My Friend
Yes, my friend, I know you are anxious. So am I. We won't have to wait much longer, my friend. Soon, she will be making us
happy, first her way, then our way.
Then, we'll have a big surprise for her. You can't wait, can you? Patience, patience . . .
My dress looked like a white blouse and blue floral-print skirt, except that the skirt began just below my breasts. It's what
they call an empire waist dress. The hem was about three inches above my knees, so I guess it was technically a minidress.
My date wasn't my boyfriend. He was a friend of a friend who had once been a friend of an old boyfriend. My date seemed like
a nice guy--on the outside. But I knew what he was really like. You see, I have abilities that other people don't have.
My date picked me up about six o'clock. I had been ready for some time, but I told him he was a bit early. He said he liked
to be early. That was partly true, I guess, but I knew he had other reasons.
I offered him a drink and went to the bathroom. I left the door slightly ajar so he could hear me go potty. I closed the door
as I flushed the toilet so he wouldn't think I was being too obvious. I couldn't see him, but I could tell he was getting a
bit agitated by the sounds. He was planning something for me. I wasn't exactly sure of what it was, but I had a few ideas.
As I came out of the can, I tried to hide my suspicions. I don't think I was all that good, but I don't think he really
cared. That was fine. If he was on edge, we were sort of together. Nobody had the advantage.
We went out to dinner at a kind of crummy restaurant. The music was loud and not very good, though the food was okay. We then
went to a movie at one of those indie theaters where a ticket was only five dollars. The movie was in black and white, at
least the first half; then we went to his apartment for a few drinks.
Once he got "loosened up" a bit, I asked him if he wanted to have sex. He said yes, which I knew he would. I sat on his lap
with my back to him for starters, then turned around when I could tell he was stiff. I pulled up my dress while he pulled
down his pants. He saw the lacy hem of my slip, and that made him a little stiffer. It was a good thing, too, because his
manhood wasn't all that long and he needed all the help he could get. I used my slip to hide his penis from his view, then
slid up onto it. I felt it in me. It felt a bit nasty, but I could control it. I went down on it several times, and it seemed
to get stiffer each time. But I knew he wanted to get on top of me and really force himself down. It was time to get to work.
I pulled myself off of him and stroked myself inside. Soon, I had the feeling I knew I wanted. I stroked his thighs, first
his right, then his left, six times each. Then, I stroked his knees, again six times each. I stroked his toes, starting on
top of the toenails and working up to the ankles, again six times each. Then, I went up and stroked his face, first six times
on the right side, then six times on the left. After that, I stroked his neck, six times around the Adam's apple. It got a
little smaller each time. I stroked his hair, first six times on the left, then six on the right. His penis continued to
throb inside of me. He wasn't ready yet.
I went down and stroked his fingers much as I had stroked his toes. He didn't suspect anything yet. He tried to speak, but I
put my fingers on his mouth. I stroked his eyebrows, six times on the left, then six on the right. I then stroked his
testicles as I thought he was about to ejaculate. I stroked first the left one, then the right. I touched them with my thumb,
and found what I expected to find. Then I lifted myself off of his penis, and stroked it six times, then I dropped down on it
one last time. He looked puzzled, as if something was wrong. "What's the matter?" I asked.
When he tried to answer, I shushed him. "I know what's wrong . . ." I said gently. He looked at me quizzically. I stroked his
chest, first the left side, then the right. I was almost done with him. I lifted myself off of him. I began to stroke his
clothes, first his shirt, then his pants, then his underwear.
"You were very good," I said--even though he wasn't.
My friend, now it is time for us to have our way.
My friend, where are you? My friend--what the hell?
Shee-yit!
"You're a woman now," I said. "I knew you wanted to rape me. I've changed your body--as well as your clothes. I've changed
everything--your hair, your face, your feet, your chest, your hands, your voice. Your testicles are now your ovaries, and
your penis is now your vagina. Your shirt is now a blouse; you might want to buy yourself a bra. Your underpants are now a
slip, and your pants are now a skirt. You're a woman now."
I looked at her. Would she--for that's what she now was--survive as a woman? Probably. She didn't have any choice, did she?
"Oh, one last thing," I said, putting on my coat and getting ready to leave. "I changed all of the clothes in your closet, as well as everything in your dresser, into women's clothing. Your socks are all nylon stockings."
I opened the door, then looked at her and added, "And that tattoo of a rape scene on your chest is now a cute litte . . . well, it's on your cute little butt."
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