Twisted Wishes: A Helpful Brother

        I really miss being able to introduce myself.  'Hi!' I would chirp happily.  'My name is Clark, and I'm seven years old!'  I was proud of being a big boy in second grade, and I was sure to make sure everyone knew it.  My big sister, Leah, didn't seem as excited about being seventeen.  She was in her last year of school, but it was starting to look like she would have to stay another year.  Her grades weren't exactly great, and she was really struggling to catch up.  I wanted so badly to help her, but what could I, her 'annoying' seven-year-old brother, do to help a high schooler?  Her math homework looked like gibberish to me, and I wasn't allowed to read some of her science textbooks.

Then I found the genie lamp.

I saw the shiny metal in the bushes one day when I was playing with my friend Steven.  I thought it looked cool, red and black being one of my favorite color combos.  He dared me to rub the lamp like Aladdin did, but neither of us expected an actual genie to pop out!  He ended up offering us one wish each, which would be granted at the same time.

"Okay," Steven started, "I wish to always be the sharpest one in the room!"  He was always dressed really well, something he took a lot of pride in.  Even as we were playing outside, he was wearing a green polo shirt and tan khaki shorts.

The grey-skinned genie looked like he was thinking, then he seemed to figure out how to grant the wish.  "And what about you, little master?" he asked, turning to me.

I thought about it for a few seconds, then thought of Leah.  "I wish I could help my big sister graduate.  I don't care how; I just want to be able to help in some way!"

The genie looked thoughtful again, then smiled to himself.  Suddenly he looked kind of creepy... "Interesting wishes, to say the least.  Very well, both your wishes have been granted!"  Steven and I cheered, and gave each other a high five.  "However," the genie interrupted us, "as I always say..." He snapped his fingers, and the world suddenly went dark.  "...Be careful what you wish for," his voice echoed in my mind.

I never saw Steven again.

'Oof, what happened?' I thought to myself as I woke up.  'Did I really find a genie?  Well, at least I made a good wish.  Leah will be so proud of me!'  I tried to sit up in the darkness to stretch my arms out, when I realized I couldn't actually move.  'Okay, I've heard of this.  Sleep paralysis, I think it was called?  Oh well, I'm sure it'll go away soon.'  I laid there in the dark for a few minutes, waiting for my body to start listening to me again.  It didn't really feel like I was laying flat though; instead, I was leaning against something and bending in the... middle of my body?  Wait a minute, why couldn't I feel my legs?  Or my arms?  In fact, I suddenly realized that absolutely nothing about my body felt right.  I wasn't bending at the hips or knees, instead being bent in a curve somewhere below my middle where I shouldn't have been able to bend.

Plus, why was it so completely dark around me?  Even in my room in the middle of the night during a power outage, there was always some small amount of light letting me see my hand in front of my face.  This was pitch-black, as if I was stuck in a box in the middle of empty space.  Speaking of empty space, I realized I wasn't even breathing!  What was going on?!  My body was completely different, I wasn't breathing, and I couldn't even see anything!  What did that genie do to me?

While my panic was rising, I was suddenly jolted into motion.  It felt almost like I was in a bag or something, and someone had just picked it up.  I felt my body droop lower in my newly-discovered prison, now bent in a different place.  With a bounce, I settled into a new spot in the mysterious container.  I heard a faint muffled voice somewhere in the distance, then a new voice responded, louder than I was expecting.  "I KNOW MOM, I'M LEAVING NOW!" the voice boomed from behind me, sounding annoyed that they had to do... whatever it was they were doing.  My prison started lightly bouncing at a regular pace, almost like my prison was now attached to someone who just started walking.  That voice sure sounded familiar...

'Wait, is that Leah's voice?' I thought to myself as my body constantly shifted outside of my control.  'If her voice is that loud and right behind me, does that mean this prison is her... backpack?'  I slowly realized exactly where I was.  I was paralyzed in an alien body, and I was trapped in my big sister's bookbag.  How was I supposed to help my sister if I couldn't move?  'Maybe I was turned into something?' I thought.  'Maybe I can figure out what I am before she gets to school...'

I took on the challenge as a way to distract myself from the constant bouncing caused by Leah's walking.  It didn't really feel like I had one single body, and I was instead split into a bunch of different pieces.  All but one of them felt pretty similar, with that one different piece being WILDLY different from the others.  Most of all, I felt flat.  It was a weird thing to be sure of, but I certainly didn't have a head, chest or tummy anymore, and I figured out a while ago that I didn't seem to have arms or legs.  With how I kept bending in weird places, I couldn't be anything very hard, so I wasn't a pencil or anything.  I was leaning against something harder than me that felt like a book, and something else on my other side was bending along with me.  Maybe that other thing was another one of whatever I was turned into?

With that, the clues dried up.  I wasn't quite able to figure out what I had turned into, so I was left with the bouncing of my Leah's walking and the feeling of my body constantly rubbing against the two unseen objects I was sandwiched between.  Upset I wasn't able to figure it out by myself, I just waited for my big sister to arrive at the high school.

Turns out, bouncing around in the darkness of your big sister's bookbag is pretty boring.  I only started paying attention to what was going on when I started hearing muffled voices all around me.  'She must be at school now,' I thought to myself.  'Can I get out of here now?'  The muffled voices were interrupted by Leah's booming voice as she apparently talked to her friends before school.  It all sounded like boring girl stuff to me, so the sudden jolt of the bookbag being set somewhere made me pay attention again.  My body slumped against the ground and the objects on either side of me as the ridiculously loud sound of a zipper being undone filled the ears I didn't think I had anymore.  More and more light started being let into my prison, until the front of the bookbag fell open.  Me and the object in front of me slid even further down, and the other thing finally slid part of the way off of my front.

It was still kind of dark, but I could finally see again!  I looked up from my newly-exposed front side at the top of a large metal room.  There was a giant book near me, being the harder object I had been trapped against.  Suddenly, a gigantic human face appeared above me, looking down at me with the most uncaring eyes I had ever seen her with.  'Holy crud, Leah's HUGE!'  I watched as my giant sister reached toward me, her hands disappearing at the sides of my vision.  The textbook and other object were squeezed against me along with a few other things, and I was suddenly rocketing through the air.  With a little bounce, the object I still couldn't quite make out was slid over my front again, blocking out the light and leaving me in darkness.  I felt the stack of books and papers I was now part of get tilted away from the ground, and what must have been a small part of Leah's arms squeezed lightly against my thinner sides.  The loud metallic CLANG of the locker being slammed shut echoed through the hall.  With that, the now-lighter bouncing of her walking returned as she headed to her first class.

I still wasn't totally sure what I was, but I knew I would probably find out soon.  Anytime Leah greeted someone in the hallway, her voice made me and the rest of the stack clutched against her chest vibrate slightly, almost like she was trying to make noise through me as well.  She was gonna have a perfectly normal school day, and I was along for the ride.  I just wish I could see more...

With a light THUD, my stack was suddenly set down on a flat surface.  The sound of high schoolers talking to each other filled the air, and I waited to be exposed to the light again.  'Come on Leah, at least let me know what I turned into!' I thought to my unseen, unhearing and uncaring big sister.  I was getting really annoyed at being sandwiched between a textbook and something else, still not knowing what kind of object was blocking my vision.  The class started, and I was forced to listen to a teacher talking about a bunch of things I didn't understand while I was stuck in darkness.  Seriously, I was supposed to be in my second-grade class at the elementary school, not sitting in on my big sister's twelfth grade English class at the high school across town!

A lot of boring talking later, my stack was picked up again.  More of my sister's walking later, I was set down on a different desk to listen in on another high school class too complicated for me to understand.  Finally, I felt my sister's fingers grab the sides of the object on top of me and lift it away.  I watched as the brown backing of a notebook was removed from my sight, before my sister's fingers came back for me!  I was lifted away from the unseen textbook, and I could see out of the corner of my vision as the notebook was set on top of the textbook instead.  'Does that mean I'm a... notebook?' I thought as I was set on the desk next to the stack I was no longer part of.

Finally, I could see!  I looked up at my gigantic sister, her bored face looming above me like the Moon blocking out the Sun.  She grabbed a pencil and started tapping it against the desk next to me, clearly bored out of her mind as the teacher droned on about math stuff that she seemed to understand about as well as I did.  Leah's hand returned once again, and I was left pretty disturbed as she lifted me a bit and suddenly peeled my face away from the rest of my body.

My vision swung around with the piece of me that was separated from the bulk of my form, until my own light brown back was slammed against my face, leaving me in the dark AGAIN.  'Just when I thought I could get a break...' I thought, annoyed at being forced into the darkness once again.  At the same time though, I finally knew for sure what I was turned into.  I kept bending in weird places in Leah's bookbag because I was made of paper.  The feeling of being in pieces came from having pages with a spiral metal 'spine' holding them together.  Just how many pieces was I split into?  How big was the notebook I was turned into?  What color was my cover?  Having the answer to what I was only opened even more questions.  My... pages... were packed tightly enough that I couldn't tell how many there were.  'Gee, I have pages and a cover now... Please, at least tell me I'm not pink or something...'

My train of thought was interrupted by a weird scratching feeling on my inside.  Every time the scratchy foreign object slid across my unwanted paper surface, I felt like something was being left behind.  I might not have been able to see what was happening, but I could tell Leah was writing in me!  A pencil was being dragged across the surface of one of my pages, leaving behind markings that would stay there unless my sister decided to erase them.  What would THAT feel like, having a piece of rubber rubbed against me to remove those pencil markings?  I also realized that I couldn't really tell what she was writing in me, my vision apparently being locked to my front cover.

Then I realized what my wish had been:  To help Leah improve her grades so she could graduate.  Was I really just a notebook for her to write notes in to study later?  Was that all I meant to the world now?  I sat in the darkness for a while, my 'face' still smashed against my own back cover, trying to think of a single good thing about the new life I found myself in.  After a while, I realized that the motions of the pencil didn't really feel like she was writing anything.  Instead...  'LEAH!  Stop doodling in me!  I'm supposed to help you do better, not distract you even more!'  I might not have wanted to be a notebook, but if that's what I had to be, then I wanted to be used for what I wished for!

Then I heard Leah muttering under her breath, quiet enough that I was probably the only one who could hear her.  "Huh... I think my doodling is helping me focus..."  The constant scratching of the pencil on my first page almost made me miss what she said.  How could doodling help someone focus?  And why did it have to be done in ME?!  Why did I have pages to doodle on to begin with?  Plus, 'Would you please stop doodling and close me so I can see again?' I thought, knowing she couldn't hear me anyway and as such wouldn't do what I wanted her to do.  I was under HER control, and I would be for... How long was I going to be like this?  Won't Mom and Leah realize I'm missing?  Was the genie THAT evil that he would create a missing person's case with no hope of being solved?  And what happened to Steven?  He made a wish too, so was he transformed as well?  He wanted to be 'sharp', so what would he have been turned into?

The pencil stopped scratching against me, and I was suddenly lifted above the desk a bit.  'How long has Leah been drawing on me?' I wondered as my face was finally flipped back to the front, and I could finally see again.  I found out a few seconds later as I was lifted again and stacked on top of the textbook, then left in darkness again as the other notebook was stacked on top of me again.  'Just when I thought I was done with this darkness business...' I thought, rather annoyed at my sister for denying me my vision over and over again.  My stack was lifted from the desk again, and Leah started walking to her next class with me and her other books clutched against her chest.

This cycle continued throughout the day as I was carried around to all of Leah's classes, only being allowed my vision for a few seconds at a time as she kept doodling in me to help herself focus.  She had moved on to the back of my first page by the end of the day, and I had heard some of her classmates telling her how pretty her drawings were.  One of her teachers even told her to keep doodling, saying that she had never seen Leah so attentive in class before.

As I was stuffed into Leah's backpack after the last bell, I was lost in my own thoughts.  Was this really my life now?  Was I really nothing but my big sister's doodling notebook, to be drawn in to help her focus until she filled all of my pages with pencil markings?  I was supposed to be getting on the bus right now to head home with Steven to play Minecraft after school, not hitching a ride in my big sister's backpack as she walked home while sandwiched between a textbook and another notebook!  Why did I ever pick up that stupid lamp?  I wanted to be a growing boy again, not a collection of paper pages and a metal spine!

Much bouncing caused by Leah's walking later, I felt the backpack that served as my prison be chucked somewhere, landing on the floor as my body bent uncomfortably.  A slam of a door later, I realized I had been thrown into the front closet, and I would be left in the dark until Leah got to school again tomorrow.  Why should she care if I was sick of the dark?  I wasn't her little brother anymore; I was just a notebook in her backpack, where I belonged.  A depressing thought, but I figured I should start trying to get used to all this...

-----------

It's the end of my owner's school year now.  Not big sister, owner.  I decided that about a week after I became a notebook, once I realized that I wasn't hearing anyone in the house worrying about me being missing.  Turns out, I never existed in this reality.  Leah was an only child, and the little boy whose name I no longer remember was never born.  I can only assume my friend was never born either, not that I can remember much about him anymore.  It seems like my pages contain my memories, and a few of them have been painfully ripped out over time.  Seeing myself in a mirror anytime I happen to be set next to one used to be depressing, but now I almost find myself feeling a bit of pride seeing my increasingly tattered-looking body.  I've been used as a doodling notebook for nine months, and most of my remaining pages have been filled with whatever designs my owner makes while her ADHD-riddled mind tries to focus on her classes.

I've been left in constant darkness for months; ever since my front cover fell off, I haven't been able to see anything at all.  I know it was a simple light pink piece of cardboard, but it was what I saw out of!  My silent sobbing lasted for a couple weeks after it happened; not that anyone else could hear it, nor would anyone ever hear me again.  At the very least, Leah's grades improved a lot after I became her notebook, and she's well on her way to graduation.  But... then what?

I might be fine with my new life as a totally blind notebook, but I'm afraid of what happens to me after the school year ends.  I've come to love the feeling of my owner's doodling on my pages, and there's a certain level of pride knowing that my 112 remaining pages are mostly filled with her drawings.  What happens to me afterward?  Will she ever draw in me again, or will I be put in a box for the foreseeable future to be pulled out years from now so Leah can look at the mindless doodling she did in her senior year of high school?  Will I be kept at all, or will I just be thrown in the garbage?  I'm not in very good condition, and I have doubts that even the supposedly pretty designs contained within my pages are worth keeping when I'm as tattered as I am.  Maybe my metal spine, bent out of shape over time, will be pulled out of me and my pages and back cover will be thrown in the recycling bin.  Then what happens to me?  Will I feel all of the pages, or will I be confined to one page, or just the back cover, or what?  And once my paper body is made into something else, will I be the whole new thing, or will I just be a small part of it, staying with the bits that used to be me?

I don't know what my future looks like, and that terrifies me to no end.  For now, there's still a few days of my owner's school year left for her to doodle in the leftover space on my remaining pages.  I guess I should just enjoy the time I have left, and not worry about my future as a used, tattered notebook.  It's not like I'll be able to see any of it anyway...

Leah's old, tattered, formerly 120-page college-ruled doodling notebook, signing out.

Twisted Wishes: A Supportive Daughter

  'Gosh darn it, Mom!' I thought to myself.  'At least dry off before you put me back on!'  She obliviously stretched my band around her, clipping me around her massive boobs before caressing my cups with her hands to adjust my fit.

How did I end up like this?  Well, it's a long story.  It all started two years ago when my little sister was born.  Little Pili was quite the handful at the best of times, and it only got worse when my dad left with another woman from his job three months later.  My mom, Amma, had to put so much extra effort into raising me and Pili that she was obviously not handling it very well.  I wanted to help her, but what could I, Kanika the nine-year-old girl, do to help my mom when I was busy with school and clueless about raising a baby?

Two months after Dad left, I was walking home from school when a glimmer in the trees caught my eye.  Curious, I went to see what it was.  It looked like a genie lamp from Aladdin!  I quickly looked around to see if anyone was looking for it, then picked it up and put in in my backpack.  Maybe we could pawn it off for a bit of extra money?  The lamp certainly looked fancy enough to be worth something.

Arriving back home, I passed Mom feeding Pili on the couch on my way to my room.  I gave her a quick greeting, knowing the exhausted mother wouldn't want to be bothered too much.  In my room, I gently placed my backpack on my bed, opening it to retrieve the fancy lamp.  I held it in my hands, and noticing a little smudge on the black metal, tried to rub it clean.

Naturally, I was shocked when the lamp floated out of my hands, and an actual genie came out of it!  I stumbled backward onto my bed in awe at the massive grey-skinned man suddenly floating in the middle of my bedroom.  "Greetings, young mistress," he began.  I guess he was talking about me?  "You have awakened me from my slumber, and I will grant you one wish."

"W-Wait, only one?" I managed to blubber out.  "In most stories, genies give three wishes..."

"Well, only one from me, kid," he stated plainly.  "Just be sure to be careful what you wish for," he added with a sinister grin that I missed at the time.

"Well, that's easy then," I said confidently.  "I wish I could be more supportive for my mother.  She's having such a hard time raising two kids alone right now..."

"Hmm... I think I can help with that," the genie said slowly.  "What would your name be, by the way?"

"Kanika Taylor," I answered, rather confused why he was asking for my name now rather than earlier.

"Well, that makes things easier," he said.  "Less random."  The genie bent down to look me straight in the eye.  Now I was actually kind of scared.  What was he going to do to me?  "Do you know what that name means, little girl?"

"Y-yes?" I stammered.  I had been named for my exceptionally dark skin, taking more after my cheating father in that regard.  Oh no, I made a mistake, didn't I?

The now clearly not-so-nice genie chuckled sinisterly.  "Black cloth," he whispered, then snapped his fingers.  With that, my vision went dark.  'You wanted to be more supportive, didn't you?' the genie's voice echoed in my mind.

I woke up in darkness.  There was a little sliver of light coming in from the top of... wherever I was... but it didn't really let me see anything around me.  In fact, I COULDN'T look around me.  I couldn't move any part of my body!  What was happening?  Where was I?!

Why couldn't I move?  Why did I feel like my body wasn't quite the same as it used to be?  It was a weird feeling, but I felt flimsy in some areas, and a lot tougher in others.  Nothing about my body felt right, but I realized I could figure out what was going on through the clues around me.  I might not have been able to see very much, but I could still feel, smell, hear and taste.  Hearing wasn't helping very much, as my surroundings were eerily silent.  Wherever I was smelled like wood and fabric, and I could kind of taste fabric underneath me.  I could feel the fabric too, being lightly pressed against my entire backside.  That shape felt familiar...

Wait.  I wished to be more supportive for Mom, didn't I?  Uh-oh, did that genie seriously turn me into - 

My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a door opening and a baby crying.  There was also a certain foul smell that came with the baby.  "There there, Pili," the familiar woman's voice cooed.  "Mama's gonna get you all cleaned up, alright?"  Wow, Mom actually sounded kind of... relaxed?  I listened (and smelled) as Mom changed Pili's diaper on the changing table I knew to be on top of her dresser.  I felt the thumping vibrations through the wood around me, only making it more certain where - and what - I was.

As Mom finished changing Pili, my mind struggled to process my new situation.  Not only did I know exactly where I was, I knew what I looked like as well.  I was trapped in my mother's underwear drawer, and I had been transformed by the evil genie into one of her favorite bras.  Going off of what he said about my name meaning black cloth, I knew Mom only owned one black bra.  A fairly fancy one at that, with lace accents and plastic sequins dotted around the floral pattern and a little black bow placed between the cups.

Now, I was that bra.  That genie seriously turned me, a nine-year-old girl, into my own mother's bra.  Not exactly a small bra either, as my mom was blessed with F-cup breasts.  Breasts that I would now be tasked with holding - supporting - in my unwanted cups with my arms and legs wrapped around her torso as simple fabric straps.  I wanted so badly to scream, to cry out for Mom to help me, but I no longer had a mouth to scream with.  No eyes to cry with, no arms to hug with...

It would be several hours later that I heard Mom come back into the room.  I listened as she cooed at her only remaining daughter, tucking Pili into her crib for the night after changing her diaper again.  Hearing the light shuffling of my mother undressing and changing into what was probably a nightgown, I suddenly heard her muffled footsteps approach my prison.  With a sudden jolt, the drawer I was in was pushed the rest of the way closed, the loud slam ringing in my non-existent ears as I was plunged into total darkness.  Mom's footsteps retreated again, and I soon heard her lightly snoring as she fell asleep.

Meanwhile, trapped in the drawer with the now-fellow bras, I discovered that bras don't sleep.  I was forced to stare blankly in the dark at the wooden top of the dresser I could only guess was about an inch above me, listening to my oddly calm mother sleeping the night away.  

Why didn't she seem bothered by my absence?  Had she just not noticed I was gone?  Or was she actually happy I wasn't around anymore?  I silently sobbed to myself in the dark drawer, still in disbelief at my new existence.

I have no clue how long it was before I was shaken out of my depression by the sound of Pili's crying.  It's kind of hard to keep track of time when you're trapped in complete darkness with nothing but your Mom's faint snoring and your own technically silent crying to keep you company.

I heard my Mom wake up with my little sister, and listened in as Pili's diaper was changed yet again.  Soon after, I heard Mom's footsteps exit the bedroom, probably to drive Pili to her babysitter's house.  Once again, I was left in complete silence and darkness with only my thoughts to keep me company.  Mom still wasn't saying anything about my disappearance...

My best guess is it was around half an hour later when I heard Mom walk back into the room.  Suddenly, I was thrust into the light as the drawer was pulled open.  There she was, looming above me like a giantess.  My own mother... No, not mother anymore.  This woman was now my owner, I realized, as she reached into the drawer, pulling out a black pair of panties with a white lace floral pattern.  Her arm disappeared for a moment, then came back for me, the panties' matching bra.  Her massive fingers wrapped around my left arm - no, strap - and I was lifted away from the unseen bra below me.  With a jerking motion, I was suddenly sailing through the air!  I saw the bedroom fly past my vision, then the bed dominated most of it as I landed roughly-but-lightly face down on the olive green sheet.  It didn't really hurt, but I could absolutely feel the impact of my padded fabric cups on the bed.  I was going to be part of Mom's outfit for the day.

I listened as Mom pulled out other pieces of clothing, unable to see any of it as I was left lightly tangled face-down on the bed.  More shuffling noises followed as she undressed outside my vision, then more footsteps as she headed for her bathroom to shower.  I listened to the running water in fear, knowing full well what was about to happen once the humming woman I was no longer related to was done washing herself.  The light ticking of a nearby clock should have been comforting, finally giving me a way to tell the time.  Instead, it terrified me, sounding more like a countdown to my doom.

Finally, having stopped paying attention to the clock, I heard the shower stop.  The thumping of my mother's footsteps got closer and closer to me, and I heard her drop the towel from her body.  Out of the corner of my vision, I saw her hand grab the panties that matched my own pattern perfectly.  The light sound of the underwear being pulled up her legs followed, ending with a light snap of the waistband against her hips.  At last, to my dismay, it was my turn.  I felt her hand wrap around my left strap, followed by the right, lifting me from the bed.  Hooking my straps over her shoulders, I felt her soft, slightly damp skin rub against my fabric, and my cups - which felt like my face with my vision coming out of the center of each cup - laid gently against her chest.  With two smooth motions, she grabbed the bottom of my cups and tucked my unwanted underwire under her breasts.  I could already feel my padded push-up cups straining against the brown mounds inside me, a strain which quickly spread across my entire form as Mom grabbed my leg-straps to hook them together behind her back.  As the hooks and eyelets - which felt like my former feet - came together, my mother-turned-owner let go of me, leaving me to unwillingly support her massive boobs.  This was so wrong on so many levels...

As the wearer I once called Mom walked bent down to the bed to pick up the next part of her outfit, I felt the F-cup knockers try to pull me off of her chest, my fabric trying its best to hold together against the weight.  My straps painfully twisted and strained, trying to keep the huge jugs contained.   She grabbed the black silk blouse and straightened her body, slamming me the rest of the way against her chest again and lessening the weight on my body.  She lifted the blouse above her head, pulling me and her breasts up with her arms and further straining my straps.  With a quick motion, the smooth silk slid over me, blocking my vision with the solid black fabric and hiding me from view.  Her arms fell to her side, and I felt my mother's movements as she put on the rest of her work outfit.  I couldn't deny that the silk rubbing against my fabric at least felt nice, but I shouldn't BE in this situation!  I shouldn't be forced to hold my overly-stacked mother's breasts in my cups while my straps twisted and stretched with every tiny movement she makes!  I should be headed to school, having my hair put into beaded braids by my Mom and meeting my friends on the bus, not headed to work with my mother while hidden under a silk blouse!

Every step she took was another jiggle or bounce from the boobs I was designed to hold, making sure I never got a single second of peace and stillness as her body heat started warming up my fabric.  The constant jiggling, rubbing and warmth was driving me nuts, but I was along for the ride as Mom finished getting ready for work with her daughter wrapped around her breasts.  She never mentioned my absence, and seemed like she had more energy than she'd had since Dad left.  'Why isn't she worried about me?' I wondered to myself in the warm darkness under Mom's blouse as she drove to work.  The light vibrations of the car set the breasts inside me in constant motion, shaking me out of my thoughts during the drive.  I could only sit in place, listening to the slightly muffled radio spouting out the news of the day as my entire being was stretched across my former mother's constantly jiggling chest.

Finally, three songs and way too much light shaking later, the vibrations of the car died down as it was powered down.  Having arrived at her workplace, Mom exited the car, taking me along with her while I involuntarily tried to restrain her breasts as much as possible.  The constant bouncing of her boobs inside me finally came to a halt as she settled down into her office chair, putting me at rest.

Or so I thought.  With every breath she took, my mother's chest would expand a bit, stretching me out ever so slightly before receding again.  The constant cycle of her breathing, combined with the occasional arm motions of her picking up the phone to take a customer's call and the vibrations from beneath me every time she spoke... I was never truly still, and I didn't have any chances to lose myself in my own thoughts with the constant distractions.  I found myself wishing I could at least see from under Mom's blouse as the day went on.  After a while, I was met with a new sensation.

It was a hot day in early September, and the office's air conditioner must not have been working very well.  The heat of the room combined with Mom's body heat radiating from her breasts, and she began sweating.  The new feeling of my own mother's boob sweat soaking into my fabric combined with the constant movements of her carrying out her basic bodily functions... Even worse, I could taste the sweat slowly soaking into me, making me stick to the giant sacks of flesh instead of simply holding them.  The limited air I had underneath the black blouse started smelling like sweat as well.  Even through all this, the constant movement of my mother's arms and body overwhelmed my senses, the sweat-soaking only being a small part of the torture I was being put through.

Hours later, my mother stood up from her seat, putting her breasts in motion for me to try to restrain again.  As she walked out of her office, I could hear one of her coworkers ask her about her daughter.  That definitely piqued my interest.  They were asking about a daughter instead of two.  It finally dawned on me that the genie might have just erased me from existence.  Is that why Mom wasn't worried about me?  Why she seemed more energetic, less exhausted?  All because I never existed?!  I tried to hold my train of thought, but the constant jiggling of Mom's boobs inside me brought me back to my new reality.  The light vibrations caused by the car, the occasional shake caused by cracks in the road, the sound of the radio muffled through the blouse covering me, the feeling of Mom's sweat slowly drying in my fabric... I barely had a second to just think to myself with the constant barrage of sensations no child should ever have to be put through.

Arriving at home, I felt my mom walking a bit faster than normal, making her breasts wobble more than they had been all day, thus straining my straps even more.  She seemed like she was in a hurry, and I found out why once I heard a door slam shut with a tell-tale echo.  With a strong bounce from her boobs, she quickly sat down on what I already guessed was the toilet.  I was forced to cling to her chest and listen as she relieved herself, the sound of her pee hitting the toilet water almost making me jealous that I would never use the bathroom again.  Her arm brushed against me as she grabbed toilet paper to wipe herself, then stood up with another heavy bounce from her breasts.  She flushed the toilet, then left the bathroom, her boobs jiggling and swaying inside me the entire way.  'Could you at least take your shirt off so I can see?' I thought to myself, knowing all too well that my mother-turned-owner couldn't hear me anyway.

I sat on her chest for the rest of the day.  Another car ride to pick up Pili from her babysitter, some more light movement as she prepared supper for herself... The feeling of the baby that I once called my little sister being cradled next to me as she was given her bottle made me long to be part of the family again.  That longing would last for a very long time, as I knew I would never be myself again.  Never again would I be Kanika Taylor, nine-year-old girl and aspiring gymnast, fighting for African-American representation within a mostly white-dominated sport.  Instead, I would live out my days in my former mother's underwear drawer...

I was literally shaken out of my increasingly depressed thoughts as Mom reached her arms across her chest, grabbing the hem of her blouse and finally, mercifully, pulling it off.  The silk slid across my own fabric as she started undressing, and I found myself facing a full-length mirror.  My vision kept bouncing around as Mom continued taking her clothes off, but I could definitely study the reflection in the meantime.

There was no dark-skinned little girl in the reflection next to my mother.  Instead, there was my Mom's almost naked body, still dressed in her panties and bra.  The bra at my eye level was very pretty, the silver sequins glistening in the light, its cute lace accents resting against the mixed-race woman's boobs.  The band was clearly being stretched beyond what it was meant to hold, and the left strap already had a single thread sticking out of it.  Most horrifying of all was the knowledge that the bra in the mirror was me.  I was no more than my mother's bra, and not even a new one.  I was already showing signs of wear and tear, and it looked like a couple of my sequins had fallen off over time.

Mom's arms then reached behind her back to unclip my feet-turned-hooks, and I watched in the mirror as she finally pulled me away from her massive boobs.  Hanging from her hand by the strap, I saw just how pathetic I looked.  I was nothing but a black F-cup bra hanging limply from its owner's fingers.  I suddenly found myself sailing through the air again, landing in a tangled heap on her bed.  Face up this time, I unwillingly watched my gigantic mother finish undressing, then walk in the nude to her closet to pull out a nightgown.  Putting on her pajamas for the night, she walked toward me again, picking me up by the strap.  'Oh jeez, now what?' I thought, having assumed my torture was over for the day.

Mom walked out of her bedroom, leaving me to swing wildly from her hand.  If I had the ability, I would have thrown up from the motion sickness as my vision bounced violently and randomly with my mother's walking.  By the time the swinging died down, I had been set on a small table in what I recognized as the laundry room.  'That's right, I'm just clothing now,' I thought to myself.  'And now I'm dirty laundry...'

If I thought I was just going to be tossed into the washer, I was sorely mistaken.  Mom approached me again, this time holding a mesh cylinder.  She unzipped the top, then grabbed me.  My body was uncomfortably folded in on itself, then my bundled-up form was stuffed into the mesh bag.  With a quick motion, the top was zipped and closed, leaving the light to filter through.  My new prison was then carelessly tossed somewhere, where I landed on something soft.  I couldn't tell where I was anymore, only being able to see the white fabric of the bag I was trapped in.  My location would be revealed pretty quickly though, as I heard a loud clanging noise that meant the washer lid had been slammed shut.

The light around me suddenly disappeared, and an unholy noise filled the air inside the machine as cold water started pouring in.  Having sweat soak into my fabric was one thing, but to be drowned entirely in cold, soapy water was another thing entirely.  My delicate waterlogged fabric started floating slightly as the washing machine filled with water.  I found myself surprisingly happy that I couldn't see anything anymore as I felt the water begin spinning around, taking my helpless bra body and mesh prison with it.  Around and around I spun, feeling the surprisingly not-so-unpleasant sensation of the sweat and grime of the day being washed out of my threads.  'No, I shouldn't be enjoying any of this!' I scolded myself.  'I'm not supposed to be swirling around in a washing machine; I should be laying in bed right now, all warm and snuggly in my new Encanto pajamas!'

But as the spinning eventually slowed down, my new place in the world was only more obvious as I simply sat there in the middle of a sopping wet ball of newly-washed clothing, still trapped as I was in the mesh delicates bag.  I realized that Mom had probably gone to bed, so I was going to be stuck here in the silent, unmoving darkness for several hours.  So, still thoroughly unable to sleep, I thought to myself about the reality I found myself in.

Mom and Dad were probably still divorced, but my mother now only had one daughter, the now first-born Pili Taylor being her only child.  I, Kanika Taylor, had never been born, so Mom only had one child to raise, leaving her with more time to relax and more money to spend on the remaining girl.  It sure seemed like the family I was no longer a part of was better off without me... I ended up crying to myself with that realization, made even worse by the undeniable fact that no one would ever be able to hear me again.  I was stuck with myself in my own fabric body.  Eventually, I stopped crying to myself, and simply tried to stop thinking at all to avoid making me even more depressed.

I didn't have any real sense of time in the pitch darkness, but it must have been several hours later when I heard the washing machine lid be opened again.  The ball of wet clothing was lifted upward with me stuck in the middle, still left in complete darkness.  With a wet plop, the mass of fabric was dropped into what must have been the dryer, and the metallic clang of another lid being closed rang through my non-existent ears.  More mechanical whirring followed, then my fellow laundry and I started spinning again.  I was blasted with scalding hot air, and I felt the moisture trapped in my threads slowly evaporating.  As my body was dried out, I found myself becoming... comfortable?  I wasn't soaked in soapy water anymore, and the warmth now radiating through and from my body was actually rather pleasant...

I had to remind myself what my situation was.  Under no circumstance should I be enjoying ANYTHING about this!  I was supposed to be a little girl, not a freaking boob holder for my own mom!  Why did I keep finding things to enjoy about being a bra?  The warmth and dryness may have felt nice, but it was just another reminder of what I now was:  A collection of fabric, foam, plastic and metal designed to contain a woman's breasts, and rather large ones at that.  I didn't have a face, or arms and legs anymore; instead, I had padded cups, sequins, straps, hooks and underwire, with a cute little bow that rested in my wearer's cleavage.

The spinning finally died down, and I just sat there for what must have been an hour, lost in my own thoughts.  Eventually the dryer was opened again, and I heard the light shuffling of the other clean laundry being pulled out.  The mesh delicates bag I was in was suddenly grabbed by a massive hand, and I was dropped into what must have been a basket.  I still couldn't see much being trapped inside the white bag, but I felt the gentle swaying of the basket being carried somewhere.

With a thud, the basket I was resting in was dropped on the floor, and I heard Mom slowly putting everything away.  Her light humming as she folded her other clothing was soothing to my increasingly confused mind.  My bag was grabbed once again, and the top was unzipped, revealing my former mother's face looking down at me.  There was no sign of recognition in her eyes, simply seeing a bra she was particularly fond of, with no clue that the black patterned fabric contained the spirit of a daughter she no longer remembered.  My body was gently unfurled back to its full length, and I was carried to my mother's dresser, still staring up at her thoroughly neutral face.  I was set carefully in my new home, my mom's underwear drawer, on top of another bra I couldn't see, and Mom's face disappeared from the rectangle of light left by the drawer being open.  A minute or so later, she reappeared with a navy blue bra in her hands, and my fellow undergarment was set gently on top of me, leaving me in darkness sandwiched between two pieces of clothing not so unlike myself.

A few more minutes went by, and I heard my mother's humming increase in volume as she approached the drawer I was in.  With a sudden jolt, my wooden prison was slammed shut, leaving me in much the same situation as I found myself in when I first woke up as a bra.  This would be the closest thing I would have to a bedroom from now on, only able to sit completely still in the darkness.  Waiting for my turn to be worn again.

It's been almost two years now.  Pili turned two years old a few days ago, and I rode on my former mother's chest the whole day, hidden underneath a fancy blue dress.  I should've turned eleven years old a couple months ago, starting to develop into a young woman.  My first bra fitting, my first period, my first year of middle school... All these things should have taken place over the past two years.  Instead, I do nothing but sit in a dark drawer, being stretched over my mother-turned-owner's massive breasts every few days, then spun around in the washer and dryer before being returned to my home in her underwear drawer.

Mom's still single, and she doesn't seem to have any interest in dating again.  She's chosen to focus on her life as a single mother to Pili, who is growing into quite the little handful of a toddler.  I was right about being erased from existence, my former bedroom having transformed into a simple storage room.  Meanwhile, I find myself with a very different view of my new life.

It was about a month after my twisted wish that I made the decision to get used to my new existence.  Instead of longing to be part of my old family, I accepted that I was no more than a piece of clothing owned by my former mother.  Speaking of which, I would still call her Mom in my mind, but I mostly thought of her as my owner rather than my parent.  Pili was my owner's daughter, not my sister.  I stopped thinking of my form in human terms, instead acknowledging that I now had straps and cups.  Eventually, I learned to pull whatever enjoyment I could from my life as an F-cup push-up bra.  The rides in the washer and dryer are like insane rollercoasters, and I love the pleasant warmth the drying process leaves me with.  I'm taken good care of, and while I still wish I could be a girl again, I've learned to accept myself for what I am.

Unfortunately, I don't know how much longer I'm going to last.  I may be a large bra, but my owner is ridiculously stacked.  Lately, every time I'm worn I can feel a couple more threads in my straps give way, and my underwire is slowly being bent out of shape, as are my hooks and eyelets.  Someday soon, my left strap is going to give out, painfully snapping in two while my former mother wears me for the last time.  More than likely, when that inevitably happens, I'll be chucked in the garbage like the simple trash I'll be, finally tearing me away from my old family, the last reminder I have of my former life and humanity.  I dread the day my fabric is no longer able to contain my owner's boobs, a truly depressing thought coming from what used to be a living, breathing human girl.

For now, I'll just sit here on my owner's chest, annoyed at her carelessly putting me on before drying herself off after her shower.  I can feel the water droplets being absorbed by my cups, and her breasts are going to stick to me for at least an hour.  She running late for work today, so I understand WHY she skimped on drying off; I'm just annoyed that I have to deal with the aftermath.  She tries to blow-dry herself along with her hair, blasting me with hot air in the process.  Finally, once she's decided that she's dry enough, she throws a black dress over me, leaving me in the familiar darkness once again.  As she rushes to work, her boobs bounce around inside me, putting more painful stress on my fraying left strap as I try to contain the massive chest.

Just another day in my life; the life of an aging bra.  All because I wished to be more supportive...

TF Virus 1

 My name is Wren.  It wasn't always Wren, but my son wasn't always named Dion either.  In fact, I used to call him Mom.  My entire family used to be known by different names, but that changed 14 years ago when my father caught a very unusual virus.

At the time, my name was Lily.  I was the oldest of three kids born to my Mom and Dad, Diane and Julian.  My little brother and sister, William and Evelyn, were ages 2 and 6 respectively when it happened.  We were a nice, happy little family when Dad came home one day saying he was splashed with some weird substance outside the factory he worked at.  For the first few days, we thought it was harmless.  Eventually he started developing a rash, and he ended up being stuck in bed for a couple days.  At that point, we got a call from the factory saying that he might seem... different when we woke up the next day.  We had no clue what they meant by that, but we would definitely find out soon.

The next day, we woke up to Mom screaming about something.  I carried William to the living room to play, and Evelyn and I went to our parents' room to find out what was wrong.  As we got closer, we heard Dad's voice telling Mom to calm down, that everything would be fine.  I opened the door, and we saw Mom crying over... a pair of shorts?  A little light pink pair of girls' shorts was lying on the bed where Dad would normally be, but Dad himself was nowhere to be seen.  Unless...

"Honey, the girls are at the door," Dad's voice said from somewhere.  It almost seemed like it was coming from the shorts on the bed.  "I think we have some explaining to do."

Mom wiped her eyes of her tears, and nodded.  "Come here girls, and I'll tell you everything."  Confused, Evelyn and I entered the room and sat on the bed.

What followed was mind-blowing for me and confusing for Evelyn.  My own 17-year-old mind was able to handle the information dump a lot better than my 6-year-old sister's.  Basically, the liquid that Dad was splashed with infected him with something the factory was calling the Transformation Virus, or TF Virus for short.  Based on the results from other accidents around the factory, the infected person would transform completely randomly after about a week.  Some turned into other people, some became animals, and several turned into inanimate objects.  Dad fell victim to the third category, and he had turned into the little pink shorts laying on the bed behind us.

I looked back at the piece of clothing.  That light pink fabric with floral lace patterns where the pockets should be, the little bow on the front of the waistband... That was Dad.  He was looking out from the front part of the fabric, completely motionless as his family talked about what had happened to him.  I couldn't help but wonder what he was going through right now, reduced to a tiny piece of child's clothing that would perfectly fit his youngest daughter.  Then Mom dropped another bombshell that shook me to my core.

"And since he hugged all of us after work that day, before he showered, all of us are infected as well."  I looked at her with my mouth wide open.  "There's no telling when we'll transform, but it WILL happen eventually.  It could take years, or one of us could get sick tomorrow.  But we'll get through this, together."  She turned to Evelyn, who mostly looked confused.  Grabbing Dad's fabric body, she handed him to my little sister.  "Try him on Evelyn; we're not forcing him to live in a drawer for the rest of his life."

Dad chimed in, somehow still being able to speak from his unmoving form.  "I'd rather be worn by someone I'll fit on than sit in a dark drawer.  Maybe it's my mind adapting to my body, but..."  He trailed off, clearly realizing that he almost sounded crazy.

"Uh... Okay..." Evelyn mumbled, still confused by what was going on.  She grabbed the shorts from Mom, then headed slowly to her bedroom to try on the new clothing.

"Lily?" Mom asked, shaking me out of my reverie as I watched Evelyn carry our father's limp fabric body in her little hand.  "How are you handling all this?"

I looked down at my own hands.  How long would it be before I didn't have those anymore?  If it could happen to Dad, and the rest of us were infected as well...  "I just can't believe he's gone.  Well, not gone, he's right there and he can talk to us, but we don't really have a Dad anymore because he's just a pair of shorts now and it could happen to any of us at anytime and - "

"Hey, calm down Lil," Mom interrupted my breathless run-on, only for me to burst out crying in her arms.  We sat there for a while until Evelyn came back in the room, now clad in the shorts that used to be our father.

"He fits really well!  And he's SOOOOOO cute!!!" the little girl squealed excitedly, too innocent and oblivious to realize her mother and big sister weren't as excited about her father's fit as she was.

"Come on girls, lighten up a bit!" Dad's voice came from the shorts wrapped around Evelyn's hips.  "I'm still here, aren't I?  And the world sure looks different from down here when I'm this small."

I looked at Evelyn with perhaps a bit more disdain than I should have.  How could she be so happy about this?  Her father was a pair of freaking shorts, and she was WEARING him!  "Why are you looking at me like that, Lil?" she asked, her voice now wavering because of my glaring.  "You're making me scared..."

"Just... go play with your brother, alright Evelyn?" Mom said gently, trying to keep her younger daughter from crying.  "Lily's not feeling well right now."

"Okay!" Evelyn chirped, already recovered from her brief bout of fright.  I felt guilty about scaring her, but who could blame me?  Our lives would never be the same again, and my own little sister was perfectly content to put Dad over her hips and go to play with little William in the living room, our father staring out from the front of her admittedly cute new shorts.  I knew I would be apologizing to her later, but at the moment I just wanted to run to my room, wrap myself in my blankets and cry myself to sleep.

Mom looked at me with a gentle look in her eyes and sighed.  "Apologize later; she seems fine for now.  Do whatever you need to do."  I nodded, still sniffling, and slowly walked to my bedroom to do exactly what I wanted to at that moment.

Once wrapped in my blankets, I felt like a burrito, nice and comfortable as I sobbed uncontrollably.  'Oh God, is that a possibility?' I thought to myself.  'Is turning into a burrito something that could happen to one of us?!'  I started crying even louder with that thought.  My pillows were becoming soaked with my tears, but the eventual feeling of someone - I didn't care who - rubbing my back finally soothed me enough to fall asleep for a while.

I apologized to Evelyn later that night after I woke up, my makeup still streaked down my face from my crying.  We all had a laugh about the state of my face, but for the rest of the night, I found it hard to tear my eyes away from Dad, wrapped around my little sister's hips as he was.  He really did fit her perfectly, his fabric stretched lightly across her crotch and bum while fitting snugly around her upper thighs, his hems hanging loosely a few inches down.  It was so weird to think about; my dad wasn't a man anymore, not even human.  Instead of a head, arms and legs, he now had a waistband and legholes designed to comfortably sit on a little girl's waist and legs.  As weird as it was for me to think about, I figured it must be even more bizarre for him, being worn by his youngest daughter.  I watched as his fabric wrinkled slightly with every movement Evelyn made with her lower body, her legs making his body conform to her actions.

All in all, he seemed to be taking everything pretty well.  Either he was putting on a front to make the rest of us feel better about it, or the transformation actually changed his mind somewhat.  He assured us that we weren't contagious anymore, since the contagion wore off as soon as we bathed.  For the rest of the night, we tried to ignore our bizarre new situation, and Evelyn was sent off to bed an hour after Mom tucked William in for the night.  Mom and I talked about pretty much anything except Dad's transformation and the fact that Evelyn was probably wearing him to bed, until we finally wished each other a good night and headed to bed ourselves.

-------------------

Two years went by with nothing much happening.  Evelyn wore Dad about twice a week until she outgrew him.  After that, he asked to be put in her dresser drawer so he could still talk to her.  His mind was absolutely drastically changed by his transformation into a pair of little girls' shorts; he absolutely loved being worn, and he seemed fine with the constant cycle of wearing, washing, drying and being put away until his fabric was finally being stretched out too much by Evelyn's thighs.  He no longer considered us as his family, identifying more with the rest of Evelyn's wardrobe.  Instead, he considered his younger daughter to be his owner, not even calling her by her name after a couple months.

Was that going to be our futures as well?  We knew our own transformations were going to happen eventually, even little William finding out as he grew older.  As Dad's mind further adapted to his new form, we became more and more scared, especially because we had no idea when it would happen.  We could turn into anything at any moment, and the anticipation was arguably worse than if we knew exactly when it was going to happen.

We started being connected with other infected families six months after the incident.  One family's father ended up as a purse for his wife; another ended up as a evergreen tree sapling that was quickly planted in their front yard.  A family that had more than one transformation already had the father turn into a bra for his teenage daughter, and then the daughter turned into a scrunchie that was worn by her 5-year-old sister.  We were even told of one case where the entire family had already transformed:  The father turned into a female robin released into the wild; the mother ended up as a single metal screw used to put together a neighbor girl's dresser; the teenage son turned into a little girls' bike that was then owned by his 11-year-old brother turned 7-year-old girl; and the 4-year-old daughter was the last to transform, horrifyingly ending up as a single chocolate bar that was soon eaten by the girl who used to be her brother after literally begging to be eaten.  The mental effects of the transformations were extremely powerful, making the people-turned-objects crave being used for their new purpose.  We could really turn into anything, and there was nothing we could do to stop it from happening.

So imagine our panic when, a few days after William's fourth birthday, I started developing a very familiar rash.  I cried uncontrollably for the first day, then calmed down after accepting that my own transformation was going to happen no matter what.  Even William seemed sad about it, having learned that his own transformation would come someday.  I even talked to Dad about it, with him assuring me that no matter what happened, everything would be fine.  I went to school one last day that Thursday, saying what would likely be my last goodbyes to my friends before I transformed.  The next day, I felt so sick that I was confined to my bed like Dad was just two days before he woke up as a pair of shorts.

I knew I only had a couple days as myself, so I took my last few selfies for my family and friends to remember me by.  The platinum blonde 17-year-old girl captured by my phone camera would cease to exist by Sunday morning.  As Friday passed and I had my last few meals on Saturday, I resigned myself to my fate.  Whatever would happen, I knew I would somehow be happy in my new existence.  I fell asleep for what I thought would be the last time, and the TF Virus took me in the middle of the night.

To Be Continued...

New Beginnings

 

Twisted Wishes: Immersed In Boyhood DX

  When I found that genie in the cheap bottle at that garage sale, I thought I had struck the jackpot.  Three actual wishes, anything I wanted?  I was set!  Being a teenage girl desperate for a boyfriend, I made my three wishes:  Be cute forever, be a star, and get into a boy's pants.  In hindsight, I definitely could've phrased wish three any number of other ways, but that's what I went with.  Also in hindsight, I guess all three of my wishes were granted, albeit in the most twisted way imaginable.  With a simple snap and a sinister grin, I was torn from my body and life by the evil genie.

When I woke up, I first noticed the feeling.  On one side, I felt some kind of fabric sheet touching my body; on the other, a thin sheet of cold plastic kept me from falling to the floor below.  Meanwhile, it felt like my own body was rolled unnaturally into itself, and I couldn't budge a single muscle to free myself from my own contortion.  I didn't really even feel like I had any muscles to move, instead feeling like a flat sheet with three holes in weird places that didn't coincide with any human body part I could think of.  Overall, it felt quite claustrophobic in my sudden confinement.  What the hell was going on?

Next, I noticed my surroundings.  I couldn't see too much other than blackness where my vision folded in on itself; there was, however, a design of some sort blocking part of my view of the outside world.  Wait, were those words?  Yeah, reversed words written on a clear layer of plastic that I could only feel myself pressing against.  I couldn't quite read what the words said, but reading wasn't exactly my priority when I realized I was in a store.  A massive, dark department store that I could see a little bit into from an unusually low viewpoint.  I guess they were closed for the night, but why did everything look so damn huge?

I couldn't tell how long I was trapped in the dark in the massive store, but finally, mercifully, the lights suddenly turned on.  My eyesight adjusted to the change in lighting, and I realized that I preferred the dark.  After all, the darkness hid the truth of my situation.  A few minutes passed, and I saw a worker walk by my area.  A worker that was possibly a hundred times my size.

My surroundings weren't huge; I was tiny.  I was in the boys' clothing area of the store, and I realized to my horror that I definitely wasn't human anymore.  I didn't know what I had turned into yet, so I took some time to figure it out as workers and the first couple customers walked by.  The fabric touching me inside my plastic prison meant I was probably made of fabric as well.  The plastic meant I was in a package as part of a multi-pack, and the three holes in my body... Well, while I was still rolled up, I couldn't really tell where they were, so they were still a mystery.  I couldn't look around very much, only being able to see out of the front of the package.

So, what comes in a multi-pack?  Socks were out, they only had one hole each.  Undershirts had four, so not that either.  Then I remembered the wishes I had made.  Be cute forever, be a star, and... get into a boy's pants.  Oh fuck no, this isn't what I meant!  Was I seriously nothing but a pair of boys' underwear?  The fabric, the multi-pack, the three holes in my body... Everything checked out.  But what about the other two wishes?

Another wish would be understood when I realized what kind of customers were looking in my area:  Mothers and fathers with younger sons, probably between ages 4 and 9.  I guess that's how I'll be cute forever, since I'm so small that most people will find me cute for that reason alone.  Not that most people will ever be able to see me.  After all, a little boy showing off his underwear is immediately chastised for being indecent.  Oh shit, I was gonna be WORN someday...

An entire day went by with nothing really happening other than seeing more members of my former species walking by, paying me no more mind than a simple piece of merchandise deserves.  The last customers left, the workers closed the store, and the lights turned off again, leaving me in darkness.  That second night seemed endless as I pondered my future.  No longer was I a teenage girl in her last month of her senior year of high school, having just turned 18 a couple weeks ago.  Instead, I was a piece of fabric designed to be wrapped around a kid's waist, probably manufactured a month or so ago.

The lights turned on again, the worker from yesterday walked by again, and customers started trickling in.  Another day, another 24 hours of being left alone to my thoughts, constantly spiraling further and further into despair, wishing that something - ANYTHING - would happen already.

Finally, something DID happen.  A mother appeared in front of me, with her son following close behind.  The kid couldn't be older than five.  As he pointed directly at me, I saw the mother's massive hand reaching towards me.  "You want these ones?" she asked her son as I felt her fingers squeeze the plastic packaging I was trapped in.  The little boy nodded excitedly with a wide grin on his face.  "I thought so, you certainly like your stars," she continued.

"SPAAAACE!!!" the huge kindergartener yelled out as I was dropped roughly into a shopping cart.  Was this hyperactive child seriously going to be my owner?  The mom-and-son duo pushed the cart I was in through the store, slowly burying me in other things they were going to buy.  I still had a little bit of light filtering through everything, but it was uncomfortable to feel so much weight crushing me against the bottom of the cart.

It must have been almost an hour having the air crushed out of me when the weight started lessening.  As items were mercifully lifted off of me, I finally saw full light again.  The incessant beeping of merchandise being scanned was terrifying to me, knowing it would be my turn soon.  Finally, the woman grabbed my package and lightly tossed me onto the moving belt.  I could only stare at the slowly moving ceiling as I was automatically drawn toward the worker at the register.  Not even looking at me, the male employee - who would've been cute to me if he wasn't so much bigger than me - grabbed the package I called home, lazily dragging me across the counter as the annoying BEEP filled my hearing.  Nonchalantly grabbing my prison, I was dropped into a shopping bag with a few other pieces of clothing.  My vision was now forced against a galaxy-print t-shirt the boy excitedly picked out earlier, the shirt that should've been adorably tiny now totally dwarfing me.  A few beeps later, I heard the employee give the total of $138.96, and the slide of a debit card.  With that, it was official:  I had been purchased.  I had no clue how much I cost them, but the idea that my entire life was now worth a tiny portion of that total was crushing to me.

The bag was lifted - shifting my vision to face the kid's new shark-print swimming trunks - and dropped back into the cart to be brought outside.  I could feel the difference in temperature, going from the air-conditioned department store to the late-May heat outside as I was wheeled toward my inevitable new life.  The cart came to a halt; I heard a vehicle's trunk being opened, and I felt the bag being lifted then dropped into the awaiting car.  Now with my vision forced against a floral shirt the mother got for herself, the trunk was slammed shut, leaving me in darkness once again.  I heard the car being started, and I felt the light rumble as the family left the parking lot to go home.

Some impossible-to-measure length of time later, I felt the car come to a halt, then heard the low rumbling of the engine die down as it was powered down.  The trunk was lifted open, and light flooded in.  The bag I was in was lifted out of the trunk, then handed from the mother to her son to carry in.  As my prison was swung wildly back and forth by the hyper boy who was now my owner, I felt a shift in temperature once again as I was carried into my new home.

"Alright Ollie, put your new stuff away," the mother said, which was followed by an "Okay Mommy!" from my new owner.  My clothing comrades started being pulled out of the bag, leaving only me and the other things bought for the boy, whose name I now knew was Ollie.  The bag was picked up, more wild swinging ensued, and I was soon thrown onto the floor.  Now I could see the light through the mostly-opaque plastic, and I could tell I was in the little boy's bedroom.  I felt the other clothing being pulled from the bag, and I could see the boy's silhouette through the bag putting them away.  Finally, he came to the bag one last time, and I felt his hand grab my package and pull me out of the bag.

As he roughly tore the plastic packaging open, I tried to take in as many details of my new owner as I could.  Light skin, short jet black hair in a cute bowl cut, bright ocean-blue eyes, a light smattering of freckles across his face... This 'Ollie' was a cute kid, anyway.  He made the decision to put each of my fellow packmates away one at a time, so I got to see what the others looked like.  One was black with blue bands and sports-based designs; the other was plain white with dark blue bands.  I must have been the ones with the star pattern, explaining how my final remaining wish had been granted.  His hand - which was finally something smaller than me - grabbed me, and instead of carrying me to his dresser, he dropped me onto the floor.  What was he doing?

I would get my answer when he unsnapped his shorts and let them fall to the floor.  Next, he grabbed his current underwear and pulled them down as well.  Shit, he was about to put me on, wasn't he?  I could do nothing but watch as he bent down over me, reaching his hand out and grabbing me once again.  He held me by my... waistband... and, slightly stretching my fabric, lowered his right foot into my right leg hole.  Following with his left foot, he started pulling me up his legs.  I felt the smooth, hairless skin start rubbing against my unwanted leg holes, his thighs slightly stretching them wider, until I reached his waist.  With a light snap, he let go of my waistband, forcing me to hug his pelvis against my will.  I watched from my unwanted new point of view as Ollie bent down to pick up his shorts, pulling them back on and covering me.

As he redid the snap, I was once again trapped in darkness.  This was a very different darkness from being in a closed store, however.  Instead, my vision was locked against the inside of a pair of shorts, with no light whatsoever coming from the front.  A slight glow came from somewhere beneath me, where his legs came out of the shorts' leg holes, but nowhere near enough to let me see anything around me.  Not that there was anything to see except an expanse of dark blue denim.  With the unseen change in clothing completed, I felt my owner's legs' movement as he dashed out of his room.

I no longer had any real context as to what Ollie was doing outside what little I could hear through his shorts.  There was a lot of movement and a lot of heat that didn't come from the body inside me, so I assumed he was playing outside.  He would occasionally reach for my backside to undo a wedgie, but that was the only direct interaction I got from him.  My day consisted of my fabric being stretched and wrinkled repeatedly to conform to my child owner's movements, all the while sitting in near-complete darkness, having only muffled vocalizations from Ollie and the other kids to keep me company.  I could feel his sweat slowly soaking into my lightly absorbent body as he played with his friends.

At one point I felt the heat around me dissipate, having heard the words 'hang on' and 'go' through my new denim prison.  I felt the constant movement suddenly cease, and I was suddenly thrust into the light once again.  For the second or two I could actually see anything, I stared forward at the toilet I found slightly below my point of view.  With a sudden realization - and disgust - at what was happening, his hands grabbed the front of my waistband and forced me back under his now-slightly-roomier shorts.  While I was relieved I wouldn't have to watch the act, I could still hear the gross liquid hitting the back of the toilet bowl, before slowly petering out as the stream subsided.  I was roughly tugged back over the offending appendage, then plunged into darkness once again as he snapped his shorts and flushed the toilet.  Unfortunately, being a young child, he didn't exactly finish cleaning after himself, meaning that not only did I not hear the tell-tale signs of someone washing their hands, but I could feel - and smell, and taste - the leftover waste liquid soaking into my fabric.  Yeah, it was gross, but I supposed that this was just another horrifying aspect of my new existence.

Finally, I heard various goodbyes as Ollie headed back inside.  For a while, I stopped being able to tell what was going on as most noises around me were too quiet for me to hear through my wearer's shorts.  I was forced through another bathroom trip, then felt the child slowly walk to his bedroom.  Suddenly, I heard Ollie undo the snap on his shorts, then watched as the denim fell out of my vision.  I heard more shuffling of fabric, and saw his light blue sleeveless shirt fall to the floor.  I was finally going to be taken off!

Turns out, I wasn't so lucky as to be freed from this child's waist.  Instead, I watched from my pelvic point of view as Ollie climbed onto his bed, laying spread-eagle on top of the covers as he continued to cool down from his fun day in the heat outside.  I was forced to stare up at the ceiling, my view shifting slightly every time my wearer moved around.  "Goodnight Oliver," I heard his mother coo from the doorway.  "G'night Mommy," the boy replied, followed by the lights being turned out.  Great, more darkness in my life.

Or so I thought.  As the main light disappeared, it was replaced with the soft blue glow of a nightlight, as well as the pale yellow of glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to the ceiling I was forced to stare at.  I could even see a big, glowing moon in the corner of the room  This kid REALLY seemed to like his astronomy, and now I was technically part of his space collection.  As gross and humiliating my new position was, at least my owner was near-unbearably adorable.  I clung to Ollie as he slowly drifted off to sleep, turning slightly onto his side.

Perhaps half an hour later, light came into the room again as his mother opened the door.  "Are you asleep, sweetie?" she whispered, careful not to awaken the potentially sleeping boy.  After a few seconds of silence, she came in holding a light star-patterned sheet and carefully placed it over her son, and I was left mostly in darkness.  A dim blue glow still lit up my surroundings, so I could see Ollie's thighs approach me as he shifted in his sleep, curling up under the new cover.  Over time, I felt his body heat warm up the space around me, and his light movements came to a halt, sleeping into the kind of restful sleep I would never know again.

As it happens, clothing doesn't sleep.  I remained in the dark for several hours, the uncomfortable scrunching of my frontside and stretching of my backside paired with the constant rise and fall of Ollie's breathing truly cementing my complete helplessness and dependence on this five-year-old boy.  Left to my own thoughts, I tried to distract myself by thinking of my family.  I had been like this for two days now; how were they handling my disappearance?  Did they even know I was gone, or did that genie erase my old self from existence?  I would give anything to be able to see them again, but I knew that would never happen.  I might not even be in the same area, and even if I was, I would never know, being hidden under a kid's pants and all.

As time went on, I started being able to see sunlight filtering through the sheet covering Ollie and me.  Finally, the boy wearing me stirred in his sleep, starting to wake up.  I helplessly continued conforming to his midsection as he removed the sheet, sitting up on the side of his bed, then hopping off to start the day.  Finally able to see more than my owner's legs, I was along for the ride as he trudged to his dresser, picked out a new outfit - including new underwear - and carried everything out of his room and into the bathroom.  Being able to see as my wearer walked was disorienting, my vision constantly bobbing up and down and swinging slightly from side to side, while also feeling his leg movements scrunching and stretching my fabric to and fro.

Reaching the bathroom where his mother was already waiting for him (I must not have been able to hear her waking him up), Ollie dropped the clothing onto the rug by the door.  Then, grabbing my waistband, he finally slid me down his legs and dropped me to the cold bathroom floor.  Feeling the child's body heat quickly leaving my body, I simply sat in an unnatural heap on the floor as he was given a bath by his mother, slowly accumulating moisture from the now-humid air and floor.  I couldn't do anything other than stare at the ceiling, listening to my owner and his Mom being the family I will never have again.

Once they were done, the mother lifted Ollie out of the tub to help dry him off, with several drops of water landing on me and absorbing into my fabric.  I watched as my owner was dressed by his mom, looking rather dashing in his Sunday best.  As Ollie ran out of the bathroom, his mother reached down to pick me up.  Now crumpled in the grown woman's gigantic hand, I was suddenly in free-fall as she dropped me into a laundry hamper.  The lid closed, and I was forced into darkness once again, with the feeling, smell and taste of dirty clothes all around me.  With that, I was left in relative peace to consider my situation.  While being worn while Ollie was sleeping wasn't too bad, the rest of the experience of being clothing was absolutely not worth it.  He may have been adorable, but why did I have to be OWNED by him?  And while the first day was fairly uneventful, he was only five years old.  What other kinds of fresh hells awaited me?

I would find out several days later, after being buried in at least three days of outfits from the mother-and-son duo.  My days of darkness and boredom were suddenly interrupted by movement as the container I was in was lifted and carried somewhere else.  After the loud thumping steps that signified a staircase being descended by my carrier, the hamper was set down on a hard surface.  As clothing above me was removed from the hamper, I was finally exposed to the light and open air, and the mom's hand reached for me once again.  Momentarily crumpled into a loose ball, I was unceremoniously dropped into a large space with a lot of light colored clothing, then thrust into darkness once again.

I heard a couple beeps, then a loud, low rumble filled the air around me.  As I heard water pouring in, slowly soaking me through with the soapy liquid, I realized that I was in a washer.  I was being washed like the dirty laundry I was.  I felt myself begin floating in the water, then I heard an ungodly thunking noise as my surroundings began spinning.  Completely unable to resist, I found myself swept up in the action, forcing the dirt, sweat and other unwanted substances out of my fabric.  As this continued for who-knows-how-long, I found myself quite happy that I couldn't see anything; this unwanted ride was dizzying enough just feeling my body swirling around, lightly colliding with the rest of the laundry and eventually finding myself plastered to the wall of the rapidly spinning drum inside the washing machine.

Finally, the movement stopped sometime after I became unstuck from the side.  As the water drained out of the machine, the clothing around me settled on the bottom, squishing me between several other items.  I never saw the light come back or the mother reach in, but I felt the ball of clothing I was stuck inside of being lifted out of the washer and thrown roughly into a different machine.  A door closing and some beeps later, the new machine whirred to life, spinning the wet ball I was part of around the chamber.  The air inside started heating up, and the slowly-drying ball separated piece by piece.  Soon, I started being flung around the dimly-lit space, seeing out of the windowed door on the front of the machine I now knew was a dryer.  I couldn't really gather many details though, as my drying body fluttered weightlessly around the machine.  Flying past my ever-shifting vision were various pieces of clothing, most of which were significantly larger than me.  Camisoles, t-shirts, tanktops, socks and panties belonging to the mother; shirts, socks and other underwear belonging to Ollie... simple pieces of clothing being flung around a dryer, and I was one of them.

Eventually, as my now pleasantly warm, clean and fluffy-feeling body settled on the bottom of the dryer under a few other layers of clothing, the heat subsided as the dryer powered down.  My dizzying rides finally over, I heard the door being opened by the mother.  Handful by handful, she grabbed the clothes in the dryer and dropped them carelessly into a laundry basket, with me going along for the ride along in a handful with a cami, two mismatched socks and a pair of panties.  Once again, I was slowly buried under several layers of clothing.  The constant light-to-darkness cycle was sure getting annoying...

The laundry basket carrying me was set down on the floor, and I felt the weight on top of me get lighter and lighter, until the last layer was removed from me and I could see again.  The mother's gigantic hand reached for me once again, absent-mindedly smoothing out my fabric before setting me on top of a pile of Ollie's clothes.  My fleeting moment of vision was ended once again as one of my owner's shirts was placed on top of me, and the weight slowly increased yet again as more of his clothing was sorted into my pile.  More darkness followed as my pile was picked up by the colossal woman, then placed on a flat surface.  The weight lessened bit by bit until the shirt covering me was lifted away, neatly folded and carried out of my sight.  Able to see fully again, I discovered that I had been taken back to Ollie's bedroom.

Finally, the mother's hand reached for me again, grabbing me by my waistband.  My lightly swinging body was carried to the deep blue dresser, the top drawer of which was slid open by my carrier.  The drawer contained balls of socks and a few pairs of pajama pants, as well as a small pile of fellow underwear.  I was turned over to face the mother, then carefully lowered on top of the white-and-blue pair.  Gently set down in my new home, the drawer was left open for a while.  My vision-giving light wasn't to last though, as another pair of underwear was soon lowered on top of me, leaving me in the damn darkness again.  Another minute or so passed, and I felt the drawer slide shut, the loud thud of wood-on-wood sealing my fate.  This little drawer in a child-sized dresser would be my home for the forseeable future.  It would be two more days until I would be worn again, so I relaxed while there was absolutely nothing to stimulate my mind.

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It's been a year since I made those stupid wishes, and I've been nothing but a little boy's pair of underwear ever since.  Sure, the kid's adorable, but do you know how disgusting little kids can be?  I've been through everything:  Being worn; being washed; the slow, mind-numbing days in the dresser drawer.  Not to mention Ollie's bodily functions; sweating, farting, bathroom breaks, urine stains, poo streaks - the whole gambit.  He's even wet the bed through me a couple times, and let me tell you, there's few feelings in the world more uncomfortable than that warm, salty liquid soaking through me, then having that gross liquid slowly cool down and dry, leaving my fabric cold, clammy and temporarily stained a tell-tale light yellow.  Then the bleach used to get rid of that stain... Fuck, it stings so badly...

Something else about little kids that I didn't think about earlier is the fact that they don't exactly stay little.  Over the past year, I've felt my fabric slowly strain more and more every time Ollie wears me, my owner being in the middle of a growth spurt.  I've felt my threads stretch out permanently, and the elastic in my waistband and legholes start to painfully snap where it can't handle the little boy's expanding circumference.  In short, he's starting to outgrow me, and I'm wearing out fast.

I realize that someday, holes are going to start forming in my fabric, and I'm going to be deemed unfit to wear.  I'll be taken permanently away from Ollie, then... what?  Am I thrown in a rag bin to be used for housecleaning?  Or will I just be thrown away, discarded like the worthless piece of worn-out clothing I'll be?  Either way, I'm sure I'll end up in a landfill somewhere eventually, left to decay in the middle of a mountain of fellow garbage, buried and plunged into darkness one last time, never to see the light again.

For now, I think I still have a few good months left in me before any of that happens.  Until then, I'll just continue doing my job as little Ollie's favorite pair of underwear.  This morning, the last pair on top of me was removed to be worn by my child owner, leaving me on top of the pile in his underwear drawer that I call home.  I've heard something about a summer camp coming up in the next couple days, so I probably won't actually be worn tomorrow.  Instead, I'll be packed away in a suitcase to be worn at camp, then left in a bag of dirty clothes for a few days before I'm washed again.

Ollie forgot to shut the drawer I'm in after getting dressed, so I'll actually be left in the light for a few hours.  Not that I can see much from my vantage point, only being able to stare aimlessly at the star-studded ceiling until his mother comes in and closes the drawer, leaving me in darkness again.  It's moments like this that I have to make the most out of.  Everything else about my existence is pure hell, even if I've mostly gotten used to the life of a tiny piece of clothing.

I still can't believe my entire existence is owned and controlled by a six-year-old boy...