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Only Three Months

by Old Softy



"I'm a little old to be banished to summer camp," I said to Spike. Spike was my best friend, had been since I was eight. "I mean, I'm fifteen."

I was sitting on a branch in an old apple tree, the last one in the orchard. I had my back propped against the tree trunk. She was lying on the branch below me.

Spike said, "Wish my folks would send me to camp, Kip." Her real name was Danica, but I never called her that, just like she never called me Clifford.

"Yeah," I said. "Right. For three months."

"No, really. First of all, you're gonna be doing football and canoeing and shit. And like you say it's more than a camp, it's longer, there's some school, and it's sports training."

"Training?"

"You know, like for the Olympics." Spike was a natural athlete, not like me. It wasn't that I was fat or weedy - I guess I am quite strong for my age - but I just was not interested. Spike occasionally talked about trying pro sports, but usually she came back to her other dream, being a mechanic on Formula Ones. "They wouldn't send me, though. They'd be afraid it would just make me worse."

"You go instead of me." I banged my head gently against the tree trunk, making the leaves rustle. "Maybe we could just send you on the bus and you could say you were me."

"They'd notice in the shower. And when I got my period."

I stared at her. "I didn't know you got your period already." To be honest, I never thought of Spike as a girl.

She imitated me: "I'm fifteen, for Christ's sake," and she reached up to whack my foot.

"I wish you were coming. I'm not gonna know anybody there. I wish I knew why my parents are doing this."

She said, "It's obvious, Kip. They think you're weird. You spend most of your time reading, or on the computer, and the rest of your time you spend with a psychotic tomboy."

She said it like she was proud of being one. Spike was all limbs and joints, about as feminine as a plank. She kept her black hair short and she had a thin face with a long jaw. She had put on a bit of weight recently but she still didn't look particularly like she was a guy or a girl.

"They want to make you normal."

"Great," I moaned.

"Look, your folks aren't exactly thrilled about me."

"They don't mind you."

She snorted. "They think I'm an unhealthy influence. Your dad's not a reading kind of guy, you know? He's probably worried I'm a dyke and I'll turn you into a fag." She plucked at her T-shirt. Today's was Motorhead.

"What's a dyke?"

She dropped off the tree, agile as an ape. "It's what a Dutch boy sticks his finger in." She picked a green apple off the ground and shied it at me. It stung me on the shoulder. "A lesbian! Don't be a knob."

"I'm not a knob," I said. "You're a knob." She hit me three more times before I got down from the tree, but I managed to drag her down to the ground and we wrestled until we both cracked up laughing.

Camp turned out to be okay; we were thrown at a lot of different things but what I really liked was the canoeing. I got pretty good at it and I spent a lot of time in the gym working on my upper body so I could start winning those races.

We also spent a lot of time talking about the girls' camp down the lake (you know, who was cutest, and did she look at me when we had that inter-camp competition, and which ones kissed and which ones did more).

There was one called Anne who really did look at me a lot. She was slim, and pretty with brown eyes and dark hair in a bob. I figured I could have got somewhere with her but I couldn't think where to start. Instead I figured out jerking off, though there was almost never a chance to do it.

I sent Spike a couple of letters while I was at camp - when I won the across-the-lake race, for instance, and when I was coming home, a couple of weeks into school. I told her I'd meet her at the tree the day I got home.

The tree was gone and the field was torn up. There was a sign there that said a medical center was going to be built there. I waited on the bare dirt as night fell, getting that sick abandoned feeling in my gut, but she didn't show. I guess a lot can happen in three months.

Finally, after dark, I climbed out of the field and rode my bike to her place. Her folks' car was out and her bike was still in her garage, so I locked mine to it and went around back to her room. Her curtains were drawn but there was a light on. I knocked at her window.

"Hey," I hissed. "Spike!"

I saw the shadow of her head behind the drapes. "Go away, Kip."

"Why?"

"I don't want you to see me."

"Why not?" I repeated, feeling foolish.

"'Cause I look stupid."

"Stupider than the time you tried to become a blonde?"

"Way."

I whistled. "That's pretty stupid."

"Thanks heaps. Go away. My life is ruined."

"I'm not going away!" I called.

I heard her sigh. "Okay then. Come on in." There was some rustling and then she reached around the drapes and unhooked the screen. It only took me a moment to shimmy in and flop on the floor. Funny thing: the window seemed smaller than it used to.

Spike was wrapped in a thick dressing gown. "What's that for, in this weather?" She just shook her head.

"What is it?" She didn't say anything, but turned away; her head down.

"Come on, take it off. Whatever it is I promise not to laugh."

She slipped off the dressing gown and turned around. She was wearing cut-off jeans, a T-shirt and ... a bra. And the bra she was wearing was not a training bra, like my sister had worn for almost a year, but one of those Playtex women's jobs with wire and lace and everything. The T-shirt was too small and stretched over her front; every detail showed through. It was obvious, even to me:

Spike had tits. Big tits.

There were other changes, too. Her hips had flared out, her waist was pinched in, she had fleshed out and was rounded and generally ... you know ... female! I couldn't take my eyes off her front.

"Jesus," she said miserably, "not you too." I looked at her face and it was all scrunched up like she was trying not to cry. She sat on the edge of her bed and put her face in her hands.

"I'm sorry." I went to grab her and then I stopped, because, well, Spike had turned into a girl, and my hesitation made her more miserable and she actually started to cry. I had never seen her cry and that made me feel miserable. So I grabbed her anyway and it turned into a hug, her clutching me and me clutching her. She even smelled different, more perfumey.

"Kip, it's awful. Everybody stares at me and then the same guys who used to be afraid I'd beat them up come up to me and they look at my chest and they don't say anything except 'Duh... ' And I've being running and doing aerobics to try and loose this weight but just makes me thinner everywhere except where I want and I can't even run as much because they hurt when I run far. And my jeans don't fit any more and my old T-shirts make me look ... like this. God they're growing so fast I'm on my third size of sports bra."

I could feel her breasts pressing against me through that lycra-like material or whatever they make serious bras from. Her tits felt warm and soft against my chest. I already had a boner.

"They're still growing?" I asked. My voice squeaked. "I hope they don't explode."

She leaned back and actually smiled a bit. "Don't be a knob."

"I'm not a knob. You're a knob." I pushed her (carefully, at the shoulder) and she pushed me back harder, so I pushed her again and she almost fell over and she grabbed at me as if we were going to wrestle ... and then her hand brushed against my boner.

We both froze. My face got hot.

"Kip?" she said.

"Sorry," I said. "I guess ... I guess I better go."

"Yeah," she sighed. And then: "No. Kip, what's happening to us?"

"I don't know. I guess we're growing up."

"I don't want to grow up like this. 'Cause if you won't hang out with me we'll never see each other and I'll end up becoming some simpering giggling empty-headed girl."

I didn't see the logic, but I figured this wasn't the time to argue. "What can we do?"

"We gotta keep seeing each other," she said. "We gotta learn to deal with each other anyway. You know, adapt."

I nodded. My throat was dry. "Adapt."

"O.K ... So this is me now. Take an eyeful and get used to it." she said fiercely, standing up and marching across the room. They bounced.

She put her hands behind her head to gather her hair, which had grown longer, and walked towards me, swaying each step as if, well, as if she was a woman. For the first time, I looked at her like some strange bit of skirt.

Small neat feet, long, long brown legs, nice knees (I've got a thing about those little muscles just above the knee), smooth thighs. I could see through the gap at the top of her thighs and my hard on stiffened. She had put on a bit on her hips; I mean she had buttocks now, and those silly cut-offs were skintight. But her waist was smaller - or was it just the contrast? And her top - with her arms up, her breasts were lifted up and out, and the T-shirt sure was straining, just like some porno mag cover. Nice face, clean straight features, big dark eyes - now I looked at her face properly I could see the leanness had disappeared. In fact she looked pretty.

No, she wasn't pretty. She was stunning.

"So what do you guys think of when you look at a girl with, ... you know. What if you just saw me in the street?"

"Christ, I dunno ... well okay, you look great. If I was a girl I'd be pretty happy to look like that. I'm sure as hell pretty happy to look AT you."

"Oh, don't start that" Her ...

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