Twin Set

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Twin Set

© 2016 by Nom de Plume

“Set point!”

My twin sister stuck out her tongue as she crept in front of the baseline. We had played against each other countless times, and it always seemed to come down to this, a long deuce or a tiebreaker at the end of a tense, competitive match. Although I was a boy and she was a girl, we were evenly matched, and I sometimes felt that the only edge I had over her was that she had to wear a tennis dress or skirt at the uber-conservative club that our parents belonged to.

I reached back and hit my hardest serve of the day, not that fast for a guy, but just fast enough to make her return spin harmlessly into the net. “You’re no fun,” she said with mock anger as we hugged at the net. I patted her on the head, mussing her hair, which was hardly longer than the shaggy mop I pulled back into a ponytail when we played.

“Not bad for a girl,” I teased her as we gathered up our gear and strolled towards the clubhouse. We glanced at the ladder for the club championships, which seeded her first among girls 18 and under. My name was down near the bottom of the boys’ rankings, and I’d already been eliminated from the tournament after a first round loss. She was set to play in the girls finals that weekend, and the match we’d just played was a tune-up for her.

We’d both been playing tennis since we were toddlers, trained under the same coach, and our playing styles were uncannily similar, like almost everything else about us. Except for our genders, we were as close to identical twins as a boy and a girl could be, down to our mannerisms and speech patterns. After living under the same roof for almost eighteen years as brother and sister, we were also extremely close.

We disappeared into our separate locker rooms, and as always, I felt self-conscious in the shower. Most guys my age had shot up in height, and some were even sprouting facial and body hair, while I was still 5’6”, same as my sister, who was beginning to fill out in all the right places for a girl. After I toweled off, I changed into jeans and a tee shirt and headed for the parking lot. She emerged from her locker room a few minutes later, stunning in a cute sundress. I’d always marveled at how effortlessly she was able to transform herself from a tomboy into a pretty girl.

“Hot date tonight?” I asked as we walked to the car that we shared, a beater that our mother had driven into the ground before we got our licenses on the same day.

“Nah, just a girls’ night out. A bunch of us are going to the mall. Hey, wanna come?”

She knew me well enough to know that the answer was yes, but that my answer would be no. What self-respecting teenage boy would want to hang out with his sister and her ditzy friends on a Friday night? Even if I had a hopeless crush on one of them?

“Nah, gotta study for the SAT’s.” That was one big difference between us: I was a straight A student with a real shot at an Ivy League college, whereas her grades began to plummet when her body began to blossom. These days, she was more into clothes and boys than math and history.

“Sheesh, you’re taking them again? I thought you aced them last time.”

“Yeah, but I might get my score up a bit, which could make a big difference.”

“I’m the one who needs to get her score up. Hey, maybe you could put on a skirt and take them for me?” This wasn’t the first time she’d made a lamebrain suggestion like that to get her out of some jam, so it went in one ear and out the other.

“In your dreams,” I said. We got to our car, and since I was heading home, she drove. After she dropped me off, I went into the kitchen to hunt for something to tide me over until dinner.

I could hear my mother talking to someone on the phone as I hit the pantry. She didn’t sound very happy. I should add that my mother married very young, and although she was in her mid thirties, she was still a beautiful woman, with a perfect face and figure. Both Carrie and I were spitting images of her.

I was polishing off a donut when she finally got off the phone and joined me in the kitchen. “Where’s your sister,” she asked disapprovingly as she eyed the donut crumbs on my face.

“Off to the mall.”

“That girl! I know she hasn’t done her homework, and now she’s probably having junk food for dinner. Her diet is worse than yours!”

“Who was on the phone?” I asked, trying to change the subject.

“Your father. He’s going to be stuck in Copenhagen for another two weeks, at least,” she frowned. My dad was an international business executive, and he was often overseas for long stretches of time, but he was extremely well paid, and we could hardly complain about our lives in a beautiful home with a pool in a rich suburb.

“Bummer. At least Carrie and I can drive now, so you won’t have to schlep us everywhere while he’s away.”

“You’re right, and I’m going to need to depend on you both to behave responsibly the next few weeks.” Her younger sister was pregnant with her fifth child, and mom had offered to fly to Florida to help watch her kids when the time came. “I may have to leave on short notice, and I’ll be gone for several days, at least.”

“We’ll be good, mom.”

* * *

She left the next morning, after her brother-in-law woke her up at midnight to tell her that his wife was in labor. Carrie and I drove her to the airport, and we stopped for breakfast on the way home.

“So how was the mall yesterday?” I asked her.

“Fun. Amy asked about you.”

Amy! The girl I had a hopeless crush on! “Really?”

“Yep. She thinks you’re cute.”

“So is she seeing anyone?” I asked, trying not to seem too interested.

“She was, but I think that’s over. You oughta ask her out. Now that you have a driver’s license, you’re a very eligible bachelor,” she smiled.

The waitress came to take our orders. “Ready for the big match tomorrow?” I asked after she left.

“Yep. I’m gonna go for a three mile run today, then rest up.”

“Are you sure you want to run that far?”

“Relax, bro. I’ve done it before each of my matches, and won ‘em all. You, meanwhile, got skunked on the first day, by a guy even I could have beaten.”

“That’s easy for you to say. All you have to play against are girls.”

“That’s true, but I’ll still be club champion come tomorrow. Which I really need if I’m gonna get into a decent college. The coach at State is supposed to be there, you know.”

“Wow, that’s pretty cool. Hope you can handle the pressure.”

She stuck out her tongue at me, like she always did when I teased her. Our breakfast came, and after we finished I drove us home. Carrie changed into a sports bra, tank top and running skirt, and after she laced up her sneakers she was out the door.

I was upstairs in my room, working on an SAC practice test on my computer, when I heard something strange downstairs. Was that Carrie sobbing? I raced downstairs to find her curled up in a ball by the front door, crying her eyes out. Then I saw her left ankle, which was twisted and swollen to twice its normal size. I knelt down beside her. “What happened?”

“I tripped over the Shawnessy’s stupid dog and fell! I think I broke my foot! God, it hurts so bad!” she cried.

“How did you get home?”

“I walked, stupid. On one leg!” I reached out and touched her ankle carefully. “Ouch! Please stop!”

“We have to get that sneaker off to see how bad it is,” I said. She grimaced in pain as I loosened the laces, and cried out in agony when I slipped the sneaker off her swollen foot. Another shriek of agony when I pulled off her sock. She was whimpering in despair as I gently examined her foot and ankle. They were puffy and red, but there were no obvious broken bones, and I was pretty sure that it was just a bad sprain. “Cheer up, sis. I don’t think you broke anything. We need to get some ice on this, and wrap it with an ace bandage once the swelling goes down. You’ll be back on your feet in no time.”

Somehow I got her upstairs to her bedroom, and I’d found a bag of frozen peas which I pressed against her swollen ankle as she lay prostrate on her bed. I also got her to swallow a handful of Tylenol PM, and I was just about to leave her when she grabbed my arm. “The tournament!” she gasped.

“Sis, there’s no way you can play tennis tomorrow. You’ll have to forfeit the match.”

“No!” she cried. “I can’t do that!”

“Carrie, you’ll never be able to play on that foot, and even if you tried, you’d get killed.”

“I have to try! The coach from State will be there! This is my big chance,” she whimpered.

“Sorry, sis. There’s no way.”

I was getting up to leave when she called me back. She’d stopped crying, and her voice was deadly serious. “Do you want to help me?”

“Of course, you know that. But there’s nothing I can do.”

“Yes there is.”

“How?”

“You can take my place.”

“What?”

“You can put on one of my tennis dresses, let me do something with your hair, and play my match for me.”

I actually laughed at her. “You must have hit your head when you fell down, sis.”

“I didn’t hit my head! Please, you gotta help me!” she started to sob again.

“No way.”

“Please help me,” she cried, as tears flowed down her face. “Please, please help me….”

I sat down on the side of her bed and hugged her. “Sis, you know I’d do anything for you, but this is just insane.”

“What’s insane about it?”

“For starters, I could never pass as a girl. Everyone will know it’s really me. I’ll be humiliated, you’ll be banned from tennis, and our family will probably get kicked out of the club.”

“Not if you let me help you.”

“I thought I was helping you? You need to get some rest,” I said, getting up from the bed.

She grabbed my arm again, with surprising strength, and pulled me back down. “You listen to me! We’re almost identical twins. The only differences will be hidden by your dress. When I’m through with you, nobody will be able to tell us apart. Please,” she started to cry again, “at least let me try….”

She looked so pathetic, laying there in obvious pain, but with grim determination on her face. How could I say no to her? “There’s no chance that this is gonna work,” I protested lamely.

“Then I won’t ask you to do it,” she sniffled. “But please, let’s see if we can make it work, okay? Please?”

“I guess,” I sighed.

“Thanks,” she smiled, as she drifted off to sleep.

* * *

I returned to my room and tried to concentrate on my SAT practice test, but my mind kept coming back to my crazy conversation with Carrie. She must have been delirious from the pain, and I was glad the Tylenol PM finally knocked her out. When she came to, surely she’d have forgotten all about her harebrained scheme to have me pinch hit for her in the club championships.

But I was wrong. When I heard the doorbell ring, she called out from her bedroom, “That’ll be Amy. Please let her in.”

Amy! Carrie must have called her. I dashed down the stairs and paused in front of the hall mirror to fuss with my hair before I opened the door. There she was, drop-dead gorgeous in a sexy little romper. “Hi Amy,” I stammered.

“Hey you, how’s the patient?” she asked.

“C’mon upstairs, you can take over.”

“I just want to say how amazing you are,” she said as we walked up the staircase. I was about to ask her what she meant when Carrie came hobbling out to meet us, only to nearly fall down the stairs. Amy and I caught her and dragged her back into her bedroom.

“Ow, ow, ow!” she said as we lifted her back into bed.

“Are you sure it’s not broken?” Amy asked after she inspected Carrie’s ankle, which if anything had swollen up some more, and was totally black and blue.

“I don’t think so,” I said. “Just a bad sprain. But we’ll keep her off her feet, and if it gets any worse, we can drive her to the E.R.”

“There’s no time for that,” Carrie said. “We have some serious work to do.”

“You are such a prince to do this,” Amy said. Then it dawned on me: Carrie must have called Amy to help her with her ridiculous plans to turn me into a girl. I tried to think of a way to back out before it was too late, but it was too late.

“I have the best brother ever,” Carrie said.

“I’ll say,” Amy went on. “Most guys wouldn’t have the balls.” She looked at me like she meant it, and she was so hard to resist! Petite, with a great body, long blonde hair and the biggest blue eyes I’ve ever seen, I was hooked. It was mortifying to think that Carrie had let her in on her cockamamie scheme, but Amy didn’t seem to think there was anything wrong with it, and my resistance began to crumble.

“You guys are really serious about this,” I said with chagrin.

“One hundred percent,” Carrie said. “First things first: please take off your clothes.” Ordinarily this would have seemed like a shocking suggestion in front of Amy, but when I turned to face her, she nodded enthusiastically.

“I have brothers, you know,” Amy said. “It won’t be anything I haven’t seen.” Reluctantly, I pulled off my tee shirt and stepped out of my shorts, leaving my boxers on. “Nice,” Amy said approvingly. “You have a nice body.”

“Job one is to get rid of that peach fuzz,” Carrie said. I didn’t have much body hair, but I definitely had some on my chest, arms and legs, and after some prodding and pushing from Carrie and Amy, I found myself in the shower with a razor in my hand. What am I doing to myself? I asked as I smoothed on shaving cream and ran the razor over my body. It was true that a lot of guys in my high school shaved down, especially the athletes, and I rationalized that I was just catching up with the trend. When I was finished, I wrapped a towel around my waist and returned to Carrie’s bedroom, where a pile of tennis outfits and underthings were spread all over her bed.

“Oh good, you didn’t wash your hair,” Carrie said. “It’ll be easier to trim this way.”

“Now hold on,” I said, suddenly aware that this was getting way out of hand. “I agreed to put on one of your stupid tennis dresses to prove that you couldn’t make me look like a girl. I never agreed to a…a makeover.”

“Oh, don’t be silly,” Amy said. “We’re not going to do anything drastic. Just a little trim to make it look more like Carrie’s bob. As soon as the match is over, you can get a buzz cut as far as I’m concerned.” With that, she pushed me into the chair in front of Carrie’s vanity, put a towel over my shoulders, and went to work with a comb and scissors. I cringed as she clipped away, watching my reflection in the mirror with alarm as my hair began to look more and more feminine. When she was finished, I had to admit that the old me was gone. Looking back at me in the mirror was a girl with a stupefied expression on her face.

“Let’s try some makeup next,” Amy said. Before I could escape, she started in with some moisturizer, followed by a very light coat of foundation, which she carefully smoothed in with a sponge from Carrie’s cache. Then she went to work on my eyebrows. “Don’t worry, I’m not doing much,” she assured me as she nipped them with a tiny pair of scissors. Some eyebrow pencil was next, followed by eyeliner after I closed my eyes. A touch of mascara on my fluttering lashes, a smidge of soft pink gloss on my protesting lips, and she pronounced her work complete. “He’s a girl now,” she said proudly. Staring at my face in the mirror, I had to agree. Carrie and I were identical twins before, but now we were one and the same person.

“From the neck up, you mean,” said Carrie. “Let’s get her dressed.” She tossed what looked like a beige teddy of some kind to Amy, who instructed me to stand up. She helped me get my arms under the straps after I pulled it over my head, and she tugged it down towards my waist as the towel dropped to the floor. I was blushing furiously, but if Amy was embarrassed she didn’t show it.

“Panties, please,” she said to Carrie.

“Let’s try these boy shorts,” Carrie said. They were girl’s underwear whatever she called them, and I hurriedly pulled them up my legs to cover myself. As I did, I noticed with alarm that my penis was starting to grow, and a strange sensation came over me. I tried not to admit it, but I was getting turned on.

If Carrie and Amy noticed anything, they kept it to themselves. “Okay, try these in the cups,” Carrie said. “I used to cheat with them before my boobs arrived,” she confided, as if Amy and I were two girls at a slumber party. They were breast forms, not overly huge, but once Carrie slipped them into the top of my teddy, I had a definite female figure. “Now, decision time: a dress or a skirt?”

“That blue and white skirt might help to hide her little secret,” Amy observed. I was mortified as she held it up against me.

“Good thought. Try it with this blue top,” Carrie said, and I surrendered helplessly as Amy tugged it over my head. Then she handed me the skirt, and all resistance was gone as I pulled it up my legs and felt Amy snug it into place. “She doesn’t have much in the way of hips,” Amy observed, “but then neither do you.”

“I think she’s perfect!” Carrie exclaimed. “Here, try these on,” she said, handing me an old pair of tennis shoes. “Oh, these sox first,” she added. They were tiny little socklets, but after everything else that had been done to me, it seemed almost natural to slip them on and lace up her sneakers.

“They’re a little tight,” I said as I took my first tentative steps as a girl.

“That’s okay, it’ll make you walk a little less like a guy,” Carrie observed. I walked with halting steps over to the full length mirror on her closet door, and stopped dead in my tracks. Standing before me, in a short white skirt with little blue flowers, was my sister.

I stared at my reflection in a trance, scarcely noticing when Amy reached up to fasten a silver necklace around my neck, and only coming down to earth when Amy said, “Oh oh, we have a problem. Do you think she’ll let me pierce her ears?”

Before I could freak out, Carrie said, “That won’t be necessary. I have some magnetic fake diamond studs that look pretty realistic, and they’ll match her tennis bracelet.” It occurred to me that Carrie and Amy had started to refer to me as “she” and “her.” And how could I blame them? Standing there in my sister’s clothes, it was hard not to think of myself as a female.

The spell was broken when I noticed the tent in front of my skirt. The girls noticed it too, and Amy started to giggle. “Now this is a problem,” she teased me. Then she grabbed me through my skirt and started to pull on me, as if my penis were a leash. I gasped and followed her as she backed out of the room, down the hall towards the bathroom. “Such a turn-on,” she whispered. “If I knew you a little better, I’d take care of this myself.” With that, she pushed me into the bathroom and closed the door. I was scarcely able to get my skirt up and my panties down before I erupted, jetting ropes of hot jism all over the toilet. My knees buckled as the sweet waves of ecstasy went on and on and on….

Finally I stopped throbbing, and my penis began to shrink. I felt a little creepy as I pulled my panties back on and adjusted my skirt. Amy was waiting for me when I opened the bathroom door. “Mission accomplished,” she observed, taking my hand and leading me back into Carrie’s bedroom.

I’m sure I was blushing crimson when Carrie looked us over. “I’ve been thinking. She needs to get a little tan on those legs before tomorrow, so let’s lay out by the pool for a while. Maybe the Jacuzzi will be good for my ankle?”

“Uh, I think it’s a little too early for heat on that,” I said. “But I’ll be glad to put on some trunks and hit the pool.”

“No trunks, Missy,” Carrie scolded me. “Between now and tomorrow, you’re not gonna switch back into a guy. As soon as you win the tournament for me, you can be a boy again. Till then, you’ve gotta be all girl.”

“I never agreed to that! All you got me to agree to do is play one tennis match, and that’s all.”

“If I may intervene,” Amy said, “we have proven that we can make you look 100% like a girl. But there’s a big difference between looking like a girl and acting like a girl, as your recent display just proved. We need some time with you as a girl to help you with your behavior.”

“My behavior? You make me sound like an inmate!”

“Let us just say you’re on probation. With a little help from us, nobody will ever be able to tell that you’re really you. But if you don’t go into this with the proper frame of mind, starting right now, you’ll probably get outed. Think what that would do to your reputation! And Carrie’s.”

I knew I was whipped. “Okay, okay, I’ll stay as a girl until tomorrow. But you guys are gonna owe me big time.” I was thinking back to what Amy had said….

“Well, now that that’s settled, let’s find you something in the way of a swimsuit,” Carrie said. “I think we’ll all agree that after your rather shocking display in my tennis skirt, a swimsuit with a little skirt to hide your package is essential.”

“Whatever,” I sighed.

She hobbled over to her dresser and started to rummage through her drawers, eventually coming up with an aqua and black two-piece number that she called a skirtini. After I took off my tennis outfit, I retreated to the bathroom to figure out how to put it on. It wasn’t too hard: the top pulled on like my tennis top, and the little skirt had built-in panties that held me pretty snug. I was wondering what to use for breasts when I heard a little tap on the door, and Amy solved my problem. What else: tennis balls!

One hour later, the three of us were laying out in lounge chairs at poolside in the back yard, Amy wearing one of Carrie’s bikinis. God, she was hot! Several times I thought I could feel myself stiffening beneath my little skirt, but my panties were so confining that they kept me in line. Meanwhile Carrie was sitting next to me, still in her jogging outfit, polishing my nails. She’d selected a shade of coral for my fingers, and after filing my nails into little ovals, she patiently applied a coat of quick dry polish to each one. “Is there anything else you haven’t done to me yet?” I asked morosely.

“I think we’re done for now,” Carrie said, admiring her handiwork. “Remember, it’s my reputation you’ve got to uphold tomorrow, but I think we’re off to a good start.” She carefully slid off her chair and hopped on her good leg to the Jacuzzi, where she sat by the side and slowly lowered her swollen ankle into the bubbling water. “Ouch, ouch, ouch!” she moaned as she moved it close to one of the jets. “God, that feels good though.”

“I think your swelling is starting to go down,” I said encouragingly.

“Me too. Maybe after a good night’s sleep I’ll be back on my feet, and you won’t have to play for me?”

“Let’s hope so. Who are you supposed to play tomorrow?”

“Valarie Trueting.”

“Her? She’s a beast!”

“She is a big girl,” Carrie agreed. “I lost to her last time we played.”

“Great, just great! I’m gonna have to play tennis in a dress, and lose to a girl!”

“You can beat her. She’s very one-dimensional. She just stands there on the baseline and slugs it out.”

“Well, you can’t say that you’re one-dimensional,” Amy teased me.

“Not anymore,” I had to agree.

“So what are our plans for tonight?” Amy asked me.

“Uh, gee, I dunno. Why don’t you stay here and we’ll order a pizza?”

“I was thinking that maybe you and I could go out.”

My heart jumped. “That sounds great,” I said, flourishing my painted nails, “but don’t you think I’d look a little strange?”

“Not if you put on a pretty dress,” she smiled.

“Guess I’d better do her toes too,” Carrie chimed in.

* * *

Looking back, it seems hard to believe that I let the girls manipulate me so easily. I suppose it was a combination of my brotherly love for Carrie, and my total infatuation with Amy, who seemed to dig what was happening to me. If this was the price for getting close to her, I didn’t mind paying it, and I have to admit that the more I got into what they were doing to me, the more I started to enjoy it.

Which explains how I let them play with me as a dress-up doll all afternoon, trying on outfit after outfit. It was such a turn-on, standing there in a bra and panties, as they experimented with different looks on me. At the end of the day, it was pretty obvious that anything that looked good on Carrie looked good on me, with the help of some strategic padding, and after much deliberation the girls decided that I should wear a sundress to dinner with Amy. It was so light and lovely, after Amy zipped me up in the back I loved the way it swished and swirled around my bare legs.

It was weird seeing my pink toenails peeking out from the tips of my white strappy heels. It took me a bit of practice before I was able to walk around in them, and the girls coached me on how to sit down and cross my legs in my dress. They also jazzed up my makeup, adding some eyeshadow and a bit of blush, and put a pretty necklace and some earrings on me.

“Are you sure you don’t want to join us?” I asked Carrie half-heartedly when I was finally ready to venture outdoors.

“Nah, you girls go and have a good time, I’m gonna rest up and go to bed early. I don’t think I’d be much fun hobbling along with a cane.”

“Better let me borrow your driver’s license then,” I said after Carrie filled up one of her purses with female junk for me: lip gloss, hairbrush, stuff like that.

“Okay, but don’t have a crash!”

Amy hopped into the passenger seat of our car, and our first stop was to her house so she could change too. I was a nervous wreck by the time we pulled into her driveway. “Why don’t you come in and chat with my mom while I get dressed?” she said. “It will be good practice for you before tomorrow.”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “I’m afraid she’ll see right through me.”

“Nah, you look so totally like Carrie that she’ll never guess. C’mon, let’s go,” she urged me. “It’ll seem really strange if you don’t come in.”

Reluctantly, I grabbed my purse and followed her up the front walk, unnerved by the clickety clacking of my heels on the flagstones. Amy opened the front door, and after a quick hello to her mom and one of her brothers I followed her upstairs to her room. I hesitated outside the door until she whispered, “You can come in, Carrie. You are a girl, after all.” And I felt like a girl as I sat on the corner of her bed while she tugged off her romper and changed into a cute skirt and top, freshened up her makeup and added a bit of bling. “Ready to prowl?” she asked as she stepped into some jeweled sandals.

“Uh, no. We have that problem again,” I said sheepishly. While I’d watched her getting dressed, my penis began to grow again, and I was sure it would be visible even under the folds of my dress.

She sat down next to me and took my hands in hers. “My poor baby,” she said. “Let’s see how serious the problem is.” Amy lifted up my dress and her eyes widened in mock surprise as she surveyed the bulge in my panties. “Yes, I see what you mean. And I can’t very well expect you to leave my bedroom in that condition, can I?”

“No! What would your mother think?”

“She’d be shocked.” Amy took the waistband of my panties in her hands and started to pull them down. “Stand up,” she said, and after I did, she got down on her knees and started to kiss my penis, tentatively at first, and then she took me into her mouth and began to tease me with her tongue, first the tip, and then higher and higher, until I was totally engulfed. I whimpered with delight as she nibbled and sucked on me, until I couldn’t hold out any longer. I came with a rush, filling her mouth with pulses of semen, which she swallowed down eagerly until I had nothing left to give. “Wow, that’s the first time I’ve ever done that,” she confided. “Pretty cool, huh?”

I was speechless.

* * *

After the blowjob in her bedroom, the rest of my date with Amy was an anticlimax. I felt utterly drained and satisfied as we waltzed down the stairs, said a few words to her family, and drove to a nearby burger joint. Sitting there across from her in a quiet booth, we chatted away like two girlfriends, with the emphasis on little things I should concentrate on in my quest to perfect my impersonation of Carrie. She especially helped me with my voice, how I should raise my pitch at the end of a sentence and maintain eye contact when I spoke. Above all, she told me to smile!

My training was put to the test when we ran into a group of girls and guys from our high school in the lobby on the way out after dinner. Amy did most of the talking, but I chirped in and sounded enough like a girl to fool them all. I took the long way back to Amy’s house, and pulled over at a lovers’ hideaway where we kissed and necked for a while. At one point Amy reached under my dress to see if I was aroused again, which produced the desired result, and while I played with her breasts and stroked her too, she gave me a sweet, delightful hand job that filled my panties with what was left of my supply. “I love you,” I told her, and when she smiled and told me that she loved me too, I was the happiest girl in the world. Would she love me as much when I went back to being a boy?

* * *

Carrie had to roust me out of bed the next morning to get me dressed for my match. She was asleep when I’d gotten home, and rather than wake her up to borrow one of her nightgowns, I slept in the nude. “How’s your foot?” I asked her before I headed for the shower.

“Terrible. It hurts worse than yesterday, but I’m sure it isn’t broken. It’s all up to you today, sister. Please wash and condition your hair, and I’ll help you style it, okay? Oh, and make sure to give your baby face a close shave.”

I did as I was told, and when I emerged from the bathroom, Carrie was waiting for me with a blow dryer and a hair brush. I sat down in front of her vanity while she patiently dried and fluffed my hair until it looked just like hers. She even added a touch of hairspray to keep in in place. “You’ll be running around today, so a little body will help,” she explained. Then she went to work with her moisturizer and makeup, resulting in the same look she achieved the day before.

When she was satisfied, she had me put on the same teddy I’d worn yesterday. “What is this thing anyway?” I asked her.

“Hmmm, showing interest in your lingerie, are you? This happens to be a body briefer that we wear for sports sometimes. Here, let me flip the straps.” I watched in the mirror as she unfastened each of the shoulder straps and refastened them after she crossed them behind my neck. Before I could ask, she said, “Your dress is different from the top you wore yesterday. You’ll see.” She fished a lavender pair of boyshorts out of her dresser drawer, and after I stepped into them, she stuffed my teddy with breastforms again.

Then she limped over to her closet and returned with a short white tennis dress with crisscross straps. I held up my arms and she helped me lower it over my head, pulling it down and smoothing it over my trembling body. It was made of the flimsiest fabric I’d ever seen, let alone worn, and over an underslip there was a gossamer-like layer of sheer nothing. It was surprisingly comfortable to wear, and after I put on some sox and her tennis shoes she had me stand at attention while she inspected me from head to toe.

“You look just like me,” she smiled. “How do you feel?” she asked as she finished me off with a little necklace, earrings and a cubic zirconium tennis bracelet.

“How do I feel about wearing a dress to play tennis against an Amazon in front of hundreds of people? Terrified,” I told her.

“Good, your adrenaline will be pumping. Let’s have something to eat before you drive to the club.” I really wasn’t hungry – my stomach was churning – but I managed to nibble on a chocolate chip muffin as Carrie gave me some pointers. “She’s got a powerful serve, which she gets in about half the time. Her second serve is very safe, so you should be able to cheat on her and get in close. I don’t think she puts any spin on the ball. And her backhand is weak. But her forehand is brutal.”

I processed all this as she filled up a tennis bag with balls, a towel, some water and talc. “You can use this instead of a purse,” she said as she put a wallet – with her driver’s license again – my cellphone, car keys and miscellaneous female junk in one of the side pockets. The racquet, a Maria Sharapova model in hot pink, slid into another pocket. “Are you ready? Sure you wanna do this?” she asked me.

“Of course I don’t want to do this! I’m terrified,” I told her honestly. “But I love you, sis, and I told you I’d do it. Just don’t get mad at me if I get beat.”

“You’ll win,” she assured me. “You’re a guy, remember?”

* * *

The parking lot was already filling up when I pulled into the club. I had to stop myself before I walked into the men’s locker room, and after relieving myself (sitting down) in the ladies locker room and taking a last look at myself in the mirror, I walked slowly towards center court, where Valarie was already waiting. Standing there in an ill-fitting tennis dress that looked like a feedbag on her, she towered over me as I approached her. “Hi Val,” I said cheerily.

“Hey,” she grunted, before she turned away and walked over to the baseline to warm up. I rubbed some talc on the handle of Carrie’s racquet, popped open a new can of balls, and took my place behind the other baseline. For the next ten minutes, we swatted balls back and forth over the net, trying to get a feel for each other. I could tell that she was holding back, and I didn’t try anything fancy as I tried to find my rhythm.

Three things preoccupied me: One, where was the coach from State? I scanned the grandstand, which was rapidly filling up, and finally I spotted her, sitting dead center in the top row. Two: how am I going to play a serious game of tennis in this frou-frou dress? It felt like I was running around in lingerie and sneakers! And three, without any pockets, what do I do with the extra tennis ball? Finally it dawned on me: stuff it in your panties! Which was a little awkward, and it took me a while to figure out how to do it gracefully.

At last it was time to play. Valarie served first, and I set myself a few inches behind the baseline and waited to see what she was made of. It didn’t take me long to find out: ZOOM! Her first serve was an unreachable ace! So was her second serve! And her third! Finally, at 40-love, she missed her first serve, and I moved in cautiously, a few feet in front of the baseline. Sure enough, she hit a creampuff, but I was so anxious that I slammed it right into the net! Game one lost!

We switched sides, and it was my turn to serve. I bounced the ball at my feet as I tried to control my nerves. Instead, all I could see was my shadow, a girl’s shadow, her whispy dress fluttering in the breeze. How did I let myself get talked into this farce? I promptly double-faulted! At love-15, after I dunked my first serve into the net, I took a lot off my second serve, which Val hammered back, an unhittable return. I took some more off my first serve, got one in, and Val totally destroyed it. Love-40! I got a little too cute with my next serve, missed badly, and once again had to serve up a softball which Val absolutely crushed. Game two lost!

I could hear the crowd stirring, and I stole a glance up towards the coach from State. She was talking on her cellphone, already losing interest in the match. Maybe she’d try to recruit Val? Things went from bad to worse, as I lost the third game without winning a point again. We switched sides, I served horribly, Val continued to totally dominate me, and before I knew it I was trailing 5-0, and trying desperately to win a service game to avoid a total skunk out. I did manage to win a few points on serve, largely because Val got a little careless, but she settled down and made short work of me, and the first set was over. I sat down to take a sip of water and tried to compose myself, in a total daze. I was playing tennis against a girl, wearing a dress, and getting absolutely destroyed.

I heard a little buzz in my racquet bag and ignored it at first. Finally, after it persisted, I opened the side pocket and took out my phone. There was a text from Carrie, two words: “bounce hit”

I closed my eyes, and felt the tension drain away. Bounce Hit was the mantra which Carrie and I had grown up on, the secret sauce of The Inner Game of Tennis: empty your mind, watch the ball hit the court, say “bounce” to yourself, and say “hit” when you hit it. Simple as that! All of a sudden, the fact that I was playing a girl, wearing a dress, in front of hundreds of people including the coach from State, meant absolutely nothing. The only thing that mattered was watching the ball and hitting it.

Val served to open the second set, and she crushed another one, which I promptly slammed back over the net, watching her swing wildly as it landed at her feet. She seemed a little rattled, and missed her first serve at love-15. I moved forward a bit and waited for her creampuff, which I totally destroyed. “Bounce hit!” She double-faulted twice, we switched sides, and it was my serve. For the first time, I could hear a few cheers from the crowd. “Go Carrie! You can do it, girl!”

Serving can be the most difficult part of the game of tennis, but it’s deceptively simple: hit the ball so your opponent can’t put it away. I took some steam off my first serve, went for the corner, and Val tapped it back to the center of the court. Bounce hit: I squared off and crushed the ball back to her feet, which she flailed at wildly and missed. Time to think now: her backhand was weak, so I moved over towards the corner and hit a serve which she couldn’t run around on. Her backhand landed harmlessly in the net. 30-love. Another hard serve to the corner, which she muffed this time, and another wicked serve to her backhand, which she totally missed. 2-0 in the second set!

Things went downhill for Val fast after that. I felt totally liberated and free as I toyed with her serves and ran her all over the court. It became obvious that she wasn’t in very good shape, and soon she was panting and puffing as the roof fell in. She lost the second set without winning a game, and the massacre continued as we started the decisive set. I started to put some spin on the ball, hitting American twist serves which she couldn’t get close to, and slicing my backhands so severely that several of them actually bounced backwards into the net, totally bamboozling her. When the end was near, I took pity on her and just slammed winners into the corners, putting her away without losing another game. The final score: 0-6, 6-0, 6-0. Val was stunned and exhausted when it was over, and the roar from the crowd was the greatest sound I’d ever heard.

I was gathering up my things, about to send a text to Carrie, when I felt a tap on my shoulder. Looking up, I saw the coach from State with a big smile on her face. “That was quite a performance, young lady,” she said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a comeback like that.”

“Thanks,” I said. “It took me a little while to find my groove.”

“Well, you certainly found it! Let me give you my card,” she said, handing one to me. “I’m the coach at State, and we’re very interested in talking to you about a full athletic scholarship. I’m staying at the Hyatt tonight, and if possible I’d like to meet your parents before I leave.”

“My parents?” I gulped.

“Yes, if one or both of them could possibly be available, I’m free for breakfast tomorrow morning. Please ask them to call me if they can meet me at my hotel at 9:00.”

“Okay,” I said numbly.

“Thanks, I truly hope one of them can make it. I know it’s short notice, but please let them know how important it is.”

“I will.”

* * *

Carrie and Amy were waiting for me when I returned home with my trophy for winning the girls’ championship. They sat enthralled as I took them through the match, and Carrie was overcome with emotion when I presented her with the trophy. “It’s yours,” I said. “If it hadn’t been for that text you sent me, Valarie Trueting’s parents would be having breakfast with the coach at State tomorrow. Too bad mom and dad are out of town.”

“You didn’t tell her that, did you?” Carrie asked.

“No, I just thanked her and took her card.”

She looked over at Amy. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“I’m right with you.” She eyed me critically. “It will require some rather drastic makeup, and you’ll have to raid your mother’s closet, but with a lot of help from us, I’m sure she can pull it off.”

“Pull what off?” I asked.

“Having breakfast with the coach as mom.”

“Are you out of your minds? You want me to make pretend I’m my mother?”

“It’ll work,” Amy said. “We can make you look a lot older, and all you have to do is listen to her, and tell her what a great girl Carrie is.”

“You two are batshit crazy!”

“Come on, you’ve gone this far. All we’re asking you to do is have a free breakfast.”

“No way.”

“Please!” Carrie begged.

“Absolutely, totally, one hundred percent no!”

* * *

That was the night I lost my virginity. Amy stayed over, we hit our parents’ liquor cabinet, and after one too many, I agreed to play along. I insisted that Carrie call the coach instead of me to confirm the appointment at her hotel. That night, Carrie put one of her nighties on me, and Amy crept into my bedroom after Carrie went to sleep. We made slow, sweet love all night long.

The next morning, after I shaved my legs in a bubble bath and Carrie styled my hair again, it was time to turn me into my mother. The girls debated back and forth before the decision was made: pearls and a twin set. Carrie stoked up my makeup including a bold red lipstick and zapped my hair with a lot of hairspray, and then it was time to get me dressed. First, an all-in-one body briefer which was liberally padded at my breasts and hips. They insisted that I put on pantyhose, which felt totally weird, although I have to admit that if I hadn’t been totally tapped out by my night with Amy, I would probably have had another orgasm from the sheer sensation of silky nylon against my smooth skin. A lacy slip was next, then a pretty embroidered top from my mother’s closet, one of her skirts, and a cardigan sweater which matched my top. Carrie topped it off with a triple strand of pearls from my mother’s jewelry box, and some clip on pearl earrings which she wore. A wristwatch, and fake wedding and engagement rings which Carrie came up with somewhere, and I was almost ready. Her final inspiration was a pair of tortoise shell glasses which made me look years older. A heavy spritz of some very expensive cologne, and it was time to learn how to walk in my mother’s high heels.

The girls spent a lot of time getting me to practice a slightly deeper voice, and coaching me on what not to say. “Keep it short and sweet,” Carrie admonished me. “You’re there to listen and come home with a scholarship for your lovely daughter.” I stuck out my tongue at her and headed out the door.

I arrived at the Hyatt a few minutes late, and after a quick trip to the ladies room to assure myself that I looked like a thirty-five year old woman, I walked into the coffee shop, where the coach was seated by herself at a window table. I approached her hesitantly and introduced myself as Carrie’s mother.

“Thank you so much for coming,” the coach said with enthusiasm. “I must say, there’s no doubt about the fact that Carrie is your daughter. The family resemblance is uncanny!”

“That’s what everybody says,” I smiled.

“Is your husband going to join us?”

“No, I’m afraid he’s in Europe on business.”

“I see. Well, we won’t let that stop us.” A waitress appeared, and after we both ordered coffee and croissants, the coach got down to business. “I was very impressed by your daughter yesterday. She has one of the purest tennis strokes I’ve ever seen.”

“Thank you. She and her twin brother have been playing since they were five.” I regretted the words as soon as I said them.

“She has a twin brother? Maybe I should tip off the men’s coach.”

“He’s not as competitive as Carrie,” I improvised.

“Well, your daughter certainly knows how to compete. Yesterday she pulled off a comeback, against a physically superior opponent, the likes of which I’ve never seen.”

I had to smile. “I’ll tell her you said that.”

“Tell me,” the coach said after our breakfasts were served, “has your daughter given any thought to where she might want to go to college?”

“When I told her I was meeting with you today, she asked me to tell you that State is her first choice, and she wants to play tennis for you.”

The rest of the conversation was a sales pitch by the coach, complete with brochures and pamphlets which she loaded me down with, until the very end. “I do have one concern,” the coach said. “Your daughter’s grades are frankly on the low side of our range, and ordinarily we would not be able to offer admission and a scholarship to her. However, her athletic achievements are obviously an important consideration. It will all come down to her SAT’s.”

“I think she’s already taken them,” I said hesitantly.

“Yes, and unfortunately her scores were rather low. However, she’ll have a chance to improve them when the test is offered again next month. I strongly encourage you to have her prepare for them. If she does her best, and gets her scores up, we would love to have her at State.”

* * *

When I got back home, I took off my glasses, kicked off my heels and flexed my aching toes in my nylons as I recounted my meeting with the coach. The girls listened intently, and when I was done, I figured my days as a girl were behind me. Until Carrie asked the question I dreaded: “Brother dear, will you take my SAT’s for me?”
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Comments

Setup for a fall

Jamie Lee's picture

Carrie is setting up herself for a big fall in the future.

Instead of gracefully withdrawing from the match, she cheats using her brother. Instead of tell the State coach her parents are out of town, she cheats again using her brother. And now she wants to cheat on her SAT test, again using her brother.

What makes her think her mom isn't going to blow a gasket when mom finds out what she did? And that her brother was involved? And how is she going to deal with her brother liking who he saw in the mirror? Or that he like the feeling?

And, her grades aren't going to match her brothers' SAT scores. How will she explain the difference?

Actions have consequences. Her latest actions have her thinking she can get others, namely her brother, to do for her when she gets in a jamb. This is going to catch up with her and she isn't going to like it.

So, does her brother tell their mom how much he likes dressing in girl/ women clothing after his recent experience?

Is there more to this story? I hope so. Too many questions need answered.

Others have feelings too.

Cutesy but fun

Sure it was all predictable, but we read these anyway. Thanks for writing a pretty decent romp in girlhood, not to mention the heavy "lost my virginity" sketch. I still don't understand scoring in tennis but it was entertaining anyway.

>>> Kay

Twins

BarbieLee's picture

Close bonding and certainly sharing of life. Cute story of brother helping out sister after she had an accident. Carrie sure knows how to get what she needs from her brother.
Hugs Nom de Plume
Barb
Life is a gift, don't waste it.

Oklahoma born and raised cowgirl