The Missing Tights (TG, AR, AP)

“If your daddy objects to you taking ballet,” Miss Valerie told her young disciple, “I'll have to invite him to dance along with us.” It seemed that her plan was working. Mr. Sales pulled up outside the dance school just in time for tea. His thin face was creased and furrowed. He wore a sweater vest that showed no signs of wear or lint. Valerie understood why Alan was afraid of him.

Miss Valerie calmly poured the hot water when suddenly her assistant burst through the door. “Do we have any more tights?” Kimiko asked.

“Why?”

“Eleanor lost hers yesterday and doesn't have another pair.”

“Will her mom pay?”

“She hasn't paid for the last set.”

“Shit, that's the third girl today. Just give her some.”

“My, aren't we generous today, madam.”

“Shut the fuck up and teach the class.” She pushed past Kimiko and greeted Mr. Sales at the door. “Mr. Sales, it's so wonderful to meet you. Thank you for coming.”

He shook her hand. His other hand held a black athletic bag which he set down next to his chair

“I'm so excited about Alan! He's the only boy who's ever come to my school on his own and asked for lessons. That takes courage.”

“So you say,” Mr. Sales murmured.

“Won't you have some tea?” She poured two cups. “Milk or sugar?”

“Milk.”

“Your son shows great promise. If I had a student with half his enthusiasm, and an ounce of his courage, I'd be the luckiest ballet instructor alive. So few men take dance seriously, and a man of your experience knows that any man who can dance is sure to impress the ladies.”

Tea shot out of Mr. Sales' nose.

“My goodness, sir, are you alright?”

“I need a napkin,” he snorted.  “Please, continue.”

“The only problem,” Valerie said, wiping off her desk. “...is that Alan is afraid that you won't let him dance.”

“Oh, he's right.” said Mr. Sales.

“Oh, but he shows so much promise! Your son could be a great dancer if you just give him a chance.”

Mr. Sales finished his tea and put down the saucer. “Miss Valerie, I know my own son,” he sniffed. “I know what drew him to your dance studio, and since we're both adults I won't beat round the bush.”

“Mr. Sales, there's no reason--”

“My son,” he snapped, “...believes he can act like a woman. He's drawn to your dance studio because he knows how feminine it is. He's not going against the grain. He's not expressing himself; he's gratifying himself. I know. I have piles of confiscated lingerie to prove it.”

“What?”

“And it's not new lingerie either. Believe me, my lazy son can't afford new bras and panties, but I didn't know where it came from until last summer's family pool party. My niece is a young woman, if you catch my drift. After the party my sister pulled me aside and told me that my niece’s bra was missing, and it remained missing for several days until I glanced inside Alan's closet.”

“Believe me,” Mr. Sales continued, “There was a lot more in there than I cared to look at. I shudder to think where he got the rest.”

Valerie was silent.

Mr. Sales stood up and threw his napkin in the trash bin. “Now, let me state my position very clearly. I will not feed my son's madness. Alan will not attend your school, and I never wish to speak to you again. Are we clear?”

“Mr. Sales,” Valerie said firmly. “I don't believe you for a minute.”

“That hardly makes a difference.”

“Perhaps this will,” and she said this Mr. Sales' hair suddenly grew another three inches. He pulled the graying hair away from his eyes.

He stood there with a scowl on his face, more annoyed than surprised as his hair grew longer, spilling over his shoulders and getting in his eyes, but when his gray hairs turned golden yellow he took notice. “How did you do that?”

“None of your business,” replied Miss Valerie. Mr. Sales shrank two inches. The man looked worriedly at the bigger world around him, but still he was defiant.

“So you think you can change my mind by threatening me?” He smashed his teacup on the floor. “Drugs in the tea, eh: making me hallucinate? What kind of sick ballet school is this?”

“Calm down,” soothed Valerie. “There's no need to be upset.”

“Madam, you haven't seen 'upset'. Just wait—oh” His voice cracked like china doll. “Wait until I call my lawyer!” he squeaked.

“Not with that voice,” smiled Valerie, “But let's get serious for a moment. You say you won't let Alan join the ballet. Fine, but I want to know if you're interested too.”

Mr. Sales stared suspiciously at his growing nails. “What did you put in that tea?”

“So, how about it?”

“I'm not joining your school!”

“But it's loads of fun! Seriously, why are boys so afraid of dancing?”

“I'm not a boy.” Mr. Sales Shrank another inch. His stubble softened and receded into his skin. His jawline softened too, losing its hard angles and shrinking into glowing curves. “Seriously, what the hell did you do to me?”

Suddenly his shoulders narrowed. His eyelashes fanned out, thick and glamorous. Suddenly there was aloud crack. Mr. Sales' eyes grew wide as saucers and he fell back into his chair, hands flying to his crotch. “No...” he squeaked, “I don't...I can't...”

“Take it easy, honey. It's just a bit of fun.” Valerie poured him another cup of tea. “Why don't you give ballet a try?”

“No! No, no, no!” he screeched. “I don't want to dance, and I don't want Alan to dance, and I don't want anyone to dance,” he sobbed, his voice soft and fragile. “I'll get you for this,” he sniffled. “I'll sue you and close this school....and I'll make sure you get arrested for...for poisoning! And then I'll...I'll make sure you...you never get a...get a...uh...” Mr. Sales' eyes suddenly glazed over, and his breasts grew.

“Are you alright?”

“I feel...weird.” His chest shrank, getting thinner along with the rest of his body. Mr. Sale's black socks spread up the length of his long, hairless legs. Miss Valerie could see them because his khaki slacks had shrunk down to a knee-length skirt. Mr. Sale's crossed his legs as his gray hairs reverted to a golden blonde, then sprouted as fast as bamboo. Soon his gold, silky hair cascaded onto his shoulders, framing a delicate face with smooth, peachy skin: not a wrinkle or worry line to be seen. His waist was pinched like the neck of an antique vase. His hips fit snugly inside his wheat-colored skirt. Two small breasts appeared under Mr. Sale's sweater vest.

“So,” smiled Miss Valerie as Mr. Sale's breasts expanded from B to C-cups. “Have you ever thought of trying ballet?”

“Ballet?” said Mr. Sales, his C-cups turning into D's. The sweater was small and taut. “Isn't that something you have to do when you're little?” he asked, adjusting his bra. “I don't think I'd  be any good now.” Her plump lips formed a beautiful smile.

“Nonsense, that's not a problem for a girl like you.”

Just as Mr. Sales' breasts turned into E-cups they stopped growing. Slowly they shrank back to A-cups: tiny mounds hidden completely under his red sweater. Then the sweater disappeared, replaced by a  thin white shirt and a tiny training bra. Mr. Sales shrank nearly a foot. He looked up at Miss Valerie , slightly confused, but before long his eyes grew larger and fiercer.

Mr. Sales grinned as his stockings turned into black and gray striped leggings. His high heels turned into white sneakers so new that Valerie could smell the rubber. His long luscious hair swept back and tied itself into a pony tail.

Not even missing a beat, Miss Valerie explained, “Everyone should learn how to dance. It's fun.”

“Nah, that's for little kids. I want to do something awesome.”

“Such as?”

“You know: soccer, basketball...tag.” he giggled. “Hide and seek...” Mr. Sales shrank even more. Leggings and skirt merged into pink jeans. His sneakers turned completely pink, with cartoons on them, and red lights that blinked whenever she swung his short, chunky legs over the high chair. His breasts disappeared like frost on a September morning. His white stretchy shirt was soon covered in red and pink hearts, each one decorated with a silver sequin that flashed in the office lights.  Her green eyes were as big as golf balls as she stared up at the big Miss Valerie, utterly fascinated with the teacher's ballet tights. Her pink lips were frozen in awe.

“So, are you sure that you don't want to take ballet?”

Mr. Sales looked down at the floor, still swinging his tiny legs. “I don't know...”

“Well how about this?” Valerie pulled out one of her little pink tutus.

“I get that?”

“That's right. You get to dance in it too! You want to try it on?”

“Mm...I don't know...”

Mr. Sales shrank once more. His hair shortened, curling and twisting into little golden springs. His jeans morphed into soft cotton pants, and his panties began to thicken. 'Slowly,' Valerie thought, winding back time. 'She's still in training pants: just a bit thicker, just a bit thicker, getting dangerous close to diaper territory...

“I wanna be a princess!” Mr. Sales suddenly squealed.

Moments later Mr. Sales walked out of the changing room, his little white tights pulled snugly over his soft, tiny bottom and puffy training panties. His pink tutu looked like a confectioner's treat and the pink frilly skirt made him jump up and down. Valerie led him to the mirror where he got to see himself in little girly glory.

“What do you think?” Miss Valerie asked. “Do you like it?”

He smiled, rocking back and forth.

“Why don't we go inside the studio and watch some of the other girls?

“Yeah!”



“So that's where he is now,” Valerie said, pointing to the little girl staring at her reflection in the dance room mirror. “He took to it rather quickly.”

“Wow!” Alan gasped. “I mean, wow! You actually did it.”

“Of course.”

“I'll come tomorrow,” Alan grinned. “Oh my God, I can't wait to get started. I won't let you down, Miss Valerie.”

“Hold on just a moment,” she said. “I need to ask you something.”

“Sure, what?”

“You were here yesterday. What time were you here?”

“Around two, why?”

“And you were here last week around the same time, right?”

“Yeah, so?”

Valerie held up the sports bag his father had brought. “I almost forgot it during all the fuss,” she said, and when she opened it she pulled out three sets of tights, all little girl sized.

Alan went pale.

Valerie nodded, “I guess then you won't be joining my class after all.”

“I-I can explain...”

“Don't worry Alan,” said Miss Valerie. “You're a mixed-up kid, but you won't go away empty handed.”

Alan's nipples pushed against his t-shirt, breast tissue swelling and stretching out his shirt. “What did you do?” Alan cupped his breasts in his hands, moaning as they grew larger and softer.

“I'm sorry,” moaned Alan, “...but this is great! Thank you, thank—wait a minute.” He peered down his shirt. “A bra! My own bra!” He pulled down his pants and saw a pair of silky pink panties, the bulge beneath them getting small and smaller. “Oh my God,” he gasped. “Oh my God, oh my god,” his voice softened as his panties tightened. His voice was sweet as molasses by the time his crotch was completely flat, and his breasts were D-cups.

Alan drew the hair away from his eyes, and bobby pins appeared just in time to keep it clear. “I need a mirror,” he squealed. “ I want to see it so bad.

Valerie handed him the mirror from her purse, and for the first time he stared into his big, sparkling green eyes.

“I can't believe I'm so beautiful.”

His hips spread like the petals of a tulip. “Can I get some tights now? Oh,” Alan swooned. “I sure hope you have a pair of tights that fit me.”

Valerie shook her head.

“Well, you can make me smaller, right? I mean, it doesn't matter what size you have, so long as you change me.” At that moment his hips widened. “I-I mean, I can be a little girl, if you want me to.”

Alan's breasts swelled another cup size. “I-it would be better, wouldn't it? After all, I'd blend in more with...everyone else.” Alan grew another two inches. A few pounds stacked up on his previously slim waist.

“What are you doing?” His smooth, deepening voice made him nervous. “I'm supposed to get smaller, not bigger!” His breasts grew into E-cups, cradled in a boring, white bra. His thighs thickened. Something materialized inside his fading panties.

“No...no!” Alan reached down his pants and pulled out a pink maxi pad. “I don't want to have periods!” he panicked. “I don't want to grow up. I want to be little! I want to be cute, like Dad!”

Alan's thin feminine limbs put on more weight. The cute little nose on his innocent, girl face grew, and his lips puffed up. Alan's eyesight grew blurry until a pair of round, rimless glasses appeared on his nose. A grown woman stood before Valerie. “It's not fair,” the woman cried. “I don't want to be old!”

“You're not old!” Valerie huffed. “You're only a few years older than me.”

“No!” he whined. “Never! I'll never be a woman, never never—oh!” His breasts grew one cup size, and then another. He was an G-cup, and the sight of his cleavage underneath his open blouse slowly changed his mind. “Never?”

He blinked vacantly for a moment. “Miss Valerie!” He suddenly said. “I didn't see you there. I...I feel kind of silly asking this, but do you know how I got here?”

“Don't mention it, Miss Sales. Would you like some tea?”

Alan looked at the cup for a moment, then shrugged and took it. His breasts grew another size larger. He blushed, but suddenly a blue sweater materialized covered his decolletage. His pumpkin-sized bosoms were modestly locked away.

“You know, it's weird,” Alan said, his breasts growing larger. “I feel really good right now.” He grew two inches taller. “I feel big...you know? Important, like I can do anything.”

Valerie nodded. “You are a mighty tall woman.”

“It's more than that,” he said, his bottom swelling under his mom-jeans.

The jeans stretched to accommodate the massive butt, full of flab and mass. Alan's looked like he could have pass a watermelon between his child-bearing hips. His thighs thickened like butter, with traces of cellulite which Alan slow grew self-conscious of. Still, he was more interested in the little girls in the dance studio. His brown hair was done up in a messy bun on the top of his head, and he had dark circles under his beautiful eyes.

“So, Dad likes the classes?”

“He loves them. I wouldn't be surprised if he became a world class dancer in a few years.”

“I bet you say that to all the parents,” Alan sighed, pulling out his purse.

Valerie held out her hand. “I think that your Dad will have a good time here."

“I wanted to take ballet when I was younger,” he said whistfully. “I don't know why I didn't. I guess it's too late now, right?”

“Maybe not,” said Valerie. “There's a first time for everything.”

Suddenly Dad walked out of the classroom. “Alan!” he squealed.

“Did you have a good time, Daddy?”

“Yeah! There was dancing, and I spun around.”

“That's great, honey. Let's get in the car.”

“But I don't want to go!” he cried.

Alan and Miss Valerie bribed Dad with a lollipop and both went on their way. Valerie put the check in her desk.

“It's a shame,” she sighed. “He would have made a great dancer.”