The Box

Life had been pretty good for me. My mother, Aunt Constance and I lived in a quite country town in a big old house. My father had deserted us when I was very young, so young that I don't remember him being around, but he had provided well for us, so it was a happy, comfortable upbringing, although a little boring at times.

There was some occasional tension between my mother and Constance. Basically Constance was a widower but a renowned man eater, and her occasional flings with men around town angered my mother who, since being dumped by my father, wanted nothing to do with men and wanted me to grow up under the strictest moral code. Constance's indiscretions upset my mother, not only because of the poor example they set me, but because in a small town like ours, everybody got to know about it, and this did not look good for a leader in the Church and President of the PTA.

This was the reason I was forbidden to go into Aunt Constance's half of the house. Mother was fearful I would see something inappropriate. Not only did Constance sometimes bring men home, but she was also liked sexy lingerie and was rumored to have a substantial collection. Mother used to scold her for drying it on the clothes line. "Why don't you put up a neon sign!" she used to scream when she saw it on the line.

I had to promise never to go in there and never ever look in her cupboards. "There are things in there that can do a young man no good at all" she used to say, "You'll get the wrong idea about normal women." I had no desire to ever go in there. Basically Aunt Constance scared me and I had intention of upsetting her.

That was of course until my final year of school. At 18 I was suddenly horny all the time and very frustrated at the lack of opportunities. There were girls at my school, but they were big boned country girls with legs like tree stumps and shoulders like front row forwards. They were nice enough, but they didn't do anything for me, not like the girls on the cover of Playboy, which I used to always sneak a peek at when we visited the newsagent. They were so sexy! Lean and smooth with slender legs, tight asses and big yet firm breasts. I used to masturbate every night just thinking about them.

Then it happened. A life changing moment. Insignificant at the time, but monumentally significant in the grand scheme of things. As I put a load of washing in the machine one afternoon, I noticed something in the bottom of the tub. It was a pair of Aunt Constance's stockings. They were damp but clean, obviously left behind from a previous load. I hung them out to dry with my clothes when my load had finished and thought little about them, although to softness did appeal to me. I set about studying. Aunt Constance was at work and my mother had taken on extra charity work now that I was "grown up" and in my final year. After several hours work, yes, I was a good hard working student, my mind started to wander and I found myself thinking about sex.

I remembered the pair of sexy, black stockings on the line and had the urge to try them on. I collected my washing, well the dry items anyway, and nonchalantly took the stockings as well, imagining that the whole world was watching me. It wasn't of course, but I was glad to get back inside and quickly glance around before locking the door. I sorted my washing and put it away. My mother had trained me to be very neat and methodical, and I was hoping that my desire to try on the stockings would fade over time. It didn't. I was desperate to put them on. I raced upstairs and locked my door. Then I tore off my clothes and fumbled with the stockings. They were just about impossible to put on, until I remembered the way you pull on long socks. I rolled each leg up into a ring, then slipped them over my toes and began unrolling them up my legs. They felt magnificent. I had a few hairs on my legs but the stockings made them feel really smooth and soft and silky.

I really enjoyed running my hands up and down my legs. They felt and looked really good. I told myself that this was because it was the closest I'd ever come to the real thing. I nearly convinced myself that if I had a sexy girlfriend I'd be stroking her stockinged legs instead of my own. Deep down though I knew there was more to it. I just really dug wearing stockings, but I managed to believe that I was perfectly normal, horny male. "I bet lots of guys do this." I thought to myself.

I wore them around the house for as long as I dared. I posed in the various mirrors throughout the house, but I actually preferred catching glimpses of myself as I walked past the mirrors rather than standing and posing. I got to see myself in a more natural way, and it was a little unsettling just how natural I looked.

Then paranoia set in and I tore them off, returning them to the washing machine with another batch of dirty laundry. When the cycle finished I hung everything out. At least if Aunt Constance asked how they got to be out there I could give her an honest answer. They were in the bottom of the machine so I hung them out with my laundry. I couldn't lie to Aunt Constance, she seemed to know how I thought, even more so than my mother.

I returned to my studies with my pulse racing and my hands trembling slightly. I was still excited about what I had just done and I had to concentrate really hard to push my urge to explore Aunt Constance's' room for more exciting lingerie to try on. Thank God for Calculus. I managed to put in four hours solid and nail the Calculus chapter before my mother returned home. It's funny how things change, previously I longed for her to go out so that I could be alone – now I was keen to have home because I knew with her around I wouldn't be able to act upon my secret urges.

The year dragged on. Mother's social and community work kept her very busy, Aunt Constance continued to work full time and play the field in her spare time, and I was flat out with the finals fast approaching. This gave me much more time alone in the house to study and much more time to experiment with dressing up. It became my secret obsession. I loved it! I loved the way it made me look and feel. It must sound weird but I really fancied myself as a girl, and I often thought that if somehow I could get all the girls in my year at school to doll themselves up and parade before me, I would probably choose myself. Now I'm not that much of a big head, it's just that the girls at my school were so unsophisticated. They could dress well, they could dress pretty, but looking sexy seemed to be beyond them.

I found an old chest in the basement full of clothes. They must have been Aunt Constance's when she was a young woman. Now I had a wardrobe of my own! I was so excited. Not only did it have a good selection of stockings, bras and panties, but several dresses as well. Some were really slutty little numbers, my favourite was a black strapless cocktail dress. They fitted me well and I would dress up as a girl as soon and the others left home until about an hour before they were due to return. Once dressed, I would study or do the chores as I normally would do as a boy. Occasionally I had visitors, or some of my mates would drop in for help with their math, with caused me to scramble into the nearest bathroom and tear of my outfit, jump under the shower, then sprint to the door.

Dressing up as a girl was now my favourite hobby. I began taking more risks. I would dress up as soon as the house was empty, and stay dressed until the last minute, then frantically change back to being a boy. I also became more bold in my excursions into Aunt Constance's side of the house. I would try on all her sexy underwear, and she had lots of them! I was almost giddy with excitement as I found a new item I hadn't tried on before, and would race it into my own room and try it on, making sure I returned to precisely the same place in her walk in wardrobe.

I was fairly certain that my dressing up was a secret, because I was so careful about putting things back where I had found them, but needless to say I was taking more and more chances. Sometimes the anxiety about being caught and the associated consequences kept me awake at night, and distracted me from my study. It took a great deal of commitment from me to actually give up dressing up for the duration of the final exams. The urge to dress was almost overwhelming at times, but I promised myself that when the exams were over I could do as I pleased. It was just the motivation I needed to get my head down and really study hard.

When the exams were over, I was confident I had done really well, and readied myself for an onslaught on dressing up and really letting my hair down. To my delight, both my mother and aunt were to go away for a week to visit relatives before Christmas. Normally I would accompany them, but as a reward for working so hard all year, I was allowed to stay at home by myself. Naturally I was read the riot act and was given list of tasks to complete as long as my arm, but I knew it meant living for a whole week as the girl I loved to be!

The second they left the driveway I was into Aunt Constance bedroom and searching for something 'new'. To my surprise I found an old camphor wood box at the back of the wardrobe I had not seen before. It had a strange, ancient, musty smell to it and I was intrigued by it's presence in the wardrobe. Even more intriguing was the heavy duty padlock that held it shut. Try as I might I could not pick the lock, nor would it budge as I wistfully tried to force it open. I returned the box to its place in the cupboard, disappointed and still curious, I vowed to try it again in the morning.

The very next morning I did just that. However when I pulled out the box, to my surprise, the lock was open! I immediately went into panic mode, and frantically searched the house. I was convinced that Aunt Constance must have secretly stayed behind and was playing tricks on me. But after thoroughly searching the house, I knew I was alone. I figured the WD40 I'd spayed onto the lock had worked its magic overnight. It was creepy, and it troubled me that the lock was opened, but something about that box just made my hair stand on end. I had to see what was inside.

I raced back into Aunt Constance's room and opened up the box. Inside, wrapped in layers of tissue paper was a pair of plain white women's panties. My disappointment was somewhat diminished when I touched them. They had a curious silky yet rubbery feel to them. They sort of clung to my fingers when I touched them, a bit like the bathing cap my mother used, clingy and yet smooth as silk.

The other surprising thing about them was the weight. They weighed practically nothing and they felt like they should weigh more than they did. I decided I could no longer resist putting them on. I dropped my shorts and pulled the strange white panties up my legs. My cock was wildly erect and I had to force it down between my legs so I could pull the delicate material over it. They felt simply fantastic on. The material was cold and yet warming at the same time. The material seemed to hold my skin as if it were a sensual pair of soft hands. It was about the most excited I had ever felt, they just felt sooooo good!

I wandered around the house in a trance afterwards. I left my shorts on Aunt Constance's floor and her wardrobe wide open, I picked at some fruit for breakfast, sort of tidied up the place, but basically I was just wandering around. Eventually I decided to go back and tidy up Aunt Constance's room, take the panties off, and get my shit together.

When I tried to hook my fingers under the top of the panties to pull them off, I noticed that I could not. Where the thin elastic should have been there was a red, 1 cm wide indentation. It ran all the way around my waist. It was very similar to the line that develops if your underwear is too tight, and it hurt in a similar way. I tried to pull the panties away from around my crotch but the edges had merged into my skin creating the same red indentation as they had around my waist. I could still feel my cock and balls nestled snugly inside the fabric, and that gave me some comfort, but I started to panic.

I cleaned up Aunt Constance's room as best I could, and headed for the kitchen. I selected the sharpest knife from the drawer and attempted to pinch out the panty material where it covered my pubic bush. I found I could not. It was like I was pinching my own flesh. Then I detected just a slight crease in the panties between my legs, where they were pushed out due to the presence of my balls. I grabbed the thin material and pulled it out as far as I could, then delicately as my trembling hands would allow, pushed the point of the knife in. I hoped to be able to pierce the thin material, and then tear it apart with my fingers, but the second the knife went in I howled with pain. The panties seemed to contract and the pressure this created on my balls, bladder and hips was more than I could bear. I collapsed to the floor in agony and lay there as the pain slowly subsided.

My next bright idea was a shower. Maybe it was just the heat of my body on the rubbery material that had caused them to sort of melt onto me, I reasoned. The shower did nothing. I tried it really cold, then really hot. Then I tried rubbing mentholated spirits on them. That did nothing either, so I tried mineral turpentine - Aunt Constance swore by it for stubborn stains. Again it did not work. For the moment, I reasoned.the panties were going to stay on. I relaxed a little, the panties still felt really good on, and I figured that they would eventually come off, somehow!

I must have fallen asleep on the lounge. It was a wonderfully restful, erotic slumber, much like the dozy, peaceful sleep you have after a really good wank. However when I did actually get up the following morning, I felt dizzy and nauseas. As soon as I stood up, I had to race to the bathroom and vomit. Another shower had me feeling somewhat better, but the urgent need to shit sent me into another blind panic. I rushed to the toilet and sat down. I expecting to feel my faeces squelching between my buttocks and the panties, but, to my amazement, I passed a stool without any difficulty. My finger quickly explored the spot where my asshole once had been only to feel a largish dimple. Further probing caused my finger to be coated with shit. The panties had formed an asshole! I squatted over a small mirror for further inspection. There was no doubt about it. The panties had now assimilated my buttocks and anus. If it weren't for the red marks that ran around my waist and around the tops of my legs, from this angle, there was no trace of the panties.

Then I noticed something peculiar in my pubic region. Sticking through the material of the panties where my pubic bush once had been, were several light brown and very fine hairs. I pulled one gently. It hurt like one of my own hairs, SHIT!, it was one of my hairs. The panties were no longer something that was stuck to me, they were now part of me. I felt my cock and balls underneath the material to re-assure myself. Relief! I could still feel my two testicles tucked snugly between my legs, and my cock, although somewhat smaller than normal, which I attributed to its confinement, still lay where it should. I always had "dressed to the left" as Aunt Constance would say.

Not entire happy with my situation, I dressed and completed my daily chores. About midday I was almost overcome with fatigue. I stumbled to my bed and crashed out...

I awoke the following morning, at about 10am. I felt weird. I still suffered from nausea, my nipples were red and swollen, my head was light, and I had broken out in a rash of tiny red pimples all over my body. I felt for my manhood underneath the alien material for re-assurance. I didn't get any. My testes seemed to have gotten smaller and longer, changing from oval shaped balls to long, flat, vertical mounds. My cock felt as though it was disappearing into my body. It could still feel it, but it seemed like only the head remained. It was sensitive to touch, but not in a pleasant way. And my pubic bush! It had grown overnight to a neat little triangular shaped thatch of fine, golden brown hair.

It felt so soft to touch. I could have played with it for longer but I needed to urinate. I fully expected pissing to be a similar experience to shitting the previous day. I assumed the panties would allow my urine to pass through it in someway. Perhaps my cock would reappear when this happened. After all, I needed a cock to piss, right?

Wrong. I managed to urinate alright, although it was a gushy sort of event, unlike the needle like stream I usually managed. Like yesterday, I felt a dimple in the panties where the piss had come out. Closer inspection revealed what I had anticipated. I now had two holes, one small one for pissing, which appeared at the front in between the two mounds that were my testicles, and one larger one for shitting. I showered and massaged my sore, swollen and reddened nipples. I'd suffered this before when I'd surfed using a foam surfboard. As for the rash, it was painless, but a bit of a worry. I contemplated my next move, but was interrupted by the door bell.

I threw on a bath robe and raced to the front door, hoping to get rid of whoever it was very quickly. I froze in horror. It was Aunt Constance. She took one look at me and went pale, her horrified look matched mine.

"Oh my God you've been in my room, you've, you've, and you've found The BOX!"

she stammered.

I started to deny it but she just shrugged and angrily dialed a number with her mobile phone.

"It's me,"

she said bluntly, cutting off the pleasantries the other party was initiating.

"He's got into the box, it looks like it's started."

Aunt Constance looked me up and down as the hysterical voice on the other end of the line, which I now recognized as my mother, screeched and carried on.

"No, looks like assimilation has well and truly started..."

she said into the phone in response to my mother's frantic questions. She motioned me to open my robe, which, given my predicament and state of shock, I did without thinking.

"Oh God no!"

she said,

"Breast development has commenced and he has lost all male genitalia, I'd say at least 48 hours..."

her voice trailed off and for a change my mother was silent. Aunt Constance took charge.

"You'll have to come home immediately, and work on a good story whilst your on the plane, God knows how we will explain this one! I'll break it to him,"

she paused and looked my in the eye briefly before continuing,

"That's if he doesn't already know...and please try and keep it together? Bye."

She hung up, pushed me gently inside and said sternly,

"We need to talk."

"The box has been in our family for over 150 years. Your great, great grandfather brought it back from Siam. Fortunately for him, he died of dysentery before he ever got to open it."

Aunt Constance paced the floor and sipped from the huge balloon of brandy she had poured herself. I sat meekly on the lounge, not knowing what this was all about, but knowing it was bad, real bad.

"Your great grandfather was the first to experiment with it. Your grandfather found the empty box in the study when the family returned from a holiday, and no sign of great grandfather. Your great grandfather had stayed at home by himself. You can imagine the rumours and gossip that abounded when the body of a naked woman was found hanging in the barn. No one knew who the mystery woman was, nor where great grandfather had got to. The police eventually decided it was "foul play" but had very little to go on. Of course it was your great grand mother who figured out that the woman in the barn was really her husband. A wife gets to know the marks and blemishes on a husband of thirty years. She burnt the box one day, only to find it back in the old cupboard, it's contents intact, the following morning.