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I tried to imbue these TOMBOY adventures with a superheroine-in-jeopardy like flavor, since an adventure-craving, sexy teen tom who protects neighborhood kids from local bullies, but is vulnerable because of her sexual inexperience, is very much like an urban superheroine. Here's the set-up, and a taste of Tommy's remarkable spirit and "growing up" dilemma...
1. Tamed and Turned-On
Her name is Tomasina Boyd. But everyone in Lincoln Heights calls her Tommy. She’s been “one of the boys” for as far back as she can remember: a trophy-winning Little Leaguer, basketball star, and eventually ultra-skilled auto mechanic at Chester’s Garage. No one smacks out a homer or decks a local bully with more confidence than this young lady. But Tommy is seventeen now, and everything seems to be changing in her world. Starting with her own body.
For years, like a mischievous, fun-addicted toddler, she had openly laughed at all those over-endowed and pathetically made-up bimbos from the neighborhood who always seemed to be flaunting their pendulous “goods” in order to attract a guy. Now, virtually out of left field, Tommy has grown a pair of sizable breasts herself. And she’s anything but happy about it.
“Damn!” the dedicated, but hopelessly frustrated female athlete snorts, glancing downward. “These dumb boobies get in the way of everything!” Annoyed at nature’s surprises but stoically resolved to her adventuresome ambitions, Tomasina begins a typical Saturday morning by slipping into one of her many track suits, which comes equipped with abbreviated, bright blue shorts. Power sneakers complete the formidable picture. Checking herself out in a mirror, Tommy tries to push her female endowments flat against her body, but they stubbornly spring forth again. The teen just rolls her eyes and sighs.
"Daddy always wanted a boy," she thinks to herself, scowling. "Well that's exactly what I am... rugged, athletic, a great fighter, just the way he was!" Gingerly, Tommy flexes both biceps and flashes her meanest scowl. “Cool!” the young woman beams, instantly feeling empowered by her classically formidable stance.
Chin thrust forward, Tommy slams both fists on her hips and takes a fuller look at her sleek self in the mirror. “Watch out, macho creeps,” TB warns aloud, looking very much like a comic book super-heroine with a grudge against bad guys. “Before I’m through, I’m gonna kick your butts – on the sports field or off!” Finally, with an explosion of childlike giggles, a buoyant Ms. Boyd bounds out of her bedroom, down the stairs and into the Saturday sunshine.
It's literally two minutes later. The teenage girl’s legal guardian, a very conservative old-schooler named Aunt Edwina Strictland, is always horrified to enter her niece’s room… not so much because it’s generally sloppy, but because there is absolutely nothing to indicate that it is a young lady's room. Baseballs, footballs, basketballs, gymnast weights, sports trophies, smelly shorts and socks – Ugh! groans the utterly bewildered and turned-off Edwina. But enter this room she must, if for no other reason than to keep a vigilant eye on her tomboy ward's increasingly worrisome shenanigans.
Worst of all is the clothes closet. Almost to punish herself, Edwina swings open the sliding door and regards Tomasina’s “wardrobe” with eye-rolling distain. Uniforms for virtually every athletic endeavor are always hanging proudly, with about a dozen or so track suits kept in reserve. Sports bras, tees, tank tops, shorts, jeans, and denim cut-offs can also be found in abundance, along with sneakers and athletic footwear of every kind. But absolutely no dresses. Not a single one!
Meanwhile, this particular Saturday morning is shaping just fine, almost shining a glow on the neighborhood and its institutions. Lincoln Heights High School has served East Los Angeles for many years, producing a reasonable assortment of notable young scholars and athletes. Just recently arrived in town for a publicity tie-in is transfer student Randy Starr, a handsome, self-confident professional who has already made a name for himself in the exciting world of car racing. A superb sports champion as well, Randy decides to spend his leisurely weekend morning on the Lincoln Heights schoolyard track, running a few laps to keep himself in practice.
“Starr! What are you doing up this early?”
Randy turns, then grins, somewhat patronizing, at the drop-dead gorgeous young female before him. With the morning breeze blowing her magnificent mane of brown curly hair, Tommy Boyd stands defiantly before him in her seemingly patented fists-on-hips stance.
“Ready to take me on, Daddy Long Legs? Or should I tell your fan club you chickened out?”
Cute. And what a waste, Randy can’t help thinking to himself. This spectacular babe should be making love to guys, 24/7, not challenging them to sports contests and combat exercises that can only result in her looking foolish. Still, it’s precisely these “arrested development” aspects of Miss Tomasina Boyd that Randy finds so engaging, so he continues to encourage them.
“Well if it isn’t Tommy the tomboy!” he playfully taunts. Cool TB just raises her left eyebrow and glares at him for a moment. Then she can’t resist breaking into a huge, challenging, absolutely beautiful smile. “Don’t look so happy, Big Boy!" she tells her haughty male competitor. "In a minute you’ll be eating my dust!”
Without missing a beat both young athletes position themselves at the starting line. Seconds later they are off and impressively running… Hair flashing behind her, heart pumping with pride, Tommy speeds across the Lincoln Heights track like a glorious gazelle, leaving Randy far, far behind. The tomboy wins decisively!
But it isn’t very long before Tommy realizes that Randy has allowed her to win, out of what appears to be a misplaced sense of male gallantry. Feminist instincts aroused, Boyd becomes utterly enraged by what she views as condescending and chauvinistic behavior. She grabs Randy with one fist and is about to deck him with the other when he suddenly lunges forward and engulfs her in an amazing kiss!!
Tommy’s eyes bug! Her mind goes blank! This is obviously the naïve young woman’s very first kiss…and it’s like she’s been struck by lightning. Her large brown eyes flutter, then close. Both of her arms, which were just pumping away like pistons, now fall limply by her sides. The teenager’s already large breasts swell invitingly and her nipples harden into mini-missiles. Somewhat comically, young Boyd’s moist lips remain puckered and seem to freeze in that position. Randy, bemused, holds a finger under her chin for a few minutes, and this at least keeps a wobbly Tommy standing.
“I should have known,” the triathlon champ laughs, sizing up his stymied, half-asleep competitor. Apparently Tommy’s prolonged adolescence and resistance to romance has thrown her personal and psychological chemistry out of whack, he reasons. Now that womanhood is unquestionably upon her, she is far more vulnerable to a smoothie’s amorous advances than the average, more experienced young lady would be.
“Tommy, Tommy, what a jam you've gotten yourself into!” an amused Randy says with a patient sigh. “You insist on behaving like a boisterous boy, but your body is crying out, ‘I am a WOMAN, fully grown!’” With that, Starr can’t help glancing down at the girl athlete's ample bosom, still sweating from the one-lap race. “And in at least two important places, more than fully grown!”
“Aww, but on the other hand, you’re still just a kid,” Randy finally relents, reconsidering his position with an almost parental tone. Smiling gently, he rubs his hands down the contours of Tommy’s bare arms, then can’t help breaking into a grin. “Ha. Even the peach fuzz on your forearms is bristling, as if the touch of a boy – any boy -- is like static electricity."
Utterly charmed, Randy takes Tommy’s sleeping, lip-puckered face by the chin, then looks at the ripe young female knowingly, protectively. “And it doesn’t get much cuter than that, does it? So much for the Amazon crusader. You’re just a scared, stubborn, mixed-up little girl...who can't stay a tomboy her whole life."
Tommy is certainly in no position to argue the point with her smug rival. It's bad enough that images of this devilishly handsome dude keep flashing through her entranced mind...
Randy just smiles for a minute, looking at the buxom “sleeping beauty”-like tomboy facing him with those absurd-but-sensual, overly-puckered lips. He marvels at her enormous, puffed-out breasts and super-stiff nipples, which are so sharp now they practically stab through the fabric of her sports bra. Finally, he notices that Tommy’s ultra- abbreviated track shorts are sopping wet down front.
With a naughty grin rivaling the Cheshire Cat’s, Randy shakes his head. Then, after glancing about to make sure no one is looking, he calmly pulls out the fabric of Tommy’s shorts and places his forefinger directly in her most private and personal area. “Mmmmmmm,” the entranced young woman moans through still-puckered lips. Randy retrieves his now exceptionally-moist finger and looks at it. “Nothing like virgin honey,” he says aloud with a bawdy, but ultimately good-natured smile. Not wanting to wipe the juice on his clean uniform, Randy looks around, then makes a totally logical decision that causes him to laugh. “Here boy, lap it up,” he tells the still-entranced Tommy as if he were talking to an obedient pet pooch. He places his cum-covered finger across the girl’s puckered lips and, sure enough, she instinctively laps up her own female juices. He twists his finger around slightly, so she can thoroughly lick it dry…
Sweet. But after the cum juice is gone, Tommy’s tongue emerges and licks her lips repeatedly. “Awww,” Randy laughs with a twinkle in his eye, realizing what has happened. “You’ve developed a taste for it. I always suspected all tomboys were latent lesbians… just can’t resist those female juices. But hey, no problem. There’s lots more where that came from…!” With that, Randy reaches into Tommy’s soaked shorts again, inspires another pleasure moan from the comatose girl athlete, then lifts his cum-covered fingers to her eager mouth again. Tommy consumes the nourishment with even more gusto this time, like the family dog relishing a much-craved taste treat.
“Ha. Talk about cuteness personified,” Randy says, practically to himself. “I have to admit, having someone like you around isn’t such a bad thing. Maybe my girlfriend Elaine and I can adopt you as some kind of kid sister. Or, in your case, a kid brother with boobs!”
“Mmmmmmmm” is the only response shut-eyed Tommy can manage. Randy grins, then happens to glance at his watch. Needing to get ready for a brunch date, he decides on a somewhat whimsical course of action. He squeezes Tommy’s nose to break her out of the extended trance. “Owww!” the tomboy yells, suddenly awake and grabbing her now-sore nose. “Hey! What’s the idea?” Remembering what happened just before she blacked out, Tommy scrunches up her face in horrified realization. “Hey wait a minute – you kissed me! No boy is allowed to kiss me!” Personable, good-natured just waves goodbye and trots off.
Tommy seethes, clenches her fists and is about to give chase. But suddenly, unexpectedly, and much to her total frustration, she notices that her breasts are much bigger than normal and her nipples sharply erect. She tests out her mouth, which is now stiff from all the non-stop puckering. And gee, something seems to taste a little funny, too, as she licks her lips and tries to remember what it was she ate last. But the strange flavor confounds her. Finally, it dawns on the mortified teenager that she’s more than a little messy downstairs. Tommy places a dry hand into the strategic area of her shorts, but raises a very wet one for closer examination. “Yuck!” she exclaims in defeated, open-mouthed response, her proud, beautiful facial features transformed into a caricature of embarrassment.
Resolved, Tommy Boyd clenches a moist fist and makes herself a promise: No boy is ever going to immobilize her with a romantic kiss again! She’ll tone her athletic body and reflexes to the absolute peak of perfection. She’ll even practice kissing with her nerdy best buddy Harold, so she’ll be better prepared the next time a male opponent decides to lay one on her. “Just wait, Randy Starr. Next time we meet, I’m gonna get even for that sneaky kiss. That’s a promise!” Tommy sprints away, her powerful but curvaceous body jiggling magnificently as she speeds down the Lincoln Heights track. Although Boyd is the very picture of female confidence, she’s still licking her lips in naïve bewilderment…
TO BE CONTINUED...
Tomboy Perils
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Dr. Grizzard
- Neophyte Lvl 2
- Posts: 17
- Joined: 12 years ago
- Attachments
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- Romantically-inexperienced Tommy the tomboy is no match for savvy ladies' man Randy Starr!
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Dr. Grizzard
- Neophyte Lvl 2
- Posts: 17
- Joined: 12 years ago
2. A Kiss Before Clobbering
As Saturday afternoon presses on, Tommy cruises the neighborhood on her TomboyCycle, trying to get that annoying Randy Starr out of her mind. But it sure isn't easy, much as a frowning TB hates to admit it. “Okay, so he’s kinda cute,” she grouses to herself. “But that doesn’t mean he has the right to… Hey wait a sec. What can I be thinking? Kissing? Romance? Eeeuuu!!!”
Suddenly the flustered femme catches sight of something that really does put Starr’s handsome face on hold for a sec: it’s local toughs Frankie and Pimples, harassing some young kids. Both of these guys are creepy juvenile delinquent-types, with duck-tailed, unshaven Frankie coming across as the Fonz gone over to the dark side!
Boyd pulls up, grins at the familiar goons. “Care to dance, boys?” she playfully throws out a challenge.
“Hey look, Frankie!” Pimples tells his cohort, loosening his hold on one of the youngsters. “It’s Dyke-Girl, on her Dyke-Bike!”
Tommy scowls at this nasty remark. “I see, I see,” answers low-life Frankie. “Enough with these meddling munchkins… Let’s take Tommy Tits for a spin.”
Looking forward to overwhelming their beautiful antagonist (in spite of numerous defeats at her hands), the two leather-clad creeps grin nastily at each other. Then they abandon their relieved victims and stalk toward Tommy.
Big mistake.
BAM! BIFF! POW! With an almost elegant suddeness, Tommy swings into spectacular action, walloping her ham-fisted opponents in a dazzling display of Olympics-level physical dexterity. “Screw you and this karate crap!” Pimples shouts, winded from the assault. “I’m gonna beat your -- UGGHHH!” A surprise right cross sends Pimples crashing into a garbage can. “There,” laughs Tommy with a sprightly grin. “Something a little more traditional you for. Hope you enjoyed it, Pimp-Man!” Meanwhile, a ticked-off Frankie tries to sneak up from behind… but the tomboy, who seems blessed with eyes in the back of her head, swiftly knocks the wind out of him with a perfectly delivered kick to his midsection. “Awww… tummy ache?” Tommy taunts. “Not a problem. This’ll help get your mind off of it.” POW! Frankie is instantly floored by Boyd’s powerful left hook, which she delivers from the ground up.
A few seconds later, this mere slip of a girl stands triumphantly above the sprawled, crumpled, unconscious bodies of her opponents, fists-on-shapely-hips in a defiant power stance. “Thanks, Tommy….you’re the greatest!” bubbles Kevin, one of the rescued, grateful kiddos. She ruffles the boy’s hair, hops back on her waiting ‘cycle and takes off. As Tommy vanishes into the distance like the Lone Ranger, this kid’s innocent expression changes into something more wily. “Man, what a babe!”
Some difference a work-out makes, Tommy muses to herself. Especially when it involves clobbering a pair of local cretins and coming to the much-needed defense of harassed neighborhood children. The young bike driver beams with joy as she zooms through the sunlit Heights, thoughts of a certain hot-looking racing star/super-athlete temporarily out of her mind.
Still, Tommy the tomboy is clearly having trouble lying to herself. Staring into the bedroom mirror later that evening, she can’t help practicing first-level kissing techniques, gamely puckering her lips to outlandish proportions. “Aww man, I look like some dorky flounder!” she finally groans, disgusted with herself for indulging in such unabashed “girlie” behavior.
It’s a day later. A few hours of sweat and fury in the Lincoln Heights gymnasium seems to revitalize young Boyd, getting her back to basics. The much-abused school punching bag becomes a sort of stand-in for every boy she’s ever competed with athletically, and the perfectly toned teen dynamo, resplendent in boxing gloves, just keeps battering away.
And then there’s Harold Pinter, Tomasina’s best friend and new “kissing trainer.” The irony is overwhelming. Nerdy Harold’s been trying to get into Tommy Boyd’s shorts for years now. But her puckered lips seem so forced (a child’s idea of how to kiss) and her manner is so clearly tomboyish and unfeminine, that Harold is actually scared off!
But as confident as she may be while she’s conscious, Tommy’s nightmares betray a grave concern for this incredibly potent male weapon. In a stylized dream, she sees herself facing off against perennial adversaries Chad, Frankie and Pimples. As usual, she cleans the JD’s clocks with a dazzling display of agility and fighting tactics. But all they have to do, Tommy worries as she sleeps, is catch her off-guard for a crucial second… which is exactly what happens with obnoxious, super-arrogant sports rival Chad. An experienced ladies’ man, he seems to swing out of nowhere to engulf her in a killer kiss, instantly rendering the spitfire helpless. The other guys laugh uproariously as, once again, Tommy’s arms go limp and her lips remain puckered.
The dream continues, with a partially-recovered Tommy encountering and struggling with both Frankie and Pimples. They both manage to sneak in a smooch, instantly immobilizing her. Totally entranced by this well-aimed affection, all the helpless tomboy can do is stand there and take it.
Finally, the guys remember that Tommy Boyd is an annoying sports rival first, a voluptuous screwable babe second. In an outlandish triple-punching, each takes Tommy by the chin and arranges the perfect angle for their devastating wallop. Whoa… talk about getting it in the kisser! And three times in succession! Tommy bolts out of her dream. Feels her chin and her lips. “This is getting serious,” she says glumly, sitting up in bed.
Later that same day, a testier Tommy demands that Harold help her out… even threatening him with a clenched fist at one point (“Just DO it, Harold!”). She shuts her eyes, leans over, and puckers up in her usual, exaggerated fashion. But, amusingly enough, the tomboy’s closed eyes actually enable Harold to sneak away, a fact she’s totally unaware of. In his place coming down the street now saunters…Pimples!
Only this time, it isn’t a dream!
Delighted to find his nemesis in such a compromising position, Pimples grabs Tommy and gives her the sloppiest kiss he can muster. Ugh! Stunned and wobbly, the woman athlete is utterly helpless in her adversary’s ham-fisted grasp.
“Mmmm… Ohhhh…” Tommy moans, totally entranced. In her mind, she sees herself playing catch with her beloved dad, Colonel Boyd, flexing a cute little girl muscle to impress him. But then his fatherly features congeal into the handsome young contours of dreamboat Randy Starr. Fudge. Try as she might, Tommy can’t get this devilishly cool-looking dude out of her mind!
Meanwhile, an in-control Pimples is having the time of his life. Turned-on by this forced stimulation, Tommy’s breasts expand, pushing her tank top to the max, and missile-shaped nipples jut forth provocatively. With the finesse of a bull elephant, low-life Pimples energetically feels up the young tomboy’s ample boobs. “Mmmm… Ran—dee…” unconscious Tommy blurts out. “Randy? Ha! Thought you were a dyke!” Pimples laughs. “So you’ve got the hots for that new guy, huh. Now that’s rich!”
“Mmmm” is sleeping, ultra-aroused Tommy’s only response. Once again, the cute peach fuzz on her forearms bristles, and a big moist spot begins spreading across her abbreviated running shorts. “That’s right, sweetie, it’s your dream boy Randy, right here! Give me everything you got, bitch!”
Just then… Ding-ding-aling-ding! sounds the ring tone of Pimples’ cell phone, interrupting his unexpected make-out session. Annoyed at this distraction, Pimples pulls out the phone, even as stupified, sexually-primed Tommy remains standing right in front of him. As fate would have it, it’s Pimples’ no-nonsense girlfriend Celine, and she wants him to pick up a few supermarket items for their dinner-at-home that very evening. Much more interested in continuing the feast he’s currently enjoying, Pimples nods and placates his partner (“I hear ya, babe… not a problem,. Nah, I’m just hangin’ around, wasting time…”).
Pimples concludes his call and puts the cell phone away. He looks at ample, sexually-alive Tommy, rubs his chin thoughtfully, then glances about. On the alley floor he spots an old plunger, discarded with some other household junk. A nasty smile gradually spreads across the overweight greaser’s face. He picks up the plunger, which drips a little dirty water, then turns and faces Tommy. “So you want a kiss, huh, ya little bimbo?” he asks with a leer, raising the object.
“Mmmmmm….”
“Fine. Try THIS!” With sudden swiftness, Pimples slams the wet plunger directly into Tommy’s waiting mug, then retracts it just as quickly. Yikes! The tomboy’s face practically pops from this direct, cartoon-like assault. She’s certainly broken out of her romantic reverie trance, but so violently that her whole body staggers, her hair is disheveled, and both of Tommy’s lovely eyes cross for a few laughable moments. At the same time, a time-pressured Pimples rolls up his sleeve…
Just like in the tomboy’s dream, he adjusts his opponent’s pretty chin for a massive, perfectly-delivered punch. WHAM! Tommy goes flying like a featherweight dummy, landing spread-eagled and unconscious on the ground before her gloating enemy. “Sleep it off, slut,” he laughs harshly as he walks right past her, pushing on to his next destination. “We’ll pick this up some other time.” Humorously, there’s still something of a smile on sleeping Tommy’s face, even though she’s just been pummeled.
“Tommy! You okay? Wake up!” shouts a concerned Harold, now returned to his floored tomboy pal’s side. “Ohhh… what happened?” Tommy says weakly, rubbing her sore chin and touching her lips. Then she looks at best bud Harold, Lincoln Heights’ quintessential nerd. And a real look of terror crosses her face. “Wow! You’re a better kisser than I thought!” she tells him, horrified at her extreme vulnerability in this department. Being smart for a change, Harold decides to remain mum on the subject.
TO BE CONTINUED...
As Saturday afternoon presses on, Tommy cruises the neighborhood on her TomboyCycle, trying to get that annoying Randy Starr out of her mind. But it sure isn't easy, much as a frowning TB hates to admit it. “Okay, so he’s kinda cute,” she grouses to herself. “But that doesn’t mean he has the right to… Hey wait a sec. What can I be thinking? Kissing? Romance? Eeeuuu!!!”
Suddenly the flustered femme catches sight of something that really does put Starr’s handsome face on hold for a sec: it’s local toughs Frankie and Pimples, harassing some young kids. Both of these guys are creepy juvenile delinquent-types, with duck-tailed, unshaven Frankie coming across as the Fonz gone over to the dark side!
Boyd pulls up, grins at the familiar goons. “Care to dance, boys?” she playfully throws out a challenge.
“Hey look, Frankie!” Pimples tells his cohort, loosening his hold on one of the youngsters. “It’s Dyke-Girl, on her Dyke-Bike!”
Tommy scowls at this nasty remark. “I see, I see,” answers low-life Frankie. “Enough with these meddling munchkins… Let’s take Tommy Tits for a spin.”
Looking forward to overwhelming their beautiful antagonist (in spite of numerous defeats at her hands), the two leather-clad creeps grin nastily at each other. Then they abandon their relieved victims and stalk toward Tommy.
Big mistake.
BAM! BIFF! POW! With an almost elegant suddeness, Tommy swings into spectacular action, walloping her ham-fisted opponents in a dazzling display of Olympics-level physical dexterity. “Screw you and this karate crap!” Pimples shouts, winded from the assault. “I’m gonna beat your -- UGGHHH!” A surprise right cross sends Pimples crashing into a garbage can. “There,” laughs Tommy with a sprightly grin. “Something a little more traditional you for. Hope you enjoyed it, Pimp-Man!” Meanwhile, a ticked-off Frankie tries to sneak up from behind… but the tomboy, who seems blessed with eyes in the back of her head, swiftly knocks the wind out of him with a perfectly delivered kick to his midsection. “Awww… tummy ache?” Tommy taunts. “Not a problem. This’ll help get your mind off of it.” POW! Frankie is instantly floored by Boyd’s powerful left hook, which she delivers from the ground up.
A few seconds later, this mere slip of a girl stands triumphantly above the sprawled, crumpled, unconscious bodies of her opponents, fists-on-shapely-hips in a defiant power stance. “Thanks, Tommy….you’re the greatest!” bubbles Kevin, one of the rescued, grateful kiddos. She ruffles the boy’s hair, hops back on her waiting ‘cycle and takes off. As Tommy vanishes into the distance like the Lone Ranger, this kid’s innocent expression changes into something more wily. “Man, what a babe!”
Some difference a work-out makes, Tommy muses to herself. Especially when it involves clobbering a pair of local cretins and coming to the much-needed defense of harassed neighborhood children. The young bike driver beams with joy as she zooms through the sunlit Heights, thoughts of a certain hot-looking racing star/super-athlete temporarily out of her mind.
Still, Tommy the tomboy is clearly having trouble lying to herself. Staring into the bedroom mirror later that evening, she can’t help practicing first-level kissing techniques, gamely puckering her lips to outlandish proportions. “Aww man, I look like some dorky flounder!” she finally groans, disgusted with herself for indulging in such unabashed “girlie” behavior.
It’s a day later. A few hours of sweat and fury in the Lincoln Heights gymnasium seems to revitalize young Boyd, getting her back to basics. The much-abused school punching bag becomes a sort of stand-in for every boy she’s ever competed with athletically, and the perfectly toned teen dynamo, resplendent in boxing gloves, just keeps battering away.
And then there’s Harold Pinter, Tomasina’s best friend and new “kissing trainer.” The irony is overwhelming. Nerdy Harold’s been trying to get into Tommy Boyd’s shorts for years now. But her puckered lips seem so forced (a child’s idea of how to kiss) and her manner is so clearly tomboyish and unfeminine, that Harold is actually scared off!
But as confident as she may be while she’s conscious, Tommy’s nightmares betray a grave concern for this incredibly potent male weapon. In a stylized dream, she sees herself facing off against perennial adversaries Chad, Frankie and Pimples. As usual, she cleans the JD’s clocks with a dazzling display of agility and fighting tactics. But all they have to do, Tommy worries as she sleeps, is catch her off-guard for a crucial second… which is exactly what happens with obnoxious, super-arrogant sports rival Chad. An experienced ladies’ man, he seems to swing out of nowhere to engulf her in a killer kiss, instantly rendering the spitfire helpless. The other guys laugh uproariously as, once again, Tommy’s arms go limp and her lips remain puckered.
The dream continues, with a partially-recovered Tommy encountering and struggling with both Frankie and Pimples. They both manage to sneak in a smooch, instantly immobilizing her. Totally entranced by this well-aimed affection, all the helpless tomboy can do is stand there and take it.
Finally, the guys remember that Tommy Boyd is an annoying sports rival first, a voluptuous screwable babe second. In an outlandish triple-punching, each takes Tommy by the chin and arranges the perfect angle for their devastating wallop. Whoa… talk about getting it in the kisser! And three times in succession! Tommy bolts out of her dream. Feels her chin and her lips. “This is getting serious,” she says glumly, sitting up in bed.
Later that same day, a testier Tommy demands that Harold help her out… even threatening him with a clenched fist at one point (“Just DO it, Harold!”). She shuts her eyes, leans over, and puckers up in her usual, exaggerated fashion. But, amusingly enough, the tomboy’s closed eyes actually enable Harold to sneak away, a fact she’s totally unaware of. In his place coming down the street now saunters…Pimples!
Only this time, it isn’t a dream!
Delighted to find his nemesis in such a compromising position, Pimples grabs Tommy and gives her the sloppiest kiss he can muster. Ugh! Stunned and wobbly, the woman athlete is utterly helpless in her adversary’s ham-fisted grasp.
“Mmmm… Ohhhh…” Tommy moans, totally entranced. In her mind, she sees herself playing catch with her beloved dad, Colonel Boyd, flexing a cute little girl muscle to impress him. But then his fatherly features congeal into the handsome young contours of dreamboat Randy Starr. Fudge. Try as she might, Tommy can’t get this devilishly cool-looking dude out of her mind!
Meanwhile, an in-control Pimples is having the time of his life. Turned-on by this forced stimulation, Tommy’s breasts expand, pushing her tank top to the max, and missile-shaped nipples jut forth provocatively. With the finesse of a bull elephant, low-life Pimples energetically feels up the young tomboy’s ample boobs. “Mmmm… Ran—dee…” unconscious Tommy blurts out. “Randy? Ha! Thought you were a dyke!” Pimples laughs. “So you’ve got the hots for that new guy, huh. Now that’s rich!”
“Mmmm” is sleeping, ultra-aroused Tommy’s only response. Once again, the cute peach fuzz on her forearms bristles, and a big moist spot begins spreading across her abbreviated running shorts. “That’s right, sweetie, it’s your dream boy Randy, right here! Give me everything you got, bitch!”
Just then… Ding-ding-aling-ding! sounds the ring tone of Pimples’ cell phone, interrupting his unexpected make-out session. Annoyed at this distraction, Pimples pulls out the phone, even as stupified, sexually-primed Tommy remains standing right in front of him. As fate would have it, it’s Pimples’ no-nonsense girlfriend Celine, and she wants him to pick up a few supermarket items for their dinner-at-home that very evening. Much more interested in continuing the feast he’s currently enjoying, Pimples nods and placates his partner (“I hear ya, babe… not a problem,. Nah, I’m just hangin’ around, wasting time…”).
Pimples concludes his call and puts the cell phone away. He looks at ample, sexually-alive Tommy, rubs his chin thoughtfully, then glances about. On the alley floor he spots an old plunger, discarded with some other household junk. A nasty smile gradually spreads across the overweight greaser’s face. He picks up the plunger, which drips a little dirty water, then turns and faces Tommy. “So you want a kiss, huh, ya little bimbo?” he asks with a leer, raising the object.
“Mmmmmm….”
“Fine. Try THIS!” With sudden swiftness, Pimples slams the wet plunger directly into Tommy’s waiting mug, then retracts it just as quickly. Yikes! The tomboy’s face practically pops from this direct, cartoon-like assault. She’s certainly broken out of her romantic reverie trance, but so violently that her whole body staggers, her hair is disheveled, and both of Tommy’s lovely eyes cross for a few laughable moments. At the same time, a time-pressured Pimples rolls up his sleeve…
Just like in the tomboy’s dream, he adjusts his opponent’s pretty chin for a massive, perfectly-delivered punch. WHAM! Tommy goes flying like a featherweight dummy, landing spread-eagled and unconscious on the ground before her gloating enemy. “Sleep it off, slut,” he laughs harshly as he walks right past her, pushing on to his next destination. “We’ll pick this up some other time.” Humorously, there’s still something of a smile on sleeping Tommy’s face, even though she’s just been pummeled.
“Tommy! You okay? Wake up!” shouts a concerned Harold, now returned to his floored tomboy pal’s side. “Ohhh… what happened?” Tommy says weakly, rubbing her sore chin and touching her lips. Then she looks at best bud Harold, Lincoln Heights’ quintessential nerd. And a real look of terror crosses her face. “Wow! You’re a better kisser than I thought!” she tells him, horrified at her extreme vulnerability in this department. Being smart for a change, Harold decides to remain mum on the subject.
TO BE CONTINUED...
- Attachments
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- It's Tommy on her TomboyCycle! Or, after Pimples' description, "Dyke Girl on her Dyke Bike!"
- n_a-2.jpeg (54.34 KiB) Viewed 3414 times
Love it, really! Hope you'll be ramping up the humiliation in later chapters.
The "not a super heroine" thing doesn't really bug me all that much, mainly because the focus of the story reminds me of this story, which DOES feature a super heroine with a tomboy gimmick:
http://www.superheroinecentral.com/mrx/ ... wnfall.htm
The "not a super heroine" thing doesn't really bug me all that much, mainly because the focus of the story reminds me of this story, which DOES feature a super heroine with a tomboy gimmick:
http://www.superheroinecentral.com/mrx/ ... wnfall.htm
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Dr. Grizzard
- Neophyte Lvl 2
- Posts: 17
- Joined: 12 years ago
Thanks for the feedback, Omega Woman... it's greatly appreciated. And I'm glad you're enjoying Tommy Boyd's misadventures. A short while ago I actually stumbled upon the Tomboy superheroine story you suggested, and yes, there are obvious parallels; in both cases, feisty, overconfident teen femme 'crusaders' pit themselves against ruthless male opponents (thugs and arrogant college jocks are virtually the same species), get caught, and are humiliated sexually. What fascinates me is that teen tomboys with an attitude are the closest were going to get to real-life superheroines, especially if the tom wears abbreviated athletic attire (which is kind of like a costume). So, can a character like Tommy Boyd be subjected to more fantastical punishments of the superheroine kind, but still remain more or less grounded in reality... or at least, the pseudo-reality of say, Popeye and Bluto, or even the Three Stooges, where characters can get hit by sledgehammers and emerge with only a heathy lump and a headache? The challenge for me is to create an almost-real parallel universe for Tommy and her adversaries to inhabit, where logic and science can be put to one side for the sake of a tasty peril or predicament. So far, only TB's trance-like reaction to being kissed has fantasy elements; but some stuff up ahead will clearly push the envelope.
Since you requested humiliations, what ideas would you enjoy seeing dramatized? Why not email me back with a "top five" list; we can have fun discussing the possibilities, and I'll incorporate them into future stories. Let's keep the conversation going! Dr.G
Since you requested humiliations, what ideas would you enjoy seeing dramatized? Why not email me back with a "top five" list; we can have fun discussing the possibilities, and I'll incorporate them into future stories. Let's keep the conversation going! Dr.G
- Attachments
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- Tommy strikes a very Wonder Woman-like pose. Most of the time she wears abbreviated sports attire -- ideal for bully-brawling!
- TomboySuperHero.jpg (40.45 KiB) Viewed 3372 times
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Dr. Grizzard
- Neophyte Lvl 2
- Posts: 17
- Joined: 12 years ago
3. The Problem Child
A small TV camera crew is busy setting up outside Lincoln Heights High School. Riding up on her motorcycle, Tommy Boyd catches sight of arrogant jock rival Chad Parker showing off for some admiring visitors in the adjacent schoolyard. The tomboy’s lovely eyes twinkle… here’s an opportunity for some fun!
“As Lincoln Heights’ most awarded athlete, I feel it is my obligation to set the right example for local youth, especially in these troubled times,” Chad, the “sensitive” jock himself, tells some gathered reporters with deadpan earnestness.
“You’re so full of crapdoodle it’s coming out of your eyeballs!” announces Tommy matter-of-factly, standing behind the reporters with her arms folded.
“Get lost, brat! Can’t ya see we’re busy here?!” a suddenly seething Chad tells taunting Tommy as she hangs around the TV cameras and crew, making funny faces and generally mocking his performance. “Blowhard! Coward!” she finally shouts through cupped hands. “Admit it, Parker… You’re too chicken to take me on!”
The reporters chuckle at this last rally of jabs.
“Oh yeah??! Chad roars back, red-faced. “Well I’m gonna call your bluff, Problem Child. It’s time you were taught a lesson-- the hard way!”
Sure enough, it isn’t long before hapless Mr. Parker is playfully upstaged by his uninvited femme competitor in a succession of strenuous mini-contests. Javelin-throwing, shot-putting, pole vaulting… anything Chad can do, Tommy pulls off way better. And with her clearly defined female physique, she looks more than amazing doing it!
“Sorry, Chad… guess the best man wins!” she can’t help teasing her defeated foe. That tears it. Chad becomes so enraged that he actually takes a swing at his mocking adversary. Tommy defty dodges this ungentlemanly attack, then retaliates by punching her stunned opponent right in the bread basket. A sock to his chin sends the heavy-duty athlete sprawling on his ass in front of everyone.
After flexing her cute muscles in triumph, Boyd hops on her ‘cycle and rides off with an eruption of girlish laughter, just as Chad shakes his groggy head clear. “Your tomboy days are over, Dyke-zilla!” he shouts as she zooms away. “That’s a #@*%# promise!”
Not about to let “some case of arrested development” interfere with Chad’s career plans, he and girlfriend Marcia launch a new scheme to remove Tommy from the local sports scene. They visit her hopelessly old-fashioned guardian, Aunt Edwina, and pretend to have the young lady’s best interests at heart. All three agree that it’s high time Tomasina started dressing like a female, and that fighting or competing with boys is “distasteful behavior” she should be compelled to grow out of. Impressed with their eagerness to help her unfortunate niece through an awkward, trouble-prone adolescence, Aunt Edwina gives Marcia and Chad carte blanche to do the impossible…”make a proper young lady out of that little monkey.”
Far above it all, an unsuspecting Tommy and her nerdy best friend Harold are hanging out in Tomboy’s Treehouse, the plucky teen heroine’s version of the Batcave. As bouncy rock’n’roll plays on the CD, Tommy works out with weights, gyrating to the music. Harold sits nervously across from her, eyes occasionally peering up from his comic book to stare at Tommy’s magnificent, undulating, sweat-soaked chest. “Boy, you should have seen Chad’s face when I blew him away in all categories,” she beams, reliving her triumph at the school. This mega-hot babe is completely oblivious to the devastating effect her early-naked body is having on poor Harold!
Obviously, these two have been pals for many, many years. But it’s just as obvious that Tommy’s no longer a gangly little waif, and Harold has a tough time keeping his very natural male arousal in check. Whenever the issue does come up, so to speak, Tommy simply rolls her eyes and shakes her head. Like every self-respecting tomboy since time began, she thinks romance is for the birds.
Or does she?
Harold can’t help noticing that the T-babe’s been staring through their Treehouse’s telescope quite a bit of late, and it seems to be more than just a case of checking out weather conditions and sports terrain. Sure enough, when he happens to take a peek through the ‘scope after she’s vamoosed, it’s none other than weight-lifting Randy Starr, new boy in town, coming into focus, working up a fairly impressive sweat of his own. “So that's where her attention is going these days!” Harold comments in open-mouthed astonishment. Is it possible that Lincoln Heights’ most infamous and dedicated teenage tomboy is finally, truly growing up?
A question TB herself would probably like answered. Shooting baskets in the relatively empty schoolyard, Tommy’s late afternoon practice is suddenly interrupted by a decidedly rude voice. “Off the court, tomboy!” declares Frankie, apparently itching for yet another fight. He and his pal Pimples approach the defiant-as-always female athlete. “Yeah,” Pimples adds with a sneer. “You can play hop-scotch and jump rope, but stay outta sports meant for the stronger sex!”
Tommy simply stands her ground, smiling smugly. “Make me, you morons” she responds sassily. Which really pisses Pimples off. But before he can connect with his oversized fist, she’s ducked safely out of harm's way. “Mind I put my best foot forward?” she playfully quips. The tomboy drop-kicks her hulking adversary and sends the Pimp Man flying. “Oh, I can’t believe I said that!”
Enraged, Frankie circles his dynamic foe and prepares to strike. But when he finally lunges at Boyd, he misses, and accidentally wallops a recovering Pimples instead! The gazelle-like female wonder spins, punches Frankie square on the chin - POWW! - and knocks the bastard out cold.
Fists on hips, a satisfied Tommy hovers over her fallen foes. “Okay… that was fun” she proclaims dryly, not noticing a shadowy figure creeping up behind her. Suddenly the figure – Chad Parker – grabs Tommy from behind and clamps a chloroform-soaked rag over her mouth! Boyd writhes and struggles for all she’s worth, but well-muscled Chad has a really good grip on her. Almost instinctively, he takes this opportunity to fondle her creamy breasts, and the sudden arousal that courses through Tommy’s virgin body, coupled with the effects of the chloroform, slows her down considerably.
“Not so smart with the mouth now, huh, hotshot?” sneers Chad, feeling his victim weakening. Frankie and Pimples stir awake, get a gander at what's happening, then laugh harshly at their opponent’s sudden predicament.
Totally in control, Chad feels Tommy finally go limp in his arms. Seconds later, she’s sprawled helplessly on the court before him, breasts heaving like mini-mountains, nipples no aroused they’ve punched through the fabric of her sports bra. “Sweet dreams, little Tomboy,” Chad grins, now joined by the leering delinquents. "When you wake up, it'll be a whole new ball game!"
A few minutes later:
Emerging from the schoolyard’s back entrance are cackling JDs Pimples and Frankie, with an unconscious Tommy Boyd in tow. The Pimp man’s up front, holding his captive’s legs as the trio moves forward, with Frankie coming up the rear, his hands under the girl’s armpits… and occasionally around her sweaty bosom and its aroused nipples. There’s a devilish grin on his unshaven mug as they approach Chad's parked van with its open rear door, and then slide sleeping Tommy Boyd inside like a slab of shapely meat. Walking directly behind them are super-cool, triumphant Chad Parker and the mastermind behind all of his audacious career schemes, fiancée Marcia Sloan. An attractive and sophisticated society babe, Sloan thoroughly enjoys the sight of her helpless adversary being manhandled in such a humiliating way, but soon turns to Chad with a more pragmatic, no-nonsense look.
“All right, Chad, here’s the deal,” Marcia patiently explains. “I’ve done my part in clearing the way for you. I can keep ‘bicep bitch’ out of action for awhile, but it’s going to be mostly up to you to sell yourself to that agent. Have you studied the data I gave you?”
“Yeah, Marcia, I got it all down pat,” responds Chad confidently. “Statistics, names to drop, nice shit to tell the guy, all that garbage. No prob, Babe.”
Marcia growls. “UUGGH! Not ‘I got it all down pat.’ It’s I’VE got it all down pat’! Haven’t you taken the required English classes? If you talk like an illiterate hick, that agent will drop you like a bad habit!”
Chad just rolls his eyes, but listens and finally nods, knowing full-well that Marcia is a genius at this sort of character assassination and career building scenario.
Meanwhile, the boys pop out of the van and shut the door behind them. As Marcia and Chad continue their conversation, Pimples spots Tommy’s famous TomboyCycle, parked a few yards away near the schoolyard fence.
“Hey, ain’t that the bitch’s motorcycle?”
Frankie’s nasty smile widens. “Finders keepers, losers weepers, I always say…” And with that, he jumps on the vehicle and starts checking it out.
“You look more like the Fonz on a bad day than Brando, man!” Pimples laughs.
“Screw you! It’s not a bad fit… once we get rid of the female stench,” observes Frankie. Then he notices something about the bike… “Hey what is this, some kinda personal compartment…?” He flips open a lid and shuffles through some papers. “This is Boyd’s personal shit. A lot of junk.”
Pimples looks around. “There’s a garbage can right behind you…”
“Great. Hey look – her driver’s license, photo ID, credit cards…” CRACK! “Boyd won’t be needing plastic anymore, they’re gonna control all her purchases from now on. Peteeeeewwwww!! Bombs away!”
Tommy’s crunched cards are tossed into the air, finding their mark in the garbage can with a CLANG! “And the man makes a perfect basket…!”
Pimples glances back at their van, with their nabbed arch-foe inside. “Ha! It’ll take her forever to get that I.D. replaced!”
“Gives the bitch something to do, now that competing with guys is out,” reasons Frankie, checking out some of Tommy’s other personal items stashed in the bike compartment. “What is this… oh hohoho!” the greaser laughs, his face aglow with nasty joy as he shoves a new discovery in his pal’s face. It’s a photo of a 10 year-old TB posing prettily with her dad, the Colonel, and he’s dressed in full military attire. “A Personal Keepsake… from Dad to Tomasina!” Frankie reads aloud in a mocking voice.
Pimples grabs the picture and guffaws. “Ha-ha-ha. Look at the little squirt. She’s titless!”
“Hard to believe, right?” Frankie grabs the picture back, automatically rips it to pieces. “She was probably a dyke even then. In the garbage…” He tosses the crumpled up little ball that was once a cherished memento over his shoulder without a second thought, continues to explore the TomboyCycle’s personal compartment. “Hey! Snickers bars! Three of ‘em. Knock yourself out…”
He tosses one to Pimples, who catches the taste treat and unwraps it. Within seconds both leather-jacket creeps are wolfing down Tommy’s candy bars. “Mmmmm. Always liked Snickers,” comments Pimps, his big mouth chewing as he begins to rummage through the compartment himself. “What’s this? Some kind of medal, or something. ‘Lincoln Heights Guardian Angel’ – what’s it say there, Protector of the Neighborhood Tommy Boyd –“
“Gimme that shit” snaps Frankie, grabbing the medal from his pal and instantly tossing it.
CLANG. “Next…”
“Here’s another picture,” an excited Pimples announces as he checks it out. “Hey, hot! That’s Tommy with her arm around some Asian chick, another female athlete – they’re both in track suits. There’s some writing: ‘For my wonderful friend, Tommy… something to always remember me by.’”
Frankie glances at the pic and leers. “Two dykes for the price of one. No – wait a minute, don’t tear it up. I’ll email this to my little cousin Chuck. He hates Boyd’s guts. Like, ever since she caught him pushing some stupid kid around, and she gave him that spanking in front of everyone…”
“Yeah,” sighs Pimples, recalling. “That was way harsh.”
“Well now he can even. If I know him, he’ll have this picture up on the web in like a few hours. It’ll be great… we’ll expose Boyd for the dim-witted dyke she really is.”
“Hey man, that’s perfect,” Pimples concurs. “So much for the wholesome All-American role model.”
“Right! Ha-ha-ha!”
Just then, finally finished chatting with Chad, Marcia approaches her two hired tomboy-catchers with a satisfied smile. She can’t help noticing where Frankie happens to be sitting. “A job well done, boys. I see you’ve claimed the bike.”
“Well, yeah, I was just figurin’…”
“You don’t have to explain yourself, Frank. It’s a gift from Aunt Edwina. She says it’s the least she can do considering how much you’ve been helping her out lately, and how often her misfit niece annoys you.”
A wiseass smile spreads across Pimples’ fat face. “Yeah, Frankie. She’s really bought your ‘perfect gentleman’ act.”
“Look, what can I say? The old lady has taste.”
About fifteen minutes later, Chad’s van rounds a corner on its way to Edwina’s suburban residence. Inside the cab, dedicated-as-always Marcia patiently drills her boyfriend/fiancée/meal-ticket Mr. Parker, steady at the wheel. Within the van itself, Frankie barks into a cellphone, Pimples lights up a joint, and lying on the floor before them is the motionless form of Tomasina Boyd, totally knocked out by her enemies’ potent combination of chloroform and sexual stimulation. Above the young woman’s sneakered feet, both ankles are bound together, and following her long, sexy legs to the briefest of cut-off jeans, up to bound wrists which rest upon her stomach, directly below a pair of world-class boobs that puff outward, nipples insanely erect. And above this tantalizing female body is a face the angels themselves must be envious of… Sweet as a newborn while in deepest dream-slumber, innocent, rounded facial features suggesting a little child rather than a young adult woman. Simply enchanting. And then…
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!!!!! Tommy Boyd snores like a fatso truck driver, practically interfering with Frankie’s cell phone reception! The annoyed greaser shoots a glance at his ultra-voluptuous sleeping captive, then shakes his weary head in resignation: Once a tomboy, always a tomboy!
TO BE CONTINUED...
A small TV camera crew is busy setting up outside Lincoln Heights High School. Riding up on her motorcycle, Tommy Boyd catches sight of arrogant jock rival Chad Parker showing off for some admiring visitors in the adjacent schoolyard. The tomboy’s lovely eyes twinkle… here’s an opportunity for some fun!
“As Lincoln Heights’ most awarded athlete, I feel it is my obligation to set the right example for local youth, especially in these troubled times,” Chad, the “sensitive” jock himself, tells some gathered reporters with deadpan earnestness.
“You’re so full of crapdoodle it’s coming out of your eyeballs!” announces Tommy matter-of-factly, standing behind the reporters with her arms folded.
“Get lost, brat! Can’t ya see we’re busy here?!” a suddenly seething Chad tells taunting Tommy as she hangs around the TV cameras and crew, making funny faces and generally mocking his performance. “Blowhard! Coward!” she finally shouts through cupped hands. “Admit it, Parker… You’re too chicken to take me on!”
The reporters chuckle at this last rally of jabs.
“Oh yeah??! Chad roars back, red-faced. “Well I’m gonna call your bluff, Problem Child. It’s time you were taught a lesson-- the hard way!”
Sure enough, it isn’t long before hapless Mr. Parker is playfully upstaged by his uninvited femme competitor in a succession of strenuous mini-contests. Javelin-throwing, shot-putting, pole vaulting… anything Chad can do, Tommy pulls off way better. And with her clearly defined female physique, she looks more than amazing doing it!
“Sorry, Chad… guess the best man wins!” she can’t help teasing her defeated foe. That tears it. Chad becomes so enraged that he actually takes a swing at his mocking adversary. Tommy defty dodges this ungentlemanly attack, then retaliates by punching her stunned opponent right in the bread basket. A sock to his chin sends the heavy-duty athlete sprawling on his ass in front of everyone.
After flexing her cute muscles in triumph, Boyd hops on her ‘cycle and rides off with an eruption of girlish laughter, just as Chad shakes his groggy head clear. “Your tomboy days are over, Dyke-zilla!” he shouts as she zooms away. “That’s a #@*%# promise!”
Not about to let “some case of arrested development” interfere with Chad’s career plans, he and girlfriend Marcia launch a new scheme to remove Tommy from the local sports scene. They visit her hopelessly old-fashioned guardian, Aunt Edwina, and pretend to have the young lady’s best interests at heart. All three agree that it’s high time Tomasina started dressing like a female, and that fighting or competing with boys is “distasteful behavior” she should be compelled to grow out of. Impressed with their eagerness to help her unfortunate niece through an awkward, trouble-prone adolescence, Aunt Edwina gives Marcia and Chad carte blanche to do the impossible…”make a proper young lady out of that little monkey.”
Far above it all, an unsuspecting Tommy and her nerdy best friend Harold are hanging out in Tomboy’s Treehouse, the plucky teen heroine’s version of the Batcave. As bouncy rock’n’roll plays on the CD, Tommy works out with weights, gyrating to the music. Harold sits nervously across from her, eyes occasionally peering up from his comic book to stare at Tommy’s magnificent, undulating, sweat-soaked chest. “Boy, you should have seen Chad’s face when I blew him away in all categories,” she beams, reliving her triumph at the school. This mega-hot babe is completely oblivious to the devastating effect her early-naked body is having on poor Harold!
Obviously, these two have been pals for many, many years. But it’s just as obvious that Tommy’s no longer a gangly little waif, and Harold has a tough time keeping his very natural male arousal in check. Whenever the issue does come up, so to speak, Tommy simply rolls her eyes and shakes her head. Like every self-respecting tomboy since time began, she thinks romance is for the birds.
Or does she?
Harold can’t help noticing that the T-babe’s been staring through their Treehouse’s telescope quite a bit of late, and it seems to be more than just a case of checking out weather conditions and sports terrain. Sure enough, when he happens to take a peek through the ‘scope after she’s vamoosed, it’s none other than weight-lifting Randy Starr, new boy in town, coming into focus, working up a fairly impressive sweat of his own. “So that's where her attention is going these days!” Harold comments in open-mouthed astonishment. Is it possible that Lincoln Heights’ most infamous and dedicated teenage tomboy is finally, truly growing up?
A question TB herself would probably like answered. Shooting baskets in the relatively empty schoolyard, Tommy’s late afternoon practice is suddenly interrupted by a decidedly rude voice. “Off the court, tomboy!” declares Frankie, apparently itching for yet another fight. He and his pal Pimples approach the defiant-as-always female athlete. “Yeah,” Pimples adds with a sneer. “You can play hop-scotch and jump rope, but stay outta sports meant for the stronger sex!”
Tommy simply stands her ground, smiling smugly. “Make me, you morons” she responds sassily. Which really pisses Pimples off. But before he can connect with his oversized fist, she’s ducked safely out of harm's way. “Mind I put my best foot forward?” she playfully quips. The tomboy drop-kicks her hulking adversary and sends the Pimp Man flying. “Oh, I can’t believe I said that!”
Enraged, Frankie circles his dynamic foe and prepares to strike. But when he finally lunges at Boyd, he misses, and accidentally wallops a recovering Pimples instead! The gazelle-like female wonder spins, punches Frankie square on the chin - POWW! - and knocks the bastard out cold.
Fists on hips, a satisfied Tommy hovers over her fallen foes. “Okay… that was fun” she proclaims dryly, not noticing a shadowy figure creeping up behind her. Suddenly the figure – Chad Parker – grabs Tommy from behind and clamps a chloroform-soaked rag over her mouth! Boyd writhes and struggles for all she’s worth, but well-muscled Chad has a really good grip on her. Almost instinctively, he takes this opportunity to fondle her creamy breasts, and the sudden arousal that courses through Tommy’s virgin body, coupled with the effects of the chloroform, slows her down considerably.
“Not so smart with the mouth now, huh, hotshot?” sneers Chad, feeling his victim weakening. Frankie and Pimples stir awake, get a gander at what's happening, then laugh harshly at their opponent’s sudden predicament.
Totally in control, Chad feels Tommy finally go limp in his arms. Seconds later, she’s sprawled helplessly on the court before him, breasts heaving like mini-mountains, nipples no aroused they’ve punched through the fabric of her sports bra. “Sweet dreams, little Tomboy,” Chad grins, now joined by the leering delinquents. "When you wake up, it'll be a whole new ball game!"
A few minutes later:
Emerging from the schoolyard’s back entrance are cackling JDs Pimples and Frankie, with an unconscious Tommy Boyd in tow. The Pimp man’s up front, holding his captive’s legs as the trio moves forward, with Frankie coming up the rear, his hands under the girl’s armpits… and occasionally around her sweaty bosom and its aroused nipples. There’s a devilish grin on his unshaven mug as they approach Chad's parked van with its open rear door, and then slide sleeping Tommy Boyd inside like a slab of shapely meat. Walking directly behind them are super-cool, triumphant Chad Parker and the mastermind behind all of his audacious career schemes, fiancée Marcia Sloan. An attractive and sophisticated society babe, Sloan thoroughly enjoys the sight of her helpless adversary being manhandled in such a humiliating way, but soon turns to Chad with a more pragmatic, no-nonsense look.
“All right, Chad, here’s the deal,” Marcia patiently explains. “I’ve done my part in clearing the way for you. I can keep ‘bicep bitch’ out of action for awhile, but it’s going to be mostly up to you to sell yourself to that agent. Have you studied the data I gave you?”
“Yeah, Marcia, I got it all down pat,” responds Chad confidently. “Statistics, names to drop, nice shit to tell the guy, all that garbage. No prob, Babe.”
Marcia growls. “UUGGH! Not ‘I got it all down pat.’ It’s I’VE got it all down pat’! Haven’t you taken the required English classes? If you talk like an illiterate hick, that agent will drop you like a bad habit!”
Chad just rolls his eyes, but listens and finally nods, knowing full-well that Marcia is a genius at this sort of character assassination and career building scenario.
Meanwhile, the boys pop out of the van and shut the door behind them. As Marcia and Chad continue their conversation, Pimples spots Tommy’s famous TomboyCycle, parked a few yards away near the schoolyard fence.
“Hey, ain’t that the bitch’s motorcycle?”
Frankie’s nasty smile widens. “Finders keepers, losers weepers, I always say…” And with that, he jumps on the vehicle and starts checking it out.
“You look more like the Fonz on a bad day than Brando, man!” Pimples laughs.
“Screw you! It’s not a bad fit… once we get rid of the female stench,” observes Frankie. Then he notices something about the bike… “Hey what is this, some kinda personal compartment…?” He flips open a lid and shuffles through some papers. “This is Boyd’s personal shit. A lot of junk.”
Pimples looks around. “There’s a garbage can right behind you…”
“Great. Hey look – her driver’s license, photo ID, credit cards…” CRACK! “Boyd won’t be needing plastic anymore, they’re gonna control all her purchases from now on. Peteeeeewwwww!! Bombs away!”
Tommy’s crunched cards are tossed into the air, finding their mark in the garbage can with a CLANG! “And the man makes a perfect basket…!”
Pimples glances back at their van, with their nabbed arch-foe inside. “Ha! It’ll take her forever to get that I.D. replaced!”
“Gives the bitch something to do, now that competing with guys is out,” reasons Frankie, checking out some of Tommy’s other personal items stashed in the bike compartment. “What is this… oh hohoho!” the greaser laughs, his face aglow with nasty joy as he shoves a new discovery in his pal’s face. It’s a photo of a 10 year-old TB posing prettily with her dad, the Colonel, and he’s dressed in full military attire. “A Personal Keepsake… from Dad to Tomasina!” Frankie reads aloud in a mocking voice.
Pimples grabs the picture and guffaws. “Ha-ha-ha. Look at the little squirt. She’s titless!”
“Hard to believe, right?” Frankie grabs the picture back, automatically rips it to pieces. “She was probably a dyke even then. In the garbage…” He tosses the crumpled up little ball that was once a cherished memento over his shoulder without a second thought, continues to explore the TomboyCycle’s personal compartment. “Hey! Snickers bars! Three of ‘em. Knock yourself out…”
He tosses one to Pimples, who catches the taste treat and unwraps it. Within seconds both leather-jacket creeps are wolfing down Tommy’s candy bars. “Mmmmm. Always liked Snickers,” comments Pimps, his big mouth chewing as he begins to rummage through the compartment himself. “What’s this? Some kind of medal, or something. ‘Lincoln Heights Guardian Angel’ – what’s it say there, Protector of the Neighborhood Tommy Boyd –“
“Gimme that shit” snaps Frankie, grabbing the medal from his pal and instantly tossing it.
CLANG. “Next…”
“Here’s another picture,” an excited Pimples announces as he checks it out. “Hey, hot! That’s Tommy with her arm around some Asian chick, another female athlete – they’re both in track suits. There’s some writing: ‘For my wonderful friend, Tommy… something to always remember me by.’”
Frankie glances at the pic and leers. “Two dykes for the price of one. No – wait a minute, don’t tear it up. I’ll email this to my little cousin Chuck. He hates Boyd’s guts. Like, ever since she caught him pushing some stupid kid around, and she gave him that spanking in front of everyone…”
“Yeah,” sighs Pimples, recalling. “That was way harsh.”
“Well now he can even. If I know him, he’ll have this picture up on the web in like a few hours. It’ll be great… we’ll expose Boyd for the dim-witted dyke she really is.”
“Hey man, that’s perfect,” Pimples concurs. “So much for the wholesome All-American role model.”
“Right! Ha-ha-ha!”
Just then, finally finished chatting with Chad, Marcia approaches her two hired tomboy-catchers with a satisfied smile. She can’t help noticing where Frankie happens to be sitting. “A job well done, boys. I see you’ve claimed the bike.”
“Well, yeah, I was just figurin’…”
“You don’t have to explain yourself, Frank. It’s a gift from Aunt Edwina. She says it’s the least she can do considering how much you’ve been helping her out lately, and how often her misfit niece annoys you.”
A wiseass smile spreads across Pimples’ fat face. “Yeah, Frankie. She’s really bought your ‘perfect gentleman’ act.”
“Look, what can I say? The old lady has taste.”
About fifteen minutes later, Chad’s van rounds a corner on its way to Edwina’s suburban residence. Inside the cab, dedicated-as-always Marcia patiently drills her boyfriend/fiancée/meal-ticket Mr. Parker, steady at the wheel. Within the van itself, Frankie barks into a cellphone, Pimples lights up a joint, and lying on the floor before them is the motionless form of Tomasina Boyd, totally knocked out by her enemies’ potent combination of chloroform and sexual stimulation. Above the young woman’s sneakered feet, both ankles are bound together, and following her long, sexy legs to the briefest of cut-off jeans, up to bound wrists which rest upon her stomach, directly below a pair of world-class boobs that puff outward, nipples insanely erect. And above this tantalizing female body is a face the angels themselves must be envious of… Sweet as a newborn while in deepest dream-slumber, innocent, rounded facial features suggesting a little child rather than a young adult woman. Simply enchanting. And then…
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!!!!! Tommy Boyd snores like a fatso truck driver, practically interfering with Frankie’s cell phone reception! The annoyed greaser shoots a glance at his ultra-voluptuous sleeping captive, then shakes his weary head in resignation: Once a tomboy, always a tomboy!
TO BE CONTINUED...
- Attachments
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- In this corner... Tommy Boyd! And in the opposite corner... Pimples, Frankie and Chad!
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Dr. Grizzard
- Neophyte Lvl 2
- Posts: 17
- Joined: 12 years ago
4. Makeover Takeover
The suburban home of Colonel Boyd, away on a vital five-year mission, now run and ruled by Aunt Edwina Strictland, no-nonsense guardian to Boyd’s precocious teenage daughter…
SPLASH!
In the backyard, a stripped Tommy is unceremoniously dumped into a large barrel of water by Frankie and Pimples. She bobs to the surface, spits out a stream of water, struggles in vain to get out… Fat chance! Watching with folded arms and a raised eyebrow is unsmiling Aunt Edwina, flanked by self-satisfied Marcia Sloan and an amused Chad. A bunch of neighborhood kiddies are also milling about, playing in the backyard and laughing at the soaked tomboy as she tries rather haphazardly to escape her unexpected “bath.”
“Aren’t you ashamed, Tomasina Boyd?” Aunt Edwina scolds her splashing, waterlogged niece. “Indulging in sports instead of playing house, fighting with boys instead of learning to serve them. No wonder you smell of unfeminine body odor!”
“I do NOT SMELL!” an indignant Tommy shouts, only to have her head plunged under the soapy water again by devil-may-care Frankie. “This’ll knock the fight outta her,” the grinning greaser informs everyone assembled. “Absolutely,” agrees nearby Pimples, who happily helps his best pal restrain their struggling arch-adversary.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Strictland,” Marcia tells the old lady gently. “I realize ‘tough love’ can be a little difficult at times, but if we’re ever going to help Tomasina through her disastrous adolescence, we’ll simply have to remain strong, and forever committed to her rehabilitation.”
“Sometimes I wonder if anything will help,” Edwina shakes her head philosophically. “But I’ll not shirk my duty, nor go back on the promise I made her father. Tomasina Boyd will indeed become a feminine, well-mannered lady, even if turning her into one kills me in the process.”
“There, there, good lady,” Marcia coos, warmly taking Edwina’s arm. “You’re not alone in this trial, just remember that.”
Chad can’t resist a titter, which preoccupied Edwina fortunately doesn’t catch. Meanwhile, Frankie finally lifts poor Tommy’s dripping head from the water. Momentarily rendered docile, she stares blankly ahead as her unrelenting bather proceeds to savagely rub harsh soap all over her face. Pimples laughs, and all the little children present giggle, as helpless Tommy is mercilessly scrubbed by an unfriendly hand, her aroused breasts and erect nipples bobbing to the barrel water’s surface periodically.
“Oh, Miss Sloan,” sighs Aunt Edwina with near-swooning gratitude. “Your words have revived my flagging spirits, as I see there is at least one proper young lady in this city who takes seriously her social responsibilities. Bless you, child.” Edwina then turns her dart-like gaze to the soaked and soaped Tommy, who has gradually regained some of her senses. “And you, Tomasina,” the elderly woman hisses. “I think the least you can do is offer Miss Sloan a simple word of thanks for her efforts as your benefactor.”
Tommy is incredulous! She fiercely brushes the lather from her face. “ME? Say ‘Thanks’ to that manipulative Marcia Sloan? I’d sooner jump off Lincoln Heights Bridge!”
Almost on cue, Frankie slaps his hand onto Tommy’s head and thrusts it in the water, holding her under for a few seconds as the tomboy struggles. When he finally allows her to re-surface, she gulps for air.
“C’mon, sudsy slut!” Frankie growls. “Thank Marcia for being so nice to you!”
“Why don’t you bite my ass, you flunky monkey!” snaps Tommy. Edwina looks as though she might faint.
“Hey! Not a bad idea!” Frankie says with a perverted grin. “Maybe later! But… first things first.” He submerges her again, and brings her up again. “I got all day to play Dunk the Dyke, but Marcia and your aunt don’t. So SAY IT!”
Rdiculed and helpless,Tommy clenches her fists and her teeth and squints her eyes. “Oooohhhh… thank you,” she half mumbles/half growls.
“I don’t think Marcia heard you,” sneers Pimples. “Say it louder, or down you go!”
“THANK YOU, MARCIA,” Tommy screams venomously. And down she goes again!
Aunt Edwina is near-livid. “Tomasina Boyd! One more outburst like that and your father will hear of it. Now you thank Miss Sloan in a proper, ladylike tone!”
“That’s all right, Mrs. Strictland,” Marcia interrupts. “Tomasina is a most challenging case, and I think ‘baby-steps’ are in order here. We must suppress our desire for Tomasina’s rapid rehabilitation with the mercy of Job-like patience.”
“Oh, my dear Marcia,” Edwina practically sniffles. “You are like a lighthouse to a ship on a stormy sea!”
Indeed. Seconds later, soggy Tommy’s up again. Almost cartoon-style, her head is now completely covered with soap suds, including her hair, which sticks out in all directions ridiculously. A beaming Frankie holds up this dehumanized, featureless foam-face by Tommy’s soaped-up hair strands, displaying it proudly for all the gleefully chortling youngsters to enjoy.
Despite all the angst and the ongoing tribulation of supervising a problem child, Edwina manages to crack a smile at this overtly funny sight, trying her best to relax a bit...
About an hour later, in the house’s main living room:
The Great Tomboy Makeover has finally come to an end. Once-sporty Tomasina Boyd now finds herself decked out in an absurd, custom-made child’s dress circa 1955, complete with puffy short sleeves and a dainty fringed collar. Her wild and wavy hair is tied-off with ribbons and bright pink bows; even the girl’s peach-fuzzy forearms have been thoroughly shaved. In a word… yikes!
Not surprisingly, Aunt Edwina is delighted with this mega- transformation. The sight of her niece wearing something other than sports bras and sneakers is like a breath of fresh air. She correctly credits makeover artists Marcia and Chad with pulling off a minor miracle, and even the craven Frankie and Pimples manage to come off like helpful assistants.
A dazed Tommy, meanwhile, doesn’t seem to know what hit her and where. Dressed like a girl at last, she looks twice as silly standing defiantly in her familiar, fists-on-hips power-pose. “Tomasina! Get that frown off your face!” scolds Edwina. “And for Heaven's sake, stand like a lady!”
Marcia, exuding maturity and patience, once again comes across as the voice of reason. “Of course, it’ll take more than a change of clothing to tame this tomboy,” she reminds Mrs. Strictland. “She’ll need to learn feminine behavior from scratch.” Tommy stops fiddling with her tight collar and squints at Marcia. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Marcia and Chad exchange conspirator's grins.
Setting: the Proper Little Miss Finishing School, a super-strict, ultra-conservative local institution for pre-teens. Outside stands the sculpted figure of an iconic ladylike youngster, curtsying for our approval. Inside, a little girl sits on the floor, legs spread across, mindlessly rocking a doll. Then the girl turns her head… and we realize it’s a thoroughly mortified Tommy Boyd, catching up on those long-neglected female basics!
Behind Tommy, a bunch of snooty eight year-old “classmates” giggle at the new, ridiculously overgrown arrival. Lost in a daydream, Tomasina remembers a heartfelt conversation with her beloved dad, Colonel Boyd, just before Edwina became her legal guardian. Guilty about selfishly raising Tommy as the son he always wanted, Boyd hopes Edwina’s sternly classical view of femininity will correct this imbalance, finally making a lady out of his boisterous tomboy daughter. As a matter of fact, he’s really counting on it. Although she despises dresses, dolls, and anything traditionally “girly,” Tommy promises the Major that she’ll swallow her pride and dutifully obey Edwina’s wishes, even if it kills her. And it very well might!
“Tomasina!” a young voice scolds, snapping the teen out of her reverie. “Wake up this instant, or I’ll report you to Miss Merribrook!” Standing above Tommy with severely folded arms is Gwendolyn, a 10 year-old Proper Little Miss “senior” who’s obviously been asked to keep an eye on the new, mischief-prone inmate. Never a woman to take lip from anyone, Tommy instinctively clenches her fist and stands up to Gwendolyn, towering over the much-younger girl. Then Tommy swiftly relents, realizing that she’s backed herself into a corner.
Surrendering to fight another day, she slumps to the floor and resumes her mind-rotting, doll-rocking exercises. “This ain’t gonna be easy,” the tomboy sighs philosophically. “Isn’t,” corrects no-nonsense Gwendolyn. Tommy just rolls her eyes…
Meanwhile, bad news travels fast in Lincoln Heights. “Tommy Boyd’s in a dress… over at the finishing school!” a distressed ten year-old tells his freckle-faced pal. But before the two boys can even react to this emergency, neighborhood punks Frankie and Pimples surround them. “That’s right, ya little crumbs,” Frankie snarls, grabbing the fatter of the two by his shirtfront. “We brought her in ourselves. From now on, Boyd plays with dolls instead of throwing lucky punches. Now give!” The kids empty their pockets, scared to death.
At the same time, a group of basketball-playing youngsters are getting creamed by bigger, older and nastier adversaries. Without nimble Tommy Boyd on the kids’ team, they haven’t got a chance!
“Pssss – hey Tommy!” whispers a more nervous-than-usual Harold. Clinging precariously to a tree outside a Proper Little Miss window, he tries frantically to get her attention, and finally succeeds. He manages to lean on the sill as Tommy scampers over.
“How long you in for?” Harold asks with a Bogart accent, prompting an annoyed Tommy to tweak his nose. Then he updates her on those disconcerting outside world developments. Profoundly pissed by what’s happening to her friends, Tommy rubs a very unladylike fist into her palm. Harold's seen this look of fierce resolve many times before. Watch out, boy braggarts and bullies of Lincoln Heights… you can stuff jockette Tommy Boyd into a frilly dress, but you won't be able to contain THIS force of feminist nature for very long!
Setting: Marcia Sloan's posh estate, around ten in the evening. There's a party going on, and judging from the music and laughter, a fairly successful one.
"Thanks," says Randy Starr pleasantly, accepting a drink from a passing butler. He's dressed to the nines for this little outing, and before long an equally dapper Chad Parker saunters over, Marcia on his arm.
"Glad you could stop by, Starr," grins Chad, even as the newcomer glances about at the impressive surroundings. "This is your hostess and my girlfriend, Miss Marcia Sloan." A charmed Randy takes Marcia's offered hand. "I've heard a lot about you, Mr. Starr. And please, let me apologize in advance. I realize Lincoln Heights can be a tad trying and provincial without the proper connections. Still, I'm sure Chad can direct you to the country clubs in the neighborhood worth joining."
"I'm sure I'll fit right in", Randy responds with an agreeable smile, finally downing his drink.
A short while later, laughable images of Tommy Boyd in her "little girl" outfit, curtsying and smiling against her will, are flashed on Marcia's cell phone. A few of the local jock guests, all of them formally dressed, crowd around to mock the overgrown misfit, and even Randy walks over. "Say, isn't that the little girl who thinks she's a boy?" he asks innocently.
Marcia grins from ear-to-ear. "She won't be thinking that way for long. As you can see, we're rehabilitating her."
"Yeah," Chad chimes in. "The nitwit's over at a finishing school for little ladies. They won't let her out until she grows out of her tomboy stage. And that might take years."
A chorus of forced "awwww"s from the gathered jocks greets that last statement, followed by some hearty laughter. Clearly, the local male athletes of Lincoln Heights would prefer keeping upstart Tommy Boyd exactly where she is.
"Actually, she's not a prisoner there, at least not all the time," Marcia explains. "Tomasina still attends high school and we're even allowing her to keep her decidedly-unfeminine part time job. That's why those sessions at Proper Little Miss must be especially aggressive."
Might work. Still, Randy wonders if a girl of TB's indefatigable nature and soaring spirit can ever be tamed...
And sure enough, watching Randy from an outside window is none other than Tommy herself… upside-down, and suspended from the roof! Obviously the teen scalawag found some way to escape her pre-school prison while everyone at Proper Little Miss was asleep. Yards of hair cascading downward, childlike grin across her gorgeous face, Tommy sees her pseudo-beau Randy and everything else in the party room from a skewed, topsy-turvy perspective...the way she sees life in general, many locals might say. But one thing's for sure...this sports-addicted, bully-bashing buckaroo isn't giving up her catcher's mitt and brass knuckles without a fight!
"You can bet your precious male pride on that one," Tommy thinks to herself, a roomful of arrogant macho men before her. And that includes the smuggest and most deceptively friendly jock of all, Mr. Randy Starr. "I'll show you, Mister Perfect," she makes herself a giddy promise. "One of these days… WHAM!”
TO BE CONTINUED...
The suburban home of Colonel Boyd, away on a vital five-year mission, now run and ruled by Aunt Edwina Strictland, no-nonsense guardian to Boyd’s precocious teenage daughter…
SPLASH!
In the backyard, a stripped Tommy is unceremoniously dumped into a large barrel of water by Frankie and Pimples. She bobs to the surface, spits out a stream of water, struggles in vain to get out… Fat chance! Watching with folded arms and a raised eyebrow is unsmiling Aunt Edwina, flanked by self-satisfied Marcia Sloan and an amused Chad. A bunch of neighborhood kiddies are also milling about, playing in the backyard and laughing at the soaked tomboy as she tries rather haphazardly to escape her unexpected “bath.”
“Aren’t you ashamed, Tomasina Boyd?” Aunt Edwina scolds her splashing, waterlogged niece. “Indulging in sports instead of playing house, fighting with boys instead of learning to serve them. No wonder you smell of unfeminine body odor!”
“I do NOT SMELL!” an indignant Tommy shouts, only to have her head plunged under the soapy water again by devil-may-care Frankie. “This’ll knock the fight outta her,” the grinning greaser informs everyone assembled. “Absolutely,” agrees nearby Pimples, who happily helps his best pal restrain their struggling arch-adversary.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Strictland,” Marcia tells the old lady gently. “I realize ‘tough love’ can be a little difficult at times, but if we’re ever going to help Tomasina through her disastrous adolescence, we’ll simply have to remain strong, and forever committed to her rehabilitation.”
“Sometimes I wonder if anything will help,” Edwina shakes her head philosophically. “But I’ll not shirk my duty, nor go back on the promise I made her father. Tomasina Boyd will indeed become a feminine, well-mannered lady, even if turning her into one kills me in the process.”
“There, there, good lady,” Marcia coos, warmly taking Edwina’s arm. “You’re not alone in this trial, just remember that.”
Chad can’t resist a titter, which preoccupied Edwina fortunately doesn’t catch. Meanwhile, Frankie finally lifts poor Tommy’s dripping head from the water. Momentarily rendered docile, she stares blankly ahead as her unrelenting bather proceeds to savagely rub harsh soap all over her face. Pimples laughs, and all the little children present giggle, as helpless Tommy is mercilessly scrubbed by an unfriendly hand, her aroused breasts and erect nipples bobbing to the barrel water’s surface periodically.
“Oh, Miss Sloan,” sighs Aunt Edwina with near-swooning gratitude. “Your words have revived my flagging spirits, as I see there is at least one proper young lady in this city who takes seriously her social responsibilities. Bless you, child.” Edwina then turns her dart-like gaze to the soaked and soaped Tommy, who has gradually regained some of her senses. “And you, Tomasina,” the elderly woman hisses. “I think the least you can do is offer Miss Sloan a simple word of thanks for her efforts as your benefactor.”
Tommy is incredulous! She fiercely brushes the lather from her face. “ME? Say ‘Thanks’ to that manipulative Marcia Sloan? I’d sooner jump off Lincoln Heights Bridge!”
Almost on cue, Frankie slaps his hand onto Tommy’s head and thrusts it in the water, holding her under for a few seconds as the tomboy struggles. When he finally allows her to re-surface, she gulps for air.
“C’mon, sudsy slut!” Frankie growls. “Thank Marcia for being so nice to you!”
“Why don’t you bite my ass, you flunky monkey!” snaps Tommy. Edwina looks as though she might faint.
“Hey! Not a bad idea!” Frankie says with a perverted grin. “Maybe later! But… first things first.” He submerges her again, and brings her up again. “I got all day to play Dunk the Dyke, but Marcia and your aunt don’t. So SAY IT!”
Rdiculed and helpless,Tommy clenches her fists and her teeth and squints her eyes. “Oooohhhh… thank you,” she half mumbles/half growls.
“I don’t think Marcia heard you,” sneers Pimples. “Say it louder, or down you go!”
“THANK YOU, MARCIA,” Tommy screams venomously. And down she goes again!
Aunt Edwina is near-livid. “Tomasina Boyd! One more outburst like that and your father will hear of it. Now you thank Miss Sloan in a proper, ladylike tone!”
“That’s all right, Mrs. Strictland,” Marcia interrupts. “Tomasina is a most challenging case, and I think ‘baby-steps’ are in order here. We must suppress our desire for Tomasina’s rapid rehabilitation with the mercy of Job-like patience.”
“Oh, my dear Marcia,” Edwina practically sniffles. “You are like a lighthouse to a ship on a stormy sea!”
Indeed. Seconds later, soggy Tommy’s up again. Almost cartoon-style, her head is now completely covered with soap suds, including her hair, which sticks out in all directions ridiculously. A beaming Frankie holds up this dehumanized, featureless foam-face by Tommy’s soaped-up hair strands, displaying it proudly for all the gleefully chortling youngsters to enjoy.
Despite all the angst and the ongoing tribulation of supervising a problem child, Edwina manages to crack a smile at this overtly funny sight, trying her best to relax a bit...
About an hour later, in the house’s main living room:
The Great Tomboy Makeover has finally come to an end. Once-sporty Tomasina Boyd now finds herself decked out in an absurd, custom-made child’s dress circa 1955, complete with puffy short sleeves and a dainty fringed collar. Her wild and wavy hair is tied-off with ribbons and bright pink bows; even the girl’s peach-fuzzy forearms have been thoroughly shaved. In a word… yikes!
Not surprisingly, Aunt Edwina is delighted with this mega- transformation. The sight of her niece wearing something other than sports bras and sneakers is like a breath of fresh air. She correctly credits makeover artists Marcia and Chad with pulling off a minor miracle, and even the craven Frankie and Pimples manage to come off like helpful assistants.
A dazed Tommy, meanwhile, doesn’t seem to know what hit her and where. Dressed like a girl at last, she looks twice as silly standing defiantly in her familiar, fists-on-hips power-pose. “Tomasina! Get that frown off your face!” scolds Edwina. “And for Heaven's sake, stand like a lady!”
Marcia, exuding maturity and patience, once again comes across as the voice of reason. “Of course, it’ll take more than a change of clothing to tame this tomboy,” she reminds Mrs. Strictland. “She’ll need to learn feminine behavior from scratch.” Tommy stops fiddling with her tight collar and squints at Marcia. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Marcia and Chad exchange conspirator's grins.
Setting: the Proper Little Miss Finishing School, a super-strict, ultra-conservative local institution for pre-teens. Outside stands the sculpted figure of an iconic ladylike youngster, curtsying for our approval. Inside, a little girl sits on the floor, legs spread across, mindlessly rocking a doll. Then the girl turns her head… and we realize it’s a thoroughly mortified Tommy Boyd, catching up on those long-neglected female basics!
Behind Tommy, a bunch of snooty eight year-old “classmates” giggle at the new, ridiculously overgrown arrival. Lost in a daydream, Tomasina remembers a heartfelt conversation with her beloved dad, Colonel Boyd, just before Edwina became her legal guardian. Guilty about selfishly raising Tommy as the son he always wanted, Boyd hopes Edwina’s sternly classical view of femininity will correct this imbalance, finally making a lady out of his boisterous tomboy daughter. As a matter of fact, he’s really counting on it. Although she despises dresses, dolls, and anything traditionally “girly,” Tommy promises the Major that she’ll swallow her pride and dutifully obey Edwina’s wishes, even if it kills her. And it very well might!
“Tomasina!” a young voice scolds, snapping the teen out of her reverie. “Wake up this instant, or I’ll report you to Miss Merribrook!” Standing above Tommy with severely folded arms is Gwendolyn, a 10 year-old Proper Little Miss “senior” who’s obviously been asked to keep an eye on the new, mischief-prone inmate. Never a woman to take lip from anyone, Tommy instinctively clenches her fist and stands up to Gwendolyn, towering over the much-younger girl. Then Tommy swiftly relents, realizing that she’s backed herself into a corner.
Surrendering to fight another day, she slumps to the floor and resumes her mind-rotting, doll-rocking exercises. “This ain’t gonna be easy,” the tomboy sighs philosophically. “Isn’t,” corrects no-nonsense Gwendolyn. Tommy just rolls her eyes…
Meanwhile, bad news travels fast in Lincoln Heights. “Tommy Boyd’s in a dress… over at the finishing school!” a distressed ten year-old tells his freckle-faced pal. But before the two boys can even react to this emergency, neighborhood punks Frankie and Pimples surround them. “That’s right, ya little crumbs,” Frankie snarls, grabbing the fatter of the two by his shirtfront. “We brought her in ourselves. From now on, Boyd plays with dolls instead of throwing lucky punches. Now give!” The kids empty their pockets, scared to death.
At the same time, a group of basketball-playing youngsters are getting creamed by bigger, older and nastier adversaries. Without nimble Tommy Boyd on the kids’ team, they haven’t got a chance!
“Pssss – hey Tommy!” whispers a more nervous-than-usual Harold. Clinging precariously to a tree outside a Proper Little Miss window, he tries frantically to get her attention, and finally succeeds. He manages to lean on the sill as Tommy scampers over.
“How long you in for?” Harold asks with a Bogart accent, prompting an annoyed Tommy to tweak his nose. Then he updates her on those disconcerting outside world developments. Profoundly pissed by what’s happening to her friends, Tommy rubs a very unladylike fist into her palm. Harold's seen this look of fierce resolve many times before. Watch out, boy braggarts and bullies of Lincoln Heights… you can stuff jockette Tommy Boyd into a frilly dress, but you won't be able to contain THIS force of feminist nature for very long!
Setting: Marcia Sloan's posh estate, around ten in the evening. There's a party going on, and judging from the music and laughter, a fairly successful one.
"Thanks," says Randy Starr pleasantly, accepting a drink from a passing butler. He's dressed to the nines for this little outing, and before long an equally dapper Chad Parker saunters over, Marcia on his arm.
"Glad you could stop by, Starr," grins Chad, even as the newcomer glances about at the impressive surroundings. "This is your hostess and my girlfriend, Miss Marcia Sloan." A charmed Randy takes Marcia's offered hand. "I've heard a lot about you, Mr. Starr. And please, let me apologize in advance. I realize Lincoln Heights can be a tad trying and provincial without the proper connections. Still, I'm sure Chad can direct you to the country clubs in the neighborhood worth joining."
"I'm sure I'll fit right in", Randy responds with an agreeable smile, finally downing his drink.
A short while later, laughable images of Tommy Boyd in her "little girl" outfit, curtsying and smiling against her will, are flashed on Marcia's cell phone. A few of the local jock guests, all of them formally dressed, crowd around to mock the overgrown misfit, and even Randy walks over. "Say, isn't that the little girl who thinks she's a boy?" he asks innocently.
Marcia grins from ear-to-ear. "She won't be thinking that way for long. As you can see, we're rehabilitating her."
"Yeah," Chad chimes in. "The nitwit's over at a finishing school for little ladies. They won't let her out until she grows out of her tomboy stage. And that might take years."
A chorus of forced "awwww"s from the gathered jocks greets that last statement, followed by some hearty laughter. Clearly, the local male athletes of Lincoln Heights would prefer keeping upstart Tommy Boyd exactly where she is.
"Actually, she's not a prisoner there, at least not all the time," Marcia explains. "Tomasina still attends high school and we're even allowing her to keep her decidedly-unfeminine part time job. That's why those sessions at Proper Little Miss must be especially aggressive."
Might work. Still, Randy wonders if a girl of TB's indefatigable nature and soaring spirit can ever be tamed...
And sure enough, watching Randy from an outside window is none other than Tommy herself… upside-down, and suspended from the roof! Obviously the teen scalawag found some way to escape her pre-school prison while everyone at Proper Little Miss was asleep. Yards of hair cascading downward, childlike grin across her gorgeous face, Tommy sees her pseudo-beau Randy and everything else in the party room from a skewed, topsy-turvy perspective...the way she sees life in general, many locals might say. But one thing's for sure...this sports-addicted, bully-bashing buckaroo isn't giving up her catcher's mitt and brass knuckles without a fight!
"You can bet your precious male pride on that one," Tommy thinks to herself, a roomful of arrogant macho men before her. And that includes the smuggest and most deceptively friendly jock of all, Mr. Randy Starr. "I'll show you, Mister Perfect," she makes herself a giddy promise. "One of these days… WHAM!”
TO BE CONTINUED...
- Attachments
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- Yikes! Me... in a dress?!!!
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Dr. Grizzard
- Neophyte Lvl 2
- Posts: 17
- Joined: 12 years ago
There's no stopping the indefatigable spirit of Tomasina "Tommy" Boyd. In spite of her depressingly necessary trips to Proper Little Miss Finishing School, she defies Aunt Edwina and enters herself into the eagerly-anticipated Lincoln Heights High Running event. This locally-televised contest pits her against a host of macho male competitors, including arch rival Chad Parker, the most obnoxious of them all. It isn’t acceptable for girls to play traditional guy sports in ultra-conservative Lincoln Heights, of course, so mostly everyone views Tommy’s entry as an absurd farce, the antics of a local misfit that LH citizens are tolerant enough to endure. Sharp, delightfully wicked Marcia Sloan never misses an opportunity to exploit this perception, attempting to portray Tommy Boyd as both a public embarrassment and overall nuisance.
Sometimes fate seems to favor nasty old Marcia. While Tommy is in training for this high-speed event, she’s forced to work out in the dorky Little Miss outfit for her lessons in etiquette, so she is never late returning to PLM. This uniform, designed for pre-teens, is composed of pink ruffled bloomers, white pleated skirt with pink crinoline underneath to puff it out, and a pink satin schoolgirl shirt with short sleeves. Low-heel, shiny strapped shoes finish it off. By startling contrast, Tommy wears heavy-duty power sneakers during the arduous outdoor practice, which are the only things that she has time to switch into.
Looking ridiculous but certainly game, super-athletic Tommy practices on the field, first doing her warm up stretches, and then her running stretches on the bar. As fate (and a Marcia phone call) would have it, local toughs Frankie and Pimples arrive on the scene, and seat themselves down on the bleachers, eating burgers and fries. They spy Tommy and hoot and holler at the hybrid athlete/schoolgirl, making fun of her from time to time, with comments like “Why don’t you go home and play with your dollies?” “Love your uniform, little girlie!” “Since when did they allow a skirt to enter the marathon?” “Why don’t you come over to my house and do my dishes?” “No, no – come to my place and cook us dinner!” “Nah – she can do my laundry, like a proper girl!”
The two laugh themselves silly, as Tommy’s anger grows and grows...
When Boyd circles under the bleachers, Frankie takes aim and dumps the last of his soda on top of the running girl's head! “You son-of-a- HEYY!” yells Tommy, her hair now wet with the stuff. Frankie leans over for a better look, laughing like crazy. Big mistake. Tommy simply reaches up, and yanks him down the side of the bleachers. While he’s struggling to get up, she pulls his jacket off, and uses it to wipe the soda out of her hair.
Watching all this and getting mighty pissed off, rampaging Pimples leaps out of the stands with a vengeance. The hulking creepizoid makes a swing at his nubile adversary, but she deftly sidesteps him. Tommy quickly wraps the grabbed jacket around one of his legs, taking him down to the ground. Then a voice catches her attention: “Boyd, ya stupid broad, I want my jacket back!” yells Frankie, as Tommy readies for his charge. Sure enough, Frankie runs towards her, even as Tommy tosses his jacket into his face, which slows him down. Tommy drops and does a textbook leg sweep, taking him down onto the ground. Then she retrieves the tossed-about jacket… and finishes drying her hair off with it!
Pimples suddenly dives for her legs, barely missing her as Tommy jumps up, grabbing the bottom of the bleachers and swinging there for a moment, like an all-powerful Queen Kong. When Pimples does looks up, she drops down on top of him, punching him in the face several times. “Say, this is fun!" the T-babe laughs. "Now stay down, little boy--!”.
Finally, Frankie jumps on the fighting girl’s back, assuming that his superior mass will overwhelm her. But Tommy manages to spin him about from left to right, and he gradually loses his grip. After turning things around with some deft acrobatics, she pins the sucker down, and POW! delivers her patented Tommy Boyd ‘perfect shiner’! Frankie screams as Tommy twists his sore arm, forced to yell that he and his equally exhausted cohort “give up".
Basking in her triumph, Tommy tosses Frankie’s soda-stained jacket on top of him, leaving both of her battered attackers to nurse their bruised male egos. “See ya next time, boys!” the oddly-attired lady athlete taunts. With a pert, sly smile and an explosion of female giggles, Tommy gleefully wipes her shoes off on the fallen bullies, snags their bag of fries, then triumphantly saunters away while snacking on the treats.
Yes!!!
Setting: Proper Little Miss Finishing School. After her spirited field workout, Tommy spends the rest of her decidedly less-exciting afternoon doing needlework (ouch!), filling baskets with flowers and mindlessly rocking dolls. "Pssss... hey Tommy, it's me!" a familiar voice whispers from the window. Checking to see if the coast is clear, Tomasina makes her way over, grateful to see her nerdy best pal Harold. At least, she is at first…
"Harold, how could you be so stupid?”
"I dunno. But you know me and pretty girls...I couldn't believe she was letting me get to first base!”
Tommy rolls her eyes. She's been here before with Harold, and it just ticks her off. "You'll never learn, will you? Romance is for schmucks! It's just like Cher says in that ‘Moonstruck’ movie – ‘snap out of it!’ Besides, a boy your age shouldn't have his head in the clouds. You should always know what you're doing... and where your wallet is!"
"I can't believe she ripped me off. And in the middle of this killer kiss!”
As grateful as she is to her best bud in general, Tommy has little patience with this sort of foolishness. As a matter of fact, it actually brings out the worst in her.
“What?!" Harold bellows. "You're not gonna lend me some extra bucks till payday?? How am I going to survive?"
"That's your problem, Harold," Tommy replies coldly, her arms folded. "This is for your own good. Letting girls take advantage of you is dumb, dumb, dumb! You need to be taught a lesson you’ll never forget, and I can't think of a better way of doing it.”
"Tommy!" poor Harold whines. "You're killing me!”
"Stop griping already. Be a man, like me!" Tommy says snippily, unconsciously rocking her doll. Tough love, she thinks to herself. It's sure not easy, but somehow Harold has to be taught that daydreaming is a luxury he literally can't afford. Crushed, laid low by romance once again, the nerdy teen faces a whole month without comic book money!
The day of the Lincoln Heights High race arrives with glorious sunshine and a solid turnout. Tommy Boyd is getting herself ready for some serious running, and has her numbered top and shorts on. She heads out from the dressing room towards the seating area to put on her sneakers. Obsessed with the athletic challenge ahead, Tommy cannot help imagining what a high-profile victory would be like. She hears the cheer of the crowd, pictures her overjoyed dad, Colonel Boyd, standing and applauding her spectacular performance! Eyes shut idyllically, fists-on-hips in an instinctive, confident and heroic pose, Tommy's in another world for a few minutes…
And that's all the time it takes for disaster to strike. Hiding underneath the bench are none other than those disreputable local trouble-makers, Boyd’s arch-enemies Frankie and Pimples! Up to no good as usual, they quietly snicker, then carefully swap out shoes, replacing the girl athlete’s foot attire with an identical pair. Finally breaking out of her victory reverie, Tommy automatically puts on the tainted shoes without a second thought, even as the dastardly duo wriggle away with her original pair...
As the runners gather near the starting line, Tommy limbers up for the challenge ahead. The well-developed girl athlete does a quick and impressive workout, even as some of her fellow male athletes sneer and leer. Ignoring their sexist jokes, Ms. Boyd continues to flex… and is clearly at the peak of her powers. Looking like a haughty young Amazon, Tommy basks in the glory of this well-covered race, and can't wait to strut her considerable stuff. In regressive Lincoln Heights, of course, female athletes are viewed as troublesome deviants, irritating cases of arrested development in desperate need of strict disciplining. More than half the people in the stands clearly consider Boyd 'comedy relief' for today's game; the rest just shake their heads, expecting her to learn a much-needed lesson when the boys inevitably run her into the ground. As always, Marcia Sloan exploits this credibility issue, hoping to nudge Tommy out of local sports and eliminate the threat TB poses to her boyfriend and partner-in-success, rival athlete and fellow runner Chad Parker. An overconfident tomboy beat a male athlete of his caliber? Sure, and the Yankees face a stiff threat from Little League!
Tommy has been dealing with this sort of chauvinism her whole life, of course, and easily laughs their attitude off. "The puritans of this town expect me to wear a dress and put on globs of make-up, just to attract guys," Tommy had told Jack Healy, one of the reporters, earlier that morning. "Damn it, I'm rugged! Tough as any man. I don't even shave my legs or wax my forearms. Ha! So much for the happy homemaker!”
Indeed, Boyd's natural peach fuzz seems to shimmer in the morning sun as the nubile young woman crouches in position, her lean muscular shoulders on full display. Watching TV coverage of the local event at the Proper Little Miss Finishing School, Headmistress Merribrook is absolutely horrified. How many different ways does her oldest (and most difficult) charge intend to behave like a boisterous boy, and in public? If anything, this sports-addicted misfit is becoming even more defiant and less controllable. And competing against men in strenuous athletic events? Ughh!
Finally, the moment everyone has been waiting for is at hand. With a BANG, the track-suited athletes of Lincoln Heights are all off and running! Confident of victory, Tommy Boyd blasts away from the starting line. As the crowd cheers, pistoning arms and legs propel the young female to impressive speeds. It isn't long before Tommy has past most of her opponents, and is actually about to take charge of the race. "Oh, this has got to be some kind of put-on," a middle-aged housewife tells her husband in the stands. "She wasn't supposed to be in this race to begin with. Those boys must be letting her win." Her bespectacled husband nods in agreement. It is, after all, the only gallant thing to do.
But Tommy doesn't give a damn what anyone thinks. Once again she is beating the boys at their own game, and looking absolutely great doing it! With a huge grin on her face and a spirit that can't help soaring, she continues putting distance between herself and her adversaries.
And then something happens…
About two minutes into the run, Tommy finds herself feeling inexplicably weak, as if she were wearing lead weights. The female dynamo looks at her shoes; they appear to be the same brand she always wears. Soon she is seriously overheating, and even sweating profusely. But the determined, plucky young athlete pushes herself onward…
Boyd’s strength and endurance take a severe beating because of the tampered footwear. But to all observers, it looks like Tommy simply hasn't the stamina to get through a strenuous race. Sure enough, the crowd begins to giggle openly at this "silly girl trying to run like a boy." Marcia beams… her sabotage plan is coming together perfectly! In spite of this dramatic, inexplicable setback, Tommy tells herself "it will pass." She stalwartly grabs another revitalizing sports drink, handed to her like all the other runners in this competition.
Meanwhile, Pimples and Frankie are parked on the top of the bleachers; they share a pair of binoculars, handing them back and forth. “Yup, she’s losing steam, you can see the sweat pouring down her face!” a grinning Pimples reports to his pal. “Gimme that!” shouts Frankie, snatching the binoculars. “Ha! Look at that stupid cow go! The more she runs, the more she saps her own strength. This is hilarious!”
Pimples takes a sip of his soda, then wonders aloud if Tommy has figured out that her sports drinks have been replaced with flavored water, in addition to the rubber insides of her sneakers being rigged with lead weights. Frankie stares at the running teenage girl, now super-sweaty and clearly in trouble, and tells him with a snicker that he didn’t think so.
"Wha-What's wrong with me?" Tommy says aloud, now fully stunned by her inexplicable exhaustion. Watching from the stands, Marcia Sloan can't resist breaking into the biggest of grins…
The sneaker sabotage continues to take its toll. Tommy rounds the track and grabs her “revitalizing drinks,” but they don’t seem to be doing much good. Meanwhile, arch-rival Chad runs at an easy gait right beside her. “Losing your touch, Steroid Girl?" he sneers. "Maybe it’s about time you stopped trying to be something you’re not...!” Tormented Tommy pushes herself even harder, but soon realizes that nearly everyone in the stands, a group that ranges from schoolkids to elderly onlookers, is beginning to taunt her. It's almost as if she were a deliberate amusement, a clownish character added by the promoters to make the race more colorful. What an unfortunate turn of events!
TO BE CONTINUED…
Sometimes fate seems to favor nasty old Marcia. While Tommy is in training for this high-speed event, she’s forced to work out in the dorky Little Miss outfit for her lessons in etiquette, so she is never late returning to PLM. This uniform, designed for pre-teens, is composed of pink ruffled bloomers, white pleated skirt with pink crinoline underneath to puff it out, and a pink satin schoolgirl shirt with short sleeves. Low-heel, shiny strapped shoes finish it off. By startling contrast, Tommy wears heavy-duty power sneakers during the arduous outdoor practice, which are the only things that she has time to switch into.
Looking ridiculous but certainly game, super-athletic Tommy practices on the field, first doing her warm up stretches, and then her running stretches on the bar. As fate (and a Marcia phone call) would have it, local toughs Frankie and Pimples arrive on the scene, and seat themselves down on the bleachers, eating burgers and fries. They spy Tommy and hoot and holler at the hybrid athlete/schoolgirl, making fun of her from time to time, with comments like “Why don’t you go home and play with your dollies?” “Love your uniform, little girlie!” “Since when did they allow a skirt to enter the marathon?” “Why don’t you come over to my house and do my dishes?” “No, no – come to my place and cook us dinner!” “Nah – she can do my laundry, like a proper girl!”
The two laugh themselves silly, as Tommy’s anger grows and grows...
When Boyd circles under the bleachers, Frankie takes aim and dumps the last of his soda on top of the running girl's head! “You son-of-a- HEYY!” yells Tommy, her hair now wet with the stuff. Frankie leans over for a better look, laughing like crazy. Big mistake. Tommy simply reaches up, and yanks him down the side of the bleachers. While he’s struggling to get up, she pulls his jacket off, and uses it to wipe the soda out of her hair.
Watching all this and getting mighty pissed off, rampaging Pimples leaps out of the stands with a vengeance. The hulking creepizoid makes a swing at his nubile adversary, but she deftly sidesteps him. Tommy quickly wraps the grabbed jacket around one of his legs, taking him down to the ground. Then a voice catches her attention: “Boyd, ya stupid broad, I want my jacket back!” yells Frankie, as Tommy readies for his charge. Sure enough, Frankie runs towards her, even as Tommy tosses his jacket into his face, which slows him down. Tommy drops and does a textbook leg sweep, taking him down onto the ground. Then she retrieves the tossed-about jacket… and finishes drying her hair off with it!
Pimples suddenly dives for her legs, barely missing her as Tommy jumps up, grabbing the bottom of the bleachers and swinging there for a moment, like an all-powerful Queen Kong. When Pimples does looks up, she drops down on top of him, punching him in the face several times. “Say, this is fun!" the T-babe laughs. "Now stay down, little boy--!”.
Finally, Frankie jumps on the fighting girl’s back, assuming that his superior mass will overwhelm her. But Tommy manages to spin him about from left to right, and he gradually loses his grip. After turning things around with some deft acrobatics, she pins the sucker down, and POW! delivers her patented Tommy Boyd ‘perfect shiner’! Frankie screams as Tommy twists his sore arm, forced to yell that he and his equally exhausted cohort “give up".
Basking in her triumph, Tommy tosses Frankie’s soda-stained jacket on top of him, leaving both of her battered attackers to nurse their bruised male egos. “See ya next time, boys!” the oddly-attired lady athlete taunts. With a pert, sly smile and an explosion of female giggles, Tommy gleefully wipes her shoes off on the fallen bullies, snags their bag of fries, then triumphantly saunters away while snacking on the treats.
Yes!!!
Setting: Proper Little Miss Finishing School. After her spirited field workout, Tommy spends the rest of her decidedly less-exciting afternoon doing needlework (ouch!), filling baskets with flowers and mindlessly rocking dolls. "Pssss... hey Tommy, it's me!" a familiar voice whispers from the window. Checking to see if the coast is clear, Tomasina makes her way over, grateful to see her nerdy best pal Harold. At least, she is at first…
"Harold, how could you be so stupid?”
"I dunno. But you know me and pretty girls...I couldn't believe she was letting me get to first base!”
Tommy rolls her eyes. She's been here before with Harold, and it just ticks her off. "You'll never learn, will you? Romance is for schmucks! It's just like Cher says in that ‘Moonstruck’ movie – ‘snap out of it!’ Besides, a boy your age shouldn't have his head in the clouds. You should always know what you're doing... and where your wallet is!"
"I can't believe she ripped me off. And in the middle of this killer kiss!”
As grateful as she is to her best bud in general, Tommy has little patience with this sort of foolishness. As a matter of fact, it actually brings out the worst in her.
“What?!" Harold bellows. "You're not gonna lend me some extra bucks till payday?? How am I going to survive?"
"That's your problem, Harold," Tommy replies coldly, her arms folded. "This is for your own good. Letting girls take advantage of you is dumb, dumb, dumb! You need to be taught a lesson you’ll never forget, and I can't think of a better way of doing it.”
"Tommy!" poor Harold whines. "You're killing me!”
"Stop griping already. Be a man, like me!" Tommy says snippily, unconsciously rocking her doll. Tough love, she thinks to herself. It's sure not easy, but somehow Harold has to be taught that daydreaming is a luxury he literally can't afford. Crushed, laid low by romance once again, the nerdy teen faces a whole month without comic book money!
The day of the Lincoln Heights High race arrives with glorious sunshine and a solid turnout. Tommy Boyd is getting herself ready for some serious running, and has her numbered top and shorts on. She heads out from the dressing room towards the seating area to put on her sneakers. Obsessed with the athletic challenge ahead, Tommy cannot help imagining what a high-profile victory would be like. She hears the cheer of the crowd, pictures her overjoyed dad, Colonel Boyd, standing and applauding her spectacular performance! Eyes shut idyllically, fists-on-hips in an instinctive, confident and heroic pose, Tommy's in another world for a few minutes…
And that's all the time it takes for disaster to strike. Hiding underneath the bench are none other than those disreputable local trouble-makers, Boyd’s arch-enemies Frankie and Pimples! Up to no good as usual, they quietly snicker, then carefully swap out shoes, replacing the girl athlete’s foot attire with an identical pair. Finally breaking out of her victory reverie, Tommy automatically puts on the tainted shoes without a second thought, even as the dastardly duo wriggle away with her original pair...
As the runners gather near the starting line, Tommy limbers up for the challenge ahead. The well-developed girl athlete does a quick and impressive workout, even as some of her fellow male athletes sneer and leer. Ignoring their sexist jokes, Ms. Boyd continues to flex… and is clearly at the peak of her powers. Looking like a haughty young Amazon, Tommy basks in the glory of this well-covered race, and can't wait to strut her considerable stuff. In regressive Lincoln Heights, of course, female athletes are viewed as troublesome deviants, irritating cases of arrested development in desperate need of strict disciplining. More than half the people in the stands clearly consider Boyd 'comedy relief' for today's game; the rest just shake their heads, expecting her to learn a much-needed lesson when the boys inevitably run her into the ground. As always, Marcia Sloan exploits this credibility issue, hoping to nudge Tommy out of local sports and eliminate the threat TB poses to her boyfriend and partner-in-success, rival athlete and fellow runner Chad Parker. An overconfident tomboy beat a male athlete of his caliber? Sure, and the Yankees face a stiff threat from Little League!
Tommy has been dealing with this sort of chauvinism her whole life, of course, and easily laughs their attitude off. "The puritans of this town expect me to wear a dress and put on globs of make-up, just to attract guys," Tommy had told Jack Healy, one of the reporters, earlier that morning. "Damn it, I'm rugged! Tough as any man. I don't even shave my legs or wax my forearms. Ha! So much for the happy homemaker!”
Indeed, Boyd's natural peach fuzz seems to shimmer in the morning sun as the nubile young woman crouches in position, her lean muscular shoulders on full display. Watching TV coverage of the local event at the Proper Little Miss Finishing School, Headmistress Merribrook is absolutely horrified. How many different ways does her oldest (and most difficult) charge intend to behave like a boisterous boy, and in public? If anything, this sports-addicted misfit is becoming even more defiant and less controllable. And competing against men in strenuous athletic events? Ughh!
Finally, the moment everyone has been waiting for is at hand. With a BANG, the track-suited athletes of Lincoln Heights are all off and running! Confident of victory, Tommy Boyd blasts away from the starting line. As the crowd cheers, pistoning arms and legs propel the young female to impressive speeds. It isn't long before Tommy has past most of her opponents, and is actually about to take charge of the race. "Oh, this has got to be some kind of put-on," a middle-aged housewife tells her husband in the stands. "She wasn't supposed to be in this race to begin with. Those boys must be letting her win." Her bespectacled husband nods in agreement. It is, after all, the only gallant thing to do.
But Tommy doesn't give a damn what anyone thinks. Once again she is beating the boys at their own game, and looking absolutely great doing it! With a huge grin on her face and a spirit that can't help soaring, she continues putting distance between herself and her adversaries.
And then something happens…
About two minutes into the run, Tommy finds herself feeling inexplicably weak, as if she were wearing lead weights. The female dynamo looks at her shoes; they appear to be the same brand she always wears. Soon she is seriously overheating, and even sweating profusely. But the determined, plucky young athlete pushes herself onward…
Boyd’s strength and endurance take a severe beating because of the tampered footwear. But to all observers, it looks like Tommy simply hasn't the stamina to get through a strenuous race. Sure enough, the crowd begins to giggle openly at this "silly girl trying to run like a boy." Marcia beams… her sabotage plan is coming together perfectly! In spite of this dramatic, inexplicable setback, Tommy tells herself "it will pass." She stalwartly grabs another revitalizing sports drink, handed to her like all the other runners in this competition.
Meanwhile, Pimples and Frankie are parked on the top of the bleachers; they share a pair of binoculars, handing them back and forth. “Yup, she’s losing steam, you can see the sweat pouring down her face!” a grinning Pimples reports to his pal. “Gimme that!” shouts Frankie, snatching the binoculars. “Ha! Look at that stupid cow go! The more she runs, the more she saps her own strength. This is hilarious!”
Pimples takes a sip of his soda, then wonders aloud if Tommy has figured out that her sports drinks have been replaced with flavored water, in addition to the rubber insides of her sneakers being rigged with lead weights. Frankie stares at the running teenage girl, now super-sweaty and clearly in trouble, and tells him with a snicker that he didn’t think so.
"Wha-What's wrong with me?" Tommy says aloud, now fully stunned by her inexplicable exhaustion. Watching from the stands, Marcia Sloan can't resist breaking into the biggest of grins…
The sneaker sabotage continues to take its toll. Tommy rounds the track and grabs her “revitalizing drinks,” but they don’t seem to be doing much good. Meanwhile, arch-rival Chad runs at an easy gait right beside her. “Losing your touch, Steroid Girl?" he sneers. "Maybe it’s about time you stopped trying to be something you’re not...!” Tormented Tommy pushes herself even harder, but soon realizes that nearly everyone in the stands, a group that ranges from schoolkids to elderly onlookers, is beginning to taunt her. It's almost as if she were a deliberate amusement, a clownish character added by the promoters to make the race more colorful. What an unfortunate turn of events!
TO BE CONTINUED…
- Attachments
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- "No boy can beat me!" TB thinks to herself, ready to smoke the Lincoln Heights competition. She's in for quite a surprise...
- 8. %22No Boy Can Beat Me!%22.jpg (63.91 KiB) Viewed 3217 times
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Dr. Grizzard
- Neophyte Lvl 2
- Posts: 17
- Joined: 12 years ago
Mastermind behind Tommy’s shoe sabotage, Marcia Sloan is the wicked, Chad-promoting schemer who hired Frankie and Pimples to do her dirty work (as usual), and is now choreographing the tomboy’s running debacle in every precious detail.
Using her feminine wiles, Marcia easily manipulates local news reporters, currently preparing for post-race interviews, into pointing their cameras at the now-pathetically-pumping female runner. Then she springs the next phase of her ultra-mean scheme: “As you've probably suspected, just a little comedy relief, fellows… here’s a local tomboy who refuses to grow up and simply insists on embarrassing herself. I'm afraid it’s painfully obvious that this perspiring 'buckaroo' hasn't the strength or the stamina to compete in a race designed for males…" The veteran crew members chuckle, nodding their heads in agreement, and Jack Healy, the reporter who spoke with Tommy before the race began, chimes in with his two cents. "I thought she was a little weird when I interviewed her earlier," he mentions to the crowd. "She was actually proud of the fact that she doesn't shave her body hair. Can you imagine? This wacky girl not only acts like a boy, she thinks she is one!"
"Heavens, how repulsive!" Marcia responds, shaking her head. "But there is a positive side to this unfortunate situation. We’ve recently enrolled Tomasina at the Proper Little Miss Finishing School, a very strict and conservative institution with little patience for her brand of tomfoolery. There, she is carefully educated in sensible and far more realistic feminine endeavors.”
“Oh really?” a photographer chuckles. “That include proper etiquette?”
Laughter from the group brings a smile to Ms. Sloan's face. “Yes, amazingly enough!” she chuckles. “But I’m afraid we’ll need some serious re-programming techniques to fully achieve that!”
"Sounds logical on the surface, but how come they let her compete against boys today, in front of everyone? She made a complete jackass of herself," Healy points out.
"No pain, no gain, as Tomasina might put it” grins Marcia, ready with a reasonable-sounding answer. “Ignominious failure is the best instructor I know. Seriously gentlemen, there’s a method to this seeming madness. By allowing an overgrown tomboy to compete against legitimate male runners and fall on her face, so to speak, she'll learn for herself how foolish it is to resist adulthood and social maturity. Sooner or later, Tomasina's bound to accept the incontestable reality of her sex, instead of arrogantly fighting against it.”
Meanwhile, poor Tommy finally limps to the finish line in front of a jeering audience. She just stands there for a while, bent over, gasping for breath. On top of her game as usual, Marcia brings the camera crew over for some spiteful coverage. "It's humiliating, of course," she explains, still chatting with the assembled reporters. "But let's face it, some headstrong youngsters simply have to learn their lessons the hard way.”
Nearby and grinning from ear-to-ear, the Chad man himself, winner of the race, can't resist chiming in with a zinger aimed at his besieged opponent. “If you can’t keep up," he tells her, "then maybe you should retire to your knitting needles, Grandma!”
Everyone considers this a very funny joke. Except Tommy.
“Aww, I’m sorry,” adds Parker in a phony conciliatory voice, almost completely reversing himself. “You have a lot of spunk, fellow athlete. I might even say you’re quite a guy. Here, have a refreshing drink…” Still dazed, Tommy cautiously accepts the much-wanted sports drink. But – SHIT! – it turns out to be saltwater She instantly spits the burning liquid at Chad, who roars with laughter.
Furious, Tommy can't stop herself from taking a swing at the obnoxious sports hero. “Oh ho, what have we here!” an overjoyed Parker laughs, easily grabbing the exhausted tomboy’s wrists and twisting her arms behind her back. “Uhhhh!!!” Tommy grunts, squirming helplessly in his powerful grip. Making matters worse, Frankie, Pimples and their floozy girlfriends happen to saunter over. “Hey guys – catch!” shouts Chad, as he tosses the powered-down, rag doll runner into the arms of her laughing arch-enemies. Watching and delighted with juicy propaganda possibilities, Marcia simply shakes her head. “What did I tell you?” she informs the still-gathered reporters. “Unable to face her natural limitations, our stubborn little tomboy has lost all control. She’s actually started a fight with one of her running mates!”
“I wouldn’t worry,” a bemused Jack Healy comments. “I have a feeling this ‘fight’ won’t last very long!”
Poor Tommy! Her strength reduced as a result of the weighed-down track shoes, she is helpless in the hands of her perennial enemies, Frankie and Pimples. Taking full advantage, they put on a wild, slapstick-style show for onlookers, dehumanizing the fighting female into a clownish prop. At one point, Pimples holds Boyd at bay with an extended, stiff arm-to-forehead; like a cute cartoon character, Tommy swings her little mitts furiously and wildly, never once connecting.
“Oh, look at that!” laughs an almost giddy Marcia, now standing by the punch table as Chad sneaks a beer. “How precious! And how extremely fortunate the news crew just happened to be in the vicinity…” Indeed, reporter Healy, who had covered Tommy’s feminist rant earlier in the day, is now getting pictures and videos of her apparent “tomboy tantrum.” Finally tired of the stiff-arm gag, a bored Pimples shoves the still-swinging Tommy away like a bothersome monkey. Thrown into Frankie's waiting arms, the laughing JD swings her around ("WWWWWhhhhhhhoooooooaaaaaaaaaa----!!!!") on a dizzying mini-journey. Finally, the girl athlete lands with a SPLAT, face first, in an especially gloppy cake that sits on a nearby picnic table.
That tears it. Just about everyone present is in near hysterics, and Healy moves in for a tighter, even funnier shot. Powerful arms draped around the edge of the table, Tommy Boyd is barely conscious. But she manages to lift her groggy head up from the creamy, pasty picnic treat... which is so sticky, it actually adheres to her runner's headband and pulls it downward, right in the middle of her face. The girl's vision is momentarily obscured, and, dazed and open-mouthed, she haplessly tries to get her bearings. More uproarious laughter from gathered onlookers greets this crazy scene.
A towel is tossed in front of Tommy. She takes the thing and energetically wipes her face with it, but Pimples, sneaking up from behind, suddenly grabs the unsuspecting tomboy by the neck and proceeds to throttle her! Her face totally obscured by the towel, poor Tommy is almost a comical figure as she struggles pathetically in Pimples’ powerful grip. Finally, only an elbow jab to his ribs slows the gorilla-man down. Tommy whips the towel from her face, grabs at her abused throat as she coughs and coughs. Then –
WHOP! A perfect right from Frankie sends the still-recovering girl athlete flying straight into Pimples’ waiting arms. He straightens up the stunned babe for a second… Hair mused, eyes-crossed from the wallop and other recent abuse, Tommy’s barely conscious as her laughing enemies grab her by the arms and “escort” her into one of the private rooms beyond the picnic tents.
TO BE CONTINUED…
Using her feminine wiles, Marcia easily manipulates local news reporters, currently preparing for post-race interviews, into pointing their cameras at the now-pathetically-pumping female runner. Then she springs the next phase of her ultra-mean scheme: “As you've probably suspected, just a little comedy relief, fellows… here’s a local tomboy who refuses to grow up and simply insists on embarrassing herself. I'm afraid it’s painfully obvious that this perspiring 'buckaroo' hasn't the strength or the stamina to compete in a race designed for males…" The veteran crew members chuckle, nodding their heads in agreement, and Jack Healy, the reporter who spoke with Tommy before the race began, chimes in with his two cents. "I thought she was a little weird when I interviewed her earlier," he mentions to the crowd. "She was actually proud of the fact that she doesn't shave her body hair. Can you imagine? This wacky girl not only acts like a boy, she thinks she is one!"
"Heavens, how repulsive!" Marcia responds, shaking her head. "But there is a positive side to this unfortunate situation. We’ve recently enrolled Tomasina at the Proper Little Miss Finishing School, a very strict and conservative institution with little patience for her brand of tomfoolery. There, she is carefully educated in sensible and far more realistic feminine endeavors.”
“Oh really?” a photographer chuckles. “That include proper etiquette?”
Laughter from the group brings a smile to Ms. Sloan's face. “Yes, amazingly enough!” she chuckles. “But I’m afraid we’ll need some serious re-programming techniques to fully achieve that!”
"Sounds logical on the surface, but how come they let her compete against boys today, in front of everyone? She made a complete jackass of herself," Healy points out.
"No pain, no gain, as Tomasina might put it” grins Marcia, ready with a reasonable-sounding answer. “Ignominious failure is the best instructor I know. Seriously gentlemen, there’s a method to this seeming madness. By allowing an overgrown tomboy to compete against legitimate male runners and fall on her face, so to speak, she'll learn for herself how foolish it is to resist adulthood and social maturity. Sooner or later, Tomasina's bound to accept the incontestable reality of her sex, instead of arrogantly fighting against it.”
Meanwhile, poor Tommy finally limps to the finish line in front of a jeering audience. She just stands there for a while, bent over, gasping for breath. On top of her game as usual, Marcia brings the camera crew over for some spiteful coverage. "It's humiliating, of course," she explains, still chatting with the assembled reporters. "But let's face it, some headstrong youngsters simply have to learn their lessons the hard way.”
Nearby and grinning from ear-to-ear, the Chad man himself, winner of the race, can't resist chiming in with a zinger aimed at his besieged opponent. “If you can’t keep up," he tells her, "then maybe you should retire to your knitting needles, Grandma!”
Everyone considers this a very funny joke. Except Tommy.
“Aww, I’m sorry,” adds Parker in a phony conciliatory voice, almost completely reversing himself. “You have a lot of spunk, fellow athlete. I might even say you’re quite a guy. Here, have a refreshing drink…” Still dazed, Tommy cautiously accepts the much-wanted sports drink. But – SHIT! – it turns out to be saltwater She instantly spits the burning liquid at Chad, who roars with laughter.
Furious, Tommy can't stop herself from taking a swing at the obnoxious sports hero. “Oh ho, what have we here!” an overjoyed Parker laughs, easily grabbing the exhausted tomboy’s wrists and twisting her arms behind her back. “Uhhhh!!!” Tommy grunts, squirming helplessly in his powerful grip. Making matters worse, Frankie, Pimples and their floozy girlfriends happen to saunter over. “Hey guys – catch!” shouts Chad, as he tosses the powered-down, rag doll runner into the arms of her laughing arch-enemies. Watching and delighted with juicy propaganda possibilities, Marcia simply shakes her head. “What did I tell you?” she informs the still-gathered reporters. “Unable to face her natural limitations, our stubborn little tomboy has lost all control. She’s actually started a fight with one of her running mates!”
“I wouldn’t worry,” a bemused Jack Healy comments. “I have a feeling this ‘fight’ won’t last very long!”
Poor Tommy! Her strength reduced as a result of the weighed-down track shoes, she is helpless in the hands of her perennial enemies, Frankie and Pimples. Taking full advantage, they put on a wild, slapstick-style show for onlookers, dehumanizing the fighting female into a clownish prop. At one point, Pimples holds Boyd at bay with an extended, stiff arm-to-forehead; like a cute cartoon character, Tommy swings her little mitts furiously and wildly, never once connecting.
“Oh, look at that!” laughs an almost giddy Marcia, now standing by the punch table as Chad sneaks a beer. “How precious! And how extremely fortunate the news crew just happened to be in the vicinity…” Indeed, reporter Healy, who had covered Tommy’s feminist rant earlier in the day, is now getting pictures and videos of her apparent “tomboy tantrum.” Finally tired of the stiff-arm gag, a bored Pimples shoves the still-swinging Tommy away like a bothersome monkey. Thrown into Frankie's waiting arms, the laughing JD swings her around ("WWWWWhhhhhhhoooooooaaaaaaaaaa----!!!!") on a dizzying mini-journey. Finally, the girl athlete lands with a SPLAT, face first, in an especially gloppy cake that sits on a nearby picnic table.
That tears it. Just about everyone present is in near hysterics, and Healy moves in for a tighter, even funnier shot. Powerful arms draped around the edge of the table, Tommy Boyd is barely conscious. But she manages to lift her groggy head up from the creamy, pasty picnic treat... which is so sticky, it actually adheres to her runner's headband and pulls it downward, right in the middle of her face. The girl's vision is momentarily obscured, and, dazed and open-mouthed, she haplessly tries to get her bearings. More uproarious laughter from gathered onlookers greets this crazy scene.
A towel is tossed in front of Tommy. She takes the thing and energetically wipes her face with it, but Pimples, sneaking up from behind, suddenly grabs the unsuspecting tomboy by the neck and proceeds to throttle her! Her face totally obscured by the towel, poor Tommy is almost a comical figure as she struggles pathetically in Pimples’ powerful grip. Finally, only an elbow jab to his ribs slows the gorilla-man down. Tommy whips the towel from her face, grabs at her abused throat as she coughs and coughs. Then –
WHOP! A perfect right from Frankie sends the still-recovering girl athlete flying straight into Pimples’ waiting arms. He straightens up the stunned babe for a second… Hair mused, eyes-crossed from the wallop and other recent abuse, Tommy’s barely conscious as her laughing enemies grab her by the arms and “escort” her into one of the private rooms beyond the picnic tents.
TO BE CONTINUED…
- Attachments
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- Helpless as a rag doll, Tommy Boyd is swung around by Pimples before she lands, face-down, in a gloppy picnic cake!
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Dr. Grizzard
- Neophyte Lvl 2
- Posts: 17
- Joined: 12 years ago
- Overpowered by her creepy adversaries, Tommy's world-class mammaries become sexy playthings.
- TB_HorizontalBoobies.jpg (24.87 KiB) Viewed 3573 times
“Comfy, bitch?”
“You bastard! Get off of me!!”
“I don’t think so,” grins the Frank man, as buddy Pimples walks over with a cup of vanilla ice cream and a plastic spoon in his hand. “You have to be taught a lesson for messing up my jacket last time we met, right Pimp?”
“Absolutely,” responds Pimples, pounding down his snack. “That’s the only way kids learn. My dad used to tell me that right after he gave me a shellacking.”
Frankie practically drools over the magnificent mammaries in his midst. “Yeah, but this ain’t no kid anymore. Haven’t you noticed?”
With that, he grabs both of Tommy’s funbags and squeezes them like clay, molding the ample virgin’s nipples to mini-missile proportions.
“Uuuuuuggggghhhhh!!!” grunts the restrained female athlete, humiliated and aroused at the same time. “This’ll teach you your place, dyke,” sneers Frankie as he continues to work the young woman’s breasts with reckless abandon. Then, his eyes light up with an idea…
“Hey, Pimps. Wanna try something. Come over here and grab this cow’s tits.”
Pimples shrugs. “Sure. Sounds easy enough.”
“You sons-of-bitches!” Tommy spews at her gloating enemies, slamming her head back-and-forth.
“Okay. Got ‘em.”
“Get your filthy hands off of me, you scumbag!”
“Great,” Frankie answers his friend. “Now let’s give this a shot…” With Pimples holding Tommy’s boobs firmly, Frankie grabs her elongated, thoroughly-aroused nipples…
“Pervert! Sick bastard! When I get my hands on -- !”
…and actually manages to tie these sexy extensions together! Amazingly, the very second this join is made, Tommy’s angry rant ceases. Somehow neutralized, she enters into a glazed-out stupor, not quite unconscious but completely passive and immobile.
“Ha! Thought so!” Frankie grins, satisfied with himself as he climbs off of Tommy and takes a look at his handiwork.
“Whaddja do to shut her up?”
“Don’t cha get it? This idiot’s body and brain are like, at war with each other. Tying the bitch’s nipples together has put her on ‘slow burn,” Frankie explains. “She’s tame as a kitten now.”
“That’s cool, man,” Pimples concludes. Maybe we should -- holy Jesus!” he laughs, noticing something and pointing downward. “I think Vesuvius just blew!”
Sure enough, Tommy’s exposed pussy is secreting pungent female juice with primal ferocity, perhaps as a reaction to her tied-off tits. The boys look away from comatose Boyd’s upper body and crowd around her cunt.
“Awwww, ain’t that cute?” Frankie says sarcastically.
“Cute?” responds Pimple, glancing at the tomboy’s dense, curly, re-grown bush. “It’s like the forest primeval all over again. Didn’t we shave this monkey when we first brought her to Proper Little Miss?”
“Well hair grows, Einstein,” comments Frankie with an exasperated shake of his head. “This dyke thinks she’s a boy, so she’s never gonna shave on her own.”
“Okay, so who’s got the shaving cream?”
“She does.”
“Huh?”
“Here, live and learn,” advises Frankie like a long-suffering schoolteacher. Without thinking twice, he casually shoves his hand into Tommy’s cunt and grabs a nice handful of her juices. Although still comatose because of her tied-off tits, glazed-over Tommy nevertheless reacts to this graceless assault with a brief crossing of her eyes, before hey settle back into their vacant state. At the same time, the young girl’s breasts, puffing to enormous proportions the more helpless Tommy is raped/aroused, strain those tied nipples of hers to the max…
In lower regions, Frankie removes his now-creamy hand from Tommy’s virgin pussy and runs the stuff all over the girl athlete’s curly bush, saturating it within seconds.
Pimples, meantime, with a nasty grin, pulls out his pocket switchblade… It’s usually a nasty, formidable weapon when fighting an opponent, but at the moment…
…it’s simply a handy tool to shear their comatose tomboy. Pimples grins as he slides the blade across his adversary’s most delicate and personal regions, collecting a huge ball of cum-soaked public hair. Zoned-out Tommy, arms at her sides, is like a sheep being shorn of her wool.
“Gimme that,” Frankie chimes in, now holding his buddy’s ice cream cup and spoon. He collects all of Tommy’s pubic-cum into the cup.
“What are ya gonna do with that shit?”
“Test out a theory. C’mere…”
The boys leave Tommy’s now thoroughly-shaved pussy as her inviting vagina lips continue to pucker and coo sweetly, discharging juice with a steady, stop-and-go flow…
“I was readin’ about this old myth, y’know, about the Amazons,” Frankie tells his pal as they hover over vacant Tommy and her tied-off boobs. “They were like a race of ancient dykes who thought they were as good as men. So when they got conquered, the Romans or whatever fed these brainless bimbos their own pubic hair. That’s what tamed them, according to the legend. It kinda destroyed their self-confidence from within.”
“Cool story,” Pimples shakes his head. “You think that’ll work on Boyd.”
“Who the hell knows, but it’ll be fun giving it a shot…” With that, and laughter from both guys, Frankie spoons Tommy’s own cum-soaked public hair into her mouth, holding the young woman’s nose up as he does.
“There you go baby, take it all in…” Frankie says aloud. “You’ll be a new bitch in no time.”
Finishing feeding the cup’s contents to Tommy, Frankie grins as Pimples takes the spoon from him. “Here, I’ll help wash that down…”
Pimples enthusiastically shoves the plastic spoon into Tommy’s pussy, scooping up as much cum as he can. Once again, comatose Tommy’s eyes cross, then settle back again. And now there’s an additional reaction…
The teenage girl’s breasts, aroused off the scale by non-stop manhandling, expand so dramatically that they cause the tied nipples to detach from each other. Relieved from the pressure, both enormous, magnificently-shaped mounds bounce back into their normal positions.
“That’s convenient,” comments Frankie almost nonchalantly. Then he grabs the young woman’s huge funbags and begins mauling them again.
Returning with a dripping, over-filled spoon, the Pimp takes TB’s pert little nose, pulls it up and carefully spoons a fluid glob of her female juices directly into her mouth. Since there’s no public hair in this spoonfull, it actually does help the previous “meal” go down a bit easier. Pimples then takes Tommy by her pretty, slightly cleft chin, and stares admiringly at the still-entranced girl’s genuinely beautiful features. A second later he engulfs her with the biggest, most insistent slobbery kiss on the West Coast.
It’s quite a sight. Just a few days ago Tommy the tomboy was using Frankie and Pimples as living punching bags, having the time of her young life in a one-sided fight. Now, both JDs are going to town on their defeated enemy, Frankie squeezing her boobs in every possible configuration, while, a few feet away, Pimples concentrates on sustained mouth-to-mouth slobbering.
B-R-R-R-R-I-I-I-I-I-N-N-N-N-G-G0-G-!!!
It’s Frankie’s cell phone. Slightly annoyed, he takes the call, holding his phone in one hand, savagely massaging one of Tommy’s breasts with the other. “Yeah… Oh hi honey, right. Did you guys have a good time? That’s nice. Yeah… We’re just about finished here. Once we drop the retard off at that girlie school we’ll have the rest of the day together. That’s right. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Love you too, sweets. Bye.”
He hangs up. “Okay pal, we’ve wasted enough time,” the Frank man concludes pragmatically. “Let’s dump this spaced-out bitch in the trunk and get going.”
“Should you tie-off her boobs again?” Pimples asks, somewhat understandably. “I mean, if the dyke wakes up…”
“Nah, I think she’ll be all right,” he concludes with a grin. “There’s enough pubic shit and cum in this bitch to keep her tamed for the next few hours. At least according to that old myth. C’mon, let’s get movin’…”
TO BE CONTINUED...
-
Dr. Grizzard
- Neophyte Lvl 2
- Posts: 17
- Joined: 12 years ago
Talk about humiliation! The photo of cake-faced Tommy lifting her head from the picnic plate becomes a printed newspaper photo the very following day. Above it is the headline: TOMFOOLERY IN LINCOLN HEIGHTS, with a secondary line, TOMBOY TAKES ON THE BOYS AND FALLS ON HER FACE. Just as Marcia planned, Tommy's debacle has been covered with pictures and text as a comedy sidebar, next to a far larger story about the running event, and Chad Parker's spectacular athletic performance in it.
At Proper Little Miss once again, Tomasina looks at the damning newspaper, then tears it to pieces with gusto. She treats the shreds with far more gentleness and a forced, phony smile as watchdog Gwendolyn passes her way, then scowls the minute she's gone. "Pssss!" a different voice whispers, and Tommy turns her head. Yep, it's good old Harold, once again at the window with some disturbing, but not exactly unexpected information: "Everyone wants you punished for starting a fight and embarrassing our community," he tells her. "Your Aunt Edwina and Miss Merribrook are climbing the walls.”
Tommy sighs, tugs at her PLM outfit. “Yeah… They’re talking about lobotomizing me with some kind of experimental re-orientation procedure, apparently a cure for tomboys. ‘Before it’s too late,’ as Miss Merribrook puts it.”
"Nasty," Harold continues sympathetically. "But you'll find a way to turn things around. You always do. By the way, what the heck happened out there on the field?”
"I really don't know. The best I can figure it, Frankie and Pimples must have switched my track shoes when I wasn't looking... then switched 'em back after they knocked me out and brought me back here. I felt like I was dragging heavy weights most of the time.”
“Any way you can prove you were sabotaged?” asks Harold. Tommy looks at him with a raised eyebrow. That train has obviously left the station. Naturally, she’ll sneak out of Proper Little Miss soon enough and use her potent fists to pay back tormentors Frankie and Pimples… with interest. The Lincoln Heights race, however, is history.
Then Tommy's urgent look softens. "But you wanna know something,” she tells her nerdy friend endearingly. “I had it coming. Really. I was insensitive to your problem, Harold, way too harsh. And ha, wouldn't you know it? I wind up being just as bubble-headed and absent-minded as you are!”
Harold, still draped over the sill, does an amusing double-take, then can’t suppress a best pal’s grin. Returning the warm smile, Tommy pulls out some bucks and shoves them into his hand. Punishments from nasty enemies she can handle... but anything less than total friendship from lovable, super-loyal Harold is unacceptable. Lesson learned!
And what about those sneaky creeps Frankie and Pimples? Does any guy get away with wiping his feet on Tomasina Boyd? Not on this planet, space cadets!
Later that night, with the Proper Little Misses tucked in and nobody the wiser, bright-eyed Tomasina changes into her familiar athletic gear and climbs out of a second-story window…
Setting: It’s a Man’s World, the local Lincoln Heights pool hall/strip joint/hang out club. Inside, Frankie and Pimples are shooting pool, floozy girlfriends Celine and Lavinia draped on their arms. The goons are having a grand old time bragging about how easily they outwitted Tommy Boyd and turned her into a hapless clown for everyone’s entertainment. Then they go on about how ineffectual a fighter Tommy was (completely ignoring the fact that she was physically drained from the fixed race), how they easily dodged every one of her "pathetically feeble" blows…
Suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, TB lands right on top of the pool table! “Evening boys. I needed a little exercise after my nap. Hope you don’t mind,” she announces tartly, facing her opponents. Before Frankie and Pimples can even process what’s happening, Tommy’s grabbed a pool stick and is challenging them like a fierce martial arts warrior. Pimples instinctively charges, but he’s beaten back by Tommy’s lightning-fast stick in a dazzling display of ninja-like prowess. “Thanks for the training, dad!” Tommy smiles, glancing upward, remembering how Colonel Boyd used to instruct her in all forms of physical combat. After flattening Pimples and depositing him on the pool table, Tommy turns her fury on Frankie. Like a graceful jungle cat she stalks her cornered, increasingly nervous adversary. Desperate, Frankie swings at Tommy but she dodges every one of his clumsy blows. “Pathetic,” the confident girl athlete grins, closing in for the kill… Finally, she socks stunned Frankie again and again, stomach and chin, until he’s out cold and tottering. Tommy then scoops him up like a sack of potatoes, hauls him over to the table and plops him on top of Pimples.
Celine and Lavinia gasp as they see their macho dates knocked out cold, helplessly splayed across the pool table. “Well. I hope you girls got a dinner out of these liars,” Tommy tells them dryly, her lip curling into a sly grin. Then she nonchalantly walks out of It’s a Man’s World, passing a few bewildered, pool-playing patrons.
The Lincoln Heights High track, later that night. No one’s around at this hour… except Tommy Boyd. She takes a spirited run around the deserted track, then stops, testing her arm muscles. Suddenly distant applause catches her attention. Sitting in the stands is none other than reporter Jack Healy, and a curious, brow-furrowing Boyd decides to jog over.
“Your form’s a lot better tonight, tomboy,” Healy comments with a flip grin. “Yeah, tell me about it,” Tommy responds. “I don’t know for sure what happened to me today, but I can tell you this: I’ll be back next year, and woe to any chauvinist pig who runs against me!”
The newsman smiles. “You won’t have to wait that long. Your friend Marcia was so successful in promoting this event that the board decided to sponsor another Lincoln Heights race three weeks from now.”
“Three weeks?!” Tommy squeals, her beautiful face lighting up. “Ha! Now there’s my opportunity for a super-comeback!” Overjoyed, she slams her fist into a waiting palm.
“Nitey-nite, Peach Fuzz,” Jack says amicably, waving goodbye. Tommy just nods and grins, standing alone in the immense schoolyard, savoring the payback possibilities…
You’re in for it now, Chad and Marcia!
At Proper Little Miss once again, Tomasina looks at the damning newspaper, then tears it to pieces with gusto. She treats the shreds with far more gentleness and a forced, phony smile as watchdog Gwendolyn passes her way, then scowls the minute she's gone. "Pssss!" a different voice whispers, and Tommy turns her head. Yep, it's good old Harold, once again at the window with some disturbing, but not exactly unexpected information: "Everyone wants you punished for starting a fight and embarrassing our community," he tells her. "Your Aunt Edwina and Miss Merribrook are climbing the walls.”
Tommy sighs, tugs at her PLM outfit. “Yeah… They’re talking about lobotomizing me with some kind of experimental re-orientation procedure, apparently a cure for tomboys. ‘Before it’s too late,’ as Miss Merribrook puts it.”
"Nasty," Harold continues sympathetically. "But you'll find a way to turn things around. You always do. By the way, what the heck happened out there on the field?”
"I really don't know. The best I can figure it, Frankie and Pimples must have switched my track shoes when I wasn't looking... then switched 'em back after they knocked me out and brought me back here. I felt like I was dragging heavy weights most of the time.”
“Any way you can prove you were sabotaged?” asks Harold. Tommy looks at him with a raised eyebrow. That train has obviously left the station. Naturally, she’ll sneak out of Proper Little Miss soon enough and use her potent fists to pay back tormentors Frankie and Pimples… with interest. The Lincoln Heights race, however, is history.
Then Tommy's urgent look softens. "But you wanna know something,” she tells her nerdy friend endearingly. “I had it coming. Really. I was insensitive to your problem, Harold, way too harsh. And ha, wouldn't you know it? I wind up being just as bubble-headed and absent-minded as you are!”
Harold, still draped over the sill, does an amusing double-take, then can’t suppress a best pal’s grin. Returning the warm smile, Tommy pulls out some bucks and shoves them into his hand. Punishments from nasty enemies she can handle... but anything less than total friendship from lovable, super-loyal Harold is unacceptable. Lesson learned!
And what about those sneaky creeps Frankie and Pimples? Does any guy get away with wiping his feet on Tomasina Boyd? Not on this planet, space cadets!
Later that night, with the Proper Little Misses tucked in and nobody the wiser, bright-eyed Tomasina changes into her familiar athletic gear and climbs out of a second-story window…
Setting: It’s a Man’s World, the local Lincoln Heights pool hall/strip joint/hang out club. Inside, Frankie and Pimples are shooting pool, floozy girlfriends Celine and Lavinia draped on their arms. The goons are having a grand old time bragging about how easily they outwitted Tommy Boyd and turned her into a hapless clown for everyone’s entertainment. Then they go on about how ineffectual a fighter Tommy was (completely ignoring the fact that she was physically drained from the fixed race), how they easily dodged every one of her "pathetically feeble" blows…
Suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, TB lands right on top of the pool table! “Evening boys. I needed a little exercise after my nap. Hope you don’t mind,” she announces tartly, facing her opponents. Before Frankie and Pimples can even process what’s happening, Tommy’s grabbed a pool stick and is challenging them like a fierce martial arts warrior. Pimples instinctively charges, but he’s beaten back by Tommy’s lightning-fast stick in a dazzling display of ninja-like prowess. “Thanks for the training, dad!” Tommy smiles, glancing upward, remembering how Colonel Boyd used to instruct her in all forms of physical combat. After flattening Pimples and depositing him on the pool table, Tommy turns her fury on Frankie. Like a graceful jungle cat she stalks her cornered, increasingly nervous adversary. Desperate, Frankie swings at Tommy but she dodges every one of his clumsy blows. “Pathetic,” the confident girl athlete grins, closing in for the kill… Finally, she socks stunned Frankie again and again, stomach and chin, until he’s out cold and tottering. Tommy then scoops him up like a sack of potatoes, hauls him over to the table and plops him on top of Pimples.
Celine and Lavinia gasp as they see their macho dates knocked out cold, helplessly splayed across the pool table. “Well. I hope you girls got a dinner out of these liars,” Tommy tells them dryly, her lip curling into a sly grin. Then she nonchalantly walks out of It’s a Man’s World, passing a few bewildered, pool-playing patrons.
The Lincoln Heights High track, later that night. No one’s around at this hour… except Tommy Boyd. She takes a spirited run around the deserted track, then stops, testing her arm muscles. Suddenly distant applause catches her attention. Sitting in the stands is none other than reporter Jack Healy, and a curious, brow-furrowing Boyd decides to jog over.
“Your form’s a lot better tonight, tomboy,” Healy comments with a flip grin. “Yeah, tell me about it,” Tommy responds. “I don’t know for sure what happened to me today, but I can tell you this: I’ll be back next year, and woe to any chauvinist pig who runs against me!”
The newsman smiles. “You won’t have to wait that long. Your friend Marcia was so successful in promoting this event that the board decided to sponsor another Lincoln Heights race three weeks from now.”
“Three weeks?!” Tommy squeals, her beautiful face lighting up. “Ha! Now there’s my opportunity for a super-comeback!” Overjoyed, she slams her fist into a waiting palm.
“Nitey-nite, Peach Fuzz,” Jack says amicably, waving goodbye. Tommy just nods and grins, standing alone in the immense schoolyard, savoring the payback possibilities…
You’re in for it now, Chad and Marcia!
- Attachments
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- Watch out, bullies and bastards! Tommy Boyd's back in action... and her fist has your name on it!
- SlyCutie.jpg (26.98 KiB) Viewed 3387 times
Last edited by Dr. Grizzard 11 years ago, edited 1 time in total.
Great Series! I love the story and the character what a great heroine. I'd love to see more of TB in the helpless trance like the first couple stories... Maybe losing another competition to Chad Parker only this time Chad gets to have his way with TB.
Either way hope you write more soon!
Either way hope you write more soon!
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Dr. Grizzard
- Neophyte Lvl 2
- Posts: 17
- Joined: 12 years ago
So glad you like the character... I'm in love with her myself! Tommy Boyd as embodied by sexy starlet Betsy Russell is absolutely wonderful, isn't she? A curly-topped force of virginal nature with the cutest smile and a plethora of kick-ass athletic moves, most of which she uses on her creepy chauvinistic enemies. The "tamed by a boy's kiss" routine fits our little buckaroo like a glove, but can't be used too often in stories, because it's an extremely easy way to immobilize her (TB avoids this most of the time because her remarkable cat-like reflexes prevent nasty foes from ever getting that close; she wallops them into unconsciousness first!).
Here's an excerpt from an old TOMBOY story (only parts remain) that features a "kiss" moment of the sort you're fond of. Enjoy... and lets discuss the scene and TB in general, afterward!!
***
Resolved, stoic Tommy races through the back alley, David’s pawn ticket safely stuffed in her sports bra. But what the super-teen doesn’t realize is that her eager enemies are waiting for her, hidden beside an archway…
As Tommy emerges Pimples grabs her violently, and has a devil of a time holding onto the squirming female athlete. But Frankie is totally ready for her. All it takes is one wrong head turn from Tommy, and the creepy greaser is able to plant a big, wet kiss on her unwilling lips!
Suddenly all the struggling stops. The cougar in Pimples arms is instantly reduced to a docile kitten, her eyes drifting closed and her lips, at first repulsed by Frankie, finally swelling into an involuntary pucker. Once again, Lincoln Height’s two-fisted tomboy, taken by surprise, has been tamed by a man’s kiss.
“This is hilarious!” laughs Pimples harshly, his hands firmly wrapped around Tommy’s arms. “I can practically feel her peach fuzz bristling up!”
“The little dork,” adds Frankie with a sneer. “C’mon, we’ve got to find that ticket…”
Frankie looks at his captured adversary, then immediately thrusts his hand into her sports bra, freely fondling Tommy’s left breast. “Oooo…” the comatose tomboy coos as Frankie fishes around, easily stimulating the enormous mound. As it is, his expertly-delivered kiss has already sent the virginal crusader into a sexual stupor. The caressing of her bosom is even more stimulating – way more stimulating – and the girl’s inexperienced but anxious body clearly craves more of the same.
Ironically, all Frankie is interested in at the moment is the pawn ticket he finally fishes out of Tommy’s top. “Eureka!” he laughs, holding the ticket, now moist with TB’s female juices, in his hand. “C’mon, let’s get moving. Jerry’s only got an hour to redeem this thing.”
“What about Boyd?”
Frankie grins, placing the ticket into his wallet. “Oh yeah,” he says under his breath. Then he turns toward dozing, lips-puckered Tommy, still in Pimples’ vice-like grip. “Pucker-up, Princess!” he laughs nastily, grabbing the entranced teenager’s chin and perfectly positioning it.
POW! An impressive right cross literally launches the female athlete out of her captor’s grasp and into the air. Seconds later Tommy is sprawled on the ground a few feet away, spread-eagled and in total dreamland.
Frankie and Pimples laugh nastily as they walk right past her unconscious body and out of the alley, Tommy’s large, aroused breasts heaving like shapely mini-mountains from all the “accidental” stimulation.
It’s a half-hour later. “Ohhhh…” moans slow-moving Boyd, finally coming to. “My chin… those bastards must have bopped me one!” she says aloud, rubbing an abused semi-cleft as she tries to get her bearings. Then Tommy’s eyes suddenly bug. She reaches into her sports bra… the lottery ticket is gone!
***
This was the only part of the story that offered an "entranced Tommy" moment, as I recall. But in other tales, and as part of a running gag, Randy Starr playfully puts two-fisted TB under with a kiss and delivers the sleeping beauty to Proper Little Miss for "girlie rehab" on a regular basis. A great deal of comedy stems from frustrated Tommy's inability to overcome this particular problem... as long as she remains a 17 year-old pseudo-boy in denial of her female needs, she will be vulnerable. It's the classic notion of awkward adolescence and the difficulty of growing up that characterizes all traditional tomboy scenarios, but with a wild and crazy, "superheroine-in-peril" style flavoring.
Email me back and let's chat!
Here's an excerpt from an old TOMBOY story (only parts remain) that features a "kiss" moment of the sort you're fond of. Enjoy... and lets discuss the scene and TB in general, afterward!!
***
Resolved, stoic Tommy races through the back alley, David’s pawn ticket safely stuffed in her sports bra. But what the super-teen doesn’t realize is that her eager enemies are waiting for her, hidden beside an archway…
As Tommy emerges Pimples grabs her violently, and has a devil of a time holding onto the squirming female athlete. But Frankie is totally ready for her. All it takes is one wrong head turn from Tommy, and the creepy greaser is able to plant a big, wet kiss on her unwilling lips!
Suddenly all the struggling stops. The cougar in Pimples arms is instantly reduced to a docile kitten, her eyes drifting closed and her lips, at first repulsed by Frankie, finally swelling into an involuntary pucker. Once again, Lincoln Height’s two-fisted tomboy, taken by surprise, has been tamed by a man’s kiss.
“This is hilarious!” laughs Pimples harshly, his hands firmly wrapped around Tommy’s arms. “I can practically feel her peach fuzz bristling up!”
“The little dork,” adds Frankie with a sneer. “C’mon, we’ve got to find that ticket…”
Frankie looks at his captured adversary, then immediately thrusts his hand into her sports bra, freely fondling Tommy’s left breast. “Oooo…” the comatose tomboy coos as Frankie fishes around, easily stimulating the enormous mound. As it is, his expertly-delivered kiss has already sent the virginal crusader into a sexual stupor. The caressing of her bosom is even more stimulating – way more stimulating – and the girl’s inexperienced but anxious body clearly craves more of the same.
Ironically, all Frankie is interested in at the moment is the pawn ticket he finally fishes out of Tommy’s top. “Eureka!” he laughs, holding the ticket, now moist with TB’s female juices, in his hand. “C’mon, let’s get moving. Jerry’s only got an hour to redeem this thing.”
“What about Boyd?”
Frankie grins, placing the ticket into his wallet. “Oh yeah,” he says under his breath. Then he turns toward dozing, lips-puckered Tommy, still in Pimples’ vice-like grip. “Pucker-up, Princess!” he laughs nastily, grabbing the entranced teenager’s chin and perfectly positioning it.
POW! An impressive right cross literally launches the female athlete out of her captor’s grasp and into the air. Seconds later Tommy is sprawled on the ground a few feet away, spread-eagled and in total dreamland.
Frankie and Pimples laugh nastily as they walk right past her unconscious body and out of the alley, Tommy’s large, aroused breasts heaving like shapely mini-mountains from all the “accidental” stimulation.
It’s a half-hour later. “Ohhhh…” moans slow-moving Boyd, finally coming to. “My chin… those bastards must have bopped me one!” she says aloud, rubbing an abused semi-cleft as she tries to get her bearings. Then Tommy’s eyes suddenly bug. She reaches into her sports bra… the lottery ticket is gone!
***
This was the only part of the story that offered an "entranced Tommy" moment, as I recall. But in other tales, and as part of a running gag, Randy Starr playfully puts two-fisted TB under with a kiss and delivers the sleeping beauty to Proper Little Miss for "girlie rehab" on a regular basis. A great deal of comedy stems from frustrated Tommy's inability to overcome this particular problem... as long as she remains a 17 year-old pseudo-boy in denial of her female needs, she will be vulnerable. It's the classic notion of awkward adolescence and the difficulty of growing up that characterizes all traditional tomboy scenarios, but with a wild and crazy, "superheroine-in-peril" style flavoring.
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- TB (Russell) limbers up before a race. As you can see, this babe's got muscles... and kick-ass attitude to spare!
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flagonforge
- Sargeant 1st Class
- Posts: 213
- Joined: 15 years ago
looking forward to continued taming sessions (sans eating pubic hair though - the pussy juice is a nice touch, however).
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Dr. Grizzard
- Neophyte Lvl 2
- Posts: 17
- Joined: 12 years ago
Thanks for the response. Any "taming" suggestions? Imagine yourself Frankie or Pimples, or Tommy's jock rival, Chad... there's a virgin spitfire to power-down, one with the sweetest lung hangers in Lincoln Heights!
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- Tough enough to tame track star Tommy Boyd?
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