The page list
"Are you serious? Another Reform School? Haven't I been to enough?"
"Jake T. Dawson! You will go to as many Reform Schools as it will take!"
"Until?"
"Until you behave like a proper young man!"
"And what if I don't?"
"Then you are going to be out on the street! You live under my roof, you live under my rules!"
Yup. This is the relationship between Me and my Mom. We don't exactly get along. Well, not since my Dad died in a car crash when I was Ten. That was really hard. My Dad and I had a good Father-Son relationship. My Mom loved my Dad, even though he was a bit sexist. He would drone on about how Women were meant to stay home and clean and that kind of thing. My Mom didn't agree, but she loved him anyway. After he died, though, all traces of masculinity in my house was gone. My Mom had turned everything even the least bit boyish into something feminine. I guessed she did it out of spite. That, and I'm pretty sure she wanted a daughter. I mean, even my bedroom walls were painted pink. I wasn't allowed to hang out with the neighborhood guys, only my Mom's Friend's daughters. Because of this I get into a lot of trouble. I think I have a knack for that kind of thing BECAUSE my Mom lives the way she does. I've been to at least a dozen Reform Schools before. They all sucked. Apparently, "Reform School" is just another fancy way of saying "Boot Camp."
Anyway, My Mom has once again signed me into yet another Reform School. Without even telling me. The next day, a rusted, un-painted bus pulled up to the curb in front of my house. It looked old, and didn't have any labels. I walked out with my Pack and stepped onto the bus. I had no choice. As I climbed onto the bus, I noticed a surprising lack of girls. There was usually around four or five, sometimes only two or three. But this time there were zero.
"Weird." I muttered to myself. When I sat down, I stared at my mother. She was waving, but with a strange, devilish grin. She had never done that before.
“Where am I going?" I wondered. After about an hour or so of driving on the highway we pulled up to a large tiled area. Medium sized rectangular buildings cluttered the grounds. It was strange; the entire area was tiled. Usually it was just soft dirt. When we got out, our packs were thrown at us and the bus sped away. A woman walked out of the nearest building. I got hard when I saw her. She looked in her early twenties. She was wearing a Camouflage-style skin-tight full-body catsuit. She had long, curly black hair. Her eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses. She had at least DD-cup breasts. She was so sexy.
"Listen up, Ladies." (Stereotypical General talk)
"I am Sargent Moore. I will be your program director."
She passed out a stack of pink papers.
"These are your Daily Schedules. You will do EVERYTHING on these sheets WHEN they are scheduled."
I took one look at the sheet.
"Is this some kinda joke?" I blurted out.
Here's the list-
8:00 A.M.-Wake up
8:30 A.M.-Get dressed
9:00 A.M.-Diapering/Lubrication
9:30 A.M.-Breakfast
10:30 A.M.-Babification
12:00 Noon-Maid training
1:30 P.M.-Lunch
2:30 P.M.-Feminization
4:00 P.M.-Feminist class
5:30 P.M.-Hypnotism
6:30 P.M.-Whore class
7:00 P.M.-Dinner
8:00 P.M.-lubrication
8:30 P.M.-Bedtime
Some were staring in confusion while others were still staring at Sargent Moore.
Some started panicking, or even freaking out. I heard multiple groans, and felt a sharp pain in my back. Then I blacked out.
*Pt 2 under in replies*
