Chapter 4

“We are NOT going to do your dirty work,” we told the Powers.

We had asked the Powers that Be if they’d like to hang out with us while we explored the local waters.

“We’d LOVE to go,” they said, “We haven’t had a vacation since the Princessapality. We ran poor Wendy ragged.” They had a good chuckle over that.

“You’ll clean up after yourselves,” we three said.

“Ooh,” they groaned. But it was simple theatrics. “We’ll be good.”

Then they discombobulated, always a trifle disconcerting, and danced around, hugging us and them at random.

“We’re going on a sail!!”

“Yea!” and other exclamations of little import but extreme joy.

“People never ask us to go with,” Seven said.

“Shopping! We need suits and Hawaiian shirts,” said One. One was male ... older and dignified

“Wild Weasel bathing suits,” shouted Two. Two ... the trouble maker ... was female and young at her job. If it involved nefarious action ... Two was your man ... er ... woman.

Spotting a mirror, she considered her ass.

And that got the female constituents making declarations of the need for diet ... and shaping up. “We’ll be back.”

I was promised. CM and JW were threatened. I may be the youngest but I am responsible...

I hate that word.

They disappeared.

We were being provisioned at the dock near the airbase. Our friendly refitter needed our spot by the plant and arranged our move.

Thanks so much.

I really appreciate it ... NOT!

Although the organization of the move ... and the move under the bridge ... took most of a day we were soon provisioned by a professional buyer. It was worth the expense ... I was clueless about restocking. NOW I missed Grace. Grace was organized. Grace was driven. Grace knew ... I didn’t.

Several days after the move, the marina office radioed the boat. I made the extreme mistake of picking up.

“Yes?”

“You have visitors.”

“More than one?”

“Several ... six and one. She says she knows you.”

“Seven altogether?”

“Yes.”

“Yup ... send them. I’ve been wondering...”

A few minutes wait at the boat produced a group of chaperoned tanned and buff college age and younger young people approaching the after-brow ... the aft gangway ... and requested permission to board.

“Come on you lot. Where ever you have been ... it was sunny.”

“Perth, darling. Just wait until you see what we bought you.”

“Two?”

She nodded, “You guessed,” she was disappointed.

“It’s the red hair,” I said. And it was true ... Two had the hair every red head wanted but couldn’t find the dye. Hers was natural ... drat her hide!

Everything about the group was young ... except Seven. Seven was the matron. Prison guard personified. Seven was ... Seven ... and don’t you forget it.

Nothing for it ... I had to model. Things had been in transition since I was now a two year teen. Thirteen was pretty much bee-stings and boys hips. The change from 13 to 14 saw my baby-fat cheeks descend to other places. It wasn’t that I lost the fat ... it moved.

Guys walked into things when I walked by ... and nothing ... fit. My clothes ... my shoes ... my tits. Can’t call those puppies anything but tits.

And speaking of butt ... yup. Damn thing picked up a wiggle I swear I had nothing to do with. One day I walked down the companionway like a boy, fell into bed and woke up a girly girl. Cyndimae made the change days ... maybe a week ... ago.