It is blissful to actually sleep in until eight o’clock. The week has actually gone by fairly fast and it is my third Monday here—and time for my session with Angi. By Saturday, I was getting into a groove and doing better at swimming, I can actually swim ten laps now and my shoulder feels pretty good. Ballet is surprisingly the easiest for me—Madame Pratt says I am a natural and is pushing me really hard; I started private sessions with her and Francie on Wednesday which will advance me much faster—or so I am told (Yay me…just what I always wanted). Cheerleading continues to kick my butt—but the shower sessions afterwards are… WONDERFUL!

I stretch and get out of bed. I barely notice my pink nails anymore when I stretch. I go to the shower room and notice the deep tan lines that I am developing—my skin is evenly tanned and at least ten shades darker than the white left where my bikini covers it. That is going to be hard to remedy when this camp is finally over…I hope some sort of spray tanning solution will help cover it up. I turn on the shower and get in. I am surprised when Georgette gets in with me…and my shower takes a bit longer than normal—especially when Julia joins us, too.

I dry off and notice my nipples are swollen from the stimulation they just had. They now seem to stay swollen longer and longer after such shower sessions. I shake my head and step into my thong panties. I barely notice the string in my crack anymore—the girls were right. Although, I wouldn’t say that these are the only kind of panties I would ever want to wear.

One thing is for sure, my ‘junk’ is getting much easier to tuck for whatever reason. My willy stays all shriveled up and tiny-looking, which worries me. My balls also seem to be happy to stay up in me—they still come down, when coaxed. But they actually FEEL better up in me. It is weird. I tuck the little guy and sigh.

I pick up my bra and put it on—I am getting better at that, too, I am sad to say. Like ballet, makeup and everything else here, putting on a bra is not a skill I ever would have dreamed of acquiring. I notice the flesh is starting to bulge out the top a bit; the bra must have shrunk some in the laundry…

I walk back to my room in only my panties and bra—something everyone in Pink does, so it is nothing unusual; even though, I still feel weird doing it. I go to my dresser and take out a pair of shorts and pull them up my legs. I have to struggle a little to get them over my hips but they seem to fit fine once I get them buttoned and zipped. I guess the different muscles I am using are starting to grow—maybe that means that I will finally start getting a manly figure! Excited at the prospect, I pull a thin (really soft) t-shirt over my head and put on some sandals.

Thirty minutes later, I am in Angi’s office—without breakfast, since it seems I am due some sort of blood test. I smile back at Angi as I enter and she says, “Well, Paige, you are looking WONDERFUL! How are you feeling?”

I sit on the exam table and she takes my arm to pull some blood. I say, “I am feeling better now—the first couple of days of your ‘regiment’ nearly killed me, though! I could barely walk on Tuesday.”

She giggles and finishes drawing the blood, then goes over to some sort of analyzer and puts the tube in it. She asks, “And your shoulder? How is it feeling?”

I swivel it to show her that it is nearly back to full range of motion and there is little-to-no pain. I say, “It feels fine, almost like new!”

She nods and says, “Yes, another week or two of your current activities and it should be back to normal range-of-motion. After that, if you keep it up, you will likely exceed ‘normal’, which is normal for the girls in those activities. Any headaches?”

I shake my head.

“Dizzy spells or problems with balance,” she continues her inquisition.

I shake my head again and say, “No, none. Madam Pratt is actually impressed with my sense of balance.

She nods and asks, “How about the nausea? Better? Don’t try and put one over on me—I will be able to tell if you are eating right from the bloodwork.”

I smile and say, “Well, I haven’t really noticed it in a couple of days—so, yes, I would say it is better.”

She looks back at her computer and asks, “OK. How about your nipples? Shirt and bra off, young lady. Let me see!”

I comply and say, “Well, the tenderness is nearly gone and they have stopped itching as much—but they are, like, really sensitive…they want to poke out all of the time.”

She is giving me a close look as I take off my shirt. Once my bra is off, she comes over and carefully inspects my nipples, then palpates my breast area. She nods and says, “Everything looks perfectly fine. What you are describing is perfectly normal for your stage of puberty. Let me get some quick measurements. Take off your shorts, please.”

She gives me a raised eyebrow ‘look’ at my thongs and I say, “They weren’t MY idea! Trust me!”

She takes out a tape measure and starts taking all sorts of body measurements as she asks with a straight face, “And how do you feel wearing them?”

I shrug and say, “Well, at first, they drove me crazy—now I hardly notice them.”

She smiles and asks, “Yes, but how do they make you FEEL? Maybe a bit sexy?”

I blush. I want to say, ‘Hell no’, but I get that is not the answer she is expecting. I just have to get through four more weeks… I put on a timid look and nod my head slightly.

She smiles and says, “OK, our secret—for now. Allen doesn’t have to know everything and I’ll have a talk with your mother when she gets back from Europe in a few weeks.”

I blink and ask, “She’s in Europe? She won’t be here this weekend for Parents’ Day?”

Angi looks at me and shakes her head, “No, I meant to tell you. Allen let me know that he’ll be here alone this weekend. Your Mom had to go take care of some corporate emergency and won’t be back until the day before camp ends. I’m sorry, Hon.”

I shake my head, fighting back tears—something that seems to come really easily, anymore. I say, “No, I…I…I am sort of used to it…”

At that moment the analyzer dings and she finishes entering the measurements into her computer. She goes over to the machine and presses a couple of buttons. While she is waiting for…whatever it does…she says, “Your measurements are coming along nicely. I have the baseline from when you were in the clinic. You probably don’t even remember me taking them. Anyway, you are developing nicely. Which reminds me—you haven’t had any issues with the shots, right?”

I carefully wipe the tears from my eyes so that I don’t smear the mascara that the girls insist I wear. Since they make me do my own, I quickly learned to not smear it. I shake my head as I do and say, “No, none that I am aware of. How long do I have to keep taking them, though?”

She looks at the readout on the machine and says, “Well, that is what I want to talk to you about. Your blood values are perfect, which means we have some options. I will talk about those in a bit. Right now, I want to talk about how you are feeling, in general. How’s camp? Is it what you expected?”

I decide to be honest—there is no point in pretending on this one. I say, “Well, I honestly didn’t know WHAT to expect, so I can’t really answer that. As for how it is. It is certainly challenging. I’m doing things I never expected I would—and find I am surprisingly good at them.”

I think to myself, ‘Not that I will ever continue with ballet or cheerleading once I am out of here and back to being Vick.’

She nods and says, “Fair enough. How is Pink House?”

I shrug and say, “Pink”. I giggle at her sour look and continue, “It’s fine. The girls treat me great and just like one of them.” I think of the shower sessions and get a smile on my face; I will certainly miss those…

She smiles brightly and asks, “So, you have no regrets about coming? You’re happy and content with the way things are?”

I nod emphatically and say, “Yes, I couldn’t ask for it to be any better.”

I think to myself, ‘Of course, it would certainly be better if I was in sports camp like I was SUPPOSED to be.’

She nods, still smiling broadly, and asks, “And this is what you want, right?”

NOW it is time to fall back to the ‘story’. I am feeling really good, right now, but I still don’t trust what will happen if I come clean. I say, “Of course. It’s perfect!”

Angi comes over and gives me a hug and says, “Great! Well then, Paige, we have a couple of options, like I said. I can continue to give you the shots on a weekly basis—this particular experimental serum needs to be given weekly, over a three-month period. The experiment is going fine and you are certainly right where I would expect you after two shots, but I have another option I can offer you. Allen has authorized it, but he has left the choice up to you.”

She looks at me to make sure I am paying attention and continues, “I can give you a small one-time implant. It uses the same experimental serum—only even more potent, which is possible because of the very small constant dosage that is disseminated from the implant. The overall effects are accelerated to about twice the speed. The shots have an already slightly accelerated effect over normal development. The implant makes it possible to cut normal puberty roughly in half. You will be slightly ahead of the curve for a child your age when it is all said and done if you choose this option.”

My head snaps up at that. Faster puberty? NOW she is talking!

She smiles and continues, “I can only offer this to you because of your very special situation—being in Pink House. We know that you don’t have any reactions to the serum, those show up in the first two weeks of use, but being able to keep an eye on you is a bonus.”

I think to myself, ‘Finally! Something good is coming of this pink hell!’

I ask, “So, once I am on this, I am cured and can just be…normal. No restrictions?”

She smiles and says, “Cured? I hadn’t thought of it like that, but I guess that is an apt way to put it. Yes. And, yes, you can be as ‘normal’ as you have dreamt of. I will still keep a close eye on that shoulder and your concussion for a couple more weeks, but you have made amazing progress.”

I smile and ask, “So, what’s the catch? Why is it even a ‘choice’?”

She laughs—not giggles—laughs and says, “You ARE a smart one! I think you have Allen completely fooled. Anyway, well, once the implant is in…it can’t be removed. The serum will run its course with no way to stop it.”

I nod and decide the risk of some unknown reaction is worth it to me. Besides Allen is OK with it and I don’t think Angi would do anything dangerous to me. I can already taste the big biceps from an accelerated puberty—the girls will STILL want to shower with me after that!

I say, “OK, let’s do it. I trust you and Allen—I just wish Mom was here.”

She pats my hand and says, “I know, Hon. It will be fine, I promise. She has given her consent through Allen. Just think how proud she will be to see you developing nicely when she sees you in a month.”

I smile at her and think about muscles, a deep voice, a developing beard…

She has me take off my panties, lay back on the table, and put my legs into these stirrup things—they are spread really widely apart. She uses a little Q-tip-like applicator to put something cold on a spot on my left inner thigh—near my ‘junk’. She says, “I’m sorry, I know that was cold, but it will numb the area while I do this… You may still feel a pinch…”

I feel a little pressure and then a pinch—it doesn’t really hurt, but it is unpleasant. In a matter of seconds, she says, “OK. That’s in. Congratulations, Paige! I am so excited for you, Hon! Now, I have a surprise for you. Allen requested it to make your experience here even better. Just stay still for a couple more minutes…”

I feel her messing around with my ‘junk’ then I smell some sort of strong chemical odor. She pushes on my ‘junk’ and holds it a bit, then lets go. She inspects whatever she has just done and says, “There! Perfect! You can sit up now.”

I sit up and look between my legs. I gasp. I am completely FLAT! There is nothing there. I stutter, “Wha…how…what…?”

She giggles and says, “Awesome, right? Francie had one, too. It is a latex vagina. It is just glued on…but, better than tucking, right? It will stay on until you leave, then we can see about other options. It is completely safe to swim or shower with it, so don’t worry!”

My face is beat-red—of course, she mistakes it for excitement. My heart is barely back to a normal rhythm and pace after the unexpected shock, but I still feel a little woozy. I feel myself swaying a bit.

Angi lays me back down and says, “Don’t worry, Sweetie. That is just the implant. You’ll have to take it easy the rest of the day, until you get used to the stronger serum, but I know your various teammates have plans for you with Jemma. Lay here for a few minutes, then you are cleared to go over there.”

I lay there—my heart still pounding somewhat. ‘I just have to put up with this Hell for another four weeks…then I can be Vick; fully developed Vick,’ I keep telling myself over and over…

o~O~o

A little under an hour later, I am back in Jemma’s little haven. I sit there in her chair still thinking about my glued up ‘junk’. It doesn’t hurt at all; at least not physically.

Jemma is prattling on about Madame Pratt (haha…no pun intended) wanting me to have ‘ballet-length’ hair. She then shows me the extensions that she is going to permanently attach to my hair.

My eyes bug out. They are like two-feet long. I ask, “I don’t know…that is REALLY long!”

Jemma says, “Oh…you KNOW you want it, girl! Don’t try and kid a kidder. You will love the things you can do with it! Now sit back and let Jemma do her work.”

She starts working immediately, adding in the blond extensions with pink highlights that perfectly match my shorter hair. She continues on about how I will need to care for them—just like my real hair. She giggles and says, “Of course that is because they ARE real hair!”

An hour later, I feel my head getting heavier and heavier—and the hair tickling my bare neck. After about ninety minutes, she is finally done. She lets me look in the mirror and I am in shock. I thought I looked like a girl before—there is NO sign of a boy, right now. The hair is well below shoulder-length and feathered into my face.

Jemma shows me how to braid it and turn it into a high bun for ballet; which is a lot of work! She says, “I will just leave it braided for now, OK?”

I numbly nod.

Then she inspects my legs and says, “Nothing to worry about here… Raise your arms high, Sweetie.”

I have no idea what she is going on about, but do as she says.

She looks closely at my underarms and says, “Well, it looks like we need to do start working on these, right away!”

She gets this gun-looking thing and runs it up and down under both arms for a bit. It buzzes and sort of tickles. She says, “There, we will do that once a week while you’re here and I think you won’t have to worry about staying clean under there anymore after that. I think you may be one of the lucky girls on your arms and legs…of course, being blond helps there! And your little device down below comes with several added benefits—as you know!” She winks and giggles.

I smile—completely oblivious to what she is prattling on about, now.

After that, I have to suffer through an hour of makeup lessons…when we are done, I look at myself in the mirror and now not only see ONLY a girl—I see only a HOT girl. And I had done it all to myself.

Jemma says, “Every day after cheerleading for an hour’s practice from now on. You’ll be an expert before you leave or my name isn’t Jemma!”

I groan internally…really? Makeup lessons EVERY day?

She continues on without pause, “Which reminds me. Now, the swim team has formally adopted you; that means you get their signature feature. Of course, you DO have to have special parental consent for this—but your ‘Uncle’ has provided that, so don’t worry.”

My eyes go wide as she approaches me with a pink stud and some medieval torture device and gently but firmly pushes my head to the left. I want to protest, but she is quick. Before I really know what has happened, I have the stud in my right nostril—just like all of the girls on the swim team.

Jemma smiles and says, “That is so lovely. You are quite the beautiful young lady. Well, this one is a little more painful, but the cheerleaders are all so proud of them…”

I suddenly picture all of the cheerleaders with their belly-button jewels and blanch. I know where this is going, now, and say, “I don’t know…maybe this is plenty…I…I…I don’t really like needles and holes…”

Jemma says, “Nonsense, Paige. It is an honor that the cheerleaders have adopted you. It won’t hurt that bad. But, if you want to disappoint them…and Francie…that is up to you…”

I think back and remember that Francie has a pink jewel, too. I had noticed it when we were swimming at the lake. I ask, “Francie was a cheerleader?”

Jemma nods and winks at me, “She thinks they are hot…”

I tell myself this is totally idiotic, but I know that I can take it out when this Hell is over with and it will heal up—and if Francie really likes it... I say, “Well, in that case…”

Jemma giggles and says, “I knew it! Have you told her that you have the hots for her? Here, lay back here on this table…”

o~O~o

HUGS!