Character Creation
Chapter Four – Ring of Projected Guises

      Mariah Bray strutted out of the Principal Schickler’s office with a smirk on her face. Today marked yet another victory in her war on James Garfield High School’s sexist, prejudicial dress code, as dated as the school’s namesake. Two months ago she and her fellow Garfeminists had staged a protest at homecoming, their dates arriving in revealing dresses identical to the women who brought them as dates to point out the blatant hypocrisy that, as written, the dress code forbid such attire for women but not men. 
      Last month she had helped plan and enact a walk-out during the school’s pep rally, getting just enough girls to protest to have them wear t-shirts with a character apiece spelling out #dress4ourselves. (She’d hoped to spell out “for” but Gretchen and Lindsay had backed out at the last minute. Luckily, they’d had a spare T-shirt to scrawl the 4 on.) Still, the patriarchy needed to realize that women should dress however they wanted, and let the onus be on men to control themselves rather than women to avoid tempting them.
      As a response, hoping to expose the girls – an ironic phrase, considering – to a positive adult influence, they had transferred Mariah into Miss Temple’s homeroom. The woman confounded all common sense – new teachers were supposed to be cool, understanding, progressive. There had been widespread jubilation among the student body upon her hire – not only was she replacing that dinosaur Mr. Farkis in the social studies department, she was young, and frankly, stunning. This was a fact not lost on Mariah personally, as she found she preferred the company of her own gender in the bedroom as well as the classroom.
      She was also some sort of walking anachronism from the 19th century.
      At first, students had thought her stodgy dress, tightly wound bun, antiquated librarian’s glasses were just an affect, a new professional over-compensating for her youth with what she thought were the trappings of adulthood. Then, after a widely gossipped-about incident in which it was said Coach Daniels had hit on her after the faculty meeting and she’d slapped him in the face and reported him to HR – then filed sexual harassment charges when HR didn’t discipline strongly enough for her tastes. He had not been seen on school property since.
      Mariah knew full well the coach had been a misogynist creep. She’d been delighted to see the faculty had hired such a proud, ardent feminist, a woman who took her demeanor and work environment so seriously. 
      Then, she’d been transferred to her homeroom, where she came to see her for the relic she was. Optimistically Mariah had made an invitation to her to be the Garfeminist’s faculty sponsor – a position no one had yet been willing to accept, worried the group would place them at odds with the administration. (Which, of course, it would. That was why they needed a sponsor, after all, to take the heat.)
      She remembered the conversation vividly. “So, what do you think, Miss Temple? Would you be interested? We could really use your help, and I think this would be a great niche for you here as you start out.”
      Miss Temple lowered her glasses from her face, leaving them suspended from the chain clipped on either arm. “Miss… Bray, is it? You call yourself a feminist, do you?”
      “Absolutely.” 
      “So this is what passes for feminism in this school, then – flesh-toned leggings and a white t-shirt over a black bra? To turn your body into a feast for male eyes? To advertise your sexuality – well, I say advertise as if it were for sale, yet it seems you’re happy to let the man ogle your budding charms for no price at all.
      “No, Miss Bray, I don’t think I shall accept your offer. In fact, I think it best you report to the Principal Schickler’s office on account of your violation of the school’s dress code. A referral which you can count on receiving from me every morning if you continue to clad yourself in the uniform of a common strumpet.”
      By the time she’d reached the office, she’d almost managed to pick her jaw up off the floor. That had been three weeks ago. Since then, she had been sent to the office almost every day for some trivial violation – a sleeveless t-shirt, a shirt that showed half an inch of mid-riff, a skirt that didn’t quite reach past her fingertips – and oh yes, the most malicious offense of all, raising her hand in a way that Miss Temple claimed let one see her bra through her sleeve hole.
      Every time she was sent, she pleaded the commonsense position that her attire was perfectly presentable, that anyone who couldn’t focus on a lesson because they were too busy leering at her deserved to be punished via their grade, rather than punishing her for having a well-proportioned, healthy, attractive physique. Each time, her plea fell on deaf ears.
      Today, she had finally had enough and struck back at her oppressor. As a pawn in a patriarchal system in which she was given no voice or representation, she knew that if she couldn’t beat Miss Temple’s rules, she could discredit the woman enforcing them.
      It had been a cunning ruse, all things considered. There was a small antechamber outside Miss Temple’s room where the woman monitored the halls between classes. (Twice so far, Mariah hadn’t even made it in the door because of some minutia of her attire.) The antechamber was used as a general dumping ground for departmental supplies, cluttered with boxes and unused desks.
      Before school, Mariah stood around the corner from the entryway and called directly to Miss Temple’s classroom phone just a minute before the bell rang. She’d given it a moment for her to answer, then rushed quickly into the antechamber and stashed away a bag with a few props. She strutted into the classroom with a broad smile – and her lowest-cut top, revealing a whole acre of her bounteous cleavage. 
      She’s also skipped the bra, to make sure every head turned as she strutted in. They did.
      Miss Temple didn’t even finish taking attendance before she stopped and gaped at her “lewd” display – as if a woman’s body was somehow indecent – and send her once more to the principal’s office. Mariah shrugged and left… pausing in the antechamber to snatch the bag and deftly change into a bra (plain white) and a blouse that resembled the other in style but not in cut, going up most of the way to her collarbone. She hid the more revealing top behind a file cabinet where no one would ever see it and made for the office.
      “Miss Temple has it out for me, I’m telling you. Look at this – how could anyone possibly think this is indecent? She’s making up lies about me just to punish me because I called her frigid.” Oh yeah, she might have argued back a little a few of the times she’d been disciplined. Maybe all of the times.
      “Oh? And I suppose you didn’t just stop by the ladies room and change before reporting again? I wasn’t born yesterday,” said Mr. Schickler.
      “I didn’t – I swear. You can even check the video surveillance if you don’t believe me. Go on, look!” Sure enough, he did, and sure enough, all he saw was Mariah leaving the antechamber dressed exactly as she was, then heading straight to the office.
      The gray-haired principal eyed her warily, still not sold, and called Miss Temple, asking her to describe what Mariah had been wearing. She did, and the description was identical save for the presence of cleavage. “Mmhmm, yes, well, you see I have her sitting here, and I’m looking at her and… well, I just don’t quite see it, I’m afraid.” She could hear an angry diatribe coming from the other end of the phone; the principal tolerated it only a moment. “Yes, well, I’m going to send her back to class. Please, just… use a little more discretion in the future, if you would. All right then. Bye-bye.”
      Mariah gave him her most innocent expression. “You see? I’m trying, really trying, to cooperate, to handle my disagreements in a civil fashion. Thank you, Mr. Schickler, for doing the right thing.”
      “Yes yes, you’re off the hook – for today. Now get back to class and don’t go throwing it in her face or we’ll have a very different discussion.”
      She strutted out of his office with a smirk on her face – as noted previously. She allowed herself a moment of internal celebration – only to find her private victory dance in the waiting room was actually being observed.
      “That was rather an impressive deception,” said the old man. “My hat’s off to you for a solid use of both Bluff and Disguise.”
      She eyed him and his strange attire askance. “What, are you a model for the cap and gown company or something?”
      “Oh no – I suppose in the tongue of this land, one might say I’m here promoting a meritocracy program to reward enterprising youths where much deserved.” His old eyes twinkled merrily.
      Ah, one of those. “Seems like every year the establishment devises some new way to pat the wallflowers and the sheep on the back. What is it this time? Novelty pencil erasers? Award certificates in a display case no one ever looks at? An extra ketchup packet at lunch?”
      “There’s that fiery demeanor – and me without my flame tongue. There would be a proper reward for a fierce warrior like yourself.”
      “I’m sorry, did you just say something about slipping me the tongue?” She put her hands on her hips, striding up close enough to loom over him. You couldn’t let the patriarchy think such comments would slip by unnoticed. Actions had consequences.
      “Ha! And there’s that Intimidate skill coming to bear as well,” he said – still merry, but he held up his hands in mock surrender. “I tell you what, for your uncommon valor and unwavering dedication to your crusade, I shall go over my treasure budget, just this once.”
      Mariah genuinely couldn’t tell if he was trying to hit on her or was just another weird old guy who’d lost touch with his ability to relate to people. “What does that mean, ‘treasure budget’?”
      “Oh, just that something extra special that I hope will kindle add a little heat to your fire, young rogue.” He chuckled. “Not every day I produce a custom item, after all!”
      “No, see, that doesn’t mean anything. Speak plainly, and tell me exactly what it is you’re offering.”
      He blinked. “Well. It’s not usually the case that people are so direct in their inquiries.”
      “C’mon. What’re you selling.”
      The old man smiled again. “Well, perhaps just this once I can provide a bit more disclosure – after all, you’ve a war to plan.”
      
      
      
      Mariah paused in the antechamber to change back into her original outfit as hastily as possible. Luckily, no one came by to catch her in the act. Once dressed as she had been at the onset of class, she swaggered back into Miss Temple’s homeroom. It was deathly quiet; with the class having had the opportunity to eavesdrop on that phone call, everyone was stunned to see Mariah come in with her cleavage still proudly on display.
      “Step outside with me a moment,” Miss Temple said coolly before Mariah could even sit down. 
      “Happy to.”
      The duo stepped back into the antechamber; Mariah positioned herself so that Miss Temple’s back would be to where she’d stashed the bag, just in case. “Do you mind explaining to me what transpired between you and Mr. Schickler?”
      “Nothing. I went down, just like you said, and… well, I guess he didn’t find anything wrong with what he saw.” She shrugged, letting the girls bounce noticeably.
      “I find it difficult to believe Mr. Schickler approves of you displaying your figure like a poster girl for a bordello.”
      “Well, Miss Temple, you see, not all people find the female form so objectionable. You could probably turn a few heads yourself if you decided to join us in dressing like a 21st century woman.”
      “Yes, and I don’t doubt I could improve my earning potential by moonlighting as a stripper, but my self-respect comes before my baser urges. Someday you’ll be older and you’ll gain some perspective on what your body was made for.” She looked over Mariah’s nubile form with disapproval. “And what it was not.”
      “Lesson learned, Miss Temple. Can I go back to class now? In my officially approved school attire?” She smiled innocently.
      Miss Temple scowled, then went back into the classroom. With her back turned, Mariah hastily whipped out the gem the old man had given her and used it.
      
      <B>Gem of Projected Guises</B>
      Slot: None; Aura: Faint illusion; CL 12th; Weight: –
      This fire opal allows the wielder to change the appearance of anyone she perceives through it. This functions as a disguise other spell, except that it transmutes the subject’s visual, auditory, and tactile senses. A gem of projected guises can be used for as many as 120 minutes a day, in increments of 10 minutes. These increments do not need to be consecutive.
      
      She then followed her back in. Nobody noticed anything as Miss Temple crossed the room and seated herself, and obviously they didn’t notice while she was sitting at her desk. It wasn’t until near the end of class anyone spotted it while announcements were being read and the class stood up to recite the Pledge of Allegiance – the sheep who were willing to do so, that is; Mariah swore no oaths to the patriarchy.
      They were right at “and to the republic for which it stands” when Dave Breyer pointed and blurted with all the tact the burnout was known for. “Whoa, there’s a big hole in the back of Miss Temple’s skirt!”
      Suddenly, twenty-four pairs of eyes darted to the brunette teacher’s backside, where a hole the size of a golf ball was evident. Moreover, it was clear from its position not far from the middle that either Miss Temple wasn’t wearing panties, or had on a particularly skimpy thong. The teacher whirled in an effort to see it, then put her back to the class, her pretty face turning crimson as her fingers located the illusory hole. The whole class laughed and pointed, the boys hooting and hollering at having seen a tiny glimpse of their hot teacher’s shapely backside.
      At length, she was able to calm them down, stammering an apology and asking for their discretion – as if a roomful of bored, horny teenagers could conceivably be relied upon not to tell everyone they knew the first chance they got. “Miss Temple,” Mariah said loudly over the din, “I think your wardrobe is making it difficult for the boys to concentrate.” This sent the class into fresh peals of laughter that the unseasoned teacher couldn’t quiet down by the time the bell rang minutes later.
      Mariah considered herself a justice-minded person; there were clearly all manner of ways to use and abuse this gift, but she kept on task. She’d been given this in her mission to end the tyrannical dress code, and that was what she meant to do. Her next task was and remained finding a faculty sponsor, after all, and besides, she’d almost gotten a detention because of that prude! 
      
      
      
      Of course, she had to be careful. The gem had important limitations, and Mariah spent that weekend experimenting with them, seeing what the limits were. She tested some on herself – the gem would work as long as any part of its target was in the wielder’s field of vision, so all she had to do was hold one hand on the far side of it and voila.
      The control wasn’t perfect, though; even with this she was no Mystique. The control changed whatever details the wearer imagined – so for instance, when she tried to imagine herself looking like her mom and compared it to a recent picture, a close observer may well spot the differences. The same went for vocal changes – it could approximate pretty well, but it didn’t convey all of a person’s little ticks, their accent, and so on. 
      She made a note to keep her changes to Miss Temple to wardrobe only until she got better practiced. 
      The other issue was the duration of the effect. Now Mariah wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth, but still, having only a couple hours out of the day was darned inconvenient. She was going to have to be strategic about it. Homeroom lasted half an hour and was the first thing in the school day, so that made it ideal, especially since Miss Temple had her teacher’s preparatory period right after, which meant she tended to arrive relatively late compared to her colleagues who needed to set up first thing.
      For the first week, Mariah kept it simple and subtle. Each morning she waited in the parking lot for Miss Temple’s Subaru to pull into the lot, then followed her into the building and made a few minor alterations. Sweaters and pants grew tighter, blouses more sheer, heels grew an inch or so. She even loosened the bitch’s bun, and marveled that she didn’t seem to notice.
      Neither did the students, though – not really. They’d watched a video in her psychology class about human perception, and had learned that people were really bad at noticing minor changes. They’d even done an experiment where an actor playing a clerk at a hotel knelt down to pick something up for customers, then a different actor who looked completely different stood up from where he’d been kneeling. Most people didn’t even notice that the employee suddenly became a completely different person. She thought she saw her male peers looking a little harder at her generous caboose or the shapely definition of her top, but she was still a teacher, and her attire was far from racy.
      By the time Friday rolled around, she was feeling bold and went all the way to a pony tail; she thought she saw the woman frown at the feel of her hair swinging around behind her head, but all she did was calmly weave the illusory hair back into the bun once the class was settled in. This was all the better since shortly after homeroom, the illusion would have worn off and left her wondering how it had gotten back into her usual austere style. 
      The next weekend she pressed the limits even further – practiced fine-tuning, getting little details right. By the time she’d expended the last of the gem’s power on Sunday, she’d been able to trick their next-door-neighbor into thinking Mariah was her dad, and the illusion had even worked on her little brother. 
      Better yet, she’d even hit upon a few tricks – she discovered she could alter the someone’s appearance in one way, but the way they felt it in another. She practiced on herself, changing herself into a bikini while making it feel like she was wearing sweats and a hoodie. A little harder to effect, but she soon got the hang of it. 
      It was time to step up her game.
      The following Monday, she waited on edge to see that piece of crap Subaru roll in. Miss Temple stepped out of her car in a thick sweater and a pair of black pants so loose they wouldn’t have shown off her shape if they’d been white. Which was her intent, she supposed. Mariah made a few notes, and put her plan into motion. 
      
      
      
      Katrina Temple sighed at the sight of Mariah Bray’s outfit. The girl had been so good all last week, not making any waves with more of her melodramatic political statements on what was, as near as her teacher could tell, the merits of promoting sluthood to young women. Today she was back to the leggings, and a sweater so tight she may as well have been naked. (The latter didn’t violate policy, but it was the icing in the cake.)
      “I see you’ve decided to end your compliance streak, Mariah,” she said dryly. “You were doing so well.”
      “What is it today, my headband isn’t regulation length?”
      “The leggings, as you well know. Off to Mr. Schickler with you,” she said, waving a hand dismissively.
      “This is SO not fair!” Mariah whined. 
      “‘Bray’ is an apt name for you, as you do have that tendency to bray like a mule when you’re feeling put upon. Please don’t make a fuss over it and just gracefully accept the consequences of your actions.”
      “You can’t just–” 
      “I can and I have, and the matter is settled. Go.”
      The girl sulkily stalked out of the room; naturally, every male head in the room was glued to her posterior. It was a shame she hadn’t learned to value cultivating respect with her mind rather than her body. Mariah was quite bright, actually – but like so many pretty young girls, academic achievement took second stage to attention from the fairer sex.
      Katrina should know. She’d been a girl just like that once herself, prancing around in the fashion of her day. Nothing quite so revealing as what these girls seemed to favor, but still, she’d been as guilty as they, and luckily, she’d grown up a lot in college. Being perceived as a professional and respectable was of paramount importance to her; she just wished she’d adopted this view sooner. Who knows what sorts of mistakes and pitfalls she might have avoided, how many creeps like Coach Daniels she could have side-stepped?
      Mariah didn’t return during homeroom, which was just as well with her – the last thing she wanted to start her day with was another lecture from the adolescent vixen. Then she got a phone call from Mr. Schickler.
      “Hi, Miss Temple, I’ve got Mariah here in my office, and she’s… well, she’s pretty upset. Would you be able to come down here during your prep period and meet with us?”
      “Of course,” she said. Ugh, what could the girl possibly want to complain about now? Article 24 Section 4 of the student handbook mentioned leggings by name as a prohibited class of attire – it wasn’t like she hadn’t been warned.
      Mariah was sitting in the waiting room by herself when she arrived, staring at that gawdy necklace with the bright blue stone she’d noticed her wearing of late. Probably a present from some boy who thought he’d get into her leggings. She held it up in front of her, as if playing some childish game where she could erase someone by blocking sight of them.
      “I see you haven’t been able to charm your way out of it this time,” Katrina said.
      “Don’t count me out yet,” Mariah said with her usual smirk. She looked to Mr. Schickler’s office. “Shall we? Lady’s first – I don’t want to distract you on my way in.”
      Katrina just rolled her eyes and entered the principal’s office, knocking on the doorway. “Is this a good time?”
      He had his back to her and finished typing out a few lines of an email as he replied. “Sure, Miss Temple, just bring her on in and have a seat, please.”
      The ladies did, sitting on either end of the sofa, as far from one another as they could get. Mr. Schickler finished what he was doing and turned to face them, then did a double-take. What was his problem? It was like he was leering at her there for a moment.
      “Well…” he said, seeming thrown off his game for some reason.
      Mariah nodded. “You see what I mean now?”
      “Am I missing something here?” Katrina asked. “There seems to be little ambiguity. The girl wore leggings to class again, which the dress code explicitly forbids. I don’t see what more there is to it.”
      “Oh, so it’s OK when you wear them, but not when I do?”
      Katrina scoffed. “These aren’t leggings, Miss Bray, just black slacks.”
      “What! Mr. Schickler, they totally are!” the girl spouted indignantly. Katrina stood up so as to let her pants hang loose and put this ridiculousness to rest. Only… they didn’t. She could feel without looking that they were clinging to her body like a second skin. 
      Katrina turned crimson. “I… I must have somehow grabbed the wrong pair this morning! Oh, this is so embarrassing, I am so sorry!”
      “Oh yeah, now pretend it’s an accident – this is hardly the first time you’ve come to school trying to show off for the guys in your classes,” Mariah accused.
      “Well I never!” she shouted. “You dress like a tart with such frequency that… look, Tom, even her sweater is paper-thin and far too tight. At least mine was a legitimate mistake!”
      “Mistake? At least I’m wearing a bra and underwear, Miss Temple!”
      Katrina’s hands groped at her breasts before she could stop them – dear heavens, the girl was right! How could she have forgotten such a thing! She wore a C-cup for crying out loud – how could she have even made it into the building without noticing them flopping and jiggling all over the place! She didn’t even remember owning a top this tight, clinging to her body and making the truth of Mariah’s words utterly obvious. Her nipples were jutting right through the material lewdly.
      Mr. Schickler raised a hand and called for the women to quiet down, and Katrina forced herself to settle back onto the couch and try not to burn up from the heat blooming in her cheeks. How could this have happened? It was so unlike her!
      “Now, I don’t want to get into a she said/she said situation about what’s happened in the past. For today, Mariah, you knowingly broke the rules, but I can see that maybe you were mislead as to the appropriateness of your actions. Do you have a change of clothes?”
      “Well sure, but I don’t see why…”
      “You don’t need to. Now I need you to go change into something appropriate, and let me speak privately with your teacher, OK?”
      “Fine, I guess.” She huffed loudly and sauntered out of the room, though not before giving Katrina a snide look.
      As soon as the door was closed, Mr. Schickler looked at her with obvious irritation. “What the hell, Katrina? It’s hard enough trying to maintain standards in this school without having to worry about the faculty flouting them as well.”
      “Tom, I–” 
      “Save it. Look, I know you’re young, fresh out of college, still have some of those outfits lying around, but…” he sighed. “To be honest, dress code isn’t a big deal to me. It’s in the handbook, so I enforce it, but for the faculty members who look the other way, I’m fine with that. For those who want to take issue with it, I’ll have their backs. But I can’t have your back when that back is covered by leggings that, frankly, are halfway see-through!”
      She blushed even harder.
      “Now if you want to crusade against those Garfeminists, you go for it. They’re a pain in my ass, and I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to graduating them out of here. In the meantime, it was your idea to put her in your class to expose her to a good influence, and I made it happen. If this was your idea of a good influence, picking up fashion tips from them, then do me a favor and don’t make me any part of your little feud with Mariah Bray from here on out! Do you get me!”
      She murmured that she did, and he took a deep breath. “You’re new around here. If you want to get to be old around here, learn to take care of your problems in-house. You get me?”
      “Yes, sir.”
      “All right. Now find yourself something decent to wear before your next class – it’s one thing for the students to try to out-slut each other, but I expect better from my faculty.” He nodded to the door, turning back to his email and grumbling under his breath.
      How could this have happened! She hadn’t dressed so indecently in all her life – she didn’t even go on dates like this, much less to her job, surrounded by hormonal teenagers! She marched back to her classroom as quickly as she could, fully aware of the titillating display she was making. She could feel the eyes of every male she passed in the hallway glued to her, and she had no recourse but to quicken her pace, which made her jiggle all the more.
      She raced home to change, making it back just in time for her first class. Where had she even found those clothes? What could have made her forego her underwear? How long would it take to get back into Mr. Schickler’s good graces – could she, even?
      Word had spread like wildfire, just from the dozen-odd students who’d seen her in the halls between classes. For the rest of the day, her students arrived with faces eager to gawk at their teacher’s wardrobe faux pas, crestfallen to see she’d replaced it with a shapeless vest over a conservative blouse over loose-fitting slacks. Little punks. They’d gotten their last ever leer at Katrina Temple.
      
      
      
      Tuesday, Katrina checked and double-checked herself in the mirror before she left home. No more careless mistakes induced by dressing while she was still half asleep. A sensible turtleneck with navy blue slacks – and definitely wearing underwear.
      She checked a third time before she got out of her car, just to make sure.
      Homeroom began. Insufferable Mariah Bray had only somewhat flouted the dress code today with a skirt that was just a little bit too short, but given yesterday’s debacle she opted to let it slide.
      That is, until Mariah flashed her. She’d almost missed it, it had happened so fast, her long legs parting wide enough to allow an easy view of her panties – in fact, when she did her double-take, they were already closed again. The girl smiled innocently at her a moment, then slowly flashed them again as they made eye contact.
      She decided to handle this more discretely, approaching Mariah’s desk, then bending down close and lowering her voice. “That is not a very lady-like, Miss Bray.”
      “Heavy criticism from a woman who doesn’t bother to check if she’s wearing underwear,” Mariah said. Unlike her teacher, she spoke in a volume easy for everyone in the classroom to overhear. Snickers broke out from all corners.
      She kept her cool. “Let’s try to handle this like mature people, all right? You’re going to college in the fall – they’re going to expect more out of you there. This kind of behavior might score you cheap points with your peers, but will not impress your professors, I assure you.”
      “You know, you’re right,” Mariah said. She reached for her purse, knocking her pencil off her desk in the process. “I’m sorry, Miss Temple. Would you mind handing me that? In this skirt, if I squatted down to pick it up, I might accidentally go and distract some of the less-focused boys.” She’d lowered her voice this time, but there was no missing the mocking tone.
      Mariah wanted to slap her, but decided to be the bigger person – it wasn’t worth it, not over something as trivial as picking up a pencil. Besides, she thought, the girl’s right. Nothing for these horny boys to leer at on me, conservatively dressed as I am.
      Only… why did she suddenly sense every eye in the room on her? She looked around peevishly, but every time she made eye contact they looked away. Still, they were definitely staring. What was their problem? Mariah’s little snit couldn’t possibly be that interesting.
      They were in some kind of mood that day – most days, homeroom passed quietly, students doing their homework or asking for passes to go make up work in other teacher’s classes. Today, though, they were all pestering her.
      First it was Brad drawing on the chalkboard – he just walked right up and started scribbling random lines all across the length of it. She snapped for him to sit down, then promptly erased it – again, with that feeling of being watched.
      Then it was Johnathan working on lab write-up. “Miss Temple, could you please hand me the markers from that shelf?” She leaned over and fetched it for them. A few minutes later, “could you get me a glue stick?” “Some graph paper?” “No, sorry, I meant computer paper.” By the time he asked her to take the markers back and exchange for colored pencils, she told him he was out of luck.
      Then Amal pointing to a spot along the edge of the room. “Miss Temple, I think someone spilled something over here.” She checked it out but didn’t see anything. “I didn’t notice it at first either – you have to look close.” She squatted down and looked even closer. Still nothing. 
      The whole class was staring. “What is it?!” she snapped.
      Keira gave her male peers an exasperated look. “Half your butt is hanging out of your pants, Miss Temple, and these pigs are… well, they’re pigs.”
      What?! She felt behind her, and sure enough, she could feel the top few inches of her panties hanging out of her pants, and her ass crack exposed for several inches above that. Her panties, in fact, were a skimpy little thong that hid nothing, the straps riding high over hips that were easily exposed due to the low-riding pants she was wearing.
      She squealed in embarrassment as she tried to tug up her waistline, though try as she might, there was no way to keep it from exposing some of her butt crack. In fact, every time she pulled it up, it had the unintended consequence of pulling it down in the front – she almost didn’t notice at first, but the thong was so low in the front she wound up showing the top of her pubic thatch to the whole class.
      She rushed over to her desk and sat down, the whole class staring – and she saw a couple of them had their phones out, no doubt getting video or pictures to show their friends. “I… I must not have realized that they shrunk,” the mortified teacher explained lamely. Nobody seemed to care; anarchy broke out as students compared who’d gotten the best shot, awkward nerds whispered giddily to one another about their first time seeing a non-family-member in her panties, girls flashing disgusted expressions about what a skank their teacher was turning out to be.
      Katrina just hung her head and tried to make sense of it. She didn’t even own pants that fit this badly, and the only thong she’d ever owned had been in high school, and she’d worn it once before deciding it wasn’t for her. 
      Then she caught Mariah smirking at her, the only one not adding to the cacophany of whispers. Of all the people to be humiliated like this in front of…
      Worse, if those pictures got out, she could be in a world of trouble. “All right, that’s enough!” she suddenly bellowed. The room fell silent; emboldened or no, they were still hard-conditioned to shut up when an angry teacher told them to.
      She tugged up her pants as evenly as she could; the thong was still exposed in the back – weirdly, she couldn’t even tell by the feel of it that two inches of her butt were exposed. (Must be warm in here.) “You there – hand over your phone. You know you’re not allowed to have those in class.”
      “What? No way, nobody enforces that.” He folded his arms across his chest, his phone beneath them.
      “I SAID HAND IT OVER!” she shrieked. He was right. Most teachers turned a blind eye to it unless it was being disruptive, as it all too often turned into a debate with one of these entitled brats. She had no time for that today.
      One by one, she went through the room and confiscated phones. She had to brow-beat, threaten and cajole them into it. A few students didn’t seem to have one (though she checked pockets and purses to be sure), but otherwise, she wound up with around twenty of them in her hands before she was done.
      “All right. Now some of you took an unfortunate accident and took advantage, and I hope in time you’ll realize that that was a very rude thing to do. I’d, um, I’d like to address this with each of you before I give them back, so… I’ll be in the antechamber, and anyone who wants their phone back, form a line.”
      They grumbled, but figured a lecture and a phone was better than no lecture and no phone. One by one they came out to speak with her, and she made sure each student showed her their videos and pictures, deleting any files of today’s mishap.
      She got the last one handled deleted and returned just before the bell; students flooded into the hallways to spread the tale with far less damning words. Katrina sighed, slumping her shoulders. It wasn’t yet 8:30 in the morning and she already felt completely drained.
      Then, Mariah Bray knocked at the door. “What is it, Miss Bray?” she said tiredly.
      “Look, I just wanted to applaud you for being so proud of your body. Seriously, that was exactly the kind of take-no-prisoners attitude the Garfeminists are looking for in our faculty sponsor.”
      “It was an accident – I’ve still no interest in your little crusade.”
      “An accident, right – two days in a row, ‘accidents.’ Sure. You know that saying though, right? ‘Once is coincidence, twice is happenstance, three times means you like it.’”
      “That’s, ‘three times is enemy action,’” the social studies teacher corrected.
      “Oh, right, right… I always forget that. Well anyway, the offer stands. Any time you want to change your mind, embrace your fellow sisters, just let me know.” She smiled. “Anyway, I gotta get to econ. See ya tomorrow, Miss Temple.”
      For the second time that week, she waited until the halls were clear before rushing home to change. For the first time ever, she wondered if she were losing her mind.
      
      
      
      Miss Temple got Wednesday off – not that Mariah didn’t have plans or was feeling merciful, but she overslept and wound up missing homeroom. She had third period with a guy who had the same homeroom, who told her she’d worn so many layers today she looked like she was auditioning for the part of that kid in A Christmas Story who couldn’t put his arms down. Mariah just laughed.
      Thursday, she woke up in plenty of time to put the day’s scheme into motion. She did her morning recon in the parking lot, seeing what the teacher had chosen to wear, then looked through her notebook to find a corresponding scheme. She’d put a lot of time and energy into brain-storming – the patriarchy wasn’t going to surrender the fight on its own, after all, and if she had to conscript soldiers for the fight rather than recruit them, she would. 
      She greeted Miss Temple at the door sweetly, noticing a new sign hung prominently over the door that no cell phones were allowed in her room, that they would be confiscated on sight. Mariah laughed at her spirited but pitiful defense.
      Once she was at her desk, she used the gem as class began to add a couple slits to the sides of the ankle-length dress she’d worn. They only went up to the knee – nothing to be embarrassed about. Still, the events of earlier in the week had made her conscientious of her wardrobe, and Mariah watched the sour expression on her face when she noticed. I’m such an uptight judgmental prude, how could I have bought a dress that shows my calves? Mariah imagined her internal monologue.
      Miss Temple didn’t even seem to notice that the neckline of her top, which had been at the collarbone, had sunk a few inches, just enough to reveal the barest hint of the uppermost part of her cleavage.
      She had a group of her own students in today working on making up a project they’d been absent for; Mariah watched her hovering around and talking them through it, waiting until she was nice and distracted before her next tweak. The dress became just a bit tighter, fitting snugly around Miss Temple’s womanly hips. The slits that had gone to the knee on either side now went most of the way up her thighs, and with the dress more tight-fitting, most of the side of her legs were bare most of the time. Her collar sunk down a couple more inches, now unmistakeably showing appreciable bosom. Miss Temple’s bra adjusted, lifting her breasts upward softly to enhance the effect.
      Sure enough, horny teenage boys being horny teenage boys, the social studies teacher wasn’t the first to notice this time. How could they not have noticed sooner? The comely teacher’s long legs on display, her butt tenting out her dress, pert breasts begging to be noticed.
      Miss Temple picked up on it before long, unable not to notice the eyes lingering on her, being ogled by every penis-possessing person in the room. (Except Gary, but… well, everyone knew about Gary.) She flushed red, and Mariah relished seeing her eyes – those same eyes that had looked down on her so many times, had tried to slut-shame her into submission – darting around in panic at how it could be happening again.
      It wasn’t until her voice broke mid-sentence in anxiety that she excused herself from the make-up work group and went over to her desk. Mariah watched with interest as she bent over and rifled around in a drawer, curious what she had  up her sleeve. She stood up with a thick burgundy cardigan in hand.
      Why you clever, clever shrew… Mariah thought. Not clever enough though… She lifted them gem from its place around her neck, activating it just in time.
      Miss Temple pulled it on – only now, it was shrunk so little it barely stretched across her shoulders – bare shoulders, as the top was now held up only by two narrow spaghetti straps just concealed by the cardigan. The garment now served to do little more than guide the eyes to the teacher’s plunging neckline, which displayed her upthrust breasts bulging out of a B-cup bra struggling to attempt the containment of her D-cup tits.
      Mariah hadn’t meant to add a cup size, but she chalked it up to haste and her own lesbian libido. She was just glad she’d made the feel of it loose enough to allow her to breathe.
       Miss Temple’s wide-eyed desperation to tug the sweater closed like that scene with Chris Farley singing “fat guy in a little coat” was so distracting nobody immediately noticed the dress. Now, it wasn’t just slit up the side, there was a panel some four inches wide that went up almost to the waist. If she turned at all rapidly, the thing would surely give the class a good peak at what was underneath – or rather what wasn’t underneath, thanks to Mariah.
      (She’d almost left her another thong, but that stunt with the sweater had rushed her too much to cleave precisely to her plan. Besides, it was hot.)
      After a moment to realize that buttoning the cardigan was a non-starter, the teacher took a moment, looked herself over, and calmly went back to helping her students. The boys one by one took note, stopping what they’d been doing to leer with only a modicum of subtlety. Mariah had to hand it to her, Miss Temple carried on as if nothing were out of the ordinary, as if she’d meant to come to class today dressed like she was attending a job interview for a combination nanny/mistress gig.
      Mariah marveled at her own handiwork. It wasn’t a sensation like the other day – it was just sexy. Maybe a little past sexy into slutty, but these were high school boys, thoroughly inured to seeing women in revealing outfits. Sure, maybe the dresscode put a stop to some of it, but after school and out in the real world, to say nothing of what they saw on the internet… it was a 7/10, tops.
      The bell rang without things getting any worse, nothing more than a beautiful woman fueling the masturbatory fantasies of a bunch of young men. Mariah pitied her, in a way – her beauty could give her power over them, elevate her station, but instead the misguided priss took every glimpse at her flesh as a humiliation.
      “Advisorship’s still open, by the way,” she said on her way out. Miss Temple’s only response was an irritated glare. 
      Oh well. In the end, surely a teacher of all people would appreciate the lengths Mariah was willing to go to educate her.
      
      
      
      Thank God it’s Friday, Katrina Temple thought as she pulled into the parking lot.
      This had been without a doubt the most bizarre week of her life. All these “wardrobe malfunctions,” as she chose to think of them, were beyond inexplicable. She was a teacher, damnit! A serious professional woman, not some fluffy bit of eye candy. She pulled into her parking space and used the mirror on her sun visor to check her makeup – nothing too garish, but she could still look good. Not “good” like her horny students no doubt had thought she looked – she was ready for them today. No matter what happened.
      God send that nothing happened, though.
      Yet by the time she folded up her visor, it had. Oh boy, had it. 
      She was naked.
      Naked, in the school parking lot.
      Katrina pinched herself – then slapped herself – then a few more times. This was a dream! It had to be! She’d never had it before, but everyone knew dreams of showing up at school or riding the bus in one’s underwear were so common they were cliché. 
      She didn’t wake up.
      The pretty teacher looked around in a panic. Nobody was near enough to have seen her yet, and her spot was pretty well-shielded from sight. The faculty lot was mostly full, as she was usually one of the last teachers here. As much as she wanted to start pondering how this could have happened, the fact was it had, and she needed to figure out what to do.
      Her first instinct was just to slink down and drive out of here as fast as she could, phone in an excuse and have someone cover her classroom until she could return. Only at the start of the day, there would be a line of buses and parents leaving the building; she’d be sitting in traffic completely nude for minutes. 
      That was out. What else was there? After yesterday’s panicked retreat after homeroom’s whorish display, she’d brought a change of clothes – her clothes, decent clothes – to keep in the room, but there was no getting to them like this.
      She was trapped – her only hope was to hide in the car, hope no one saw her, then wait for the line leaving the school to disappear and book it the hell out of here.
      “Hi, Miss Temple.”
      She screamed in spite of herself. There walking up alongside her car was Mariah Bray. She wore a smug smile that instantly confirmed her paranoid suspicion that she’d had something to do with this.
      Presently, however, she just covered herself as best she could. “Mariah, you leave this instant!” she hissed. “I’m not decent!”
      “You look pretty decent to me,” Mariah said, eyeing her. From the appreciate expression, she found herself doubting Mr. Schickler’s assessment that the girl just wanted to show off for the boys.
      “I’m having a very serious problem right now, Mariah, and you are making things worse! Now just please, please go away!” she pleaded.
      “Oh. Well, I was going to try to help you out, but… I guess you don’t want my kind of help, huh.” She shrugged and turned away.
      “Wait! Mariah, come back!” The girl paused at length, then slowly came back as her teacher lowered the window a crack so they didn’t need to yell. “What kind of help did you mean?”
      “Well, I happen to have an outfit on hand – I was going to wear it out on the town tonight, but… well, I guess we’re about the same size and all…”
      Katrina’s eyes narrowed. “You take me for an idiot, Mariah? I know you’re behind this – somehow or another, you are. You just happened to be walking towards the far end of the faculty lot right as my clothes vanish off of my body, and just happen to be walking around with whatever skank uniform you were going to advertise your charms with this evening?”
      Mariah smiled – it was cold, and chilled her somewhat. (Or maybe that was just the cold morning air on her bare skin.) “Well, Miss Temple, look at you – you’re smarter than everybody says you are, you know.”
      “You won’t get away with this! So help me, I will see you expelled!”
      “Sure. Let me just call Principal Schickler, I’m sure he’d be furious to find me standing here, not breaking any rules, next to my naked homeroom teacher.” She rolled her eyes. “Now, do you want my clothes or not?”
      Katrina scowled hatefully at her, but ultimately conceded she had no choice – no doubt whatever the girl had prepared would be mortifying, but the alternative was still worse. “Fine! Give me the damn clothes.”
      The girl passed over a bag; Miss Temple’s eyes went wide – wider, anyway – at what was inside. “I can’t wear this to work!”
      “Well, you can’t go as you are. Besides, I bet you have something else in that little drawer of yours now, right? Something besides that little sweater you put on yesterday.”
      “Damn right I do,” she spat as she hastily tugged the dress on over her head. “And I’ll be changing the first chance I get, I assure you. So enjoy your fun while it lasts, Miss Bray, because once I’m settled, I’ll see to it personally that you never set foot in this school again!”
      “We’ll see,” Mariah said, then walked away.
      When Miss Temple stepped into her homeroom – only a few minutes after the bell – conversation stopped. The proud professional strode in with her head held high – not that anyone noticed, because they were too busy looking at the rest of her. Her busty frame was squeezed – just barely – into a one-piece micro-mini dress. It went only a few inches past her ass, which it hugged like a second skin, and showed off plenty of her cleavage. Her back was covered only by a few thin straps, just to reveal as much skin as possible without having to go to the beach.
      It was hot pink.
      This was beyond a doubt the sluttiest thing Katrina Temple had ever worn in her life. She wouldn’t go out clubbing like this (if she were one to go clubbing). She wouldn’t wear something like this in her bedroom to turn on her boyfriend (if she had one). She certainly wouldn’t wear it anywhere any of her students could conceivably get a glimpse of it.
      Only here she was, wearing it. Forty-six eyes locked on her tits, until she turned around, and she knew where they’d go then.
      Worse, she’d been so preoccupied with her embarrassment at the outfit and her anger at Mariah, she had no idea how she was going to explain it. 
      “Wow, you really did it, Miss Temple!” came a voice into the silence. Mariah’s. There she was, beaming at her. The class shifted its attention to her. Well, the female students did. And Gary, for some reason.
       “All those times I tried to push you into sponsoring the Garfeminists, joining us in our fight for women regain control over our bodies!”
      Katrina just stared – evidently the popular thing to do around here today. “Let’s give her a hand, ladies and gentlemen – a round of applause for this beautiful, confident, fearless woman! Unashamed of the body she was given, proud to be seen for what she is.”
      The girl stood up, walking over to her teacher and pacing around her as she spoke. “Is she more than her legs, her breasts, her vagina? Of course she is! But those things are part of her. Society tells her she has to cover them up, conceal them behind layers and pads and uncomfortable underwear to gain the respect of the male eye by hiding the very things that exemplify her feminity!”
      Mariah put her arm around her  in solidarity; Katrina was just happy to have one more thing covering some part of her. “Some of you may look at her and think, ‘what a babe,’ or, ‘don’t you have any self-respect?’ or maybe even, ‘a slut like that isn’t fit to teach.’”
      There were rumblings of agreement from the class.
      “But you’re wrong! Miss Temple is a competent, hard-working professional woman. Her quality of mind is no different in this outfit. Regardless of how she may display herself, the only body that she’s concerned with is the student body. Miss Temple, on behalf of all the women at James Garfield Senior High School, I am proud to have you standing up for us and joining the Garfeminists as their faculty sponsor!”
      A few girls clapped. Several more were glaring contemptuously. A few just looked bored.
      The boys were all still leering at their slut teacher. (Except Gary. He had clapped.)
      Katrina took a breath, made herself not strangle Mariah, and extricated herself from the girl’s arm. Still, it was the only alibi she had for this get-up, and she clung to it like a lifeline. “That’s quite enough grand-standing, Miss Bray. I’m pleased to be sponsoring you, and I assure you, this will be the last time I disrupt class with… my politics. Now, I assure you, if I see a single cell phone out, I will confiscate it, then smash it with a rock. Am I understood?”
      As lost in the swell of her breasts as they were, no one missed her sincerity.
      Katrina conducted the rest of class from behind the relative concealment of her desk. A few times she found herself tugging the dress up as it gradually slid down her breasts, but that only drew more attention, so in the end she just tried not to breathe too deeply, and checked occasionally to be sure her nipples didn’t slip out.
      The bell couldn’t ring soon enough. “Mariah, could you stick around a moment? I need to talk to you, about… club business.”
      “Sure, Miss Temple,” the girl said, smiling arrogantly. She waited until the room was empty, then closed and locked the door.
      “Mariah…” she began, striding right up in the girl’s face. They were about the same height, but she’d always been good at looming. “This is not going to stand. The second you leave this room, I’m going to change, and then I’m going to go to Principal Schickler’s office and tell him that you’ve been blackmailing me, and then I’m going to have you expelled. I hope you enjoyed that little stunt, because it’s going to have to comfort you in the unemployment line while you’re standing there explaining to them why you never finished high school.”
      “Hey now, let’s not get personal,” Mariah said. “This is bigger than you and me – this is about sending a message, about reclaiming our essential selves from the iron fist of the patriarchs.”
      “Do you even hear yourself? Do you have any idea how idiotic you sound? You’re just a privileged little white girl from Suburbia USA who think she knows something about oppression because she’s pissed off that she’s got one of the best bodies in her provincial little school and the bad man won’t let her show it off. And because she’s so smart she’s bored by her classes, and so stupid she doesn’t use that as an opportunity to excel. You’re an insecure, whiny, petulant, slutty little brat who wouldn’t know genuine oppression if it walked up behind her and hit her upside the head with a history book full of example – which, by the way, is what I’m here trying to do, give spoiled little girls like yourself a little perspective!”
      Mariah just watched with an ever-souring expression, but by the time she’d finished her tirade, she looked good and calm again. “I told you not to make this personal. I really was going to call it a win here, let you sponsor us and be a silent partner, so you didn’t have to sully your hands with real advocacy. But… now you hurt my feelings.”
      “Fuck your feelings.”
      Mariah just grinned darkly. “See? That’s what I mean. My intentions were nothing but noble, but you’ve gone and sullied the waters here. Just for that, I’m going to have to insist you wear the dress the rest of the day.”
      “You’ve got to be joking,” Katrina said, going to her desk and getting out the clothes she’d brought yesterday. 
      Mariah sighed. “I admire your pride – I really do. But… how much harder do you want things to get for you?”
      “Oh good, I’ll just add threatening me to the things I need to bring up to Mr. Schickler.”
      Mariah fingered her necklace, holding it up in front of her – then suddenly, Katrina felt a chill all over. Naked! Again! Her huge fake boobs exposed to the frigid air of the classroom.
      Wait – no. She didn’t have fake breasts! But clearly, that’s what these were, she realized as she looked at herself in the mirror she kept in her desk. They were enormous, DD’s at least, and jutted straight out. 
      That wasn’t the half of it, she realized as she looked lower. Was that a tattoo?! It sure was. It took her a moment to make out the cursive backwards… “Does that say, ‘I love to suck…!’” She didn’t finish the rest. …my students’ dicks.
      “I know, it’s not exactly subtle, but I figured for a demonstration it doesn’t need to be. Trust me, it’s nothing compared to the one on your back.” She laughed. “Now, before you prattle on again about going to narc on me to Schickler, I want you to think what would happen if I screamed, right now.”
      Katrina did think about it, but Mariah went ahead and narrated her thoughts as if by ESP. “Somebody would be here in a moment, and what would they find? The new teacher – who’s been more than a little erratic lately, lots of little rumors about her being sexually forward with her students (“omg did you see what she wore to class Thursday?”), in a room naked with a crying girl. Young, impressionable, pretty young thing, the kind of girl that would be some real clickbait with a lowcut top and a headline, ‘Naked Teacher Assaults High School Student’ or something like that. I dunno. I’m not a journalist.
      “You’d be fired – obviously. Does the teacher’s union defend sexual predators? Would your parents, do you think, when their neighbors and co-workers ask? You’d never be employable as a teacher again, even if you beat the charges – which would be tough, you know? I mean, with a story like ‘she use a magic necklace to turn me naked’ I just don’t see a jury being very understanding. Or your cell mate, for that matter – I’ve always heard adults who molest young girls get it real rough in prison.”
      “You… you wouldn’t! You can’t! Pleathe, Mariah, be reathonable!” She clapped a hand over her mouth. Her voice had come out higher by a wide margin, and she was lisping. What the hell?!
      “Oh yeah, I can make you sound different too. Where were we? Oh yeah. I was being reasonable. Passionately so, in fact – until you went and called me… what was it? A stupid whiny spoiled brat? Something like that. So… we can call Mr. Schickler, and you can see what else I can do to you… or you can wear the dress for the rest of the day.”
      “I’ll wear the dreth, Mariah – I’ll wear it. Jutht don’t do anything drathtic.” Ugh, why can’t I think of words without s’s?
      “Atta grrrrl,” Mariah said, smiling again. “Now let’s go over some talking points – no doubt you’ll have students who wonder, and you may even get an opportunity to defend the Garfeminists to the administration before the day is out, and – no offense – but I don’t want you fucking this up for us. It would be a shame if we… lost… our sponsor. You get me?”
      By the end of their prep period, Katrina was good and ready to regurgitate the neo-feminist dreck Mariah wanted her to. They conducted the whole session in the nude, with Katrina’s preposterously fake boobs keeping her mindful of the consequences for misspeaking. She looked at the clock nervously, licking her lips. 
      “Um, Mith Bray? Could you, um, pleath change me back to normal? Pleath?” The only thing worse than wearing that dress all day would be wearing it in this body. 
      “Oh sure, sure.” She got out her necklace again, and a moment later, suddenly Katrina was back in her clothes she’d had on in the car.
      “Does this mean…?” Thank God, my voice is back. “Can I wear this? I learned my lesson, honest.”
      “Oh, Miss Temple, I’m sure you have – but you’re a teacher, see? The rest of them still need to learn theirs. And you’re going to teach it to them. Speaking of, better hurry up and change – you’ll have students showing up in just a few minutes.”
      Katrina threw herself into the process before Mariah could force the change on her again with that necklace, and add in who knows what manner of insults to make it worse. Someday, she’d get that necklace from her, or learn how it worked and it could be beaten. Today, however, it was hung on a steel chain and failing to take it by force could well ruin her entire life.
      “No bra – that dress will offer plenty of support, and you got nothing to hide, Miss Temple. Nothing at all.” The student patted her teacher’s panty-covered butt appreciatively.
      With a dejected sigh, she slid back into the slutty dress, tugging it up to cover as much of her breasts as possible without risking revealing her pussy if she stretched at all. She may well get fired for this anyway, but… Mariah and her depraved principles may be the only thing that could save her.
      “There’s just one thing I don’t understand,” she said, smoothing down the sheer fabric over her stomach. “If you could do this, make me look and sound however you want… why the charade? Why all the games and the maneuvering? Why make me decide to dress this way of my own free will?”
      Mariah stopped at the door, giving her teacher a wounded expression. “Miss Temple, as faculty sponsor of the Garfeminists, you need to understand… we support a woman’s right to choose.” 
      
      
      
      The choice of a character’s gender is, in mechanical terms, a purely cosmetic choice. Gender has no bearing on a character’s ability to wear armor, cast a spell, utter a prayer, or disarm a trap – yet despite this lack of impact in so many important aspects of the game, it is one of the centrally defining attributes at the core of a character’s identity. It informs their relationships with others, colors the way they fit into the world. They can do anything their male counterparts can do – and, some would argue, a few things they can’t.