The clothes he had left for me just made me. A small bustier and woman's shorts, camouflage print and not mine at all. But my size. I dried myself an... looked at them again, frowning.“Have you died in there?” “Nearly,” I replied without missing a beat and shrugged. I would give them a try. If I did not like it I could change.They felt weird. Soft, shiny material hugging my tits and my crotch. I was used to loose fitting shorts, his tank tops at home. Looking at myself in the mirror I smiled.. The very youngest didn't seem at all worried -- prepubescent, there was little to see and absolutely nothing of interest. Young teen's weren't much better though they had apparently eaten from the tree of knowledge and were now far more sensitive of the changes occurring throughout their bodies.One or two, developing early and finding themselves to be change room celebrities, seemed quite proud of their appendages though Margaret had always wondered what they felt they had done to be proud of.. More

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