____________________________ | | /)| KRISTEN'S BOOKSHELF |(\ / )| DIRECTORIES |( \ __( (|____________________________|) )__ ((( \ \ > /_) ( \ < / / ))) (\\\ \ \_/ / \ \_/ / ///) \ / \ / \ _/ \_ / / / \ \ o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o The Bookshelf Directories offer a very wide variety of stories. o o They have been submitted by people from all over the world. Also o o from alt.sex.stories (Newsgroups). There is no particular order o o other than offering them to you in alphabetical directories. o o o o All works are copyrighted to the author and may not be used for o o profit without obtaining the author's permission in advance. o o o o Lest we forget!!! This story was produced as adult entertainment o o and should not be read by minors. o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o Fridays (sissy-solo, fantasy) By Beth Bali * The sun crept along the rug, up the side of the bed, and into my eyes. I considered getting up and moving the shade to block out the sun and return to sleep but then I remembered; this is Friday! Smiling, with a certain sense of warm well being, I moved my hand up to my chest, turned my palm upward and let the warm fluid weight of my breast fill my cupped hand. My thumb, just in the right place, encircled my nipple and a tiny wet drop beaded up from deep within and my nipples grew stiff. I loved the feeling of my hard nipple as it rubbed from one side of my thumb to another as I played with it's stiffness. Knees pressed together, my legs began to move against each other to the rhythm of my thumb's caress. My toes began to curl. Following down the curve of my breast, the small undulations of my rib cage, the curve of my hip; my fingers, then, found their way underneath the lace of my panties and dividing my protecting lips dove into the confirmation of my femininity. Yes, I thought to myself, Today is Friday. Pulling the sheets back and away, I swung my feet over the side of the bed and let them fall towards the floor. On any other day they would land solidly on the carpeted floor, but on Fridays the height of the bed would only allow me to brush the floor with my toe. I scooted off the bed and slid into my slippers. I stopped. Smiled. The Friday size 7 1/2 foot doesn't quite fill my normal size 12 slipper. Walking right out of them, I went to the closet, got the right sized ones, put them on and tied the dainty white ribbon to make them snug. Most of the week I am big and tall, the kind of bigness that allows me to walk in a crowded mall and have people naturally get out of my way. Fridays; Well, Fridays are my petite days. On Fridays I just clear five foot four, five foot six and a half in heels. I like being both sizes! I padded into the bathroom, turned on the shower; pulled my nightgown off over my long shining black hair, kicked off my slippers and panties and escaped the cold by plunging into the warm spray of the shower. The warmth and the steam made me drowsy all over again and I thought back to the other Fridays of femininity. I was born on a Friday night and was pronounced by the doctor a brand new baby girl. My parents were pleased and I, well I just cried. The next day, I am told, when the nurse went and changed my diapers there was no girl in those diapers, but a bouncing baby boy. "Doctors!" the nurse exclaimed, "You would think they could keep the babies they deliver straight." She changed the paperwork so that everything was right. My parents were a little confused, but I still looked the same except for the plumbing. Fingerprints were matched just to make sure, but I didn't care. Coming out of my reverie, I lifted my breast and washed in the fold between my breast and my chest and then lifted the other. I soaped up my hands and carefully washed the soft folds of skin around my vagina. There is such a thin line between washing carefully and masturbation, not that I worry about it much. Meanwhile I slipped back into my musing. This twice blessed life hadn't proved to be too difficult until my breasts began to develop and puberty struck. The differences in stature were in fact the opposite before puberty. On Fridays, because girls grow and mature faster than boys, I was bigger and smarter than most of the boys and I took that advantage to take them on, so I wasn't one of the picked on ones. The size and shape differences were subtle back then. Puberty was another matter. For six days I had to learn about dealing with the ever present erections that plague every immature young man. Then on Fridays it would be the two tight tee shirts to hold in and flatten my developing breasts. I still remember a friend who found our gang's first Playboy magazine and all of us marveled at the beauty we saw and the effect that it had on our penises; grown so hard and so firm. My sexual orientation was verified forever, I surmise, by Miss March of 1972! I wondered, when I was younger, whether I would ever be attracted to boys on Fridays, but that never happened. Men never attracted me; it was the female form that was wonderful and sensual and caused my hormonal juices to flow. I suspect, though, that I was the only one of that group staring at the big breasted Miss March who wondered how I was going to conceal that kind of chest under tee shirts! Later on I didn't go to regular school on Fridays, but went to a different school instead. One where I was known as a girl and had close giggly girlish friendships. I learned about makeup, what clothing was in and which were out. One year our group went bra-less as our statement and support for women's rights. The school was a good choice by my parents and it allowed me to develop with caring friends that feminine part of my personality. I was obviously two people on the outside although clearly one inside. I don't know how the mechanism worked; how my body knew it was Friday, nor did I really care. All I knew was that when I woke up on Friday mornings on the outside I was female and the other days I was male. Inside I was always both masculine and feminine and they complemented each other beautifully. I turned off the shower and carefully dried myself off. Friday morning bathing always took longer than the other days. I liked to watch myself in the mirror as I dried my body. My breasts would swing with every movement. Sometimes I would wiggle my chest just to watch them bob and weave in a synchronized dance. Flipping my hair over my head and leaning over, I carefully brushed and air dried my hair. Finishing up by swooping my head up and back, my hair flew back up away from my face and settled softly, caressing my shoulders. Drying off, I went back to my bedroom and got out my clothes. I slipped my arms through the straps of my brassiere and leaned forward so my breasts flowed into the cups then leaned back and clasped the hooks in back and adjusting the straps so that they would lie flat. Fridays were the only days that I could wear my irresistible string bikini panties, other days my maleness just slipped out one side or another, but today, as I pulled them up, they just settled into place covering my genitals and my public hair, but not much else. A few curls of pubic hair showed outside of the flat lace triangle so I tucked them back underneath the scallops of lace. My teddie had slipped from the bed onto the floor so I picked it up with my toes and with a little flick caught it on the fly. In the process of alternating back and forth between wardrobes, there were some articles of clothing that I began to wear every day once I no longer had to strip to take showers in high school and college gym. Teddies and panties were two examples, they were soft and very comfortable, pretty and satisfying. Why men won't accept the comfort and feel of silky fabrics is still a mystery to me. I stepped into the teddie; pulled it up my legs, over my breasts and aligned the straps with the straps of my bra. Hearing the phone ring, I grabbed an old soft male sports shirt, put it on, and its tail brushed the back of the inside of my knees as I walked into my den which served as my Friday offie. More? From Beth Bali