Date: Sat, 18 Mar 2000 21:05:15 PST
From: Lisa Fox
Subject: TG Story: "Alice"

ALICE

by Lisa Fox

    I must admit that I was a bit skeptical when Harold first came
to live with me. I was his only surviving relative, so I really
couldn't refuse the poor little orphan, but I am well into middle
age, and though I raised two children of my own, I had no
experience with boys, especially boisterous, rampaging, girl-crazy
adolescent boys like Harold. Still, I had an obligation to my
dear, departed sister, so I agreed to take him under my wing and
do what I could for him, despite my doubts, doubts that it later
turned out were very well founded.

    Such concerns were put aside initially, when Harold first
arrived escorted by a social worker from the county. He looked so
young and innocent, with his long, brown hair dangling in front of
his sad, frightened eyes; he reminded me of a mistreated puppy
yearning for affection. My heart went out to him at once, and I
rushed forward to take him in my arms and hug him fiercely. He
seemed embarrassed and uncomfortable for a moment, and then he
melted in my arms and began to cry. I comforted him as best I
could, but the weight of his grief overwhelmed him, and it took
several minutes for him to hold back his tears and settle down
again.

    As I held him and felt him crying on my shoulder, I realized
what a tremendous responsibility I had taken on, but I also
resolved to handle that responsibility as best I could. This poor
child had lost his parents to a senseless accident, and I was
their only real surrogate. I couldn't just abandon him to the care
of the county orphanage without doing whatever I could to help him
first. If it proved too difficult for me on my own, I could hire a
live-in governess or something, but turning the boy away could
only be considered as a last resort. If he proved to be completely
incorrigible, only then could I let him go with a clear
conscience, but otherwise, he was my child now.

    Once his crying had subsided, I took him inside for some milk
and cookies, which he gratefully consumed in record time. I
wondered how he could stay so thin with such an appetite, but I
had yet to learn how much energy he could burn up in a day. After
a quick tour of the house, I sat at the kitchen table with the
social worker and signed some formal adoption papers as Harold
dragged his bulging suitcase down the hall to the bedroom that was
now his. The woman agreed to accept a cup of coffee before
leaving, and we had a pleasant chat about my nephew, who was now
my legal ward, as she gazed out at the ocean view offered by the
front bay window.

    My late husband had built the house himself, soon after we
were first married, and both my daughters had grown up within its
walls. The place itself was no mansion: just three bedrooms, two
baths, a spacious living room, a dining room and a kitchen, about
average in dimensions and construction, nothing very fancy or
expensive, but it was the property that made the house so special,
for it was situated right on the crest of a large sand dune
overlooking the public beach. The land and the special foundation
required to build on it had taken so much of our funds, we had
barely enough money left to complete construction of a rather
simple ranch house, but though it wasn't much to look at, the tax
assessors had estimated its value at well over half a million
dollars, simply because of where it was.

    It wasn't just the view, although three sides of the house did
offer splendid panoramic vistas of the Atlantic Ocean and the New
Jersey coast; the property was also conveniently situated in the
heart of the beach community within easy walking distance of
stores, schools, bars restaurants and the fabulous mile-long
boardwalk with ail its amusements and tourist attractions. Yet
despite its proximity to these centers of activity, it was also
somewhat isolated, for no other structure stood within throwing
distance. Soon after my husband had hammered in the last nail and
brushed on the last lick of paint, the town council put a ban on
further development along that tract of land, so ours was the
first and only private residence built on the dune line. To the
south, the boardwalk began about a quarter of a mile away, and to
the north a series of hotels went clear to the horizon, the
closest being less than half a mile off, but ours was the only
house this close to the beach, making it unique and therefore more
valuable.

    When times were hard, especially after the death of my husband
ten years ago, I considered selling the place. For the sale price
of this house, I could easily have afforded two houses of similar
dimensions on the land ward side of the dune line, but so many
memories have been tied to this simple dwelling that I couldn't
really leave it willingly even though I could now afford to live
in a place ten times as opulent, due to death benefits awarded by
my insurance company. It was just a rustic little ranch house, but
to me it could outshine the Taj Mahal or Buckingham Palace for the
wonder of its simple beauty.

    I knew Harold was going to love living there. It was so close
to the beach that you could see the entire stretch of sand and
everyone on it from the front porch but it was elevated more than
a hundred feet above sea level on the crest of a huge dune, so the
clamor of voices and activity coming from below was actually
hardly noticeable above the continual thundering of the surf
against the jetties. Both my daughters had loved growing up in
that house. Daria, being the shy and quiet type, loved the
isolation and the peaceful atmosphere, while my firstborn, Lara,
enjoyed the easy access to beach parties and strolls along the
boardwalk which contributed to making her so popular, especially
with the boys. Whether he preferred restful quiet and solitude,
like Daria, or a hectic social life, like Lara, I was sure Harold
would adapt easily to his new surroundings.

    When Harold returned to the kitchen with his belongings now
packed away in his new bedroom, the social worker bid him a
slightly tearful farewell before shaking my hand and taking her
leave. My new ward and I stood on the back porch together and
watched as she carefully made he- way down the long flight of
wooden stairs to the parking area below, and we waved good-bye in
unison as the woman go- into her car and drove away heading west
back toward the town where Harold had lived with my sister and her
husband. The boy seemed concerned as he watched her go, as if he
longed to go with her, but the life he had lived there was gone,
and his new home was with me. To help him understand and accept
this, I placed my hand gently on his shoulder to guide him back
inside as I asked him if he wanted to have lunch yet.

    To my surprise, he was not only hungry, he was famished, and
he seemed to inhale everything r put in front of him. At the time,
I assumed that the Country authorities hadn't been feeding him
properly during his stay with them, but within a few days I
realized that his appetite was simply huge. Once he'd eaten, I
followed him down the hall to inspect his bedroom. When offered
the choice earlier, he'd chosen the empty room next to the master
bedroom, as I'd expected. It was by far the smaller and the less
attractive of the two rooms, since it had no view, unlike the
larger room, which had a wide bay window facing north, but both
rooms had been preserved very much as my daughters had left them,
and Daria's room, much like Daria herself, was very plain and
unadorned, so there was little to indicate that anyone had ever
lived in it before.

    Lara's room was an entirely different story, however. Being
the oldest, she was given the room with the view, and being a
typically fluff-headed, boy-crazy teenage girl, she had decorated
and equipped her room accordingly. Beyond the presence of a vanity
table covered with Cosmetics, a full length mirror on every wall
and a closet full of colorful teenage fashions, the lavender
curtains and matching shag carpeting combined with the light pink
wallpaper to announce that this was without a doubt the bedroom of
a girl. I knew that the moment Harold saw it he'd refuse to accept
the idea of moving in there, especially since Daria's much plainer
room was also available to him. Lara's room might be larger and
offer a great view, but the room he chose was less insulting to
his growing manly pride.

    Once I'd finished a brief inspection of his room and found his
unpacking to be satisfactory, I offered to take him on a tour of
the boardwalk, and he readily agreed. I went to my room to change
for the outing as Harold stripped off his traveling clothes in
preference for something cooler and more comfortable. He was
already waiting for me in the living room when I emerged wearing
my simplest summer dress and light make-up, and the moment I saw
him I felt a touch of concern. Clad in a tank-top, shorts and
sandals, his long, brown hair tied back in a simple ponytail, and
a dark pair of sunglasses perched on his nose, he looked somehow
older than his fourteen years. In fact, he reminded me of the
teenage surfers who bummed their way up and down the beach all
summer. Perhaps it was a premonition, but somehow I knew that his
attempt to look "cool" was just a facet of his desire to be
"cool", a desire that could lead to all kinds of trouble in the
days ahead.

    The summer season hadn't actually started, but the weather had
been warm and sunny lately, so the hotels were already filling up
with tourists and the "sometimers" were arriving early to ready
their summer homes for occupancy. As a result, the beach was
unusually crowded for May, and the sand below us as we looked down
from the front porch was speckled with the colors of bathing
suits, beach blankets and sun umbrellas. There was activity almost
everywhere: children playing, couples frolicking in the waves,
boys playing Frisbee, girls moving slowly in packs like a team of
commentators... the beach was awash with humans involved in the
art of recreation.

    Harold was anxious to see the sights, so without further
delay, I let him lead the way down the long, straight stairway
that sloped gently down from the broad wooden deck at the side of
our house to the very edge of the beach at the foot of the dune
below. A set of volley ball nets had been erected by the township
near the bottom of the stairs, and Harold stood by watching a game
in progress as he waited for me to catch up with him. As I
continued down the stairs, I noted with mixed feelings that one of
the young men involved in the game had turned to Harold and
invited him to play. I was glad to see an opportunity for Harold
to make new-friends arise so quickly, since I didn't want him to
be lonely, but I immediately recognized this young man as part of
a group of "surf freaks," wild, irresponsible teenagers, most of
whom were high school dropouts. The girls were foul-mouthed and
lewd, and it was common knowledge they were "easy," while it was
rumored that the guys, all long-haired, hippie types, were
involved with drug peddling, so I felt somewhat relieved when
Harold politely declined the young man's invitation.

    When I finally stepped beside the boy, we both took off our
sandals to walk barefoot in the warm sand as we made our way south
along the beach toward the boardwalk. The sun felt good, and there
was a warm breeze blowing off the ocean, rich with the smell of
brine. We talked pleasantly about his interests and the friends
he'd left behind. I was surprised to hear that he'd had a steady
girlfriend, since I thought him too young for serious
relationships, but times have certainly changed since I was a
girl, so I guess I should’ve expected that boys would be
interested in girls at a younger age than in my time or even in my
daughters' time.

    When he talked about her, however, I did notice a very
juvenile attitude toward their relationship. She was not his
partner or his companion, she was his "squeeze," and the sole
benefit he seemed to derive from her friendship was physical. She
had "great knockers" and "cute buns" and her lips always tasted
sweet, "like strawberries," but he never made any reference to her
as a person. I began to see another possible problem in Harold's
attitude toward girls, an egotistical delusion which all boys go
through, and which some men never outgrow... the age-old belief in
male superiority and the basically subservient nature of females.
I would have to help Harold discover the true equality of the
sexes somehow. He had to learn that girls were not sex objects,
but people, with thoughts and emotions and concerns that mattered.

    When we arrived at the boardwalk, however, I realized that I
had a lot of work ahead of me, for the boy's eyes flashed from one
female figure to the next, always judging appearances and leering
at those girlish shapes which most pleased him. His comments were
like the remarks of a judge at a beauty contest, evaluating this
girl's breasts and that girl's legs, but never once did he
indicate that he was talking about human beings. Their interests
and activities were of no consequence to him. They were possible
sex partners, to be rated and valued by their looks alone, and
that was that.

    I knew he'd inherited this attitude from his father. My
brother-in-law could be a real ass sometimes. I could see why my
sister loved him; he was a good provider and a caring parent, and
according to her he was terrific in bed. I'd seen the male
chauvinist lurking beneath the surface, however and in his son it
had emerged full blown. All the boy really needed was a little
guidance, I decided, and perhaps he could use some help finding
the right girl. Little did I suspect then the drastic measures to
which I would one day resort, not just to cure him of his sexist
attitudes, but for reasons of a more desperate nature.

    We strolled casually from one end of the boardwalk to the
other, taking in all the booths and attractions we could. There
were betting wheels and ball tosses and stalls for pitching coins
into jars or throwing darts at balloons, all of which offered
prizes ranging from silly to substantial. There were arcade
centers with pinball and video games, miniature golf courses,
trampolines, kiddy rides and two roller coasters. There were snack
bars and pizza shops and cotton candy venders, as well as the
larger burger shops, steak joints and full-size restaurants,
offering among them a wide variety of comestibles. Besides the
booths, along the main runway there were art exhibits and portrait
painters, crafts shows and acting troupes, jugglers and clowns and
acrobats, all performing for the amusement of passers-by and the
occasional coin tossed into an overturned hat.

    Throughout it all, Harold was fascinated and eager to try
anything. The only establishments we strictly avoided were the
bars and adult shows that cropped up about every hundred yards or
so, and the boy seemed to understand without asking that he was
too young to enter such places. We were there for hours, and it
was almost dark when we finally reached the southernmost end of
the boardwalk and turned back. I was almost out of cash, and
Harold was looking tired anyway, so we retraced our steps with a
quicker pace and hardly stopped at all until we reached our
starting point. With a promise that he could return at any time,
Harold reluctantly agreed that it was time to head home for
dinner.

    On our return trip, I noticed that the tide was out, so
instead of staying on the raised walkway that continued north
along the dunes to the fisherman's pier where the boardwalk
physically terminated, we went down a different set of wooden
stairs to the beach and passed between the massive wooden pylons
that supported the elevated planks of the tall platform overhead.
It was darker under the pier, but the twilight was sufficient for
us to find our way, and we were just nearing the far end when I
heard a sound coming from farther back under the pier where the
shadows were thickest. At first I feared it might be muggers or a
gang of thugs; the beach was not entirely safe at night,
especially for a woman and a boy. As I listened more closely,
however, I realized it was a couple, no, two couples, and the
moment I recognized the sounds they were making, I hurried Harold
along in front of me.

    The boy also recognized the sounds of passion, and he chuckled
to himself as he strained his neck to look back. Obviously the
sand beneath the pier had become a kind of lovers' rendezvous, at
least during low tide, and the lack of complete privacy didn't
seem to bother those involved one bit. I suppose that if the
presence of another couple making love a few yards away didn't
disturb them, then the occasional passers-by, like Harold and I,
weren't about to cramp their style either. Despite Harold's
amusement, I found the encounter quite distasteful, and I wondered
with a mother's concern if my beloved Lara had ever let a young
man have his way with her in those same dark, secretive shadows.

    Back at the house, I fixed a quick dinner, and once again
Harold gulped it down like a vacuum cleaner. He excused himself to
watch television while I washed the dishes and tidied up, and then
I joined him in the living room for a game of Scrabble before
suggesting that we call it a day. Once he'd changed into his
Batman pajamas, I tucked him in under the covers of his new bed
and kissed him lightly on the forehead before saying goodnight.

    "Aunt Milly," he said softly as I reached for the light
switch. "Thanks for lettin' me stay here. I didn't wanna go to
that orphanage."

    "You’re welcome, Harold." I replied. "I hope you like it here.
Sleep tight."

    I felt a tear in my eye as I turned off the light.

    That night I was startled awake by a strange but easily
recognizable sound. It was so soft and subdued that I had to get
out of bed and put my ear to the wall separating our rooms to be
certain I'd heard it, but then it came again, and I was sure. The
poor boy was crying into his pillow. My heart went out to him, but
I restrained the impulse to rush in and comfort him. This was
private grief, the kind of grief I knew only too well from
personal experience, and so I waited, listening, until he cried
himself back to sleep. Then, with tears of sympathy still drying
on my cheeks, I finally returned to bed and let sleep take me
again.

--------------------------------------------------

    The next morning, I greeted my new ward with a big hug and a
kiss as he entered the kitchen still clad in his pajamas.

    "How's my little angel today?"

    "Fine," he shrugged. "What's for breakfast?"

    I served him up some pancakes and bacon, which he devoured in
minutes, and after draining his glass of orange juice, he asked to
be excused.

    "Do you want to help me clean up and do the dishes? That way I
can get done faster, and we can go down to the beach before it
gets too crowded."

    "Nah," he replied, getting up from the table. "That's women's
work."

    "Who told you that?" I objected, knowing the answer full well.

    "My dad," he explained. "Mom sometimes asked him to do stuff
like that, but he never would, 'cause he said it was..."

    He hesitated, so I finished the sentence for him.

    "Women's work."

    "Yeah," he nodded, as if that explained everything, and
without another word he headed off into the living room to watch
cartoons on television.

    I was starting to see "my little angel" in a different light
already, but this was nothing compared to the trouble that lay
ahead.

    Before I'd even finished the dishes, Harold had switched off
the television and gone to his room to change so that by the time
I was through drying up, he was dressed and ready to go. I was not
pleased to see that his "cool" look was back. He wore only a
bathing suit with his sandals, while his eyes were completely
hidden behind dark sunglasses, and his long hair was once again
pulled back into a simple "surfer's tail," so common among the
teenage delinquents that seemed to live on the beach.

    "You're not going out like that, are you?"

    "Sure," he insisted. "Why not?"

    "Well... For one thing, you should wear a shirt."

    "What for?"

    "In case you want to go to the boardwalk. You're not supposed
to go there without a shirt."

    "That's okay; I figure I'll just hang out at the beach for a
while."

    "Then why don't you let me take you for a haircut first?
You're long overdue, and there's a good barber shop..."

    "I don't have to cut my hair," he interrupted. "Lots of guys
here have hair longer than mine."

    "Only the surfers," I noted, "and they're just too lazy to get
it cut."

    He shrugged, as if dismissing the entire conversation. "I like
it this way."

    I knew better than to argue with him. I'd learned from my many
encounters with Lara that teenagers can be very willful and will
generally do want they want, no matter how many times you forbid
it. A confrontation would only lead to a breakdown in
communication. I had to try to convince the boy to change his
behavior on his own. That always worked with Lara, at least until
that fateful summer.

    For now it was best that I simply continue to observe and
analyze the situation. Once I had enough information to make an
educated decision, I could put some sort of plan into action. Of
course, I had no idea at the time how desperate I would become, or
how drastic my measures would be, when I finally took steps to set
Harold straight.

    He started for the door with a wave, saying, "See ya later,
Aunt Milly."

    I was insulted. "Aren't you going to wait for me? It'll just
take me a few minutes to change."

    He looked irritated and impatient. "I'll meet you down there.
I wanna make some friends today."

    "That's fine, but..." I knew what he was thinking. He didn't
want his old aunt tagging along, getting in the way. I actually
didn't mind; I was young once, too. What worried me was the kind
of "friends" he might make, if I wasn't there to advise him, but
there was no sense putting the cart before the horse, so with a
sigh I agreed to let him go off on his own, trusting to his better
judgment. What a mistake that was!

    Instead of changing and going down the beach, I sat on the
front porch drinking tea and keeping my eye on Harold. Just as I'd
feared, the moment he was within hailing distance of the volley
ball nets, the surfers were inviting him to join their game, and
he instantly accepted. They were quite a bit older than he was,
although I think some of those girls were probably a lot younger
than they acted, but the young men seemed to encourage and joke
with Harold as if he were a younger brother, while a few of the
girls appeared to take a different kind of interest in the boy.

    "It's just a volley ball game," I told myself, but I was
already starting to worry about where this might lead.

    When the last in a series of games ended in victory for
Harold's team, the boy was escorted from the court amid the praise
and support of his new "friends" who led him over to their
encampment for that day. Each morning the teenagers would erect a
semi-circular wall of surfboards stuck into the sand like pickets
in a fence, and thus shielded from prying eyes, they could engage
in all kinds of shenanigans. Just what they were up to with Harold
behind that barricade was becoming a major concern to me, and I
even considered changing quickly into my bathing suit and
investigating the scene firsthand, but before too long the boy
appeared running toward the surf with one of the young ladies in
hot pursuit. Both were laughing and stumbling as they ran, and it
seemed that Harold had somehow teased her into a fit of false
outrage, and she seemed bent on exacting some petty revenge.

    At first the encounter looked harmless enough. Harold had
stopped short and turned around at the edge of the breakers, but
the moment she was close enough, the girl tackled him around the
waist and tumbled with him into the crashing waves. They emerged
drenched and sputtering, but still laughing heartily. Then the
girl began to splash water into Harold's face, and he quickly
submerged out of sight. The girl looked worried for a moment and
then screamed comically as her feet were pulled out from under her
and she went under. I smiled to see Harold having so much fun,
knowing that he needed such foolishness to forget his grief and
get back to enjoying life as quickly as he could. It had taken me
three painful losses to finally understand the fact that life must
go on.

    My concerns were awakened once again, however, as the two
teenagers emerged from the water, for they were now holding one
another in a very close embrace, and it looked as if she was
kissing him on the lips. His hands wandered over her backside,
occasionally pausing on her shapely, almost naked rear end, and
she didn't seem to mind at all her own hands being busily engaged
in similar activities. This was a bit too much for me, and I knew
I'd have to have a serious talk with the boy very soon about how
to conduct himself with the opposite sex.

    When Harold and his pretty new girlfriend returned to the
surfers' enclave, he once again vanished from my sight for a time,
but came back into view shortly after in the carpet! "company of
several older boys. It was a few moments before I realized they
were headed directly south, toward the boardwalk, and apparently
Harold had no intention of letting me know what he was up to. He
never even glanced in my direction. I was sorely tempted to rush
down those stairs dressed in my house-robe and chase them down,
but I knew that such a display of parental discipline, especially
coming from me, his surrogate mother, at this sensitive point in
our relationship would surely backfire and drive him further from
my guidance, if it didn't alienate him completely. No, I had to
find a way to educate him, to make him realize the t errors of his
ways on his own. That's the only way to truly change someone's
behavior.

    I spent the entire day thinking about how I would begin
Harold's education, but I still hadn't reached any decisions when
he eventually came striding confidently up the stairs from the
beach just before sunset. He looked a little tired, but very
pleased with himself, and he was already starting to acquire a
noticeable tan. He was carrying a portable video game in his
hands, and much to my amazement I saw a bulge in the side of his
bathing shorts that seemed about the exact dimensions of a pack of
cigarettes, complete with matches.

    Slumping clumsily onto a kitchen chair, he offered a rather
insincere apology for missing lunch, explaining that his new
friends had bought him a hamburger and fries at the boardwalk.
When I reminded him that he wasn't supposed to go there without a
shirt, he just shrugged and said that his friends let him borrow
one, but his tan showed no sleeve or collar lines at all. When I
asked him about the game he'd brought back, he said he'd won it,
but his voice carried little conviction, and I began to suspect
that he'd actually stolen it, or one of his "friends" had stolen
it for him. I didn't ask about the cigarettes, if that's what they
were, knowing that it could only lead to an argument, and I was
still trying to avoid that at all costs, since in the end I would
probably have to ground him, perhaps for the whole summer, and
there'd be little hope of saving our relationship after that.
There had to be a better way, and I was determined to find it.

    So, that evening I said nothing, simply pointing out that he
was still covered with sand and reminding him that he should rinse
himself off with the outdoor shower before entering the house
after going to the beach. He complied readily enough, but didn't
bother to dry himself afterward and tracked puddles of water
through the house as he made his way to his bedroom.

    "Harold!" I scolded him. "Look what you're doing to my
carpet!"

    "Don't call me that!" he snapped back. "I wanna be called
'Harry' from now on."

    I swallowed my temper and simply nodded as he turned away and
continued toward the hallway. The situation was rapidly becoming
intolerable, and my determination to change it grew stronger. I
could hear my brazen young nephew changing in his room, and I
assumed that he was getting into his pajamas for the night, but
when he returned he was dressed in some of his best casual clothes
as if planning an evening out on the town.

    "Why're you dressed like that?" I asked.

    "I have a date," he smiled. "I'm meetin' Suzy at the
boardwalk."

    "Suzy?"

    "Yeah, she's my new girlfriend. You should see her in a
bikini. Man, is she built!"

    "I see." I was at a total loss for words. Events were quickly
getting beyond my control, and I didn’t like it one bit. Still, I
decided to hold my tongue for now. Boys Harold's age did go out on
dates with girls nowadays, and there wasn't necessarily any harm
in it. It might be good for him. Perhaps Suzy could prove to him
that girls were people and not just sex objects, although I
assumed it was the same girl I'd seen him with that morning, so
that seemed unlikely. Still, I had no definite plan in mind as
yet, so I thought it best to just let matters continue to take
their course and see what happened. If Harold was determined to
get himself into trouble, all I had to do was give him enough rope
to hang himself. Then it would be my turn.

    We ate in silence that evening, Harold stuffing himself
quickly and then asking to be excused. He paused before leaving to
come around the table and kiss me on the cheek with a sincere
"Thanks for dinner, Aunt Milly," which made me feel somewhat more
encouraged, and then he hurried off into the night to meet his
alluring companion for their first date. I watched him go with a
lingering sense of concern, hoping I was wrong about the trouble I
saw brewing and then I set about cleaning up the kitchen once
more.

    After watching a little television, I settled down with a good
book for a few hours waiting for Harold's return, but when
midnight came and went with still no sign of him really began to
worry in earnest. It was nearly two in the morning when he finally
wandered in, looking a little bleary-eyed and unsteady on his
feet. He had smears of lipstick on his shirt, and his clothes were
rumpled and disorderly, as if he'd dressed in a great hurry and
hadn't bothered to straighten himself out again.

    He offered no explanation, just a friendly smile as he
stumbled past me toward his bedroom. It was obvious that his new
girlfriend was every bit as "easy" as her looks proclaimed, and I
though at first that he might've been drinking as well, the way he
looked, but as he passed me to step into the hall, I caught a
scent of something clinging to his clothes, something terribly
familiar. It took a moment for it to sink in, and then I
remembered...

    Marihuana! How many times had I smelled that same horrid,
acrid stench on Lara's clothes, even in her hair?! And here it was
again! Invading my household once more, threatening another of my-
children! I managed to control my temper, but inside I was boiling
mad. Shoplifting, girl chasing, drinking beer, disobedience and
even defiance were behaviors that would eventually need to be
addressed, but using illegal drugs was something else. I had to do
something about this right away, but what?

    Once I knew that he'd settled into bed, I stopped by his room
to tuck him in. That awful aroma was there to greet me as I
entered coming from the clothes he'd thrown on the floor and the
long hair surrounding his face on the pillow. I tried to ignore
the smell as I sat beside him on the mattress and gently brushed
stray strands of hair from his eyes. I could see that he was too
far gone to remember any of this in the morning, so I decided to
save the lecture I'd planned to give him until breakfast. With a
light kiss on the forward, I wished him a good night's sleep and
retired to my bedroom to turn in.

-----------------------------------------

    Harold didn't get up for breakfast the next morning. He slept
until almost noon, and when he finally dragged himself out of bed
he still looked sleepy. I waited for him to finish his daily
bathroom ritual, then prepared him a sandwich and some soup for
lunch. His appetite was in no way diminished by his groggy state
of mind, and he polished off the meal in record time, although he
did eat in silence for a change. When he'd finished, instead of
excusing him from the table, I sat beside him and gently took his
hand into mine. It was time to start his education.

    "Harold, do you...?"

    "Harry," he insisted.

    "All right, Harry." I paused to steel myself once more; it was
not an easy subject for me to discuss. "Do you remember your
cousin Lara?"

    "Sure, she was real pretty. Dad said she was built like a
brick..."

    "Never mind what your father thought," I interrupted. "Do you
remember what happened to her?"

    "She died."

    "Do you remember how she died?"

    "Uh..."

    "She took an overdose of cocaine," I said, and it took quite
an effort to keep my voice from trembling.

    "She did?"

    I nodded sadly. "And do you know how she got hooked on drugs
in the first place?"

    He shook his head, obviously becoming more interested.

    "Marijuana," I told him bluntly. "She started out just smoking
a little pot with her friends, but before long she was using
harder stuff, and then it was too late."

    He just sat there thinking about it, and I let the notion sink
in before I went on to the next step.

    "Do you remember Daria?"

    He nodded again, still thoughtfully silent.

    "Do you remember how she died?"

    "In a car crash," he replied, his voice now a bit subdued.

    "She had just gotten her driving permit," I explained," and
her car was hit from the side by a truck that ran a red light. The
police said the driver had been smoking marijuana."

    I could see the light growing in his eyes as he made the
connection, so I went to step three.

    "I know you don't remember your Uncle Burt, because he died
when you were just a baby, but drugs killed him, too. He was
taking sleeping pills and had too much to drink, and the
combination caused him to have a heart attack."

    Again I paused to let the words sink in.

    "You see, Harold, I've lost my whole family to drugs, all of
them taken from me in senseless tragedies that could have been
avoided. Now, I'm not suggesting that you've been experimenting
with drugs or accusing you of anything." As I spoke, he lowered
his eyes looking a bit guilty. "I just wanted to warn you about
the danger, in case some of your new friends don't understand. I
know they wouldn't want to hurt you by making you do something
that's dangerous, but sometimes teenagers don't know as much as
they think they do. you see what I mean?"

    He nodded again, and I could see that my words had had an
impact on him. I could imagine him already thinking up excuses not
to join his friends in their illegal activities, and I felt more
than gratified. This was only the first lesson in Harold's
education, but it was an encouraging success.

    My confidence began to waver, however, when the boy returned
from changing in his room, for I noted with displeasure that he
still insisted on imitating the "surfer" look of his trendy
"friends," and once again he was not wearing a shirt. I held my
tongue as before, not wanting to cause friction between us, now
that I might've gotten on the scoreboard for the first time. I
just smiled and wished him a nice day as he went out.

    I gave him enough time to reach the beach, then stepped out
onto the front porch to observe his behavior. Just as I'd feared,
he headed straight for the surf freaks, who greeted him warmly and
welcomed him into their midst. He no longer seemed the least bit
concerned with the subject of our talk, and much to my
astonishment, just before he vanished behind their wall of
surfboards, I saw him actually accept a can of beer from one of
them. That in itself wasn't too bad, actually. If an occasional
beer was the limit of his indulgence, I could tolerate that.
Coming so soon after my lecture, however, it was a very bad omen
indeed.

    My curiosity was growing unbearable. Was he goring to stand up
to these older boys and girls and refuse to participate in taking
any drugs, or would he surrender to peer pressure and do as they
did just to be accepted by them? I simply had to know, and so
began my career as a spy.

    I didn't take my attempts at secret surveillance too seriously
at first. It was just a half-hearted effort to satisfy my
curiosity, so I didn't give it much thought or preparation. I
simply changed into my swimsuit, sandals and beach robe, put on
dark sunglasses and a sun hat, and I assumed that I'd be
relatively inconspicuous on the beach. My only real concern was
that Harold might recognize me and be upset that I was checking up
on him, so my disguise didn't need to be too elaborate, just good
enough to let me watch him more closely without being noticed by
him.

    Once I was ready, instead of going down the stairway from our
side deck, I walked down to the parking lot, went a at few blocks
north to the nearest visitors' parking area, and took the stairs
there over the dunes and down to the beach, t quite a bit up the
coast from where Harold was. I then followed the waterline south
again until I was close to the surfers' enclave, and there I sat
down in the wet sand to cool myself. Since I was now nearer the
ocean than they were, I could see directly into their semicircular
wall of surfboards, but I kept the brim of my hat pulled low and
looked sidelong at them through my dark sunglasses, so there was
no reason for them to suspect that I was watching them.

    Harold was far too busy with Suzy to notice me. He was lying
face down on a beach towel while the girl patiently spread suntan
oil on his back, arms and legs. Her movements were quite sensual
and suggestive, even more so when she finally had the boy turn
over to do his front. The fact that there were a dozen or so
teenagers standing around drinking and laughing only a few feet
away didn't seem to q bother either Harold or his new girlfriend.
They were in a world of their own.

    After a while, one of the boys seemed to notice me, so to
avoid suspicion, I turned over as though trying to even out my
tan, and didn't even try to peek at them for a good ten minutes.
When I finally thought it safe to look over . there again,
everything had changed. Some of the surfboards had been uprooted
and removed, and most of the teenagers were gone, including Harold
and his girlfriend. I looked around in surprise, trying not to be
too obvious about it, and finally found the object of my search
walking away from me, headed south toward the boardwalk in the
company of three other couples, his arm wrapped securely about
Suzy's waist.

    I followed them as discreetly as I could, moving in a wide arc
designed to intercept them near the stairway to the pier, but my
quarry continued to move along the coastline, making their way
between the pylons beneath the wooden platform, apparently headed
for the stairway on the far side, so I went cautiously after them.
As I entered the dark shadows beneath the pier, I could only make
out their silhouettes preceding me in the gloom, but I immediately
became aware that something was wrong. My suspicion was confirmed
the moment the group stepped out into the light on the far side of
the pier, for there were definitely only six of them left.

    I was just beginning to wonder which two were missing and
where they had gone when I heard a familiar groan of pleasure
coming from nearby. Deep in the shadows, far up under the pier, I
could vaguely make out the shape of a young couple engaged in a
passionate embrace. They hadn't noticed me, so I intended to slip
past them quietly and continue my observations of Harold, but as I
passed within a few feet of the shallow depression in which they
laid, I heard something that stopped me in my tracks.

    "Careful!" the girl complained. "You're getting sand in my
pussy!"

    "I'm sorry," the boy replied, and the moment I heard his voice
I knew it was Harold!

    I remained rooted to the spot in stunned disbelief as I heard
the two teenagers grunt and sigh in mutual satisfaction, knowing
full well what they were doing in the shadows, and it wasn't until
I heard the girl begin to moan with ecstasy that I finally
recovered enough to slip away unnoticed and hide behind a nearby
pylon. From this vantage point I waited until the teenagers had
completed their coupling, redressed and hurried off hand in hand
to catch up with their companions.

    I was more cautious in following them this time, after my
close call under the pier, and I almost lost them once or twice by
taking too many precautions, but better that than being caught in
the act. As I suspected, Harold made no attempt to conform to the
rule regarding shirts on the boardwalk. He and his male cronies
sauntered about bare chested in flagrant violation of the statute,
and no one had the courage to stand up to them; even the police
seemed reluctant to do more than offer a vague warning that was
obviously ignored. It was just another facet of their total
disrespect for authority, and I worried about the effect it was
having on Harold.

    There actually occurred two incidents that day which I found
rather shocking and quite discouraging. The first only involved
Harold indirectly. One of the guys was trying to win a stuffed
doll for his girlfriend at the rifle range, but apparently he had
run out of money without winning enough tickets for the prize she
wanted. Almost on cue, Harold's girlfriend moved to the far end of
the booth and leaned over the counter, as if looking to place a
bet, and with one hand behind her back, she quickly undid the bow
holding her top together. With a mock scream of surprise and
alarm, she stood up just as her bikini top fell off to reveal a
pair of very healthy, very female breasts.

    Naturally, every male within view, including the attendant
running the booth, turned his eyes in that direction and held them
there until long after Harold had helped her put her top on again.
Every male, that is, except the guy at the other end of the booth,
who was apparently expecting this. While everyone else was
distracted, he took an air rifle by the barrel and used it like an
extension rod to reach up and knock one of the big prizes down
into his girlfriend's waiting arms. The entire crime took less
than five seconds to pull off, and no one seemed to notice it,
except me. The smooth, practiced efficiency of it demonstrated
that these teenagers had acquired such skills over time, and this
was not at all the first time they'd succeeded in such a stunt.

    What bothered me most was that Harold seemed to be impressed
by their illegal chicanery, for he was obviously plying his
girlfriend with compliments, both for the splendid proportions of
her upper anatomy and for the acting ability she'd displayed in
pretending to be embarrassed by her suddenly topless appearance.
She just winked at him, as if to imply that he hadn't seen
anything yet. My concerns over this incident, great though they
might've seemed at the time, however, were quickly dwarfed by what
happened next.

    The entire group of eight teenagers, four boys and four girls,
moved slowly north again to gather at the entrance to the fishing
pier. They-hung around engaged in pointless conversation for some
time, and I soon realized they were waiting for something. The
moment I thought of it, the wait was over, for the tallest of the
boys, a dark-haired young man whom I'd once heard Harold call
"J.J.," stepped forward to greet an approaching figure, an older
man with an untrimmed beard dressed in ragged clothing. The two
talked for a brief moment, exchanged something, then parted
company again, all with the shifty-eyed manner common to those who
are breaking the law and know it quite well.

    It didn't take long for me to find out what they were up to,
for the moment J.J. returned to his friends, the whole group
hurried out the end of the pier and huddled together in a circle.
I couldn't see what they were doing at first, and I dared not go
any closer without alarming them, but the moment I saw the reddish
glow of a match among them and the thick cloud of smoke that rose
from their midst, I understood it all quite well. The raggedy,
bearded man was their drug supplier, and they were now happily
enjoying the marijuana they'd just purchased. And Harold was with
them!

    I had no doubt that he was indulging himself right along with
them. I could hear him coughing every now and then, followed by
the jeers and taunts of his older friends. This was serious! He
didn't appear the least bit restrained in his behavior, as though
the talk we'd had that morning never occurred at all. Could he
really be so insensitive? Was he that desperate to be accepted by
these surfers? could see at once that solving this problem was
going to take a lot more than just talking about it.

    It was only about noon, and there was plenty of time left in
the day to take some action, so I gave up my surveillance for the
moment and went back to the house, where I quickly changed into a
light summer dress and hurried down to the car to drive to the
library downtown. I needed facts at my disposal, weapons I could
use in the battle for Harold's mind, and the only way to get them
was research, so the instant I arrived at the library I began
looking up everything I could about marijuana and related drugs,
gathering an arsenal of information in preparation for the next
stage in my personal war against dope, at least as far as Harold
was concerned anyway.

    Finally, when I thought there was nothing more to be gained by
research, I checked out books and photocopied articles and
assembled the best presentation of data I could manage. Then I
took it all home and began to study every fact I'd gathered, until
I was a walking encyclopedia on the subject. By the time Harold
wandered in for dinner, a little after sunset, I had listed fifty-
five reasons why he shouldn't smoke pot, but the moment I saw his
reddened eyes and blank expression, I knew another lecture, no
matter how well informed, would go right over his head. I needed
another way to get to him, one that wouldn't automatically raise
his defenses and shut down the lines of communication.

    I got my opportunity as he sat in the living room watching
television while he waited for me to finish dinner. Taking a break
from cooking, I sat at the dining table and leafed through the
articles I'd copied. Harold was flipping idly through the
channels, not really engaged in watching anything in particular,
so I seized my chance.

    "You might find this interesting, Harold."

    "Harry."

    "Yes, of course. I meant 'Harry'."

    "What's interesting?"

    "Well, remember what I was saying this morning about how
dangerous drugs can be? Here's an article in Newsweek that lists
over fifty reasons why marijuana is dangerous. Can you believe
that? Fifty reasons!"

    His curiosity was engaged, and he lowered the volume on the
television a little.

    "What kinds of reasons?"

    "Quite a wide variety, actually. Would you like to hear some
of them?"

    He pretended to be only mildly interested. "Sure."

    I began to read from the list I'd compiled, pretending that
the source was actually the magazine that I held in my hand, and
Harold seemed completely fooled by the deception I had hoped that
some of the more serious side effects of A marijuana smoking, like
potential sterility and loss of memory, would frighten him into
avoiding the drug at all cost, but as I read down the list the
only item on it that seemed to really hit home with him was a
recent medical report indicating that prolonged usage of marijuana
could lead to breast development in males.

    "What was that?" he interrupted.

    I read the notation again, then translated it into simpler
language to make sure he understood. "If a boy smokes pot, he
might grow breasts, like a girl."

    "Breasts?" He actually looked concerned for the first a time.
"Are you serious?"

    "Absolutely," I assured him, and suddenly I had a brilliant
idea. If the fear of growing breasts was the only leverage I could
get on him, then that's what I'd use, but the simple truth might
not be strong enough to do the job unaided, so I decided to help
it with a few embellishments of my own. I have a very good
imagination, and work at once.

    "In fact," I continued, pretending to refer back to the
magazine, "it says here that breast development is just the first
stage in a total conversion process. The author of this article
calls it the 'X-factor.' Do you know what genes and chromosomes
are?"

    "Kind of," he confessed doubtfully.

    "Well, it all has to do with DNA; that's like the blueprint or
instruction manual for making a living creature. When you were
conceived, for example, your mom's DNA mixed with your dad's DNA
to make your DNA, so you inherited some characteristics from each
of them, but you're not exactly like either one of them."

    He nodded, "People always say I look more like my mom, even
though I'm a guy, like my dad."

    "Good example. Things like hair color, body size and
intelligence get passed on mostly by luck when we're first
created, and one of the first things to be determined is our sex
or gender. If the sex chromosome has four segments joined
together," I continued, using a piece of notebook paper to draw
four perpendicular lines combining to create an "X" shape, "then
the baby is born a girl, like Suzy, your mom and me." I showed him
the drawing and then placed my hand over the lower right-hand
segment to change it from an "X" to a By" shape. "If only three
segments of the chromosomes link up, then the baby is born a boy,
like you and your dad."

    "So you mean I coulda been born a... girl?"

    "Definitely, and I could've been born a boy. It was a matter
of luck that things turned out the way they did."

    He looked thoughtful for a moment, then grew puzzled. "So what
does any of this have to do with smoking pot?"

    "Well, according to this scientist, there's a chemical in
marijuana called THC that's released when the pot is burned, and
that's what makes people feel 'high' when they smoke it. But the
chemical does other things, too. It prevents memories from
forming, it distorts perception, but most important for a boy your
age, it can replace the missing segment in your sex chromosomes,
gradually changing all your 'Y' chromosomes into 'X' chromosomes.
That's why it's called the 'X' factor."

    "So I might grow breasts?" he gasped.

    "You would, if you were smoking pot, but don't worry,
sweetheart. It only effects people who use marijuana."

    He tried to look relieved, but did a poor acting job. I could
see that part of his mind was working furiously to absorb all this
new information while the other part was looking for ways to
refute my assertions.

    "How come none of the guys down at the beach have breasts?" he
wondered. "They smoke pot all the time."

    "They do?" I said with feigned surprise.

    "Well, not the guys I hang around with," he hedged, "but some
of their friends, y'know. They're real potheads, and they don't
look like they're growing breasts."

    "The article does say that the 'X-factor' effects males
differently, depending on their age, hormone count, height and
weight, things like that. Small, thin boys of about fourteen
through sixteen face the highest risk, so you see you're in the
category most likely to be effected. It's very likely that if you
started smoking pot, you'd be growing breasts soon afterward." .

    He grunted as the conclusion settled on his mind.

    "Pretty hard to believe," he answered, and then he turned up
the volume on the television again, but I noticed that every now
and then he'd glance down at his chest or touch his boyish
pectorals critically, as if assessing their current size and
weight.

    It wasn't much, but the seed had been planted. All I had to do
was find a way to exploit the fear I'd seen in him, and the rest
would be easy. His fear of losing his precious masculinity, as
immature as it was, would be enough to make him stay away from
pot, but he'd have to believe with all his heart that there were
no other choices.

    After dinner, he excused himself and went out for the evening
once more, this time without a "thank you" or a kiss on the cheek.
While he was gone I continued to let my imagination work on the
problem, and before long I had the answer. It was a bit far-
fetched and not easily arranged but the instant I thought of it I
knew it would work.

    As I've mentioned before, the passing of my husband and t both
my children has left me rather wealthy due to the $. insurance
settlements awarded me after their deaths. I'd ::2 been just
sitting on my money for years, letting it collect interest as I
tried to imagine ways to spend it. My life was very comfortable,
however, and since I had no desire to make major changes in my
lifestyle, the money just continued to sit there, piling up. Now,
however, I finally saw a use for some of those funds. My family
had perished due to drugs, so what could be more fitting than to
use their death benefits to help someone else escape a similar
fate?

    Once the plan was firmly set down in my mind, I made a phone
call to an old friend from high school. We hadn't seen each other
for years, not since Daria's funeral, but I knew he wouldn't let
me down. Albert was one of my all-time closest friends, and I knew
he wouldn't refuse to help me now, even if my scheme did involve a
little illegality and risk. And it was for a good cause, after
all.

    As I expected, he was overjoyed to hear from me and very
sympathetic when I mentioned my sister's death. He listened
carefully as I described the situation with Harold and agreed
whole-heartedly with my conclusions, until I got to my proposal.
He balked a bit at first, explaining how much trouble we could
both get into, but between my friendly pressure on one side and my
generous contribution to his medical research on the other, he
just couldn't say no. We agreed on the procedure, arranged our
schedules and made an appointment for Harold to come to his office
the very next day.

-------------------------------------

    Harold complained loudly about having to give up his afternoon
at the beach to go see a doctor when there was nothing wrong with
him, but I explained that a current physical was needed to get him
enrolled in school for the fall, and he eventually conceded the
necessity of going. It was a long drive inland to the township
where my old friend had located his practice, and Harold grew
suspicious when he realized how far we were going, but I simply
explained that I'd been going to this same doctor for years and
trusted him, so it worth the drive, and that silenced him.

    When I introduced Harold, or "Harry," to Dr. Morton, the boy
acted put out and was barely civil to the man, while the doctor
couldn't help looking at his new, unsuspecting patient with a
curiously amused expression he found impossible to hide. Harold
was sent to an examining room to remove his clothes as the doctor
and I conferred in his office. He asked me once more to give up my
"crazy notion," but I was adamant and insisted that he proceed as
planned, so with a final shrug of resignation, the man left to see
his patient.

    I knew that a full exam would be performed, just to make
things look authentic to Harold, so I was prepared for a bit of a
wait. I thumbed through magazines in the waiting room, noting some
of the new summer fashions, and then I managed to engage the
doctor's nurse in a conversation, when she wasn't too busy, so the
time passed pleasantly, and before I knew it Harold had reappeared
escorted by the doctor. The boy looked annoyed as he stood there
rubbing the band-aid on his upper arm, and without a word of
thanks or farewell he left the office to go wait in the car.

    I thanked my old friend with a hug and a kiss and promised to
keep him informed of developments, both physical and behavioral,
and then went out to the car, where Harold sat sulking in the
passenger seat.

    "You didn't tell me I had to get a shot," he complained. "It
hurt."

    "I didn't know," I pretended. "I thought all you needed was a
medical exam. What did the doctor say the shot

    "I don't know," he grumbled, "some kinda booster shot."

    "Well, I'm sure it was necessary, or the doctor wouldn't have
done it."

    "Here," he said, handing me a crumpled piece of paper.

    "What's this?"

    "It's a prescription for some special vitamins the guy
recommended. I told him I was gonna learn to surf, and he said
surfing makes you real tired real fast, so I should take these
'mega-vitamins' to keep up my strength."

    "Well, wasn't that nice of him?" I said, knowing full well
what the prescription was really for and admiring the doctor's
cunning. "We'll pick them up on the way home."

    At the pharmacy, Harold wandered over to the large condom
display as I approached the druggist in the back The man in the
white lab coat gazed at me curiously for a moment, then smiled and
went to fill the order. He probably assumed I was in menopause and
needed a little help getting through it. I'm sure he never
suspected that the prescription was really for my nephew.

    "Here you are, Harry," I said as I handed him the bottle of
pills. "They were very expensive, so don't forget to take them
regularly."

    "I'll remember," he nodded. "Thanks, Aunt Milly."

    "No need to thank me," I smiled. "I'm just doing what's best
for you."

    And so it began.

    PART TWO

    In the weeks that followed, Harold became more and more of a
discipline problem. He started taking everything for granted,
never offering either thanks or apologies when due, and in front
of his surfer friends, whom he sometimes brought over for a quick
visit, he was downright rude to me. He was indeed learning to
surf, but he was still a beginner, and he sometimes hurt himself,
but whenever I expressed any concern over his safety, he'd
virtually ignore me. one day he suggested getting a tattoo, and
when I forbid it, he came home instead sporting a pierced ear with
a small, gold ring in it, just like the surfers had. He started
cursing in the house, he stopped asking to be excused from the
table, and he began locking his bedroom door whenever he was in
there, either alone or with a friend. I'm sure I heard him in
there making it with Suzy more than once. Throughout it all
however, I kept silent and waited for my plan to grow to fruition.

    It was well into summer by the time Harold began to notice the
changes taking place in his body. I'd seen signs of his
development after the first two weeks, when his nipples began to
swell and his weight started increasing. He took the "mega-
vitamins" daily, sometimes twice a day, and I even managed to get
him back to the doctor's office to give his "booster shot" a
booster shot, so the changes in his blood chemistry were just
about complete and simply needed time in which to work their
miracles. That monstrous appetite of his continued unabated, which
greatly speeded things up, for instead of just burning up those
calories, his newly acquired female hormones had other uses for
them in producing new stored fat cells. The process was so gradual
that it was barely noticeable to me, so it wasn't surprising that
Harold took so long to recognize the changes.

    When he did notice something was happening, he seemed to be
denying the obvious at first. I'd catch him standing in front of
the mirror examining the slightly sagging flesh on his chest,
where so many stored fat cells had recently been distributed, or
studying the accumulated fatty deposits that were slowly making
his hips and bottom look wider and rounder, but instead of
changing his delinquent behavior, he thought to overcome the
effects with exercise and weight lifting, so he started spending
time working out.

    Needless to say, his exercise program did nothing to slow the
development of his now obvious female secondary sex
characteristics, and before long he was no longer able to deny
what was happening. He tried to hide his shame under baggy
clothing, and I even caught him wrapping a stretch bandage around
his chest to compress the small mounds growing there, though he
claimed he'd simply hurt himself surfing again. I knew it wouldn't
be long now, so I just bided my time and let the inevitable
happen.

    The proverbial last straw came for Harold almost halfway into
summer. I was in the kitchen cleaning up a mess he'd left after
making himself a sandwich for lunch, and suddenly I was startled
to hear him cry out in dismay. I rushed to his bedroom where I
found him sitting naked on the floor amid a mass of clothing
strewn everywhere about the room. He held his head in his hands
and sobbed gently, not even looking up as I entered.

    "Harry," I gasped, looking around in bewilderment, "what's the
matter?"

    He made no attempt to respond and didn't seem at all
embarrassed by his nudity, so I sat on the bed close beside him
and comforted him until he finally recovered enough to whisper his
confession to me, and when it came, it was everything I'd hoped
for and more. He apologized for lying to me and admitted that he
had been smoking pot... almost every day since he'd arrived. He
hadn't really believed all that stuff about the "X-factor" before,
but now...

    "Look!" he sobbed, cupping each of the small swellings on his
chest. "I'm growing boobs!"

    "I thought you were putting on weight in strange places," I
pretended to admit. "But it's not the end of the world. All you
have to do is stop smoking pot."

    "I will," he promised. "I swear it."

    "Good," I assured him. "Once you've gotten that drug out of
your system, your body will change back. Then everything will be
right as rain again."

    He looked up, a glimmer of hope in his watery eyes. "It's not
permanent?"

    "No, of course not. Your breasts are just a warning. You're
only in the early stages of change, so the process can still be
reversed, but if you keep smoking pot..."

    "I won't," he insisted. "Never again."

    "Fine. Then all you have to do is wait, and everything will
change back to normal."

    "But..." He sobbed again, his sad eyes wandering over the
articles of clothing scattered about him. "What do I do in the
meantime? None of my clothes fit me anymore!"

    "Well, we could bandage your chest, like you did before,
remember?"

    "I don't mean my shirts," he said impatiently. "Look!"

    As I looked on, doing my best not to laugh, Harold rose from
the bed and picked up a bathing suit from the floor. He stepped
into the trunks with his back to me and pulled them up quickly,
but before they'd gone halfway up his thighs the leg bands were
stretched to capacity. I could see that there was no way he was
going to get that little boy's bathing suit over that big, girlish
bottom he now had.

    "Nothing fits!" he cried, and then he collapsed onto the bed
in a burst of tears. "What am I gonna do?"

    "It's all right," I said in a soothing tone as I leaned over
to stroke his long hair. "I'll buy you some new clothes, ones
that'll fit, and you can wear them until your old clothes fit
again. Okay?"

    His sniffling stopped and he looked up with renewed hope once
more. "You will?"

    "Of course, Harry. You're my nephew, and I love you. I don't
want to see you upset like this. We'll get through this, together.
All right?"

    "Thanks, Aunt Milly," he said, brushing away his tears.

    "Just make sure you don't make things any worse. No more pot.
Is that understood?"

    "Understood," he agreed, nodding readily. "No more."

    "Good." I gave him a final pat on the head and started for the
door. "I'll get my tape measure and we'll figure out what size
clothes to buy. I'll just be a minute,

    "Aunt Milly," he sighed, making me pause at the door. "You
don't have to call me 'Harry' anymore."

    I smiled. "All right, Harold."

    I felt so proud, for both of us. My plan was working
perfectly, and Harold was responding just as I'd hoped. His
arrogant manner was humbled, and his behavior became much more
cooperative and manageable. He continued to hang around with his
surfer friends, which I didn't like, but didn't object to openly,
though I was glad to see that he stopped seeing Suzy, presumably
because he was afraid of what she might discover on one of their
dates under the pier. I knew she was wrong for him, and now he was
free to meet someone else.

    For a few days, everything seemed to be going as expected. As
they were no longer needed, I threw away Harold's female hormone
pills "accidentally," and he didn't seem to mind not having his
daily "mega-vitamin," since surfing was out for a while, until his
boyish figure returned. We spent more time together and renewed
our faded relationship, and we may even have grown closer than
ever before. But these happy times were not to last.

    I began to suspect the truth one night when Harold came home
late from partying with his surfer friends. I couldn't be sure,
since the aroma was so faint, but as he passed me heading toward
the hallway, I thought I smelled a whiff of pot, and my hackles
were up at once. He wouldn't! Not after all we'd been through! He
promised me!

    I said nothing at the time, but once I knew he'd settled under
the covers and gone to sleep, I snuck into his room without
turning on the light and searched his belongings. Sure enough,
when I held his shirt to my nose, I could detect a lingering trace
of marijuana fumes. I was stunned, and I found it so hard to
believe that I suddenly felt a moment of doubt. Perhaps it was
just something that smelled like pot.

    Not knowing what I was looking for, I began to search the
pockets of his shirt and trousers. When I first discovered the
strangely shaped rock, I wasn't sure what it was but it only took
a brief inspection to find the hole drilled through its center and
the words "ROACH STONE" printed on the top, and after that it easy
enough to deduce its purpose. I had heard of "roach clips,"
tweezer-like pincers that were used to gold a marijuana cigarette
while it burned down to the end, and I could imagine how the
"roach stone" was similarly used. What I couldn't imagine was why
Harold had it in his pocket.

    Perhaps his fear of the "X-factor" was wearing off, and he
thought it safe to indulge in the drug every now and then, or
perhaps he'd learned the truth somewhere. It was a fact that using
marijuana had led to manor breast development in some males, but
the rest of that stuff about converting chromosomes from male to
female was just the product of my own imagination, and it wouldn't
be hard to disprove, once its accuracy was questioned. Or perhaps
Harold had realized the actual ingredients in his "mega-vitamins"
and put the whole picture together. Had he figured out what I was
really up to?

    This was a crucial moment. He was testing me, I was sure of
it. Now that the hormone pills were gone, his body would begin to
change back to normal, so if he secretly went back to smoking pot
and his figure still returned to its proper boyish proportions...
I couldn't take a chance on that happening. All my credibility
with the boy would be lost, and he'd be smoking dope again. No, I
had to do something drastic. Desperate situations call for
desperate measures, as the saying goes, and I was desperate not to
lose this battle. There was too much at stake. Harold had to
believe that the "X-factor" was real, at any cost.

    I sat at the kitchen table for hours thinking it over but in
the end I decided to go with my first instinct and press my bet.
I'd gambled everything on the imaginary "X-factor" and it was too
late to back down now. All or nothing, go for broke, it was a do
or die situation, so with a growing determination in my heart, I
picked up the phone and called my old friend the doctor at home.

    He wasn't pleased about being woken out of a sound sleep in
the middle of the night, and he was even less pleased by my latest
scheme for helping Harold kick drugs but a little badgering and a
lot of money can go a long way and after ten minutes and ten
thousand dollars of persuasion he was ready to see things my way.

    The doctor arrived in an ambulance just before dawn and the
orderly assisting him had been well briefed beforehand, so things
went smoothly. They snuck into Harold's room and administered
anesthesia while he slept, then bundled him onto a stretcher and
carried him down to the waiting ambulance. As the sun arose I
stood on the side deck watching the vehicle begin its Song journey
back to the doctor's medical center, wondering if I was really
doing the right thing.

---------------------------------------

    The ambulance returned forty-eight hours later, with Harold
still lying sedated on the stretcher, looking just as he had two
days before, but I knew he was not the same boy who'd been taken
away, for some drastic changes had been made, and he was in for
some big surprises. The doctor and the orderly carefully carried
the stretcher up the stairs and into the house, where they
returned Harold to his bed as though nothing had happened. I
pulled the covers over him, tucked him in and gave him a kiss on
the forehead before joining the doctor in the kitchen to give him
my thanks, my check for ten thousand dollars and a friendly
farewell.

    Once the ambulance had driven out of sight again, I felt safe
and certain that my scheme would work. There was no sign that
anyone had been here and no way for Harold to know he'd been
anywhere. He was never sure of what day of the week it was, so I
knew he'd never notice those missing two days. In a few hours,
he'd wake up thinking it was the morning of the following day, and
then we'd see what our little smart-aleck thought about breaking
his promise.

    It was getting late, and I was just beginning to wonder if the
doctor had timed the sedative correctly, when I was startled out
of my seat by a terrified scream coming from Harold's room. I
rushed down the hall and burst into his room to find him standing
on the bed covers which he'd hi thrown to the floor, facing the
room's only wall mirror with a look of pure horror on his face.
The buttons of his pajama top had been torn off, and the rest of
his pajamas were gathered around his ankles, leaving him basically
naked, and it was obvious at a glance why he was so upset.

    I knew what to expect as I entered the room, but it was still
quite a shock to actually see the changes in Harold's body. His
developing manhood had shrunk so small I could hardly see it. His
testicles had withdrawn into his body, leaving an empty, deflated
scrotum, and his penis had likewise dwindled in length, until only
the tip of its bulbous head extended beyond his brown patch of
pubic hair. The size of his hips had almost doubled, and his rear
end as full and round as any woman's I've ever seen. These
enlargements seemed even more noticeable when contrasted with the
boy's thinner waist and flatter stomach, but what if really
knocked my eyes out were the twin globes of soft, jiggling flesh
that now grew from Harold's chest. His breasts looked perfectly
formed with large, fat nipples pointing slightly upward, no longer
the immature mounds of a developing girl, but a luscious pair of
boobs any woman would envy.

    It was difficult for me to believe that all these changes
could be reversed, as the doctor had assured me, now that I saw
just how drastic the transformation really was, but it was too
late to question his professional opinion at this point. It was
also too late to start questioning the wisdom of my actions, so I
swallowed my doubts and redoubled my determination to see this
through, for Harold's sake.

    I hardly needed to pretend to be surprised. I just stood there
in the doorway with my mouth hanging open, staring at his
reflection in the mirror. As his frightened eyes met mine, it was
obvious that he suspected nothing, and I couldn't help feeling
sorry for the boy as shock and confusion gave way to fear and
shame, and tears of humiliation began to trickle down his cheeks.
His trembling hands reached up to grasp the soft spheres on his
chest, as t51 though hoping to tear them off, but the moment his
fingers came into contact with that smooth, feminine flesh, he t
stopped and gasped, unable to deny the unexpected feeling of t
gave him. and his cheeks blushed even brighter.

    "Oh my God!" he said, and then quickly covered his mouth with
both hands, for it was not his voice that had spoken, but the
high-pitched voice of a teenage girl.

    "Oh, Harold," I sighed. "What've you done?"

    He collapsed with a sob onto the floor and began to cry
loudly, almost hysterically, so I knelt to take him in my arms and
comfort him, whispering assurances in soothing tones, but I don't
think he heard me. He just cried and cried until it was a wonder
that he had any tears left. Then as he began to quiet down, I
spoke to him again, and this time he attempted to answer, though
his girlish voice cracked now and then with sobs.

    "I didn't smoke any more pot," he insisted. "I swear it, Aunt
Hilly."

    "Then why are you still changing into a girl?"

    "I don't know," he pleaded. "Honest! The guys were all
smoking, but I said I didn't want any. I never even took a puff."

    "Where was this?"

    "In J.J.'s car. The guys always smoke out listening to his
tape deck."

    "Did they have the windows closed?"

    "Yeah, I think so."

    Suddenly part of the mystery was resolved. Harold had smelled
of marijuana when he came home because it had been smoked in his
presence, and I believed him when he said he didn't smoke any of
it directly, but the die had already been cast, and there was no
way to back out now, so I used the information to support what I'd
done.

    "Then you were still smoking, if you were in that car I
explained. "Haven't you ever heard of secondary smokers?"

    "Isn't that what they call people who breathe in other's
people cigarette smoke?"

    "Or pot smoke," I added. "You might as well have been puffing
on that 'reefer' with them."

    "But I didn't breathe in that much smoke," he argued.

    I looked down at the female flesh protruding from his chest
with a frown. "It was obviously enough to trigger the 'X-factor,'
with a vengeance! Why, your breasts are bigger than mine now!"

    This caused another bout of crying. I hadn't yet determined
why he'd had that roach stone in his pocket, but it no longer
seemed to matter. Perhaps he was just carrying it for a friend, or
perhaps it was a keepsake from his days of pot smoking, but
whatever the reason I felt sure now that it was justified somehow.
Holding the sobbing boy in my arms, I began to feel guilty for
over-reacting, but what was done was done, and all I could do was
to make Harold's punishment worthwhile. After this, I doubted if
he'd ever even say the word "marijuana" again, let alone get near
the stuff. All we had to do now was to ride it out together, and
soon my nephew would be drug-free and happy once more.

    "What am I gonna do?" he sighed, burying his face in my
shoulder. "I can't let anyone see me like this!"

    "Yes," I agreed, "it would be hard to explain what's happened
to you, and there's no way we'll ever hide those boobs of yours
under a shirt, no matter how baggy it is."

    "I'll just have to stay inside," he sobbed, "all summer, or as
long as it takes."

    "Don't be ridiculous," I objected. "You can't become a hermit.
Your friends will come around asking for you, and even if you
never leave the house, someone will see you eventually... a
passer-by, a delivery driver, the postman. No, I'm afraid your
problem has become much too obvious for us to try to hide it
anymore."

    "But what'll I do?" he pleaded. "I couldn't bear to be seen
like this!"

    "Not like this, exactly," I hedged. "We'll need to make a few
modifications here and there, but I think we can fool people
easily enough, and then no one will ever find out what's really
going on."

    "I don't understand," he sniffled, sensing some hope in my
veiled suggestion. "How can we fool people?"

    I helped him to his feet and then finished stripping off his
pajamas. He just stood there trembling and naked,

    "Until your body recovers from the 'X-factor,"' I replied. "A
few weeks, a few months, whatever it takes."

    His eyes were wide with fear and helplessness, and his girlish
voice sounded terrified. "What if I won't do it?"

    I shrugged and pointed toward the door. "You’re free to leave
my house whenever you like."

    "Like this!?" he gasped, looking down at his obviously female
form. "I can't go anywhere looking like this!"

    "Then I'd suggest you do as you're told... Alice."

    The sound of his new name dealt him a reeling blow, Just as I
d hoped it would, and he was too startled to reply as I laid down
the law.

    "Either you become my pretty young niece and play your part as
best you can, or. I'll get that social worker, Miss What s-her-
face, on the phone and tell her to come and get you. You'll look
mighty silly arriving at the boys' orphanage with a figure like
that, but if that's what you want..."

    "You wouldn't! You couldn't!"

    "I can send you packing anytime," I explained. "All I need is
a reason, and I don't think I'd have any trouble convincing the
authorities that you've been smoking pot, not when the evidence of
your crime is so apparent to the eye."

    He looked as if he was about to say something, but there were
no words he could use to express his fear and frustration, so he
simply started to cry again. I gave him a few minutes to get it
out of his system, and then I led him into the bathroom adjoining
Lara's bedroom.

    "Don't worry, Alice," I assured him, "everything's going to be
just fine. You'll see."

------------------------------------------

    Like her bedroom, Lara's bathroom was quite feminine in decor,
with lavender shag on the floor, as well as the seat and lid of
the toilet, translucent pink shower curtains and matching tiles of
coral pink engraved with pictures of angel fish and sea horses on
every wall. Harold moved to stand before the large wall mirror
over the sink, his eyes and hands continuing their reluctant yet
fascinated examination of his altered body, while I ran water in
the tub and then took a container from the array of tubes and
bottles on the counter to add a capful of perfumed bubble bath
with skin conditioner to the steaming water that slowly filled the
large, pink basin.

    Harold was reluctant to get in, of course, but I took his arm
and helped him forward to remind him that he had no choice, and he
complied willingly enough. Settling down amid the pink bubbles, he
just sat there with his arms above the water, like a child afraid
of getting wet, until I urged him to sit back and relax. He
started to lean back and lower his arms as instructed, but just as
his shoulders submerged, he noticed the buoyancy of his new
breasts as they strained upward, their nipples standing like
little volcanoes on twin island of smooth, pink sand, and he sat
upright again with a gasp.

    "I guess you're going to have to get used to them," I smiled.
"Most girls do. At least the lucky ones."

    He leaned back again, and as before his weight alone was not
enough to drag his floating bosom beneath the surface of the
water, so he simply put his head back and drifted like someone
wearing a life jacket, for like many women he did in fact have his
own built-in "May West," as flotation vests are sometimes called.
His boobs were a bit larger than most and I think the silicon
injected under his skin was slightly more buoyant than flesh, but
on the whole his breasts looked as natural as mine, though
younger, fuller and more vivacious, and each time he breathed in
they would rise quivering through the pink foam to proudly point
their nipples skyward.

    I let him soak for a while, giving the bath oils time to work,
and then I had him wash himself thoroughly before I set about
shampooing and rinsing his long hair. I was glad now that he'd
resisted my suggestion to have it cut, for his mane was now as
long and thick as a girl's, and it would be easy to set and style
it in an appropriately feminine fashion. After applying a generous
amount of cream rinse with extra body-building ingredients, I
piled his hair on top of his head like some futuristic hair-do and
let the formula set as I drained the water from the tub and helped
Harold to his feet.

    Cream rinse kept getting in his eyes whenever he tried to see
what I was doing, so he couldn't watch as I took another tube from
the counter and began spreading its foul smelling contents over
the boy's legs. I continued up his torso, applying a rich amount
of the paste to his crotch and underarms as he voiced questions
and protests that I largely ignored. With a final dab on each of
his fuzzy sideburns, I completed the task of covering every hair
on his young body, except for his eyes and scalp. Unable to see
and instructed not to move, he soon complained that the paste was
starting to burn his skin, but I assured him that there was
nothing to be afraid of, and he timidly stood there waiting as I
timed his exposure to the feminizing solution.

    When I finally allowed him to rinse off in the warm spray of
the shower, he was startled to see how much more smooth and
girlish his skin looked without any body hair, for the depilatory
paste had done its job well, and his arms and legs were now as
sleek and sexy as any young woman's. He objected that I was going
too far, but I reminded him that I knew what was best, and he
offered no further protests as I helped him out of the tub and
dried him off.

    I then had him sit on the stool with his back to the sink and
proceeded to rinse his hair again. He assumed I was going to wash
it again, so I let him think what he would as I applied the
lightening agent and bleached his hair a platinum blond. Once the
dye had set, I trimmed off the split ends, evened the length and
created bangs over his forehead before rolling it all up into
curlers, small ones along the bottom and larger ones elsewhere.
The permanent wave solution I applied soaked into his hair like
water into a sponge, and then all it needed was time to dry.

    While I had Harold in such a conveniently supine position, I
took advantage of his helplessness to work on his face and nails.
With orders to sit perfectly still and silent, he could do nothing
but moan and sigh as I took up a pair of tweezers and carefully
plucked away the lower halves of his eyebrows, leaving only a
thin, arcing line high above each eye. The change seemed to make
his eyes look larger, like the eyes of a little child, and I
couldn't help feeling sorry for the boy as he gazed up at me with
those sad, baby blues.

    I was determined to continue, however, so without delay I
gathered the necessary accouterments and bent to the task of
giving my nephew a complete manicure and pedicure. After applying
extensions to his fingernails and filing them down into long
ovals, I polished them a dazzling pink and then colored his
toenails with the same shade. The second coat went on smoothly and
easily, and then I hurried the drying of his hair and nails with a
blow-drier as he sat back against the sink staring disconsolately
at the ceiling.

    I intentionally blocked his view of the mirror as I helped him
to his feet again, and he was too distracted by the sight of his
feminized and glamorized hands to notice. He kept holding his arms
out before him and staring at the long, pink fingernails as he
moved his hands this way and that, as if unable to recognize them
as his own. When he reached up to touch his breasts, the sight and
feel of his girlish fingers on those sensitive, sensual spheres
caused his nipples to grow and harden visibly, and he took his
hands away as if he'd gotten an electric shock.

    As I led him back into the bedroom, he tried to catch a
glimpse of his reflection in one of the wall mirrors, but again I
intervened and took him straight to the vanity table, where he was
made to sit with his back to the looking glass. As I sorted
through the cosmetics standing on the tabletop, he sat as still
and silent as though I were a doctor preparing some medical
treatment he needed but didn’t want, and once I set to work he
became as stiff as a statue, perhaps afraid of what might happen
if he were to interfere with my efforts.

    I kept it simple, just some water-proof eyeliner and mascara
around his eyes and some smudge-proof lipstick in a bright pink
shade to match his nail polish. He hated the eyeliner brush and
the mascara wand, but when I made him pucker up and sit still
while I applied the pink coloring to his lips he blushed so
fiercely even the tops of his breasts were a little flushed. Once
I'd finished, I found myself staring in wonder at the lovely girl
whose face I'd just created, and I had to force myself to look
away, because I could see that I was beginning to scare the boy.

    Moving around behind him, I checked to see that his hair was
dry, then started removing the rollers and brushing out his now
shiny blond hair. The extra body made his long tresses softer and
fluffier, so that he actually appeared to have more hair than
before, and once I'd brushed it into place, the permanent wave
held it beautifully. The bangs turned out perfectly, reaching just
to the tops of his thin, arching eyebrows, while the sides and
back fell in a gentle sweep that curled inward at the bottom just
as it brushed his shoulders. Stepping around to the front again, I
was struck once more by the boy's uncanny resemblance to a girl, a
very beautiful girl, and this time I did scare him.

    "Why're you looking at me like that?" he asked.

    "Nothing," I smiled reassuringly. "You look even better than
I'd expected, that's all."

    He tried to turn around and look in the vanity mirror, but I
made him wait, taking him instead to stand in a part of the room
where he couldn't see his reflection it any of the mirrors. As he
waited, nervously looking at his long fingernails, I rummaged
through Lara's dresser and quickly found what I was looking for.
The moment he saw me approaching and recognized what I carried in
my hands, he started to shake his head and back away, as though I
held a pair of cobras ready to strike.

    "I'm not wearing that!" he insisted, his eyes wide as he
stared at the pink string bikini.

    "Don't be silly, Alice," I chided, holding the top out before
me. "You'll look wonderful in this. Trust me."

    "But it's a bikini!" he argued. as if that explained
everything.

    "Lots of girls wear bikinis," I countered. "Suzy does, doesn't
she?"

    Once again, words failed him, and he could do nothing more
than stand helplessly by as I draped the tiny top over his bulging
breasts to position each of the small pink triangles over one of
his plump nipples. Once the material what little there was, had
been properly placed, I pulled the strings back, one pair over his
shoulders, another pair around his sides, and tied the four
strands together into a pretty pink bow in the center of his back.

    While he was still in shock, glaring at the utterly feminine
garment wrapped about his chest, I had him hold the back part of
the bikini bottom against his girlish butt as I slipped the front
part between his legs, and once both inverted triangles were in
position, I laced each pair of strings together just above the hip
to hold the pink material in place. These two triangles were much
larger than the others, and the one in back was easily twice the
size of the one in front, yet they still offered almost no
protection from prying eyes, leaving the boy's hips and thighs
completely exposed and covering less than half the surface area of
his pretty rear end.

    What remained of his maleness was hardly visible beneath the
front of the bikini bottom; just a tiny bulge at the crotch about
the size of a bottle cap, and this was easily disguised as well.
Harold stood obediently in place as I went into the bathroom to
get something from the cabinet, and he just looked on in wide-eyed
wonder as returned carrying a small swatch of spongy material and
slipped it inside the front of his bikini bottom. The panty liner
was designed to be discreet, its flared edges virtually invisible
beneath the pink fabric, and its smooth contours effectively hid
the small bulge of his shrunken penis, making his crotch appear as
flat and featureless as a little girl's.

    He offered one final protest when I presented him with a
dainty pair of medium-heeled sandals from Lara's closet,
complaining that he'd break his neck if he tried to walk in them,
but I insisted, and he reluctantly sat on the edge of the bed and
allowed me to slip the girlish footwear in place. Once the
delicate, pink straps had been secured across his instep and
around his ankle, I helped him stand and offered him support as he
took his first, tentative steps in heels. It wasn't long before he
was walking almost naturally in girls' sandals, although they did
make his cute bottom wiggle sexily with each tiny step.

    When I finally stepped back to take in the full effect of
Harold's transformation, I must say I was in awe of my
accomplishment. It would not only be impossible for anyone to
recognize him anymore, I doubted if anyone would ever suspect even
for a moment that this gorgeous, sexy creature could possibly be a
boy. His hair and make-up were flawless, and his face as pretty as
an angel's. His hands and feet looked delicate and dainty with
their bright pink nails, and his figure was outrageous, a perfect
hourglass form above a pair of sleek, shapely legs. Somehow his
pert, young breasts and his bulging fanny seemed even more naked
and sexy under the minimal protection of his swim wear, but as I'd
suspected, Alice looked absolutely fantastic in a bikini.

    "Yes, all right," I nodded, taking his hand to lead him over
to the mirrors, "but I think you'd better prepare yourself for a
surprise."

    The way the wall mirrors had been hung, it was possible to
stand in one part of the room and see three reflected images from
three different directions at once, and as Harold was brought to
stand in that spot, three reflections of the gorgeous girl he'd
become came into his view. For a moment he just gaped at her in
disbelief, and then he began to tremble with fright.

    "Oh my God!" his girlish voice squeaked as his pretty hands
reached up to touch his face and hair. "That can't be me!"

    "It’s you all right, Alice. You’re even prettier as a girl
than I thought you'd be. In fact, you're quite beautiful."

    "My hair! You dyed my hair blond!"

    "Of course " I smiled. "It helps with your disguise. Why, no
one could ever recognize you now, could they?"

    He continued to stare in horrified fascination at his new
appearance, unable to take his eyes from the voluptuous girl in
the mirrors. His pink lips tried to form words, but no sound would
come, and twin streams began to trickle down from his lovely eyes
to wet his blushing cheeks and drip teardrops onto his almost
naked breasts. Then he seemed to collapse inward, covering his
face with his hands and dropping to his knees with a terrified
shudder.

    "Oh, God!" he gasped, lowering his head in shame. "Please
don't make me do this! Please don't make me look like this!
Please!"

    "But, Alice..." I rushed to his side and knelt down to put my
arms around him. "You look wonderful, honey. I mean, you're
beautiful. No kidding."

    "But I don't want to be beautiful!" He sobbed deeply, and his
breasts jiggled within his bikini top. "I don't want to be a
girl!"

    "Well, that's just the way it is, Alice. Girls don't choose to
be girls instead of boys. It just happens, and you don't get any
say about it. All you can do is make the best of what you have,
and sweetheart, you have everything a girl could want: a gorgeous
face, a perfect figure..."

    "I'm so ashamed," he confessed, curling up into a little ball
in my arms. "If my dad could see me now..."

    "I'm glad he's dead," he cried, sobbing again. "I wish I was
dead, too."

    "Now, young lady, that's enough of that talk," I said,
suddenly angry. "There's certainly nothing wrong with looking like
a girl, or being female either, for that matter. I happen to be
very proud of being a woman, and I'll hear no more of that sexist
crap from you. If you have to be a girl for a while, well, that's
what you get for using drugs, so try to act like an adult and take
your punishment without all this childish whining."

    My criticism was unexpected, and it hit him hard. At first he
turned his pretty, tear-filled eyes up at me with a look of hurt
and betrayal, as if I should have been more Sympathetic but then
he lowered his long, dark lashes again and slowly nodded his
agreement.

    "All right, Aunt Milly," he said, hardly speaking above a
whisper "I'll try."

    "That's my girl," I smiled, giving him a big hug. I helped him
to his feet and faced him toward the nearest mirror. "Maybe you
won't like being Alice very much, but it’s only temporary, and if
you have to be a girl, at least You're a very pretty one. That's
something, isn't it?"

    He stared at his reflection once more. then lowered his head
and nodded reluctantly. "I guess so."

    "Good." I put my arm around him and walked with him down the
hallway to the living room. "Now you go outside on the deck and
get some sun while I make us some lunch."

    "Outside!?" he gasped, his terror reborn. "Like this!? Someone
will see me!?"

    "That was the whole idea behind the disguise, remember? Now
that you've become Alice, we don't have to worry about anyone
seeing you."

    "But, I can't!" he insisted. "I won't!"

    Rather than get angry, I spoke in a cool, confident tone of
voice that seemed to calm him. "You have to, honey. Look at your
tan. You have a boy's tan. It makes you look like you've been
sunbathing topless wearing only a pair of shorts, but it might
also make someone suspicious, and we can't afford that, now can
we? You don't want anyone figuring out that you're really a boy,
do you?"

    He closed his long lashed eyes and bit his lower lip in
frustration, but there was nothing he could say, except to shake
his head and sigh.

    "Of course not." I agreed, "so you go out there and get some
sun. That's why you put on your bikini in the first place."

    With great reluctance, like a condemned prisoner entering the
gas chamber, Harold walked slowly over to the side door and opened
it to peer outside into the bright sunshine. There didn't seem to
be anyone nearby, so step by hesitant step he carried himself
across the threshold and placed his sandaled feet on the decking
beyond. With a final pleading glance back in my direction, he
stepped away from the door and let it close behind him.

    I tried to imagine what he was feeling, completely disguised
as a beautiful girl, dressed in nothing but a tiny, sexy pink
bikini and trapped outside where anyone might see him. The male
ego being very fragile, I knew this would be quite a humbling
experience for him, but recalling all the sexist remarks he'd made
since he arrived, I also knew that this could be very good for
him. What better way to teach him that girls are people too than
to make him be a girl for the summer?

    Let's see how he likes being nothing more than a pretty face,
big breasts and a cute behind, I thought, laughing to myself.
He'll be singing a different tune in the fall, no doubt.

    And the best part was that he'd stay drug free. I was sure
he'd never touch marijuana again, not after this, and without that
springboard into harder drugs, he'd probably be safe for the rest
of his life. I knew that my methods were strange and difficult for
the boy to endure, but they were working, and that's what counted.
If saving Harold's life meant forcing him to be Alice for a few
months, that seemed a small price to pay, and if he ever
discovered I was responsible, and not the imaginary "X-factor,"
well, he'd probably thank me someday. At least, I hoped so.

    I let him get a good two hours of sun before I called him
inside for lunch, and I could tell at a glance that his old tan
lines were fading quickly. The pale skin around his lower torso,
where his boys' bathing suit had once protected him from the sun,
was eating up the bright sunlight and already looked almost as
dark as the skin above and below, and when I lifted up the strings
of his bikini to check, I found that new tan lines were starting
to form, in a pattern more appropriate for the body of a pretty
girl. Another few hours of sun and my nephew would look perfect in
his new role, though it would always be obvious to anyone who saw
Alice naked above the waist that she'd done a bit of topless
sunbathing, as well.

    After lunch, which the poor, miserable boy hardly touched, I
sent him back outside for more sun while I got ready to join him.
I changed into my own bathing suit and put everything I thought we
might need into my beach bag, then went out onto the deck, where
Alice had apparently fallen asleep in a cushy recliner.

    "Wake up, sleepyhead," I said, nudging his sandaled foot with
mine. "I'm all ready to go."

    His pretty eyes blinked open, and for a moment he looked calm
and rested, as if waking from a terrible nightmare he was glad to
be rid of, but then his eyes dropped to stare in disappointment at
his feminized body and the skimpy bikini he wore, and he sighed
loudly.

    "Go?" he asked, still blinking sleep from his eyes. "What do
you mean? Where are you going?"

    "To the beach," I replied. "Come on, we'll catch a little more
sun and then go for a swim before it gets dark."

    "No way!" he objected. "I can't go down there!"

    "You can and will," I said sternly. "While you're a guest in
my house you'll behave like a proper young lady and not some kind
of anti-social hermit hiding out up here. I'm going to the beach,
and I'll be greatly insulted if you refuse to accompany me. Now
let's go."

    I didn't wait for an argument; I just turned around and
started down the stairs. If Harold didn't follow, he'd pay the
consequences later, but it didn't surprise me in the least when I
glanced back and found my pretty house guest coming reluctantly
after me, his frightened eyes scanning the scene below as though
it was a battlefield littered with dead. I'm not sure whether he
was more afraid of the girls, who might detect that he wasn't
really one of them, or the guys, who might eagerly accept him for
what he appeared to be, but of all the people at the beach that
day, he obviously feared the surfers most. His old friends might
recognize him, or worse, they might not, and as much as Harold
liked hanging around with that crowd, it was plain to see that
Alice didn't share his taste in friends, for she looked terrified
of them.

    It was impossible for the poor dear to escape their attention,
however. Long before he'd reached the bottom of the stairs, the
young men had noticed Alice's arrival, and their hormones were
bubbling. They stared with undisguised interest at the shapely
figure descending the stairs, breasts jiggling and bottom wiggling
like an advertisement for sex. The lovely young woman appeared to
be ignoring her newfound admirers, averting her eyes and trying to
look uninterested, but I was sure Harold heard every comment and
noted every invitation spoken in his direction, and doubted that
he would ever forget the way those boys looked at him.

    Once he'd joined me at the bottom of the stairs we started out
together across the sand to a nice, open area, where I laid down
our beach towels side by side. Harold quickly sat down with his
back to the surfers, but he couldn't seem to help glancing over
his shoulder every now and then just to see if the guys were still
staring at him, which of course they were. Now that we were
sitting close together, I could see goosebumps on the smooth,
hairless skin of the boy's naked arms and legs, and I noticed that
his lower lip was trembling slightly.

    Sure enough, his fears proved justified, for before long one
of the surfers had gathered the courage to cross the sandy stretch
between their encampment and our beach towels. I recognized the
long-haired young man as J.J., the leader of the group and the one
who encouraged Harold to join them. His eyes were literally
bulging from his head as he got a closer and closer view of Alice,
and he was obviously not the least bit disappointed by what he
saw.

    "Afternoon," he smiled warmly, addressing both Harold and me,
though his gaze lingered on Alice. "Nice day."

    Harold glanced up and muttered a barely audible, "Hi."

    It was obvious by his manner that Harold wanted nothing more
than for J.J. to go away, but the young man was the persistent
sort, the kind that usually gets what he wants, and apparently he
wanted Alice very badly. He settled down on the sand next to
Harold's beach towel and offered Alice his hand with a wide grin.

    "My name's Jason," he said, "but my friends just call J.J."

    Harold looked at the young man's hand as if it were a lobster
about to snap at him, and he said nothing in response to J.J.'s
introduction, concentrating instead on tracing the pattern of his
beach towel with a long, pink fingernail. Not surprisingly, the
young man looked hurt and offended, and when he glanced in my
direction, I couldn't help feeling sorry for him, so I stepped
into my role as Alice's aunt and took exception.

    "Alice, you're being impolite to the gentleman." There was no
mistaking the tone of my voice, and Harold looked up at me
pleadingly for a moment, then bowed his head and nodded with a
deep sigh.

    "I'm Alice," Harold said in his sweet soprano, and he reached
out his girlish hand to accept J.J.'s handshake. He swallowed
nervously as the young man's hand clasped his slender fingers with
their long, pink nails, and he blushed in embarrassment as their
handshake caused his almost naked breasts to jiggle inside his
bikini top.

    "Alice just broke up with her boyfriend," I said in the hopes
of explaining Harold's unsociable behavior, "and she's a little
depressed right now."

    The suggestion of having a boyfriend made Harold wince, but he
saw that I was trying to make excuses for him, so he just accepted
it in stride. He also did nothing to try to remove his hand from
J.J.'s grip as the young man continued or to caress the boy's
manicured fingers.

    "I'm sorry to hear that," J.J. said sincerely, then added as
he turned to face Alice with a half smile, "I mean, I’m sorry to
hear that you're depressed. I honestly can't say I'm sorry to hear
that you broke up with your boyfriend."

    Harold didn't know how to handle the compliment, so he just
shrugged, and then blushed again when his breasts bounced a little
on his chest.

    Watching his embarrassment, I suddenly had an irresistible
urge to put my nephew through his paces. I could see his
girlfriend Suzy over by the other surfers, some of whom were
observing J.J.'s attempt to "score" with Alice, and I felt the
time had come for my little chauvinist to learn how the other half
lives. It was a purely emotional and impulsive decision on my
part, and later I wondered if it was really very wise, but at the
time it seemed like the right thing to do.

    "Alice just came to stay with me," I told J.J., "and she
doesn't know anyone around here, so she gets pretty lonely. I
guess an old woman like me isn't very good company for a pretty
young thing like Alice."

    Harold looked worried, as if he had guessed what I was up to,
but there was nothing he could do, for J.J. took the bait hook,
line and sinker.

    "Hey, I know everybody," he announced proudly. "I introduce
you to lots of people our age."

    "Oh," Harold insisted, "that's not necessary, realty."

    "No problem at all," the young man said, climbing to his feet
and tugging on Alice's hand to help a reluctant Harold stand
beside him. "In fact, it's my pleasure."

    "How very nice of you," I smiled, answering Harold's silent
plea for help with complete indifference. "You two have fun now."

    I watched my frightened, feminized nephew being led away
toward the crowd of teenagers he once knew as friends, his dainty
hand imprisoned in J.J.'s possessive grip, his girlish buns
wiggling sexily behind him, his pretty face casting pleading
glances at me over his shoulder, and began to have my first
serious feelings of doubt. Little did I suspect that I had set in
motion a course of events which would eventually and permanently
end Harold's life as a male and sentence him, without hope of
parole, to the life of a pretty girl named Alice.

----------------------------------------------

    Having realized that the day might come when I'd want to spy
on Harold again, and knowing from experience how difficult it was
to observe him unnoticed, I'd already taken steps by this time to
adopt a more effective and less risky method of surveillance.
Removing a sophisticated pair of multi-lens binoculars from a
hiding place in the bottom of my beach bag, I gazed through the
forward viewer and focused on a large ship far out to sea as my
reference point. Then with a subtle turn of the azimuth knob, I
angled the lenses to the side, turning the viewer almost ninety
degrees right, until I had the surfer's enclave in sight. To the
casual observer, I appeared to be looking out to sea, probably
watching that distant ship, but once I'd refocused the swiveled
lenses, I had a perfect view of Harold and his companions.

    I found my nephew standing bashfully in the midst of several
young men, all of whom seemed quite interested in getting to know
pretty Alice a lot better. J.J. was making the introductions, and
I noticed that he still had Harold's hand clutched tightly in his,
as if he'd already laid some claim on this newcomer. J.J.'s
girlfriend was glaring at Alice with undisguised contempt, while
her friends were pointedly ignoring the new girl's arrival, but
the guys were quite anxious to make her feel welcome. A few of
them started showing off, flexing their muscles and slap-fighting
each other, but poor Harold looked more intimidated than
impressed, so J.J. took the opportunity to place his arm
protectively around Alice's shoulders and act as a shield.

    The boy did seem grateful for the way J.J. had intervened, but
his lovely eyes kept glancing nervously at the young man's hand
caressing his smooth upper arm. He made no move to escape from
J.J.'s grasp, but he didn't look very pleased by the young man's
growing familiarity. For the first time in his life, instead of
pawing at some pretty girl, he was the one getting touched and
fondled, but unlike most girls, Alice had no idea how to fend off
an aggressive male pursuer, so Harold could do nothing more than
stand there and pretend he didn't mind.

    Once I had the scene properly focused, I paused to take the
earplug from its recess and insert it into my ear before
activating the uni-directional microphone mounted between the
lenses. The mike was remarkably sensitive but it would receive
sound only from the direction in which the viewer was aimed, so
instead of picking up crowd noise or the booming of the surf, all
I heard through the earplug were the sounds of Harold and the
surfers, amplified many times. With the binoculars enlarging my
view and the microphone detecting every noise they made, I
suddenly felt as if I was right beside them.

    "Want a beer?" J.J. asked the boy, and much to my surprise,
Harold said he did. I suppose he thought a little alcohol might
help settle his nerves, but I was worried about what might happen
if he became too light-headed. I realized that I'd have to go
rescue him if he shoved any signs of getting drunk. My little
Alice was vulnerable enough without losing her wits.

    I couldn't see as well when Harold and his companion moved
into the semi-circular wall of surfboards, but since some of the
surfers were out using their boards, there were large gaps in the
fence which gave me an adequate view. Opening the ice chest that
the teenagers always had with them, J.J. retrieved two beers and
opened one with his teeth before handing it to Harold, who tipped
the bottle and drained off a good portion with one gulp. The cool
liquid seemed to satisfy his thirst, but his look of contentment
kindled into blushing embarrassment when a loud burp suddenly
burst past his pretty, pink lips. It wasn't a very ladylike thing
to do, but J.J. didn't seem to mind one bit. He just laughed at
Alice's timid apology, then opened his own beer, took a similar
draught and let loose a deep, rumbling belch that I could hear
even without the earplug.

    Harold started to laugh, a free and honest laugh, not dampened
by fear or shame, and I saw Alice smile, really smile, for the
first time. Even I was astounded at how sweet and beautiful my
young ward looked when wearing that big, winning smile, so it's no
wonder that J.J. almost melted on the spot. His eyes, which at
first had Focused hungrily on the girl's jiggling breasts as she
laughed, grew soft and warm as he looked up into her bright,
smiling face. I'd seen that look before, not often, but often
enough to recognize it, and I suddenly realized that J.J. was
falling in love.

    Harold must've sensed the significance of that look as well,
for he started to look a little worried again and cast his eyes
down at the sand with a nervous swallow. Without hesitation, J.J.
reached out to take Alice by the hand, and sitting down on the lid
of the ice chest, he pulled the boy onto his lap. Harold looked
frightened as his plump, girlish rump plopped down onto J.J.'s
hairy thighs and the young man's arms encircled him in an
affectionate embrace. He began to relax a little as they continued
to talk apparently relieved that J.J. planned no further attempts
at familiarity for the moment, but the tension in his face
returned when he felt the young man's hands wandering over his
almost naked backside.

    They sat and talked for a while before J.J. helped Harold to
his feet and led him over to where several of the teenagers had
spread out their beach towels. The boy sat beside him as the
surfer rummaged through someone's beach bag to produce a container
of suntan lotion. He applied the liquid generously to his arms and
legs, and then spread some on his hairy chest, rubbing it in
vigorously. I Couldn't help admiring the way his muscles rippled
as he moved, but I was surprised to find my nephew gazing at him
with the same sort-of approval. What was Harold thinking? Was he
really seeing J.J. for the first time the way a girl might see
him?

    Once his task was nearly completed, the young man stopped to
hand the lotion to Alice, who accepted it reluctantly. My pretty
house guest was even more reluctant to comply with J.J.'s request
to have his unprotected back covered in lotion, but with a barely
audible sigh Harold slid over to where the young man was lying
face down on a beach towel and began to apply suntan lotion to the
surfer's broad, muscular back. He must have felt quite peculiar
watching his slender, feminine hands with their long, pink
fingernails glide smoothly over J.J.'s firm, manly flesh, and I'm
sure it didn't help matters when the young man began to moan
softly with contentment.

    Harold finished up as quickly as he could and seemed relieved
when the chore was completed, but then J.J. insisted that he be
allowed to return the favor, and Alice was gently coerced into
lying back on the beach towel as the surfer carefully,
painstakingly applied the warm, oily lotion to every inch of
exposed skin. He started at Harold's toes and slowly worked his
way up the boy's sleek, sexy legs, past smooth thighs and wide
hips, onto his flat stomach and then, with the care and delicacy
of an artist, up the sides of each breast, from the foot of each
soft, pink mound to the edges of the little pink triangle that hid
the boy's nipple.

    Even at that distance, even through the pink material of his
bikini top, I could see Harold's nipples growing larger, getting
harder, responding to erotic stimulation of his breasts just as
any other girl would, and from the dazed and glassy look in his
eyes as he gazed skyward, it was obvious that Harold was
experiencing some strange and unexpected form of pleasure. The boy
was breathing heavily, his breasts rising and falling
rhythmically, when J.J. finally finished and moved on to apply the
lotion to Harold's neck and face.

    He dabbed a little of the oily solution onto his fingertips
and spread it carefully over Alice's forehead, down the cute,
button nose, around the blushing cheeks and onto the soft, smooth
chin. As he worked, he leaned over closer and closer to his
canvas, until he was hovering over the boy, his face only inches
away. Harold looked up at him in growing fear, his long, dark
eyelashes blinking nervously, his shiny, pink lips starting to
tremble, but it was obvious that he had no idea what to do or say
to escape what we all knew was coming.

    Adding one last drop of lotion on the tip of Alice's nose,
J.J. smiled and bent down to place a firm, demanding kiss on
Harold's girlish lips. The boy froze with alarm as the young man
tasted the flavor of his lipstick, caressing his sweet, feminine
mouth with strong, passionate lips. For a moment he could do
nothing but lie there, his pretty hands hanging limp at his sides,
but his moment of panic passed quickly, and Harold soon began to
struggle against his male aggressor. He lacked the strength to
push the young man away, but he did manage to turn his head enough
to avoid another kiss.

    J.J. sat up again with a broad smile on his face, and Harold
took the opportunity to roll over onto his stomach, hoping to
prevent any further such incidents, but the surfer was one step
ahead of him. As soon as the boy had settled down onto the soft
cushions of his breasts, he felt J.J.'s hands on the bow that
bound together the strings of his bikini top, and before he could
even think about reacting, the fastening came undone and the
strings fell loosely over his sides and shoulders. With a gasp, he
started to turn over and sit up, but then laid back down quickly
when he realized that his bikini top was not coming with him. His
eyes were wide with fear at the thought that he was now
effectively topless.

    Once again he was helpless to resist as J.J. began to spread
suntan lotion onto the smooth skin of Harold's naked back. The
young man paused to do the boy's arms before moving down his spine
and up onto the soft, tender mounds of his girlish butt cheeks.
His bikini bottom hardly covered the wide expanse of feminine
flesh he now carried behind him, and J.J. took great pleasure in
massaging lotion into every exposed pore. The touch of the young
man's hands on his big, round bottom had Harold blushing furiously
once more, and I could see goosebumps forming on his arms and
legs, but as before he could do nothing to prevent the unwanted
stimulation of his feminized form, so he just closed his beautiful
eyes and lowered his head in shame.

    Eventually, J.J. worked his way down each of Alice's gorgeous
legs until he got to the slim,, shapely ankles. With an evil grin,
he began to tickle the bottoms of Harold's feet, and despite his
fear and embarrassment, the boy started to laugh. He squirmed and
wriggled on the beach towel, begging J.J. to stop, but he couldn't
rise from his prone position without losing his unfastened bikini
top and revealing his naked breasts, so all he could do was kick
and scream and wait for it to end.

    After a while, J.J. got tired of teasing his pretty companion,
and offered to retie the strings of Alice's bikini top, an offer
which Harold readily accepted. As the young man gathered the pink
cords into a bow behind the boy's back, Harold used his girlish
fingers to position the tiny pink triangles over his nipples, so
that once the strings were retied his bikini top again provided
the minimal amount of protection it was designed for.

    For the next hour or so, Alice and J.J. laid on their sides
facing each other, talking about all manner of things, from rock
music to high school, and it was amusing to hear Harold making up
answers to suit his female role. Instead of talking about his
success on the gridiron as a running back. he claimed to have been
a cheerleader. Instead Of building model planes and collecting
baseball cards, he said his hobbies were sewing and collecting
Barbi dolls. Instead of bragging about his many conquests with the
weaker sex, he confessed that he hadn't dated many boys and didn't
want to get involved with anyone right now. J.J. seemed to hang on
Alice's every word, and when Harold admitted that he'd had little
past experience with men, the young male nodded knowingly, as if
he'd already guessed as much.

    The two of them talked and joked like old friends, which in a
way they were, although J.J. had never really met Alice before.
When the young man asked Harold if he could surf, the boy shook
his head, although he had already learned the basics weeks
earlier. I think he was hoping to avoid making a spectacle of
himself, since the sight of cute little Alice in her sexy bikini
out there riding the waves would attract quite a lot of attention,
especially male attention. I'm sure he also preferred to avoid
such strenuous physical activity, since he felt so conscious of
his new body and so unfamiliar with its ramifications.

    J.J. wasn't disappointed, however. He jumped up and took down
one the surfboards from the already incomplete enclosure, then
laid it on the beach and dug out the sand around the fin, leaving
the board balanced on its keel. He then held out his hand to
Harold and insisted that the boy begin his first lesson at once.
Reluctantly, my nephew stood and walked to his side, where the
young man took hold of his small, slender hand and helped him step
up onto the surfboard. As Alice practiced balancing, J.J. coached
his student, occasionally offering support by placing his hands
around the newcomer's slim waist or wide hips.

    Harold seemed to be having a harder time than I'd expected,
and I wondered if he was faking it, until realized that he really
did need to practice keeping his balance all over again, since his
body weight was now distributed differently. Now that he had the
figure of a girl, he had to learn to surf like a girl, and the
stance he eventually adopted to center his weight made him look
quite cute and feminine. Bending his knees in a half-squat
emphasized his girlish bottom, while keeping his head up and his
arms outstretched accented the curves of his shapely breasts. Once
he'd gained a little confidence in his new sense of balance and no
longer needed J.J.'s support, Harold actually looked quite
remarkable, poised on a pedestal, like a beautiful goddess

    J.J. stood beside his pupil gazing at the gorgeous creature in
admiration, and then his eyes lit up with a wicked gleam. Unseen
by Alice, he reached over with his foot and placed a little weight
on one side of the surfboard, disturbing its delicate balance and
with a wide eyed yell Harold tipped over backwards, failing
unexpectedly into a waiting pair of arms. At first, the boy sighed
in relief, glad to find himself supported instead of falling flat
on his backside, but as J.J.'s strong arms continued to hold him
close, he began to look a little concerned. He tried to get his
feet under him again and straighten up, but all he succeeded in
doing was wrapping his arms around the young man's neck for
additional support.

    There was a brief pause as the two teenagers gazed into each
other's eyes, each wondering what would happen next, and then J.J.
took his chance. I heard Harold start to protest as the young
man's face descended onto his, but his words were quickly muffled
by a deeply passionate kiss. The boy's arms released J.J.'s neck,
and his pretty hands tried in vain to push the surfer away, but he
lacked the strength and leverage, and eventually he just accepted
the helplessness of his situation and let his arms hang limp at
his sides. When their lips finally parted again, J.J. was smiling
broadly, while Harold was doing his best not to look upset, though
his cheeks were blushing brightly.

    Still supporting the boy with one arm, J.J. suddenly reached
around to tickle Harold below the ribs. There was a high-pitched
scream, followed by hysterical laughter, and my nephew began to
wriggle and thrash about in the young man's arms. The surfer
chuckled and tickled the boy again, pleased at the way Harold's
breasts seemed to dance within the string bikini as he struggled
to get free. Twisting and squirming, his long, blonde hair
whipping back and forth through the air, Harold eventually broke
loose and tumbled to the sand, still gasping with residual
laughter.

    The moment he saw J.J. coming closer, that evil grin still on
his face, his hands outstretched with the promise of more
tickling, Harold climbed unsteadily to his feet and started to
run. The surfer could easily have caught him, since Harold found
it impossible to run normally due to the bouncing of his breasts.
His mincing little steps were no match for J.J.'s long strides,
and the young man cut him off in moments, herding the pretty,
little thing toward the water, just as a sheep-dog might've turned
a stray lamb.

    With nowhere left to run, Harold charged into the surf, then
turned, trying to wade parallel to the shore, but his brief flight
was over. J.J., caught him easily and dragged him down under a
crashing wave in a tangled mass of arms and legs. When the two
teenagers emerged, Harold was cradled in J.J.'s arms like a child,
his slender arms encircling the young man's shoulders, his lovely
legs dangling in the air. He was powerless to avoid another kiss
as J.J. leaned over him to place his warm, masculine mouth over
Alice's pink, pouting lips, and I'm sure I saw a glimpse of the
young man's tongue slipping in for a quick French kiss as well.

    There was a whole crowd of teenagers gathered around the ice
chest when the surfer carried Harold back up the beach, despite
the boy's insistence that he preferred to walk, and as they took
their places in the circle of friends, it was obvious from the way
they talked and acted that everyone now thought of J.J. and Alice
as a couple. Even the surfer's ex-girlfriend seemed to accept the
inevitability of the situation and appeared to no longer hold a
grudge against her former rival. The only one who continued to
look uncomfortable with the arrangement was poor Harold, who sat
curled up on the sand leaning back against J.J.'s hairy chest with
the young man's muscular arms enfolding him possessively.

    No one else could read the expression on his girlish face the
way I could, and I knew my nephew was not enjoying his new role as
a sex object. He would gaze longingly at Suzy when no one was
watching, then stare nervously at J.J.'s hand as it stroked his
naked upper arm, occasionally brushing against the side of his
soft, sensitive breast. Whenever he caught one of the other young
men looking at him, he'd avert his gaze and blush with
embarrassment, which naturally served to attract the male's
attention even more. I'm sure he didn't realize it, but he was
inadvertently flirting with every one of those boys, and quite
successfully, judging by the number of horny guys and irate
girlfriends I observed.

    It was decided as a group that everyone would go to the
boardwalk for the afternoon, except for one couple that would have
to stay behind with the surfboards and other valuables. When
Harold's offer to stay and watch their things was politely
declined, he began to point over in my direction, insisting that
he couldn't leave without telling me, so without a word J.J.
started running over to where I was sitting, leaving a baffled
Alice staring after him in surprise. As the young man approached,
I placed my binoculars back in their hiding place and tried to
look distracted. Once he'd spotted me, the surfer rushed over and
squatted next to me just long enough to ask if Alice could go to
the boardwalk, and the moment I'd informed him "She can if she
wants to" and handed him the sandals Harold had worn, he was off
again, churning sand in his wake as he hurried back to tell his
new girlfriend the good news.

    I suppose I should've said no, but I thought this experience
was really teaching Harold something. so I wanted it to continue
for a while. I figured I'd just follow them, like last time, to
make sure my nephew stayed out of trouble. I certainly didn't see
any real harm in it, so I kept telling myself that it was for the
boy's own good and hoped for the best.

    Once I'd picked up my binoculars again, I resumed my
surveillance and noted with a slight smile the barely suppressed
surprise in Harold's eyes when J.J. handed over the sandals and
informed Alice that "Aunt Milly says it's okay." Not knowing what
else to do, the boy allowed himself to be guided by the strong arm
around his shoulders and accompanied the other teenagers south
along the beach toward the fishing pier. I watched them from where
I was for a time, noting that they were dividing into two groups,
one heading for the nearest stairway, the other moving closer to
the surf with the intention of going underneath the pier. It
looked like Harold was in the second group, but I wasn't sure, so
I got my things together and hurried after them.

    By the time I reached the shade beneath the pier two couples
were emerging into the sunlight on the far side and Harold wasn't
among them, but using my binoculars and special microphone, I was
able to identify the missing couple that had remained in the
shadows to make love as Suzy and her new boyfriend, so Alice and
J.J. must've gone with the other group. I knew I'd have no trouble
finding them again, and sure enough the two couples I was
following met the other group at the edge of the boardwalk.

    Harold and J.J. were standing a little apart from the others
as they all hung around for a while, and using my binoculars I was
surprised to see my nephew leaning close to the young man who held
him so intimately, his slender index finger extended and running
its pink, oval-shaped tip in circles through the dense patch of
hair on J.J.'s chest. I was only able to hear the end of their
conversation, but I gathered that Alice was using some feminine
wiles to persuade the surfer to change his mind about something,
and the attempt was obviously successful, for the young man was
nodding and saying "Okay, gorgeous," and then they kissed. It
wasn't just J.J. kissing Alice this time, either, for much to my
amazement Harold was actually kissing back a little bit, as if he
really was that grateful.

    It all made sense to me the minute the drug peddler showed up.
Instead of conferencing with the others, J.J. and Alice excused
themselves and started off down the boardwalk ahead of his
friends. The drug connection was made, but Harold was no where
near it at the time, for he'd managed to convince J.J. to keep him
out of it. It was amusing how quickly my nephew had discovered a
female's power to manipulate a male, and though I'm certain he
exercised that power with the greatest reluctance, he was really
quite good at it, and with a bit of practice might someday be able
to wrap a man around his little finger like a real femme fatal.
Alice definitely had all the right ingredients to make a
devilishly sexy little coquette, a fact which Harold was
apparently starting to realize, much to his shame and regret, I'm
sure.

    But what was important was that Harold had wanted to avoid
contact with the drug so desperately he was even willing to employ
Alice's girlish charms in his effort to persuade his escort not to
participate in the transaction. The ease with which he succeeded
probably gratified him, making him feel that it was worth the
embarrassment, but it also probably troubled him to realize how
alluring he could be as a girl if he really tried. He'd only been
walking in Alice's high-heeled sandals for a little while, but
already I he had a boyfriend who'd do almost anything for a kiss.
In time he could have every boy on the boardwalk eating out of his
hands; all he had to do was flirt with them.

    As they proceeded along the boardwalk, J.J. took every
opportunity to show off and win prizes for Alice, whether Harold
really wanted them or not. All the attractions that had engaged my
nephew on his first trip to the boardwalk were revisited, but this
time it was J.J. not Harold, who attempted the tests of skill and
luck, while Alice stood by trying to be supportive, just as Suzy
might've done. Each time he won a prize for his companion, the
surfer would demand a kiss in return, and as Harold's arms began
to fill up with stuffed animals and other sundries, he found it
more and more difficult to refuse, even though the young man's
tokens of affection were growing longer and more passionate. All
he could do was stand there, arms full, as J.J. hugged him close
and planted kiss after kiss on his pretty, pink lips.

    The surfer's aggressive and domineering behavior didn't change
when the other teenagers caught up with them. either. In fact,
J.J. seemed to be eager to demonstrate at every opportunity that
he could kiss Alice any time he wanted to and hold her as
intimately as he liked, and poor Harold was at a complete loss
with no idea how to respond, so he just stood there passively and
let the young man kiss him and touch him as he pleased, at least
as long as it remained relatively harmless. I'm sure that if J.J.
even looked like he was goin