Womanized

by Nikki Crescent

  “You have four classes each day, and you’ve missed ten days without being excused.”

  “But I’m paying to be here. I can miss whatever I want.”

  “You get docked a percent for each missed class, and half a percent for each late. That’s forty-eight deductions. So even if you had aced all of your assignments and tests, you would still be failing, seeing as you need a sixty-percent to pass at our school.”

  “What? So I basically failed a long time ago—is that what you’re saying? So why haven’t you told me until now? Why have you been wasting my time?”

  “Well, like you said: you paid for the school. You paid for the lessons and the access to our equipment and facilities. But you didn’t pay for a certificate. You need to earn a certificate. So basically, you’re welcome to continue attending classes and using our facilities and gear until the end of July—but you won’t be getting a certificate.”

  “That’s horseshit! All of my photos are just as good, if not better than the other students. Well—maybe not all of them. I’ve had a few bad assignments—but my good stuff is good. Just ask my instructors! He even compared me to Kate Moss the other day. Well—he didn’t compare me to Kate Moss, but—but you know what I mean.”

  “I’m sorry, Frankie,” the woman to the man’s left said.

  “There must be something I can do to make up for the missed classes. I mean—if I had known that I was being docked, I wouldn’t have missed any classes—well, I wouldn’t have missed many classes. Not nearly as many as I missed.”

  “Well it says here that you missed the class that went over grading,” the man said, as if it was funny.

  “Let me make it up. Just tell me what to do.”

  The department heads all looked at one another. Then they looked back at me. The woman to the man’s left said, “Well—you mentioned your photo shoot from the other day—the one that got you the A+. We all saw the photos, and we all agree that they are top-notch.”

  “Okay. So you want to use them for marketing or something? Go for it. They’re yours. As long as I can graduate.”

  “No—we’re already using them. You already gave us those rights when you enrolled. But we were maybe hoping that you could stage a shoot just for our school—perhaps around the campus—making sure to get our buildings and logos in your shots. You know: in that same dreamy style that you shot your swimming pool set.”

  “Okay, fine. Consider it done.”

  “And we were hoping you could use that same model. We’re all very sure that she’s going to be big one day, so we want to capitalize now, while we have her. You can arrange that, right?”

  My heart stuttered. “Um,” I said. “She’s actually gone. She went home. She was only here for a few days. But I’ll find someone else—someone just as good.”

  The three of them shook their heads, almost in unison. “No, that won’t work. We were really hoping to get her, so we could sort of make her the face of our 2019 marketing campaign. You don’t think she would come back, do you? It would be a lot of great exposure for her resume.”

  My stomach turned. “I don’t know. I don’t think so,” I said. I could feel the defeat seeping into my bones. There was nothing I could do: I was going to fail school. There was no longer any point in attending classes. There were only two weeks left, and the remaining classes were mostly just covering topics like set etiquette and gear maintenance—nothing I didn’t already know. So as soon as I left that administration office, my time at photography school was over. I chose partying over certification. I chose fun over an invaluable piece of my resume. I chose cheap thrills over my professional reputation.

  “So there’s no way you can get her, huh?” the man asked. “That’s really a shame. I suppose you can go now.”

  My gut swirled. There was still one way to finish school that I could think of, but it meant sacrificing the last of my ego. It meant becoming the laughing stock of the school. But it would only be for a few weeks. Then I could cut off contact with everyone. At least then I would have my certification. I would be able to apply for all of the jobs I wanted to work. I would even have a nice first job on my resume, as the lead photographer for a major photography school’s marketing campaign… And I would also have a line on my resume as the lead model.

  “I think I can get her,” I said. Cold nausea filled my gut. But I just had to do it. I had to go through with it. “I’ll do the shoot tomorrow. Is that okay?”

  “That sounds perfect!”

  I forced a smile, and then I pulled out my phone to send Jenny a text message. “Are you home tomorrow? Can I swing by?” I wrote.

  “Sure—what for?” she asked.

  And I didn’t have the courage to write up a reply. The whole thing was so humiliating. I still couldn’t believe that I was actually going to do it, out in public where everyone could watch me and laugh at me.

  CHAPTER IX

  I enlisted the help of Quinn the next morning. I had her come with me to Jenny’s house, and then we pretended like we were doing a shoot together. “And Quinn is going to model for you?” Jenny asked with a single raised brow. Quinn wasn’t exactly built like a model, so the story wasn’t exactly believable. But it didn’t need to be believable because within the next twenty-four hours, Jenny and everyone else would know that I was actually Jill.

  “That’s right,” Quinn said. “You don’t mind if we borrow a couple outfits and maybe some makeup, do you?”

  “No—go right ahead,” Jenny said. And then she followed us as we went up to her bedroom. Quinn picked through Jenny’s makeup, then she started grabbing outfits. “You’re quite a bit taller than me, Quinn,” Jenny said. “I don’t know if any of that will fit.”

  “I think it will fit fine,” Quinn said with a smile. My stomach turned. I managed to force a casual smile when Jenny looked over at me.

  When Quinn grabbed the wig, Jenny’s eyes narrowed. “What’s the wig for?”

  “Just for fun,” Quinn said.

  Then Jenny stepped in front of the doorway as we were about to leave. “Okay—what’s really going on here? None of those outfits will fit you, and that wig is shorter than your natural hair. What’s this really about?” She had her hands on her hips, and she wasn’t going to move until we either put everything down or told her the truth.

  So I told her my secret. The biggest smile crossed her face and then she said, “That’s you in those pool photos?! Wait—is that my pool?”

  I had to awkwardly tell her that I broke into her house to take the shots. But she didn’t seem to care. In fact, she just thought that it was funny. “I thought I recognized that bathing suit!” she said before letting out a roar of laughter. Then she looked into my eyes. “So you’re the next Kate Moss, huh? I always thought the next Kate Moss would have bigger tits.”

  “That’s fine—laugh it up. I didn’t want to do it to begin with, and I don’t want to do it now, but if I don’t do it, I’m not graduating. So please just let us borrow this stuff.”

  “You can only borrow it if I can help,” she said.

  I sighed. “Fine. But no laughing. This is already embarrassing enough.”

  She gave me a tilted took with a half-smile. “Why is it embarrassing?” she asked, as if it wasn’t obvious. “If that really is you in those photos, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I bet you every girl in school wishes she could look just like you.”

  I wasn’t sure how to take the comment. I felt a warm glowing in my chest and a cool tingle in my spine. “Let’s just get this over with.”

  Jenny and Quinn did my makeup together. It took a while, as they constantly deliberated over what would look better: the orange or the blue eye-shadow, thick eyeliner or a minimalist look, lipstick or lip-gloss, hair down or a French braid—it took almost two hours to doll me up. But even I had to admit that I looked stunning. They had me in a little red dress, but they had three other outfits packed for me, along with three pairs of heels. On my legs I had tall black l
eather boots that were tight to my skin. They actually felt kind of nice, and it was cool feeling like a normal height for once in my life (I was so used to always being the short kid).

  We all got into Quinn’s car and made our way over to the campus. It was Saturday and no classes were running, but the campus was still crawling with students using the facilities: the dark rooms, the green screens, and the studios. As we started to set up our cameras and lights and diffusers and reflectors, a small crowd started to form. “Is that Jill—from Frankie’s pool photos?” one of my classmates called out.

  Quinn turned and smiled. “This is her,” she called back. But I wished she would have actually said, ‘Screw off while we work!’ I managed to force a smile at my classmate. Then, more students started to migrate over to watch.

  We were set up in front of the campus’ sign, by the road. Cars were slowing down to see what we were doing, and men were staring at me, ogling me, admiring my body in that tiny red dress. My heart throbbed, but it was actually a nice feeling.

  Quinn and Jenny both had their cameras. They started snapping photos before I was even posing. That crowd of students remained behind them, all watching me as if I was about to perform a miracle. I tried to pose, but my muscles were stiff. I couldn’t even make myself smile, unless I was showing an awkward amount of teeth. I could see the unimpressed faces of my classmates. They were expecting more after seeing my pool photoset. But I didn’t have more to give them. I was terrified and waiting for them to realize who I really was. My moment of humiliation was just seconds away—I could feel it.

  “Just relax,” Quinn said. “Just like before.”

  “I can’t,” I said with a quiet voice. “There’s too much pressure. This was a bad idea.”

  “Try to use your shyness. Give us a few shy poses. Look at us over your shoulder. Tuck your chin down. You can do better than that.” I was doing everything she said, but I still felt tense and awkward. This wasn’t going well.

  Finally, Quinn stepped up to me. “What’s going on?” she said.

  “What do you think?”

  She looked back and saw the crowd. Then she looked back at me. “I have something that will help. Come with me.” She grabbed my hand and led me into the nearest building. We snuck around the corner. She looked around to make sure that no one was watching, and then she reached into her camera bag and pulled out a vibrator. “Bend over,” she said.

  “Are you nuts!?” I snapped.

  “Just do it! Quick—before someone sees us.”

  I looked around. My heart was pounding and my legs were trembling. But I felt like I had no choice. I wanted to pass school, and I’d already humiliated myself this much… I turned around and bent over. She flipped up my skirt and pulled my panties to the side. I heard her spit and then I felt that wet tip pressing up against my hole. “Don’t clench,” she said. Then she pressed it in. I gasped. She pulled up my panties and dropped my skirt. Then I stood up just as Jenny came around the corner. “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “Just giving our pretty model a pep talk,” Quinn said with a big smile. Then Quinn pulled a little remote out from her camera bag. “Oh, I’ve been looking for this. It’s the remote shutter for my camera.” She pressed a button, and then I felt the vibrating in my butt. I perked upright and nearly let out a loud gasp, but I managed to hold myself together. “Let’s keep shooting, shall we?” Quinn said with a big grin on her face.

  We went back outside. I walked with stiff legs while that vibrator buzzed inside of my body. I stood in front of that sign and then I reassumed a pose. They started snapping. My legs trembled. My knees wanted to buckle. I tried to smile, but I ended up biting my lip. “Great! That’s perfect!” Jenny said. “I don’t know what you told her, Quinn, but it worked!”

  That amazing euphoria was slowly growing inside of me. I tried to clench it away, but it just kept coming back stronger. I managed to strike a number of poses. Now the faces in the crowd were brighter and more impressed. I saw heads nodding.

  I remembered that pose I saw in the administrator’s office. I mimicked it, getting an audible approval from the crowd. Then we moved over to the next building. The buzzing felt intense now. My cock was throbbing, but luckily it was still flaccid and tucked back in my panties. I had to press my thighs firmly together to stop myself from bursting.

  “Shit,” I muttered as that euphoria filled my whole body.

  “What was that, Jill?” Jenny asked.

  I shook my head quickly. “Nothing,” I said. I bit down hard on my tongue and I took a deep breath. The shoot continued. I listened to those shutters snapping as I changed my pose every few seconds. I was wobbling in my heels, so I decided to sit down. The photographers didn’t mind. They lowered themselves down and got some different angles.

  But I wasn’t okay. I could feel things happening between my legs. I squirmed and groaned but managed to keep a half-smile on my face. Then I came. I felt my panties filling up with warm cum. I let a soft sigh slip out from my lips—and the cum wouldn’t stop coming.

  Then, I saw the familiar face of the department head walking towards us. He raised his hands in the air with a big smile. “There’s our model!” he said. “So Frankie pulled through after all. But where’s Frankie?”

  Everyone looked around. Quinn looked at me with wide eyes as I rose to my feet slowly.

  “Frankie was supposed to be the photographer—that was the one condition.” He shook his head. “But once again, it looks like he’s absent—getting his classmates to do his work for him. What a shame.”

  Jenny and Quinn were both looking at me. Half of our class was standing there. I was about to humiliate myself in a big, big way. “I’m right here,” I said. But it came out in my girly voice.

  Everyone looked at me. “I see that,” the head of department said. “And you’re doing a great job. We really appreciate it. I can’t wait to see the girls’ photos.”

  “No—I’m right here. I’m Frankie,” I said. “This is a wig.” I took the wig off to prove it.

  Then I heard the gasp in the crowd. The air became silent and that humiliation quickly started to set in. Everyone was staring at me with parted lips.

  “I organized the shoot and I’m also modelling—I’m doing everything you asked me to do. So please don’t fail me.”

  But the air was still silent. I couldn’t figure out why my classmates weren’t rolling on the floor with laughter. Why weren’t they mocking me? Why weren’t they pulling out their phones to text their friends? What was happening?

  “I see,” the head of department said after a long moment of silence. “I suppose you can carry on then.” He stepped to the side, but he kept watching. My classmates also remained in place, still watching me with open mouths.

  Quinn and Jenny were slow to hold up their cameras again. They pointed them at me, and then I continued to model. And it was only a minute later when the crowd’s reactions went right back to normal, as if they were watching a real model, as if they never heard me say that I was actually their classmate. They didn’t seem to care. The head of department didn’t seem to care.

  And how could they care? How could they make fun of me after ogling me for weeks? If they made fun of me, they would also be making fun of themselves.

  After the shoot was done, a small crowd formed around me. “Are you free this weekend? Do you want to do a shoot with me? I have a hotel room booked, but my model just cancelled on me. Want to do it?” one student asked.

  “On Monday we have a day off. Want to do a shoot at the outdoor swimming pool on Moon Street? It should be empty in the morning. We can do it just like you did in your other pool shoot.”

  No one was mocking me. I was more popular than ever. And strangely, I couldn’t wait to do more shoots. I liked modelling. I loved the way people looked at me, as if I was some hidden gem. I loved how perfect every single shot seemed to turn out. Maybe I liked modelling even more than I liked shooting—but I could still do both, right?


  Jenny let me keep the wig and a few of the outfits. She even gave me a bag of makeup that she didn’t need. “We can go shopping together later,” she said, as if she knew that I would keep up my feminine persona. And she was right: I did plan to keep it up, but I don’t know how she knew that. Maybe it was the smile on my face that just wouldn’t go away. Maybe it was the way my eyes lit up when I looked at the photos she took.

  THE END

  COMING OUT

  Roger has spent the last nine months living out in the woods, far away from society. For nine months, he’s been happy to be away from the school bullies and the harsh judgement of his own parents. He snuck into town once, to learn that everyone thought he was dead—and that’s just what he wants.

  But winter is coming and the weather is getting awfully cold. His food source has dried up and the cold is starting to pierce through his little shack. After a string of miserable nights, Roger realizes he’s going to have to return to town if he doesn’t want to die from the cold. He’s going to need to venture into town, and if he wants to remain dead in the eyes of his townspeople and family members, he’s going to need a good disguise.

  CHAPTER I

  I was cold; so I was starting to think it was time to call it quits. Back when I left town, I knew it was going to be hard and I knew it was going to be boring—but I didn’t know that it was going to be this damn cold.

  I accomplished more in those woods than I ever thought that I would. When I first set out, I figured I would maybe last a week before realizing survival without society is hard. I never thought that I would actually get a proper shelter built, and I never really thought that no one would find me. Sometimes at night, when I lay on my hand-built bed, staring up at my hut’s surprisingly sturdy ceiling, I hoped that someone would find me—just so that I would have someone to talk to.

  But I would always push those thoughts away. I left because of them. I left because that’s all they wanted to do: talk—or I should say: gossip and lie and torment one another. People are cruel. People secretly love to fight and bicker and hate. I just couldn’t take it any longer. I had to get away. And I got away—for nearly nine months—eight and a half more than I thought that I would.