KISS and Make Up

By Grosporina

    It was one of those "after work" moments, with a couple of people sitting in a glass and chrome lounge on the ground floor of a un-ascetically pleasing office building. Ken Parsons had been feeling a little down in the dumps lately due to his "less than challenging" situation in his firm’s IMS department. When he’d discovered that Wendy Kurstin—the woman in charge of the network—was in pretty much the same sort of mood, Ken suggested they stop for a little "unwinding."
    Several drinks later, they were well beyond unwound . . . and getting dangerously tighter.
    After one white wine Wendy started hitting the Long Island Ice Teas pretty hard, and was seriously smashed after three. Ken liked Wendy. She was young—like him and most everyone else in the telecommunications/web biz—and relatively attractive. She tried to look "serious" when at work: their company was one that required suits and ties, and Wendy was always in a nice dress or pants suit. But Ken knew the 25 year old Wendy had a bit of a wild streak in her. There were six rings in each ear; she once showed him the stud in her tongue; and she once wore pink highlights in her blond hair, which resulted in a visit to their manager and a dressing down for "inappropriate" business attire.
    "Fuck him," she mumbled around her glass. "He wants to see inappropriate, I could show him a few things."
    "Like what?" Ken asked. His drink of choice were Bloody Marys made with Absolute. He’d been working his fifth for the last fifteen minutes, and was contemplating a sixth.
    Wendy paused as if wondering whether or not she should go on. She liked Ken. Of all the horny IS guys she worked with, he was the only one who didn’t act as if girls were suppose to be in Data Process so the alpha geeks would have someone they could turn to when they wanted to get laid. He treated her like a person, not a sex toy with brains. She knew Ken was a little lonely as well: in the two years they’d worked together she’d never known him to talk about anyone he was seeing, or dating, or even fucking. She didn’t think he was gay, just—lonely. And she didn’t see any harm in talking frankly with him. She knew he wouldn’t be over spilling the intimate details of their discussion to the other guys . . . .
    "I had my clit pierced six months ago," she blurted out.
    "No shit?" Ken was impressed. He’d never known a girl who’d done that to her private parts.
    Wendy nodded. "Yeah. I also have rings in my labia with gold chains that run to a ring in my belly button. And I had my nipples posted when I had my clit done."
    "Posted?"
    Wendy was getting wound up. It wasn’t like she could talk about her piercing. She knew most people who you’d talk to about this would think she was some crazy bitch into S&M or something. They didn’t understand what it was all about . . . But Ken: he seemed to think it was—maybe cool? ‘Course he’s a little drunk, she thought, but so am I. "You have this post put through your nipples which are attached to this brass mount—it pulls your nipples up, making them erect all the time. It’s pretty—"
    "I wish I’d been born a girl."
    Wendy didn’t say anything. She could see that Ken was serious; he had that look on his face, the one where you seem as if you were remembering something unpleasant, something that you wish had happened, but didn’t. Wendy just held her tongue, knowing that Ken—if he wanted to—would continue in his own sweet time.
    Since it seemed sure that Wendy wasn’t going to laugh in his face, or get up and storm off, he told her, "I’ve always hated being a guy. It’s always seemed to me that I should have been a girl."
    "How long you felt this way?" Wendy asked quietly.
    Ken shrugged. "Since I was about—I don’t know. Nine? Ten? Somewhere about then." He sucked up the last of his drink and put the glass down. Without looking up, he asked, "Pretty fuckin’ strange, right?"
    The silence in their booth made Ken think for a moment that Wendy wasn’t going to continue this line of conversation. He was wrong. "I’m going to tell you something I’ve never told anyone," she whispered. "Not even my folks."
    When he didn’t ask what it is, she continued. "Once when I was thirteen my brother Roger stayed home from school because he wasn’t feeling well. Both my parents worked, so when I got home—usually a half hour after him—there would be a couple of hours where we both had the house to ourselves.
    "When I came home that day I didn’t make a lot of noise coming into the house. I went into my room—and Roger was there wearing my clothes. He wasn’t very big—really about my size even though he was two years older—so my stuff seem to fit him okay. He had on this mini dress I liked a lot, and a pair of Mary Janes and knee socks I’d wear with it. He actually—looked kind of cute in it.
    "He was pretty scared at first, thinking I would freak or something. I asked him if he’d been wearing my stuff all day, and he said yeah. I remember asking, ‘Why do you do this?’ and he told me, ‘I’ve always wanted to be your sister, Wendy. I’ve never liked being a boy.’ And he started to cry.
    "It was a little strange, but I didn’t get mad. I told him, ‘That’s cool. I’ve always wanted a sister,’ and I asked him if he’d put on some of my things so I could see what he looked like. We spent the next hour dressing him up. He really liked it."
    "What happened after that?"
    Wendy thought for a moment. "Whenever we were alone I’d let him wear my stuff and he be ‘Renée,’ my sister. And he was! It was like he was two different people. When he was a girl he really acted like a girl. He was nothing like my brother was. It was nice having a sister around that I could talk to, talk girl things."
    "But he wasn’t really a girl," Ken countered.
    "It’s all up here," Wendy said, tapping her forehead. "He knew what he wanted, and that’s what he’d become. After I helped him a little."
    "Do what?"
    "I taught him makeup and dressing—you know, mixing and matching—and things like that. How to look cute—or sexy, depending on your mood. When he got older I’d even go out with him—"
    "You mean he went out dressed up?"
    "Only after he got out of college and had a place of his own. And only for a couple of years." She looked a little sad at this point. "Roger wanted to be a girl so badly he was going to have his sex changed. He even check with a few hospitals that do the procedure to see if he could get in."
    After a long pause Ken asked, "Did he get—changed?"
    Wendy shook her head. "No. A couple of years ago he headed up to Minnesota to see if he could get into their program. The cab he was in got broadsided by a semi a couple of miles from the airport. He and the cabby got killed." With that she finished her drink and started looking for the waitress. "So you wanting to be a girl—not a big shock here. From what I understand a lot of guys are like that, just as there are a lot of girls who would like to be guys."
    "And you?" Ken was relieved—and surprised—by Wendy’s reaction. He felt (if he could remember in the morning) that he could now speak frankly with Wendy about anything, since he’d shared his deepest secret with her and didn’t have her laughing in his face. "What did you want to be?"
    "Oh, I love being a girl," she said, smiling. "I always felt sorry for my brother that he never got to experience first hand the pleasures of being a women. Even if he wouldn’t have been able to relish them all—"
    "I know." Wendy’s drink came, and Ken waited for the waitress to leave. "Even if you got surgery, you’d never be able to actually orgasm. Or have a baby—"
    "Or retain water because of your period," Wendy shot back. "Keep in mind that comes with the territory."
    Ken nodded. That’s the one thing most people forget, he thought. But he knew he wouldn’t give a shit if it were possible for him to change his sex. He had decided long ago that if he were to wake up some day wearing a woman’s body he’d gladly take all the problems that came with it.
    Wendy put the cap on their conversation without even being prodded. "You can never tell, Ken. Maybe one day they’ll fix they way they do things, and you’ll have genetic surgery. Or you’ll be cloned. Or maybe . . . something magical will happen."
    "And wouldn’t that be nice?" he said.
    Wendy nodded. "Beats having to work for a living."
 

    It was a couple of weeks after their get together that Ken found the program on his computer.
    In the aftermath of his conversation with Wendy he realized just how depressed he actually was. His "gender confusion" was greater than he’d realized, and now, in just his 26^th year, it was starting to wear on him.
    Ken knew his confusion had stared when he was young—probably not more than nine or ten when he realized he should have been a girl. These feelings kept at him throughout his teenage years, although there was no way for him to do anything about it. Unlike Wendy’s brother, Ken never had a sister who’s clothes he could steal. Even after he struck out on his own he was very uncomfortable with trying to get his hands on women’s clothing, even at those shops he’d discovered that catered to cross-dressers.
    Ken’s biggest problem was this: he didn’t want to be a guy in a dress pretending he was a woman. He wanted to be a woman. He wanted breasts which felt real, nipples which were sensitive. He wanted long, thin fingers and toes, not his current hands and feet which he knew could not be changed. He wanted a vagina that worked. He wanted a clitoris that would throb when he didn’t get enough sex. He wanted to orgasm. He wanted to conceive.
    He wanted the whole package. As far as he was concerned that was that. Anything less was unsatisfactory.
    So to say when he woke up that Saturday two weeks after he spilled it all to Wendy, he was not paying much attention to his computer booting up. Not until he got the interrupt—
    "What the fuck is this?" At first Ken thought Winblows 98 was having another of its well known boot up problems, but this was something else. He was getting an install message, just like he’d seen at work when some software was getting pushed out through the network onto everyone’s computers. He considered snapping of the system, thinking he might have a virus, but realized this couldn’t be true. The scanner kicked up first and did it’s thing, and the firewall software never indicated an intrusion coming through the DSL. So he didn’t believe it was a virus, and the possibility of some hacker just sitting out there waiting for him to power up was pretty ludicrous as well.
    As it was the install was almost over before he had time to wonder what it was.
    "Personal Manipulator MegaKISS Now Installed," the pop up window told him. "Would you like a shortcut applied to your desktop?"
    Now this is some bullshit, Ken thought. MegaKISS? Part of him wanted to click "Cancel," but there was part—he didn’t know why, but it was urging him to click the "Okay" and see what happened. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t recover should his system crash.
    On top of which—where did this program come from?
    Ken clicked "Okay".
    The computer proceeded through the rest of the start up without incident. When Ken was able to take a good look at the desktop, he could see the icon that had been added. It was a small box with what looked like a face inside, with the title, "MegaKISS" below it. "What the hell?" Ken mumbled. It wasn’t every day you find your computer installing a program that you know nothing about. Thinking he could very well blow his system to hell and gone—but convinced otherwise that wouldn’t happen—Ken clicked the icon.
    If not for the characters which looked like Japanese across the top bar, Ken would have sworn he’d kicked off a standard paint shop program. That’s what it looked like at first glance. Then the animated girl popped up and ruined that illusion.
    "Ohayo gozaimasu!" the girl’s voice—sounding very sexy even if it was coming through the speakers—almost screamed out. She was one of those anime babes Ken had seen in print and on the Internet: long legs, thin body, big boobs and eyes. And don’t forget the hair, which was sort of an violet. "Watashi no Akimi. I am virtual guide through Personal Manipulator MegaKISS 1.0 Beta. Enter name so I know who I speak, dozo."
    A dialog box appeared, asking for his full name. Ken obediently did as asked and pressed enter.
    "Arigato gozaimasu." Akimi bowed. Only know was Ken noticing her outfit considered of one of those school girl outfits which clung to her like a second skin and made her look even cuter than humanly possible. She was also wearing a pair of knee socks, and some platform shoes which would have given a normal person a nose bleed. "By clicking ‘Help’ I will activate and assist with PM UltraKISS. I hope you like very much, Ken-san. MegaKISS is very powerful program once you learn all tricks." Akimi seemed to be looking around for something. "I detect digital camera drivers." Another dialog box popped up. "Click ‘Yes’ if true, dozo."
    After clicking Akimi told him, "PM MegaKISS require source image of you. This ensures best processing results—"
    "Why the fuck does this need a photo of me?" he said to no one in particular.
    It was almost as if Akimi could hear him. She reacted to his inquiry by giving him a long, soft, almost seductive look, then said, "Ken-san, if you ever wish nureta asoko, you must do as I say. Or—" Suddenly her costume changed into something out of a leather fetish dream, with Akimi in a tight—and overflowing—corset, gloves, nylons, and extremely high heels. Her hair was pulled back in a severe ponytail, and she was holding a whip in her hands. "Akimi-chan show you dominant side, neh?"
    Ken smiled despite himself. To be threatened by an computer-animated girl is one thing, but to have her dress for the occasion . . . he only wished he knew what the hell this Japanese she was spouting was, but figured it couldn't be too bad. I mean, it's not like the program is going to kill me--
    Ken shrugged and gathered up his camera. As he prepared the photo he thought about how Akimi had reacted to his comment. He wasn’t surprised that the software had picked up his voice; he had net phone software, so there was a microphone attached to his system. Perhaps this "KISS" program had some kind of voice recognition system inserted . . . anyway, it was just another thing he didn’t understand—but caught up in the flow of what was happening, he figured he’d explore this problem later. Probably after he shitcanned this program . . . .
    He assumed there would be some sort of digital photo capture system in the program, and he wasn’t wrong. He was surprised at the speed which the picture was downloaded; normally it took his other programs a minute or more to transfer a picture from the camera to the computer. This time he’d no sooner activated the function than his smiling face was looking back at him.
    "Oh, kawaii!" Akimi was back in her school outfit. Little hearts were flowing away from her as she glanced over Ken’s digital image. "I save original—" She waved her hand, and Ken saw the Save box come up, with "Ken-san First" in the title box. It was saved in a directory called "Original," which Ken thought was a pretty strange thing for a directory to be called—but what did he know? He was dealing with something that shouldn’t have even been on his system.
    "Now, time for a little manipulation—" Akimi waved her hand again, and a Browse window opened. To Ken’s amazement, this program had scanned into his "Picture" directory—the place where he kept all his downloaded images of—well, hot babes, what else? Not only good looking women, but just about any other kind of photomanipulation one might imagine: shrunken women, giantesses, centaurs, mermaids, girls with multiple breasts and limbs, conjoined females, chicks with dicks . . . you name it, Ken had downloaded it over the last few years.
    Smart program . . . even knows where the porn is kept. Ken was starting to think--no, believe that he was dealing with something a little more advanced than some Adobe package. Against his better judgment he realized he should be doing something more than watching this animated poon pull up his stash of images . . . Ken knew he should have just reached over and snapped the system off, should have booted up in safe mode and eradicated the program--or maybe just Fdisked the whole goddamn system and started from scratch--but he didn't do anything to stop what was happening. He couldn't explain, but Ken knew nothing bad was happening, that nothing bad would come from that--and that something good would likely arise that might just change his life.
    In what way? That one he was still trying to figure out.
    Akimi seemed to be searching for something, and after fifteen seconds she found it. One of the images came to the foreground. It was one that Ken recognized immediately: a simple cheesecake shot he'd gotten off the Internet of tennis goddess Anna Kournikova, one of those women who Ken fantasized about--not about doing, but being. The hot little Lollita was decked out in this red number that considered of a soft, red beret, an off-the-shoulder belly top, a short pleated red skirt, and red high heels with short leg warmers. She was holding a tennis racket, strumming it like she would a guitar, standing with her firm, muscular thighs just far enough apart to give the viewer a nice, white-panty crotch shot.
    "Oi! Miro yo ano onna!" Akimi gave Ken a sideways-glance wink and acted like she elbowing him in the side. "Chichi kurushii, neh?" She turned to face him, her back straight and her hands behind her. "She's very sexy; maybe we test with her?"
    Ken shrugged. "Sure, why not?" He didn't know if the program would react or not, but the vibe was already out of site, and he figured he'd go with the feeling there was some sort of voice recognition happening here.
    "O-kay. We go with the simple thing first." Akimi started giving instructions concerning "overlaying" one picture with another. "You can take properties from one image and put into another," she said, the drop down menu options showing themselves so Ken could see what steps were needed. "Keep in mind that you don't want to do image in Original directory--" She brought up the image of himself, and copied it to another directory called "Current". "Apply properties to Current, neh? Remember that, or problems maybe!"
    Ken followed all the steps that Akimi showed him--or reminded him of, as she stayed in a corner of the screen since Ken didn't close her out. Ken didn't know what he was doing, but from what he could figure out, he was going to take the image of Anna and import it into the copy of his picture which resided in the Current directory. He didn't know what they would do, but he figured he'd find out soon enough--
    After thirty seconds or so--this was a pretty easy program to use, Ken found--he had "overlay" the image of himself with the image of Anna. "Okay, now what?"
    "If you want to save background image for change," Akimi prodded him, "then click File, Save Background. Baka-- If you want to do full change, click Save button."
    "Any difference I should know about?"
    "Hai. Background save just do primary image--" Whatever that is, Ken thought. "Regular Save take everything. Then there Save Foreground--"
    Ken didn't care about that--he could check the Help text later. He moved the cursor up and clicked the Save button.
    For a moment--a very short moment--his head spun slightly and it seemed as if his sight had departed him; he thought he might have blacked out. Then things were back to normal as if nothing had happened. He saw his computer: nothing wrong there. The program was still up, Akimi was in the corner smiling at him, and the image "Ken2Anna.jpg" was next to her. Just like he remembered.
    Ken reached for the mouse, but there was something--wrong. His hand felt strange.
    He looked down--noticing the long, red fingernails right away.
    Ken took a deep breath and looked downward, slowly.
    He saw a soft red off-the-shoulder top. Blond braided hair. Breasts. Very nice breasts.
    He pushed his chair away from the desk. He wore a pleated red skirt. Short. He could just make out the flatness of his midriff. His legs were bare except for the red leg warmers covering his calves and the tops of his feet. He wiggled his toes, feeling the tightness of the pointy red heels he now wore.

Illustration by Ariel

    Wendy was unsure why she was here. The call she’d received from Ken—which was very much a surprise—led her to believe something was wrong. Although they’d been very cordial since their get together a couple of weeks ago, Wendy felt Ken was doing one of those "unconscious avoidance" things since telling her about his gender confusion problems. Of course he’d been drunk when he told her, but apparently not drunk enough not to remember their discussion the next day.
    Wendy remembered Roger having a period of adjustment where he had to get used to his sister being privy to his biggest secret. Even after she dressed him up a couple of times and taught him to use makeup—and even helped him get a wig when he was fifteen—he’d ask, "You’re not going to use this against me some day, are you?" Wendy’s biggest, darkest secret was the way she solved this problem: one day "Renée" and she had "trans-lesbo incest." Telling her "sister," "You’re just a girl with a dick," she sucked off Richard while she let him lick her pussy. As she told him when it was over, "I swallowed your cum, and my pussy was all over your face. Like I’m going to say something to Mom and Dad about you dressing up now?"
    While knowing what she did was about as wrong as one could get, Wendy knew that was the point where there was nothing out of the question for her sexually. While she never fooled around with Richard again, that didn’t mean she wasn’t active with anyone else. She lost her virginity three months after her "one nighter" with her brother, and had sex with her boyfriend’s sister a few months after that. Her first piercing came when she was seventeen, when she let a girl she knew ice her nipples down and run a needle through them, giving her "friendship rings" for both breasts. While in college she had a part time job in an B&D club, where she spent most of the evening walking around with clothespins on her nipples and a vibrator sticking out of her ass—a vibrator which anyone could push deeper into her by simply making a request.
    Although she had no tattoos—she found them tacky—she was considering having her body branded, knowing that once it was in place it would be impossible to remove. And that summed up Wendy quite nicely: she only wanted things that would stay with her. Like incest with her brother. Like having had so much anal sex that she could now hide her car in her ass. Like being chained to another woman for a weekend . . . .
    Just normal things—for her.
    As she started to knock on the door to Ken’s apartment, she figured he was either (a) going to be dressed in women’s clothing, or (b) naked and holding a gun to his head. Either way she knew she could deal with whatever he threw at her.
    But she didn’t expect him to open the door, greet her with a big "Hi, Wendy!" and show her in.
    Now her mind was going in several different directions. On the phone he said he’d wanted to "show her something," but as she looked around she didn’t notice anything which could be construed as interesting. Now she was adding a few other items to her list. While (a) still stood, and (b) was probably out of the question, she figured there might be (c) he had a girl in his bedroom, and was going to ask Wendy if she wanted to do a three-some, or (d) they were going to do some good drugs, followed by Ken bending her over the dinning room table, breaking her open like a shotgun, and raping the shit out of her.
    Of course in the back of his mind there was (e) Ken ties her to his bed and nibbles on her piercings—but that was only because she was interested in that, and she would probably have to make some very broad hints to Ken before it would happen.
    "So there was something you wanted to show me?" Wendy asked, taking up position on Ken’s sofa.
    "Oh, yeah. There’s something . . . interesting." Ken didn’t look like he was beating around the bush, Wendy thought. At work the last week or so he seemed a little self-conscious of himself—or more likely self-conscious of what he’d revealed. Now . . . Wendy had seen that look before in others. Whatever he was going to show, he figured it was going to be something of a shocker.
    It’s something to do with sex, she thought. I just know it. "So . . . you want to show me?"
    Ken nodded. "No problem." He got up and started to head down the hallway. "Be right back . . ." With that he was gone.
    Now Wendy knew it was something to do with sex. He’s got something kinky in the bedroom—she assumed that’s what was at the end of the hall—and he’s gonna bring it out and try to convince me the orgy should start . . . To be honest Wendy wouldn’t need too much prodding for sex. She liked Ken, and though he’d never come on to her, he admitted he would like to be a woman—in her book he was just strange enough for her to offer him a trip to the Love Canal. And since it’d been at least a month since she’d had a really good fucking . . . .
    Only a few moments had passed since Ken left the room—and now Wendy noticed this little red head leaning against the wall, just past the hallway. Oh, so it is a three-some . . . Wendy could see she was a real hottie. Her face looked familiar, but it was her body that drew Wendy’s attention—young, sweet, and tight. The girl was wearing this corset and stockings set with no panties, giving Wendy an unobstructed view of her red pubic hair trimmed into a heart shape.
    "And who are you?" Wendy asked.
    The girl smiled and started moving towards Wendy. Her legs were firm and athletic—the way Wendy wished hers were. She sat next to Wendy and leaned into her ear. "I don’t know," she whispered. Her voice was soft and very coy.
    "You don’t know your name?"
    "Well . . ." The girl pulled back, her face beaming. "You gave your brother Roger his ‘girl’ name—maybe you can do the same for me." She put her fore finger on her chin and smiled. "I got my wish, Wendy. Isn't it great? Wendy? Wendy . . . ?"
 

    Nearly an hour passed before Wendy had recovered from fainting and taken in all that Ken was telling her about his "change." After waking up Wendy questioned the girl about work, and what she knew about Ken and herself—and finally had to come to the conclusion that this girl really was Ken.
    He had tried to explain everything that had happened this morning: the program; the conversion into this Anna clone; figuring out how to change back; discovering how to use the Save Foreground to change clothes; how to use some of the "paint" features to change hair color and to crop his pubic area—
    "But what is this program?" Wendy asked.
    Ken—neither had come up with a new name for "her"—explained. "I think it’s something called a KISS; that’s actually part of the program name, MegaKISS. KISS stands for Kisekae Set system—"
    "A what?"
    "It’s a Japanese program. Comes from the term kisekae ningyou, which means "playing dress-up with dolls" more or less. You know those paper books you can get with cutouts of Barbie, and you can put clothes on her?"
    "Vaguely." Wendy wasn’t about to admit she’d played with those when she was a kid.
    "It’s the same thing, only done on the computer."
    "But in this case—"
    "I’m the doll." She shrugged. "Or I suppose anyone who put their picture in the system could be the doll. That’s what the help program pretty much says."
    Wendy was having problems believing this, but she realized that Ken was not the sort of person who’d fuck around with a hoax like this—nor would he likely pull some shit like this on Wendy. So she had to go with what she was being told. "So you change into this Anna Kournikova look alike—"
    "Then I used one of the functions to recolor the hair—I’d like to go out without too many people thinking I’m really her—"
    "Then you cropped and shaped the pubic hair—"
    "And got the clothes from another image and pasted them onto my conversion template—"
    "And that’s how you’re dressed the way you are now."
    Ken nodded. "Uh, huh."
    Wendy nodded in the direction of the computer. "Can you show me?"
    Ken wheeled around on the chair and loaded the program. Instantly Akimi appeared. "Konnichiwa!" she said, nearly screeching out the word as she bowed. "You ready for more, Ken-san?"
    "Sure thing! Can we—"
    "Anata no koibito dare?" Akimi was pointing at Wendy, who was looking over Ken’s shoulder.
    "She can see me?" Wendy asked.
    "I don’t know why not," Ken told her. "This isn’t some cheep-ass NT system we're dealing with here."
    Akimi asked, "She try program, too?"
    "I don’t know—" Ken started to say, but Wendy interrupted. "Yeah, I’d like to try the program."
    "You sure?" Ken asked.
    Her mouth dry, Wendy nodded. "Yeah. But I want to see you do something first."
    Ken pulled up an image; the one of "his" body wearing the corset and stockings. Another image came up; this was one of a young girl wearing what looked like a school uniform with knee socks and Mary Janes. Clicking a few buttons the clothing on the one image was outlined. Wendy heard Akimi ask, "You save foreground to new and merge?" and Ken clicked the Okay. Then Save was pressed—
    The change was instantaneous. One moment Anna (Wendy could no longer thinking of this beautiful girl as Ken, just as she could never think of her brother as anyone other than Renée) was sitting around in her underwear—and suddenly she was dressed in the outfit the girl in the other picture had on. If Wendy had blinked she’d have missed it, the change was that swift.
    "See?" Ken said, holding her arms out. "Look pretty nice now, huh?"
    "Nice. You look . . ." The outfit was a dark, but light-weight wool, a skirt and top combo. The socks were also black--probably something synthetic--and the shoes were like Mary Janes with a high, stacked heel. Wendy didn’t know if she should say anything, but figured it wouldn’t hurt--and this girl was starting to draw something out in her . . . . "You're beautiful. Anna."
    "Thanks. So that’s what you’re gonna call me? Anna?"
    "Don’t you think it’s appropriate?"
    She thought for a moment. "Yeah! I guess it could be worst." She retrieved her digital camera from the closet and snapped a quick photo of Wendy. "Now, what is it you want done?"
    Wendy had to think hard about this one. When Ken/Anna had asked her a couple of weeks back if there were anything she wanted to be . . . well, she hadn’t been totally honest at the time. Yes, she was happy being a woman. It’s that—there’d always been a few thing she’d wanted to change . . . .
    "You sure you’re not going to like laugh or anything?" she asked.
    Anna did laugh, but not in a bad way. It was liked they’d just shared a joke. "I’m showing you my magic program that changed me into this sexy girl—and you think I’m going to laugh at what you want? Come on—" Wendy’s picture was now on the screen. "Go wild, baby."
    Swallowing hard, Wendy mumbled, "I want huge breasts."
    "You mean big?"
    Wendy shook her head. "No, I mean huge. Like tits like watermelons huge. Beach balls hangin’ off my chest huge, that’s what I mean." She sighed. "That’s one of the things I’ve always wanted different about myself."
    Wendy wasn’t prepared for what happened next. Anna leaned over and place her hand on Wendy’s left thigh. She tightened her grip about the quivering leg. She leaned in and, in a soft, relaxing voice, said, "Hey, don’t worry. I’m not going to get weirded out by anything you tell me. Between us we can do what we want, okay? It's just us girls, right?" She leaned forward, bring her lips to within inches of Wendy’s ear. She could smell Anna’s sweat breath on her hair. "Sis," she whispered, "I need someone to help be me a woman. I’ll give you anything in return, no questions asked. Believe me . . . ."
    When Anna pulled back she saw Wendy had tears in her eyes. "Something the matter?" she asked, truly concerned.
    "You called me ‘Sis’," she said softly.
    "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—"
    "Do you really want to be my sister?"
    Anna knew she might be on touchy ground here. She’d remembered what Wendy had said about her brother, and thought that maybe . . . she could be someone to fill the space he vacated. "I’ll be your sister," she said. "Or your slave. Or . . . lover. Whatever you’d like, Wendy." She could feel tears starting to well up in her eyes now. "Just be my friend, is all I ask."
    When Wendy didn’t reply Anna figured she’d stepped over the line. Before she could apologize Wendy reached over and gave her a big kiss on the cheek. "Okay, sister—for now." she said, wiping the tears away. She sat down, sniffed, and looked ready to go. "Give me some big tits, Sis. And don’t spare the size."
    Nodding, Anna went to work. "Akimi—"
    "Hai."
    "Can you help me with a search?"
    The little help program held her hand about a foot from her virtual chest. He breasts expanded quickly to fill the space, almost oozing through her fingers once they’d finished growing. "Okii chichi, neh?"
    "If you mean ‘big breasts,’ yes."
    A few of selections appeared instantly. Anna dismissed a few right away: the girls didn’t so much have breasts as blimps attached to their chests, some so large as they sat their tits nearly touched the floor. There was another where the girl was trying to lie on her stomach, but her breasts were so large they bent her almost upright. Then there was—
    "There!" Anna almost jumped out of her chair when Wendy yelled. "I want that."
    When she saw the image, Anna almost shit. She didn’t remember where she’d gotten the photo, but it was also one of her favorites. Simply because it was so strange.
    It was a picture of Minka, the famous Asian adult "star" who’s image was all over the place on the Internet. To say she had big breasts was like saying the Titanic was a big ship: they were monsters that could almost qualify as small countries in their own right.
    But this wasn't any ordinary picture. The photo had been manipulated. While Minka pinched her nipples, another set of hands were rubbing another set of breasts set beneath her "normal" breasts--and another set of hands were squeezing a third set of breasts beneath those.
    It was one thing for a woman to have tits like Minka's. To have three sets of them--and the hands to fondle them all . . . Anna had to admit it was a little strange.
    But no stranger than what she'd done.
    Anna looked at Wendy. It was obvious the girl was excited. Her hands were hovering to her sides; it looked as if she was about to start playing with her breasts. She was squirming on the edge of the bed, like there was something in her pants that was bothering her. Anna was wondering if it was the same thing she'd been feeling for the last thirty minutes or so . . . .
    Wendy just started speaking. "I've always wanted to have something like that. I had a dream once that I grew another set of breasts, an I was out walking around, outside, at the mall and shit, and people were looking at me. They loved the way I looked, and I loved the way they felt, and I wanted to feel them and touch them, but I wanted more hands to be able to do it and I just played with myself every time I thought about having large breasts and more of them and I wanted them . . . PLEASE, just do it, ANNA, PLEASE!"
    Using the magic wand Anna did an outline on the breasts and arms, then cut them out and pasted them onto the copy of Wendy's picture. Using the Merge function Anna saw the cutout blend onto the image, the new layer actually sinking into the background and becoming part of the original; even the clothes reformed around the breasts and arms as if these add-ons had always been there.
    Anna clicked the Save—
    Having never seen the process in person, Anna was just as startled by the change to Wendy as the later had been to her clothing change. But this wasn’t simply a case of exchanging one garment for another . . . .
    For a second Wendy was just an ordinary girl; her black hair shoulder length, her eyes bright and nostrils flared with excitement and anticipation, her blue tee shirt and black jeans clinging tightly to her body . . . and just like that Wendy’s tee shirt changed, expanded, transformed to facilitate the six gigantic breasts which suddenly appeared on her torso, as well as the four new arms that were also a part of her body.
    Wendy looked amazed as the understanding of what had happened took root. Her lower set of arms instinctively spread outward to brace her body, as did the second set, due to her torso being forced backward by her lower-most set of breasts pushing against both her thighs and her middle set of breasts. Now stabilized, Wendy used her original set of hands to lightly touch the contours of her expanded mammaries, gently feeling them straining against the material of this now tent-like covering once known as a shirt. Her middle right hand came up to touch her middle breasts, feeling the space between the middle and lower right breasts while her upper hands began to feel for the nipples of her upper set.
    With a grunt Wendy sat up, but it was a slow process. Having one set of breasts where each was nearly a foot across was one thing; having three sets that covered the entire front of her torso—and more—was something that made sitting up a chore. Wendy figured out that if she slid to the edge of the bed and moved her legs such . . . Anna was surprised to see all three sets of breasts snap upward, firm and round. It didn’t take a lot of imagination to realize that Wendy’s new look would consist of tits from her shoulders to her quads—not to mention the six-pack of arms she now possessed! Going out in public was completely out of the question . . . but Anna didn’t think that was something concerning Wendy at the moment.
    While still touching her upper breasts, four of Wendy’s hands grabbed her tee shirt and proceeded to slowly peal it from her body. Anna found it fascinating to watch as the bottom was pulled over her lower breasts (showing the black lacy bra which was partially responsible for holding those monsters in place), then her lower arms sliding out of the short sleeves as the middle arms pulled the shirt higher. As the middle arms began to pull out—the bra was there on the middle breasts as well; Anna assumed the program morphed whatever Wendy was wearing at the time of the transformation—the upper arms now grabbed the shirt, and with a final movement whipped the shirt over her head and flung it to the ground.
    Wendy stood slowly, balancing herself gingerly as she sought her new center of gravity. Anna didn’t know how much those breasts weighed, but she figured the girl was carrying an extra thirty pounds at least. One false move and she’d pitch right over on her face if she wasn’t careful. And Wendy slowly turned Anna saw that her theory about the program morphing the bra was true: where as once she’d had one strap across the back, there were now three helping to hold her bosoms in place. All six arms tried to reach back and undo the straps, but Wendy was having a lot of difficulty trying to maintain her posture—and balance—and get her hands behind her at the same time.
    "Here, let me . . . ." Anna undid all three straps and stood back. The strange looking bra fell to the floor, and Wendy turned around to present herself . . . .
    Anna gasped—but not because she saw Wendy as having become something freakish. Yes, each of her breasts seemed the size of an over inflated basketball, the nipples each nearly the size of her thumb and held erect by the brass "posts" which capped each. And they did reach past her groin—the lowest set doing a fantastic job of hiding Wendy’s crotch between their cleavage—and would make walking difficult at best. And then there were the arms . . . the shoulders, grouped closely together, seemed to have the same range of movement as the arms with which she’d been born. There was nothing in the least unnatural about how they sat on Wendy’s body.
    But Anna didn’t see the girl as freakish. Wendy instead seemed normal. Very much so. And so . . . beautiful. This was the way Wendy was always meant to be, Anna thought. Just as I am the way I was meant to be . . . .
    Wendy must have seen something in Anna’s face. "What do you think?" she asked quietly, her hands coming up to touch her nude upper body, as if seeing that it did indeed exist.
    Anna stared hard, then said, "Can I be honest?"
    "Please."
    "You look so . . . fucking . . . hot! I mean—" Anna had to catch herself; her words were coming faster than she could speak them. "I had those pictures ‘cause I found them incredibly sexy . . . but to actually see someone like this in the flesh . . ."
    Wendy saw Anna shiver, and when she noticed the "new girl’s" hands move quickly towards her crotch, it was her turn to smile. "Are you sticky?" she asked.
    "HUM?" Anna seemed lost in thought.
    "Are your panties stuck to your crotch?"
    Anna looked startled. Then lifted her skirt and slid her hands inside her panties for a quick inspection. Wendy almost laughed when Anna’s eyes grew wide in surprise. "I’m wet," she choked out.
    "Congratulations!" Wendy patted her on the shoulder with two hands, something even she found a little surprising. "You’re lubricating. You’ve just had your first sexual turn-on as a member of the female gender."
    "Great!" Anna sniffed her fingers, relishing the sent. "It means I’m a normal girl."
    "Well . . ." Wendy considered not saying anything, then figured she had nothing to loose. "You got horny looking at me—Sis. That means you’re not what most people would call a normal girl, but more of a—lesbian. It’s only after you get some dick from a man that you could call yourself bisexual . . ." The look on Anna’s face was almost indescribable. "Then again, if you never have sex with a women, but choose to ride the baloney pony full-time, you’d be a card carrying heterosexual, but from my experience—"
    "Shit!" Anna fell back on the bed. She put her arms across her breasts and stared at the ceiling. "Christ! I never thought about that?"
    "About what?"
    "Having sex with . . . you know. A man."
    Now Wendy did laugh. Crawling onto the bed—something a little more difficult than before—she moved next to Anna, snuggling up to her. "You mean in all the times you thought about being a girl you never once thought about getting laid by a guy?"
    "Well . . . yeah," Anna replied in a tiny voice. "But I never thought it would happen. I mean, now that I have a . . . ."
    "It’s called a vagina."
    Anna smiled, feeling the tension depart. "A vagina, I guess having sex with a guy isn’t out of the question any more."
    Propping herself up as best she could—and discovering that having three arms on a side can, at times, be a little awkward—Wendy absentmindedly began touching Anna’s left breast with one finger, while another set of fingers was dancing lightly across her flat, taunt stomach. "Dear, when I’m through showing you how to be a real woman, you’ll have guys lining up around the block to fuck you—if that’s what you want." She tweaked Anna’s nipple; the girl’s eyes went to half-staff, and the resulting ever-so-slight drawing of breath indicated she was ready and likely willing—if not eager—to take that one giant leap for her new-found womankind . . . "But here’s a little something to chew on first: do you know what Woody Allen once said?"
    Without opening her eyes, Anna asked, "What’s that?"
    "Being bisexual means doubling your chances of getting a date for Saturday night."
    While her upper hand cupped the breast it had been playing with, and the middle rubbed Anna’s tummy, Wendy’s lower hand glided beneath the skirt and under the soft cotton panties which covered Anna’s mound. She picked up the moisture in the girl’s pubic hair long before reaching her labia: Christ, this girl is primed, Wendy thought as she slid her fore and middle fingers inside Anna’s tight, virginal pussy.
    Arching her back as if she’d been electrocuted, Anna screamed with joy. Prior to Wendy’s arrival she’d not played with herself after the first "change"—mostly because she didn’t want to. She had managed, however, to work herself into a subdued frenzy touching herself all over, and had half hoped that Wendy didn’t have any problems when it came to a little "girl on girl" action.
    Wendy was now fingering her like a pro: fingers moving in and out slowly, thumb caressing her throbbing clitoris. Anna pulled her skirt and panties off, spreading her legs for better access. She felt two hands moving under her top; one of Wendy’s hands was going for her right breast, and the one that had been playing with the left one was also under her shirt. With great urgency Anna quickly removed her top and discarded her bra so her amble firm breasts were unencumbered and free for fondling.
    As she felt something build inside her lower abdomen, she rolled over, placing her lips over Wendy’s upper left breast. She sucked hard as her tongue skittered over the nipple, tasting brass and flesh, and feeling Wendy pinch her nipples hard in response. Anna’s right hand found it’s way to the middle left breast. She played with the brass-rimmed nipple, then took the casing between thumb and forefinger and pulled it gently, stretching the nipple through it’s pierced tip.
    Now it was Wendy’s turn to arch and sigh, a long, "Fuuuuuuuck" hissing from her lips. She rammed her finger to the knuckle into Anna’s snatch and furiously rubbed the girl’s G-spot. Anna fell back, paralyzed with pleasure, as she erupted in her first—and second, and third—female orgasm.
    Wendy wanted more, and Anna was fairly panting as she looked forward to what else her "sister" would show her. Forcing herself to move, Anna began to remove Wendy’s jeans and sneakers.
    "Looking for something?" Wendy asked. She was now playing with Anna’s perfect asshole, debating if she should wet her finger and slip it in.
    "I want to see that stud in your clit," Anna said breathlessly.
    Two hands took hold of Anna’s arm. She stopped, wondering what Wendy wanted.
    The girl was on her back, four hand rubbing her breasts slowly. "You know what?"
    "What?"
    Wendy’s eyes met Anna’s—and Anna knew what she wanted. "You know," Wendy said, smiling, switching her gaze to the computer, "I think little sister doesn’t look nearly enough like her big sis . . . ."
 

    Wendy woke up. She crawled from bed, careful not to awaken the exhausted, but incredibly sensual Anna, from her slumber.
    It was dark. The clock on the nightstand set the time at 8:41. Damn, Wendy thought. Talk about sex in the afternoon . . . She made her way to the bathroom to piss. This was the first time since her transformation that she’d tried walking, and she found it difficult, but not impossible. She found it necessary to take small, dainty step to keep from slamming her legs into her lower set of breasts. Not only that, but her lower arms hung past her knees: it felt strange to feel them there. She figured she could probably scratch the back of her knees without contorting herself.
    Sitting on the toilet was uncomfortable; the lower breasts were pushed up by her legs. There wasn’t a lot of room to move, and bending over from a sitting position was impossible. She could wipe only after she stood. Her clitoris was swollen and sensitive. Wendy hadn’t bothered keeping track of orgasms, but knew when her clit hurt like this . . . It would probably be good for an entry in the World’s Records book—if they kept track of shit like this.
    It was all she could do to keep a couple of hands off her body. Six hands, no waiting . . . she loved the thing she’d become—although as Anna had whispered at one point, going out in public with multiple breasts and limbs would likely get them thrown in a lab.
    Wendy cracked open the walk in closet down and turn on the light; she wanted to see herself in the mirror. Her image captivated her: nothing but breasts, arms, and legs, with her head there almost as an afterthought. She felt her nipples, still sore from the afternoon and evening’s activity.
    Cupping her upper breasts Wendy knew she’d keep these. The lower ones—along with the arms—could go when she was in public, but she wanted these babies forever. Getting clothes might be a problem—maybe the program can help with that—and she hadn’t even tried working a computer . . . but what the fuck? Wendy would worry about that later.
    She opened the door a little wider, throwing a crack of light upon Anna. To say the girl was an explosive, passionate, aggressive lover was like saying the H-bomb was nothing more than a big firecracker. As Ken she’d likely stored about as much pent-up frustration as any person could—and Wendy had come along and poked a hole in the dike, so to speak. Anna poured out everything, and more. The girl was insatiable, most likely on her way to becoming a total nymphomaniac. Not that Wendy was complaining: Darling Anna had lapped up her juice with the fervor of a delirious man lost in the desert who’d just found water.
    And she’d demanded more.
    Wendy looked lovingly upon Anna’s sleeping, modified form. She’d been surprised when the girl had agreed to be "manipulated" according to Wendy’s wishes, but it wasn’t like she couldn’t be changed back. Besides, Wendy was bringing out a kinky side that Anna already had—
    "I have a thing for girls with big tits," and Anna surly "filled out" Wendy’s desires. Her breasts were enormous: one alone was as big as all six of Wendy’s together. And Wendy hadn’t been satisfied with just one set: two adorned the little redhead’s frame. She could barely move with these monstrosities; even standing the lower set, though firm, literally brushed the ground. Not to mention the weight she had to carry . . . .

Illustration by Ariel

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