The Sleepover - Part 6

The next night, after Billy pulled on the mask … things felt a bit different.

That’s when he heard it for the first time.

The voice.

“Ohhh,” it said, a whisper in his mind, “Yesssss…”

Billy froze. It was like thinking, but not his thoughts. A trick of the mask, something new?

He tried to ignore it, to focus on the feeling of his body changing, on the tightness of his pajamas as they stretched against him.

His skin tingled as the transformation swept through him, as thrilling as ever. But the voice, like a low murmur, didn’t go away.

Billy was distracted, trying to understand, “Who—?”

“It’s me,” the voice breathed, “Erica…”

His heart skipped. Was he going crazy?

He stumbled to the mirror, already changed, his body that of a woman again, flawless and real. 

He looked at his reflection, eyes wide, “What… what’s happening?” 

“Isn’t it amazing?” the voice said, soft and sweet, “Don’t you just …love it?”

Billy’s heart raced.

“Don’t worry,” Erica said, almost like a purr, “We can share…”

“Stay with me,” Erica whispered, seductive, inviting.

“You’re me,” Erica answered, “You’re so me…”

He reached for the seam at the back of his neck, his hands shaking.

“Already?” Erica’s voice was disappointed, “We were just getting started…”

He dropped his hands.

"The laundry room," she whispered.

His heart beat wildly. 

The laundry room was full of his mom’s stuff. He could try on her clothes. 

He looked down at himself—at “Erica”—and a thrill ran through him. 

Then he moved quickly, quietly, slipping into the hallway and down the stairs. 

The hardwood floor was cold on his bare feet. He made it to the laundry room without being seen. He closed the door, the adrenaline making him giddy. The washer and dryer hummed. 

He wasted no time, throwing open the baskets of clean clothes. The voice was quiet now, as if waiting to see what he’d do. He rummaged through the laundry, feeling that strange, intoxicating power building in his chest.

His mom’s jeans were loose on him, but her t-shirts fit snug and tight. He could feel his nipples press against the fabric, could feel the way the cotton brushed against his skin, sensitive and thrilling.

Billy looked at himself in the small laundry room mirror, at Erica. 

She looked older than last night, more womanly. He touched his cheek, the skin smooth and grown-up, his fingers lingering. Then he ran his hands down, over the t-shirt, over his chest. He closed his eyes, savoring the feeling.

"Don’t you love it, Billy?" she whispered, breathless, a woman’s voice, “Being a grown woman?”

He found his mom’s old nightgown. White silk, slinky, stretchy. It fit like it was made for him. Made for Erica.

“You should wear it to bed...”

The temptation was overwhelming. He put it on, the silk sliding sensuously over his new shape, the fabric clinging to every curve. He felt the hem graze his thighs, move against him as he walked.

He grabbed a pair of panties and held them up in front of him. He’d tried them on in the bathroom with Fred, but it had been rushed. This time, he was alone.

The panties looked so real and feminine, the elastic band stretching softly in his hands. He pulled them on under the nightgown, feeling them draw tight around him, a new sensation, snug and secure.

“Ohhhhh,” the voice cooed, a long breath of pleasure, “That feels amaaaaazing.”

He stood there in the laundry room, feeling elegant and adult, loving every minute of it.

“Little boys don’t get to feel this way,” Erica said, her words a slow, sensuous victory, “But we do...”