Sunday, May 27, 2012

Me Again

Sorry to be late today - but had a big night last night and am a wee bit hungover.  Not much to say today.

Thanks to Belinda - she taught me how to get rid of those bloody escort commercials.  And while I'm at it?  Carrie wrote and asked for instructions as how to add a comment,  Someone (hopefully brighter than me) tell him the secrets?

Something that helped?  Someone wrote a glowing review on one of my published books.   I know that getting you guys to write here is like pulling teeth - but if you do buy any of my books?  A nice review is a major help.

Here's my short story this week.  Hope that you like it.  A few squibs of Rosie's follow after mine.

By Bea

"Come ON Alan!  You can't be asleep already!"
"Hey!  I'm exhausted!"

She slides into bed beside me and gives me a quick kiss. "Writer's block again today, huh?"
"Yes.  And it's mentally exhausting!"
"Where were you when Hilda came by?"
"She came by?  I didn't know" (Lying in my teeth.).  "She should have called ahead, like I expect people with manners to do."
"Oh, it was just a spur of the moment thing I guess."
"Well, when I get into a mental turmoil like I was today?  I'm not fit company to anybody."
"Poor baby!  Why don't we make a little love, huh?  It'll relax you!"
"Sorry darling.  Just not up to it tonight"
"It's been a while.  Quite a long while, actually"
"Well, I'm sorry."

She settles down into the bed. "Hey darling?  I know you're the writer here but I've been thinking about a plot for a short story myself."
"You?" I say and feel her stiffen.  "Sorry.  Didn't mean it to sound like that."
"Well, it did sound like that! And for all the writing you've done recently? I don't see where you get this superiority complex from."
"I said I was sorry!"
"Not enough! Sorry dear. Punishment time!"
"Aw, come ON.  I'm tired!"
"Okay.  I won't spank you this time as I'm tired too.  But here  . . ."  I feel her reach to the side of the bed.
"What's this!" I say indignantly as she fits something elasticized over my head and down to cover my eyes. "I can't see!" and I raise my hand to take it off.
"It's my panties," she says, giving my hand a smack.  "Leave them alone!"
"These silly punishments of yours.  Don't you think you're getting carried away with them?"
"No," she says shortly, still upset.
I think she turns off the light, but as I can't see too well, it's debatable.

"Okay!" I sigh.  "Why don't you tell me your plot?"
"Yes, I'm sure.  Now, will you get ON with it?"
"My!  Just listen to the bossy little man with panties all over his face."
"Okay."  She slides an arm around my neck and pulls me into her.  Starts.  "Once upon a time, there was this husband and wife, who had a friend called Hilda.. ."
"And their names are Alan and Joan, right?"
"Probably.  I may change them later on in the story – especially his."
"And they live in a nice house in a nice neighborhood.  She works for a living – owns her own business.  He stays at home and writes . . Doesn't make much money – any money, but she makes enough for both of them.."
I yawn, theatrically.
"Listen up!  I haven't heard a plot out of you in a LONG time, so maybe this'll get you going again. ."
"Sorry.  Said I was tired, didn't I?"
"Want me to wake you up?  Really wake you up?"
"No thanks. I'm sorry."

"Getting back to my plot? She finally gets kinda fed up with him lazing about the house all the time and starts hinting that he pitch in with the housework . ."
"Hinting?  Some hinting!"
"He doesn't listen – or pretends not to hear her, so she has to make the hints clearer and clearer.  He still doesn't listen, so one night she slaps him. ."
"It hurt too!"
"Poor baby!  But it gets his attention.  He's very apologetic . ."
"If you'd seen your face?  I don't know of anyone who wouldn't have apologized . ."
She laughs,  "Scary, huh?"
I just nod.
"Well Hilda doesn't get scared of Joan.  At least she doesn't show it like her husband does."
"She a bull dyke in the story too?"
"Probably.  We'll see.  But she starts coming onto Joan . ."
"See!  What did I tell you?"
"Hush!  And after a while?  Joan reciprocates."

I stir. "This is something new, right?"
"Of course!  Just a story, isn't it?"
"Hilda a writer in this one too?"
"Of course!"
"Writes these ridiculous private eye bullshit stories with the nom de plume of Rock Rhodes?"
I feel her shrug.  "Yeah, I guess so.  Don't know I'll make her as successful in the story though."
Jealousy runs through me. "Just because she's been published a few times!"
"And sold the book rights to the studios – twice.  And anyway?  How many books have you had published?"
"Why don't you go on with your plot," I say, avoiding the question.

"Well, Hilda and Joan become quite an item.  Alan doesn't seem to notice that Joan isn't so hot to trot in bed any more – he's become quite busy around the house."
"Doing what, exactly?"
"Housework, you ninny, what else?"
"I thought you said he was a writer?"
"Well – he says he's a writer, but he discovers what a marvelous aptitude he has for being a housewife – just loves it!  Just can't get enough of it.  Grumbles and complains to Joan all the time, but he keeps the house immaculately – that's one of the reasons she doesn't spank him for being so worthless in bed."
"Oh.  I guess that Alan has to go through punishments too?"
"Naturally.  The story Joan discovers how much fun it is to embarrass and humiliate her Alan – just the way I do with mine.  Wearing pretty hair ribbons in his hair at times.  Polish on his toe nails.  That sort of thing."
"No spankings?"
"Well, hardly any.  He's become such a sweet little thing that she doesn't have the heart to make him cry."
I decide to get away from that issue.  "But how come housework gets in the way of him performing his marital duties in bed?"
"Didn't I tell you?  Silly me!  See, he puts Joan's clothes on.  See she's got LOTS and he figures she'll never notice."
"And that tires him out?"
"Well, he masturbates you see.  Plays with himself.  Sometimes he puts on his favorite undies, then makes his face up – and then the poor dear'll get so excited!  Just has to run for the bathroom and jack off!"
"Doesn't seem like that would be a lot of fun."  I say.
"Must be for him.  Does it just about every day.  Oh, he loves it!  Flitting around in gauzy little dresses doing women's work.  Makes sure he doesn't get any surprise visitors by demanding that they call him first."
"Well, if Joan had treated him any better – shown him more respect?  He probably would never have done anything like that," I say.  Then a thought crosses my mind. "Hey.  You got a problem in your plot line.  How do Joan and her dyke friend know all this?"
"No problem.  With all of Hilda's research into private detectives?  She makes contact with a lot of snoops.  Easy to rig up a couple of twenty four hour surveillance cameras in a house nowadays."

I pause after I gasp for breath. Try to speak nonchalently. "Well, do you have an ending in mind?  That's essential you know."
"I realize that.  Yes.  Hilda moves in as Joan's lover . ."
"What happens to him?  Do they bump him off?"
Hilda's voice is at the side of the bed and I feel her weight as she sits.  Hear/ feel a kiss between the two women. "Sorry I'm late Joan."
"Bring your stuff?"
"Yeah, enough for a day or so. I'll get the rest later."

I'm suddenly frightened.  Lick my lips nervously. "Do they bump him off?"
"And lose a perfectly good maid?" Hilda says.
"Yes." Joan pipes up.  "You can be Hilda's maid during the day now.  Just wait and see what pretty uniforms she's gonna have you wear!  You'll have the room just down the hall – the one you decorated in pink and white.  You're going to be so HAPPY!  You can do our hair – and our laundry!  Learn to sew and crochet!  All sorts of girly things!"
Hilda laughs. "But first things first.  Have you lubricated Helen's ass yet?"
"No dear.  I thought you might want to – it being such an intimate act, you know?" Joan says.
I feel Hilda's strong hand on my shoulder. "Right you are Helen, over you go!  Upsa daisy!" And I'm lying face down on the bed and a hand is smearing something cool up inside my back passage.
"And they lived happily ever after!" Joan says – and kisses Hilda as she clambers up and straddles me..

The end

And now for Rosie

I opposed the idea of combining high tea and a barbecue for our garden party, and when Oliver got a spray of fat from a hot burger all over his pants and shirt, I had my proof. The party was a joint project between me and Bethany. Of course, as was the norm the past few weeks, her boyfriend Oliver was present when we were planning it.
I don’t know what he fueled his male ego with – for starters, physically he was hardly any bigger than me, so Bethany had both height and weight advantage over him. And, if I knew Bethany, it was her that wore the pants between them two. Still, as soon as he hear me say ‘garden’ he became all huffy and puffy, pushing his stupid barbecue idea forward. I don’t know why Bethany agreed to it, but I guess I couldn’t argue with both of them. Nothing would please him, though. When he heard I don’t have a regular charcoal barbecue but an electric hotplate, he started whining about how it was supposed to be done ‘for real’ and what not. I was only too glad when they left and didn’t look forward to the party anymore.
However, on the day of the party he had acted differently. He seemed subdued somehow, hardly any of his macho bullshit. Helped us set the table, didn’t complain about having to cook on the electric hotplate. He even dressed up nicely for the event, well, as far as that would go with him. I suppose a casual shirt with slacks was the most we could expect of him.
When he accidentally dropped too much water into the pan and the oil sprayed him all over, I actually felt regret for the guy, instead of spite.
“Oh dear,” I said, getting up from my chair, “What a mess you’ve made, Oliver.”
”It’s not my fault,” he sheepishly protested, “It’s the damn hotplate.”
“Oliver!” Bethany hissed from behind the garden table, “Behave yourself!”
“Sorry,” he said.
“Doesn’t matter,” I replied, “Let’s get you some fresh clothes.”
“Fresh clothes?” he repeated warily.
“Why yes,” I said, “I’m sure I’ll be able to find a shirt that would fit you. It won’t be terribly manly, I’m afraid, but it won’t be too feminine either.”
His face went as pale as the wall.
“But… but….” He stammered, “I don’t really think that’s necessary,” he said finally.
“I’m sorry, but I won’t have you standing around like that,” I said, pointing to the dark brown stain on his shirt.
“Well, shouldn’t I at least finish cooking?” he said weakly, “What if it splashes again? I wouldn’t want to stain your shirt too.”
“Very thoughtful of you,” I replied, “But no need to worry. I’ll give you one of my aprons.”
“Aprons?” he said, turning even into an even paler shade.
“Yes,” I said, “I know you don’t think of them as manly, but as long as you’re cooking, you’ll wear one. You wouldn’t have to change now had you been wearing one from the beginning.”
I swear, it seemed as if he was afraid of me! As I approached him, he started backing away, almost walking into the hotplate.
“Couldn’t I just keep the shirt on? I mean, just this time? I’ll be extra careful?” he stammered.
“Oh, Oliver, stop being difficult and do as Kate says,” Bethany said.
“Yes, dear,” he said, turned off the hotplate and followed me to my bedroom. The look on his face almost made me change my mind. I even considered letting him keep the ruined shirt. Granted it would bother me, but if it was such a strain on the poor guy, why torture him? Then again, what would I tell Bethany? I could tell her that none of my tops would fit him, but that was a bit hard to believe. The guy was more or less sizes with me. Furthermore, I certainly didn’t want to it to appear as if I had gone soft on him. I opened my closet and, after a few minutes’ search, found a simple pale blue cotton blouse. Except for the buttons being at the wrong side it could be taken for a men’s shirt, even at a bit closer inspection.
“Here, try this one,” I said.
“Can I change in your bathroom?” he asked.
“Sure,” I replied.
“Thanks,” he said, with a sense of relief so huge it made me think something was afoot.
A few moments later, he stepped out of my bathroom, wearing my blouse. Perhaps it didn’t look as masculine on him as either of us had hoped but as I said, it wasn’t too obvious he was wearing a ladies’ shirt.
“Let’s have a look,” I said, pulling him into the light near the window. I don’t really know why I did that, I mean, why should I expect him to look any different than in the shade? But was I in for a surprise. As he reluctantly, but still obeying, followed me to the window, I noticed something strange underneath his blouse. Well, unexpected, not strange, as it was a sight one would associate with the blouse – I could distinctly see traces of elastic straps, buckles at his back and even some lace at front! He was wearing lingerie underneath! The creepy pervert, I said to myself, angered with the thought of him steeling my undies. But where would he get them? He couldn’t have gotten them from my bedroom and there weren’t any in the bathroom.
“Oliver? Are you wearing a bra?” I asked in astonishment, not really believing the evidence I’d witnessed.
His face went pale as he licked his lips. For a few moments he didn’t answer, then, as if he had realized there was no use in denying it, slowly nodded. That’s why he wanted to change in the bathroom!
“Let me see,” I said thickly, already unbuttoning his blouse. I expected him to try to stop me, at least by saying something, but he just stood there, silent, docile, as I opened his blouse to reveal his silk white camisole and lace bra.
“Well, well,” I said, mockingly, “Don’t you look pretty.”
Again, he said nothing, just cringed under my gaze.
“What will Beth say when she sees what a pretty bra her boyfriend is wearing?” I said, half mocking half threatening.
Again, his reaction didn’t meet my expectations. I though he’d beg me not to tell her, perhaps ask for a blouse of thicker fabric. But again, his expression remained unchanged. Then it struck me.
“She knows, doesn’t she?” I asked.
Slowly, he nodded, then tears started trickling down his cheeks.
“She… she made me put them on,” he sobbed.
Suddenly I felt sorry for the poor guy. Bethany was a very bossy person. If she could get overly dominant even with me, then how must it have been for Oliver! Pretty bad, apparently, as he was forced to wear women’s underwear.
I hugged him and patted his back.
“There, there,” I said consolingly.
As sympathetic as I was with Oliver, I was also intrigued about Bethany’s methods. Before he even stopped sobbing, I unbuckled his pants. They slithered down his nylon-shod legs, exposing his panties, matching the rest of his outfit.
“Get your pants, shoes and sock off,” I said, taking off his blouse.
“I’ll find you something more suitable,” I added.

“Took you long enough,” Bethany said dryly when we hot back. Oliver was trailing behind me, obscured from her view.
“Perhaps,” I replied perkily, “Though I think you’ll find it was well worth the wait.”
“I though only his shirt got stained,” she said as she saw her boyfriend dressed in one of my floral sundresses, wearing makeup and high heels.
“It did,” I replied, “But with the poor dear so shy about his lingerie showing, none of my blouses would do. None that he wouldn’t be too hot in, anyway.”
“Whatever,” Bethany said, not trying do hide her disinterest, then turned to Oliver.
“I think it’s time you got back to the cooking, Olivia,” she said, “All this waiting for you made me hungry again.”
“Yes, dear,” he said obediently.
I helped him tie my flounced apron around him, then sat back and watched as he got behind the hot plate again.
“I have to hand it to you, Olivia,” I said, “Turns out that a barbecue is a much better idea than I thought.”


It was hard to say who was more embarrassed, my fiancé or his mother, as they made their way to my mother’s front door. Yet the both walked calmly, composed, heads up, maintaining their dignity to the end. Even though they would enter the house any second, I strained my neck out of the window to get a glimpse of what they were wearing. Because of the rose bushes between the street and my mother’s front lawn, I couldn’t get a full good look at them, but it was a warm evening and they only threw their coats over their shoulders on their way from the car so I could see enough to know my mother would be satisfied. My fiancé opened his coat a little and I could see his pleated silk skirt. When he lifted the material at the front with his index fingers and thumbs I could tell that he was wearing a floor length skirt.


Generally, I’d much rather go to the movies or simply do nothing at all than attend another one of my mother’s dinner parties, as she called them. Not that I had any choice in the matter, but this time I was quite eager to help her host it, by which of course I mean tidy up the house, cook the meal and set the table. This time it was much different. If all went how it should, not only I wouldn’t have to face the subsequent cleaning, laundry and ironing of the tablecloth alone, but by the next dinner party, I could join my mother in the leisurely task of the grand hostess while someone else did the work. I even gladly put on the clothes my mother provided for the occasion – the long dark blue velvet skirt and the grey silk blouse over a set light blue lingerie trimmed with jet black lace – full cut panties, full length slip, even a corset and stockings attached to its garters. I even volunteered to endure five inch heels for the evening, glad that for once, all eyes would be on someone else’s clothes.
It was hard to say who was more embarrassed, my fiancé or his mother, as they made their way to my mother’s front door. Yet the both walked calmly, composed, heads up, maintaining their dignity to the end. Even though they would enter the house any second, I strained my neck out of the window to get a glimpse of what they were wearing. I cursed at myself for arriving to the window too late. I missed the moment when they got out of the car, now they were already walking behind the rose bushes that would allow me to see only from their chest up all the way before they reached the front door. To further add to my frustration – in the dimming light of the evening I could hardly make out who was who, let alone their clothes. Gradually, however, my eyes got accustomed to the dark and the silhouettes transformed into clear shapes. It was no wonder I couldn’t tell Jack from his mother as not only they were of similar stature, they were both wearing a dark overcoat and even in an identical manner – thrown over the shoulders, held close by their hands. The only difference was that Jack’s was a hooded one and he was wearing the hood over his head. They were walking side by side and unfortunately, Jack was on the far side of the house, effectively screened by his mother.
A wind was blowing down the street that but even before I began anticipating Jack’s cloak being swept open, Stephanie turned towards her son and closed the top button of what now seemed as some sort of cape. I all but accepted the harsh reality that to see the rest of their attire I’d have to wait until they rang the bell – I shuddered even to think of my mother’s reaction had I run out to the street to greet them – when they reached the path to our front door. The rose bush still ran along it, hiding them, but now they were walking towards the house, not along it. I could see them both en face instead of their profile and moreover, Jack wasn’t obscured by his mother anymore. They only walked a couple of steps between turning towards the house and disappearing from my view but what little I could see made my heart flutter with joy. As Jack turned towards the house, I spotted a patch of bright color inside his cape. It took me a while to recognize it for his own hands, as I could only see them from wrist up. Not only they were bare at least a good length above his elbow, but the way he held them in front of him, bended slightly at the elbows, protruding from his cape was a dead ringer for a lady lifting the material of her floor length skirt.

I have no idea how I might have reacted in normal circumstances, if I had actually time to react. What would I say when my son, at Bethany’s command via her cellphone, finally came into my living room, dressed like a girl? Or, had he come in with her, rather than waited for her to explain how he was being punished for displeasing her mother, how would I have reacted when I’d see him in his petal pink short sleeved silk blouse, his pleated knee length skirt, nylon stockings and two inch high heels? Would I have recognized him at all, with his cheeks reddened, his lips painted coral pink, his eyes outlined with black pencil, his eyelids colored a deep green, his eyelashes heavily mascara’d and his long brown hair curled and clipped at the back, except for a few loose strands framing his face?
Would I have asked Bethany how she felt seeing her fiancé dressed as a girl? Would I have protested to her mother’s intrusion on my son’s life? Would I have asked just what the hell she was thinking of disciplining a twenty four year old man that way? Maybe I’d have asked Jack if he had no backbone at all, allowing himself to be dressed up like that? Then again, I just might have scolded him for displeasing Janice. Amanda Smith, Bethany’s mother was not someone to be taken lightly.
But, as I said, I had much more important things to focus on at that moment. Beside the vague explanation of why my son was wearing girls’ clothes, I also got some very explicit instructions that presented me with some last minute change of plans. Not only was he to accompany me to Amanda’s dinner party this very evening, but she had also specified very clearly how he should be dressed.
I thanked Bethany and sent her on her way, then went to my bedroom. Thanks to my latest purchases, I had no trouble assembling an outfit for Jack that was compliant with Amanda’s wishes. I found some lingerie, stockings and a pair of shoes to go with it, then went to fetch him from his room. He was still wearing the same clothes he had when he came in.
He explained that they were Bethany’s clothes as I helped him wash away his makeup and undress. I could see that he was uncomfortable wearing girls’ clothes in front of me, but he was even more shy about being naked, so when the time came to put on my own clothes, he glad he could cover his shame, even if it meant putting on another pair of panties, a bra and a corset. I probably could have laced it a little less tight, but the narrow waist did wonders for his figure and it even appeared as if he had a bust. With joined forces we rolled a pair of my black nylon stockings up his hairless legs and attached them to the suspender straps. As a final part of the lingerie set, I pulled a black knee length slip over his head, then helped him with the rest of the clothes. My long black silk skirt fit him perfectly in the waist. It was too long for him, of course, but with the added height of my three inch heeled pumps, the hem, though barely, finally did clear the floor. The sleeves of my diaphanous blouse might have been a tad too long for him but given their billowing cut, no one would notice.
Maybe it was the shock that kept him from complaining all up until I was done with his makeup, I don’t know. But when he finally started protesting, pleading, begging me even not to take him back to that house, I simply didn’t have any time left to deal with him. The hour of the dinner party was approaching fast and I was left in quite a fix. If anything, his swishing around me in my blouse and skirt only aggravated me. I was going to wear that outfit to the dinner but now thanks to his shenanigans, I had to come up with another ensemble from my rather limited wardrobe, I hissed to stop him complaining.
“Please, mummy,” he almost cried, “Don’t make me go to there again. I don’t want to get spanked by Amanda again.”
Well guess what, junior, neither do I.

Sunday, May 20, 2012

Couple of Things

I notice that I'm getting a few ads in the Comments for Escort Services - in India no less.  I don't care for this at all.  I don't advertise on my blog - and don't care for other people doing it - so please don't think that I go  along with it.  I don't - and the minute I can find out how to delete things like this, I'll do it.
*     *     *
That para question of Carrie's last week  I've found myself thinking about it constantly.  Sure as hell, there IS a difference between men and women in how they want / perceive their mates. Let me say this, before I even start.  What follows is OPINION  - and probably half-baked at that.  I think that women want a man who will provide for them. Now what is meant by 'provide' will depend on the individual woman - but I feel that a woman wants (mostly) material things - a house, clothing, food - and especially, the feeling that she is protected by the male.
A man on the other hand?  I think that sexual satisfaction is prevalent amongst his wishes - BUT?  The fact that other men KNOW that he's taken care of in this regard is important.  That's why he may prefer a dumpy woman in bed - but wants a starlet type on his arm in public.  (Us poor sissies?  I think that if we're in a group where we KNOW that all the males are sissies?  Then we want a handsome, domineering women - and us taking HER arm!).

*     *     *
I said I don't advertize on this blog - but there are exceptions when I do something a wee bit unusual. I make no pretense that I publish books on Lulu, Smashwords - and recently Amazon Kindle.  When I first started self publishing, I was involved in Lulu only. I used Dave Bishop's cartoons for three of my covers.  "Safe House for Sissies": "Sissie Debasement": and "Making a Man a Maid".  They were absolutely fine - but as I expanded - it became increasingly obvious that making the cartoons fit the cover requirements for Smashwords and Kindle was just too difficult.
So?  This is to warn any of you that purchased those original books.  They are being re-issued as the same titles  under different covers, and now, even though they contain an additional novelette, please don't buy them -you've already spent money.

*     *     *
The story that follows is one of my earlier ones.  I was often criticized (probably rightly so) - that my males were wimps.  In this story, the ending is a wee bit different.

(BTW?  I always knew that I was prolific, but getting my stories together to fit into books for sale has made me a wee bit more organized. I was quite amazed this morning to find that I wrote 123 stories, 70 novelettes - and god knows how many custom stories.  I don't write any more, but must admit to being a wee bit on the proud side. I DID write a lot!).


By Bea

It took me a long, long time to figure out why Mary married me.
To be honest, I don't think either one of us was originally at fault.  We sort of drifted into a relationship.  We 'liked' each other enough - but there was no great passion there, if you know what I mean.  Sex was no great hell with us either.  Neither one of us was aggressive enough to constantly be the initiator, so there was a great deal of fumbling around and more than one disappointing performance.
I had no real skills to offer in the marketplace, so went from on low level clerical job to another.  She, on the other hand, got a job in admin services with a reasonably sized corporation - and started climbing the corporate ladder.  As she got more and more used to the managerial role, her nature became more and more authoritarian.  At the same time, my role became more and more passive.     
We still got on alright, though Mary got more and more in the habit of putting me down, both in public and private.  I took it - it really didn't bother me a great deal, and I didn't care to fight.
After some years, we won a fair amount of money in the state lottery.  Not 'millions', but enough that we were comfortable.  I pretty well started taking care of the house, and everything that went with it.  I was reasonably good at it - which, instead of making Mary happy, just seemed to give her more room for criticism.
About this time, she got very interested in the feminism movement.  I saw a lot of sense in what they were doing and did a lot of volunteer work for them.  Like anything else I did, it was clerical in nature, though I was showing signs of becoming a reasonably efficient secretary.  She, on the other hand, became a power in the political sense of the word, so once again, we seemed to find the appropriate slots for ourselves.
As time passed, she became more and more involved - and more and more angry at the male sex in general - and me in particular.  She couldn't leave me alone.  One minute I was being raked over the coals for all of the bad things males have done to women since the beginning of time - and the next minute, sneered at for being such a poor excuse for a man, hob-nobbing with nothing but women, doing woman's work - maybe I should start wearing skirts?
She wasn't too popular with the other women to tell the truth.  I think that sometimes she'd talk down to me in front of them, thinking they'd agree, but once another lady pulled her up.  "What are you bitchin' about Mary?  You nag the hell out of the poor fella for things he had nothing to do with - then because he's helping the cause you criticize him for not being manly enough.  Why don't you leave him alone?"
Mary was furious, but hid it until we got home.  We were no sooner in the door when she attacked me physically.  In actuality, she probably outweighs me by a little - I'm very slightly built, but I should probably have put up a better fight.  I didn't though, and ended up over her knee getting a sound spanking.  After she finished, she left the house for a short time and came back with some frilly feminine aprons for me to wear  "While you're doing your sweet little housewife act dearie."  She mocked, putting a pink one over my head and tying the bow behind me.
And I became even meeker, and more submissive.  Naturally, this led to frilly nightgowns for me in the bedroom - to 'remind' me to be more masculine.  This didn't seem to satisfy her though, and she had actually started making noises about making me wear panties all the time if I didn't 'straighten' myself out, when a major development occurred.
Our local chapter bought what had been a private girl's school out in the country, with the idea of converting it to a shelter for battered women.  They were desperate for volunteers to help renovate the place, clean, paint, and do some general tidying.  Mary tried to get permission from her work for a three month sabbatical.  They refused, so she quit - then volunteered both of our services.
Evelyn, the woman that I did most of my secretarial work for, was going to head up the project.  She wasn't too keen about having me along.  "It looks bad, Mary.  We've really pressed on the fact that it's going to be primarily a woman's project.  A lot of the girls are going to think that we need a man to boss us around.."     
"Him?"  Mary sneered.  "Who in the world is ever going to think that he's a man?  Anyway, he's hopeless at doing any kind of fix-it work.  He's going to be handy to work with the other girls in the kitchen, do the washing, and so on.  And anyway - aren't you still going to need a secretary while you're there?  He can do that of course - that's not too hard for the poor little thing."
Evelyn pursed her mouth, and turned to me.  "What do you think?"  She asked kindly.  "I know that you get on well with all of the girls.. But how are you going to feel living with women, twenty-four hours a day?  That place is pretty isolated and insulated from men.."     
Mary never gave her a chance to finish.  "He's with women, twenty four hours a day right now, so what's the difference?"     
Evelyn looked stunned.  "But surely, surely, you have some men friends?"  she asked me.     
"He did."  Mary sneered  "But I think they were too masculine for him - he much prefers the company of women now, don't you sweetie?"     
I was going to tell Evelyn how Mary had made herself so miserable any time I saw or spoke to another guy that I'd finally lost all contact with what friends (there weren't many to tell the truth) I had.  Just as I opened my mouth to speak, Mary looked at me fixedly, and lightly spanked the back of her left hand with her right.  She made no attempt to hide it - she was threatening to spank me, and I'm sure Evelyn caught it.
So, before I could speak, Evelyn saved me the embarrassment.  "Well.  I can't say that the two of you wouldn't be of great help, so I'll accept.  But keep in mind that all the other girls who are coming will have to approve him before it'll be final."     
Mary gave a tight smile.  "I don't see any problem there, do you sweetie?  After all, you're practically one of the girls anyway, aren't you?"     
Blushing furiously, I started to leave the room.  Mary's voice cracked over me like a whip.  "I asked you a question sweetie.  You are practically one of the girls, aren't you?"      
Head down, I answered  "Yes."     
"See Evelyn?  Nothing to worry about.  So us two girls'll just leave you and let you get on with your work.  Bye!"  And we left.
I really didn't mind the company of women.  I'd learned to appreciate the fact that I felt more comfortable around them, but Mary was making me increasingly unhappy - wanting me to be feminine one minute, then scorning me for it a few minutes later.  The interview with Evelyn had been the worst experience until then, but became only too commonplace after we arrived at the shelter.
I got my new name within a few days of arriving there.  As Mary had indicated, I was put to work in the kitchens and in the laundry, doing the washing and ironing.  A definite strata formed immediately.  There were about twenty four of us there, all of us full time.  Some of the girls were decidedly skilled in electrical work, some had plumbing knowledge, some painting.  They were the 'elite'.  The more feminine 'helpless' ones did their thing in the kitchen and laundry - my domain.  I did try and volunteer to help some of the others but, when Mary heard of it  she mocked the idea completely.  "You?  Do carpentry work?  Oh my goodness!  Your nice nails might get all broken dear - and you might tear your pretty apron.  No.  I don't think I could allow that.  Why don't you go back with the other girls in the kitchen dear?"
Some of the girls sympathized with me but, as I never fought for myself and gave into Mary every time, lost respect.  Some of them even taunted me now.     
One day, two of them were struggling to move a large wooden sideboard up some stairs.  It was difficult work and the sweat was running down their faces.  I was passing.  Unfortunately I was wearing one of my more feminine aprons.  I felt the two of them staring at me.     
"I'm not really very strong."  I started.  "But maybe I could help.."     
One of them snorted in disbelief, the other considered for a second.  "Oh c'mon Debbie"  she said  " I know he's not exactly Arnold Scwa.. Arnold Schwarzen  .. What's that big guy's name again?"     
"It's 'Egger'"  I offered  ".. Schwartzen.. Egger." Then I laughed " and you're right you know, I'm not like him at all."
Debbie snorted again.  "Right you are, little doll.  In your pretty apron, you're a lot closer to being that other film star, you know?   Samantha Egger.  Yeah.  I'd say Samantha suited you right down to the ground.."     
Naturally, Mary picked this precise second to be passing.  She let out a squeal of pretended outrage.  "She called you a little 'doll' sweetie.  She called you Saaamaaanthaaa - that's a girl's name.  I think you better go and punch her on the nose.  If you don't, I'll have to start calling you Samantha too.."     
"Aw, c'mon Mary."  Debbie said.  "I apologize.  I was just jawboning him.."     
"I don't think of 'him' as a him."  Mary retorted.  "From now on, she's  'Samantha' as far as I'm concerned.  And she stalked away.
At the next general meeting of the crew, (we had a general meeting once a week)  Mary gaily announced that I had a new name, and familiarized everyone with it. Debbie tried to apologize, but the damage was done.  From that point on, I was Samantha to just about everyone - even Evelyn.      
At night, together, Mary was becoming more and more aggressive.  In a series of extremely feminine nightgowns, I acted the wife's role more and more, with her constantly heaping scorn on me.
I had developed a fairly warm friendship with two of the girls I worked with in the kitchen, Toni and Margaret.  Naturally, this was another area where Mary attacked me  "Getting sooo friendly with the pretty girls are we?  Going to learn how to be one some day.?"  Then it happened.
Just before one of the weekly general meetings, Toni and Margaret came to our room.     
"Would it be alright if we borrowed Samantha for a little while?"  Margaret asked Mary.     
Mary smiled sweetly.  "Of course you may!"  She then turned to me  "Why don't you run along with your little friends dear.  Don't do anything naughty now! - And don't forget to show for the meeting!"     
 I blushed furiously at both the tone Mary was using in talking to me, and the actual words she used - 'little friends' indeed!  Nevertheless, with the two young girls each holding onto one of my arms, I was hustled out of the room and along the corridor to Toni's room before I could even think of a reply.
"Sit there for a sec!"  Margaret commanded, pointing to the edge of the bed.     
As I did so, I heard Toni say  "Samantha?"     
As I turned to her, a flash went off, and I realized that I'd had my photograph taken.     
"What are you two up to?"  I laughed.     
"Oh, ... nothing much."  Toni murmured, intent on unloading the polaroid film, and watch it develop.     
"Maybe a good idea to take a couple more?  Maybe one or two standing?"  Margaret suggested.
"That might be a very good idea!"  Toni agreed.  "Here Samantha.  Smile for the camera .. There's a good girl."
"Please Toni"  I complained  "I really don't like being called Samantha, and I'm not a girl..."     
She ignored me totally, but her voice got a commanding edge on it as she repeated her request  "Would you just pose, like I asked, please!"     
Discretion being the better part of valor, I went along with her, sitting standing, smiling, as she took more snaps.
In a few short minutes she had some develop that pleased her.  She selected two and brought them over for me to see.  "Would you say these are a fairly good likeness?"  She asked.     
"I've never taken a very good photograph"  I offered  "but yes, these do look like me.  Now will you two tell me what's going on?"     
"Of course dear"  Margaret said.  "These pictures are like the.. the 'before'  you see in some of these ads.  Toni and I have decided to make you over.."     
"Make me over?"  I asked quickly.     
"Please stop interrupting!"  Toni interjected.  You asked a question.  Margaret's answering you, if you'll just give her half a chance."      
".. Make you over"  Margaret continued.  "You know.  Make you pretty.  Dress you in nice clothes.."      
"But you can't, I mean, you don't want.."  I started to protest as they advanced on me.     
"C'mon!"  Toni urged  "We don't have all day!"     
"But..But"  I protested feebly, trying to stop her and Margaret's hands as they reached, and then proceeded to start undressing me.
Gently, but firmly, I was forced back so that I was sitting on the bed, Toni working on unbuttoning my shirt, while Margaret was untying and removing my shoes and socks.  Both of them were humming a sort of soft song to me as they worked, happily engaged in removing my clothes.     
I shivered helplessly as Toni undid the front of my pants, and pulled my shirt free then, working from the back pulled it off altogether.     
"Cold, love?"  She asked gently  "here, slip your arms in here.  Not much, but it'll help a little.  C'mon now, there's a girl.."
Weakly I tried to resist, but she simply pushed a sort of black loop over my right arm, pulled it up a little, then forced my left arm in through a similar loop and pulled the bra up (for that's what it was), then fastened it at the back.     
"Oooh "  she cooed  "This fits just nice.  Doesn't it Margaret?"     
Margaret had stood up from removing my footwear.  She examined the fit of the bra to my body critically.
"Oh yes!"  She replied enthusiastically  "Looks like we picked the right size after all.  But let me adjust the straps a little"  and with that, she pulled gently on the straps.  I felt the garment fitting to me a little more snugly.
I wasn't prepared as, when she finished, she simply put her hands under my armpits and lifted my arms straight up.  As she did so, something else was fitted over them, then run down over my head to about my tummy - Toni must have been waiting for Margaret to position me, as it took less than a few seconds.  Looking down for an instant, I realized that I was now wearing a black, lace trimmed, nylon slip to match the bra.
Before I could react, I had been pulled to my feet, the slip pulled down until the black lace hem fell just short of my knees.  Margaret knelt down again and, with a quick tug, pulled my pants around my ankles.  Without even being told, I stepped out of them.     
"There's a good girl!"  Toni said happily.  "See Margaret.  Didn't I tell you that Samantha would be good?"     
"That you did Toni.  That you did.  I'd never have believed it.  But will she put her own panties on do you think?"     
And she was holding out a pair of matching black, satin, lacy panties to me!
"Can't I keep wearing my own underpants?"  I pleaded.     
Both girls giggled happily.     
"Oh, you silly goose!"  Margaret said  "Of course not!.  Now, if you put these on yourself, we won't have to embarrass you by doing it for you.  C'mon now.."     
And I took the panties from her, removed my underpants from under my slip, then, blushing in front of my tormentors, stepped into my panties.     
"So much easier when they cooperate, isn't it"  Toni said, advancing on me as I pulled my new undies up into place under my slip.  "Now.  Want to put this garter belt on by yourself too?  Or do you want Toni to do it for you?"
It took me a little while to figure it out, but finally the belt was fastened securely, and fitting snugly around my waist, the straps hanging, waiting for what was to be attached - which weren't long in coming, Margaret handing me a pair of gauzy, smokey dark stockings.  "Now"  she said  "You've seen Mary put on stockings lots of times, right?"     
I nodded.     
"Well just sit there and do the same thing - it's easy."     
And, with the two girls beaming their approval, I rolled the stockings on, one at a time, careful not to make any snags.  Shyly, I lifted the hem of the slip to get to the little 'snaps' on the garter belt, and fastened them to the top of the stockings.  When I was finished, eyes downcast, I re-arranged the hem of the slip back down to it's proper position.  Both girls applauded me lightly.
"Now Samantha."  Toni said, advancing on me   "We'll have to start getting your makeup on, but first, lets get your nails done.  While they're drying, you can try some shoes on - we weren't too sure of your size.."     
As she sat on the bed beside me, I meekly held my right hand to her, but couldn't help pleading one more time, even though I'd long given up hope. "Please Toni, please?  Do you have  to do this to me?  Everyone will laugh at me, when they see me dressed like a girl.  Please?"
"Oh you silly!"  She laughed, as she took my hand.  "Tell me"  she said, turning serious.  "Do they laugh at me or Margaret for wearing dresses?"     
"That's crazy!"  I remonstrated.  "Why should they?  - You're girls!"     
"You know  that for a fact?" She asked.  You've seen us naked?"     
"No. Of course not!"  I argued.     
"Well.  How do you know?  You really don't, do you?"     
"This is crazy"  I said, but I was conceding her point.     
"No!  I'll tell you what's crazy"  Margaret broke in.  "One man, in a whole bunch of women.  Doing women's work, for women - being treated like a girl, letting himself be called ... Saa.Maa.Nthaa, wearing aprons, headscarves, letting everyone laugh at him.. Having his wife threaten to spank him - in front of everybody - that's crazy!"
"Oh Margaret!"  Toni laughed  "Don't get so excited!  What she's trying to say"  she continued  "Is this.  We think you'll make a really pretty girl.  You've a nice figure, hardly any hair on your arms or legs.."
"Dreamy eyelashes!" Margaret broke in again.
Toni shook her head, dabbing something on my nails  "Yeah. Now just think.  If we're right, and you are pretty, are they gonna laugh then?"
"Yes"  I said firmly.  "I know they will - and what will Mary say?"

Margaret started to argue, but Toni held her hand up  "He's...She's probably right.  But it'll be more.. more .. teasing, if you know what I mean and, if you keep wearing dresses, skirts, and so on - a couple of days then you'll be Samantha.  Who's going to laugh at you then?"
"You mean.. You mean.. I've to keep dressing like .. A woman?" I uttered in total confusion.
"Of course, silly.  You'll need false nails, and a wig for a little while, but pretty soon we'll be able to set your own hair, and have proper manicures.  Just wait!  You'll love it.  Being a girl is a lot of fun - honest!"
She was starting to attach false nails to my own.  The glue she'd been spreading must have been very fast acting.  In seconds they were firmly in place.
"Just a little shaping"  she said calmly, "then we'll get some nice polish on there - it'll look lovely.  Just wait!"

I was totally confused.  What she said made sense, after a fashion.  Even short glimpses of my full reflection in the closet (mirrored) doors had shown that she wasn't altogether wrong - I was already being transformed into a 'passable' young lady - and that was without the benefit of makeup!
At the same time, I was watching scarlet polish being applied to my new, false, nails - and knew that if I didn't do something desperate, lipstick, rouge, etc., Would not be far behind.
"But what about Mary!  What's she going to say?"  I said, in a panic.

The girls looked at each other, and gave quiet sighs.  "Mary knows dear,  she knows"  Toni said quietly  "who'd you think paid for your new wardrobe?  Who do you think wants you to look and act like a girl?  Now c'mon now.  Try not to touch anything until your nails dry.  Let's see if we can find some shoes."
"But I thought that you two were my friends?"  I said helplessly.
"We are!  Honest!"  Toni said.  "But Mary was going to have you made over, one way or the other.  We found out about it - overheard her ask a coup[le of the tougher girls - but they turned her down.  We pretended like we would make it really humiliating for you, and she jumped at the chance of using us.  Now, would you rather have us - or another couple of girls that didn't like you?"
I nodded, seeing her point.

Still helpless against all the things that were happening - and the things I was finding out, I sat quietly as various shoes were fitted over my nylon-sheathed feet.  Margaret gave a small snort of satisfaction.  "These look like they'll do very well dear.  Why don't you stand and walk around a little?"
I did as she suggested.  The shoes were of a kind if brown suede with a sort of gold filigree worked around the upper.  They did have high heels, but not so extreme that I had any difficulty walking in them.  In actuality, they were quite comfortable, and I rather enjoyed the extra height they gave me.  I walked up and down the room a couple of times, gradually gaining more confidence with each step.

"Would you look at that?"  Margaret gushed.  "Walking like that, first time."  She looked at me, all of a sudden suspicious,  "You've never wore heels before?"
I blushed (with pleasure, really)  "No.  Honest, Margaret."
She believed me, I could see that.
"Hey.  Stop just a minute, stand still. I've got an idea."  Toni said.
I did so.  "Just lift the back hem of your slip up about six inches.  Use both hands"  she said.
"Like this?"  I asked.
"Yeah, perfect.  Now turn around, face the wall.  Keep your hem up now!"
Puzzled, I did so.
"Now.  Put your legs close together..Yes.. Good!  Gosh!, These heels really show your legs off Samantha.  I'd never realized how nice they were."
"Oh yes!... Lovely!"  Margaret agreed.  "Nice and straight."

"Ok"  Toni said, hitch your hem up a little higher.  That's right.  Now, bend over from the waist.. There's a girl!  Now.  Last thing.  Keep your body facing the same way as much as you can, but look over your shoulder, back at me, and give me a nice smile.. That's it!"

And a flash in my face, told me that I'd just been photographed in a classic cheesecake pose.  I was really embarrassed, but complimented too, as she took a few more shots, me - posing, smiling, undies showing, legs tautened by the high heels, gleaming in their nylon sheaths.

"Ok.  Ok!"  Margaret said.  "The polish has got to have dried by now.  Lets get started on the makeup.  Over here, Samantha, and sit down at the dressing table."
And, as I started towards the table, another embarrassment.  With the sensual feel of the nylon around my legs caressed by the lace at the bottom of my slip, all of a sudden I started to get a major erection.
"Oh oh!"  Said Toni, heading towards me, a grin on her face  "Beginning to really enjoy this, eh?"
And, with that, she flicked me sharply with a fingertip across the erection.  I couldn't believe it - it disappeared!
"Learned that trick from a nurse friend of mine."  She confided.  "Can't have you walking around with a bump like that showing, can we?"

Totally demolished, I sat where Margaret pointed, facing the mirror.
"About time for the build up?"  Toni asked.
"Yeah.  Think so."   Margaret said.  "Why don't you do it, while I'm checking these lipsticks?"
And Toni sidled up beside me, and proceeded to insert chiffon scarves into the cups of my brassiere.
"You look nice Samantha,"  she confided "But a girl does need something there - even if it's padding!"

I didn't have too much chance to see the results of her handiwork before Margaret was on me with the cosmetics - and I had to sit very still while she fussed around me.
"Close your eyes now"  she said, after a while.  "You can look when I'm finished."
Obediently, I closed my eyes.  She pulled gently on my hair with a comb, then I felt something like a skullcap being put on my head.
"Ok.  Turn away from the mirror now dear'"  she commanded gently  "and open your eyes again."

When I did, she was holding something, with a purple satin sheen in front of me.  "Now, just 'dive' into this love - both hands now!  - There, that's it!"
And something satin slid over my body and my arms, and my head came through, into the light again.  Still in a sort of stunned state, I watched Toni fasten buttons at the cuffs of the blouse I'd just put myself into, and felt the soft touch of Margaret's fingers as she fastened something  delicate at the back of my neck.
"No.  No!  Don't look yet!"  I heard Margaret.  "Just a few more minutes.  Just step into your skirt now.  Yeah, down here!"
And, down at the floor level, another 'loop' material was opening up invitingly in front of me.

"Atta girl!"  She encouraged me as I stepped into it, and stood passively by as it was pulled up, over my thighs.  I felt something 'zip' at my back, then the skirt waistband being cinched, and buttoned.  Something was placed on my head and then arranged gently.
"Here you go Samantha"  Toni said gently.  "Just turn here.  Yeah, that's it!"   And a silk scarf was placed around my neck, arranged deftly, then affixed with some sort of loop.  At the same time, Margaret was placing something around my hips, then fastening it.

And finally, they let me see myself.  A girl.   Short dark hair,  wine colored, long sleeved, silk blouse.  Purple suede skirt, fairly severe cut, falling to just below the knees - with a flash of black lace showing under the side vents.  A gold filigreed belt around the hips.  A paisley patterned silk scarf around the neck matching both the blouse and the skirt.  Full, plum colored lips.  Dark, shadowy eyes.  A hint of a blush at the cheeks.  Well defined, arching eyebrows.

Toni held up the polaroid snap she'd taken of me before they'd started.
"Now you're not gonna tell me that we haven't made an improvement?  Eh?"
Entranced, I couldn't speak  for a couple of seconds.  Then managed,  "I think I know now how the ugly duckling felt when she saw her reflection and knew she was a swan."
They both laughed.  "Here"  Toni added  "a little jewelry.  You'd be best though, getting your ears pierced as soon as you can - a lot more choices in pierced earrings - and not as sore on the ears."
"Ok"  I agreed readily, as she clipped a pair of facsimile gold-coin earrings on my lobes, and adjusted a topaz ring on my finger.

"Try walking around"  Margaret suggested.  "See how your clothes feel. Walk up and down the room a couple of times."
Eagerly, I followed her suggestion.  The sensations were incredible!  The straps of my bra and slip held me at the shoulder, while the silk of the scarf gently massaged the back of my neck.  Just down a little from that, the bra and top of the slip maintained a gentle pressure on my chest.
The satin of the blouse caressed my breasts, and especially the back of my upper arms.  I couldn't help flexing my arms inside the sleeves as I walked, to generate more of the beautiful friction.

The hem of the skirt fell just under my knees and hobbled me delightfully as I walked, forcing me into taking much smaller steps.  As the sensation of having my stockinged knees rub together as I walked was another indescribable feeling, and having to multiply that feeling because of the smaller steps was no hardship.
Without any planned thought, I pounced on Toni - she was the nearest - and gave her a huge hug.  "Thank you!  Oh thank you! This is fantastic!
"You're not mad at us then?"  Margaret asked.
"Oh no!  Oh no!"  I gushed, running and giving her a hug as well.  "How could I be?  Can we go now, and show Mary?"

A glance that I couldn't read flashed between them before they answered in agreement, but I thought I heard a wrong tone somewhere.  I was so delighted though in my new appearance that I paid it no heed.  As it turned out, there were about four different outfits that had been bought for me 'just in case' so, collecting them we made our way back down the hall.  Grinning, I knocked on the door softly.  Mary called out  "Yes?"

"It's me.  Samantha"  I called out happily.
The door opened and Mary stood there.  The mean, spiteful expression on her face confounded me to the extent that I couldn't speak.
"Well, well!"  She sneered.  "Lookit what our little pansy has been up to now.  Playing dress-up with the girls were we?  Well, why don't you parade your girlish little ass in here, and Mary will give it a good spanking, then we'll parade you around in front of all the other girls and...."

While she was speaking, the whole truth had become evident to me.
"You never did love me, did you?"  I asked quietly.
"Love?  You?  A little pansy like you?  I should have got a real man!"
"No way."  I said, my voice starting to firm up.  "You wouldn't know what to do with a real man. You needed somebody like me, because the only way you can enjoy a relationship is to demean and denigrate your partner..."

A look of doubt crossed her face, but was replaced with another sneer.
"And you're not denigrated now?  Standing there in women's clothes?  All made up?  Smelling so nice?"
My confidence was growing.  I smiled.  "No, stupid!  I'm standing here in  my clothes - and I'll tell you something else.."  I laughed happily  "I'm a damned sight better looking woman now than you ever were - or ever will be!"
And she knew it was true!  Her eyes finally saw me, not as some chastened wimp of an effeminate man - but (I hope) as a pretty, feminine, woman.
She licked her lips, and pulled the door open.
"Yeah... well.. why don't you come in...?"

"Forget it."  I said.  Turned to Toni and Margaret who were having a hard time hiding their grins.   "If I need to, could I bunk with you two until I find somewhere else?"
They nodded, so I turned back to Mary.
"I'm going to see Evelyn  - just the way I am.  If she'll keep me on as secretary, I'll be back after the meeting for some of my things - toothbrush, my half of the lottery winnings, and so on - but that'll be the first and last time I go into any room with you - you miserable, sad-assed, poor excuse for a woman!"

And I turned my back on her, and left - Margaret and Toni giggling behind me.  When we turned the corner, Toni spoke.  "Wow!  You could learn to be a real hellcat if you wanted, couldn't you?"
I blushed, and stepped back.  Linked arms with both of them, and shook my head as I fell into stride with them.
"No." I said thoughtfully.  "I don't think I could.  But the way I see it now?  I maybe didn't rate any respect as a man - but no-one's gonna treat a looker like me as if I’m a piece of garbage!"

"Yeah!" Toni said, giving me an enthusiastic high five.  And we walked towards my destiny.

                                                                        THE END

*     *     *
Now for a few bits by Rosie:


Slowly, I slipped from sleep into a daze of partial wakefulness, luxuriating in the soft caresses of the fabrics on my skin. Slowly, I became aware of myself and previous events. As so many times when left to my own devices, I had dressed up in my mother’s clothes and, this time, fell asleep on the couch while watching TV. Delighting in that realization, I stretched out, joyfully feeling the high heeled shoes bend my feet and thus strain my leg muscles, then succumbed to further slumber, wrapping myself tightly into my mother’s fur coat. I can’t say how long I have slept until a loud noise from a delivery truck across the street abruptly brought me to full wakefulness. I opened my eyes and surveyed my surroundings. I sat up on the couch, let my long hair fall down my shoulders and straightened out the tight black polyester mix skirt I was wearing. I noticed that the TV was off. I couldn’t remember switching it off, but that wasn’t the thing that disturbed me the most – I most certainly couldn’t remember taking out my mother’s fur coat, let alone covering myself with it. In fact, I was beginning to be sure I could distinctly remember mother putting on the same coat that morning as she went out. My head swirled with the realization of what had happened – my mother had been home and had seen me in her clothes!
Yet as I glanced at the clock on the wall, this became only one of my great concerns. It was almost half past four, when I was supposed to meet my mother and my girlfriend to lunch. As fast as my tight skirt and my high heels allowed, I ran upstairs to my room, only to find the doors locked. In disbelief, I must have tried three or four times before I even allowed the possibility that my mother had locked me out of my own room. Then, not wanting to loose any more time, I headed to my mother’s bedroom. Although I didn’t have a clear, final idea of what I’d do, I imagined I could compose an outfit unisex enough that at least my girlfriend wouldn’t know of my secret hobby. Though with my detailed knowledge of my mother’s wardrobe, I knew that unless I dressed in sneakers, jeans and a simple sweater – which my mother most probably wouldn’t look to kindly upon at the semi formal occasion that was about to happen – wearing a pair of ladies pants instead of a skirt in a feminine ensemble was as unisex as I’d get. Besides, the locked door to my bedroom was a message clear enough, which was only reinforced when I saw some new clothes laid out on my mother’s bed. Without giving it a second thought, I stripped of my floral print blouse and skirt. The blouse my mother had laid out for me was made of white silk, with slightly padded shoulders and cupped sleeves. The skirt had a very high waist – it reached practically to my ribcage – and was made out of a pale blue rustling fabric, as was the matching bolero jacket. My new shoes were white and had a significantly lower heel that the black ones I had put on in the morning. I took a look at myself in the full length mirror on the wall. Despite the circumstances, I was rather pleased with the outfit I was wearing. I even started posing for the mirror when I suddenly heard voices from downstairs – my mother and my girlfriend had arrived! Just in time for me to reapply my lipstick, in fact.


“It’s your own fault, honey,” I said to my frowning husband as I pulled my teddies on him, guiding his arms through the elastic straps, then adjusting the length of the straps.
“Yeah, right,” he said, finally breaking his long streak of silence.
“Don’t get all sarcastic with me again,” I warned him, “I only wanted one simple thing of you. All I wanted was to try out one small fantasy.”
I took a look at him – as miserable as he felt, my poor little hubby looked absolutely devorable, his body shaved smooth, wearing my white shiny pantyhose and my white satin teddies.
“All I wanted was for us to go to bed both wearing nylons,” I went on softly, rearranging the teddies at his crotch, “But no, you couldn’t humor me. It was too much to ask of my macho husband. So eventually, I had to challenge you to a fight. Or was it you who said ‘let’s wrestle for it’? Doesn’t matter, really.”
He twitched as I pulled on the crotch of the teddies, then let them snap back into place.
“You could have just put on the pantyhose then and there, even after I told you that if I win, you’d have to do more for me than just put on a pair of my nylons. I gave you a chance to back out gracefully, didn’t I?”
I challenged him with my eyes and he looked away.
“You had a choice of just putting on the pantyhose or going through the whole wrestling ordeal and then having to shave off your body hair, put on not only the pantyhose you had such a problem with in the first place, but teddies as well,” I continued, “So how can you be mad at me if you chose the second option yourself?”
I led him to the bed. For a moment I considered taking off the gauzy black peignoir that I had put on over my own teddies and pantyhose (although black, to contrast his white) and kicking off my black patent leather pumps that added another four inches to my advantage over his height, but then decided I’d keep both on. I sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled him into my lap. He struggled but as soon as I planted my lips on his and forced my tongue into his mouth, I felt him melt in my embrace. The sensation of our nylon clad legs rubbing together was driving me crazy, and it must have had a similar effect on him too.
“Isn’t this nice?” I asked, rubbing his smooth, slippery thighs.
He could but pant excitedly in response.
I continued to caress him like that for some more, then stopped.
“You know what?” I said, “There’s something missing here.”
“What?” he asked.
“Makeup,” I replied.
“You heard me,” I said, “It would be really nice if you were wearing some makeup right now.”
“Makeup?” he repeated weakly.
“Oh, nothing much,” I said reassuringly, “Just some blush, mascara. Maybe eyeshadow. Lipstick.”
“Lipstick?” he asked, even weaker than before.
“Yeah,” I said, standing up, “Let’s go.”
“No,” he complained, “You only said I’d have to wear…” he paused for a second, “This, if you won. You never said anything about makeup.”
“I know,” I replied matter of factly, “It has nothing to do with the pantyhose. I’m just asking you, that’s all.”
He didn’t verbalize his protests again, but he didn’t follow me to the vanity table either.
“Okay,” I said, “Let’s wrestle for it.”
A flash of fear appeared on his face.
“I don’t want to,” he said.
“Then you agree to put on makeup?” I asked.
“No, Danielle, please,” he begged. My heartbeat quickened as I felt him crumble.
“Tell you what, we’ll do a two out of three. Maybe I only got luck the last time,” I said, then though of something better, “Or – we’ll do it like that. We’ll wrestle three times, if you win at least once, then you don’t have to wear makeup. How’s that sound?”
I could see a glimmer of hope in his eyes.
“Okay,” he shrugged.
“Great,” I said, walked over to him, then lead him to the vanity table.
Obediently he sat down on the chair.
“But I thought you said – “ he began to protest as I powdered his face with the fluffy applicator, but I silenced him by placing my index finger across his lips. Only when I was finished and let him stand up did he speak again.
“I thought we’d wrestle first,” he said, unsurely licking his scarlet red lips.
“Tell you what,” I said, “You can cream it off if you win.”
We climbed onto the bed, got on our knees, locked our arms at each other’s shoulders. I made a mental note to try not to mess up his makeup too much.
“Ready?” I asked.
Fearfully, he nodded.
I took another look at his thin white arms. In my mind, I already put them inside billowing sleeves of my white silk blouse that I’d wrestle him into.