"I'm not a girl!" shrieked the punk.I burst into the stall. "Prove it! Show me your beaver, Beaver." No, go away!" he whined, cowering. "I'm not a ...eaver!"I crouched down and grabbed his ankles. I shot back up, flipping himupside down, and raised him way up, spreading his legs wide. His shriekwas manna to my ears. I observed his petite schlong sticking out."What do they call this? Yes, a clit. Lovely beaver you display."His stomach growled. His bowels rumbled. He farted. Boy did he. He was in the baby's room, next to the crib, gazing out the window. I wasabout to say something, but I saw what John was looking at: a shootingstar. I'd heard you could wish on them and, thinking of the baby girl nextto us, I wished there was someone to love her like a real mother would.I felt a strange tingling in my nipples. I felt them swell, I felt moundsrise on my chest and my areolas grow.I saw the baby staring at my chest. I knew what she'd wished for, no doubtwhat every baby, if even a. More

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