Dennis realized that there was one part about the changes that he liked. He sat in bed in the morning and massaged his swollen nipples, and the sensation was totally unlike anything else that he'd ever experienced. Even better than jerking off.

The next few days Dennis developed strategies for hiding the changes in his body. He combed his hair straight back with gel and he wore sweaters and his largest jeans. He put two pairs of socks on so his daintier feet fit into his shoes and he stopped talking except for tightly controlled monosyllabic responses. He tried to keep his emotions in check but whenever he was alone he wept uncontrollably. At night he'd go into the bathroom and take off all his clothes, examining his body for any retreat of the symptoms. There were none. His deep red hair now fell just past his shoulders. Tying it back in a ponytail helped but it wasn't just longer, it was thicker. It didn't look like a boy's ponytail at all. His face was changing too. His beard stopped growing but now his features seemed to have grown softer. The jaw line seemed redrawn and his lips were fuller. Even his lashes seemed darker, longer. He noted each alteration with increasing fear.

His penis was the only part of his masculinity that wasn't in retreat. Instead it seemed to be a mocking holdout against the onslaught of feminine changes, competing with his breasts for rapid growth.

Every morning he prepared himself for school with an increasingly sophisticated set of rituals designed to hide his figure, his face but he knew his efforts were meeting with less and less success. One day a substitute teacher in his English class was going down the roster of names on a seating chart and matching them with the students. "Denise Johnson," he said looking at Dennis. No one even giggled and Dennis sat in silent mortification.

He had avoided Debbie for a few days now but on the way home she caught up to him. "Hi, Dennis."

"Hi," he said, his voice a breathy whisper.

"How've you been?"

"Okay, I guess." He was fighting back tears.

"I like your hair like that." He was silent. "Dennis?"

"Yeah?"

"Maybe it's time you told your parents."

"Tell them what?" he lashed out. "That I'm turning into a girl?"

"Yes!" she said, "Tell them what you did so they can help you."

"It's getting worse. I can't button my pants all the way. I cut my hair every night and in the morning it's longer and thicker than ever. This morning I had to tape my ... breasts so that they wouldn't show. I had to quit the swim team... " he broke off. Debbie reached out to hold him but he pulled away. He didn't want anybody touching him. He didn't want her to feel how soft he'd become.

IN THE OPEN

That night when his mother came in to his room that afternoon he looked up from his textbook, his eyes glistening. "Are you crying, Dennis? What's wrong, honey?"

"Mom, I'm ... uh. Mom?"

"What is it, baby?"

He broke down and blurted out the whole incredible story. She chastised him for being so reckless then asked him to take his shirt off. He did and a look of panic crossed her face. "Baby, oh, honey, everything's going to be all right. Your father will figure out a way to fix this. Okay?"

"Don't tell Dad."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. Just don't tell him yet. Okay?"

"I've got to tell your father."

"Why?"

"Because he developed the serum and maybe he has an antidote."

SCIENTIFIC MEASUREMENTS

When his father got home he could hear yelling. Harsh words of disbelief and then the pounding of feet coming up the stairs. "Dennis, I want to talk to you." Dennis took off his shirt and laid it on the bed. "Dennis, open the door please." He pulled his pants down past his thighs and stepped out of them. "Right now, Dennis." He took the rubber band off his hair and shook his head. Then he unlocked the door.

"My God!" Dennis' father gasped.

"Dad, what's happening to me?" Dennis cried. His mother appeared in the doorway behind his father. She ran to him.

"Oh, my poor baby," she said, cradling him in her arms.

Fifteen minutes later, after the tears had come and gone and come again his father said, "There's no way to change you back for at least 12 months, your body couldn't survive the strain. Now, since you've 'volunteered' to be a test subject in our serum study, I need to take some measurements to track the magnitude of the changes."

"Daaadddd," Dennis whined.

"Be quiet and stand up straight," Dennis' father demanded, "this won't take but a minute."

Dennis' father took a tape measure from his son's desk and had his wife help him take basic measurements. "You're only 5 feet 6 inches now, Dennis," his father stated, "how tall were you before?"

"5 feet 10 inches." "Waist is only 25 inches. What size pants did you wear before?"

"34."

"Hips 29 inches."

Dennis' father scratched his head, surveying Dennis's bare chest with a physician's eye. "I can't say I've imagined the serum having this result," he said, now studying Dennis's silky smooth hair over the top of his glasses. He picked up a long lock and let it fall. "When did you last get your hair cut?"

"Two days ago. I did it myself, with a pair of scissors."

"How much did you take off?" Dennis shrugged.

"A lot," he grabbed a strand of red hair and pointed at the middle. "About here." His father held up the lock of hair where she had pointed, let it fall in loose curls.

"Extraordinary. Altogether extraordinary!"

"And you say your breasts are still growing?"

Dennis arched his back a little, letting the melons on his chest jut out a little further. "Yes. They feel bigger every hour." The scientist was studying his son with a mixture of shock, scientific interest, and ... something else. Dennis' father slipped the tape measure around his son's chest and pulled it tight across the front.

The tape pressed gently against Dennis's nipples and he drew in a breath. "Be...be careful, Dad," he breathed. He pulled the tape away with his finger marking the measurement.

"Extraordinary," he said, "You already have a 34 inch bust." Still holding the tape measure, the man stepped back, scratched his chin and studied Dennis's chest for a long time. He looked fascinated. In spite of himself, Dennis felt his nipples stiffening.

At last he said, "Dad?"

"Hmmm, what? Oh, yes. Are you feeling any discomfort?" Dennis blushed a little.

"Well, no pain, if that's what you mean. But they are really, uh, sensitive."

"I see. Well, no need to be alarmed. Your body is being forced through huge changes. A little extra sensitivity is to be expected." The man looked at Dennis's chest and scratched his chin again. He bent down and examined them, one at a time, with the intensity of a collector studying rare postage stamps.

"Uh, Dad?" Dennis queried. His father looked up.

"These are really quite remarkable." Unexpectedly he reached out and cradled them, one in each hand.

Dennis gasped from the sensation. "Oh! Jesus, Dad!" he exclaimed.

"You must have exceptionally strong musculature, here," his father explained, running his fingers down the top slopes of Dennis' breasts. "It's very rare for such large mammories to be so high on the chest and to stand out so erect."

"D-D-Dad! B-B-be, be ... careful. I'm really, really sensitive!"

He let go of Dennis' breasts, "Sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you."

Dennis drew a deep breath and reached for his shirt. "Dad, it wasn't pain. Am I going to be okay?"

"Certainly, son. You'll be fine." But the scientist seriously doubted that last statement.

RESISTANCE

Dennis struggled into his snug-fitting t-shirt and threw back his long auburn locks. "Thanks, Dad," he said, "I'm sorry I've caused so much trouble."

"Well, that's water under the bridge now, Dennis. You need to start considering how to deal with these changes."

His mother cut in, "I think,that for the short term, till we can change you back, I want you to stop hiding."

"No," he cut her off. "I can't do that!" he screamed in his unfamiliar soprano.

"Dennis, look at yourself. Your clothes don't fit. You can't hide your ... chest. You're, you're already a C cup," she said as the tears began to fall down her cheeks as well. "And you don't look ..."

"Like a boy?"

"No, you don't. Not now."

"No, I won't dress like a girl. Everybody will laugh."

"Honey, I know it's hard but you won't have to go right back to school. We'll take some time. Time to adjust. Time to figure it all out."

"But Mom, someday I'll have to go back and when I do everybody will stare at me. They'll laugh at me."

"Honey, they're already staring."

"No!"

"Dennis, it's best this way. For now. For this period. As soon as its over, we'll go back to the way things were."

"Dad, don't make me do this!"

"Dennis, you've screwed up and now you're paying for it. You've got to be what you are and that's it."

Soothingly his mother said, "Let's go to bed now and see if you don't feel differently in the morning." They left him alone and after three hours of staring at the ceiling he finally drifted into troubled sleep.

For three days Dennis stayed in his room. His mother brought him his meals in silence and he stayed in bed and thought and slept. At times he would drift into strange dreams and wake up coiled in his long auburn hair. His body ached from the changes and he slept a lot. He used the bathroom only when no one was around. A scratchy old bathrobe was the only thing he wore. He avoided his image in mirrors. Changes continued to transform his body. If he didn't tie it back with a rubber band, his hair fell forward and surrounded his face like leaves from a flourishing vine. He stopped sleeping on his stomach because it hurt his chest and his back ached from the new top heaviness.

At times he would lie in bed and run his hands up and down the sides of his body, feeling its contours, the softness, the fresh hills and valleys that had grown during the night. He avoided touching his chest because that was too painful, both to the touch and to his bewildered psyche. When his robe irritated his nipples he put on a t-shirt but found that the jiggling of his breasts beneath the taut fabric only directed his attention to his enlarged bust. Jockey shorts were out for similar reasons. Pants were out of the question. He went back to wearing the robe.

At times his father or mother would drop by and try to talk to him but he remained steadfast in his silence and after a while they went away. It was enough that he ate. Debbie came by one day. He refused to talk to her as well so she left his homework assignments outside the door and said she come back the next day to pick up his homework. Dennis didn't touch it and the next day she tried to talk to him again.

"Dennis, it's me." Dennis leaned against the door. His heart was pounding. "Dennis, let me in. I just want to talk."

"Please go away," he said softly. Those were the first words he'd spoken in 72 hours. His voice had crept up another octave and he bit his lip in shame.

"Dennis, you can't stay in there forever. Let me in. Please."

"Come back tomorrow. Okay?" Dennis said.

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"Okay. See you tomorrow. Bye." He listened to her footfalls down the stairs and then walked to the edge of window and watched her leave the yard. When she reached the gate she turned and looked up. He darted back into the shadows.

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