Bikini Beach: Peeping Tom

Bikini Beach: Peeping Tom
Elrod W

A guy with a hobby of photographing women in skimpy bikinis comes to Bikini Beach. He finds what he thinks is a way to get pictures of the patrons — against their will. He doesn’t count on the old woman being in a particularly bad mood.

This is one of the earlier BB stories; as such, grandmother isn't quite as smoothed-out as she is later. Be advised.


Bikini Beach: Peeping Tom

This story is copyright by the author. It is protected by licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Alan Jenkins smiled to himself as he sat in his car. Parked near the ticket booth, he had a prime view of the girls coming and going to Bikini Beach. And he couldn't be happier about that view. With the convertible top down, the CD player turned up loud, and his shades on, Alan looked cool. Or so Alan thought.

On such a hot day, the girls were wearing barely more than their bikinis as they strolled across the parking lot, heading into the water-filled fun palace that was Bikini Beach. And Alan, whose delusions prevented him from seeing just how much of a dork he really was, sat in the parking lot watching the girls. Unbeknownst to the girls, Alan had rigged up a camera, and was taking close-up pictures of the girls and their skimpy swimsuits.

Some of the girls apparently noticed his staring, and were offended by Alan's presence. Soon, a rather old dumpy woman came out of the ticket booth and headed directly for Alan's car.

"Young man," the old woman said in a most stern voice, "this parking lot is for my customers only. Kindly remove yourself."

Alan stared up at the old bat, trying to look defiant. "Yeah? Who's going to make me?"

The old woman frowned for a moment, and stared hard at Alan, so hard that he felt a piercing gaze into his very soul. "The sign at the entrance says that this is private property. Trespassing is against the law."

Alan turned on the key and put the car into gear. As he pulled slowly out of the parking lot, he felt some of his confidence returning. "Old bitch!" he cursed. "Private property, huh? Well, we'll see about that!" He turned onto the main road, drove a bit, and pulled his car off the road, parking in a field behind some trees. With practiced ease, he removed the camera from its concealment and checked the rig. Satisfied that everything looked okay, he shut the car door and hiked across the field, toward the towering privacy fence surrounding Bikini Beach.


Alan looked at the fence and whistled to himself. It was not only high, but didn't seem to have any openings. Except … he spied a gap in the fence. And — how convenient for him — it was right beside a tree.

Alan's grin broadened as he climbed the tree. The gap was just about perfectly located; by sitting on a rather stout branch, he'd be inches from the hole. And the branch looked like a good perch, too. Alan patted his pocket, reassuring himself that he'd brought plenty of digital memory cards.

When he sat down and peered through the fence, Alan couldn't believe his luck. The gap overlooked the beach part, where hundreds of girls lay sunning themselves. He also had a very good view of one of the water slides. And, to his delight, he saw that a lot of girls were losing their bikini tops when they got to the bottom! Alan licked his lips in anticipation. This could be one of his best photo shoots ever!

And then Alan glanced the other direction through the fence, and nearly fell out of the tree. Mother lode! Paydirt! The girls' shower and locker was open to the sky, and he had a perfect view! Alan lovingly patted the telephoto lens, then raised the camera and began to take pictures. He could hardly wait to get them downloaded and posted to the Internet!


The old woman frowned as she glanced at her security monitor. She recognized the little twerp. "So you like to take revealing pictures, do you?" she said to herself. "Well, we see about that." Slowly, deliberately, she rose from her chair.


"Young man!"

Alan nearly dropped his camera, so startled was he by the woman's yell. He looked down, and was shocked to see the old woman standing on the ground, looking up angrily at him. Alan swallowed hard. Busted.

"Young man, you get down here this instant!"

Alan considered his options as he eased himself back toward the tree trunk. If he refused to come down, she couldn't very well come up to get him. And if she left to call the cops, he could get down and run away then. But she may have already called the police. If he gave up, she'd probably call the cops, and he'd be in trouble, especially if they found what was in the memory card. And from her tone, there was no way she was going to let him off. Not after she'd already chased him off with a warning about trespassing. That left — running for it. He glanced again, just for reassurance. The old woman. Old, chubby, short. Slow. No way could she catch him. Alan abruptly dropped the remaining distance, rolling to cushion the impact, and emerging in a dead run.

He glanced over his shoulder at the old bat, and was pleased to see that she was falling way behind. But by turning, he didn't see where he was stepping, and tripped on a discarded tire at the edge of a small drainage ditch. As he fell, Alan instinctively put out his arms to catch himself, and too late he saw his camera sailing through the air, while Alan pitched forward into the muddy muck of the ditch.

Even as Alan pushed himself back to his feet, he heard the old woman huffing and puffing behind him. Then he heard a noise that sent a shiver up his spine. A dog. A growling, barking dog. Behind him. He glanced fearfully, and had his worst nightmare confirmed. Coming up behind the old woman was a girl — with a large black dog barely restrained on a leash. Alan forgot all about the camera. He took off toward his car on a dead run.

Everything seemed to flow in slow motion to Alan. Adrenaline does that, he'd heard, and now he experienced it. The barking and growling grew closer, and then he felt something at his heels. A quick glance showed the dog right behind him. Alan tried to dodge, but the dog was well trained. And Alan was the one who lost his balance. As he rolled to get up, he came face-to-face with a growling snarling angry dog. Alan froze in terror.


Alan sat defensively, trying to be defiant, in the Bikini Beach office. Mud and muck splattered his clothes, his arms, and his face. Across the desk, the old woman sat, alternately staring at Alan and his camera. "A peeping Tom," she finally said, her tone laced with contempt.

Alan frowned. "I am not. I'm just an amateur photographer."

The old woman considered his words, and then sat back. "Suppose we have a look at what you’ve been photographing, hmmm?" She saw Alan blanche at the suggestion. "Or maybe we should summon the police? After all, you were trespassing. The lot you were on is also my property."

Alan's confidence was thoroughly shaken. He just stared at the old woman, knowing that there was nothing he could say.

"So why do you take these pictures, Alan?" She watched his reaction, especially when he realized she knew his name.

Alan shrank in the chair. "I don't know."

The old woman seemed to grow from her chair, towering over the scared boy. "Is it because your so-called web friends admire you for the pictures you post?"

"How ... how do you know that?" Alan asked fearfully.

"I know a great deal about you, Mr. Jenkins. You have no secrets from me." She let him tremble for a few moments, just to keep him off-balance. "Or do you take these pictures because you think pretty girls are just showpieces? Eye candy, as you say, just for leering and ogling? Is that it?"

Alan tried to muster a bit of courage. "Well, so what? I didn't hurt anybody."

The old woman frowned, anger burning in her eyes. "Girls are not just for young men to leer at!" She rose abruptly, and stalked around the room, circling Alan like a vulture circling a carcass. Finally she glanced at the muddy mess sitting in her office. "Go clean yourself up. On top of violating the privacy of my patrons, you're making a mess of my office. Go to the showers and clean up." She pulled a pair of swimming trunks and old T-shirt out of thin air and tossed them to Alan. "You can put these on in place of your dirty clothes. I'm going to think of how you should be punished while you clean up."

Alan rose, and immediately found the dog at his heels. He glanced back up at the old woman, trembling.

"And I advise you to hurry. The longer I think about this, the angrier I am apt to become."


Alan knew there was no escape for him. A glance out the only door confirmed that the dog was still there, still waiting. The walls were too high to climb over. In short, Alan was stuck.

With a fatalistic resignation to his fate, Alan stripped off his muddy clothes and stepped into the shower. The water felt unusually warm and tingly, and Alan was so distracted by his predicament that he failed to notice the faint pink mist rising in the shower. As he toweled off, Alan thought his hair seemed a little long, but he dismissed it to nerves. He quickly pulled on the swimsuit and the T-shirt, and stepped toward the door.

As he walked, with the dog close at his heels, Alan started to feel a bit woozy. His balance suddenly felt off, and he lurched, catching himself on a trash can. Another step or two, and he thought he noticed his hips were feeling funny. But Alan was too afraid of the old woman to worry about that. Probably a leftover symptom of falling from the tree, or into the ditch. A few steps later, Alan attributed the heaviness in his chest to being winded by the attempted escape.

By the time he got to the office building, Alan couldn't dismiss the symptoms any longer. He felt noticeably weaker, and things seemed out of proportion. His balance was definitely way off — he couldn't ignore the swaying motion he felt in his hips. And his chest — it felt like something was tugging and pulling at him. But the dog at his heels prevented Alan from stopping to find out what was happening.

It wasn't until he sat back in the chair, now miraculously clean, that Alan noticed something was really weird. First of all, his feet barely touched the floor, even though he was sitting in the same chair. Second, there was no denying that long wavy blond hair was draping from his head, clearly visible in his peripheral vision. Third, it felt like his ass was larger and more padded; sitting didn't feel quite right. And fourth, there was no denying that something was tugging at his chest.

Alan glanced down, and gasped. He looked up at the old woman, who was just staring impassively at him, then back down. "What..." he started to say, then his eyes widened at the sound of his voice. No longer the mid-range masculine voice his ears were used to, the new sound was high-pitched and foreign. "What have you done to me?" His hands shot up to grasp the huge objects within the T-shirt he was wearing. Even as he spied his hands, another gasp of surprise erupted from him. "My hands!" he nearly screamed, staring at the long red fingernails on his delicate feminine hands. "And my chest!" There was no denying that what he spied on his chest were boobs. Big boobs. Huge boobs. And as his hands cupped them, he could feel it. They weren't some kind of trick or illusion — they were real!

The old woman scowled at him. "Miss Jenkins, you trespassed on my property. You violated the privacy of my patrons. All because you thought it was okay to treat women as sex objects." She leaned back, a thin smile on her lips. "So now, as punishment, I've decided that you should be the object of the stares and leers."

Alan stared at the old woman for the longest time. Finally, his mouth opened again. "What have you done to me?" His ears still rang with the unfamiliar female voice. "How ...?"

The old woman smiled. "Magic, my dear. Simple magic. You see, I created this park to give young ladies a refuge from cretins such as you. A place where they can relax and enjoy themselves — without feeling like they are on display." She leaned forward. "Tell me your name."

Alan looked puzzled, and opened his mouth. "Alison." His face contorted as he realized what he'd just said. "Wait! That's not right! That's a girl's name, and I'm a girl! No! My name isn't Alison — it's Alison!" He was nearly ready to break into tears. "What have you done to me?"

"What do you do for a living, dearie?" the old woman asked sweetly.

Alan felt his mouth opening. A giggle came out. "Why that's silly!" he heard himself saying. "I'm a model. A special model. For men's magazines. And I dance for men." Even as he spoke, he heard the voice changing slightly, until it sounded like it was dripping sex appeal. His body smiled, but inwardly, Alan cringed.

"Stand up, please, Alison dear. And turn around."

Not knowing what else to do, Alan stood up and turned. And heard a gasp from himself. Behind him was a mirror, and when he'd turned, he saw himself in it. His body was ... a wet dream, a walking ad for sex. His hands automatically reached up to grasp the huge boobs dangling from his chest. The cup size was obviously way up in the alphabet — how high, he didn't know. But big enough that Alan knew he'd never be taken seriously as anything but a sex object. Waist — a narrow feminine waist, not too tiny but alluring. Hips and butt of obvious female proportions, maybe even exaggerated a bit. Long smooth legs, with painted toenails to match his fingernails. And the face! Alan felt both aroused and angry when he saw his new face. Full pouty lips covered with red lipstick. High cheekbones. Soft feminine nose. Big brown eyes. And the hair — long golden wavy locks curling down around his face, framing it perfectly. She — he — was gorgeous! Sexy! Eye candy! With a wail, Alan realized just what he'd been turned into — exactly what he'd always lusted after!

Alan spun away from the mirror, feeling tears forming in his eyes. He knew what he looked like — a blonde bimbo. And he sounded like one, too! "Why?" he pleaded.

The old woman shrugged. "I told you. Punishment."

Alan dropped his head, acknowledging his fate. Then he looked up again. "For how long?"

"Permanently." The old woman waved her hand, and Alan felt something taking control of the body. "You'll be trapped in this body, Mr. Jenkins. And you won't be able to tell anyone who you were. All you'll be able to do is echo what I've decided you'll say and do."

The blonde stared vacantly for a second, and then giggled. "Did the photographers show up yet?" she asked, sounding a bit ditzy. "They said to meet them here."

The old woman shook her head. "The deal is off. I don't like their kind of photography in my water park. They're waiting outside."

Alison shrugged. "Oh, well. I guess I won't need the bikini then." She chewed the gum which had magically appeared in her mouth, blowing and popping a bubble as she turned and strutted out the door.


Alison stepped out of her dressing room. Or more precisely, her undressing room. She was clad only in a silky pair of panties and an oversized lacy bra. And that was only temporary. "Okay, I'm ready," she said in a breathy, ultra-sexy voice.

The director sighed. "Finally," he said. "Okay, get on the set."

Alison blew and popped another bubble, then pulled out her gum and stuck it to a chair. She bounced happily onto the set — a pink bedroom set with a large bed. Waiting for her were two guys, clad only in underwear.

"Okay, let's see if we can get it this time, okay? Try to control yourself, Ali!" the director pleaded. "Okay, action."

Alison felt one of the men come up from behind her, reaching around to grope her large bosom. The other man grasped her hand, sliding it down into his underwear. She felt herself getting hot as a hand slid toward the panties she was wearing.

Inside Alison's head, Alan was screaming. Not again! Please let this stop! But there was no stop to this. He couldn't be heard over Alison's performance. And he had no control.


The old woman opened the magazine as if it were a something foul. In fact, from the cover, it was far from the old woman's taste. But she was curious. The cover shot was a new porn sensation, Alison Jenkins. She flipped through the magazine, pausing only slightly to view the extremely lewd and hard-core pictures. Finally, she tossed the magazine into the trashcan. "Serves him right," she muttered as she began straightening up her desk.


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