This story is based on the excellent Ed Miller tale: "Miss Sheila DeVille's School for Wayward Boys". I really liked the concept, so I'm offering my own take. Ed gets full credit for the idea, the setting and the background characters.
Ed's rules of engagement also apply here:
This is a story involving explicitly described sex. If you think you might be offended by it, or you aren't allowed by the laws of the place in which you live to read such a story, don't. If you read past this warning, any offense you take or laws you break are your problem. I've warned you.
Permission is hereby given to archive this story anywhere on the Internet, so long as the author is credited, it is reproduced in its entirety (including this disclaimer!) and no fee is charged to access it.
Miss DeVille's Academy - Lucas's Story
By Lurker B.
"We're here," the driver said.
I looked warily out the side window. We'd arrived at a complex of buildings set amongst a thick grove of trees - well isolated from the highway. The place looked a bit like a college campus - rather old fashioned and extremely well maintained. A small sign in gothic letters spelled out the name: "The Miss Sheila DeVille School for Wayward Boys." I snorted to myself. Miss DeVille. Probably some 80 year old battleaxe of an educator who could fit right into a Pink Floyd video.
So this is my new home, I thought. At least until I got tired of it. I grabbed my pack and jumped out of the county van. The driver wasted no time in peeling out of there. I was glad to see him go - he'd seemed oddly nervous on the trip over from the family courthouse. I saw nothing to fret about. This was just another layover as far as I was concerned. I'd seen them all since my parents had died. Orphanages, foster care, reform schools - one no different from the other.
At 16, I'd been a ward of the state for half of my life. I really didn't like authority, and authority didn't like me. I wasn't an out- an-out criminal - but I took a certain perverse delight in making things miserable for those who were stuck with me. Probably because for them, I was just another stipend from the government - they warehoused me with the rest of society's rejects, then cashed the checks.
I looked up the stone steps of the main building. Another boy was standing at the top, obviously waiting for me. He was wearing a well- cut blue blazer, with a neatly pressed shirt and gray slacks - and a damned tie. Cool. If this school required uniforms, it'd make it that much easier for me to irritate the teachers.
I walked up to him. "Lucas Fletcher?" he asked.
"Yep," I replied laconically.
"Jack Barlow. Welcome to Miss DeVille's. I'm here to help you get acclimated. Follow me." I accompanied him into the foyer - very well- appointed with marble floors and Victorian furniture. He turned and led the way down a long corridor - taking swift strides. I noticed his hair was neatly trimmed and he walked with near military precision.
We passed through what appeared to be an administrative section. Everything was spotless - more than spotless, it was immaculate. All the offices were decked out with top of the line computers and similar gear. This certainly didn't fit the profile of the dumps in which I'd been caged in the past. Some serious money had been invested here. Interesting...
We arrived at a set of chambers labeled "Headmistress Roberts" - whom I assumed was the big cheese in these parts. Time to meet the dictator. Jack led me into the outer office, and it was there I began to realize this school was very different.
The secretary stood up. Actually, stood didn't describe how this woman moved. She seemed to float from her chair with a languid grace. And she needed that grace - because she had the largest pair of breasts I'd ever seen.
I strive to cultivate a poker face - particularly whenever I'm in a new situation. Don't let your opponents know what you're thinking and so forth. But the secretary had me flummoxed. All I could do was stare at that incredible chest - it was several moments before I realized the rest of her was just as impressive. Hair, face, legs - there was nothing to critique. I couldn't believe someone with a body like that was working as an assistant. She could easily be modeling for Penthouse.
"Yes, Jack?" she queried in a sultry voice.
"I've brought Lucas to see Miss Roberts," Jack replied.
It had seemed a brilliant idea at the time. The CIA managed to develop a new virus that would trigger the female genes in a male body and turn the man into a woman. They even threw in some hormone enhancing gene sequences to ensure that any infected enemy combatant would focus on sex instead of fighting.
