"Mom! Cover me up!" I shouted in a panic.

"Oh, it's all right. I want a good look at you anyway. Hmm. I guess you're flat all right, and I never liked all that hair on your body. You look so much cleaner and sleeker now. Let me touch your legs. Oh yes, I wish mine were that tan and that smooth. Maybe I should have bought you shorts instead of jeans. I've seen some boys wearing skir�, er, um, kilts. How would you feel about that?"

"No. mom, I'll keep wearing my regular pants. I'd rather not stand out. I'd rather fit in."

"How can you possibly stand out?" Mom asked wryly. "And they say on TV that a lot of separated boys do change their minds about clothes."

"Not today," I assured her.

"Just try on your new clothes," she insisted, and then she left without closing the door.

I tried my regular jockey shorts but they seemed, uh, floppy, and they reminded me of having a dick and balls all the time. The new panties (oops, briefs) fit better but they felt weird hugging the spot where my dick and balls were supposed to be. But who wants floppy jockeys, so I left them on.

The new flat-front, side-zipper, skin-tight jeans, however, were just ridiculous. "Mom, these jeans are way to small!" I called downstairs.

"Get them around your ankles first, and stretch them up a few inches at a time," she shouted back.

Getting them on took fifteen minutes, three of which was stretching them over my legs and twelve of which were staring at the mirror and making adjustments. Why would anyone wear jeans so tight all over? Did they have to fit my crotch so closely? Was I really that flat? Why would anyone want to see that? Why would I want to advertise it? Why didn't any of my belts fit? Were my legs really that skinny? Were my butt cheeks really that round? Why weren't there any pockets? Maybe if I just gave them a tug here and there�

"There, you see?" Mom noted from the doorway, causing me to jump at least a foot. "They fit you like a glove!"

Like a latex glove, I cursed silently, and one a couple of sizes too small.

"Mom, these are just bizarre," I complained.

"Nonsense, you've changed and now you need a different style. I know these are different than you're used to but I'm sure you'll grow to like them. That's what all the talk shows are saying."

"I don't think so, not for me." I objected, and then she snatched up the old jeans I'd taken out and all the others from my closet.

"Pick out a top, er, I mean a shirt, and then show me downstairs," she ordered, and then she walked away with all my old pants.

I tried on a couple of different shirts but none of them looked right. Or was it the impossibly flat spray-on jeans that threw everything off? My shirts just looked so, uh, floppy. Then I tried on a ribbed tank top from the previous summer and somehow that looked better, especially with my new hairless arms (and armpits, and shoulders, and chest, and�). Anyway, I went with it.

The jeans made me look so thin that my sneakers made me look like Frankenstein. I had a pair of sandals that worked out better. Socks didn't go at all. Maybe I could avoid mirrors all day. What was Mom thinking?

Sitting at the kitchen table in my weird new jeans was, well, weird. When I sat down it felt like they were going to bust, then the lycra took over and I felt them stretching across my skin to adjust. I could feel them clinging where my dick and balls were supposed to be.

"You look nice," Mom reassured me, and then she made my breakfast.

* * * * *

When it was time to go I gathered up my wallet, keys, phone, and a couple of pens and tried to put them in my pockets. But yipes, no pockets! Fanny packs were so out. Wait, girls' pants didn't have pockets; what did they do? No, carrying a purse was out of the question. Plus I obviously didn't own any, so I stuffed everything into my backpack. The straps were harsh against my bare shoulders but I supposed I'd just have to deal with it.

"Have a good day. You look fine," Mom reassured after giving me a final once-over. But then I could swear she smirked.

* * * * *

At school I slithered straight to the nurse's office. At least, that's what if felt like wearing those jeans.

"Uh, hi," I told her, "I think I left my dick and balls here when I went home yesterday. Do you still have them?"

"Troy Thompson, isn't it? Oh yes, they're right here in the lost and found, as we like to call it."

"Are they OK?" I asked reflexively.

"They're yours. Look for yourself."

"Uh, yeah, I guess they're OK," I proclaimed after looking inside. "How do they look when they're sick?"

"They get limp when they need to feed," the nurse explained. "Other than that, watch for discoloration, swelling, discharge from an infection, all the usual stuff."

"Can I leave them here again today?" I asked.

"Of course, but in the future you should probably leave them at home. You're not supposed to be using them at school anyway. We try to be careful but anything can happen."

* * * * *

I found Cliff wearing some thin, lime green, skin-tight, lycra shorts. They looked like girl's cycling shorts, and a flamboyant girl at that.

"Dude, aren't those kind of, uh, flaming?" I asked him.

"Not like they used to be," he replied. "More and more guys have come unglued. Styles change. Those tights are new, aren't they?"

His t-shirt was tight as well, and it hung barely beyond his waist. Sitting down would expose the small of his back. His shoes were a cross between sneakers and slippers: canvas, very light weight, low in back, and open to the toes in front.

But what was that about tights? Oh shit, he meant my jeans: my ultra thin, ultra tight, stretch jeans with no fly and no pockets! Did they really look like tights? They had seams, didn't they?

"They're jeans," I asserted.

"I see you're wearing flatbriefs," Cliff noted.

"Huh? How'd you know that?"

"I can see the outline through your, uh, jeans. Don't worry; some people think it's sexy."

Oh shit! I had visible panty lines! Everyone would think I had girls' panties on! What could I do? With few alternatives I ducked into the boys' room, commandeered a stall, peeled off my so-called jeans, stuffed the briefs into my backpack, peeled the jeans back on, and came out commando. At least nothing would show through.

When I found Cliff again he remarked, "I take it you left your stuff home today."

He was enjoying my predicament all too much.

"No, I forgot and left them at the nurse's office yesterday. She still had them this morning, though."

"That's why it's better to leave them home for safe keeping," Cliff, um, pointed out. "You should get a terrarium to keep them in. You know, a glass box like an aquarium, wood shavings or cotton on the bottom, a water dish, a lid, �"

"Why the lid?"

"Keep stuff from falling in, mostly, but there are stories of 'em jumping out."

At that point a friend of mine named Lance showed up. We hadn't been close for a couple of months, though, not since his stuff had fallen off. But now, of course, I was obviously in the same condition. He probably felt we'd have more in common again.

Lance, like Cliff, wasn't wearing normal boys' clothes, Instead, he was wearing a pleated polyester kilt. It didn't look like a genuine Scottish kilt, though; it looked like something off the rack in a girls' department. The hem was just above his knees. He was carrying a bag, too, most likely because the, ah, kilt didn't have pockets.

"Isn't that a bit fem?" I asked him.

"No, a kilt is manly dress," he shot back.

"What's it like, man? What do you wear under that? How do you do stairs?" I asked.

"It's comfortable, nothing, and what's to see anyway?"

"You have the legs for it," Cliff complimented Lance. The weirdness was getting bizarre. Then, the first bell started to ring.

"Well, good luck with everything, or without," Lance wished.

Maybe that was the trouble with these ridiculously tight pants, I thought. Maybe there was no going back.

* * * * *

As I passed through the hall, and despite myself, I couldn't stop checking out guy's crotches. The number wearing flat-front pants, shorts, and maybe even tights was amazing. Surely, I thought, not that many guys could have switched since yesterday. More likely, I just hadn't noticed them before. A guy in a kilt breezed past. The day before I'd probably have registered floppy cargo shorts.

During class my Math teacher was standing at the board, and then suddenly he bent forward, squeezed his legs together, grabbed himself, and sat down. After that he spent the rest of the period hiding behind his desk, looking scared and shaken.

Cliff had the same teacher next period, and claimed the Math guy stayed behind his desk that whole period, too. He also kept checking something in the desk drawer.

* * * * *

As usual Cliff met me for lunch. This time, though, he'd brought two more guys with him. Lance swished in as well.

"Troy and Lance," Cliff greeted us, "these guys are Aaron and Mark. We have the same class together."

Aaron looked like he'd been flat for a while. He was wearing very short, very flat, very pale skin shorts, and he seemed perfectly comfortable in them.

Mark was wearing normal clothes and sweating bullets.

"Mark here is new," Cliff explained. "Maybe you guys could give him some pointers."

"Very funny," I stated with a twist of my hips. Whoa, where had that come from? "I don't know what to tell you, Mark. Just do it."

"Keep your hem straight," suggested Lance.

"How can you guys wear those clothes, and show yourselves off like that?" Mark asked in a panicky sort of way. His voice cracked.

"My mom made me do it. She thinks it's neat," I explained.

"I had to bug my mom for weeks," Cliff told Mark. "She thinks I'm going fem or something."

"We're not exactly going macho," remarked Aaron, "but girls seem to like it. I guess they feel safer, and we talk about fashion a lot."

"Keep your hemline straight," Lance offered.

"Are you wearing lipstick?" Mark asked Aaron suspiciously.

"Yeah, but I had the earrings before," he explained. "That's another thing girls like to help me with: makeup."

"Anything else?" Mark inquired nervously.

"Yeah, don't sleep with them, even if they're stuck on for the moment. Getting crushed is bad for 'em," Aaron advised.

"It a bitch when they finally stick, and then they hurt from something that happened before," Cliff contributed.

"I'd rather stay with the clothes I've got," Mark told us.

"Why?" we all responded. In my case, at least, misery loved company.

* * * * *

After we'd finished eating, Cliff suggested, "Do you guys feel like going to the arcade after school?"

"Sure," replied Aaron and Lance.

"I gotta bring my package home and find a place for it to stay," I explained.

"I'm not sure I'd fit in," stated Mark.

"The nurse gave you a box, right? Just put it in your backpack. It'll be OK for a few hours."

"What if somebody swipes my backpack?"

"So check it at the door."

"I've got another pair of shorts in my car," Aaron offered Mark.

"Where would I change?" Mark counted.

"Anywhere you like," Aaron replied. "I mean, there's nothing to hide. They don't like us runnin' around naked but if it's just a few seconds, nobody says anything."

"How do I know they'll fit?" Mark challenged.

"They're stretch," Aaron replied.

* * * * *

After school I finally retrieved my dick and stuffed it into my backpack for safe keeping. Pfew.

When I got to the arcade I bought a game card and used fifty cents of it to lock my back pack into a locker. A cord to hang the game card from my neck was the same.

Mark and Aaron were already there. Mark looking even more freaked than he had at school. Maybe it was from being in Aaron's spare shorts, or maybe just for being flat in public. The shorts were, however remarkably short and tight. They left no doubt that Mark had gone flat.

I started out playing a simple game that was like pin the tail on the donkey, except that you got a bushel full of bits and tried pinning them on some flats. Usually such a game wouldn't have been interesting, but I guess I was in the mood.

After that I found a game where the player had a package but all the opponents were flat. After a while I switched it around.

Later, I played a game of Dueling Dicks with Aaron but again, it was kind of simple minded. Cliff and Lance appeared about then, and they tried the same game.

The good thing about facing the games was that it kept my empty crotch facing the game, beyond the sight of the passing crowd. The bad thing was that it offered my thinly-covered butt for public inspection. From time to time someone touched me back there, and I don't mean accidentally bumping. Some of it was clearly pinching and grabbing.

"Nice butt," said a soft voice behind me. When I turned around, I discovered a girl my age dressed in boots, a unitard, a cape, and sunglasses. The unitard had a sequined scissors embroidered across the, um, chest.

"Who are you supposed to be?" I asked while managing to look at her face.

"Flat Girl, savior and heroine of flat guys everywhere," she replied with a bounce. Apparently she was really into role playing.

"And what do you save them from?" I had to ask.

"Boredom, mostly, but I provide early warning service too. Be careful of that bunch of guys in line at the snack bar. They get on people's case. Sometimes they rough them up."

"OK, thanks," I replied. "Uh, you wanna play the game? It's for two players and I see that my friend's gone away."

"Naw, not Dueling Dicks. I'm not that kind of a girl."

"So what kind of girl are you? What's your name?" I asked. She was kinky but who knew, that might make her interesting.

"I told you, Flat Girl, savior and heroine to flat guys, and before you ask, no, I'm intact. That doesn't happen to girls. I just like flat guys and video games, that's all."

"Can I have your number?" I asked.

"No," she replied, and then she tapped me on the butt once more and wandered away.

* * * * *

There were five of 'em over at the snack bar, all with hairy arms, all with bulging jeans, and all pretty large. Nevertheless, Cliff wandered over for a soda. Flat Girl was nowhere in sight, and apparently she hadn't warned Cliff.

"Whadya want, flatso?" the guy nearest to Cliff challenged in a loud voice.

"Just a soda," he replied, but by then he was surrounded.

"We don't like girly-boys hangin' around our spot," another of them stated.

Lance, Aaron, Mark, and I all rushed to Cliff's defense, but it was still five on five. The manager was there and seemed to be calling the cops. Lance, in his kilt, seemed to be getting particular attention. Then, just as the biggest guy seemed ready to lay one on, Flat Girl showed up.

"Boys, boys, no violence and no fighting," she scolded them and then, to my amazement, they stopped.

"Unless you wanna be flat yourselves," Flat Girl continued. "You know I can do it. Look what happened to Ron." And then, to my amazement, they all backed away.

"You really need to be more careful," she told us a few minutes later, beyond earshot of the others.

"Can you really flatten guys? I thought no one knew how that happened," Cliff probed.

"No, but if you wait long enough, they all do," she confessed.

"So who are you really?" I asked her again.

"I'm Ron's sister," she revealed, and then she was gone.

Kinky.

* * * * *

When I got home I rushed to my room, peeled off my skin-tight jeans, took my package out of the box, and tried sticking it onto its rightful place. It wouldn't take.

After that I didn't know where to put it. Having no other plan, I got a plastic refrigerator dish from the kitchen, transferred the cotton, my dick, and my balls to the bottom, and punched holes in the top.

After dinner Mom insisted on taking me to the mall, where she forced me to try on some shiny flat-front skin shorts, like Cliff usually wore. Apparently, after seeing my smooth legs that morning, she thought I'd look good in that sort of stuff. Despite my objections she bought two pairs, one blue and one yellow..

She also insisted on buying me two pairs of very light, very flat, open-topped shoes, one dark green and one medium red. She assured me, however, that they weren't the same as girls' flats. They were from the men's department, she said, and they were a men's size. I was just glad she she'd zoomed past the short shorts, the kilts, and the nylons.

I spent the rest of the evening trying to put my dick back on. And no, it wouldn't go.

* * * * *

Please leave feedback in the Story Reviews & Author Feedback board or via the e-mail link below.