Brushing My Sister’s Hair

[Pages:2]Brushing My Sister's Hair

Ever thought about being a woman? I hadn't. I didn't much like my life, but why waste time on a pipe dream? That's how it was before, but finding a real book of magic changed everything.

Magic Made Simple, a slim volume. I tried a couple of spells and they worked; just party tricks, making coins appear, that sort of thing. Actually, that one had possibilities; the coins looked pretty old.

The last spell was interesting--a transformation spell: Hair of the Sister. My own hair sucked. I didn't have a sister, but Mum's hair was gorgeous in her younger days. That might be nice.

The book lived in Special Collections, which meant I couldn't take it out. But I hid it in a bundle of old municipal documents, so no one else would find it.

The next day I bought a ladies' hairbrush and went back to the library.

The spell was simple enough: brush my hair while touching the book. So I tried it. Only a few strokes and the changes began. My hair thickened and got a bit longer--and my acne cleared up.

I stopped and put the brush down. I read the spell again. No details, but--ah--a hint that the changes weren't limited to one's hair.

That really got me thinking: maybe I had a choice here. Close the book and go back to being good old Jason, a guy who'd never had a date in his life? A dweeb who gave up several inches and tens of pounds to nearly every other guy on campus?

Or start fresh as someone else? Someone that other people would look at and admire. Tough call.

I closed the book. No need to rush it.

* Over the next few days, I couldn't help noticing the way people treated me. Girls averted their eyes, like I was something that should be dropped into the nearest garbage can. I wasn't ugly or anything, they

just didn't want to get my hopes up. Years ago, in high school, one girl had put it succinctly: someone my size couldn't possibly have the right equipment to satisfy her. And I couldn't blame her or any of the others: they were right.

The guys were even worse. They walked past me as if I didn't exist. That really hurt. Hell, I should be used to it. But now every snub seemed fresh.

One night, I couldn't sleep. Staring into the dark, I felt my face; the acne hadn't returned. Do I really want to do this?

Turning into someone else had its downside. Like a new legal identity. I might be able to finagle my high school records, but I'd have to redo a couple of years of university. But... not the same stuff. Instead of science, maybe journalism this time.

I could probably talk my few friends around; just show them the book. Maybe I could convince my parents that a lovely daughter was a lot better than what they had now.

What did I have to lose?

* The underwear came from the laundry room in residence, which was, thankfully, co-ed. Okay, I stole it. It was just me and one other girl doing laundry and when she left I slipped a bra, panties and nylons from her load into mine.

I felt bad, but I was in too much of a hurry to go the mail-order route.

The shoes came from the gym. A girl left a nice pair of black-leather heels courtside during a game. What does a basketballer need with heels like that anyway?

All in a good cause.

February 2007

by Amanda Hawkins

I hit the local Sears for outerwear, not wanting to steal something that might be recognized. I told the saleslady I was shopping for "my sister's birthday" and that she was close to my size. Yeah, like she bought that load of crap. She showed me a black-and-white skirt-sweater combo and asked if I wanted to try it on. I swallowed hard. "It's for my sister," I repeated. Smiling: "Yes, but since she's your size..." "It's fine, it's fine. I'll take it." She shrugged. "Suit yourself." Just to make it look good, I asked for a gift box. She said they were out, even though I could see lots of them under the counter. So much for my dignity. By the time Friday afternoon rolled around, I could hardly see straight. I skipped class, retrieved the book and found a windowless study room. The door didn't lock, so I closed it and hoped for the best. Then I got busy with the hairbrush.

One stroke... two... three... four... It didn't take long. The bristles sparkled, but not with static. The magic flowed into my hair, which grew thicker, darker, and in some indefinable way, more feminine.

It didn't stop there. I felt the magic sink into my skin, tingling as it dripped the length of my face and passed into my body, transforming everything in its path. Trembling, I realized that even my brain would change. I could end up a woman in mind as well as body. I kept brushing. It felt that good. When falling hair touched my shoulders, I took off my shirt. My chest was smooth--smoother than before--with mild swelling underneath the nipples. A hand mirror showed me a pert nose, high cheekbones, thinning eyebrows. More brushing. First one hand, from the part to the in-curling ends; five strokes, front to back. Switch hands, same on the other side. Thick chestnut tresses spilled into view on either side of my face.

I leaned back a bit and kept going. Longer, stronger, thicker. My arms thinned, my hands shrank.

I stepped out of my shoes. The room looked bigger.

When my chest started bouncing, I stopped to put on the bra. The cups weren't yet full, but what the

hell. On a whim, I dropped my pants and undies, kicked them aside.

Where would you look to see how much you'd changed? I bent over.

Long hair flooded my face and I clawed it aside, giggling a little, and realized that any girl who saw me now would really be disappointed.

Not that it mattered. Why worry about what girls would think? Boys on the other hand...

My legs turned lean and mean, sexy and smooth. I tucked into the stolen panties, slipped on the black skirt with its retro rear zipper. The white sweater fit snugly overtop everything else.

I rolled up my sleeves. Time to get serious.

The brush flew through my swirling mane, longer with each stroke, in step with my growing tresses. Hair fell past my shoulder blades in a tidy mass that pulled on the back of my head.

My chest tightened. The bra was full, full of what was now me. The spell was complete. A quick touch down there confirmed that I was female. I closed the book, my fingers tipped with perfectly manicured nails and crimson polish.

My boy clothes went straight into the trash, where they belonged. Had I really ever worn such ugly things?

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The nylons and high heels were much nicer.

I strolled into the ladies room. The lovely woman in the mirror proved I belonged. I brushed at her hair until the thick brunette tresses sat tidily atop her shoulders, warm even through the sweater's thin cotton. Smiling, she slowly shook her head.

A woman who would definitely be noticed.

I walked out of the library, my head high. I felt their eyes upon me, staring, pretending to look away. Guys mostly, a few girls. They're just jealous.

I must be a girly girl, because I'm already thinking about getting some new clothes--like that little black dress I saw in Sears. I can try it on now.

I'll introduce myself to my friends: "Hi, I'm Jenn, Jason's sister. He's at home, going through some stuff, you know? I'm here to check out the school. We're the same age, but I've been working."

Good thing it's a co-ed res, because I can't wait to meet the guys. Tall guys, no dweebs need apply. Guys with the right equipment to satisfy a girl. If you get my drift.

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