No Good Deed

No Good Deed

(c) 2017 Haylee V

It is often said, and highly misquoted, that no good deed ever goes unpunished. Yet I never thought

I'd find out how true that adage rang...

I don't know how it started, really. Kelly and I were just goofing around one day, and she got this funny notion in her head to dress me up in her Sunday finest. It didn't help matters that, at 13, I had yet to begin puberty. Or that I was horribly short. And thin. Or that my straight auburn hair reached all the way down my back, almost to my bum. (I hated haircuts with a passion.)

I had all the traits one would associate with most prepubescent girls- a cute button nose, pouty, full lips, and pencil-thin eyebrows that had their own natural arch. My lashes were long and full, and my face was eerily symmetrical. I guess I had Mom to thank for my good genes...

Anyway, we were just listening to her iPod and singing- quite loudly, I might add- when her Mom yelled up at us, "Can't you girls keep it down in there? I've got a splitting headache, and all that racket is only making it worse!"

"OK, Mom!" Kelly yelled back, as she turned down the speakers attached to her docking station. She then closed her door- quietly, and fell onto the bed, giggling uncontrollably.

"What's so funny?" I asked, completely missing the joke- and her mom's faux pas.

"Didn't you just hear?" Kelly choked out breathlessly. "She said 'you girls'. She KNOWS the only person up here with me is you, Evan, yet she still made the same mistake she always makes whenever we sing or carry on. I think she sees you as a GIRL. Hmm... I wonder..."

"No!" I screamed. "I don't know what you're hatching in that deviant little head of yours, Kelly, but whatever it is, the answer's a resounding NO. Capital 'N', capital 'O'. Period. I won't do it, no matter what IT is. So wipe the smirk off your face. Now."

"Oh, come on, Evan," Kelly whined. "How can yo so emphatically say no, when you don't even know what I'm thinking?"

"I've seen that look in your eyes WAY TOO MANY times, Kel," I stated, matter-of-fact. "And every time you get THAT LOOK, I get caught up in one of your twisted, sadistic schemes, and end up catching hell. THIS TIME, however, I'm shooting you down BEFORE you can cook something demented up at my expense. So, I'll repeat: 'N-O' NO!"

Kelly, unfazed, was now standing, inching closer to me. "But THIS TIME, it might be fun. TRUST ME..."

"Yeah," I said, "About as much as I trust a gazelle in the middle of a pride of hungry lions. I'm LEAVING!"

Kelly quickly turned and locked the bedroom door, and my only safe means of escape from her evil clutches. She slowly eased her way towards me, forcing me to back up to her closet- and he vanity. I had never before felt so trapped.

"You know, with the long hair- and your feminine facial structure, I bet you'd make a BEAUTIFUL girl," Kelly whispered, seductively, all the while licking her lips. "A little make-up, the right dress and shoes. When I'm done, YOU won't even recognize the new you..."
Terror shot through me like an electric current. Does she know? I questioned. And if she does, just how much? And how? I've always tried to be very careful...

As if reading my thoughts, Kelly replied, "I know more about you than you think I do, dear Evan. How you secretly watch me put on my make-up, how you finger the fabrics of the dresses when we're shopping at the mall, how you tend to end every sentence with an upward, sing-song inflection, even how you sit and cross your legs. Face it. You ARE a girl. You just can't, for some reason, bring yourself to accept THE TRUTH."

I slumped down on the floor, defeated and deflated. My greatest fear had just come to light, and I didn't know what to do about it. It was then that my mind decided to act upon my pent-up frustrations and do the only thing any normal teen girl would do if faced with a similar situation- cry. And not just any old crying jag, either, but long, wailing, body-wracking sobs.
At the sudden- and totally unexpected- onset of my melt-down, Kelly turned pale, and eerily quiet.

I'm so sorry, Evan," she whispered. "I didn't mean to upset you so. It's alright. Really. You know you've always been like the younger sister I've never had. I never meant to hurt you. I just want you to be happy. And be the person- the WOMAN- you truly are, deep inside."

She held me close in her embrace for what seemed like hours as all the frustrations and shame of what I was- and what I wanted- surfaced. Finally, when I felt I could shed no more tears, she released me from her gentle, yet vice-like grip.

"All I want is to be NORMAL!" I wailed. "Why is that so difficult? My body is male, yet my actions- my thoughts, desires, mannerisms, every fiber of my being, in fact- screams FEMALE. I love how they look- sensual, soft, delicate. How they smell, how they act, how they carry themselves. Why was I cursed with THIS?" I questioned, pointing to my body, and its one major defect.

"Being a girl is more than just what you have on the outside, Evan," Kelly explained. "It's all-encompassing. A meld of your thoughts- your heart and actions- that define who you really are. You've always been there for me- to laugh and share my triumphs, to gently comfort me when I was down. You're compassionate, kind, gentle, and loving. All VERY FEMININE traits you have in spades, dear. You've NEVER had the rough-and-tumble, me first, last, and only attitude that most boys your age have. You try to put yourself in other people's shoes, to really FEEL their pain. You try- perhaps a little too hard at times- to understand their pain, and then aid them to work through it, together. Empathy like yours is a gift- and not something the majority of the male population is born with."

As my sobs slowly ebbed, I tried to drink in what Kelly was saying. I couldn't help but agree with her assessment. I WAS self-effacing, and actually DID try, on a conscious level, to always put others' needs before my own.

"I-I guess you're right, Kels," I stammered. "But I don't know if I can do what you have in mind. I have," I blushed sheepishly, "experimented with some of Mom's things before. Several times, in fact. Even though it somehow felt 'right', I could never quite pull off a decent look. I always managed, somehow, to just look like a 'boy in a dress'. I'm worried that if I actually let you do this to me, I'll suffer the same disappointment. Again."

"I WON'T let that happen to you, Evan," Kelly stated emphatically. "You deserve to be the best YOU you can be. If you'll let me, I think you'll be surprised at the wonder- the magic and power- of a good makeover. You've already got so much going for you. Bringing out your best side should be EASY. A snip here, a tuck there, some padding, a little concealer and blush... You're going to be SIMPLY DARLING!" Kelly gushed.

I don't know why I said what I said next. Perhaps because she was so damn convincing. Perhaps it was due to a deep inner longing on my part. Hell, it could have been out of sheer boredom or fascination. But in that one brief moment, everything just seemed to click in my mind. If I was ever going to become the ME I truly wanted to be, then I had to act. And this may be my only chance to do so.

"Let's do this!" I nearly shouted, shocking both myself and Kelly at the forcefulness of my words.
"If you're SERIOUS, Evan," Kelly started cautiously, "then I'm afraid you have to strip first. Go into the bathroom, take off ALL your clothes, and put these on."

Handing me a pair of high-cut panties, she directed me to her bathroom.

"Do I HAVE to put these on?" I questioned. "Really?"

Just then, I heard Dr. Marshall call out (did I fail to mention Kelly's mom was a leading Ob/Gyn in Granite Falls?), "Are you girls alright up there? You've gotten too quiet."

Kelly just burst out laughing, again. "She did it again, you know. Guess I have to set her straight. Now go change, like I told you to. I'll take care of Mom."

Grudgingly, and with my head held low, I went into the proffered loo and closed the door. I didn't hear the exchange between Kelly and her mom. That may have been for the best, in hindsight.

"Don't worry, Mom," Kelly yelled down. Evan and I are just hanging out, talking."

"Evan? Is THAT who's up there? I'm coming up."

I quickly stripped, and pulled the lacy panties up my nearly hairless legs. God! they felt wonderful. I didn't worry about tucking in my 'member', as it wasn't all that big, anyway. I sincerely hoped that would change. Soon. I couldn't help scratching my chest, which had itched something terribly for the last three months...

Kelly's mom entered her room, and I could hear the two of them chatting, then silence.

"Are you done yet, Evan?" Kelly called out. "Come on out already. After all, it's just us GIRLS here..."

I couldn't help notice her extended emphasis on the word girls...

"It's OK, Evan," I heard Dr. Marshall say. "Kelly's clued me in to what's going on. After all, I AM a doctor..."

I sheepishly opened the bathroom door and stepped out. Damn! why did my chest itch so much? I started scratching uncontrollably, which naturally drew both girls' attention to my naked chest.

"Oh my God!" Kelly screamed. "You've got BREASTS. And they're bigger than mine!"

I blushed, furiously. A part of me just wanted to curl up under a rock and die from embarrassment.

"Get me my tape measure, Kelly," Dr. Marshall said quietly. Then she turned to me.

"Evan, I'd like to examine you, if that's OK."

What could I say, really? I was standing in the middle of Kelly's room, naked except for the pair of navy blue panties, which fit, eerily, very snugly around my waist. I nodded, slowly.

Kelly ran across the hall to her mother's room, then quickly returned with the tape measure.

"OK, Evan," Dr. Marshall said with a smile, "I need you to hold both hands above your head for a little while."

I did as she instructed, and she wrapped the tape around my chest, just above my "breasts".

"Hmm..." she noted. "Twenty-nine and a half inches."

She then placed the tape so it straddled both my nipples.

"Thirty-three and a quarter inches. OK, looks like you'd be a 30 C. Definitely NOT gynecomastia. Too well defined. Has your chest been sore or tender lately, Evan?"

"Yeah, Doc. And it itches like crazy!" I emphasized.

"Let me get just a few more measurements, Evan, then we'll talk," she said.

She then wrapped the tape around my waist.

"Twenty-four inches. I'm jealous!" she said with a pout.

I know I wasn't supposed to notice. I mean, after all, she WAS my best friend's Mom, but I couldn't help but blurt out, "Why, Doc? You've got a GREAT figure..."

She blushed, slightly, but then quickly waved my comment off with a whispered "Thank you."

She then measured my hips. "Thirty-two and three-eighths inches. That OFFICIALLY makes you 30C-24-32. Most women would KILL for a figure like that!"

"If they want it, they can HAVE IT!" I said. "Now can I please get dressed? I'm freezing here!"

For some reason, I did feel incredibly cold. Colder than I should have, even though I was just clad in a pair of panties. I began to feel nauseous and very dizzy, as the room began to spin out of control. I tried, in vain, to slump to Kelly's bed. I ALMOST made it..."

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