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Monday, August 13, 2012

Changing For Gym by Xoop

Hey guys! here's one of my frist 10 outta 10 on my Fuji scale! this is a brilliantly crafted story by Xoop.
And be watching from a special comic to come later this year! (hopefully...)


Hill Street High School was built in the early 1990's in response to the
town's recent growth. Too, the old school was a remnant of the 1920's,
and looked it. The town had eventually given in to the inevitable and
voted in a new school.

The new building had everything. As befitted area weather, it was
totally enclosed (except for the athletic's fields, of course). Yet its
public areas never felt claustrophobic, for it relied a great deal on
glass. The cafeteria was large and clean, the library well-stocked even
with fiction, and the gymnasium included an indoor pool.

Perhaps the most unusual change from old to new concerned the lockers.
The architect had visited the old school and was shocked at the students
crowding into too-narrow hallways made even worse by the lockers lining
each wall. They were nearly impassible, and the man vowed not to carry
that over. Instead he placed the lockers in the gym's changing rooms
larger, and the rooms themselves were much expanded. There was a
second, smaller changing room for each gender in case of overflow. Each
student would use a single locker there, accessible at any time. In
return the hallways would be clearer, quieter, with plenty of room on
the walls for announcements, art, or displays. The architect felt the
extra space needed for the expanded changing rooms was more than
justified, and the students more or less agreed.

The architect put his heart and soul into the school, this community
building for the good of all. The workers who built it were the same
way. After all, they were a local firm; it'd be their kids going there.

All that care, all that attention, can have an effect. At Hill Street
High School, it did. The place gained something of a soul of its own.
It took care of the students -- the computer lab had almost no technical
problems and the cafeteria food was unusually tasty. It took care of
the teachers -- school supplies such as pencils and books were never in
short supply and everyone's drink of choice was available in the
lounge. And it took care of itself. Litter was infrequent and
disappeared quickly. The same could be said of graffiti. Each of the
three janitors thought another had taken care of it. Sometimes they
were even right. Everything was perfect.

And the school was happy.


But nothing lasts forever. Eventually the growth stopped, then
reversed. Families moved away, and the changing rooms were not as
full. As chance would have it, far more girls ended up moving away than
boys. The secondary girls' changing room became entirely empty. Other
families moved in, but again more boys than girls enrolled. The boys'
secondary changing room approached capacity. An then, one day, passed

And the school was not happy.


Jim Woodruff was not happy.

"What do you mean, my locker is in the girls' room?" he demanded.

"The boys' changing room is full, Jim. I'm sorry," Mr. Harris, the
school principal, explained. "Even the second one. The only thing to
do is to take that locker. Either that, or enroll in a private school.
Take it or leave us." Mr. Harris smiled slightly, as if that was

"But I'm not a girl!" Jim protested. "Moving and starting at a new
school is hard enough without everyone laughing at me!"

"If anyone laughs at you, laugh back," Mr. Harris said. When Jim didn't
seem to appreciate the suggestion he added, "I'll bet none of *them*
ever got into a girls' locker room on a regular basis, with the
principal's permission!"

Jim smiled at that one, but his pique was still unsatisfied. "But it's
not like there's actually going to be any girls in there!"

"Of course not. At any rate, you have an entire changing room to
yourself. Anyone else in the school would kill for that. This school
is still crowded, you know, though not as badly as it was. Especially
for girls. And you have all that space to yourself."

"But --"

"The principal's face abruptly hardened. "Look, Jim. If you don't like
the idea, don't use the locker. Just carry everything everywhere. But
that certainly is the room you will use to change for Phys Ed. And that
is that."

Jim had already gotten a tour of the school. Of course, in the tour he
had visited the boys' room, not the girls'. Still, he figured they were
the same size. That is, big. Compared to it, this room was tiny. It
was barely larger than a classroom and sported that odd pink that only
government decorators seemed to like. There were two shower stalls and
four toilets -- no urinals, of course. Every piece of wall that wasn't
taken up by a door or a sink was occupied by lockers. He found his --
562G2 -- and stuffed his schoolbooks in, along with the shorts and shirt
that constituted his gym outfit. Then he sat on a bench and thought.

Having his very own locker room all to himself actually *was* cool, in a
way. Jim had to admit that, to himself at least, even if he'd be damned
if he'd say so to the principal.


A boy in the girls' room? No, no. This wouldn't do. Not at all.

Unfortunately, there wasn't much the school could do. It had no
influence outside its grounds -- it couldn't make more boys move away.
And while it could influence the records in the attendance office, that
would do no good. A clerical error assigning him to a different locker
would be pointless, as there were no other acceptable lockers available.

It took a full week of pondering before the school reached a decision.
Then it took action.


Classes had been brutal today, and to make it worse he'd felt near to
bursting for most of the last period. He'd been looking forward to
getting to the changing room so he could let it go. It was odd, but
lately he'd had to go to the bathroom mostly around gym time.

Jim sat on the john to take his leak. It still felt odd to do that, but
he'd had no choice. The toilets had been fine when he started at HSHS,
but not long afterwards they had started to stick and produce horrible
screeches when he tried to lift the seats. Over the next few days they
became more and more stuck, the sounds more and more intolerable. The
janitors said the seats were fine, but he knew better. By now he didn't
think he could lift one even if someone told him it wasn't physically
stuck. Those screeches had just been too nasty to risk. Heck, he
winced when he lifted the seat at home, for chrissakes! At this rate
he'd be sitting to piss even there before long. Jim had tried standing
and going through the seat's opening, but it was too small. Messy. It
didn't feel right, anyway. Better to sit.

He stood and wiped himself. Boys only sat when taking a crap, and you
wipe yourself after crapping. The habit was hard to break, and Jim saw
no reason to try. By now, though, he had at least taught himself to
wipe his front, not the rear. It felt weird, but just jiggling those
last drops loose didn't feel right either, anymore.

"What the hell?" he yelled when he was finished and at his locker.

Something was wrong with his gym outfit. The shorts were smaller, not
even covering his boxers. He took them off again, looking at them. The
*were* smaller: shorter, and cut higher over the hips. It took a few
seconds before he realized they were the shorts for a girl's gym

"Is this some joke? Anyone here?" There was no response.

Jim pondered what to do. If he wore them over the boxers he'd look like
an idiot. He hadn't made any real friends here yet, only a few people
to eat lunch with. He couldn't afford the ridicule. But he couldn't
afford to skip the class, either.

The solution came suddenly, like a bolt from nowhere. Wear the shorts.
Attend class. Leave the stupid boxers in the locker. He could change
back after Phys Ed, nobody the wiser that he wasn't wearing underwear.
Somehow, the potential for ridicule from wearing girl's shorts to gym
never crossed his mind.

He stripped off the boxers, tossed them in the locker, put on the gym
shorts, and jogged outside.

When he returned after class, he was relieved but pleased, and a little
embarrassed. Nobody had said anything about it. And the shorter shorts
felt kinda nice. Freer. His legs could breathe better with the reduced
covering. He wondered if he should report the prank, and eventually
decided to swallow his pride. Nobody'd said anything about wearing
girl's shorts, so either they didn't notice or didn't care, and either
way was fine by him. If he didn't bring it to their attention they
couldn't tease him.

He took the shorts off and opened his locker. Freer or not, it'd still
be good to wear his own stuff again. He was a bit shocked by what he
found, though. His clothes were fine, all except one item. His boxers
were missing. In their place was a pair of white cotton underwear.
Without a pisshole. *With* lace. Panties.

Jim seethed. When he found out who was taking his stuff he'd... he'd...
he'd figure something out! In the meantime, he put on the panties --
though not before trying his jeans without them. But that was too

Nobody would notice the panties, anyway. Not under his jeans.


Things were going well, as far as the school was concerned. The boy was
reasoning himself through the changes imposed on him, with the help of a
strategically placed mental nudge or two. A few suggestions into other
students' heads kept them off his back. The main problem would be the
parents, though. They might pose a problem as things continued.

Thank goodness for parent-teacher conferences.


"I hate these conferences."

Mary tried to console her husband. "I do too, Simon. But something
must be very wrong for them to need us both here."

Simon Woodruff shook his head. "I know, I know. Why do you think I
hate them so much? Why don't they ever call parents in to say their kid
is wonderful?"

Mary shrugged and said nothing. They'd been sitting in the main office
for nearly an hour, and she was getting bored. Her mind began to
wander, and her gaze drifted back out to the hallway. A girl with an
outrageous hairdo and skimpy clothing was talking animatedly with some
friends. It must be nice to be so independent, she thought. Not
worrying if anyone really minds what you look like, what you wear. I
wish Jim was more like that.

Simon's voice broke into her thoughts. "Times like this that I wish we
had a daughter."

Mary looked at him. He was looking at the same gaggle of girls in the
hall, a wistful look on his face. She was surprised; he'd always been
proud to have a son. "You mean that?"


Mary smiled slyly. "You want to try making that wish come true

Simon smiled back. "I wouldn't mind the attempt! But no, I'm too old
for a new kid, boy or girl. I was just thinking if Jim had been a girl,
maybe we wouldn't be here now."

"Or maybe we would," Mary pointed out.

"True enough."

But his words had set a new train of thought rolling about her head.
Yes, another girl in the house would be nice, wouldn't it?

After another half hour of talking and thinking -- sometimes their own
thoughts, sometimes not -- it was determined by the office staff that
none of Jim's teachers had called for a conference. It must have been a
clerical error, so sorry for wasting your time.


The school watched them leave. That went well. The parents shouldn't
be an obstacle now.

If any poets were to describe the waving of the flag outside the school
that afternoon, they might have used the word, "satisfied."


Jim gave up on his underwear. Every time he left it in the locker he'd
return to find a pair of panties. The style varied. Sometimes they
were lacy, sometimes subdued. They were white, black, powder blue and
rose pink and sometimes other colors. Once he'd found a thong waiting
for him. That one was uncomfortable. He vowed to himself he'd go
without any underwear at all before he wearing one of those again.
Luckily, it never happened after that.

But no boxers. Never boxers.

He wondered what his mom thought about her son coming home with pair
after pair of girl's underwear. Like the other students, she hadn't
said anything, not even when he put them in the laundry hamper. But he
thought he'd caught her looking at him speculatively a couple of times.
Lord only knows what was going through her head.

He never stood to pee anymore. He barely even thought about it, either.

The prankster was getting more blatant in his attacks. Jim's usual
deodorant was replaced with something smelling very, very floral. The
same had happened to his soap and shampoo. "Bring hair body out to the
max!" the bottle read, showing a beautiful woman with long golden hair.
"Adds a beautiful, lustrous shine!" Jim had to admit it worked. His
hair had never looked so pretty.

That is, good. Yes, good.


This, though, was a little much! "A bra?" he said, holding the lacy
black number up before him. It matched the panties he's slipped on that
morning. Coincidence? Or did someone catch a peek and put this in

He shrugged. It didn't matter, really. That's a *bra*. An entirely
female garment, no need for a male to wear one. Jim started to toss it
back into the locker, but something made him stop. He looked at it
again curiously. Why *not* wear it? It might be fun, for a minute or
two. Just to see what it was like. There wasn't anyone else here to
see him make an ass of himself, after all. So why not?

The hooks gave him some trouble. He'd seen a woman hook it behind her
back in a movie somewhere, and he tried that himself. It was harder
than it looked. He eventually gave up and hooked it in front, twisting
it around afterwards so the cups were over his chest.

"I'll get it right with practice," he said to the empty room, not even
realizing what that implied.

He looked in the mirror over the sinks. He'd long since gotten used to
his image wearing panties. The bra added another touch of femininity to
his narrow frame. It was kind of an odd look, faintly androgynous. But
it was surprisingly comfortable.

Jim was reaching behind himself to unhook the thing when the bell rang.
Just seconds later Dan Hanson was pounding on the door. He was the only
friend Jim had made in the nearly two months he'd been at HSHS. He was
called "The Hand" by girls he'd dated. Dan "the Hand" Hanson. Ha. Jim
envied his friend and wondered how he did it.

"C'mon, Jim! You know how much Mrs. Grant hates it when we're late!"

"One sec!" Jim called back through the door. His fingers tugged
frantically at the bra hooks. He got one off, but the other two were
bent tight. They didn't want to unhook! He could hear the foot traffic
outside growing louder as the minutes between classes passed. With a
curse he threw a shirt over the lingerie, slammed the locker and ran

After that he forgot about the bra until he went to bed and discovered
he was still wearing it. It took some doing, but he managed to get it
off. He draped it over a chair and went to sleep.


Things were going according to plan. Making the bell ring early had
been a nice touch. The school congratulated itself. If it'd had a back
it would have patted itself on it.

The bra was a test, of sorts. Nothing replaced, only added. Yet he had
still accepted it. It meant that perhaps he could be made to accept
more drastic changes. Perhaps it could move a little faster, do a
little more.



Jim was disturbed.

He hadn't been sleeping that well lately. He kept getting tangled in
his pajamas. The only way to get a good night's sleep was to sleep in
his underwear. What disturbed him was that more and more he'd found
himself thinking of "underwear" as a two-piece concept. Top and
bottom. Panties and bra.

Also, he wore a bra to school now, most days. He wasn't sure why.
Those few times lately when he'd tried to go without one he'd felt like
a slut. Like everyone could see his chest, his nipples. But what was
wrong with that? He was a boy, wasn't he?

Wasn't he?

Someone continued to break into his locker. Figured out the combo,
maybe, or got it from a girl who used it a year or two ago. His
underwear drawer at home was full of panties and bras. The gym outfit
had long ago been substituted out, the shirt a more pastel blue than the
one he'd brought in, and a bit loose in the chest to boot. A few of his
tees looked the same -- same colors, same pictures and logos -- but they
were also loose in the chest.

This was different, though. This time his shirt had acquired a set of
buttons and a floral pattern. It rested, for now, on a bench. Jim
scratched his chest beneath a bra cup as he contemplated it. (His chest
itched a lot lately. That was another reason he didn't sleep well.) He
couldn't wear the gym shirt out there -- nobody did *that*. So he had
no choice. It was either wear it or don't, and if he didn't wear it
he'd be walking around showing off his bra for all and sundry. The
thought of removing the lingerie wand walking out bare-chested never
occurred to him. He might as well be naked as expose his breasts!



Over the next few days every shirt he wore to school was changed.
Women's tees and blouses were all he'd ever find in his locker. Then
his jeans changed, becoming a short denim skirt. He thought he looked
good in it, actually, although he was a bit embarrassed to think so.
Then he felt ashamed of being embarrassed, and a surge of pride ran
along his spine. If he looked good, it was nothing to be embarrassed
about! Hell, she -- er, he -- would make a good catch!

Jim walked out of the auxiliary girls' changing room with a sexy swing
to his hips. He wondered why that cutie Dan the Hand wasn't waiting for




"Are you sure you want that one, dear?" Sara asked.

Jim nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, that's it. Cut it like that."

The beautician shrugged. "Okay, honey. You're the boss." She thought it
was more than a bit odd for the teen to be getting such a feminine
style. But heck, she told herself, at first you weren't sure it *was* a
he! The kid in the chair was wearing mostly girl's clothes, after all.

Well, entirely girl's clothes, actually -- she hadn't noticed at first
that the jeans were not a man's cut. And the face was fairly
androgynous, too. Very clean shaven; the boy had less of a mustache
than she did, and that was saying something! He'd even done a good job
on the breasts. Large enough to be noticed but not overbearing. Just
right. They even felt right, as she discovered when she "accidentally"
brushed against one with an arm. Sara wondered what he used for the
padding. Her sister was as flat as a board and could use a good set of

It was a good illusion. Only the voice had given it away. Not girlish
at all.

"Do you want it dyed or anything?" she asked as she got out the plastic
cloth to lay across his lap.

Jim thought. His lips pursed into a pretty little frown without him
trying. Or noticing. Those expressions were becoming more and more
natural. "No," he decided. "Not this time."

The beautician chatted as she worked. She always did. Oddly, though,
while this kid was doing his very best to look and act like a girl he
still talked pro baseball and skateboard stars. When she was done, she
stepped back and admired her work. It was good, made him look very
cute. She assumed that was the goal.

"Oh, I like it! Thank you!" Jim gushed when he looked in the mirror.
His face turned red. "I'm sorry. That was a little more...
enthusiastic than I normally am."

"No problem," Sara replied, amused. Gotta learn acting *somehow*! "Not
for the hair, either. It helps that you've been taking care of it."
She paused, considering. Maybe... "Do you want anything else?"

Jim looked back, confused. He'd only come for a haircut. That's all
he'd ever gotten at a stylist's. "What else is there?"

"Oh, I don't know. Lipstick? Nail polish? Something for those lovely
eyes?" She hoped the flattery wouldn't be too obvious, but he looked
nervous. "It'd really help, you know. Make you very pretty."

"Pretty?" A little shiver ran along Jim's body as he said the word.
"All right," he said, barely above a whisper.

It took a while for Sara to teach him how to use the makeup properly.
Jim kept getting reluctant, looking at the exit. Then another little
shiver would come and he'd go at the powders with a will. Then he'd
slowly get reluctant again, and then another shiver...

In the end, though, Jim walked out of the shop, a bag of cosmetics in
one hand and thoughts of how to use them running through his head. He
did look very pretty, now.

A beautician doesn't really have all that many fun anecdotes to tell
about the workplace. She made sure to remember this one in its
entirety. It was something to tell her sister when she got home. She'd
love to hear this one.


Jim gulped. This was the day he'd been dreading.

Swim class.

Everyone had to take a few weeks of swim class. He couldn't skip out,
not without a doctor's note, and he didn't have that. And he couldn't
wear his bathing suit; it only covered the bottom.

But when he pulled open his locker, he found his swim trunks he'd put in
there that morning had been replaced by a sleek white one-piece that
would cover his entire torso! Nobody would notice anything wrong if he
was in that! The pink flower blossoms over his swelled chest and
nipples was a nice touch. Very pretty.

He put it on happily, but then paused. Part of this class was speed
swimming. He looked down at his body. His breasts were smoothed out a
bit by the suit, and the rest of his body was smooth enough, like it
should be. But his legs... not smooth at all. It didn't seem very
hydrodynamic to him. Besides... it suddenly occurred to him that hairy
legs weren't attractive. Not on him. Dan's hairy legs were, but not
Jim's. No ma'am.

Jim found a razor in his locker, a small pink thing. There was some gel
in there too. Shaving his legs felt like a relief. On impulse, he did
his arms and pits as well. A boy can't be too smooth in the water!

When he arrived at the pool Dan slid over to her. (Her? Jim blinked.
That wasn't right, was it?) "You certainly look nice in that," the boy

Jim smiled, inhaling deeply. Dan even smelled nice. She hoped -- that
is, he hoped -- the smell wouldn't wash away in the pool. She -- he! --
liked just to be near him. Jim blushed in response to his statement.
"Thanks. It's just a little something I found."

Dan smiled and put an arm around his waist. (Her waist! Damn it, why
did her thoughts keep going opposite like that?) Jim squealed when Dan
pinched her, right on the bottom edge of the suit. It hadn't hurt, just
surprised her. Kind of fun, actually.

"All right, break it up, you two," Mr. Frant, the gym teacher, said.
Dan -- reluctantly, it seemed -- took his hand away. "I need a baseline
speed so I can judge improvement later. You can all swim, right?
Good. Boys over in those two lanes on the right, then. Girls in the
other two. Miss Gucci and I will time you."

Jim headed towards the left lanes. Nobody stopped her.


"Oh, damn it!"

Liz Baker looked around guiltily. You shouldn't curse in a school,
makes for problems later. Luckily there was nobody else in the main
office to chastise her. Or fire her, heavens forbid.

She looked at the filing cabinet with an expression of distaste. What
had possessed her, that she put her coffee cup *there*? Precariously
balanced on other files, it had been a disaster waiting to happen. And
it happened. Liz shook her head ruefully. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Drops of coffee were everywhere, and a few of the records were liberally
splashed. She took out a handful of the worst and returned to her
desk. (Without coffee!) She got out the appropriate forms and began to
fill them out. Best to repair the damage and rewrite them now, rather
than be yelled at for attempting to ignore an obvious and fixable
problem that she herself had caused.

Liz worked diligently for over an hour making up new entries for the
stained ones. Luckily, school policy dictated that everyone use
waterproof pens. It was more to protect paperwork from rain than from
stupid office workers, but it worked equally well in such cases anyway.
She could read almost everything without too much trouble.

But almost is almost. Liz suppressed a growl when she found one record
was badly smudged. She *hated* non-regulation pens. Actually, this one
wasn't as... coffee'd as some others, but what had been hit was
absolutely illegible. "J-- Woodruff." Who was *that*? Nothing else on
the page gave any hints.

Liz looked across the room. By now the other secretary had returned
from wherever she'd been. "Hey, Betty. Do you know of any students
named Woodruff?"

The other secretary looked up, her face thoughtful. "No... I don't
think so. What's the first name?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out," Liz confessed. "I just have a
first initial, a J."

"Ah! Wait, I know. Jessica. She came to me yesterday, all upset.
She'd just had her first period, can you believe it? She's a junior,
you know! I had to coach her all through it."

Liz tsked. "That's the mother's job!"

Betty nodded. "I know. Shameful, just leaving them to fend for
themselves like that. There is such a thing as too much independence!"
Now it was Liz's turn to nod agreeably. Betty continued with barely a
pause: "You want to know what else about her mother? She named Jessica
for Amelia Airheart. But she can't spell for beans! She spelled it
Imelia! With an I! An I!"

The pair had a good laugh over that. Liz was still chuckling when she
got back to filling in the paperwork, making unclear areas legible

Name: Jessica Imelia Woodruff.
Gender: Female


A good feeling permeated the building. People felt pleased for no
reason they could discern, though a few people attributed it to the
formal dance coming up at the end of the week, or the long weekend that
would follow it. Few thought the school itself, the very building, was
happy, and those few kept such ideas to themselves lest they be called
insane. (One boy *didn't* keep it to himself, but he genuinely was
insane and nobody listened.)

But it was, indeed, because the school itself was pleased. And why
not? Order had been restored, even if it had taken a while. Boys in
the boys' room. Girls in the girls' room. Everything where it should
be. The school had even managed the feat of taming Dan the Hand,
keeping him to a single girlfriend. They were quite the couple, now.
He was going to bring Jessica to the dance with him, she in a beautiful
gown she'd picked herself, with no help from the school. She kept it in
her locker, but the school hadn't done anything to it. It was perfect
as it was.

Yes, everything was perfect. Dan was happy. Jessica was happy, if a
little confused every now and then. The students and teachers were as
happy as students and teachers get while inside a school. And, of
course, the school itself was happy.



That girls' secondary changing room is awfully empty, isn't it? The
student body would do better with a more even balance of girls and
boys. Right? Maybe the school should do something about that.


Something to ponder.

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