could be made to work.

I seemed to have no choice in the matter; All the girls went to work on my disguise. Before I could object, I was stripped down to my jockey-shorts, and one of the girls was busy shaving my hairy legs. While I protested, another girl was deftly shaving my armpits. A big girl dove into her locker and came up with a padded bra which would fit me, and then proceeded to fill out the cups even more with more padding securely taped in. Joan's tiny gold panties were stripped off her slimly rounded hips and dragged onto me where they fitted my loins too tightly for comfort.

They found a short-skirted white tennis dress almost identical with the one Joan was wearing that I could get into, and I was almost ready for this prank of substitution before I had agreed to do it. The doctor had taken Joan off to the hospital to have her ankle X-rayed, and the remaining girls went to work completing my disguise.

As I mentioned, Joan and I both have blonde hair. She wears hers fairly short for a girl, so that it won't get in her way on the tennis court. She always wears a headband to keep her hair under control while playing. My hair was fairly long, the way lots of fellows wear their hair nowadays, so my make-up assistants had some material to work with in their attempted deception. The head-band would help, and our faces were almost identical to begin with, as I have said.

Lipstick, face-powder, and eye-shadow were deftly applied by the eager girls, and when they let me see myself in a full-length mirror, I was truly startled at how much I ressembled my twin-sister. The way the ex-

tremely short flaring skirt kept swirling and flipping up around my hips, revealing the gaudy gold little panties that so snugly encased my hips, distracted and embarrassed me, but my critical audience of helpful girls assured me that everything was perfect and I'd soon get used to this intimate exposure, just as all girls did.

We still had an hour or so to go until it was time for Joan's (my) singles match, so I spent the time trying to get accustomed to looking and acting like a girl. I still thought of the whole deal as a sort of prank or harmless hoax, where everybody would soon discover the substitution and we'd all have a good laugh about it. My main woryy was hoping that Joan's ankle was not badly broken so she'd be on crutches and miss a lot of fun over the summer vacation.

Not many people seemed to have heard about Joan's accident, so when her match was announced and I went out onto the court, there was the usual cheering and encouragement that she would have gotten. The group from State College certainly didn't suspect anything, I'm sure. At least not then.

Even as I warmed up before starting the match, I kept feeling the shame and embarassment of having my legs exposed so completely. The tiny gold panties clasped my crotch so snugly that I was aware of their grip all the time, but my legs were completely bare all the way up to where they joined my body, a condition that men and boys are not accustomed to, althought girls experience this sexual exposure frequently, in tennis, in swimming, in cheer-leading, in show-business. And I found it distracting to have the ersatz breasts bulging out from my chest where my arms kept brush-