An Apology - Sort of

I'm sorry that I missed updating this blog last week - a combination of bad health, not knowing what to write about - and with no serial story in mind.

This week's a wee bit different though. My legs are still giving me hell, but I did come up with a story for serializing.  It's called "Judas Goat". Now, I think I may have been overly smart with the title originally because the book was never one of my best sellers - but for those of you who don't know?  Meat packers had a helluva time getting cattle off the trains and into the chutes for killing.  They discovered that an animal (usually a goat) could be trained to calm and lead the other animals to slaughter - then used again and again.  Those animals were known as Judas Goats.  Trust me, the title is quite apt.

Had a discussion with Carrie recently.  Have had the same conversation before - but thought you might find it of interest.  Once in a while (not often) I'd get a terrible urge to wear layers upon layers upon layers of lingerie.  I've no idea why I enjoyed this so much as I jacked off - maybe an unusual feeling of entrapment?  But Carrie indicated a feeling similar to this - admitting a sometimes urge to wear two corsets.  Let's face it - we're all daft.  Just sometimes dafter than others?

As usual, I've added a few of Rosie's bits.  I hope that you enjoy them as well.  They come after my story.

JUDAS GOAT

By Bea

Part 1

Doctor Samantha Tween was imposing.  Big woman.  Not particularly tall, though taller than me by quite a few inches, discounting the low heels she was wearing.  Maybe a tad under five foot ten inches, but a good width to her shoulders and depth to her chest.  Long, lustrous brown hair with a tawny shade to it. Intelligent face with a hint of humor in the dark, penetrating, eyes. BIG hands when she shook mine – physical strength in there too, I noticed as her hand engulfed mine.

"Pleased to meet you Mr. Capp," she said.  "Finally!  After all of our telephone conversations!  Please come in. Have a chair – over there if you don't mind?"

Big as she was, I noticed how easily she moved as she  led me over towards what was obviously a 'conversation pit' away from her desk, her conservative gray wool skirt slipping seductively around her thighs.   Motioned at the chair I was to take, and settled herself back into her own chair.  Looked at me.  Smiled. Crossed her legs.

"Let me get right to the point.  I've analyzed the tapes you've sent me of Mr. One – as you call him. I'll state, categorically, that he is a male submissive of the first order."

Her statement shook me. I mean, I've worked for this guy now for quite some time and knew full well that if I trusted her judgment – and she was wrong?  I was going to be dead – very quickly.   Nevertheless, I licked my lips greedily tasting the power that was coming my way.  "He'll do what anybody tells him?"

She shook her head.  Smiled coolly.  "No dear. He'll do what a dominant WOMAN tells him.  That's all.  I don't know this man.  But would offer the opinion that – if a male tried to commandeer this gentleman?  He wouldn't be successful.  If there was some element of homosexuality in his makeup,  maybe.   But I don't see a trace of that."

I nodded.  Made sense.  Mr. One is head of one of the largest mafia families in the U.S.  – What the hell – organized crime in the WORLD!  He didn't get there by doing what anybody told him!  Got there by skill, and a great deal of malice – and the capacity to 'cap' somebody without thinking twice!  I squirmed in my seat as I thought of the possible windfall – GIGANTIC windfall - that may have come to me.

"You seem pretty sure of yourself on the basis of hearing just some recordings of one-sided conversations."  I sneered.  "Or are you just guessing?"

Her eyes iced over.  I kid you not, this broad could get scary in a hurry!

"Mr. Capp?  You question me in that manner, in that tone, ever again?  Our relationship will be terminated immediately!  You came to me looking for an expert.  You got one.  I DON'T guess when I render my opinions.  If  I am unsure of anything when I make a report, I pass that on to my client.  Do I make myself clear?"  She took a deep breath, then added   "Do you still wish to maintain our contract?"

She had settled back into her chair, seemingly totally relaxed – her face placid, her tone of voice calm, but her eyes were blazing pools of fury.  I was more careful with my choice of words when I replied.  "Doctor?  No offense meant.  I guess I'm just too used to dealing with blonde bimbos all the time.  I was just surprised that you could come up with that opinion based on so little information.  I thought you'd HAVE to hear what was said at the other end."

She relaxed, and her eyes shuttered down some, but were still glowing.  "Mr.  Capp?  Thank you.  But let me explain one or two things if I may?  To begin with?  I am a qualified Psychiatrist who became interested in aspects of gender domination years ago.  To begin with, I studied situations where the males were dominant – this being the most common form.  But then I noticed something – and became fascinated with the situations where females were the dominas.  I am now of the opinion that most males can be dominated – if their programming is performed by an expert – whether they start out as a natural submissive or not.  If they ARE submissive to begin with?  Just about any woman with a firm voice and confidence can have them crawling in no time."

She paused, thinking, then continued.  "Next? I have accumulated a wide base of empirical experience based on research and actual field work - and I used that a great deal in evaluating the tapes you provided.  At the same time, my evaluation also included a great deal of scientific sound wave analysis – particularly looking for stress points common to submissive males – and your Mr. One was an almost classic example of a male submissive under female domination.  And now?  If you'll forgive me?  I'd like to hazard a guess about the person he was talking with?"

"Be my guest doc!" I said expansively.

"The woman on the other end of his conversation is NOT an expert domina. "

"How did you figure that out?  And what difference does it make?"  I asked.

"The sequencing of his stress points was all off.  She was allowing him to 'call the shots' if you will."

I laughed.  "You don't know this guy doc.  He is one mean mother.  Nobody calls the shots on him.  Nobody!"

She leaned forward in her chair. "Mr. Capp?  You have the habit of dropping disparaging references to women in your conversation – bimbo's – mother - that sort of thing.  You are a client of mine and seem perfectly willing to pay my ridiculously high charges.  But I must tell you that I do not care to hear women disparaged by any male.  I'm not trying to curtail how you talk, but felt I should at least be informed as to how I feel.  Is that alright?"

I looked at this hoity-toity broad with her upper crust English accent. Who the hell did she think she was?  Damn right I was paying her – and BIG bucks too!  I felt like threatening to kick her ass.  But I needed her, so held my temper and grinned at her instead.  "Sorry doc.  It's just the way us Americans talk.  Okay?  I'll try to watch it.  Okay?"

She nodded, and smiled – but not with a lot of warmth.  "You said that nobody calls the shots on him?"

"Got THAT right, sister!" I replied.  Grinned to myself when her eyes glinted at my comment.  "He is one tough mo . . guy.  You can make book on it!"

"You have obviously not understood what I told you Mr. Capp.  He is a NATURAL submissive.  I have apprentice dominas who would have him eating out of their hands in a week. One of my senior girls?" She shrugged.  "Day or two at most.  ME?  A matter of hours.  No problem!"

This broad was starting to BUG me!  Queen of the goddam world, no less!  If she just knew how many stiffs were sleeping with the fishes at the bottom of the Hudson river?  Fitted with concrete shoes, made to measure by Mr. One?  She might not be so goddam cocky!  But my brain was in overdrive – and it wouldn't do to scare her at this particular point, so I smiled easily.

"So?  If Mr. One has information that I need to know?  You could find out what it is?  Like a password for example?"

"Of course!" What do you need to know it for?"

She got to me!  I glared at her.  "None of your goddam business!  Just ask him the password to give the dons for the meeting.  That's all.  That's ALL!  Understand?"

She glared back. "Don't use that tone of voice to ME!  How dare you!  I have no idea of how many so-called passwords he might be using in his business.  Was I being too unreasonable to ask for  which ONE you want?"

It was the first time in my whole life that any woman had had the balls to talk to me like that.  And?  To tell the truth?  It shook me a little.  All of a sudden, I take in the fact that this woman is in damn good physical shape – and maybe could even take me one on one.  Then I shake my head.  Ridiculous!  But I back off some.  Try and answer her calmly.

"Doctor Tween? We seem to be constantly getting off on the wrong foot. I know I'm in England, and I know that a lot of you English consider us Yanks a bunch of crude ass. . people."  I paused.  " But you have skills that I want – and I have funds enough to afford your skills. "  I gave her one of my very best smiles and held my hand out towards her.  "Can we start all over again?"

An odd expression crossed her face, but she smiled.  Leaned forward and held her own hand out towards me.  Moved her hand as if pretending  to shake mine.  Relaxed back into her chair  "Yes Mr. Capp.  I believe we can.  Now what do you see my organization doing for you?"

"Mr. One has a password that I want.  With it?  I can chair a very important meeting that should be taking place about three or four months from now.  Without it?  I can't."

"I don't understand," she said.  "If you chair it, what will Mr. One be doing in the meantime?"

I shrugged.  "That's part of where you come in.  I want him out of the way."

She thought for a second. "Mr. Capp? Whatever it is you think that I do?  The services I provide?  They do not include getting rid of people . ."

I thought about what I was about to say – very carefully.  "Doctor Tween? I am  a client of yours?  We have a relationship?  You cannot divulge to anyone what I say?" I asked.

She shrugged.  "True. But I'd advise you not to tell me of any crimes you have committed that are particularly heinous – I'd turn you in - in a minute!"

"But you wouldn't turn me in for crimes I'd only thought of - surely?"

"Now, that's ABSOLUTELY true!" she said, smiling.

"Let me come clean doctor.  I am, like Mr. One, a member  of a very large and powerful organization.  He has – shall I say – fallen out of favor with members of the U.S. government? – and forced to take an extended stay outside the States.  Okay?"

A slight nod was the only response she gave.

"I am"  I continued  "His consigliore."

"Trusted advisor?" she asked with a grimace.

I nodded, then continued.  "He has called for a meeting of all the chief . . . executives .  . of his organization, here in England, where he intends to lay down his long term plans for . .  the organization."

"So?" she asked, her eyes intent on me. "Where do YOU come in?"

I smiled coldly. "Let me try to explain it this way.  He is about the same age as myself – maybe a few years older.  But his ideas?  They belong in the stone age. . ."

"And you are more forward thinking?" she smiled evilly.

I returned the compliment and smiled back. "Exactly!"

"You feel that, given the chance, you can convince those other . . huh  .  executives . . that your way of thinking is more advantageous to your organization.?"

"Absolutely!"

She cocked her head to one side.  "May I speak bluntly Mr. Capp?  I have no wish to pry into your affairs, but if I am to be of assistance to you, there are certain questions I feel that I should know the answers to."

"Fire away!" I answered.  "But if I don't want you to know, I'll tell you.  Fair enough?"

Again, the peculiar expression flashed in her eyes, but she grinned, obviously relaxing now.  "Mr. Capp?  I am assuming that your organization is related to organized crime."  She held her hand up.  "No – you don't need to answer that.  But if this IS the case?  Why don't you have him killed?"

Her calmness shook me, but I started to relax myself.  "Doctor?  I'm more of an  . . an . . administrator, so to speak. Never killed anyone in my life.  Now, the absolute top man in our organization – the Don?  He sees that the old fashioned approach isn't working as much as it used to.  We can steal a helluva lot more with accountants and lawyers – legally, than we could steal in years."   I smiled proudly.  "I was recruited from Harvard School of Business some years back.  Mr. One lost his consigliore a year ago.  I was appointed to assist him while he's here in England.  He'll get a new consigliore when he's allowed back into the States – one more knowledgeable in what's going on there."  I added a little bitterly.  "The whole idea?"  I continued,  "is that I try and smooth out his rough edges, so to speak – and that I get some idea of a real consigliore's  main duties at the same time. That way?  I'll be of more use to the organization at some later date."

She caught the bitterness in my voice immediately. "So?" she asked.  "You have to make your mark while you're both here  in England then?  That it?"

"More or less." I admitted.  "Here?  He pays some attention to me , but . . "  I paused, uncertain as what to say.

She smiled coolly.  "But not enough?  That it?"

I nodded.

"But once he gets back to America, he'll stop listening to you altogether?"

"Probably."  I admitted.

"So?  With his password, the other . . . executives . .  might accept you as one of their own?"

I swallowed.  "True. Once I get my ideas put forward in a positive light?  I'm sure . . "

She held up her hand, palm towards me, effectively shutting me up.  "Mr.  Capp?  I can get you the password.  I am positive in this.  But I must be able to get at least one of my girls – preferably more -  introduced to your boss.  Do you have any other tapes of him speaking?"

"What for?  And to who?"

"Just to get to know him better.  Forewarned is forearmed."

I thought for a minute.  "I was lucky to get the one I gave you.  If he'd found out that I'd taped him – I could be dead by now."

"How did you get them?"  she asked.  "I really don't need to know – but I'd have thought he'd have all sorts of security . . ?"

 I grinned.  "Actually?  Pure luck.  I was just having the house we've rented for the meeting swept for bugs and accidentally left a mike running.  Saw the recorder light, and got curious.   Heard what he was saying – and thought of you."

She nodded seriously.  "That's something I've been meaning to ask you.  How did you hear of me?  You don't need to tell me of course, but I'm curious.  My normal customers are women who want their boyfriends or husbands . .  shall we say . . . made over?  And the word of what I do gets around, normally by word of mouth.  Woman to woman sort of thing."  She gave me a slight grin.  "You deviate from my normal clientele by quite a large margin . ..?"

"I saw a TV program where you were interviewed . . ."

She slapped her thigh, interrupting me,  and laughed.  "Saw me on the telly!  My goodness!  That thing is years old!  But?  It didn't give my telephone number, surely?"  Then she remembered.  "Oh, that's right!  The BBC called me – told me that you wanted to talk with me and gave me your number!  That's how! "  She beamed at me.  "More than just a pretty face, aren't you?"

I blushed at her compliment – first time I've done that in years.  Again, I saw a flash of an expression that I could not define cross her face.  "It was really coincidental,"  I admitted.  "Remember, at the end of your interview, you gave some examples of speech patterns that submissive males used? "

"Of COURSE!  That was it! He did use quite a few, didn't he!"

"Well that was the night right before I caught him on tape.  Otherwise I might never have put two and two together."

She nodded approvingly.  "Mr. Capp?   I think we can do business.  But we must determine how I can get some of my ladies into your house.  Would you like a cup of tea?"

"Coffee would be better please?  Just black though," I answered.  "Can't get used to this café au lait you Brits are always going on about."

"Well I'm in full agreement with you on that – though I do like a little cream and sugar in mine, " she laughed. "Let me just call Josephine."  With that, she pressed a button in a small console beside her.  "Josephine?  A pot of coffee and two cups please.  Some biscuits too if you will. Thank you."

She leaned back in her chair, and we chatted – about the weather of course.  We also came to the agreement that she would be called Samantha – or Sam.  She would call me Ray.  A few minutes later a quiet knock on the door was followed by a rather attractive maid appearing with a small wheeled trolley, a pot of coffee and various cups, saucers, and a small plate of cookies.

"Shall I pour ma'am?" she said, making a short, but deferential curtsey.

"No Josephine.  I'll let Mr. Capp be mother." The doctor said. "That will be fine.  Thank you dear." 

With that, the girl curtsied again and left.

I must have shown surprise at use of the word 'mother', because Samantha looked puzzled herself for a moment, before laughing.  "I'm sorry Ray.  The word 'mother' in that context simply means that I want you to pour the coffee.  Perform the hostess function, so to speak.  I'll take a level teaspoon of sugar – and just a few drops of cream in mine please."

With mixed emotions, I got up and went to the trolley.  I was taken aback by her calm assumption that I'd pour her coffee for her – what did she take me for, for Chris'sake!  At the  same time, I felt kinda fluttery.  Flattered?  I couldn't identify what I felt with any accuracy.  But I put my best face on it and poured her coffee into a cup.  Added the cream and sugar.  Put the cup on a saucer then carried it to her.  She accepted it with a smile and an inclination of her head.  As I made my way back to the trolley, she spoke.

"What did you think of Josephine?"

I turned back and looked at her.  "The maid?  Can't say I really noticed her."  I said.  Was I supposed to?"

Samantha smiled. Opened her eyes wide. Asked innocently.   "You just used the term 'her'.  Are you sure?"

I couldn't help myself.  Gaped at her.  "You saying -  you saying?  She's a GUY?"

"Not really.  Not any more.   She used to be a male.  But was stupid with it.  Went out of his way to  alienate her wife.  After my ladies were finished with him, his wife forced him to sign over all of his money – then threw him out of her bed – then the house.  I took him on as a maid – just as a kindness you understand?  She's a docile little thing now.  But happy in her work, I should imagine.  His wife is starting to make noises that she wants him back – good maids are so HARD to find these days."  She laughed.  "But that wasn't part of our contract, and right now I don't have the time to be breaking in a new sissy male."

I swallowed nervously.  Hearing what I thought was a woman bragging was one thing.  Seeing the results of her handiwork was something else though.  But then I thought " Suppose?  Just suppose that Josephine has been a woman all her life?  Suppose that Samantha here is just working a con on you?  Could be." With that, I straightened up and got back to the business at hand.

 "VERY impressive Samantha!  But although my boss and I are living in a hotel we've rented a large house for the meeting.  It's furnished, I know, and a lot bigger than we need.  I don't mean any offense – but I'm in the process of hiring workers  for the house.  Would one or more of your ladies be willing to . ?"

"Come work as servants?" she interrupted.

I nodded.

"PERFECT!" she said.  "Of course they wouldn't be offended.  It's only short term anyway – and I assume you are generous employers?  The girls would enjoy THAT, I'm sure.  How many maids etc. are you thinking of?"

End of Part 1

And now onto Rosie's stuff!

22

Even though she tried to hide it, Helen was panting heavily too. Me, I was straining against her as hard as I could from the very beginning. I was too afraid to waste any amount of energy on anything else than fighting her. I simply couldn’t afford to use any of my remaining strength on something as trivial as trying to appear more manly in the eyes of my mother. Only when I realized I had lost I became aware of the fact that I was not merely panting, but heaving, struggling to get as much air in my lungs as I could with every breath, and every time I exhaled, I let out another sound, a girlish whimper. My heart seemed it was trying to break loose from my ribcage. Not just because of physical effort – I also realized my penis was rock hard. Naturally, this added to my shame. I had terribly disappointed my mother. In the feat of strength she had proposed I had not only been bested by my own wife, but apparently I was also enjoying it as well.

Helen had noticed my erection as well. After pinning me to the floor, she used her left arm to lift my left leg while holding my right one on the floor with her legs. This way my erection was put on full, unambiguous display. In my tight purple leotard, I was sure, every single detail must have been even more pronounced by the reflectivity of the slippery material. As a coup the grace, she took hold of my hair and pulled on it until I could no longer hide my shame in the floor carpet but had to finally face my mother.

“Well, I guess that’s that,” my mother said and walked out of our bedroom. As I listened to the clacking of her high heels resounding down the hall I started to cry silently.

24 

With my husband sitting beside me I waited for my sons to come from their rooms like I told them to. Norman, the older one, arrived first, a nice yellow pleated skirt with a black sweated. Daniel came about a minute later. As he was the youngest one and still growing, I had him wear one of Rachel’s old dresses that she had grown out of. I could easily have him wear Norman’s old clothes, but I opted for Rachel’s for psychological effect. A child’s red knee length party dress, a bit ridiculously looking on a fourteen year old.

“You may sit down if you like,” I said kindly, though smiling inwardly. With the spankings they had just received, it would take a lot more time before they’d willingly let their backsides carry the weight of their, albeit slim bodies.

The boys only exchanged glances but remained standing.

“Too soon, huh?” I said.

They remained silent.

“Well, I’m sorry boys, but you brought this upon yourself,” I said, turning to Norman, “Especially you. I thought you were old enough to know better, I thought I didn’t need to spank you anymore, but I guess you proved me wrong.”

“Sorry, mum,” he muttered.

“I’m not finished!” I raised my voice.

The boys twitched with fear.

“Moreover, you both proved me wrong on another thing,” I continued, calmly, “I thought you were trustworthy enough that you deserved the clothing privileges you enjoyed so far, but I guess I was wrong about that too. I expected that you’d behave responsibly if I allowed you to spend more time in boys clothes – to think I allowed you a week at a time. Well, that’s over.”

They didn’t seem too troubled by my words. I had punished them like this before and as school was about to start in two weeks, they thought their penalty quite endurable.

“I know what you’re thinking,” I said, “I’ll have to let you wear boys’ clothes to school, right?”

Even though they were being punished, they just couldn’t hide their smug little smirks.

“Well guess again, boys,” I said, “You’ll be joining Rachel at the boarding school.”

That did the trick. Their eyes widened in horror – Daniel was so shocked he even forgot to close his mouth!

“But, but, but mum,” Norman stuttered, “Please, anything but that. We’ll be good, we promise!”

“I know you will be,” I said, “The teachers at Bowland’s will make bloody sure of it.”

I looked each of them straight in the eyes. Norman dropped his eyes on the floor, Daniel started crying silently.

“I’m sorry, but we’ve been through this a million times. Boys clothes are a privilege you have to earn and respect, yet this summer you did nothing but abuse it.”

Even Norman started to cry.

“You know, I wish it didn’t have to come to this, but it’s your own fault, boys,” I said, “The decision is final. You may just as well stop crying.”

“But mummy,” Daniel stammered and burst in tears again.

“You’re going to Bowland’s and that’s final,” I repeated, “The both of you. Now go back to your rooms.”

After they had scurried away, I turned to my husband.

“You think we were too strict on them?” I asked.

“The school will do them good,” he said, “But did you have to spank them so hard?”
I smiled and embraced him.

“You know what the best part is?” I asked.

I felt him stiffen as I reached under his skirt.

“My hand’s not tired yet,” I said.

25

With a sullen expression, Dora, my mother in law, dragged my husband into the room. She had dressed him in a black knee length pencil skirt and a shiny purple long sleeved blouse. He wore purple pumps with a four inch heel, his legs were encased in purple hued nylons that matched his blouse. It was quite a pretty ensemble, actually. The collar of his blouse extended down his front all the way below the waistline and was clipped against the blouse with a thin patent black belt. His face was tastefully made up and his once manly eyebrows were now just two thin arcs above his eyes. His hair, although hardly long enough, was cut and styled in feminine manner. Even his nails were shining with a clear coat of polish.

“Dora,” I smiled, puzzled by my husband’s new outlook, “What’s the meaning of this? Weren’t you just saying how I don’t respect Jeremy enough as a man?”

“Yes,” she replied, hardly curbing her anger, “And since you refuse to listen to me, I had to turn to more drastic methods.”

“And you do this by dressing your son as a woman?” I asked.

“This is how you’ve been treating him,” she hissed, “As a wife. And this is what a wife looks like.”

“Well, Dora, don’t you think you’re over reacting?” I said, “Putting him in skirts because he does most of the chores in our house?”

“If you want him out of skirts, you’ll have to start treating him like you should,” she replied, “As long as I have any say on the matter, this is what he will look like until you start paying him respect a husband should get.”

”Well, Dora, I must say, I’m shocked,” I choked.

“Think about it,” she said, “That’s how it is.”

I walked up to my feminized husband.

“Doesn’t it feel this strange, that you’re finally taller than me,” I said, pointing to his high heeled shoes, “Or is that how it should be? After all, most husbands are taller than their wives.”

He blushed at my remark and twitched in fright as I touched the silky material of his blouse.

“Don’t worry, darling, I’m not going to hurt you,” I said soothingly, then turned to his mother again.

“These clothes, you didn’t buy them just for this occasion?” I asked, further examining his blouse.

“They’re mine,” she dryly replied.

“Well, it figures. The blouse is a bit big at the shoulders, not to mention the bust,” I said, “You do have good taste, Dora.”

“Thank you,” she said, not all sarcastically.

I turned to Jeremy again.

“What do you think, honey?” I said, “Should I start treating you like a husband? Like a man?”

“If you want me looking like one,” he almost whispered and looked away.

“Is that what you’re saying?” I continued, “That I shouldn’t make you do the housework? That I should let you go to work again?”

He remained quiet. I didn’t know how much he had complained to his mother about how I’ve been treating him and I supposed he’d be embarrassed no end if she found out something new.

“Should I let you be on top while we’re having sex?” I went on, looking more at Dora than at him. It was obvious what she heard didn’t please her.

“Maybe I should even stop spanking you?” I said teasingly, “After all, what kind of a husband gets spanked by his wife?”

Dora’s lips were reduced to a pair of thin white lines.

“Unless you want him to look like that,” she almost barked.

“Well, to tell you the truth, I’m not perfectly happy about how he looks,” I said.

Dora’s face showed a faint sign of triumph. I smiled inwardly.

“I mean, you did a great job on him, I want you to know I appreciate it very much,” I said, “But there’s still room for improvement. His hips are kind of narrow – I think his figure would benefit from a corset. You know, a narrower waist will optically widen the hips. His hair is another subject, but we can’t do anything about that until it grows out a bit. And the bust – we have to do something about that.”

I could hardly keep myself from bursting out laughing as Jeremy looked at his mother in horror.

“Though the main thing, Dora, are the clothes,” I said.

“Yes?” she said, not altogether as angry as I expected.

“Isn’t it obvious?” I said, “They’re your clothes.”

“What’s wrong with that?” she asked.

“Don’t get me wrong, they’re very nice clothes,” I said, “But Dora, you have maids at home, you don’t do the housework – your work is in the office. You’re a CEO, for crying out loud. Look at him. Does he look like a housewife to you?”

“Come to think of it,” she replied, “The outfit does look a bit on the professional side.”

“It will have to do for the time being,” I said.

“I suppose so,” she replied.

“Let me get this straight,” Jeremy finally spoke up, though with a trembling voice, “You don’t mind me looking like that?”

”Like a woman, you mean?” I replied, “Not really.”

”But mummy,” he whined, “You said this would work for sure.”

“Guess I was wrong,” she replied, “She called our bluff.”

Looking as if he was going to burst in tears any second, he turned towards the stairs.

“Where are you going?” she asked him.

“I’m going to change out of this stupid clothes,” he said remorsefully, “I never should have listened to you in the first place.

“Oh, no you don’t,” she said sternly.

Her commanding voice made him freeze in his tracks.

“I’m sorry if my plan backfired, but I will not go back on my word,” she stated, “As long as you haven’t regained the status of a husband in your house, I’m not going to let you wear men’s clothes.”

“But… But I…” he stammered.

“I don’t want to hear another objection from you,” she said, “I’ve done as much as I could to help you. I’m afraid it’s up to you now.”

He hung his head, then as if a spark had lit up in his eyes, he spoke again.

“So you mean, if I get Susan to treat me properly, I can stop dressing in women’s clothes?” he said.

His mother chuckled.

“In all honesty, in retrospect, I think Susan has been treating you properly all along,” she said, “But yes, if you convince her to let you get a job, I’ll allow you to wear men’s clothes again.”

He turned to me.

“Susan, please?” he said, “Will you please let me go back to work?”

“Maybe some day, honey,” I said, then turned back to his mother, “But until then? Would you mind very much taking him shopping tomorrow? He can’t go on wearing your clothes in the mean time.”