Tuesday, 10 September 2013

YOUNGER

I can't believe they carded me for cigarettes again," 
she said, returning to the car.  For a woman of 26 she 
had a face that looked around 15.  It didn't help 
matters that her chest was almost as flat as a board.  
I told her she should be thankful, because when she's 
40 she'll look 26.

She had a Masters degree in social work and was 
employed by the state, placing children in foster 
homes.  She told me about one family that they were 
having trouble with. There was possible abuse going on 
but they couldn't prove anything, none of the girls 
would talk.  She spoke to the investigative division 
but there was little they could do.  With out proof, 
there was nothing wrong as far as they were concerned.  
I could tell it was eating her up inside but she was 
helpless to do anything.

One evening over dinner I asked her what was wrong.  
She told me that the whole foster family thing was 
getting to her. "If I could only get proof by planting 
a camera or something," she mused.

"Yeah, and if you got caught there would be a major 
lawsuit against the state," I said.  "You don't even 
know for sure if there is anything wrong going on 
there.  

"I need to get proof somehow," she insisted. 

"Look," I said, "Even if you visited the house every 
day, they are only going to let you see what they want 
you to see.  Unless you can get one of the girls to 
talk, you're shit out of luck."

"There has to be some way I haven't thought of yet," 
she insisted.

Becoming irritated, I said, "Look, without you being a 
foster child inside that house 24 hours a day, your not 
going to be able to know what's going on. 

"That's it!" she cried.  

"What's it?" I asked.  

"I could pose as a foster child and live in the house," 
she replied. 

"Are you out of you mind?" I asked incredulously.   

"Well, you always told me I looked 15, maybe I could 
pull it off," she responded.  

"Look, just let it go," I grumbled. "You're getting 
crazy now!"  She didn't say another word and we left it 
at that.

The next day she came home from work all excited, 
saying that she had talked to the investigative 
division and they were willing to give her crazy plan a 
try.  "You can't be serious!" I scoffed.  "I'm dead 
serious and there's no changing my mind," she insisted.  

She told me the department was going to take care of 
all the paper work. "They went into the state computers 
and changed all of my records.  First, they changed my 
birth year to make me 15 years old and issued a new 
birth certificate.  To keep my cover from being blown I 
will be processed through another office and placed in 
the foster home.  However, to make this happen, they 
had to legally make me a ward of the state and listed 
you as my current foster father.  They also had to 
delete my driver's license record so that an error flag 
wouldn't blow my cover.  Well, I guess these are no 
longer valid," she said, cutting up her driver's 
license and birth certificate and throwing the pieces 
in the trash.  

"Are you insane," I asked, "When is this all going to 
happen?"  

"The paper work will be done in a few days," she 
replied.  

"Not the paper work," I said. "When are you going to be 
placed in the home?"  

"I have three weeks to get ready," she replied.  

"What do you mean by 'get ready'?" I asked.  

"I may look pretty young but I need to not only look 15 
years old, I also have act like a 15 -year-old if I'm 
going to pull this off," she explained.

"What are you saying, I'm going to have a, four-eyed, 
brace-faced, pimple-puss teenager running around the 
house?" I laughed.

"Those are some good ideas I hadn't even thought of," 
she replied thoughtfully.

She also told me while she was undercover in the house 
she couldn't take a chance of blowing her cover and was 
told not to make contact with me. This whole crazy plan 
was getting out of hand, but I couldn't do anything 
except play along with her.

That day, she packed all her things in a box and had me 
take them to the Salvation Army drop-box.  She told me 
that when this was over I would have to buy her a 
complete new wardrobe.  She also told me she was moving 
into the spare bedroom and that there would be no sex 
until this was over.

"You can't be serious!" I said.

"I certainly am!" she replied.  Jokingly she added, 
According to the state records, I'm now only 15 and 
that would make it statutory rape!  Remember, from now 
on you are Mr. Jones, my foster father and, by the way, 
I need you to take me shopping now."

We drove to the mall and went shopping.  She went to 
the juniors department and picked out a pile of 
clothes, disappearing into the dressing room and coming 
out to model each new outfit.  Then she would tease me, 
knowing I wasn't allowed to touch her anymore.  The 
next stop was the music store where she bought a ton of 
CD's.  They were all the pop, rap and hip-hop music 
that a fifteen-year-old girl would be into.  She also 
bought a couple of posters of teen boy-bands to hang on 
the spare bedroom wall.

We then moved on to the bookstore, where she bought 
teenage romance books and a teen magazine.  We also 
stopped at a phone store, where she bought a pager and 
had it activated in my name. As we left the mall, she 
thanked me for helping her.

On the way home she exclaimed, "Damn, I'm out of 
cigarettes! Stop at the market so I can buy a pack." 

"Look, you are the one who wants to be fifteen. As you 
well know, that's legally too young to smoke and I 
won't allow it!"  She looked shocked, realizing she 
hadn't thought about that.  I quickly added, "Without a 
driver's license and with no money, I would say you are 
shit-out-of-luck, my dear." She knew I had her and 
dropped the subject.

When we arrived home she put all of her new clothes 
away and hung her posters on the spare bedroom wall.  
She spent the evening watching MTV and reading her teen 
magazine.  Before she retired to her new bedroom, she 
told me she had several appointments the next day that 
I would have to drive her to.

The next day I drove her to the office of a collage 
friend of hers who was now a dentist.  I was sitting in 
the waiting room when she came out smiling.  I couldn't 
believe it; friend had installed a full set of silver 
braces, top and bottom.  "I can't believe how far you 
are taking this," I told her. "It was your idea, if I 
remember correctly," she said.  

The next stop was the eye doctor.  She came out and got 
into the car, threw her contacts in the garbage and 
replaced them with a pair of glasses; the cheap plastic 
frame kind with thick lenses.  I looked at her and 
shook my head saying, "I know. It was my idea!"  

She finally made me drop her off at one of those cheap 
hair salons, the kind that does cuts for seven bucks. I 
hardly recognized her when she came back to the car; 
her shoulder length hair was cut short like a boy's.  

As we drove home, she proceeded to bite her long 
fingernails until they were just ugly stubs.  Sitting 
there in her baggy jeans, Back Street Boys T-shirt and 
platform sneakers, I couldn't help but comment on her 
new persona. 

"I can't believe how far you have taken this," I said.  
"You look terrible! With the short hair, glasses, 
braces, no makeup, and stubs for nails you look like a 
fifteen-year-old geek!"  

"I told you that I was serious about this and would do 
what ever it takes to make it look real," she replied.  

Jokingly I said, "I suppose you're going to develop a 
face full of pimples next."  "Great idea," she said, 
"That would be the finishing touch!"

When we got home she grabbed a hand full of dirt from a 
plant pot.  Then, stopping in the kitchen and grabbing 
a container of corn oil from the cabinet, went into the 
bathroom.  "Now what are you doing?" I asked. 

"Developing a face-full of zits," she responded.  She 
ground the dirt into her face and then rubbed corn oil 
all over it.

She spent the next three days with this concoction on 
her face; watching MTV, listening to her new CD's and 
hiding in her room reading her teenage romance novels.

She had succeeded in developing a full crop of pimples.  
She was all excited when I told her how terrible they 
looked.  She told me that before bed every night she 
was going to repeat the process in order to keep them 
for the duration of the investigation.

As if all of this wasn't bad enough, she announced that 
she was starting a diet to lose some weight.  She 
wanted to get her weight down to that of a fifteen-
year-old.  She was so thin to begin with I couldn't 
imagine her much thinner.

I told her "You may look like a fifteen-year-old but 
you also have to be able to function socially if you 
were going to get away with this."  

"Got any ideas?" she asked.  

"I'm going to start by dropping you off at the mall for 
a few hours every day. Then on Friday and Saturday 
night, I'll drop you off at the roller skating rink.  
You need to make some friends and start hanging out 
with them."  

"But what if some teenage boy tries to pick me up?" she 
asked.  

"Well, if you really want to think like a 15 year old 
girl, I think having a boyfriend your own age would be 
appropriate," I told her. She looked at me with a 
shocked expression.  "I didn't say you had to sleep 
with him, just play along," I assured her.  "Maybe give 
him your phone number and let him take you out on a 
date or two."

It took a minute but she agreed that it might help. 

"I also have another idea that might help you get into 
the 15-year-old mind set. 

"What's that?" she asked.  

"Well, as the manager at a fast restaurant, let me say 
congratulations, you've got the job."  

"You expect me to work in a junk food store?" she 
laughed.  

"Yep, starting tomorrow you're our newest burger-
flipper.  All that grease and heat should help your 
face break out even more," I said. Reluctantly, she 
agreed.

I made her take the city bus, come in on her own, and 
fill out an application, then interviewed her like all 
of the other applicants. After the interview I told her 
she had the job and put her right to work.  I then made 
her go to the backroom and don her new polyester 
uniform, hair net and visor. Observing her being 
trained in kitchen, I was pleased to see that she 
looked just like every other teenager in the place.  
After work I made her take the bus home so no one would 
think anything funny was going on.

By Friday night, she made plans to go roller-skating 
with a girl from work with whom she had made friends.  
The girl's mother picked her up and dropped the girls 
off at the roller rink.

That night she said she had met a totally awesome boy 
and gave him her phone number.  By that afternoon he 
was calling her. The girl friend from work also called 
her. Between the two of them, she talked on her bedroom 
phone for hours.  I overheard her saying things like 
"Oh my god!" and "Like, that's so cool!" and Awesome!" 
Her pager also started beeping with amazing regularity.

On Sunday I pulled the classifieds from the newspaper 
and circled an ad for a baby sitter.  "I want you to 
call and find out about it," I told her.  She looked at 
me strangely but called the number.  By the time she 
got off the phone she had a job baby-sitting for a few 
hours Monday and Wednesday for the next two weeks.

She worked the whole second week developing more 
pimples from the greasy heat of the kitchen.  She told 
me on Friday that she was going to spend the night at 
her girlfriend's house and meet the boy at the mall.

Saturday morning she called saying, "Mr. Jones, I want 
to stay another night, her mother said it was ok."

"I suppose, if her mother says it's ok, you can stay 
over," I told her.  "Where are you going and what are 
you doing?"

She said they were going to go to this really cool 
amusement park and hang out for the day.  They were 
also going to spend the night camping with her parents 
at a nearby campground and stuff like that.  "I guess 
it's all right, as long as there is adult supervision," 
I said with a grin. "Ok, Toodle-Doo," she said and hung 
up.  I replaced the receiver, shaking my head and 
thinking, "She's out of her mind."

By the third week she was starting to unconsciously 
display the demeanor and vocabulary of a teenager.  She 
had lost so much weight that what little breasts she 
had were now almost non-existent and her curvaceous ass 
and beautiful thighs had shrunk to those of a shapeless 
teenager's.  I let it go, not wanting to interfere and 
ruin the plan.  

She told me she had a date Wednesday night and asked if 
I would drop her off at the ice cream parlor.  I teased 
her about it and she told me to shut up.  I eventually 
told her "No problem."  I dropped her off and told her 
I would be back for her in an hour.  

When I returned, I parked across the street and saw her 
waiting for me outside with a boy.  I watched as he 
grabbed her hand and held it.  Not wanting to cause a 
scene, she didn't pull away.  Then he pulled her closer 
and gave her a kiss.  I could tell she was shocked but 
had to go along with it.  Placing his hands on her ass, 
he pulled her closer and gave her a deep French kiss. 
Realizing this could develop into a problem, I quickly 
pulled in the parking lot before it went any further.

She climbed in the car all flushed; I think she 
expected me to get angry but I didn't say anything.  I 
asked her how her date was and she merely said it was 
ok and left it at that.  The rest of that week she sank 
deeper into her role until finally she WAS a teenage 
girl. 

On Monday the department of social services arrived to 
pick her up.  She packed her things in a suitcase and 
was escorted to the car.  They placed her things in the 
trunk while she settled into the back seat.  I watched 
them as the car pulled away.

After a couple of months she finally nailed the abusive 
family.  When she returned home, I forced her to remain 
a teenager for a week and made her screw me every day 
before I would let her change back.  I asked her if she 
had enjoyed her role-playing adventure.

She said, "It was a terrible experience, I never want 
to relive my teenage years again."

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