Sample – Stacked!

“You’re still here?”

“Oh, yeah.  I guess I lost track of time.”

Miss Hoskins was busy gathering her things into the oversized bag she carried in and out of school.  Brian watched the lock of auburn hair pull free and hang down, decorating her concentrated expression.  He felt his heart dip at the sight of her that way and quickly turned his attention to the surface of the desk where a magazine lay spread open.

“Mind locking up, then?”

“Are you sure?”

“I trust you,” she smiled and gave him a wink.  She could have asked him to do anything after that wink, he supposed, but he contented himself by following her with his eyes as she gave him a wave with the tops of her fingers and swayed out of the library.

“Get yourself together,” he hissed through clenched teeth.  “You’re acting like a child.  Fawning over my teacher.”

He stood abruptly, enjoying the loud scrape of the chair legs in the cavernous and empty library.  He crossed to the double doors leading to the hallway lined by school lockers and saw Miss Hoskins at the far end.  No other teachers roamed the darkened halls and, he supposed, that was why Doreen Hoskins felt so at ease.

At first Brian thought she was a friend, or even Miss Hoskins’s sister.  Then he saw the way they held each other’s eyes as the other woman, a little thicker than Miss Hoskins and short-haired, leaned in and kissed the librarian.  Miss Hoskins lifted a hand to touch her lover’s cheek, and then they were laughing their way into the night beyond the school doors.

That was always the way he supposed, though it did nothing to diminish his lust for Miss Hoskins.  In fact, the revelation that’s he liked women made her somehow more attractive, perhaps more exotic.  It was a bitter reminder, though, that she was even more unattainable.

Brian locked the doors and shuffled into the stacks, breathing in the glorious scent of books aging on their shelves.  It was earthen and slightly musty, but reassuring and warm, too.  He grabbed a copy of one of those teen girl cheerleader novels from the shelf immediately before him and sank back onto the floor, his back to the shelves.  He thumbed through the breezily-written pages, wondering if he would have a chance with the gorgeous librarian if he was one of the girls from the pages of this book, or even one from the series, which seemed to grow on the shelves like a fungus.  There were dozens of these books, maybe hundreds.  Stories of girls worried about being asked to prom, evil twins scheming against their identical, but good-natured, doppelgangers, books where a party led to poor decisions…  They were predictable and superficial, but Brian wanted nothing more than to be a character from the pages at that moment, to be the one thing he could not be on his own – a girl to seduce Miss Hoskins.

Reading was the one thing Brian excelled at.  He found it incredibly easy to allow himself to drift into the pages and lose himself entirely.  One moment he might be at sea with Captain Ahab or on another world populated by an alien race.  Even something as slight as this book, one from many in a series, chronicling the travails of high school girls and their romantic interests, could send him into a meditative state where all that existed was the story and its characters.

At that moment, something special happened.  Whether it was Brian’s ability to transport himself into the world of the book in his hands, or perhaps it was his secret desires touching something magical and unnamable… Regardless of the source, a power Brian had never felt before touched him, burrowing into his brain, freezing him in place.  The small paths between shelves lit up like daylight as the library was briefly illuminated, and then the light dissipated like mist at sunrise.  When the glow faded, Brian found himself on his hands and knees, panting as if he had sprinted suddenly.

His brows knitted together as a striking difference in the way he felt washed over him.  His body felt all wrong, lighter overall, but heavier at his chest.  Casting his eyes to the side, he could see a wave of silken blonde hair draping over his vision.  He brought his legs underneath him and stood, again noting the shifting weight on his chest.  He held his hands before him in disbelief.  His fingers were long and slender, tipped with nails that extended past the tips and polished so that the overhead fluorescents made his nails fairly gleam.  He pulled at the soft hair on his shoulders and felt the tug on his scalp.  These were his hands, his hair, his body that bulged out at his chest and tapered at the waist, then blossomed again at his hips.  His feet were barely clinging to the sneakers he wore as he took his first steps, and the bounce on his chest as he moved reminded him that he had breasts where his chest had been flat before.

“What happened to me?” he wondered aloud, registering the shock of hearing a high and airy voice issue from his lips.

He slammed into the double doors, unlocking them quickly, and rushed through the dark hallway into the boys’ room, lit only by the red emergency sign.  Staring at him in the crimson hue of the bathroom was the reflection of an impossibly pretty young woman.  His hair, no matter how he shook it, settled back into place, a sweep of hair over his forehead before spilling onto his shoulders, a twin braid joined at the back of his head.  His skin was flawless and pale, with freckles over the bridge of his nose.  His lips were plump and painted a slick red.

He opened the buttons of his chambray shirt and found the same impeccable skin beneath.  Spreading the unbuttoned collar wide, he saw his chest and the pert, healthy breasts there, complete with dark brown areolae.  He covered himself quickly, holding the shirt closed with his painted fingers.

Seeing himself, recognition slowly dawned.  The face staring back at him, it was the face of the girl in the book as he’d imagined it, Jenny Miller, the would-be prom queen and cheerleader who was rivals with Tina Fellowes.  He leaned toward the mirror and ran his fingers over the new contours of his face.  He pinched and pulled, but no sting of pain would wake him from this dream.

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