Phil's best friend wants to get reacquainted.

Chapter III - "Introductions"

The Devil in Drag

Chapter III: "Introductions"

 
"She's gorgeous!" Mike exclaimed.

He shook his head in wonderment. What was a babe like that doing here, in the home of his friend Phil? "Wow!" he murmured to himself, seeing again in his mind's eye the lush body fleeing up the stairs; the large breasts bouncing under the t-shirt, the cloud of blonde curls, the round bottom jiggling a little as she closed the door of the bathroom upstairs, the look of terror she had shot back at him.

He frowned, replaying that part again. Yup, he had definitely scared the pants off one beautiful blonde babe; perhaps literally, he certainly hadn't seen any pants when she fled up the stairs.

"Are you okay?" He called up the stairs. "Miss?" No answer.

He glanced around the room before starting up the stairs. The discarded clothing attracted his attention. Sneakers near the base of the stairs, a sock here, a sock there; jeans and boxers over by the dining room table. Men's clothing, from the sizes and choices, probably Phil's clothing.

Mike's eyebrows went up. Phil? With a babe like that? He peered at the top of the stairs again but the beautiful blonde was nowhere to be seen. Mike pursed his lips in a soft whistle. "I didn't know you had it in you, buddy." He grinned, pleased for his friend and pleasantly envious, "But the question is, have you had it in her?"

* * *

In the bathroom, Phil huddled on the non-slip mat in the bathtub with the shower curtain pulled completely closed. Eyes closed, legs pulled up under her, arms wrapped around her shoulders; she tried to will herself into the sort of withdrawal she had seen in movies and television. But it wouldn't work.

"It's not fair," she whimpered. But after a few more moments of cowering and trying to will herself into a catatonic trance; she sat up, feeling ridiculous. That her large breasts bobbed with every movement did not make her feel any less ridiculous.

Sighing, she pushed her mane of pale blonde curls out of her face and carefully clambered out of the bathtub. "I am just doomed to be sane in this crazy situation," she muttered. Her voice still startled her.

She was used to hearing her, his baritone rattle around in his, her chest a bit before emerging with a masculine resonance. Now, her voice was all in her head, no chest to speak of; it sounded thin and high-pitched and a bit nasal. "I hope to God I'm not whiny," she prayed with a nervous glance at the light fixture. Actually, she had a pleasant, even musical, soprano but no one hears their own voice the way it sounds to others.

She stripped off the t-shirt and stood in front of the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door surveying her new body in all its magnificent femininity. Rose-beige skin with no tan lines, smooth as a baby's behind except for darker nipples and areolas and the little exclamation point of blonde fur between her legs.

Phil had been six-feet-three inches of gawky, post adolescent male, about 170 pounds. Curiosity impelled her to measure herself with the yard stick nailed to the wall; five-feet even in her bare feet. "I'm a shrimp! I'm short even for a girl!" Lower lip trembling she stepped on the scales. "One hundred pounds, on the nose," she whispered. The numbers were suspiciously even. Did the devil think in round numbers?

She was certainly round, rounded all over. A hundred pounds sounded like a lot for a girl only five-feet tall but her butt felt a yard wide and the bags of flesh on her chest probably added a bit of poundage, too. Funny, looking at herself in the mirror, she was so perfectly, if generously, proportioned she did not look short. Not short, just, well, stacked was the word that came to mind.

Another thing, looking at the image of such a living doll would have made Phil practically cream in his shorts; but now, SHE could look at herself without arousal. Perversely, she did feel a bit of pride that she was so good-looking. "Mike would whinny like a stallion if he could see me now." she said smiling involuntarily. Then frowning, she remembered that Mike had seen her, fleeing up the stairs, practically naked.

At the thought of Mike she realized she could still hear him calling for her. Or rather for Phil. And another thing or three, her nipples were crinkling at the thought of Mike and that little whatever it was where a penis ought to be crinkled or wrinkled or something, too. Unbidden, the image of Mike in the boys' locker room sprang into her mind. Mike with a semi-soft dick arching out from his loins all of seven or eight or nine inches long. Mike looking at her and smiling.

* * * * *

The scream from the door at the top of the stairs brought Mike scrambling up the steps so quick he tripped on the top step and had to catch himself before plowing head first into the wall with his full 220 pounds. "What's wrong?" he shouted before trying the door. "Are you all right?" Rattle, rattle, another scream, locked. Mike debated crashing the door down. Phil's parents would certainly be upset.

"Go away! Go away, go away, go away, go'way!" The girl sounded nearly hysterical through the bathroom door.

"Do you need help? Who's in there with you? Is someone bothering you, uh, miss? Phil? Is Phil in there with you?" Where the heck was Phil?

"No, no, no! I don't need no help and I'm talking to you, you big, dumb, lump-ass! Get out of here, Mike! Go home!" Boy, she really sounded upset, but somehow the distress kept coming through a layer of kitten- like sexiness in her voice.

Mike did not want to leave the lovely damsel locked in the tower room, even if it was by her own choice. "Do I know you?" Surely he would have remembered such a cupcake if she numbered among his conquests and acquaintances. "You know my name, what's yours?" he ventured.

"Uh," inside the bathroom, Phil stammered mentally. She wanted to give Mike her name; she wanted desperately to tell Mike who she was; she wanted to open the door and throw herself into Mike's arms and unload the whole heartbreaking problem on him.

Right.

"Get a hold of yourself, kid," she warned herself. And so she did, both arms wrapped around her body, just under the overlarge titties. What could she tell her oldest and best friend, a man she loved as dearly as the brother she never had...whoa up, don't go there! She danced from one foot to another in her frustration, her titties jiggling in her self-embrace and her fat little round butt jouncing slightly.

"Just...just go away," she finally managed.

Mike decided to feign deafness. "I'm sorry, honey, I can't hear you through the door. Do you know where Phil is? Has the crud abandoned you here? Wha'd he do, go out for pizza?"

Phil felt her eyes filling up with tears. Her boobies bounced again as she wiped her face with both hands. "Oh, Mike!" she wailed. "You don't understand! Can't you just go away?"

Mike felt the teeniest bit guilty about not obeying the lady's request, but, after all, what could Phil do for such a delectable dish that Mike couldn't do better? "I'm not leaving until you tell me your name, honey." He grinned. "And preferably your phone number. I'm standing out here kicking myself 'cause you remember me and I can't believe that I don't remember you!"

A sudden thought occurred to him. "Say, did I know you years ago? Like when we were little kids?" That would explain why she recognized him and he didn't recognize her. He combed his memory for likely little girls who had disappeared from his life over the years. "We knew each other like back in the sixth grade, huh?"

Phil shrugged at the door, then grimaced; even shrugging felt weird. Well, it was true, they had known each other since the sixth grade when Mike's parents moved into the area and took the house just three doors away. "M-maybe?" she ventured.

"Alright!" Mike thought some more. A natural blonde --he had glimpsed the exclamation point during her flight up the stairs-- who might have turned into a bombshell but who he hadn't seen in years long enough that her best characteristics had not had time to develop? "Angela?" he guessed "Phil's cousin, Angela? Is that you, Angie?" Mike vaguely remembered a slender blonde girl his age who had stayed with Phil's family for a month or so, along with her rather pneumatic mother, back in the summer before high school started.

Phil grimaced, surprised. Maybe Mike had something. Angela was in New York, well, supposedly. Actually she had dropped out of high school a few years ago and no one in the family had heard from her since. Angela was the daughter of Phil's father's first cousin, Deborah the much-married. Deborah, who had died and left Angela in the care of disinterested paternal relatives about which Phil new little.

Phil's head spun. I've got to be someone, she told herself. "Angel," she said out loud, inspired by her sudden audacity. "Call me Angel." She hadn't said she was Angela, but she hadn't said she wasn't. Coming so near to lying made Phil, Angel, want to squirm. Was lying a mortal sin?

She wasted a moment vaguely wishing that she had been raised Catholic so she would have a better idea of just what pitfalls she might be treading near. Then she called out with false confidence. "Hi, Mike. Gosh, I haven't seen you since, oh, five or six minutes ago." She laughed, or giggled, really, a sound that startled her with its apparent merriment.

Mike laughed. His heart leaped in his chest, he did know her! Shy, quiet, skinny little Angela had turned into the voluptuous, if slightly spooked, Angel he had seen on the stairs. And she was Phil's cousin! He wouldn't be poaching on his little buddy's preserve if he tried to get better acquainted. Mike was very glad. What a cute, saucy, little laugh she had!

"Angel, how have you been? Come out where I can get a better look at you!" Oh, yes. Mike felt the stirring of his lust at the thought of a better view of what he had glimpsed of this Angel. Down, boy, he warned himself. She's practically family, be nice.

"Mike!" Angel giggled again, this time with a hiccup in the middle of it. "I don't --hic-- don't have any clothes in here."

"You were wearing Phil's t-shirt?"

"Uh-huh, hic!"

"Where are your clothes?" Mike had not seen any girl's clothes lying around downstairs but he glanced back down to the living room anyway. Just the little pile of Phil's pants, socks, shoes and boxers. Huh?

"I wish --hic-- I could tell you!" Angel dodged the question. "Oh, hic, darn! Now, I've got the hiccups. Hic."

"Have you been crying?" asked Mike.

The solicitation in his voice almost made her open the door. "Yes, hic, and I'm going to cry again if you don't go away!" Sniffle. "Hic."

She sounded like a heartbroken child. Mike wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her. "Where the hell is Phil?" he asked.

"Probably," she nodded lugubriously. "Hic. Gone. Hic. I don't know where."

"Did somebody just dump you here, naked, Angel?" It was the only explanation Mike could think of.

"More or less. Hic." The hiccups were making it hard to think; Angel feared that she would say or agree to something that would end with she and Mike roasting slowly over some fiery pit in Hell while the Devil in Drag rode a tank down Santa Monica Boulevard like some macabre Prom Queen Hitler. Shaking her head a little at that image, she got herself a glass of water from the tap and tried to drink it slowly. "Hic."

"What have you gotten yourself into, Angel?" Mike was a bit worried. Drugs? Porno movies? Prostitution? Angel? "Angel?"

"You wouldn't, hic, wouldn't believe me if I, hic, told you, Mike. Really, I'd rather, hic, rather not. It's kind of embarrassing." The water was doing absolutely no good. "Hic."

"Hold your breath and count to ten," Mike ordered. "So, did Phil go after the guy who dropped you off here? I hope the idiot doesn't get hurt."

"So do I! Hic! Oh, Mike, don't make me lie to you, just, hic, go away."

"You keep saying that but I'm not leaving, you know."

"I know, hic. You always were twice as stubborn."

"As who?" Mike smiled, she did remember him, alright.

"As God! I guess! Hic! Just...!" She took a deep breath with a hiccup in the middle. "Mike, I'm naked in here, I can't come out until you leave!"

Mike nodded. "I'll go downstairs and get you some sugar and a paper bag."

Sugar and a paper bag, she wondered? "Stay down there. Hic. In the kitchen."

You couldn't see the stairs or balcony from the kitchen. "Okay, doll." Mike agreed. "Wear that t-shirt and wrap a towel around yourself. Maybe you can find something to wear in Phil's mom's stuff. But she's taller and, uh, bigger than you."

"Ma-Marian is fat, I don't think her stuff will fit. Hic." It felt strange to call her, his mother by her first name. Why did she do it?

"You might have better luck with some of Phil's baggy shorts or something. I can't believe he offered you a pair of his boxers." Mike shook his head.

"I can't either," she feigned agreeing. "Now go downstairs! Hic! And let me find something to wear."

Mike ka-lumped down the stairs and hid in the kitchen, resisting the urge to peek when he heard the bathroom door open. "Down boy," he told his crotch, "we're thinking up here." Granulated sugar to swallow dry and paper bags to put over one's head were old hiccup remedies and he got them ready.

"Wowza," he sighed, mentally anticipating seeing the lovely Angel again. Then, "Wonder what kind of trouble she's gotten herself into?"

Upstairs, Angel was wondering the same thing. With Phil's t-shirt covering her tits and a towel wrapped as an impromptu skirt she dashed out of the bathroom and, more from habit than anything else, into his, her own room. "How am I going to get rid of Mike now that he thinks he knows me? What am I going to tell him happened to Phil? What happens if he tries to kiss me? Why in the world did I think of that?"

The room of the nineteen-year-old boy she used to be seemed bigger. It made her feel very young and vulnerable. And feeling vulnerable made her think of Mike. Mike had always been her, his protector through grade school. Always bigger, stronger, faster, more confident than his classmates, not just Phil, but all the other kids their age. Mike had been the hero and Phil had been the sidekick in a series of adventures stretching back more than seven years.

Angel discarded the towel and sat disconsolately at the computer desk. "Now I've gone from Tonto to Jane," she sniffed. She glared down at her breasts, swelling under the t-shirt; the nipples were stiff and very visible and -- sort of itchy. "You two are being no help at all! Hic! Every time I even think about Mike you stand up and salute. What else has the Devil done to me?"

Suddenly, she knew. Right in front of her on a little bookshelf built into the desk sat Phil's technical computer manuals. None of the visible titles made any sense to her at all. The lettering might as well have been Greek, Hebrew or Chinese. "I-it's impossible," she gasped. Grabbing one of the books she opened it at random, realizing as she did so that she wasn't even sure which way to open the book or which direction the mysterious symbols inside should be read.

Nor could she read the digital clock built into the telephone. The computer keyboard was covered in strange glyphs, runes of unknown purpose. The Dilbert desk calendar she recognized only because of the familiarity of the strip characters and a memory of Phil having owned such a calendar. "This gets worse and worse! How can God have allowed her to do this to me? It's -- it's just fiendish!" Not a book or a piece of printing in the room made the slightest sense to her.

She felt her voice rising but panic is a form of insanity and the terms of the bet would not allow her to go crazy. Phil's education had included enough information that Angel knew that reading, writing, even speech and memory were physically based. "If she can do this what else has she done to me?" she sighed, unaware that she was repeating what she had said only moments before.

"Angel?" The voice came through the door. At first, she thought it might be God again but the shout was Mike, calling up the stairs. "Angel? Phil's back and he brought you some clothes!"

"He what!" She bounced to her feet and almost ran out onto the balcony wearing nothing but Phil's t-shirt. What stopped her was she seemed to have forgotten which way to swing the door.

Phil? Out there? How? She was going to have to stop asking such stupid questions, she realized.

"The Devil he is," she muttered.