This fantasy story is based very loosely on the comic "Sophie's Curious Perversions" by Von Gotha. That story took place in 1958 London. This one takes place in 2002, in Portland, Oregon.
Chapter 1: Sophie's 18th Birthday
Hi. I'm Sophie Anderson. I live in Portland, Oregon and I am a senior at Pacific Academy. It's a private school. One of those where we all have to wear uniforms and are expected to behave properly and get into a good college. Every day, I put on my green plaid skirt, white blouse, green tie, green blazer, white knee-high socks, and saddle shoes and head to school. It helps that we all dress the same because we only get noticed for what we do, not how we look. Even the boys have to wear dark green slacks, white shirts, ties, and green blazers. And besides, green looks great with my red hair. It's my favorite color.
I am writing this to tell about my recent "conversion" to a new way of thinking.
My best friend in the whole world is Tracey. She and I have been friends and lived in the same apartment building since we were born. In fact, we were supposed to be born on the same day, but she's two months older because she was a preemie. We always told each other everything and did things together whenever we could. Her parents even waited when it was time for her to start kindergarten so we would be in school together. If it wasn't for that, I would be the oldest person in our class since my birthday is just after the August 1 deadline. We have gone to the same school and were in all of our classes together until high school. I began to concentrate on science and Tracey began to concentrate on languages when we reached that level. But we still saw each other every day and spent most of our free time together.
But in the last two months, since her eighteenth birthday on June 12, Tracey has changed. No big thing, but lots of little ones. Like, she got her skirts shortened and then sometimes rolls the waistband over to make them even shorter. She leaves enough buttons undone that her bra sometimes shows. On weekends, if I see her at all anymore, she wears really short skirts or shorts. When we went to a swimming party last month, her bikini looked like it was just three postage stamps held together with string and she flirted with every male she saw. Her big boobs and long blonde hair make her the desire of all men and she liked the attention, I guess. She just wasn't the same as she used to be. Lately, she has been acting like a slut and I have even told her so, but she just laughs.
We started school on August 5th this year. All the public school kids were still on summer vacation, but we had school from the beginning of August until the last week of June every year. I felt a little strange going to school this year. All of our classes were in "Senior Hall" away from most of the underclassmen. We were being prepared for college. Besides that, my mom and Tracey had spent all of July changing me from "a little girl into a woman," as they liked to say. First, Mom got me contacts to replace my glasses. Then they had my hair restyled and made me promise never to wear it in a bun again. Now I sometimes put it in pigtails or a ponytail if I'm in a hurry, but otherwise I wear it styled loosely over my shoulders. They even made me start wearing earrings and makeup. I had to admit I did look prettier, but I was a late bloomer. I didn't even start my period until I was 15 and it seemed like just last year, was the first time I actually needed a bra, though Mom made me start wearing one in seventh grade. It was called a "training bra." What a joke. For training what?
I was at school on my eighteenth birthday - a Wednesday, August 14th. So far, it hadn't been much of a birthday.
I was walking down the hall with Tracey, after our last period history class. The teacher, Mr. Randall, had spent way too much time talking about the Ancient Romans and the perversions that had led to the downfall of their empire. Tracey said, "Wasn't that amazing?"
I stopped and looked at her. "You probably enjoyed that, you pervert." I had called her that, or a slut, ever since she started dressing like a slut and told me about how she played with herself sometimes. She had rolled the waistband of her skirt a couple of times so it was short enough that if she bent over her panties would show. Like usual, she had a couple extra buttons undone on her blouse, too. I could see the top of her black lace bra and plenty of cleavage. "I wish I could take extra chemistry or computer science and skip that history altogether." I never had told Tracey that sometimes I played with myself too. I was too embarrassed and usually felt guilty for days.
"Oh, you prude. Someday you'll change," she came back at me with a laugh.
About that time we rounded a corner where a group of boys were standing together. One of them, Johnny, held up a banana in my face and said, "Hey Sophie, you want some of my banana? Or is it too big for you?"
A redheaded, deeply freckled boy named Ralph held up a big carrot and said, "How about my carrot instead, Sophie? It's harder."
A boy named Byron pushed between them. "Hey guys, she's no vegetarian, she's probably a meat eater. She'd rather have a big sausage." He waved a hot dog at me.
I pushed past them; called them perverts, and Tracey and I continued down the hall to the front door. I could hear them giggling and calling me a stuck-up virgin. Even Tracey was laughing. "Some fun, Tracey. Probably inspired by the Mr. Randall and those Romans," I muttered as I headed out the door. It was things like this that made me wish I hadn't let Mom talk me into changing my hair style and getting contacts instead of glasses. When my hair was up in a bun and I had my black-rimmed glasses on, the boys had never treated me like that. Now, my senior year would be spent listening to outrageous comments just because I was pretty.
Just then Tracey stopped and said, "Oops, I forgot. I have to stay after for some extra violin practice. Guess you'll have to walk home alone, Little Red. Watch out for the Big Bad Wolf!" She turned and headed back into school. Ever since I was a baby, Tracey and her parents have called me Little Red. My mom has red hair too and they called her Red, so I became Little Red.
Tracey and I used to always walk home to our apartment building together. It's about 10 blocks, long enough to be a real pain in our skirts in cold weather. At least in the heat of August, that wouldn't be a problem. I headed out alone.
I had gone about three blocks when I noticed there were some scruffy-looking men just behind me. I speeded up a little. The two men came up on either side of me, grabbed my arms, lifted me off the sidewalk and headed for an alley. I was kicking and screaming, but they didn't seem to notice. I was terrified. One of the men pulled my backpack off and jerked down on my blazer until it was in the middle of my back, pinning my arms. I fell to the ground, skinning me knees and would have fallen on my face, except the man behind me jerked me back to my feet.
The other man grabbed the front of my blouse and pulled it open, the buttons scattering to the ground. Then he grabbed me by the tie around my neck and pulled out a knife. "Shut up and do as you're told, you little bitch." He held the knife near my throat. I quit screaming immediately. He stuck the knife in my cleavage and pulled, slicing my bra in two. My 34B breasts popped out into the cool air. He grabbed the cut ends of the bra and sliced the shoulder straps, then pulled it away, tossing it to the ground.
I was crying silently, too afraid of the men and their knives to scream or fight. I felt faint.
