Serial - and Rosie

Thank God for Rosie.  Damned if I knew what to do without her.

But?  On the subject of viewers?  Must admit to be somewhat in awe.  This last week, this blog drew almost 4,000 viewers. I know that's peanuts compared to a lot - but I think it pretty damn good.  Thank you all.

By the Way?  Any of you visited Xaxa recently? I don't wander too much - but I consider that a great page!

Here's the serial first.  A Rosie  'bit' will follow.

TOKEN MALE

Part 4

And over her knees while being spanked, I admitted through my tears that I had been naughty - a naughty 'girl' I had to add and thoroughly deserved to be spanked.

Okay. I didn't win - but I didn't lose altogether. I didn't have to go to work that day, but I had to keep my hair in the way that Chris wanted until Sunday night at least.  I called Annie and told her I wouldn't make it in that day, and asked her to tell my boss and my group for me.  I think that both Chris and I were now well aware that I was the weaker of us two. She made quite a point of kissing me goodbye that morning – making sure that I took the female role.  After she'd spanked me it became even more obvious.

That evening came around all too quickly.  I had prepared all the ingredients for a wilted spinach salad, so that all that had to be done was heat the dressing and toss.  The main course was shrimp scampi, over rice, again something easy.  The dessert was a simple mixture of whipped and ice cream and a hot fruit sauce.

I showered in the late afternoon to be out of Chris's way when she got home.  At her request, I was to wear black pants and a black rayon turtleneck sweater with a sort of sateen finish.  "Shows off the apron"  she'd said.  Nervously I changed, and put the apron and cap on - she'd shown me how she wanted the cap ribbon and apron tied.  The cap showed of the girlishness of my hair and, even though I knew it made me even more feminine I carefully brought some hair tendrils down onto my forehead in the way that Chris wanted.  Knew what I looked like as I practiced to make sure that I flounced my apron correctly – it didn't stop me though.

Our guests weren't due to arrive before seven, but around six-fifteen, I started getting very nervous.  Chris should have been home before then - and what was I to do if they arrived before her?  The house was as clean as hard work could make it, but was I supposed to make conversation with them in her absence?  The doorbell rang, and made me jump. Who could it be?  Chris would let herself in.  Should I answer the door in my apron?  But I was already on my way there.  If the guests arrived early, and I wasn't dressed properly, I knew there'd be hell to pay from Chris.  I opened the door - and it was Chris after all!

"Just testing"  she said. "Good evening Alexis.  How are you?"

I dropped a deep curtsey.  "Good evening miss.  Fine, thank you.  Can I take your bag and coat?"

She beamed at me.  "Very good Alexis - in case you hadn't noticed, I modified your name a little - more appropriate for your appearance and this evening, wouldn't you say?"

I bobbed. "Yes ma'am."  Then I added.  "You called me that last night in front of Flora, you know?"

She looked at me.  "I'm sorry.  Didn't mean to do that.  But you don't have a problem with that, do you? It just seems so natural now."

When I simply blushed instead of answering she just said .  "Thought you wouldn't mind."

Then she nodded, smiling her approval.  "Very good then.  I'm running a little late, so hurry upstairs and lay out some clothes for me.  I'd like the black velvet skirt, and the full white blouse.  Oh - and lay out that light gray lingerie.  Don't forget the full length slip.  You can go now."

I bobbed again just like the maid I'd become, and hurried upstairs.  As I did so, I heard her say behind me.  "The house is looking good.  Maybe it was a good idea to have you stay home after all.  But one thing dear - you're forgetting to flounce - a little more movement, eh?"

"I'm sorry"  I said.  "I keep forgetting, though I did practice some this afternoon."

"That's good but I'd suggest you didn't forget any more"  she said, a dangerous tone creeping into her voice.  "I've a pair of ladies shoes for you.  They're not high heels, but they're high enough that you'll have a constant reminder of how to walk.  Just forget again, and you'll be in these shoes - and nylons to go with them.  Let's face it – there's enough indication that you're a man – but I don't think that being a bit more of a soft young sissy hurts.  Does it?   Marjory may remember that you used to be masculine.  I don’t think it'll hurt me in the slightest if she thinks I've made you into a little sissy – do you?"

It was a rhetorical question that I didn't have to answer but the threat about the shoes was enough to keep me on the straight and narrow (and a little flouncing and bouncy) for the rest of the evening.

As she showered, I set out some munchies - potato chips and the like.  Just as I was finishing, I heard what sounded like the tinkle of a little bell from upstairs.  I went up there, to find Chris grinning, and putting the

little maid's summoning bell on the dresser.  "These are great"  she enthused.  "I thought they'd come in handy, so got a couple.  Saves me from yelling."  She sat down  "Give my hair a brush out, will you Alexis?"

She really didn't need much help, but was obviously liking her supremacy over me.  She relaxed for a moment or two, enjoying my services, then sat up and looked at her watch.  "They should be here any moment.  Nervous?"

I bobbed nervously.  "A little, ma'am."

She grinned  "You know, you really are a natural maid, aren't you?"

She didn't seem to expect a reply, so I just bobbed again.

"Come here to the mirror for a second.  I've got something for you."  She was looking at me from the dressing unit.

Cautiously, I approached her.  She picked a tube of lipstick from the dresser, took the top off, and worked it until a pink tube showed.  She beckoned to me.

"C'mere then!  Don't just stand there!  Good!  Now pout these nice lips. C'mon now!  Don't be naughty!  Want to make you look nice and pretty!"

And I could no more deny her than fly in the air. So she made up my lips with lipstick.  The taste brought back long-buried memories.  She looked at me strangely when I pursed my lips and rubbed them back and forward, but said nothing, simply handed me a tissue to blot off the excess.

"Now.  Just a little dab of perfume"  she said picking up a small bottle from the table and smiling at me.  Meekly, I stood while she applied a little behind my ears and on my wrists.  Then, looking at me, she ran her hand up under my apron. "Shame you don't have a skirt and crinoline on. Bet you'd feel nice?"

But just as she finished, the doorbell rang and I was thankful that I didn't get a chance to answer.. 

She gave me an appraising glance.  "You're becoming very pretty dear.  Now hurry to the door - and don't forget.  I want you to be an especially good girl tonight!  Let my guests see that you're nice and domesticated! Just like all husbands should be!"  She eyed me a little.  "Though I'm getting less and less sure about you being the 'husband' part of it. Off with you now!"

The references to my gender were becoming more and more numerous, and more and more feminine-related, I thought, hurrying to answer the door.  With my long apron flouncing and billowing around me as I descended the stairs, with the taste of lipstick on my lips, and the smell of my perfume wafting around me, I had to admit, however, that there was probably some justification in what I was being called by her.  I opened the door, and dropped a curtsey to the two ladies standing there.

"Please come in."  I said  "Mistress will be down in a moment.  Can I take your coats please?"

  Marjory Thorn was one of them.  Shot me a glance of quiet amusement. "Found your true calling at last Alex?  I see that Chris has you looking especially nice tonight.  Is that lipstick she has you wearing?  It's most becoming!"

"It's Alexis she prefers me to be called miss"  I said, bobbing and avoiding her question.  "The mistress prefers that I use that  name now."

"Seems appropriate enough to me"  the other woman said, removing an evening scarf from around her hair, and shrugging her way out of a short mink coat, then handing me both articles.  "I'll hold onto my purse for a while." She said with a smile, then added. " I'm Mrs..  Morgan, "  she said.. 

I took them from her, and turned to Marjory who was divesting herself of her coat, when it struck me.  Amazed, I forgot my training and turned to look at Mrs.. Morgan.

Her hair was blonde now.  She had filled out to become a good sized, though not heavy, woman.  She filled her red pant evening suit outfit with a great deal of confidence - she looked even more prosperous now, more self-assured, than the young woman who'd made my life a misery for a while.

"A ..A .. Angela?"  I stuttered.

Her bright red lips parted, showing the snow-white, even, teeth that still showed up in my more scary dreams.

"...And I thought you'd forgotten me." She purred.  "Gone on to new things .. new people .. but I can see you didn't forget all of my lessons?" She turned to Marjory and her smile got even more condescending.  "It's nice to see that one's early training doesn't go entirely to waste.  Did you see that curtsey?  Where else would you expect something like that, huh?"

My knees had actually started knocking together under my apron.  I could literally feel them hit each other.  Instinctively, I dropped a deep curtsey  "Oh no Ange.., I mean, .. Mrs.. Morgan.  I haven't forgotten.."

Chris's voice came from the top of the stairs. "Alexis!  What are you doing!  Where are your manners?  Honestly!  Some husbands just will NOT learn their place!  Stop chattering!  Put their things away, and then come back into the living room!"  And Chris came sweeping down the stairs, beautiful and confident, going to Marjory and Angela and kissing them both.

I blushed at being so publicly chastised and scurried away with their coats and scarves, hung them in the hall closet, and swept back into the living room.  I don't really know what I expected, but somehow, thought that I'd at least be the butt of some snide remarks, jokes, or whatever.  Looking back, I probably thought that I should be the center of attention - or something.  What I was, was just the maid.  For the rest of the night, until the guests left, I was kept busy serving drinks, meals, coffee and after-dinner drinks.  No-one paid the slightest attention to me!  To tell the truth, I felt – something – I don't know.  Maybe a little hurt?

But it was that evening that established my hierarchy in our house from that point.  I saw these three women, assured, strong, self confident - handsome.  And I saw myself:  submissive, weak, (maybe even pretty?) Only too willing to be dominated  - and realized that things were the way they should be.  At one slack moment, I even made my way back to the bedroom, and freshened up my lipstick.  I think that Chris might have even noticed the difference.  She didn't nod approvingly, but a motion of her head gave me that impression.  She didn't seem to notice that I went out of my way to flounce properly!

Finally, Marjory and Angela left, thanking Chris for a 'very pleasant evening', but without another word to me as I helped them with their bags and coats.  Chris's mood changed, however, the moment they left.  She thanked me, perfunctorily, for a nice meal - and passed a nice compliment about my behavior.  She did wander around a lot as I was cleaning up - smoked a couple of cigarettes in a herky-jerky way, then sat down and stared at me, in a way that did little to bolster my self confidence.  Made me nervous.  It was almost as if she were angry at me. Finally, I finished.  With a sigh of relief, I undid the apron and threw it into the laundry chute.  Nervously, I waited for what was coming.  I didn't know what it was, but was certain from Chris's reaction that it wasn't going to be too good for me.  And I was right!

"So you knew Angela before?  How come you didn't tell me?"  She asked me coldly from the bed as I got undressed.  She shook her head. "I don't know what to think now!. Shit!  Here's me, thinking to impress her with bossing you around - and you're an old friend of hers! Goddamn it! Why didn't you tell me?"

I gulped.  "Honestly Chris!  I didn't know she was invited!  I haven't seen her in years! And I wasn't exactly an old friend of hers.. and her name was different then - Wilson, it was.  Not Morgan."

"If you weren't a friend, what were you, then?"  She asked.  "I think you'd better fill me in - and I wouldn't leave anything out if I were you."   She was staring at me in a manner that could still only be described as hostile – so I thought it best to tell her.  She settled back onto the pillows as I started.

    The story:

One summer, just after my fifteenth birthday, my mother decided that I was looking a little peaked and made arrangements for me to go visit my spinster aunt (Jenny) who lived in a secluded farm in Yorkshire - the area now known as 'Herriot country.'   Very countrified and open moors.  A rather lonely place, but pleasant when it wasn't raining. "A couple of months there'll maybe put some color in these pale cheeks of yours."  She said, packing my suitcase.

I wasn't overly keen but then, as now, seemed to be in the thrall of strong-minded women.  So off I went.  We couldn't afford a car so I went by train.  Loved that part of it.

Aunt Jenny met me at the station.  She was a big, earthy, strong woman who got some amusement from my lack of knowledge pertaining to farm functions (She wasn't very fair, I thought)  and my lack of 'manly' strength which was evidenced from the very start when she had to do most of the work involved getting my luggage into the house.

"Have seen little girl'uns stronger than thee"  she'd jibe in her broad accent.   "C'mon int'a house.  I'll find summat fer thee to dae there.."  And I'd end up sweeping the floor. Or washing the dishes - considered far below a 'normal' boy's duties, although totally suitable for a girl – a fact that she'd laughingly refer to regularly.  She wasn't really unkind, just loved to tease a weak boy.  She found this satin pink bonnet from somewhere.  If I did a job she considered 'sissylike' and did it too well, she'd make me wear it around the house.  If she thought I was making too much of a fuss about the 'effeminacy' I was taught a lesson by being made  to wear the bonnet.

"Kinda screwed either way?"  Chris laughed.

"Yes.  But it was only when she was in a mood, so it didn't happen that often."  I said.

"Carry on."  Chris said.

She scoffed at me for being able to cook but, being an awful cook herself, soon learned that I could put a pretty good meal on the table.  It didn't take long before I  was not only making the meals, but buying the staples from the vans that came around as well. Twice a week, a butcher's and then a baker's van would come by the road at the end of the lane.  It got to be quite a treat for me to go and buy the foodstuff there, as I usually managed to work a way to get a chocolate bar for my troubles.  Aunt Jenny may have mocked my masculinity a bit, but she wasn't mean.  Just a little contemptuous of weak males.

One afternoon I was standing daydreaming, waiting for the bakers van, and was quite astonished to hear a woman's voice call me  "Boy?  Boy!"  Seemingly from nowhere.

I came out of my reverie to see a gigantic car had stopped close by - a Rolls I think.  The engine was so quiet and I was daydreaming, so it seemed to have appeared from nowhere.  A chauffeur was driving, but looking straight ahead.  A woman in a feathered hat had rolled the window down, and was the person who was talking to me. She had a sharp intelligent face, and was obviously used to having people do as she told them.  A girl of about my own age was sitting on the other side of her, not quite visible from my viewpoint. She was looking at me carelessly through the window of the car – did not seem overly interested.

"Yes mum?"  I managed.

"Where do you live?"  She asked.

"Up there"  I answered, pointing up the lane  "With my aunt Jennie."

"Ah!"  She said, and rolled up the window again.  I saw her talking to the girl, and delving into a large handbag on her lap.  Then I saw her writing something.  She rolled down the window, and handed me a piece of folded paper.

"Take this, and give it to your aunt - do not read it!  Do you understand?"

I will admit to being curious, but nodded in obedience then simply folded it some more then into my trouser pocket as they drove away without any farewell.  I got the groceries when the van came a few minutes later, then walked slowly back to the house.  Thank goodness, I remembered to give the note to aunt Jennie.  She read it, then fixed me with a stare.  "How'd you meet these folks?"   She asked.

I told her.  She shook her head  "Well.  You've to go up to the big house tomorrow.  Their daughter, Angela's her name I think, wants you for a playmate."

I was quite thrilled.  For one thing, life wasn't exactly full of excitement on aunt Jennie's farm.  Another was the fact that though I really was a bit of a  'loner', I'd discovered that I much preferred the company of girls to that of boys - and the girl in the car had looked quite pretty.  On top of that it was a promised break from the dull routine of the farm.

And Angela was pretty - in a boisterous way, as I discovered when I got to their mansion  - that's what it was - the following morning.  She was also larger than I'd thought: a couple of inches taller than me, and older by about a year. She showed me around at first and one thing struck me almost at once.  No laborers or field hands seemed present.  I didn't see any men.  I commented on this, and asked where the chauffeur was as he appeared to be the only male I'd seen in the place.  She surprised me with her answer.

 Seemingly, after her father had died, her mother had got rid of all her male servants  "Doesn't care for men at all"  she said simply. Then she notified me that the chauffeur was a lady as well  "Mary's a kinda masculine one."  Angela giggled.  "But a woman all the same."

"I feel kinda funny being the only man around here"  I said, laughing.

She looked at me coolly and cocked her head appraisingly.  "You don't strike me as much of a man.  That's probably why mummy asked you here,"  she said, the hint of a sneer in her voice.  Then she stopped right in front of me, and turned to stare directly into my eyes.  "You're my playmate - and you look like you'll behave - but if you start acting like a snotty boy, I'll put you over my knee and give you a good spanking!  Do you have any problem with me saying that?"  She gave me an evil grin.

I took a step back from her.  "Hey!  I didn't mean anything"  I said defensively.  "And if you're going to be that bossy, then I'll just go back to the farm - and I won't come back!"

She took a firm hold of my arm, glaring at me now.  "Don't you dare use that cheeky tone of voice to me!  You'll go home when I let you, and you'll come back every day, unless I tell you not to.  Now!  Are you going to behave, or are you going to be naughty?"

The threat on her face scared me a lot.  Meekly, I surrendered immediately.  "Behave."  I gulped.

Her confidence grew.  "Tell me that you won't be naughty!" she demanded.

"I won’t be naughty," I said, surrendering completely.

She smiled then, and let go of my arm   "That’s a good... boy(?)"  she said, the question about my gender mockingly obvious in her voice.

And, by the time a week or so had gone by, she had furthered the question as to my gender - at least as far as she was concerned.  I still 'looked' like a boy, but I was more like her little 'girl' friend.  By threats and intimidation, and one 'ceremonial' spanking   "Just to convince you that I can do it to you when I want",  she had me behaving just the way she wanted.  I had to learn  to giggle like a girl, and speak softly, like a girl.  Sometimes she'd make me skip along the paths beside her like a girl.   She didn't skip of course.  "Far too girlish for ME" she'd say.  "Skipping is for little sissies like you."  She seemed to just love having me behave like this in front of her mother or the maids.  They would look on with fond smiles, commenting what a 'tomboy' she was.

Then, she 'graduated' me to "dressing" games, in clothes from her mother's old trunks of which there were many in the attic.  Naturally, as the clothes  fitted me more than her (I was closer to her mother's build), I did most of the 'dressing'.  She also liked for the two of us to 'read' various passages from books she'd pick out. It was only natural that I read the girls parts- while dressed appropriately.   It was SO embarrassing to sit there in a sequined dress and beads – sometimes a cloche hat – and high heels – being Emily or some such name, while she was a gruff and manly 'Paul' – or something like that.

The maids started grinning at me when I came to visit, and a couple of the cheekier ones used to make little 'kissing' sounds at me when I passed, or called me 'miss' when they talked to me.  This was understandable as it often turned out that Angela wanted me to have tea with her mother and her - me in little flapper dresses, cloche hats - and made up with lipstick, and other cosmetics  like blush, eye shadow, mascara, and so on. It got so that I was rarely out of women's clothes from the minute I got there until I left.  She also gave me a sequence of little evening purses to carry 'my' makeup in.  Then, in front of her mother, she'd tease me for being such a sissy. Said that I just loved to look like a woman!  They'd both look at me and laugh at my blushes.

She taught me a series of her facial expressions that signaled when she wanted me to freshen up my lipstick, my rouge, or everything.  Every so often, in front of a maid, or her mother, she'd give me the 'look', and I'd have to pull whatever cosmetic she signaled - and 'freshen up' my makeup, without giving the impression that it was her that was making me do it. I think that Mrs. Wilson caught on, but she still got a big kick from seeing demonstrations of her daughter's power over me as I'd use my very own cosmetics from my bag or compact to freshen my makeup.

Aunt Jenny was never there.  Wasn't invited probably – which was wonderful by me.  I had terrible dreams where she'd find out and laugh.

End of Part 3

Rosie's Bit.

I spotted my sister right away – with her amazonesque physique she was hard to miss even in the bustling airport crowd – but I couldn’t see my son anywhere. It was only after she cried ‘Edna!’ and waved at me that I noticed him. I could hardly recognize him! And no wonder, dressed as he was. Black tight miniskirt, black leather jacket, black high heeled shoes, leopard print hose. His hair had grown quite a bit and although it was quite dark from the beginning, it seemed that it was dyed jet black. His eyes were heavily made up and his lips were painted brown with an even darker outline.

“Ohhh,” I cried as I embraced him, then sunk in my sister’s bear hug.

“My god, Priscilla,” I said as she finally let me go, “You have him looking like a hooker. I didn’t even recognize him.”

“Oh come on, Edna, stop overreacting. You didn’t expect him in anything like the dress you sent him off in, did you?” she laughed.

“Of course not, it’s just, you know, they grow so quickly,” I said, then turned to my son, “Had a good time with aunt Priscilla?”

“Oh I did,” he said and I noticed that not only his voice not only hadn’t gotten any deeper, it sounded even softer.

“You’re coming along quite nicely I see,” I said, unbuttoning his jacket.

“Edna!” Pricilla slapped my hand away, “Behave yourself. Can’t have you groping the poor boy’s tits in public. Anyway, I told you that cream would work.”

“I know you did, but I never expected the results to be anything like that,” I said.

“Well, there we are,” she replied, “Now let’s get going, shall we. I’m starved and Betty has tons of new clothes she can’t wait to model for you. She’s been going on how much you’d like them the whole flight.”

“Betty?” I asked amusedly.

“Can’t keep calling him Robert if he looks like that. Can’t keep calling him ‘him’ either, matter of fact,” she explained, “So unless you object, I think it would be best if we call her Betty from now on.”

“Sure,” I said, “well, come on, Betty. Me and your sister are just dying to see your new clothes.”