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Perverted Men's Symposium, PMS - Michelle the Cross Dresser.

"It would just compromise the normal teacher-pupil relationship."

Mrs Reagan frowned. "I don't see how. If anything it would surely strengthen that relationship. But I understand, my dear, that things are different for you back home, wherever that is. Here, it's just a normal thing. And in anycase, birthdays are rather special days in Further Quitchland. It is after all the only day where normal people are celebrated in their own right. It would not be very diplomatic to turn down an offer to attend a birthday. It's quite an honour to be invited. And it would be an insult not to go."

"I see," sighed Qafira, who had been rather dreading an evening of listening to adolescent pop music and watching adventure movies. "So I don't really have any choice?"

"Not if you want to retain the respect of your pupils and your fellow teachers," Mrs Reagan explained. She smiled indulgently. "However, if it's any consolation to you, you won't be the only teacher coming to Fanny's birthday. I shall be there as well."

Qafira was quite surprised. "So, Fanny's invited other teachers too?"

"Well, of course, Qafira sweetie. She wants to do what she can to improve her final grades from Fern Hill High."

When she arrived at Fanny's home, carrying a huge box of chocolates as a present, she was quite surprised at just how many other teachers had come, in addition to the two dozen or so her teenage friends. Why! Wasn't that Mr Walton in a rather unflattering Hawaiian shirt? And wasn't that Miss Watson, the Social Studies teacher, in an outfit that revealed every detail of her monstrous nipples and showed every centimetre of her titanic thighs? Fanny's home was large and opulent, as all houses seemed to be in the Fern Hill district, and the drive was full of cars as oversized as their drivers. Fanny was clearly a popular girl. And there was the birthday girl herself waddling down the steps of her house with a woman that looked quite similar to her, although substantially older, and was more than likely her mother.

"Hello, Qafira. I'm glad you could make it," said Fanny, kissing her on both cheeks and clasping her in her plump arms. "And some chocs as well! Belgian. My favourite. Is Belgium where you come from?"

"Well, no..." Qafira began, but with no chance to answer fully before she was similarly greeted by Fanny's mother, who was, if anything, dressed even more scantily than her daughter. At least the nipples were hidden, although the thighs were on full display and the stomach swelled out, with the stud in her navel on very prominent view.

"So, you're Qafira?" remarked Fanny's mother. "You really are very thin! You must eat more, my dear. It hurts me to see such a wisp of a thing as you."

Qafira nodded, but as she soon found out that even if she ate more at the party than she'd ever eaten before in a single sitting it was barely nothing compared to the huge volumes of crisps, cr__pes, sausage-on-sticks, slices of quiche, chicken wings, cheeseburgers, pizza slices or cake that her fellow guests were managing to force down their gullets with absolutely no evidence that they were even the slightest bit satiated. This gluttony was accompanied by a relatively modest consumption of wine and beer, but Qafira was soon feeling relatively tipsy from the few glasses she had, although this was tempered by the fact that after she'd been introduced to everyone she was mostly left to her own devices as to how to entertain herself.

She mooched about the quite large garden attached to Fanny's home, only too conscious of the stares that followed her as she strode by. Although she was convinced it was because people could somehow sense exactly how unaccustomed she was to alcoholic drink, the truth was that most guests were simply astonished by her thinness. She found her way to the swimming pool, a modest affair that was too small to allow very much actual swimming, but was ideally suited to paddling in. As indeed were two of Fanny's schoolfriends, both naked and splashing about relatively innocently.

Qafira sat down o

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