Sunday, January 8, 2012


And a Happy and Prosperous 2012 to you all!

This blog is now, officially, one year - and one week old!  I don't know if you all get the statistics - but the viewers for 2011 exceeded 120,000!  Wow!  I can't say that this blog became the meeting house I wanted - but must admit to being impressed.  I'd also like to welcome all my new viewers and hope that you enjoy coming here - and don't let anybody fool you - your comments are ALWAYS welcome here!

Have a few things to do today.  First of all?  Thank you Tammy for your recent posting.  (She still drives me nuts with jealousy!  Damn good looking - and happy with it!).  Raises a point that I brought up before and never got a firm answer to.  When I refer to a cross dresser or transvestite - should I address that person as "He" or "She"? (I dislike "Gurl" intensely).  I ask this because if I were a real woman addressing Tammy, I'd use "She".

In explanation.  I'm submissive to females - NOT to males.  If a woman addressed me as 'She', I'd get all sweet, sexy and submissive.  A guy calls me the same?  I'd get alll pissed off.  So I don't know how other people like myself want to be called by another male - see what I mean?

Rosie has been nice enough to update the old "Shrort-Bits" page that I've been using a lot recently.  I hope that she don't mind - but I've copied a paragraph from her recent e-mail:

As I've promised, I'm sending you a sort of edited version of the short bits. Probably it contains more of them than the version you already have, but more importantly, I've deleted those that obviously weren't finished.

What I've been aiming for were really short passages of text, no more than two or three paragraphs. As you can see, I've mostly failed and most of the short bits have turned into short stories spawning over a whole page or more. Some work on their own, others are just passages of text without a really powerful ending, owing mostly to the fact I've lost interest before I managed to finish them. Still, if you see them fit for publishing, please do. I won't mind if you publish my email address (either one - or either.

So?  Thank you Rose (I much prefer that to Rosie - and we've been friends for many years) .  I'm sure that if you'd like to send any compliments, she'd be delighted. Here's one of her latest.


It took me some time to recover from the thorough eating out Carol gave me. None of us ever intended to have sex at that moment but we couldn’t really help it. Talking about Carol’s husband got us soooo hot. In fact, the closer the day she’d bring him home drew, the more the details of his near past aroused us. I remember when she told me how her mother got him to wear swishy aprons around the house – I just laughed then. She might have even been offended by my reaction, I’m afraid. However, last week was a whole different story. Knowing she’d been at her mother’s was enough for me to feel a pleasant tingling between my legs. I couldn’t keep my hands off her and when she finally whispered in my ear about how succulent his ass looked in the tight silk dress that he wore, all I could do was to clench my arms and legs around her as a powerful orgasm shook my body.
I glanced at the clock, I should be getting dressed. At first I thought of wearing one of my business suits – one I like to put on when I know I’ll be spanking one of my men in the office. Stern lines, strict colors. I just love the looks on those guys’ faces when they see the dark blue skirt as I walk into my office. They just know one of them will lie down across it before lunch time. Or that grey slacks. Then I changed my mind. The poor thing will be scared enough already, I thought, better try to make this as pleasant as possible for him.
I hope he hasn’t seen Carol in this dress before, I thought as I zipped myself up in a lovely lilac silk dress I had bought for Carol. It made me look as non-threatening as I could be, in it’s long flowing skirts, the puffy elasticized sleeves, the tight bodice and the frilled, scooped neckline. Nah, he couldn’t have, I only bought it a month ago and Carol didn’t have the habit of dolling up for her husband. In fact, she has been letting her work wardrobe mix too much with her leisure wear. It was for both of us when we’d get together at lunch and she, wearing one of her new power suits we’d bought together, would tell me of how she put another one of her office boys in panties, but when the day was over, I liked to snuggle with the Carol I first met, in nice feminine dresses and frilly satin undies I could play with.
I heard them come in just as I had finished my makeup. I made out Carol’s friendly voice and his own by his brief replies. I guess it was mean of us not to tell him I still hadn’t moved out but then again, having to move back home wearing a dress must have been stressful enough for the poor darling. I waited a little longer before I decided to join them.
“Hello,” I sang, “So you must be that husband of Carol’s I’ve been hearing so much about.”
The look on his face! Frankly, I’ve never seen a deer caught in a headlight before, but when I do, it will look a hell lot less scare than that. His face went so pale I could count each stroke of brush he used to apply blusher to his cheeks. He turned to Carol, but before he could say anything, she raised his finger at him.
“Now, Priscilla,” she said sternly, “Behave yourself. Aren’t you going to introduce yourself to the lady?”
“Oh, don’t be so hard on the poor girl,” I said to Carol, “We’ll get along just nicely, won’t we?”
I turned to him again, “Hi, I’m Janice.”
“Pleased to meet you,” he barely audibly breathed and moved forward to kiss me. I leaned down to him and beside the pecks on the cheeks he must have expected, kissed him full on the mouth.
“Janice will be staying here,” Carol said.
“What?” he jumped from my embrace, “But I thought -? Didn’t you say we’re moving back home?”
“We are, honey,” she replied, “Now don’t make me repeat myself one more time. Behave!”
“Why don’t you carry his bags to the bedroom, Carol,” I said calmingly, “Me and Priscilla will have a nice little chat.”
I put my arm around him and lead him to the sofa. Gently pushed him down and set next to him.
“So, Priscilla, how was it like living with your mother in law? Carol tells me you didn’t like it too much?”
“Not really,” he said meekly.
“Why not?” I asked, “From what I hear, Susan is quite a nice lady.”
He just gave me a sad look but kept quiet.
“Well, Priscilla?,” I said, “Aren’t you going to tell me what was wrong? If she was kind enough to give you a home for three months, the least you owe her is to be honest, don’t you think?”
“She made me do the housework,” he said quietly.
“You were staying at her house,” I replied, “Helping her out with her chores was the least you could do.”
“I guess,” he admitted.
“Well. Was there anything else? Carol told me you had just so many complaints,” I persisted.
He shrugged, rubbing the padded shoulder of his silk dress into my side.
“Did she beat you?” I asked softly.
A tear trickled down his cheek as he nodded.
“Does Carol know about this?” I asked.
“Yes. No. Yes-,” he began.
“Well now. Does she or doesn’t she?” I asked.
“It was Carol’s idea,” he sniffled, “The spanking I mean. So I told her about that. But she used to do it before.”
“She spanked you before?” I asked, genuinely surprised.
“No. Just pushed me or slapped my ass sometimes,” he said.
“Oh, but that hardly counts as beating, does it?” I said, “Did it hurt?”
“Not really. It’s just that – “he paused for a while, “It was humiliating. And she always did it when we had guests. Or she’d pick me up in the air.”
“That sounds like fun,” I interjected, “What did she do? Hold you in her arms like her blushing bride?”
“Sometimes,” he replied, “Or she’d put me over her shoulder and slap my ass.”
“You said there were guests around. Who were they?”
“Friends of hers,” he shrugged.
“Lady friends?” I asked.
“Did you have any gentlemen visitors?”
“A few. But they were with her lady friends,” he said.
“Did she pick you up when they were around?”
“Sometimes, yes.”
“How did they react?”
“The ladies or the men?”
“Both. All the ladies loved it. Some of them even picked me up themselves and spun me around. The men didn’t. In fact, Susan did this with most of the men that visited,” he said, “Or their friends did.”
“That doesn’t sound she was being mean to you,” I said, “Just ladies having some harmless fun. What do you think?”
He shrugged again.
“I heard she was also very nice to you,” I said, “Didn’t she buy you a lot of expensive clothes?”
“Yes, but they’re all women’s clothes,” he complained.
“Oh yes,” I said, “Carol mentioned you didn’t particularly like wearing skirts.”
“Not really,” he replied.
“What would you prefer to wear then? Pants?”
“Pants would be nice,” he said softly.
“You like wearing pants, don’t you?”
He nodded.
“I like wearing pants, too,” I said, “In fact, I wear them quite often to work. So does Carol. But when we’re at home, there’s nothing nicer than a soft silk dress, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know,” he shrugged.
“You’re wearing a dress now, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” he admitted.
“And doesn’t it feel nice? Doesn’t it feel light and unrestrictive?”
“I guess,” he said, “But the shoes aren’t very comfortable. They make my feet sore.”
“Well, the heels are kind of high,” I said, “I told Carol that four inches should be more than enough. But tell me, if you hate wearing dresses so much, why are you wearing one now?”
“They made me,” he said, “Carol and Susan.”
“They both made you?” I feigned surprise.
“Susan made me wear them, but it was Carol’s idea,” he said, “Please, why are you making me do this?”
“Hasn’t she explained to you yet? As I said, when we’re home, we wear what we like, when we go to work, we wear what’s required of us to wear. Me and Carol are businesswomen, so we wear suits to work.”
“I don’t understand,” he said, “Does that mean that if I get a job, I can dress as a man again?”
“Honey, you already have a job,” I said, “You are Carol’s wife. Well, Carol’s and mine actually. You know what’s in you job description?”
He shook his head.
“Can’t blame you, Carol’s never been much of a wife, to show you. On the other hand, you’ve just spent three months with her mother. That ought to give you a good idea what we’re expecting of you. Cook for us, clean up after us, wash our clothes, iron them, these sort of things. And of course, look pretty for us. That’s why you’re wearing a dress and high heels right now.”
I ran my hand through his long bleached hair then tugged it, so that he looked upwards. I lowered my lips down on his and pressed my tongue hard into his mouth. He didn’t resist for a moment and just as soon my other hand was on his hip so were his own around my neck.
“I’m glad you two are getting along so well,” Carol said as she suddenly came back to the living room.
He twitched, but I held him firmly by his hair and kept on kissing him.
“Well, aren’t you going to cuddle with me too?” Carol said when I broke off the kiss, patting her lap, “Or has Janice made you forget all about me?”
I smiled as he somewhat clumsily hopped from one sofa to another, right into Carol’s lap. Instead of kissing him, she laid him down across her knees and started slowly lifting his skirts.
“Good job with Priscilla, Carol,” I said, “He really is such a treasure.”
“Why do you keep calling her ‘him’ and Priscilla at the same time?” she asked, tugging at his panties.
“You’ve still got something left to do, don’t you?” I replied.
“Do I? Well, what do you think, Priscilla? What could I have possibly missed?” she said, poking at his ass.
I gave her poor frightened husband a conspirative wink.
“Oh, I know,” she exclaimed theatrically and pulled out his butt-plug, “I said I’d do it tonight, but might as well get over it now. No need to keep poor Priscilla confused. Here,” she turned to me, turning him in her arms, “Hold him for me please,” and handed him over to me.
I let his skirts fall back down around his legs and spun around.
“This really is fun, isn’t it, Priscilla?” I said and kissed him again.
“Okay, I’m ready,” Carol said, with her pants around her ankles and a pink strap-on jutting from her crotch. Priscilla’s eyes widened in horror, but the tent he was making in his dress didn’t go away.
“Don’t worry honey,” she said as I handed him back to her, “It’s only a small one, see? And I’ll oil you up nicely…”
She hiked up his skirts again, fitted a condom over his erection, lowered his skirts to around his knees and turned him over on the sofa. She lifted his skirts again, this time just enough to expose his plump buttocks and proceeded to lubricate his crack.
“Carol, honey, please don’t,” he cried.
“Shhh, baby,” she whispered to his ear, “You’ll like this.”
Saying that she placed the tip of the small dildo between his buttocks and pushed slowly. Priscilla cried and pleaded at first, but gradually the cries tuned down to quiet moans of pleasure.
“There,” Carol said after they were finished, turning Priscilla around yet again, “See?”
She pointed to her crotch. I lifted her dress up and saw that she had filled up her condom.
“You really liked that, didn’t you, Priscilla?” I said.
She only looked at me exhausted. I picked her up in my arms.
“Let’s run you a nice hot bath and then have a little nap, will we?” I said, “After all, I want you to be at your peak powers when I’m having fun with you tonight.”

The last thing is my new serial.   Just for God's sake?  Don't ask me where I got the title.  Damned if I know!
I really do hope that you enjoy it.  Here is Part 1.


By Bea

I fell in lust with Nancy the day I married her mother.  I know this sounds like inexcusable behavior for a groom on his wedding day, but there was some justification.  Well, maybe not justification per se, but a reasonable explanation if nothing else. But let me stop dithering about and explain.

You see, Rene my wife is a lot older than me and her daughter at twenty three only a few years younger.  Rene is a very good looking woman and looks nothing like her age. Petite, trim, and very well looked after.  Lustrous dark hair and always an amused expression lurking in her eyes.

I was working in a computer shop when I met her.  She was a well known Psychologist with a string of well-received books to her credit and a fairly steady income from the lecture circuit.  She'd been doing all of her work on an old 386PC, but had become very interested in the Internet – and estimated that she needed a much higher capacity machine for her scheduling, currency conversions, hotel and airline bookings , and suchlike.

My boss, Sheila, who owned the shop where I worked didn't really trust me with the job, but her best analyst Tracy was contracted to another job, and second best Dorothy had a rotten cold – so she threw me into the breach.  The job was relatively easy.  All I had to do originally, was set the machines up and hang around with her for a few days to make sure that she understood the processes, software and so on.  As my apartment was  fairly close to hers, and quite a ways from the store, it was settled that it was better for everyone concerned if I went to Ms Marchant's (Rene) house first each morning.  If she didn't need me, I could then go to the store.  If she did, then I stayed with her as long as was necessary.

I may as well admit that I was a virgin at that time.  I was scared of calm, self possessed women – well in all honesty?  Just about ALL women.  I did NOT get on well with males at all. Wasn't scared of them exactly.  Just didn't seem to have anything in common with them. As is probably obvious, I led a fairly lonely life.

 I'd been an only child and with my parents being killed in an accident some years before, and with my only remaining relative – a cousin - on the far side of the country, my social life wasn't exactly a 'whirl.

So here I am alone with a charming, intelligent, woman who always surveys me with an amused glint in her eyes, who always listens intently to anything I say  - which as I'm not used to this, makes me stutter and stammer like a schoolboy. I'm a good three or four inches taller than she is, but it becomes obvious after a day or two in her company, she is the hunter, I am the prey.

She will lean over me as I'm explaining something about the computer, her breasts softly rubbing against my shoulders, her hair rustling slightly against my jaw.  Either that, or she pulls a chair close to mine, and her thighs and legs rub against me.  I kept on telling myself that she was coming on to me and to act like a man. At the same time, what if I was wrong and she complained to Sheila?  My job wasn't much, but it had been the only one I could find.  Sure, she and Tracy and Dorothy treated me like dirt – but I think they were gradually allowing me to join in on their conversations, even invite me to lunch now and then.  That being about the total extent of my social life, I didn't want to spoil it. 

(The real answer I guess, was that I didn't know how to act like a man).

I've heard that women can't stand ineffectual men.  This wasn't the case as far as Rene was concerned.  She seemed to be constantly curious as to how far she could go before I reacted. Spoke to me using lots of double entendre's – started calling me "little Billie" or 'Sweet William" somehow making them sound like feminine designations. Would lightly caress my neck or ears with her fingertips.  Once she even nuzzled my neck with her lips.  I almost told her she had gone too far, and thought about maybe filing sexual harassment charges against her.  But the thought of how everybody would laugh at this blew that idea out of the water.

Then one day she informed me that she had 'rented' me from Sheila for the next week or two.  That way I could get to keep my mind on working for her.  That day was the first time she took me sexually.

Don't get me wrong.  I'm not gay.  I WANTED to have sex with her.  I just didn't know how.  I'll admit that it felt all wrong to me – I knew that I should be the aggressor, just felt that she was so much more sophisticated and worldly wise that she'd laugh at my blunderings -  and so constantly held back.

But she didn't hold back.  Not at all.  She'd discovered I could cook, so I'd been making the occasional lunch now and then.  That morning she yawned. "Don't know why I feel so sleepy" she purred. "Billie?  Why don't I go and put something more comfortable on?  And while I'm changing?  Why don't you go and make lunch for us – there's a nice bottle of wine in the fridge.  Let's get decadent and have it for lunch? Huh dearie?"

"All right Mrs. Marchant" I said nervously.  "Anything special you want?"
She turned and gave me a lascivious grin. "Oh Yes!  And I'm going to eat it ALL up!  But Billie?  While I think on it?  I bought a new apron.  That old one of mine that you wore last week was so tatty, I was embarrassed. The new one's hanging in the kitchen.  Wear it for me, will you?"
"Okay Mrs. Marchant."
"Billie dear?  If you call me Mrs.  Marchant again, I'm going to put you over my knee!  My name is Rene.  Now SAY it!"
"I'm sorry  . . Rene."
"That's better dearie.  Now of you go like a good little pussy cat.  Make Rene's lunch – scat!"

I got a shock when I saw the apron. Surely she didn't intend for me to wear something like that? It was made of some soft shiny fabric, almost transparent and in an indeterminate color – a sort of soft rose pink. It was heavily ruffled at the bib, and LONG!  Almost ankle length.  Not only that?  The skirt was very full – and tiered!  Almost like a long dress for goodness sake.

I was so positive that she'd made a mistake that I looked everywhere else that she normally kept aprons, but couldn't find any.  Blushing furiously  (what would she think if I'd put on this frilly feminine thing, and it was the wrong one?)  I put it on over my head, and tied myself in at the back.  Then I set to making lunch.  Opened the wine bottle and set it out to breathe.  Hard boiled a few eggs, tore up some lettuce, chopped in some tomatoes and green peppers – then put everything in a bowl and popped it in the fridge to chill a little more. Started making a salad dressing

I never heard a sound. The first intimation I had that anyone else was beside me was the feel of a silk enshrouded warm, strong, arm encircle my waist and hug me.
"Ooh!  You look nice" she whispered, as I damned near died of fright.
"What's the matter?" she said next. "You've gone as white as a ghost.  Did Rene scare her little pussy?"

With that, she gave me a long kiss.  I wanted so much to sweep her up into my arms, but seemed fated to be cast in the passive role as her tongue gently probed between my lips, then enlarged its way into my mouth poking aggressively all the way in.

Then I was free of her again, standing dazed as she smiled at me. "That apron?" she said "It's almost like a dress on you." She leaned forward and touched my lips gently. "I'm afraid that my lipstick shade doesn't go too well with it, but you don't mind, do you?"

Confused, I didn't know how to answer this question. What would happen if I said 'yes'? Would she get the inference that I didn't want to be kissed any more? The safest bet seemed to be 'no', which is what I said.

She was wearing a filmy blue peignoir over a rich satin nightgown, frothing with lace at the scoop neckline, but a simple sheath down over her hips, thighs, and legs down to dainty little slippers peeking out .  She smiled as I gazed at her admiringly.
"Never dawned on me puss.  I should have thought when I bought that apron for you.  But me in blue, you in pink?  Almost like a role reversal, isn't it?"

"Aw Mrs. – I mean Rene? I'm not a girl" I stammered.
"Of course you're not!" she laughed. "Whatever gave you that idea?"
"Well?  I don't know," I said haltingly. " But you talk about me as if I'm wearing a dress – a pink one at that and , and, and - you talked about me as if I was wearing lipstick and, and - you call me little puss – and I'm bigger than you are!" I ended despairingly

She came and hugged me again. "You are SO cute!" she laughed.  "Bigger than me indeed!  But here!  That's not a very pretty bow you have on your apron.  Let me fix it for you."

And I stood helpless as she untied, then re-tied my bow to her satisfaction. "There!" she said, giving me a light slap on the rear.  "Think you'd know how to tie a bow at your age! Now?  When's lunch, BIG pussy?" Then she roared with laughter at the expression on my face. "Doesn't quite sound right, does it?" she laughed. "Like me to call you 'Duke'?" she asked after a second.

"Sounds like a dogs name to me" I said, hurt. "I'm not a pet!"
"Never heard of John Wayne? Don't think he was anybody's pet.  That's what they called him.  Didn't you know that?" She was still smiling, but there was an undertone to her voice now.
"I'm sorry" I said.
"That's better!" she laughed.  "Of course, there's always 'Patty' as in Patty Duke, the actress.  Is that better?  Would you prefer Patty?"

I started to complain, but I was in her arms again, being kissed.
"Let's have lunch later Patty. Okay?  Let's go to bed now."

And somehow, I found myself in her bedroom, lying on top of the bed, my shoes and socks off and my pants being removed. I did try and assert myself, but seemed to get nowhere, except further and further into her embrace, lying passive and docile as she kissed and fondled me.
"Doesn't this feel nice?" She cooed, wrapping the loose flowing material of her peignoir around my arm. "Doesn't this turn you on?  I'll let you borrow it if you want?”  Then she bunched some of the same material and laid it in my penis, the heat from her warm hand coming through the layers of material.

I shook my head with a great effort of will, but she just laughed. "I know you don't mind that - little Patty in her pink dress.  Not really.  Here. Rene wants you to do something for her, okay?"
I just looked up at her, helpless and dumb.
She smiled and unfastened a glittering bracelet from around her wrist. "Don't want to lose this bracelet dear.  You don't mind?"
I had no idea why she was doing what she was, but later figured that she was putting her 'brand' on me, because it wasn't but a few minutes later that I was lying there gasping as she straddled, then mounted me, my arms helplessly up in the air, the jeweled bracelet moving up and down my arm as she rode me to a culmination for both of us.

Sleepily, happily, I looked up at the proud woman straddling me. My limp organ, wet and warm somewhere underneath her.
"Gonna have to make an honest woman out of you now puss.  We'd better get married, I guess" she said.
I was too dazed to reply. Too intimidated to correct her.  After all – what would an older, well-to-do lady see in me?  She HAD to be joking, right?

But she wasn't.  From that point onwards, it seemed be accepted as a fact.  I was asked ('told' is probably more accurate) to give up my apartment and move in with her.  She then 'hired' me away from Sheila's and I became her full time 'companion' ('sex toy' is again, more accurate).

I certainly wasn't caring, because I enjoyed the sex a great deal, even though there were certain aspects that I didn't care for.  For example, I was never allowed to initiate the sex between us.  I did try a couple of times, but she just giggled and pretended to be a helpless female.  Would throw out her arms and shriek "Take me, you HUNK! Finally!  I got me a GREAT stud!  A John Wayne clone!" At that point any erection I had would go and hide in shame, leaving me a scornful woman to contend with.  Then she'd take over the aggressive role, and my erection would return – which she noticed every time. "Or should I have said Joanne Wayne my little puss cat?" – or something just as equally emasculating as she mounted me.

Another weird thing she did?  Always wanted me to wear something feminine when we made love. Usually just one article – though once it was a garter belt and stockings.  Most of the time though it would be an item in the cosmetics line – Lipstick, Blusher, mascara – perfume.  She'd usually get me very horny, then tell me what I had to put on, before putting me under her.  Then she'd jeer quietly at me as I put whatever it was on. (This also served to excite me - as she pointed out every time without fail).

I also took over the cleaning of the house, the cooking, and the laundry.  She was grateful for this but made no bones about the fact that she expected me to do it – and do a bloody good job, or she'd know the reason why!  I didn't really mind doing this stuff.  For one thing it was easy, for another it was something I could do well – and was appreciated. At the same time, not wanting Rene to know this, I did some minor grumbling about it – which she seemed to ignore completely.

But even this assignment ended up leading  to an episode of total humiliation.

I was vacuuming the living room carpet one morning.  In the approximate center of the room there was a large octagonal coffee table with a plate glass surface set into the top for the surface.  It was a heavy table, and difficult to shift, but after a real struggle I got it moved far enough away from its normal spot,  that I could clean the area.  I got that done, then found that I needed the bathroom.

I was in the bathroom less than a minute but when I got back Rene was standing there leafing through one of her reference books.  She looked at me over the top of the book, smiled, and went back to her reading – calm, cool, and collected.

I was amazed.  "How'd you do that?" I said, pointing at the table now back in it's original position.
"Do what puss?"
"Move that table back there.  I had a terrible job moving it over there."

She shrugged.  "Could see that you'd cleaned there.  Thought you might have forgotten to put it back, so did it for you.  Was I wrong?"
I scratched my head, mystified. "But how did you manage it – and so quickly. It's really heavy!"

She smiled condescendingly. "Wasn't any kind of bother dear. I'm probably stronger than you.  No problem."
I'd had it with my masculinity being constantly maligned. "Ha!" I snapped.  "Must be some kind of knack to it.  You stronger than me?  Hah!"

She put a bookmark in her book and put it down on the table.  "You intimating that you're stronger than me?" she purred. "Oh you silly Billie!"
Stung to the quick, I retorted without thinking.
"Oh for goodness sake Rene!  Of course I'm stronger than you!  I'm bigger, heavier, and it's a well known fact that men have much greater bone mass than women. Gives us more musculature – more bulk, more strength."

"You feel strongly about this, huh?"
"Yes!" I replied.
"Enough for a little wager?"
"Sure! But I don't have much money." I said.
"Okay.  We can do without money.  Tell you what.  We can Indian wrestle – best out of three?"
"Thought you wanted a wager?" I sneered.  "Backing out now?"

Her eyes narrowed and she squinted at me for a minute. "Tell you what," she announced. "You win?  No housework for a month.  You lose?  You wear a dress for the rest of the day. How's that?"
"I'm not wearing any dress.  No way!" I snapped.
She gave me a lazy smile.  "Starting to think I might beat you now?  Want to back down? Admit that I'm stronger than you?"

I was basically hoisted on my own petard.  I had come across as being super confident that I could win, now it would appear that all I had been doing was an empty boast – if I started quibbling about the cost to me if I lost. At the same time, how could I possibly lose?  "Let's go Rene. Best of three.  Right?" I said.

She led me into the dining room where the table was the right height.  She angled a chair towards a corner of the table, then sat down.  I did the same, so that we were facing each other across the corner of the table.  Carefully, she put her elbow on the table, forearm pointing straight up.  I did the same.  Our hands met and clasped. Hers felt soft and warm, and I noticed for the first time how beautifully tended her fingernails were.

"Anybody lifts an elbow from the table is automatically DQ'd.  Right?" she said.
"Absobloodylutely!" I grinned.  "You want to call?  On a count of three?"
"My pleasure" she said "One!  Two!  THREE!"
And the back of my arm and hand were flat down on the table!

Aghast, I couldn't believe it. Rene saw this. "I'm sorry puss.  Maybe I jumped the gun.  Why don't we just call that a practice run.  And?  This time, you can make the call – okay? That way you won't be surprised."
What she had said was the only logical explanation. I smiled.  "That's very nice of you Rene.  Sure, let's do it again." 

This time, I did the count – but the results were exactly the same.  Maybe I was beaten in an even shorter time frame because the back of my hand stung from hitting the table surface so hard.  I also thought I felt my bicep muscle strain from being bent so quickly.
"Want to do it again Duke?  Sorry  - Patty?" she grinned mockingly.
Humiliated beyond words, I nodded.
"Okay dear.  Get your little handy wandy up on to the table," she mocked.
Shamefaced I did.

This time, she exerted absolutely no strength at all, other than to just keep her hand upright, while I tried with all my strength to budge it.  Slowly then, staring me straight in the eyes, she just pushed my arm backwards.  I even lifted my elbow from the surface to give myself leverage, but she just kept on smiling and pushing my arm back.  Near tears with the humiliation , I said "Okay Rene.  You win."
"Thank you pussy." She said.  "Just about finished your vacuuming?"
"Yes.  All I have to do is put the vacuum away"
"Good!  Do that and we'll get going."
"Going?   Where?"
"To buy your dress, silly Billie.  What else would we be going for?"

"I thought . . I thought . ." I stammered.
"Thought what dearie?  That I'd let you off?"
I blushed. "No.  Not that.  I thought you'd want me to wear one of yours. One of your old ones I mean."
"Try and squeeze all of that bone mass and bulk into one of my flimsy dresses?  Why you'd ruin it, you hulking brute!  No! I want you to experience the pleasure a girl gets when she buys her first grownup dress.  Just wait.  It'll be such a thrill!"

"Rene?  Please?"
"You're not trying to welsh on your bet, are you?  I mean you can't possibly be thinking of not paying, are you?" The amusement was gone from her face. "I really hate welshers!" she added.
"No Rene.  Well, kinda.  Please don't do this. Please give me one of your old ones?  It wasn't a part of the bet that I had to go and buy one."  I added the last part hopefully.
She shook her head. "Come on Patty.  Time to pay up.  Pay up like a man and put your dress on!" she crowed.

End of part 1


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