Voicing a little scream, I turned and fled for the door, my hairwhipping out in blond streamers. I scampered across the carpet like afrightened doe, a vivid, scarlet hand-print pulsing on my sleek, roundhaunch. Oh my gosh, how it stung, how it throbbed, a burning reminder ofmy juvenile status in the domestic hierarchy. Yet despite my searingdiscomfort, I was giggling; I could hear my laughter echoing off thewalls as I approached the staircase. Why was I laughing? No idea. MaybeI was hysterical. Maybe I'd finally lost my mind. Or maybe I was happy.Happier than I'd ever thought possible. An hour ago, I'd been male; abig, lumpish boy fumbling around in his mother's underpants. Now, I wasa naked alabaster nymph gliding past a dozen open windows, my perfectbody gleaming in the late morning sunshine.I hit the stairs at a full run.10.My head was whirling by the time I reached the landing at the top of thestairs. It was all too much to take in; I was being overwhelmed by atsunami of. I'm so very sleepy. I just sit andlisten. I must be busted. Someone's coming. I listen but hear nothing butthe soft whirr of the fridge, all the way in the kitchen. It's reallyquiet now. No one heard the door slam? No one heard me fall? I'm OK? I'mnot burned? I might survive this?I look around. The laundry room... Mom's sewing shit... SCISSORS! Oh, I'mgetting out of this outfit right now! It's all going to be rags at thebottom of the trash in a sec. I'm free! I grab the scissors and do a fewexperimental cuts in the air. Yes!First: the rumba panties. I ease the end of the scissors into thewaistband of the panty, right below my navel. I close the blades slowly.I'm not as eager to get them off as I am blissfully savouring my victory.I'm actually taking my time cutting through the plastic. The scissorseasily slice through the first quarter inch of material and then stophard. I strain my thumb and palm trying to close the scissors, trying tochop through whatever is in the way. The.
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