Copyright © 1998,

The Orangutang.

I should tell you a bit about Tracy first, I suppose. She is the woman that I love with all my heart.

I knew she was the one for me the first time I laid eyes upon her. Although she looked a whole lot different back then.
After we had been together for several years, and it became clear to me that we would be together for many more Tracy revealed her submissive side to me. She wanted to do and be for me whatever
I wanted. To make a long story short, I have, with her full compliance permission and participation, made her into the perfect woman for me.
When I first met Tracy she was cute, but not spectacular. It was her personality, spark
and intelligence that drew me to her. Now it’s all that and so much more.
Through certain contacts of mine in the medical field, I had heard of a very special clinic, one that did rather radical plastic surgery and makeovers for clients who were willing to pay their rather exorbitant rates. They guaranteed total safety and confidentiality to
their client, and had a reputation for delivering *exactly* what their customers wanted.

It was two weeks until Tracy entered the clinic. We both had to go in for some pre-process interviews and to sign some paperwork.

When we got there, we were separated. Tracy was whisked off for what I found out later was a complete physical exam and genetic typing, I was quickly conducted to a small room with large window along one wall that looked into another room. The doctor soon entered and had me take a seat.

“We thought you might like to look at what our process does before you make you’re final decision. ” said the doctor. “This is one way glass, and we should be able to watch her without her knowing. She should be in any minute.”

“First of all you should know that this woman has completed every procedure we’ve had slated for her with flying colours. The physical modifications turned out wonderfully, the
cosmetic ones went well also. The mental conditioning has brought her completely in line with what was requested. This woman’s attitudes, behaviors, tastes, and predilections are now exactly how they were intended. And all this with no change to her basic personality
structure.”

The doctor then showed me a picture of the women that I was about to see, a picture taken before the process. He showed me a photo of a blonde, cute but not beautiful. she was trim and slim, with about B cup breasts. She was dressed in ordinary clothing, and looked like a nice woman.

Soon the door in the other room opened. When the woman walked into the room, I barely recognized her. The changes they had put her through were enormous! The most obvious change were her tits…they were huge! Her former B cups had been augmented to what turned out to be a FF cup! She was dressed in a tight blood-red jersey halter top that hugged her big fat tits tightly, and ended right above her midriff. Clearly visible through the clingy material were the outlines of thick metal rings that now pierced her nipples.

Her waist narrowed dramatically and then flared out to a set of lush fleshy hips and a full, rounded ass. A matching red skirt stretched across her ample cheeks. The woman’s taut belly was circled by a fine gold chain that threaded itself through the ring that pierced her navel. Her legs were clad in red stockings with a seam up the back held up by a red garter belt, and she walked easily in her red pumps with a 7″ heel.

“We allowed her to pick out her own cosmetic improvements once the personality realignment and the physical changes were done,” said the doctor. “Obviously with her body improved as it has been, her old clothing won’t fit her anymore. Her sense of style has changed quite a bit as well. All part of the mental conditioning.”

Her formerly short nails were now about an inch and 1/2 long, and painted the same color as her dress. They had worked on her face as well. Her lips were now thick and full, and her eyebrows had a bit more of an arch to them. Her hair had thickened as well, and flooded down to her mid back in a white blonde cascade. Her ears were pierced in about five places in each ear now, and a graduated set of gold hoops hung from them. The largest ones scraped her shoulders as she walked, with the smallest just barely encircling her ear.

The women walked across the room with a catlike stride, looked around and took a seat on a sofa. We sat and watched her for a while.

The table in front of her was strewn with sex toys. Dildos and vibrators of many different sizes littered the low coffee table. Leaning forward, she examined the collection carelessly, then sat back and smiled a devilish smile. Rising, she moved quickly to the door and locked it, then returned to the table and selected a small vibrator.
She pulled her skirt up around her waist, revealing a pair of silk panties that matched her skirt and top perfectly. She planted her fanny on the couch and, obviously unaware that we were watching, spread her legs wide.

“I think you’ll start to see some of the more graphic improvements soon. The hormones did wonders for her genitalia as well as her breasts. We achieved almost 500% growth in the pleasure center area.”

She started out by caressing her smooth, hairless inner thighs with her long mailed hands, slowly caressing closer and closer to her crotch. Finally her fingers began to toy with her crotch, and she pulled aside the thin layer of silk to reveal her pussy. New gold rings shone from the ring that pierced her enlarged clitoris, now the size of the tip of a normal thumb. This lady’s clitoral hood had not grown with her clit, so the pulsing pink piece of pleasure-flesh jutted out prominently. Her labial lips were glistening with wetness, and as she pulled at her clit ring, she moaned softly.

The woman worked the dildo in and out of her cunt with one hand, while holding the little vibrator against her clit with the other. The other dildo worked its way deeply in and out of her mouth, courtesy only of her new mouth, tongue and throat control. It was strange to watch, the dildo fucking her mouth steadily with nothing and no one holding on to it. She would suck it in until the fake balls were nestled against her chin, then it would move out until she held just the tip between her ruby red lips.

The five men each entered the room, jacked off into the champagne glass, and then promptly left. The woman was left alone with the tall glass of sperm. She put down her magazine, picked up the glass and without a second of hesitation, brought it up to her lips
and began to drink. What initially began as sips soon turn into gulps, and she had soon drained the glass. She ran her tongue around the inside of the rim of the glass, licking up every drop she could reach.

*

The changes started slowly. They were gradual, but noticeable.

The first thing that happened was that almost all of her body hair fell out. One day while she was in the shower, she just scrubbed it off . Only the hair on her head, her eyebrows and eyelashes, and her pubic hair remained. This left her body smooth and silky to the touch.

Her skin seemed to be whole lot more sensitive as well. Even wearing a silk blouse was enough to make her nipples stand to attention.

The hair on her head began to grow a bit faster at this point, as if the hair-growing resources of her body had been redirected. The hair was coming in brown like Tracy’s, but it was a deeper more vibrant brown, a chestnut color, it was thick silky and healthy, with a lot more body than before.

Tracy was really pleased with this first indication that the process was doing something. “About damn time,” she said as she studied herself in the mirror. “At the rate this hair is growing, it’ll be down to my butt in no time!”

The next area where we saw some change was in her pussy. Having spent a whole lot of time down there, I was the first to notice anything. Her labial lips were getting fleshier and her moans seemed a bit louder than usual when I sucked and licked them. Her clit looked swollen and red, over the next couple of weeks; it began to peek out from under its little hood of flesh. When I sucked on it Tracy went crazy! She seemed to be interested in sex a bit more, and it wasn’t uncommon for her to initiate things with me rather than the other way round.

Tracy also started to talk while we fucked something she had never done before. It started simply, with her occasionally crying out for “More!” when we were fucking. Soon, with a small bit of encouragement from me, she was becoming much more explicit in her cries. “Oooooo, yeah…baby, suck on it…lick my pussy! God, your tongue feels so good!” she’d moan as I slurped away at her cunt.

Over the next few weeks the body changes really began to kick in. They almost always happened while Tracy was sleeping, so we’d wake up and assess the night’s progress every morning.

First her nipples turned a deep wine color and started to bloat, the aureoles getting really puffy and swollen. The grew longer and thicker as well, soon reaching an 1 ½ inches long and ½ inch thick when erect. They got sensitive as hell, and it wasn’t long before Tracy could cum just from me sucking them. The aureoles grew as well, to about 5 inches in diameter. Soon they covered almost the entire surface of her breasts. It looked really strange for a while, but Tracy didn’t seem to mind as I licked and sucked my way across them.

Then the breast growth kicked in. And fast. Over a series of 14 nights, Tracy’s bust grew. Grew is probably an understatement. Unfortunately for me, I had to leave town for two weeks on business when this part of the change went down, but Tracy told me about it
later.

The first few mornings she had noticed it it was a bit subtle, but from day 3 on, the change was easily noticeable each morning. It became a ritual for Tracy every morning to see how much growth had occurred over the last night. The doctors had warned us about this period of the changes, and we had arranged for a leave of absence for Tracy from her job. We couldn’t buy her any bras for her new bust until it had reached its full size, so she didn’t go out much for those two weeks. She kept a journal for me while I was gone, and to this day it gets me hard as a rock to read it.

“What do you think honey?” she asked me. A yellow knit sweater was stretched over her chest, her nipples more than clearly visible. She shook her upper body a bit, her mammoth breasts jiggling back and forth. “Would you like to tit-fuck these?”

“Would I ever,” I said hoarsely.

“Good,” she said smiling lustily. “‘Cause I’ve been dreaming of that cock of yours buried between then for about three days.” She grasped at her tits roughly through the material of her sweater, squeezing supple flesh with each hand. “Well then, stop fucking around
and get that luscious prick of yours out, lover. I want your fucking cum ALL OVER my big titties…”

I unzipped my pants, pulling out my cock and beginning to stroke it immediately. Tracy pulled her sweater off over her head as she walked toward me.

Tracy loved her new huge tits, and spent a large portion of her first few days with them just caressing them, licking them, sucking them…she could get both of her huge nipple to her mouth easily. “I love to suck on them…they feel so good in my mouth.”

Walking with the huge mounds of flesh on her chest seemed like it would be a problem, but her backs muscles seemed to have shifted to compensate. She could walk easily and comfortably.

“I can feel it getting harder and harder for me not to think about sex,” Traci told me. “Everywhere I go I just look at the men’s crotches and dream. I try to read and I just start thinking about you filling me up and I lose my concentration. It’s kind of scary,” she
confided “but the more it happens the less it seems to bother me…it feels so right, so perfect to think about cock, and sex and pussy all the time. I mean of course I’m thinking about it…I want it, all the time. Help me darling.”

“How can I do that?” I inquired.

Her lush lips spilt into broad smile. “By using me…treating me the way I want to be treated. These procedures have given me all the physical tools I need to be the fantasy girl that both you and I want me to become.” As if to illustrate this point she plumped her
mammoth tits suggestively. “But I can’t get to that potential if you persist in treating me like before!”

Tracy was in the living room when I got home. She had a porno movie going on the VCR and was intently watching it.

Tracy had her legs spread wide, and her skirt hiked up, and she was sliding a large rubber dildo slowly in and out of her pussy. I moved up close to her head and took out my cock. Her eyes were fixed on the screen…she didn’t even notice me! I began to stroke my prick
and move over toward her. As I touched my cock to her ruby red lips, the only indication she gave that she was paying any attention to me at all was that she parted her lips and began to lick me. Her eyes remained fixed on the fucking on the TV screen as I slowly slid my dick into her mouth.

Soon I was pumping away fucking her mouth from a bit to the side so I wouldn’t block her view of the fuck film. She was making little contented noises as I slid smoothly in and out of her mouth, and she was soon timing her dildo thrust to me mine. Occasionally Tracy’s eyes would flicker to meet mine, and the look of empty raw lust in them drove me crazy.

It wasn’t long before I came. Tracy’s mouth filled with my cum, and it spilled out of the corners of her mouth, drooling down her cheeks and chin. She suckled on my softening prick, drawing out every last bit of semen

Tracy has really gotten into the slut role! She’s started to spell her name “Traci,” with an “i” instead of a “y” now. She thinks its sexier. Between my own treatment of her and her own self motivated behavior alterations, my Traci has undergone quite a personality
change in the last month. Slowly but surely, Traci is erasing any traces of the gentility in which she had been brought up. Her speech patterns her body language; all are shifting away from poised young genteel young lady, toward white-trash whore. With the increased tendon strength that the treatment gave her, she can to wear heels all the time now. She likes to wear at least 4″ inch ones, but she really likes the 6 inch and higher ones the best. When she walks now, her liquid hips shift from side to side seductively, and her tits jiggle ever so slightly. She never just stands, she always poses.

She loves to surprise me with new changes and improvements she’s making in herself, and it makes her so happy when she hits another level in her transformation.

The first thing she did along this vein was in the area of clothes. After her breast growth, she naturally needed almost an entirely new wardrobe. I figured that she’d want clothing like she was used to wearing, but Tracy surprised me with the clothes that she began to purchase. Gone were the elegant but simple garments of before. She ditched her old clothes entirely. Honestly most of it didn’t fit her improved body anymore anyway. When it came to buying new stuff, she went crazy. Almost everything she owns now is skin-tight, and she especially loves rubber, lycra and plastic. She gets them specially made so that they breathe. Skirts, halter tops, cat-suits, everything, in a whole rainbow of colors.

“I love being wrapped in all that artificial material,” she says. “I feel like I’m a package waiting to be unwrapped. It helps me act the way I want to be…plastic, a vessel to be filled by fingers, cocks and cum.”

After that came a few piercings.

Tattooing was next. She started small, getting the words “cock whore” tattooed just above her pussy. Next was an band of the word “cumslut” tattooed around her ankle. I soon came home to find matching bands gracing her other ankle and her wrists. Then she went and got the big ones done.

In the middle of Traci’s lower back is now a splendid representation of herself with two huge cocks stuffed into her pussy and asshole, with another one jammed down her throat. The tattoo artist really captured the image of her. Traci told me that’s because she let
three of the guy’s co-workers fuck her, so that he could get the image right. On the left cheek of her ass is another picture of herself, this time just a head shot of Traci, her mouth open and tongue stuck out as a cock cums all over her face. Her right cheek bears a picture of Traci on her back, jamming a thick dildo in both her pussy and
ass.

“It’s amazing what you can get for a couple of blowjobs” she said, touching up her makeup.

She loves to play the role of the empty headed sex kitten. When we went out in public she loves the looks and whispers she gets when this smartly dressed gentleman walks in to a place with a big-titted slutty looking bimbo on his arm.

She’s also given up reading and made me get rid of all of her books. She stopped writing as well. She did have me acquire subscriptions to about 10 different pornographic publications, all hardcore.

“Sluts don’t read or write,” she said simply. “We have better things to do…like lookin’ at porno mags trying to get ideas on how to please a man better.”

Hearing her talk threw me a bit as well. Whereas before her vocabulary and speech had been erudite and educated, and all of that was still intact, most of the time talking to her was like talking to a whore. She never said “breasts” when she could say “tits” or “jugs”,
“cunt” or “gash” or “fuck-hole” instead of “pussy”. I quickly got used to it when I realized that the old Tracy was accessible whenever I wanted. I soon came to love the slutty and dirty things she says.

“Cum all over my face, lover,” she’ll say as my cock pops out from between her lips, “Feed me your fucking cum…I have to have it, lover…*slurp* I want to taste you and feel you blow your load all over my fucking face…fill my mouth with it…” Needless to say, I
seldom have a problem complying.

It takes her almost and hour to do her hair and makeup in the morning as well. She lacquers her thick lips heavily with lipstick, outlining her eyes, curling and shaping her long brown hair to get the exact effect she wants. She then usually has me blow a load on her face, and massages it into her skin. Sometimes she “forgets” to rub all of it in, and I’ll catch her conspicuously scraping some remainder into her mouth when we’re in a public place.

Traci can be pretty evil when she wants to. When I’m talking to someone with Traci by my side, she’ll slide one of her long-nailed hands down to my crotch and start caressing my cock through my pants, while I try to pretend not even to notice.

I think the spookiest part of the whole process was when I realized that Traci’s slut act was slowly but surely ceasing to be an act. When I’d try to talk to her about any of the old things that she used to be interested in, she’d try to maintain the conversation, but
it was obvious she was just doing it to please me. It’s hard to talk to a woman whose long nailed hands are perpetually wandering to either her crotch or yours. Her brain was acclimating to her new body, and was cleaning house if you will. Day by day Tracy the intelligent competent woman was being replaced with Traci-slut. The even spookier
thing was that Traci noticed it as well, and didn’t seem to mind!

“My new body feels *so* good! I know I’m changing, but it all feels so right…so proper…” she said, staring deeply into my eyes. “I still love you, and I always will,” she whispered, and I could tell she meant it. Her manner then changed. She stood up and bent over, looking at me through her legs. Her huge tits hung down, spilling from her bra, almost obscuring her face.

“Now, get out that prick of yours and stuff it up my asshole, lover…I’ve needed a big fat dick in my ass all day.” As if to illustrate this statement, she pulled her red silk panties aside and easily slid two fingers deep into her cunt, pulled them out, and sank them deep into her asshole.

I quickly obliged, and Traci’s tight sphincter muscles milked
the cum from me in record time.

I can’t count the number of business deals I’ve sealed with Traci’s help. I just invite the client or clients over to our house and pretend to have something to do that leaves them alone with my wife. With Traci’s physique and skills, as well as her totally depraved behavior, its not long before she’s riding her asshole up and down on their dick or smearing their cum all over her face.

Every now and then I’ll pretend to “catch” Traci and the client at it. I’ll come into the room and feign shock as I find Tracy bent over the couch, her fat whores’ ass sucking on the prick of the client, or on her knees, cock thrust deep into her throat, nails tickling the clients balls as they nestle against her chin. She loves this because once some explaining is done; she inevitably ends up with two cocks spewing all over face and tits, her rather than just one.

“It makes me feel so good when you use my ass, cunt and mouth to get what you want,” Traci says. “I want to be your fuck toy, a set of holes for you to park your cock…or anybody else’s cock…in. I want to be seen as just ass, mouth, cunt and tits”

She’s recently started to refer to herself in the third person as well. She started out doing it just occasionally, while we were fucking. It was “Traci loves to fuck! Do you like to fuck Traci?” but it soon began to spill over into her day to day speech. When I asked her about it, she smiled a wide smile and said “Traci wants to become just an object for you to use, a mouth, ass and cunt for you to fill. She wants to be yours utterly, so she has decided to talk like this because she is not really a person anymore so she has decided to refer to herself as such. Don’t you like the way Traci talks now?” She asked poutily, her long nails stroking my rock hard prick through my pants. She giggled as the answer became obvious, and she slipped her hand down the front of my trousers to grasp my
hardness.

“Oooooooo,” she cooed, “Traci sees that you DO like the way she talks…would you like Traci-Slut to suck your big hard dick?”

“Yes” I said hoarsely looking directly into her beautiful eyes.

“Ooooo, goody! Traci-Slut loves to feel you cock in her mouth and throat…”

She dropped to her knees and within a minute my balls were nestled against her chin and Traci was moaning contentedly to herself around her mouthful of cock.

You should have seen her, her entire body encased in a black PVC cat suit with zippers all over it (including one that ran around a flap in her crotch). It clung to every curve of her body, from the fat globes of her tits to the wide flare of her hips. Her tit rings were
outlined by the clinging garment, as were the rings in her pussy lips, although you had to look a bit closer to see them. What was the casual observer couldn’t see were the two prongs built into the crotch, a 7″ one inserted into Tracy’s pussy, and another 4″ prong filling her asshole.

“Traci loves how they squirm around inside her when she walks…it keeps slutty Traci nice and loose, and hornier then hell,” she says.

She wore elbow high gloves of the same PVC and knee-high black plastic boots, pointed with seven inch stiletto heels. As she walked, her wide round ass shifted from side to side seductively. Her hair was pulled back into a pony tail high on her head, help in place by a PVC scrunchie. Large silver hoops hung from her ear-lobes.

As she bent over, I unzipped the zipper around that panel that I mentioned earlier. As I peeled the flap down away from her crotch, I pulled the two large prongs from her holes with a wet slurping sound. As I removed the black rubber dildos, Traci’s ass and
pussy hung gaping for a minute before her finely toned muscles took
over and they both slowly closed.

“Oooh…” she moaned “Now Traci’s fuckholes are all empty and lonely…”

Traci’s ass sucked at my prick as she flexed her internal muscles. I was moving in and out with long full strokes, and Traci was humping her plush posterior back at me in rhythm with my thrusts.

I pulled my dick from her asshole with an audible pop and quickly jammed the two rubber prongs back into Traci’s holes, zipping the panel shut to hold them in place.

“Mmmmmm…” Traci moaned “now Traci-cunt will have your cum in her asshole all day…Traci loves that.”

Tracy tilted her head back as I came, her mouth open wide. My cum jetted out in thick white ropes, some landing in her mouth, more splattering her lips and chin. The lower half of her face was covered in my seed, and she smiled up at me as she began to suck the remains from my now softening dick.

“Mmmmm…yes…feed Traci-Slut your cum! *schlurp* *smack*.”

I shot picture after picture as Traci suckled me. She had agreed to the pictures without a thought, even when I said I most post some of them on the Internet.

“Then even more people can see what a perfect cockslave Traci-Slut has become,” she said proudly. I thought maybe she deserved her own website after tonight’s performance.

by wettstarr © copyright

School was going alright, but I knew my Senior year at Baldwin High would be
tough. I was taking an extra course, and working hard to get my grades up so I
could qualify for a scholarship for my college education. I hoped to pursue my
plans to be a pharmacist, and I wanted to get into the pharmacy school at State.
I also needed good grades, or I would have little chance for admission. It
wouldn’t be easy, so I spent most of my time at school, doing my homework, and
performing extra credit projects. I didn’t have much of a social life. I had a
few friends, but mostly I hung out with Cammy, and we sometimes went to movies
or to the mall for some shopping, though I was saving most of my money for
college.

Of course, with my busy academic schedule, I didn’t have a boyfriend. Some nerdy
guys had asked me out, but I really wasn’t interested. I was planning on
attending college 100 miles away and there was no point in getting involved with
a high school guy when I would be leaving in a few months anyway. Cammy was a
little more adventurous and went on some dates once in a while. When she didn’t
have a date, we would go down to the mall together and relax and talk and
complain about school.

When we went to the mall, we usually saw the “Hot Gurlz.” Candy, Gina, and
Tiffany were sort of a clique, and they fit together pretty well. They had the
clothes, and the cars, and the older guys, and the money. They ignored me and
Cammy, and when we saw them we would just walk by without saying anything. Of
course, I had heard the rumors about them, the sex, and the drinking, and the
drugs, and the parties. And I had heard the rumor that Candy’s Mom had been a
stripper, and that her older sister Barbi worked at the Cheetah, an upscale
strip club in town. I didn’t know if any of it was true, but I never thought
much about it. Candy and Gina and Tiffany were just in a different world from me
and Cammy.

I lived alone with my Mom, and saw little of my Dad, who moved to Florida after
their divorce. We lived in a split-level ranch, and I moved my bedroom to the
lower level for the privacy, and to get away from my Mom’s smoking habit. My Mom
was alright, and worked hard to keep our house functioning, but she was kind of
a social butterfly, and she smoked, and drank a little, and usually went out
with her friends on the weekends. That was fine with me, as the house was quiet,
and I could do my school work and listen to some music alone.

Candy and Gina were in one of my classes, a required psychology course with
about 40 students. I never paid any attention to them, and didn’t even know they
were in the class until, one day in September, Candy approached my desk after
class, looked into my eyes, and touched me on the shoulder.

I instantly froze. I couldn’t move. I stood there, my mind confused and
questioning.

Then she spoke. “Meet me at my locker after 3rd period,” she said.

She was ridiculously gorgeous, with her long, thick blonde hair, her pouty,
glossed lips, her globular breasts, and her sparkling blue eyes, with an
expensive, slutty wardrobe to show it all off. She was 17 going on 25. I was
just an academic, nerdy teenage girl, while she looked like a porn star lost in
a high school. Yet, there she was, standing not more than 2 feet away from me,
her long-nailed finger planted on my shoulder. Why would she want to see me? How
did she even know my name? I didn’t even know her and we had absolutely nothing
in common. She was one of the Hot Gurlz, and I was just me, Cindy the struggling
student.

I knew where her locker was, but I had no interest in meeting her there. I
didn’t see any point to it. I then felt a vague warmth move through my body, and
my mouth overrode my more sensible thoughts.

“OK,” I said.

She smiled, released her finger from my shoulder, swung her mane of blonde hair
around her shoulders, and left. I was dazed. I felt my body relax, and realized
I could move again.

After 3d period I found Candy at her locker. She and Gina were talking and
laughing. Gina was a brunette, but she was every bit as intimidating as Candy.
She too was 17 going on 25. I couldn’t believe I was talking to these girls.
When Gina saw me, she backed away and opened her locker. Candy looked at me,
threw back her long hair, and put her finger on my shoulder again.
I froze immediately. My mind seemed to be working, but I couldn’t move. I was
afraid I would be left there, stuck frozen to the tile floor. Was she trying to
make fun of me? Humiliate me? I didn’t, and couldn’t, know. Yet, I felt that
vague warmth again. Candy rested her finger on my shoulder and looked into my
eyes.

“Meet me here after 6th period,” she commanded.

I couldn’t do that. I had a meeting with Mr. Johnson, my chemistry teacher,
about a project I was doing for extra credit. I couldn’t meet with Candy and
miss that meeting. I needed that extra credit to assure a good grade in the
organic chemistry class. There was no way I could meet Candy Carson at her
locker after school. But, again, with that vague warmth now permeating my brain,
my mouth overrode my usual good sense.

“OK,” I said, “I’ll be here.”

Candy smiled, and said, “Great, . . . see you then.” Then she released her
finger and turned to open her locker.

I was more or less in a daze and stumbled away toward my next class. I spent the
rest of the day trying to concentrate on my school work, but all I could think
about was Candy Carson, and her finger, and her huge, layered blonde hair, and
her full, wet lips, and her long, acrylic nails, and her round globe-like
breasts that she so brazenly displayed in her tight tank tops. I tried to be my
usual self, but those thoughts of Candy Carson kept stubbornly returning to my
addled brain, and, if I had been truthful with myself, I would have admitted
that I couldn’t wait until the end of 6th period.

I met Candy at her locker just as we had arranged. Gina was nowhere to be seen.
Candy smiled at me, and again put her finger on my shoulder. I froze solid.
Candy’s eyes bored into me. I instantly became warm, warm in places that could
turn into a burn, given enough time, given enough permission. This was all so
fast, so confusing.

“Meet me at Gloria’s tomorrow night at 7,” she said.

Gloria’s was the most fashionable woman’s boutique at the mall. I had never been
inside its doors, and if I were I couldn’t afford its prices. I wasn’t that kind
of girl, I couldn’t afford to be that kind of girl, and I wouldn’t have any idea
what to buy even if I had the money. I was hardly a fashion hound. Then, why
should we meet at Gloria’s? I could understand Candy Carson at Gloria’s, but not
me. There seemed to be no point to all of this. But, again, just as before, my
mouth spoke for me, spoke for a part of me that I never admitted to, and I again
felt that soft, strange warmth inside me.

“OK,” I said, and Candy released her finger. My body relaxed, and I began to
breathe freely again.

“I’ll see you there,” Candy said, and walked away.

Out of habit I stumbled toward the Chemistry Department looking for Mr. Johnson,
but there was no one around. I would have to re-schedule that meeting. Without
that extra credit project, I couldn’t be sure of a good grade in organic
chemistry, and that grade was crucial to my scholarship chances. I would Mr.
Johnson tomorrow, first thing, and get things straightened out. I’m sure he
would understand, if I could make up some stupid story why I had failed to show.
I stopped worrying about it, and enjoyed the new warmth that drifted through my
brain. It was so different. Different from the pressure that usually crushed my
skull, the worrying and fretting about school and classwork and homework
assignments and grades and pharmacy school and that damn scholarship. God, I had
to have that damn scholarship, or I would end up making change for local
construction workers at some grubby burger joint. That definitely was not my
future, I knew that. But I wasn’t sure Mr. Johnson would give me some slack. I
just hoped he would.

When I approached Gloria’s the next night, Candy Carson was standing at the door
smoking a cigarette. She put it out and told me to follow her. We walked through
the boutique, past the racks and displays of expensive, fashionable women’s
wear, to the rear of the store and the doors of the several changing rooms.
Candy opened one and we went inside. We sat on the small, wooden benches across
from each other. Candy promptly put her finger on my shoulder and once again I
froze. The warmth instantly returned to the depths of my teenage soul.

“Cindy, you probably wonder why I wanted to talk to you. Its very simple
really.” She arched an eyebrow and looked closely at me. The warmth within me
intensified. Then she dropped her bombshell. “We’re going to be friends,” she
said, matter-of-factly, arching her other eyebrow.

Friends? My mind began to race again. Why would Candy Carson want to be friends
with me. We had absolutely nothing in common and we had absolutely nothing to
talk about. She was this outrageous teenage slut Goddess, and I was a
run-of-the-mill struggling, academic nobody. This must be some kind of game, I
thought. It certainly couldn’t be real. And anyway, if she really wanted to be
friends, why were we sitting in a changing room at Gloria’s? I tried to speak,
but found that I couldn’t. I felt a moistness in places that swell and respond
with a warmth I didn’t want to consider at the moment.

“Cindy,” Candy continued, “I have a secret to tell you, and you are to repeat it
to no one. Promise me.”

Of course, I promised.

“My real Dad died a few months ago, and my Mom and I inherited a shitload.
Thanks to that inheritance, I’m nothing now but a trust fund bitch. Of course, I
plan to spend most of it on myself, but I want to share some of it with my
friends, and because you’re one of my friends I should share some with you,
shouldn’t I?”

“You don’t have . . . ,” I started to say. My brain was misting over again.

“Of course I do, Cindy. And I’ve already decided to share some with you. That’s
not open to discussion, so just drop it, OK?” She arched one of those perfectly
formed eyebrows, then continued. “You’re a real cute girl, Cindy, but I really
prefer foxier friends, and you’re not really the foxy type yet, are you?”
She eyed my long, mousy hair, and plain, make-up free face, and my frumpy
clothes, and I felt hopelessly inadequate. Of course, I wasn’t the “foxy type.”
I wasn’t even close. Candy Carson was the foxy type, not me. She was some kind
of apparition from a world I didn’t know, and didn’t even dream about. I thought
only about school, and my scholarship, and my pharmacy school dreams.
Then she bored in on me. “If all my friends are totally foxy, you really don’t
think you should be an exception, do you?”

I really couldn’t think why I should be an exception. If I was going to be Candy
Carson’s friend, I didn’t see why I shouldn’t be the foxy type too, although I
had no idea how I could possibly be anything remotely like this gorgeous
creature that was now staring at my every move.

“No,” I said, “I guess not.”

“Good,” Candy continued. “We’re going to fix you up with some things that I
think you’ll like. I’ll help you pick some things out, some foxy things. Don’t
you think?”

“Sure,” I said, obediently. I felt my pussy swell as if it had a mind of its
own.

“And another thing. From now on I want you to carry a pack of cigarettes in your
purse at all times. Buy a pack and a lighter on your way home tonight. Starting
tomorrow, I want you to have a cigarette before school, during lunch hour in the
lounge, and another one before you get home.” Candy looked at me and pressed her
finger into my shoulder. “And I want you to inhale, starting tomorrow. Get
hooked, get hooked hard and get hooked fast.”

“OK,” I said, although I don’t know why I said that. I had never smoked in my
life.

“Wait a minute,” Candy said. She opened her black leather purse and pulled out a
fresh pack of Virginia Slims 120s. She handed them to me, and I put them into my
purse. “Be sure to get a lighter,” Candy added. Of course, I nodded.

“Another thing,” she said, and she rummaged through her purse again. She pulled
out a plastic prescription drug bottle that rattled with pills.

She handed me the bottle. “Take one of these pills every day,” she said, a
twinkle in her heavily made-up blue eyes. “I think you’ll like the results.” We
then left the changing room and worked our way around the racks and displays in
the fashionable boutique.

We left the store carrying four large shopping bags of skirts, blouses, tank
tops, some leather pants, thong panties, jewelry, and some accessories. Candy
must have spent over $1,000, although it didn’t seem to faze her. She flipped
out a credit card to pay for it all and we left. She took me to Kay’s, the best
shoe store in the mall, and bought me some slides, platforms, and a pair of
black leather boots. Again, Candy flipped out her credit card and we left,
carrying more packages than we could comfortably carry.

When I got home, I snuck into the house through the sliding glass doors on the
ground level in the backyard. I threw all the shopping bags on my bed and sorted
it all out. I took off my clothes and put on a pair of satin thong panties. I
laid on my bed and looked at the homework on my desk, unopened. I got up and
walked over to the desk, gazed at my homework assignments, pushed my books to
the side, and lifted my purse to get my cigarettes. I pulled one out, lit up,
and sat on the bed. I took a couple small drags, let my head get light, then
took a deep drag, exhaling half way across the room. I enjoyed that cigarette,
and another one, before I drifted off to sleep.

I didn’t see Candy for a couple days, and let my new clothes sit in my closet. I
smoked before school, during lunch in the student lounge, and after school. I
was also smoking in my room at night. Of course, Cammy noticed I was smoking,
and I explained it helped with my weight and was good company while I studied.
Cammy understood, even though I had never had a weight problem, and she even had
a smoke with me a couple times.

After Psych class on Friday, Candy sauntered over and put her finger on my
shoulder. I instantly froze and stared at the gorgeous creature that had said it
wanted to be my friend. She gave off a seductive aroma of expensive perfume and
cigarette smoke. Her blonde hair was moussed and teased, its long curls snaking
down to the top of a large pair of slightly vulgar globes, tightly encased in
her tight tank top. We were about the same height, but she towered over me in
her heels, while I stood flat-footed in my penny loafers. I had always liked
those penny loafers, but, for some unexplained reason, now I hated them.

“Meet me at Bud’s tomorrow at noon,” she commanded. Bud’s was a fast-food place
in the mall where most of the kids hung out.

“OK,” I said, that now familiar warmth engulfing me.

Candy smiled, threw her thick hair about her shoulders, and left the room.

When I got to Bud’s the next day, I saw Candy and Gina sitting in a booth with a
couple of older guys. I went over and Candy introduced me to John and Rex. I sat
down, and Candy asked me for a cigarette. I pulled my pack out of my purse and
gave her one. She lit up, took a gigantic drag, and exhaled over my head toward
the light hanging above the booth. Then she took me by the arm and led me out
into the mall. We sat on a bench in the common area, and I lit a cigarette and
smoked with Candy.

“I have a surprise for you, Cindy,” Candy said, placing her long, acrylic nail
on my shoulder. “Come with me.”

My legs were weak as she led me down the hall to Jan’s Nail Boutique. We walked
in, and a girl asked me if I was Cindy. I said “yes,” and she said I was right
on time. I didn’t know what was going on, and looked at Candy.

“Choose a hot color,” Candy said, and left. Before I knew it, I was seated in an
upholstered chair, receiving an expert manicure and nail job. I chose a square
cut and a glossy magenta color. When the technician was finished, she said Candy
had already paid for it and I could go, but I should make a maintenance
appointment. I did, and walked back towards Bud’s. Before I could get there, I
ran into Gina and Candy, and they ran up to look at my nails.

“Hot,” said Gina, approvingly. She threw back her lustrous brunette hair in
excitement.

“Fucking hot,” said Candy. “You like them?”

Of course I liked them. I loved them. I could hardy admit to myself how much I
liked them. Candy immediately decided I needed some rings for my new hands, and
we all went into a small jewelry boutique where Candy bought me three rings, an
ankle bracelet, and some earrings.

Candy and Gina said they had to leave to meet their guys, but before Candy left
she put her finger on my shoulder again. I froze like a statue and looked at the
her. I was again overcome by the now familiar warmth.

“I bought you some foxy clothes,” she said, apparently a little miffed. “Don’t
you think you should wear some?” Then she dropped her finger and left.

My body relaxed, and I watched her high, tight ass walk away from me. I went
home, directly to my bedroom, where I admired my new nails. Then I stripped and
rummaged through my closet. I pulled out some of the new clothes and started to
model some of them. They were all great. I ended up in a pair of lavender satin
thong panties and some 6-inch pink platform shoes. I lit a cigarette and laid on
my bed, admiring my nails, then staring at my shoes. I laid my head on the
pillow, closed my eyes, and took a deep drag. Then I noticed my pussy was
soaked. It wasn’t long before I took off one of my shoes and slid that long pink
heel deep inside of my love nest. The heel was hard, and so long, and I had the
best orgasm of my life.

The next morning, I walked upstairs in my robe, my mousy brown hair pushed up
onto my head. My Mom was making coffee, and I sat down, displaying my new nails
and rings on the table. As she set a cup of coffee in front of me, she noticed
the nails. She smiled, and said they looked nice. Then she asked me why I hadn’t
told her before I had them done. This was my chance.

“Mom,” I said, “I have something else to tell you.”

She looked at me quizzically while she absent-mindedly lit a cigarette.

“I’m a smoker, Mom,” I said.

She didn’t seem too concerned. She just asked how long I had been smoking. I
just told her the truth. Then I pulled my pack out of my robe pocket and lit one
up. My Mom’s eyes bugged out as I sucked in a huge drag, and exhaled across the
table. I was hooked and the first cigarette in the morning was always so sweet.

From now on I wouldn’t have to wait for that first exhilarating drag, I could
just light up at the breakfast table. From then on, my Mom never noticed when I
smoked, which I did regularly, both downstairs in my room and at the table after
we had a meal. I don’t think she expected her studious daughter to have such bad
habits. But who was she to talk?

But Candy had more surprises for me. She somehow got a hold of my phone number
and called me a few days later. She had a great phone voice, soft and
penetrating, a voice that carried its own misty environment along with it. I
melted when I heard it.

“Cindy, do I really have to touch you on the shoulder anymore, or are you ready
to accept that you’re a fox?”

I didn’t freeze, but I felt her power, even over the telephone.

“I guess so,” I said. I had never imagined myself to be a fox, but if Candy says
so . . . .

“Don’t guess, Cindy,” Candy said. “Meet me at Hair Jazz at 2. Make it sharp.”

Hair Jazz was a beauty shop not more than 5 minutes from my house. It must have
been the place where Cindy and Gina and Tiffany got their hair done so
beautifully.

“OK,” I said, my lower body jerking imperceptibly.

By 3 that afternoon, my hair had been shampooed, cut, layered, colored, moussed,
and teased. The mousy brown was gone, and I was now a blonde, or at least a
streaked blonde. My hair was huge, and thick, and long, and heavily styled. I
loved it. It draped over my shoulders nearly to the top of my now growing
breasts.

I was about to leave when Jeannie, one of the stylists, told me I was scheduled
for a facial as well. I had never worn make-up, and was a bit hesitant, but I
sat in the chair and Lynette went to work. She talked me through it, and gave me
all the details as she applied the foundation, and blush, and eyeliner, and
shadow, and lip gloss. She didn’t ask what I wanted, she just did it. She did
mention that she had talked to Candy, one of her “best customers,” as she put
it. When she was finished, I couldn’t believe it. I just sat there and stared
into the large mirror. I certainly didn’t look like me. I’m not sure who I
looked like, maybe like Tiffany, or Gina, or even Candy. I lost track of my
self-absorbed staring, and Lynette interrupted my self-admiration session by
telling me that it was all paid for and I had another appointment in 2 weeks.
She gave me her card and told me to call if I had any questions. I looked in the
mirror again, then walked outside. I immediately lit up a cigarette, got into
the car, and went home.

I felt ridiculous with this gorgeous hair and make-up as I was wearing baggy
jeans and tennis shoes over a raggy sweatshirt. I rushed inside, went down to my
room, and took off my clothes. I put on a bra and panties set that Candy had
given me, then my new leather pants and a spandex tank top. I looked in the
mirror. That looked better. I lit a cigarette and watched myself smoke. I was
hot.

My Mom would have a cow if she saw me like this, but what was I going to do? I
couldn’t hide my hair, so why bother. I put on some 4-inch slides and went
upstairs. I strolled through the living room right in front of my Mom, and after
I reached the kitchen she called to me. I went back and sat down and lit a
cigarette.

“Honey,” she said, “you look great.”

I smiled. I knew I looked great. I looked like a porn actress.

“I didn’t think you cared about such things. You’re beautiful.”

My Mom couldn’t know such things, but the word for it wasn’t “Beautiful.” It was

“Foxy,” as Candy would say, but after all this was my Mom. So I just said,
“thanks,” and took another drag off my 120.

I told her about the salon and Lynette and showed her the salon’s business card.

“It must’ve cost a fortune,” she said.

I agreed, and suggested she make an appointment for herself. Then I got up, went
downstairs, and called Candy.

I hadn’t talked to her in more than 6 hours. That was much too long. I had grown
accustomed to talking to her every day, and we were becoming friends, just as
she predicted. As I waited for her to answer her cell phone, I looked at my desk
and the unfinished homework assignments lying in disarray. “Fuck that shit,” I
thought, and took another drag on my cigarette. Candy answered the phone, and
eventually told me to meet her at the movie theatre at 8.

I parked a couple blocks from the theatre and walked down the sidewalk, looking
for Candy and Tiffany. I saw them standing in front of a club with some guys. I
went up and joined in. Candy checked out my hair and makeup and whispered in my
ear, “Keep it that way, bitch,” which seemed just like the right thing to say.
Candy always knew just what to say.

We ended up in the club, dancing and partying, then Candy and a couple of guys
took me to Candy’s place. It was a great house, and no one was there. I ended up
with Rex, who was supposedly Tiffany’s boyfriend, and we spent the night in
Barbi’s room on a king-size bed. Candy spent the night with John, and I could
hear her convulsing and screaming nearly all night. In the morning, I picked out
one of Barbi’s robes and joined Candy for some coffee in the kitchen. We smoked
and Candy told me she must have cum 5 times the night before. I smiled, knowing
that I had just lost my precious virginity to some guy I didn’t know and who
supposedly belonged to one of my friends. Candy didn’t seem to mind. We sipped
some hot coffee, smoked, and chatted about John and Rex.

Then Candy reached over and put her finger on my shoulder.

I froze, and stared at my new best friend.

“You’re a fox from now on,” she said. She looked at me with that seductive
arched eyebrow and waited for my reply.

“OK,” I said, knowing I couldn’t be anything else now.

But she had more to say. “You’re a horny fox,” she commanded.

“OK,” I said, and felt small convulsions rack my pussy.

“You need cock all the time,” she said, in an evil, sultry whisper. Then she
added, “Just like me.” Her sparkling blue eyes flared at me.

“OK,” I said, not quite sure what this all meant. But, by now, I trusted Candy.
She always seemed to say the right thing. My pussy felt warm, and sweetly soft,
and so responsive. I felt a small but real change. I had been transformed,
somehow, I wasn’t quite sure how, but I felt it, deep inside something exciting
and electric was forming and taking hold of me. I felt warm and flushed all
over. This must be how foxes felt, I thought.

Candy got up and pushed my robe off my shoulders. She was checking out my tits
to see the effects of the pills. She smiled as she beheld my D cups, globular
and firm. Then she poured some more coffee for us. As we sat at the kitchen
table, sipping our morning coffee, I felt Rex’s love juices slowly drain out of
my pussy, down my inner thighs to the crack of my ass. The thick, white cream
gathered there, then dripped in gooey gobs onto the chair beneath me. I should
have brought an absorbent towel to sit on during breakfast.

When I wasn’t in school, I spent most of my time at Candy’s house. I didn’t do
homework anymore, and had pretty much lost interest in the Chemistry Department.
I got to know Deena, Candy’s Mom, and Barbi, Candy’s sister. Deena had been a
stripper years before, and Barbi worked at the Cheetah, just like the rumors
said. After receiving her huge inheritance, Deena spent most of her time in
Hawaii or Florida, and just left Candy to her own devices. Barbi supposedly
lived in the house, but she wasn’t around much, spending most nights with one of
her many boyfriends. Candy and I and Gina and Tiffany had the house to ourselves
on most nights, and we made the most of it.

After the Christmas holidays, I just moved in with Candy. My Mom didn’t care. In
fact, she seemed relieved to have me out of the house so she could have parties
on weekends and have some of her boyfriends spend the night. She even made an
appointment at Hair Jazz and got her hair done. She looked pretty good for a
Mom. I stopped by the house once in a while to say “Hi” and make sure she was
doing alright, and I could tell by her perky smile and bouncy walk that she was
feeling pretty good about things. She didn’t seem too concerned about me, and
just reminded me to take my pill every day. She didn’t want me to get pregnant
and get stuck with some dolt husband like she did. Moms are so helpful
sometimes.

I didn’t have a steady boyfriend, but the Hot Gurlz didn’t seem to mind sharing
their guys. There was never a shortage of rich studs around the house. I sampled
most of them while I kept my nasty options open. They knew I sucked and fucked
like a pro, so I never had to worry about being lonely. Some studly guy would
usually find his way to my king-size bed on a nightly basis, and Candy made sure
we had an ample supply of satin sheet sets clean and laundered in the house. I
loved the feel of some gold satin sheets underneath me as I got to know a new
guy. That satin fabric was so soft and feminine, just like me and Candy.
I took a towel to breakfast nearly every morning now. Candy and I would share
our coffee, and smoke some cigarettes, and sit lewdly with our legs slightly
spread, our men’s love juices from the night before draining down our thighs,
through the cracks of our ass, and into our towels. Even in the mornings, before
we had our showers, Candy was gorgeous, her thick, blonde hair mussed around her
face, her lips still pouty, and her small, long-nailed hands fondling her
cigarette. It still hadn’t sunk in that I was her best friend and was actually
living in her house, sharing rich dicks with her, and exchanging the intimate
details of our now routine sexual binges.

We still went to school, but Candy didn’t have anything to do there. She
couldn’t even hit on any of the guys, they were too young, they didn’t have the
right cars, they didn’t have enough money. I hung out with the Hot Gurlz, smoked
in the student lounge during lunch hour, and daydreamed through my classes. I
had pretty much forgotten about the Chemistry Department, and Mr. Johnson, and
my extra credit projects, and didn’t pay any attention to my homework
assignments anymore. I even got sent home one day by the Assistant Principal
because he said my pink leather hot pants were too short and too tight. Hah! He
probably just wanted to fuck me and had to get the temptation out of his puffy,
middle-aged face. Fortunately, Rex came over to keep me company and we partied
all afternoon. He sure is good at licking a pussy.

We had a big party for Candy’s 18th birthday, but I cant even tell you what
Candy did. Maybe some day Candy will write her story, as if anyone would believe
it. But Candy isn’t the writing type, so you will just have to trust me that we
had a good time. The morning after the party, we bagged school and stayed home.
We were lying around the living room, trying to recover, smoking a cigarette or
two, and slowly sipping some hot coffee.

“Cindy,” Candy said, “I’ve been thinking, . . . I think I’m going to drop out of
school and start working at the Cheetah.”

I could understand why Candy would drop out of school. There was nothing for her
at school anymore. And she would be perfect for the Cheetah. But I sensed an
impending separation from my best friend, and I felt a small panic grip my soul.

“Candy,” I said, quietly pleading with a little sadness in my voice, “I cant
leave school until I turn 18, and my birthday isn’t until next month.”

Candy took a drag on her cigarette, laid her head against one of the large
pillows on the sofa, and gazed into the ceiling. She exhaled her usual large
amount of smoke, and closed her eyes for a moment.

“OK, I’ve decided,” she said in her usual firm way, looking into the ceiling.

“I’ve decided I’ll drop out of school now, but I’ll wait to start at the Cheetah
until you drop out. Then, we’ll start working there together.”

I was relieved to hear Candy’s words. I could imagine Candy and me dancing at
the Cheetah, flaunting our tight asses and swollen tits, parading our young,
tight bodies in front of those rich, horny guys, little slut goddesses on the
prowl. I nearly fainted with the thought.

I told my Mom about my plans, but she wasn’t surprised. She had figured out I
had more interesting plans for my life than going to pharmacy school. Anyway,
she was much too busy with her social life to be overly worried about me. She
just reminded me again to keep taking my daily pill. That’s how Mom thought
about things.

And, when the time came, I did drop out of school on my 18th birthday. What a
fucking relief. I could bag the academic life for something that seemed much
more appropriate for me and my future. Goodbye Mr. Johnson, goodbye Chemistry
Department, goodbye Baldwin High, goodbye college scholarship, goodbye pharmacy
school, goodbye quiet, dead life with a nerd husband in the boring suburbs. It
was a welcome and overdue farewell.

We had a big celebration for my 18th birthday. I had my pick of guys, and Gina
shared her boyfriend with me, as did Tiffany. Gina made a home video of it all.
I think the best part was John ramming me from behind while I sucked on Rex’s
huge member. I think I looked pretty good wrapped around those two rich dicks.
The next day, Candy and I went to Hair Jazz and got our hair done and got a
facial, then went out to the Cheetah for our auditions. Of course, we were hired
right away, and it didn’t hurt for Candy to get on her knees and kiss and suck
the manager’s dick at the end of our interview. Candy knew how to get things
done.

We made a bundle. Candy bought a black Lexus with dark, tinted windows. She
always kept the glove compartment full of latex rubbers. Candy was always
thinking ahead like that. We raked in the bucks while dancing, and we brought
the rich guys home with us for more fun and more tips after hours. We were
living in Deena’s house rent-free, so I hoarded my money in a savings account. I
eventually bought a candy-apple red Mustang, and, taking Candy’s cue, I filled
its cute little glove compartment with all sorts of rubbers, and even some
expensive lubricants, just in case. Candy was always giving me great ideas like
that. We would get up in the morning, make some hot coffee, smoke some
cigarettes, sit softly on our towels, and spread our freshly earned hundred
dollar bills across the kitchen table to count and admire before we made our now
daily morning trip to the bank. Candy sure knew how to start a day.
Barbi introduced us to all the right guys, the rich married guys, who were fun,
and who showered us with great tips. We brought them home with us and partied
the only way we knew how. We eventually started taking weekend trips with some
of our favorite guys, then vacation trips too, to Hawaii, to California, to the
Caribbean. We were spending more time on the road than in town. I met an airline
pilot and he took me to Europe for 10 days. We fucked in London, Paris, and
Amsterdam. Candy does just as well; actually, Candy does better, but that is to
be expected. She is Candy, the original teen slut Goddess, God’s gift to the
enchanted kingdom of supernatural Foxes. She will always do better, but I
certainly don’t mind. I owe everything to her, and to her alone. No one else has
ever done anything for me. Just Candy.

So yes, we’re hookers, but we’re clean, and fun, and available. I really like
Hawaii. I have a customer who has a condo on Maui, and we go there a couple
times every year. The views are spectacular and the climate is heavenly. I hope
to settle down there one day. Though Candy spends a lot of time in the Virgin
Islands, she loves Maui too and I’m sure I will see a lot of her there. We will
always be friends, and we talk on the phone every day, no matter where our work
or our play might take us. Nobody could have a better friend than Candy. I
treasure her.

I almost remember how it all started, so long ago now. It was at Baldwin High,
in some deathly dull Psych class, Candy Carson, teen slut Goddess, put her
finger on my oh so vulnerable shoulder, and asked me to meet her at her locker,
in that dingy hallway, in that dingy school, so long ago and so far away. I can
almost remember it, like it was another world, another time, another life . . .
.

That is all past now. It’s a world gone by. I really don’t remember it all that
well anymore. But that’s hardly important now. Now, everything I have,
everything I’ve become, my whole new and exciting world, I owe to my best
friend, Candy Carson. Thanks to her, I’m a fox, a smoker, a stripper, a hooker,
a coke fiend, a slut, and my Mom’s best friend, and I owe it absolutely all to
her. Candy always came through for me.

So, I think you would have to agree, even you dork pharmacists out there: Every
girl should have a friend like Candy.