All-Star Sissy

Making the Team

This is part one of seven detailing Samantha's struggles in sissy sports.

—--------------------------------------------------------------

"You're free to go, sissy."

They'd told me those words when they'd discharged me from the summer camp, the Draconian, terrible place that I'd spent my break. Those four months had been the longest of my life, but even as I left, I wasn't really free. They told me I was. But they also gave me several conditions of my "parole," conditions that could get me sent back if I broke them.

Condition #1: Don't Do It Again.

That was easy enough. My attempt to go viral, my attempt at the prank, had gone horribly wrong. What was just supposed to be a harmless if overly elaborate joke turned into a fire, property damage and enough charges to get me expelled from college. Luckily my stepmother knew the judge. At least I thought it was lucky. These days, I was starting to wonder if she was the one who'd pushed him to go so hard on me, so that the alternative he offered seemed like a better choice. It could have been a set up from the start.

But I was never going to get in trouble again. I'd seen what happened to people who went back for round two. As much as I hated what they made me, I was only medium. I'd seen some poor souls there who were well-done by the time they left again.

Condition #2: Be Put Under The Care Of A Compliance Officer

That one was also pretty simple. Part of the damage I had done was burning down a section of a sorority house. When my stepmother reached out to them in hopes of finding what amounted to my parole officer, one gladly volunteered. In fact, she was too glad. She loved to make sure my outfit was perfect, to make me redo my nails, to make my life even harder than it already was. The fact that we were roommates didn't help. She had all day to torture me with her stupid rules and expectation.

Condition #3: Keep Your Grades Up

I'd always been a pretty good student and unlike some of the repeat offenders at the camp, they hadn't messed with my head. I was still me, at least mentally, and ready to protect that at all cost. In fact, I was doing better in school than I ever had. The nightmares I had about vapid, giggling girls who'd had deep conversations with me only a few months before saw to that. One of the offenders there had been a math major who got caught running the largest cheating operation in his college's history. By the time he got out, I don't think you could have asked them to do arithmetic.

Come to think about it, he had a stepmom he didn't get along with either...

All that was to say that I didn't want to break the rules. But after they released me, as I tried my best to stay in line, I realized that maybe they wanted me to fail. They must have, because the fourth and last rule was absurd.

Condition #4: Must Participate On An Athletic Team

The people at the camp claimed that this rule was there to motivate their sissies to be well rounded, and that playing sports usually led to less issues and rule breaking. But if my few scattered conversations with returning sissies were any indication, this was one which had tripped up so many. With our new bodies, it was easy to see why. We weren't made for athletics. But I needed to make a team. So here I was.

Basketball tryouts.

Truth be told, I probably looked ridiculous. The softest blonde hair I'd ever felt hung back in a ponytail behind me. My delicate features and adorable face were trying to look determined, but I probably just looked cute. My shoulders were now so narrow that it was hard to look imposing, and my arms were so thin that if I flexed them, everyone would laugh. My slender, dainty hands certainly didn't help matters. Neither did my hourglass waist, which not even my oversized jersey could completely hide. Almost all these clothes were oversized on me, including the baggy gym shorts which I had secured by tying their drawstrings as tight as humanly possible. Luckily my wide hips kept them firmly in place.