the uncategorized feeling coming from a rearrangement of my crotch. When I was adjusting the panties, my hands let me know that there is a smoothness there that was not there a few hours ago.

My ears have been sending sounds that are definitely out of place whenever I say anything. The feminine voice is not unpleasant.  In fact, if it wasn't for the fact that it is my voice, I'd say it sounds pretty nice!

My nose has it pretty easy, but it is just sending messages about being in girl space. Girl space seems to have a distinct smell to it.

So far, only my sense of taste has left the brain alone.

In an attempt to reboot, brain central figures that the best way to reduce the input is to at least get the body covered. Then the visual will simply be seeing the wrong person and the wrong clothes. That seems infinitely better than seeing the forbidden anatomy of a naked girl–especially with an audience around.

Brain central sends the message to the lips.

“Can I get some clothes on now, please?” I plead to the inspection team.

“In a minute dear,” Mom says, “First we need to check the fit on your underwear. So, please, do a slow spin for us sweetheart.”

Still pleading with my eyes, I oblige the Queen.

“Marla… your choice in styles is getting better," Mom analyzes critically, "but French cut is still a bit more than plain. I like the blue, though. The size looks good too.”

“I thought the blue would be nice for my former little brother,” Marla says with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “So, Chris, how do they feel?”

How do they feel? That seems as absurd as the question about the bra. I don’t know what they are supposed to feel like. Given that I have now worn exactly two pairs of panties in my entire life, my knowledge base is somewhat limited.

“Ah–they are not tight like the last ones, if that means anything,” I note. “The leg openings seem strange as they are real high. “

“How’s the crotch?” asks Marla with a smirk.

“Marla!” chorus the other three women.

“I don’t know how to answer that question!” I respond. “I haven’t had time to resolve the total change in sensation coming from that region yet. As far as the panties go, they don’t cause any pain down there. They just seem to be trying to ride up my cheeks.”

“Marla, you really aren’t helping to speed things along here by goading Chris. What has gotten into you?” Mom asks.

“Mom, you know how he has been over the years. Just like any other male,” Marla points out. “He gives us grief about how long it takes to get ready or why we need so many clothes, or why we do this and why we do that. I think that it is great that he is getting his education. A little grief is fair play.”

Now mind you, I have never thought that I was harassing her or anybody else. I have just been communicating my lack of understanding in hopes that they would move things along. Really, I have never meant to be mean.

“You are right, Marla, but he's much better than most men so cut him some slack,” Mom replies. “We don’t have time right now to settle scores. Why don’t you go warm up the register so we can ring things up as we make our selections?”

There is that time issue again. What's up with that? I know better than to ask as the only answer that I am likely to get is that I’ll find out later.

---< >---

This chapter is now slightly different than originally posted. The basic content has not changed, but it has been polished with the help of Gabi who continues to teach me about writing. 

The same is true of all of the first four chapters. They were all originally posted without any editorial help at all, but they have now been cleaned up and polished–with Gabi's guidance and without messing with the essential details of the story.