The following fictional story is being reposted by Mr Double.  If you are the author of this story and would like to receive proper recognition (an Author's Page at my website at: http://pw1.netcom.com/~mrdouble/main/stories.html), please contact me at mrdouble@ix.netcom.com.








From: ladd@cs.unc.edu (Brian C. Ladd)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: MNA: Slumber Party Nightmare (fd mc tg pd) 01/01
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
Date: 21 Oct 1995 08:56:17 -0400
Message-ID: <46aqlh$qu8@baldhead.cs.unc.edu>
Reply-To: ladd@cs.unc.edu

=============================================================================
                        Mindnumbing Archive Repost
=============================================================================

WARNING
    The following is eroitc in nature. If you are under the legal age of
    consent in your local jurisdiction, stop reading now. If you are
    easily offended, please stop reading now.
GNINRAW

The curator of the MNA most likely did NOT write the story which
follows. Authors, when known, are acknowledged in the body of the
file. Assemble the various parts of related messages, removing everything
outside the [BEGIN] [END] markers and you'll have the "complete"
story. See the MNA Index posted to alt.sex.stories.d for chapter counts and
synopses.

If you have similar materials, please repost them, too.

Comments, encouragement, and additional material for the archive gratefully
received; flames, repost requests, and e-mail requests rapidly dispatched
to the void.

If you're an author in the MNA and you do not want your story reposted:
Contact me at ladd@cs.unc.edu and I will remove your story from the
reposting list. If you're an author of an Unknown story and you want to
take credit for it, contact me as well, please.

[BEGIN]
Slumber Party Nightmare


"Are you sure this is okay?" Mark Walters asked, 
creeping through the shrubbery at sixteen-year-old Linda 
Mason's house. At midnight on a Friday night, he'd rather be 
at home watching music videos. He pushed his longish, brown 
hair out of his eyes.
	"Trust me," his best friend Sam Grenwald smiled back. 
"Look. Crashing slumber parties is...I mean, it's 
traditional. Like TP'ing houses and soaping windows on 
Halloween. They'd be pissed if we didn't show up." He waited 
a second for Mark's expression, then added, "Besides, Mary 
Cartland is in there."
	Sam was sweet on Linda Mason, and Mark had a crush on 
her best friend, pretty Mary Cartland. He never had the nerve 
to talk to her beyond a quick "Hi, Mary" in the hall at 
school, and sometimes he wanted to be ten years old again so 
he could simply ride his bike with no hands by her house. But 
his older brother spoke enthusiastically about panty-raids at 
the college he went to, so Mark accepted this passage from 
child to man.
	"So, what do we do?" Mark whispered.
	Sam grinned. "We just look in a window and make faces 
when they see us. They'll scream and stuff, and we run like 
hell. Or maybe get invited in for a while."
	"But they'll know it's us."
	"That's the whole idea, stupid. It shows we like 'em."
	"I still think this is dumb," Mark complained, but any 
opportunity to see Mary Cartland -- maybe naked...
	The two crept close to the big picture window at the 
front of the house. The rustling of the yews sounded like a 
jet plane, but they clearly heard female voices talking and 
giggling. "When I count three," Sam hissed in Mark's ear, "we 
jump up and look. Maybe we'll get a beaver shot."
	"Okay," Mark said, his hands sweaty and his heart 
pounding. He wasn't sure what a fabled beaver shot was.
	"One...Two --"
	Suddenly, Mark and Sam were roughly jerked up by their 
collars. Flailing around, they saw the policeman that had 
them in his clutches. Anticipation rapidly turned to fear.
	"What are you two doing out here?" the cop demanded.
	"Nothing, Officer," Sam stuttered. "We were just --"
	Before he could explain, the front door opened, spilling 
bright inside light over the front of the house. The cop 
jerked Mark and Sam to their feet and hustled them onto the 
porch. Mrs. Mason was standing in the open doorway, six 
giggling girls crowded behind her.
	"Here's your prowlers, Ma'am," the cop stated. "Caught 
'em right outside the window."
	Mark's face heated and Sam wanted to sink into the 
ground. They were in trouble.
	"Why, you're the Walters boy, aren't you?" Mrs. Mason 
asked. "And aren't you a Grenwald? I know both your parents 
from the PTA."
	Both boys sensed the chance to apologize and forget the 
whole thing quickly evaporate.
	Mrs. Mason smiled. "It's all right, Officer. You see, my 
daughter's having a slumber party over the weekend. You know 
how boys are."
	"Yes, Ma'am," the cop returned, smiling because of his 
memories of slumber parties he had invaded as a boy. "But I 
have to make a report, probably call their parents."
	"They didn't mean any harm, I'm sure," Mrs. Mason said. 
	"Throw 'em in jail!" one of the girls hiding behind 
Linda's mom shouted. The others erupted in giggles.
	"Girls, that wouldn't be nice. Officer, what if I call 
their parents? Would you have to make a report?"
	The cop thought a minute, then replied "I guess it would 
be all right." He shook the two boys and warned, "I don't 
want to see you two skulking around houses again, you hear? 
Next time, you go down to the station!"
	"Yes, Officer," both boys muttered. "We're sorry," Mark 
finished. He and Sam were relieved, certain that they could 
explain it to their parents -- especially the fathers.
	"Then come in, boys," Mrs. Mason invited. The cop gave 
them a shove toward the door. "Thank you very much, Officer," 
Mrs. Mason said. The cop tipped his hat, turned and walked 
back to his car, happy that he wouldn't have to fill out a 
long report.
	Mrs. Mason shepherded Mark and Sam inside and closed the 
door. The boys blushed, looking at the floor as the scantily-
clad girls gawked and tittered. "Sit over there, boys," Mrs. 
Mason suggested, her smile waning. Sam and Mark walked into 
the living room strewn with sleeping bags and fashion 
magazines and sat on the couch. The six girls circled them, 
arms folded and eyes hard. Mrs. Mason left the room.
	"You've got a lot of nerve spying on us, Mark Walters," 
Mary Cartland accused, her arms crossed over her already 
impressive chest. Mark's face got hotter.
	"And you too, Sam Grenwald," Linda Mason scolded, her 
long, shapely legs visible under her big T-shirt. "What did 
you think you were going to see?" Sam squirmed, trying to 
keep his eyes off her tits.
	There was no way they could admit what they had hoped to 
see, so they mumbled the time-honored "I dunno" in unison.
	Before the interrogation could continue, Mrs. Mason 
strolled back into the living room, her smile wider. "It's 
all arranged with your parents," she stated. "I've told them 
that you two decided to go on the camping trip with my 
husband and son. They don't expect you until Sunday night."
	Mark and Sam locked eyes, their mouths dropping. "Uh, 
what to you mean, Sunday night, Mrs. Mason?" Sam asked.
	"Why, you boys were so anxious to see what was going on 
at Linda's slumber party. I thought you'd like to stay.
	"But, Mother!" Linda protested.
	"Now, Linda. Where are your manners? I'm sure you can 
fit two more girls in, can't you?"
	"Girls?" Sam choked.
	"But we're not girls!" Mark blurted, his heart stalling 
in mid-beat.
	The girls got the message faster than mark or Sam. They 
giggled, whispering plans for the weekend loudly to each 
other.
	"That's a great idea!" Linda chortled. "We'll have so 
much fun, trying on clothes and makeup," she aimed at Mark.
	"Talking about boys!" Mary tittered.
	"This is stupid," Sam said, jumping to his feet. "We 
don't have to put up with this. C'mon, Mark."
	Mark was totally shamed by the unwanted attention of the 
six girls discussing what they were going to do with him. 
Time to leave. He stood.
	The girls crowded around them, cutting off the route to 
the door.
	"Let's tear off their clothes and make 'em walk home," 
one suggested.
	"Or make them our slaves for the weekend," another 
threatened.
	"Now, girls," Mrs. Mason said sharply. "That's not 
ladylike. Now I told you that I might hypnotize one or two of 
you tonight, remember?" Mrs. Mason was a psychiatrist. "I 
think it's only polite that we let the two new girls go 
first.
	The word 'hypnotize' slammed imagined visions of being 
forced to act like a chicken into Sam and Mark, but those 
were quickly quenched with their absolute certainty that it 
couldn't be done to them.
	"Do it to them, Mom!"
	"Yeah, Mrs. Mason. Put 'em under!"
	Sam and Mark began to build mental resistance to a 
spinning coin, a swinging gold watch and the admonition 
"You're getting sleepy."
	"You can't hypnotize me," Sam affirmed, sensing a chance 
to impress the girls. "Go ahead. Wave a watch in front of me, 
you'll see."
	Mrs. Mason turned and smiled at him. "Do I detect a 
challenge to my professional skills, young lady?"
	"Don't call me that!" Sam snapped. "Everybody knows you 
can't hypnotize somebody against their will.
	"Yeah," Mark agreed uncertainly.
	"But you don't understand," Mrs. Mason said in a 
malevolent tone, "When I'm finished with you, you won't have 
a will."
	Her voice sent a shiver down their spines. It was time 
to go, and a second later they bolted for the door. Mark had 
his hand on the knob when Linda tackled him. Before he could 
react, two other girls landed on him. Sam didn't even get 
that far.
	Loathe to hit a girl, both boys hesitated, didn't fight 
back very hard, then discovered that it was too late. Always 
certain that girls were weak, they were astounded by the 
strength of the female hands holding them down.
	Mrs. Mason slipped out of the room, her anger at the two 
smug boys smoldering. She entered her home office, opened a 
locked medicine cabinet and prepared two hypodermics with a 
milky fluid. Coming back into the living room, she noted that 
Sam and Mark still had defiant expressions and smiled.
	"Let go!" Mark gasped, his arms and legs pinned.
	"I don't wanna get rough with you," Sam threatened 
helplessly.
	Mrs. Mason slowly approached, holding the syringes high 
in the air. Both boys froze, their minds and limbs paralyzed 
with terror. Sam squealed when the dripping needle approached 
his arm. He could only watch in horror as it entered his 
flesh and Mrs. Mason injected the milky fluid into him.
	After seeing Sam injected, Mark thrashed and kicked, 
trying to get free. He got an arm loose but two girls pounced 
on it, stretching it out for the needle. "I wanna go home!" 
he blubbered as the milky liquid oozed into his vein.
	A minute later, Mrs. Mason suggested, "You can let them 
up now, girls." They backed away, ready to attack again 
should the boys show any signs of fight. Mark rolled over and 
looked as Sam, each boy waiting for some bizarre effects from 
the injection, but they felt pretty normal. As if by some 
silent, shared countdown, both boys gained their feet and 
sprinted for the door.
	"Freeze!" Mrs. Mason commanded.
	Their brains were operating their arms and legs, 
bringing them towards the door and freedom -- but they 
weren't moving. Mrs. Mason walked in front of the two rigid 
boys. "You see, only charlatans use a spinning coin or a 
dangling watch. Science has provided a much better method."
	"Please return to the couch," she suggested, and Mark 
and Sam were compelled to obey, their minds screaming 
defiance. The six girls parted to let them by, watching the 
boys with astonishment. When the boys were seated on the 
couch, the girls crowded around them, waving their hands and 
snapping their fingers. They weren't convinced.
	"Are they really in a trance?" Mary asked.
	"They can't hear us or anything?" another chimed in.
	"Oh, they can hear you just find," Mrs. Mason informed 
them, stepping in front of the boys. "But just so they aren't 
disappointed: You are getting sleepy. Your eyelids are 
getting heavy."
	Mark and Sam couldn't stop their eyes from shutting, 
their minds getting cottony.
	The girls fell back and sat in a semicircle around the 
victims. "The drug takes about ten minutes for the full 
effect, but you can see it's already working. Given in small 
doses, this drug puts the subject in a trance somewhat like 
hypnotism, but in larger doses, it forces the subconscious 
open. I gave them a very large dose. I will be able to find 
certain behavior patterns and modify them."
	The girls huddled together, whispering and gasping.
	Mark and Sam heard but didn't quite understand her, 
their terror was rising. But they couldn't move.
	"You may open your eyes now," Mrs. Mason said, and their 
eyes fluttered open. She leaned over and studied their blank 
faces, then stood back. "They're almost ready. In a few 
minutes, whatever I tell them, they will have to believe. 
They have no choice."
	The assembled girls stared at the two helpless boys for 
a time, then one said, "Make them do something!"
	"Let's turn them into chickens," Mary suggested.
	"No, let's make them bark like dogs," another girl 
suggested.
	"I think we should turn them into slaves and make them 
clean our rooms," a third girl wanted.
	"No," Linda said seriously, with a hint of evil, "They 
wanted to see what it was like at my slumber party, so let's 
make them join in. Mom, can you make them more like us?"
	Gleeful screams and giggles made it unanimous.
	Certainly," Mrs. Mason agreed. She stepped in front of 
Mark. "I think that's a fine idea. First those names just 
won't do, will they?" Glaring at Mark, she demanded, "Do you 
hear me?"
	"Yes," Mark returned flatly.
	"Fine. What is your name?"
	"Mark David Walters."
	"No, that is not correct," Mrs. Mason said sternly. She 
pondered for a moment, then grinned. "Your name is Melissa 
Ann Walters. You have no memory of ever being named anything 
but Melissa An. Your name has always been Melissa Ann, isn't 
that right?"
	"Yes," Mark intoned.
	"Now, what is your name?"
	"Melissa Ann Walters."
	The girls giggled ant poked each other.
	Sam couldn't believe what he had just heard, then terror 
gripped him when he understood that he was next.
	"And you," Mrs. Mason pointed to Sam. "What is your 
name?"
	"Samuel Lawrence Grenwald," he replied, fighting not to.
	"No, that is incorrect. Your name is Stephanie Sue 
Grenwald. Your name has always been Stephanie Sue. You have 
no memory of any name but Stephanie Sue Grenwald. Your name 
has always been Stephanie, right?"
	As much as he wanted to, Sam could not conceive or 
imagine ever having a different name. "Yes."
	"What is your name?"
	"Stephanie Sue Grenwald," flowed effortlessly from his 
mind and out of his mouth.
	Concentrating so hard that it hurt, neither boy could 
remember ever having a different name.
	The girls erupted in laughter and applause.

	"Stephanie, Melissa. Please stand and take all of your 
clothes off," Mrs. Mason urged.
	Unable to resist, both boys pulled T-shirts, jeans, 
sneakers, socks and shorts off until they were stark naked.
	"That dose will be wearing off soon," Mrs. Mason said. 
"And it's time you girls got some sleep. But I think these 
two need to learn some modesty, don't you?"
	The girls eagerly agreed. Sam and Mark stood motionless, 
their minds exploding with shame at being naked in front of 
six girls and frustration at being helpless.
	"Look!" one girl exclaimed, "Their thingies are getting 
hard."
	Sure enough, and as much as they tried to stop it, Mark 
and Sam were getting erections.
	"Why, we can't have that among the girls here," Mrs. 
Mason stated amid the pointing and giggling. She approached 
Mark and changed her tone to careful command. "Melissa, do 
you hear me?"
	"Yes," Mark said against his will.
	"Melissa, you cannot have an erection, now or ever 
again. You do not have a penis. Your testicles will retract 
into your abdomen where they belong, your penis gone. You may 
urinate through it, but it can never become erect."
	Mark's cock slowly deflated, then as Sam stared in 
horror, Mark's balls began to shrink, his cock getting 
smaller and smaller. In a few minutes, where Mark's balls had 
been was smooth and flat, his penis barely a protruding nub.
	Sam's gut roiled and his mind blazed with abomination, 
but minutes after Mark, his male genitals were gone, too.
	"That's better," Mrs. Mason concluded. Still working on 
Sam, she told him, "Stephanie? Listen carefully to me, dear. 
You have very nice breasts, and you're very proud of them. 
You feel on your chest, don't you?"
	Sam was suddenly aware of a tightness on his chest.
	"Your breasts are quite large and heavy. You have big 
nipples. You feel big, heavy boobs on your chest."
	Mark watched silently as a subtle change came over his 
friend. Sam shifted his posture like he had a weight on his 
chest.
	She turned to him next. As the girls watched in awed 
silence, Mrs. Mason told him, "Melissa, dear. You have very 
large breasts." Mark felt his chest expand and get heavier 
and heavier, his nipples jutting out like little fingers.
	"Now, Melissa, dear," Mrs. Mason prompted, "Hold your 
boobs out for us to see. You too, Stephanie."
	Sam and mark helplessly cupped their imagined tits, 
hands six inches away from his chest. They felt soft, heavy 
flesh.
	"And you have such lovely figures, Melissa and 
Stephanie. Your waists are very narrow and thin, your hips 
are wide and round, your rear ends are quite round and full."
	Sam could feel his perception of his waist getting trim, 
his hips and ass ballooning as if it were really happening.
	Mark joined him as Mrs. Mason continued to command them 
to have very womanly figures.
	"Now, Melissa and Stephanie," Mrs. Mason commanded, 
"It's not nice for young ladies to stand around naked. You 
are both very embarrassed! Cover youselves this instant!"
	Mark and Sam, fueled by induced shame, thrust their arms 
across their chests and thrust their hands over their 
crotches.
	"Since you have such large busts, you must always wear a 
bra."
	Sam and Mark suddenly felt undressed without their 
brassieres.
	"Just like with their genitals, they have to believe 
what I've told them," Mrs. Mason informed the girls. "In a 
very short time, their bodies will change to fit the way I've 
programmed them."
	"You mean they'll look like girls?"
	Mrs. Mason grinned. "A month from now, Melissa and 
Stephanie will be built like centerfolds."
	The girls stared at each other with a mixture of 
astonishment and glee.
	That's enough for tonight, I think," Mrs. Mason 
announced. "Do we have something for Stephanie and Melissa to 
wear?"
	A quick trip to Linda's room produced two silky, 
babydoll nighties. "Put this on," her mother commanded Mark, 
handing him a pale blue one. The little panties were smooth 
on his stomach and between his legs. Sam received a pink one. 
Though they were mortified wearing girl's clothes, they were 
anxious to cover their nakedness.
	"Stephanie and Melissa," Mrs. Mason stated, "You two 
will curl up on that couch and sleep until I wake you."
	The boys obeyed.
	"They won't remember being under the drug's influence, 
but I've permanently altered their behavior."
	The girls eventually crawled into their sleeping bags 
and after an hour of giggling, they fell asleep.
	It was late Saturday morning when Mrs. Mason came down 
from her bedroom, some of the girls were awake, but most 
still slept. Mrs. Mason walked to the couch where Mark and 
Sam were curled around each other and commanded, "Wake up!"
	Sam and Mark snapped awake. It took them a few seconds 
to decipher where they were and a moment for the memories of 
the night before to flow into their minds. Mark jumped up, 
suddenly aware that his friend Sam was wearing a pink 
nightie. "Sam? What the hell...?"
	Sam looked funny, then confused. "Who's Sam?"
	"You are, for Christ's sake!" Mark stated, now aware 
that he was dressed in a blue nightie. "Holy fuck! Sam, 
what's going on here?"
	"Why are you calling me Sam? My name's Stephanie, you 
idiot." He swung his bare legs off the couch, perceiving a 
strange fullness in his chest, hips and rear end. "You look 
like a fag wearing that."
	"Melissa!" Mrs. Mason said sharply. Mark turned. "The 
others are still sleeping, and such language. But we'll cure 
that today, I guarantee you both. Now please use the bathroom 
while you have the chance."
	Mark and Sam walked warily to the downstairs bathroom, 
staring at each other's lacy nightwear. "What the hell's 
going on here?" Mark hissed.
	"I don't know," Sam admitted. "I remember we were 
grabbed by that cop, and Linda's mom was going to call our 
parents. This has got to be some kind of joke."
	"Then how come you said your name is Stephanie?" Mark 
prodded.
	"Because it is," Sam insisted. "My name has always been 
Stephanie."
	"Yeah, right. Just like my name has always been 
Melissa."
	Both boys got horrified looks. "I know I don't have a 
girl's name, but it's all I can remember! What's my name?"
	"Mark."
	"No, that's not right. I'd know if I was Mark, wouldn't 
I?"
	Still puzzled, Mark stepped into the bathroom and closed 
the door. He stood in front of the toilet, chagrined at the 
silky nightie but for some strange reason more embarrassed to 
be seen without it. He stared straight ahead, gingerly lifted 
the hem and pushed the panties down, his fingers searching. 
His heart stopped. Snapping his head down, he pulled the 
panties down, stared, then put his hand between his legs.
	"Oh, Jesus!" he wailed. "My cock is gone!"
	Sam burst into the bathroom. "What's wrong?"
	"My cock is gone," Mark repeated mutely.
	Mark jerked his panties down and stared in horror at his 
empty crotch. "Jesus. They castrated us!"
	Their cries of anguish woke the rest of the girls, who 
quickly crowded around the open door. Sudden shame made Sam 
and Mark jerk their panties up and push through the girls. 
	"We've got to get out of here," Sam told Mark.
	"We can't go out like this!" Mark noted.
	"Our clothes have to be around here somewhere. Look, 
whatever they did to us, it's just a joke, right?"
	Calming, Sam concluded, "I mean, they won't really hurt 
us. They'll probably give us our clothes back when the joke 
gets old."
	"But what about...?"
	"I don't know. Let's just stay cool until they let us 
go, okay, Mark?"
	"My name's Melissa," Mark insisted.
	Mark and Sam huddled in the bathroom and warily waited 
for their nightmare to end. Mrs. Mason forced the door open 
and pushed them into the living room. Then Linda Mason's 
friends pulled off their pajamas and started getting dressed 
right in front of the astonished boys. Leering at the naked 
girls, memory and instinct told them they should have boners 
hard enough to drive nails. But they felt nothing between 
their legs. When the girls were dressed, Mrs. Mason came back 
in with two syringes in her hand.
	As before, Mark and Sam bolted, not caring if they had 
to escape wearing only nighties. Sam got to his feet, but a 
strange weight on his chest and perception of mass around his 
hips and rear end made him stumble. Mark crashed on top of 
him. And as before, the girls easily held them while Mrs. 
Mason injected them.
	They were sitting on the couch as she addressed them: 
"Today, Melissa and Stephanie, we're going to program you to 
be proper young ladies."
	The six girls formed a circle on the floor, evil smirks 
on their pretty faces.
	"First, young ladies do not allow hair to grow on their 
legs or in their armpits. From now on, you will both consider 
anything but smooth, hairless legs and armpits utterly gross 
and disgusting. You can't remember ever feeling any other 
way."
	Mark and Sam gazed down at their hairy legs, faces 
twisted with repugnance.
	"Now, we will learn to sit like ladies."
	The girls criticized and offered suggestions as Sam and 
Mark were commanded to stand and sit again and again until 
they kept their knees together and their ankles crossed, then 
sensuously crossed their legs at their knees.
	"Melissa and Stephanie," Mrs. Mason stated sternly. "You 
will sit that way from now on. You will conduct yourselves as 
young ladies at all times. You have no memory of sitting and 
standing any other way, do you?"
	"No," they answered mutely, their memories of sitting 
like boys erased from their minds.
	"Now we'll work on your walk."
	Sam and mark paraded up and down, remarks from the girls 
altering the way they walked until their shoulders were back, 
their pelvis tilted forward and their hips and asses 
wriggling.
	"Melissa and Stephanie," Mrs. Mason reinforced, "You 
will walk this way from now on. You don't know of any other 
way to do it, do you?"
	"No," they answered, and their ability to walk any other 
way except as sexy young ladies was completely forgotten.
	They were told to sit back on the couch. Mark eased 
back, his knees together, his ankles crossing naturally. Sam 
leaned forward, his legs crossing at his knees, hit foot 
tucked behind his ankle.
	"Now, Stephanie and Melissa," Mrs. Mason began again, 
"Do you like football?"
	"Yes," they answered.
	"No, you don't. You aren't the least bit interested in 
any sport. You have no memory of ever being interested in 
sports. From now on, sports and cars and all things boys are 
interested in are too difficult for you to understand. You 
can't remember ever being interested in anything that boys 
do, can you?"
	"No," the boys agreed.
	Mrs. Mason grabbed two glossy fashion magazines from the 
floor and handed Mark and Sam one each. "Look at these 
magazines. This is what you're interested in," Mrs. Mason 
told them. "You have always been interested in fashion 
magazines. You avidly read every fashion magazine you can get 
your hands on, don't you?"
	"Yes," the boys chanted.
	"You just love all the pretty clothes and the makeup and 
the shoes and everything in those magazines, don't you?"
	"Yes."
	"When you wake up, you will both be very feminine. You 
want to be pretty, so you wouldn't think of going out without 
your makeup. You can't remember ever wanting to be seen 
without makeup. You love long, polished nails and perfume. In 
fact, you won't even think of wearing pants any more. You 
want so much to be pretty and feminine, so you will always 
wear pretty dresses and skirts. And you always wear high 
heels, don't you?"
	"Yes."
	Mrs. Mason paused, thinking that she had gone far enough 
with the two upstart boys. Her daughter, Linda, stood up and 
whispered something in her ear. The woman smiled. "We'll do 
that one last," she agreed. "The drug will wear off in a few 
minutes.


	As they slowly came back to awareness, Sam and Mark had 
the intense perception that something wasn't quite right. The 
first thing Mark noticed was his crossed legs. He knew it 
wasn't the way he wanted to sit, but couldn't think of any 
other way to do it. Then he saw his hairy legs and gagged.
	"What's wrong, Mark?" Sam asked.
	"That hair on my legs. It's gross! And don't call me 
Mark. I'm Melissa. And how come you're sitting like that?"
	Sam was shocked at his friend's bizarre behavior. He was 
sitting with his knees together, his ankles crossed and his 
hands folded in his lap. He couldn't figure out what Mark 
meant. Then he noticed his hairy legs. "You're right! I can't 
stand it!"
	One of the girls handed Sam a mirror and he stared at 
his face, wailing, "I look horrible! Anybody got some 
mascara?"
	Mar was shocked at Sam's request. He grabbed the mirror 
and regarded his face with disgust. Mascara would be 
ridiculous on Sam, but he needed it. "Look at my hair. It's a 
mess!"
	Almost in a panic, the two boys were inconsolable until 
the six girls offered their help.
	In the upstairs bathroom, Sam didn't know why, but he 
felt much better after he shaved his legs and his underarms. 
Mark was downstairs spreading Nair all over himself.
	"I know," Mary piped in, "Let's do each other's hair."
	Sam and Mark didn't understand why the other one 
enthusiastically offered himself to the skills of the girls. 
Three hours later, both boys had their brown hair bleached 
blond and elegantly permed. They kept reminding themselves 
that their friend should hate it, but they couldn't stop 
admiring themselves.
	The girls split into teams of three each. They plucked 
and shaped the boys' eyebrows. Mark was sick watching Sam put 
on mascara, eye shadow, blush and lipstick, but Mark just 
couldn't stand himself without it. That was the way they 
always wanted to look.
	One of the girls went to the kitchen and came back with 
some ice cubes, a potato and a large needle. "Slumber party 
tradition," she told Sam as she pierced his ears.
	"Sam, what are you doing?" Mark shouted, gagging at the 
sight of his feminized friend. But he knew he looked normal 
with makeup and permed, bleached hair.
	"Don't call me Sam," his friend shot back. "They're 
turning you into a fag!" He couldn't understand why Mark was 
acting so weird. It was the most natural thing in the world 
for him to have pierced ears. 
	Big hoops were put into Sam's new holes. Mark got heavy, 
dangling earrings. They admired their own pretty faces and 
earrings in a mirror and thought the other looked ridiculous.
	The six girls left to go shopping. Sam and Mark 
desperately wanted to go along, but Mrs. mason made them stay 
behind. She gave them a pile of fashion magazines.
	When the girls returned, Sam and Mark were studying new 
makeup ideas and imagining themselves in the dreamy clothes. 
They were so deep into fashion, they didn't even feel it when 
the needles entered their arms.
	Back on the couch, helplessly under the influence of the 
hypnotic drug, the boys stared with blank eyes.
	"Now, Melissa and Stephanie," Mrs. Mason told them. 
"Since you two have decided to become blondes, you will have 
to behave like blondes. And we all know how blondes are."
	The girls tittered behind Linda's mother.
	"You are both blonde airheads. You smile and giggle a 
lot."
	The boys grew smiles.
	"Unfortunately, blondes are rather stupid. When you wake 
up, the biggest concern you will ever have it where skirt 
hemlines will be in next season's fashions. The hardest 
decision you will be able to make is what color nail polish 
to wear or what dress to put on."
	The girls giggled and tittered.
	"When you wake up, you will remember what you used to be 
and what was done to you, but you do not have the ability to 
be anything but dumb blondes for the rest of your lives."
	Sam and mark sat on the couch, smiling as the drug and 
the suggestions destroyed their intellect and ability to 
reason.
	When the drug wore off, they looked at each other and 
giggled. Deep in their minds, they would always know that 
they were Sam and Mark, but they behaved like Stephanie and 
Melissa because they didn't know any other way.
	"Here," Mrs. Mason told them, handing their clothes 
back. "You can go home now."
	Mark looked at the clothes he had worn on Friday night. 
"I can't wear this," he protested. "These shoes are so ugly 
and  smelly."
	Sam didn't believe what his friend was saying. Mark 
always wore jeans and a T-shirt. As for him, there was no way 
he was going to dress like that.
	"That's all you have to wear," Mrs. Mason stated.
	Both boys reluctantly put their clothes on, each eager 
to get home and into a pretty dress. As Mrs. Mason showed 
them to the door, they stared in disgust at each other.
	"Before you go," Mrs. Mason said, "Can either of you 
tell me who won the football game last week?"
	"Huh?" Sam said, no memory or understanding of football 
left in his mind.
	"And, Melissa? What's eight times six?"
	Mark smiled vacantly, then giggled. "I don't know."
	Walking together down the street to their homes, Mark 
sniped "You're walking like a girl."
	"So are you."
	"I can't wait to get these horrible clothes off. I feel 
naked without a bra."
	"Me too."
	"Let's go shopping!"
	Mrs. Mason watched the two intruders wiggle down the 
street. Six girls came to Linda's slumber party on Friday 
night. Eight girls left.
[END]

Brian C. Ladd, Curator, Mindnumbing Archive
MNA is *not* affiliated with the University of North Carolina; it is a
personal project which the University will neither acknowledge nor condone.

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