The text books were rife with people who believed themselves to be Napoleon, Marie Antoinette, Jesus, God, or even Santa Claus. They all had a common...thread . . . they were somebody famous, and quite dead . . . or at least beyond the veil of this reality. He couldn't think of an example of anyone thinking they were a live busty stripper with the stage name of Bimbo Maserati. Doctor Smythe thought that he may be dealing with a precursor to Multiple Personality Disorder.The text books. The next morning before I went to work, Michelle showed me what she intended to wear with Jeremy. She held up a light blue silk blouse and white leather skirt that fell a good six inches or so above her knees. She said that young people especially like leather so she thought it’d be perfect. Her shoes were a pair of high heels that strapped around her ankle. Her welded-on anklet would slip down over the strap.Then she showed me her lingerie; a dark blue, matching lace bra and thong panty set. I. I was amazed and scared all at once when I looked at the large mirror wall. I had never looked sexier than now, but also very slutty. I felt ashamed seeing me like a slut. Ahmed's father watched me all the time and then told me to take off my panties. He unpacked as well high heels. "From now on you wear the mini dress and the high heels and nothing else. Like this you will be the sexiest princess for our party. I did it as he told me and when I looked into the mirror I saw him standing behind. I can deal with things much better now, knowing that you’ll be here with me at night, whatever happens during the day. I will feel much safer and happier, have a real refuge from the high school bullshit with you, sis. Thank you so much for that ... well, that and trying to fuck me into an early grave, of course,” I laughed and winked as we dried off now.“Well, first, let me feed you, bro. You’re not going to school hungry, lover. I’m basically your mom, at least for now, and I’d be a piss-poor.