Mom's Model Son

[This is one of several stories I wrote that speak of the IGR--the Institute for Gender Realignment.]

"Damn it!" Dolores exclaimed. "Audrey has bailed out of another assignment!" The head of the modeling agency slammed the phone down in anger. "She may be our top model but these antics of hers have got to stop!" She turned to her assistant, Marge. "Who do we have available to cover for Audrey on that shoot in two weeks?"

Marge scanned the records. "Nobody--at least nobody the client would accept as a replacement for Audrey." The former model, now Dolores's right hand, still looked every inch a cover girl. She had kept her body in perfect trim and, although nearing 40, she could have passed for 25 easily.

Dolores balled her fists in frustration. "Wonderful, just wonderful!" The intercom buzzed. "Yes?"

"Your son, Andrew, is here."

"Send him in," Dolores answered. Andrew, at the age of 16, was the light of Dolores's life, although the models generally found him a pain in the ass and had told the boss so in no uncertain terms. The teenager strolled into the office, dressed casually in jeans and a t-shirt. He was of only medium height, about 5'8", and he was thin. His dark hair hung loosely around his ears and neck. As usual, his eyes never left Marge even as he spoke to his mother.

"Hi mom--did I hear you complaining about Audrey again?" he asked.

"Yes--she's taken off on another of her little jaunts--around the world, apparently...and she's booked for a major photo shoot in two weeks!" his mother explained. "Listen, I'm up to my ears in work here--can I see you at home?"

"Sure," he replied. Then, with a last leering look at Marge, he departed.

"Brrrr--I'm sorry, Dolores, but he gives me the creeps," Marge said, once Andrew had left. "But he has given me an idea about replacing Audrey!" She pulled a brochure marked IGR from her desk and showed it to her boss. At first taken aback, Dolores became more and more appreciative of the genius of the plan as Marge explained in detail.

*****

Two days later, Andrew answered a summons to the modeling agency. Following instructions, he went to one of the photo studios; he pushed open the door and there he discovered a sight he had often dreamed about, but never expected to see.

Marge was stretched out on the floor in a skin-tight latex catsuit. It clung to her every curve, and the teenager drank it all in like a man thirsting in the desert. She gave him her best come-hither stare and asked, "Like what you see, Andrew?"

Despite his previous boldness, the boy was nervous. "Y-yes," he answered. "Wh-what's going on?"

Marge stretched her arms over her head, thrusting her 36C breasts forward with the motion. "Your mother and I decided you should finally have your heart's desire," she told him. She got up and walked toward him, hips swaying. He was completely off guard. She wrapped her arms around his neck and, leaning forward as if to kiss him, she plunged the hidden needle in her ring into the nape of his neck. Moments later, Andrew was dead to the world.

Half an hour later, Andrew was seated in the agency conference room. A pair of headphones had been placed over his ears, his unseeing eyes were glued to a projection TV screen at the front of the room. Images of the most beautiful of his mother's models flashed on the screen, while a voice spoke soothingly and softly behind mood music through the earphones.

"You love looking at those women, don't you?" the voice asked. He nodded, stupidly. "Wouldn't you love to look like those women?" He shook his head. The screen went blank. "Do you want to see more?" He nodded again. "Then tell me you want to look like a model." A few of the most erotic poses flashed across the screen. Andrew leaned forward to see more clearly...and the screen went dark again. "Tell me." Another image flashed for a moment.

"Yes, I want to look like a model," Andrew finally said. The screen went back to flashing the images, as the voice continued to tell Andrew about the beauty of being a model and convince him he wanted to be one.

By five that evening, the images being flashed were no longer of models, but of clothes--sexy lingerie, evening wear, minidresses, jewelry--all the most luxurious and alluring clothing any woman could ask for. The voice kept track of his responses and urged him toward the sexiest clothes.

*****

A week later, a trim dark-haired girl posed for the agency's portfolio photographer. She wore a white cocktail dress with a low-cut bodice and a back that dipped below her waist. A matching white hat elegantly graced her head. Long white fingerless evening gloves completed the ensemble. Her makeup was impeccable. Her movements completely feminine.

"All right, Andrea," the photographer advised. "Now, lean over and adjust the strap of your shoe." In a move both alluring and sexy, Andrea did so. To the side, Dolores and Marge watched with pride. "That'll do," the photographer concluded.

"Feeling sexy, Andrew?" Dolores asked.

Like a man shaking off a deep sleep, Andrew took control of his own body. "Mom, does this have to go on?" he demanded.

"Of course, it does, darling," his mother replied. "I need a model who can fill in when Audrey takes off unexpectedly--and you're the perfect type! I can't afford to keep another full-time model on call, so your alter-ego, the delicious Andrea, is just the ticket!"

Andrew sighed, knowing that whatever Dolores and Marge had done to his mind was beyond his power to change. He wondered where they had gained the knowledge to make such alterations in the human psyche. He minced off the photo stage, completely unable to move like a man so long as he was dressed in female clothes. And his mother hadn't let him dress in anything but for the past seven days.

Furthermore, there seemed to be certain words and phrases that triggered unusual responses in him. "Feeling sexy," followed by either of his two names, would put whichever personality was called upon in charge of his body. "Loving it" brought an instant arousal. That particular command had been used so often in connection with his lingerie and makeup that merely putting them on gave him a constant erection. And that arousal came across on film as the sexiest of pouts and stares. The agency's clients had declared Andrea the hottest teen model since Brooke Shields.

Every chance he got, Andrew searched for evidence of how his mother and her assistant had put him in this fix. Nothing had turned up yet, but he was determined to discover the answer.

*****

"OK, flirt with me, honey," the client photographer instructed. Andrea leaned forward and pouted, lowering her lashes. He snapped the shot. "Great, Andrea, baby!" He turned to Dolores. "Where have you been keeping this one, Dolores? I can't say I miss Audrey at all!"

Dolores smiled a secretive smirk, and simply shrugged her shoulders in response. "Trade secret, Paolo," she answered.

Andrea--once her son Andrew--had gone into the dressing room to change outfits. He came out in a shiny miniskirt, a crop-topped turtleneck sweater, and four-inch heels worn with nylons and little ankle socks. She looked like a high-schooler's wet dream.

At Paolo's instructions, Andrea began making her turns before the camera, again achieving that perfection of sex and innocence that drove advertisers wild. Dolores watched carefully, awaiting the right moment to spring her secret weapon on both Paolo and Andrea.

"All right, Andrea, now pull up the bottom of your sweater a little and stick your finger in your mouth--that's it, all little girl lost," Paolo instructed.

This was the moment. Dolores caught Andrea's eye and said, "Come and get it, Andrea!"

Andrea's eyes opened wide as Paolo began popping flashes rapidly. All the unreleased sexual energy that had been building in Andrew/Andrea for the past two weeks surged out in one mind-blowing orgasm, caught on film by the talented photographer!

*****

Back at the agency, Andrea rested from the shoot, still shocked by her mother's trick...but secretly longing for a repeat performance. As she lay back on the couch, she saw a pink brochure sticking out from Marge's desk. Curious, she carefully removed it from the pile of papers and read it:

Make your husband into the lesbian lover you crave!
Make your son into the daughter you always wanted!
We can show you how!

Call 555-TVCD
The Institute for Gender Realignment

THE END