Monday, August 6, 2012

Late Again.

Forgive me. Us retired folk often screw up the days.  I finally remembered this blog late last night - then promptly forgot about it until now.

Does look though that it's in good hands - what with Belinda and Kammi.  Thank you sissies!

I don't have much of any importance to say.  Do have a few cartoons that Dave Bishop has been kind enough to send me. One is of a cartoon that he did many years ago - and a recent re-make.  Frankly, I think of them both as being excellent.  I'm pretty sure that he'll appreciate anything nice you have to say.

Must admit to having a real bug up my ass with Smashwords.  Don't get me wrong, I really used their manual - it was MUCH better than Lulu's when I starter publishing my books - but their Customer Support?  Must be a daughter or something.  Bloody pathetic.  Maybe one of you guys can help?

My problem is this.  Lulu publishes okay.  Smashwords do as well.  But Kindle?  Blows them both away in sales.  I really can't understand why this seems to be the case, when Smashwords publish to iBook - which is quite large as I understand it.  What I don't understand is this.  When I publish a book in Smashwords (as well as Lulu and Kindle) I'm asked to categorize it.  The only things provided that make sense are "Fiction - Erotica - Male Erotica".  I then add 'tags' such as "dominatrix, cross dressing, transvestite, sissy, sissies, male submissive ".

But when I go to iBook - I simply cannot find my bloody books anywhere - unless I search by putting one word from a title - THEN I can find any of my books that contain that word.  Bloody stupid if you ask me. It may be the fault of Apple - but I wrote Smashwords to ask WHY their categories don't match iBooks.  You should have seen the nonsensical reply I got.  That woman hadn't READ my e-mail - I'm sure of it.  (I managed a Customer Support group for a large Corp before I retired.) I'd have fired her ass so quick she'd have burn marks on her posterior.

Please don't get me wrong.  Smashwords provides a marvelous help in most things - but their Customer Support sucks.

But my apologies - sometimes I get on a soap box and don't know when to shut up!

Now for my serial.

Part 4
I set the clock for an hour and was well refreshed when I awoke. Went and showered and shaved. (I didn't really need to, as I have a very light growth, and am practically hairless on my arms, body, and legs). Nonetheless I felt wonderful!  After I dried myself, I went to put on underpants, but on a sudden impulse went and picked a pair of satin teal-colored panties. They felt so wonderful on! I thought for a minute, then decided that as nobody would see them?  What difference did it make?  Put on my best pair of tan slacks and a good yellow sports shirt. Tan socks, nicely shined brogues, my best watch, and I was ready for whatever the evening would bring.  Whistling cheerfully, I went downstairs

Carole greeted me pleasantly enough, but seemed distracted. I asked her why and she admitted that she always got a little nervous when company was coming.  I went and gave her a hug.  Assured her that everything would be just fine!  She smiled wanly, "I just would like everything to be perfect when my friends meet you" she said quietly, and my heart went out to her.  She just seemed so young and vulnerable at times!

She had set the table very nicely and we had dinner shortly after I got there. It was very pleasant, but there was a lot of food. Soup, salad, salmon entrée with three different vegetables, dessert, then coffee with a liqueur for me along with crackers and blue cheese.  "Good grief! Carole! I'll be doing dishes until midnight!" I joked.

And the ice maiden was back!
"You promised!" She snapped, glaring at me. "You said you would.  Now are you going to whine?  I can't stand whiners!"  And she made as if to stand up!

Petrified with fear, I stuttered abjectly that I had only been joking.  I was extremely sorry, and that I didn't mean a word of it. That I'd be glad to do the dishes, all of them.  That the dinner had been so wonderful that I was glad to say my thanks in this way. I don't remember all that I said, but it seemed to work.  I breathed a huge sigh of relief when the 'other' Carole returned and sat down in her chair.

She started chatting again as if nothing had happened.  About six thirty, she said  "Uncle Ron? I've got to go and get ready.  Now I want you to do something for me, okay?"
"Certainly, my dear. What is it" I said (dreading whatever awful thing she was going to visit on me now).
"I want you to relax.  Sit a while and enjoy your liqueur and your coffee.  Okay?"

This girl had dumbfounded me again!  "What time are your friends due?"  I asked.
She shrugged. "No particular time.  It isn't anything formal.  That reminds me.  Let me look you out an apron for doing the dishes, okay?  But I want you to promise that you'll take it easy for a while before you start?"
"Sure Carole, I promise"  I said.

It wasn't too difficult to keep that promise.  After she laid an apron across the back of one of the chairs and made a smiling farewell, I lolled back in my chair, taking my time with an occasional sip of my Drambuie, chased by a sip of coffee – and picking lightly at the remnants of a very good meal.

Just about dead on seven o'clock, the doorbell rang and I went and answered it.  Four young ladies were standing there – one of them Shannon.  "Hi uncle Ron!"  they all called in unison!  "You're finally here! "  and one by one they came and hugged me and said how nice it was that I had finally got there, and introduced themselves – all of them except Shannon of course.  In order, they were Anne – a brunette, lithe and athletic,  Doris a blond – quite tall,  Elaine – another blonde, also quite tall and Shannon, the red-head of course.  What surprised me was that they were all quite elegantly dressed – I'd expected something a lot less formal.

I apologized for the state of the table in the dining room and said I'd clear it up after I had made them drinks.  I took their orders after I'd placed their handbags in my room, then went to the bar.  Nothing would do it though, but they had to join me while I poured.  There was a great deal of chattering going on all around me, with Doris constantly changing her mind with regard to what drink she wanted, and the others teasing her unmercifully.  They were all so nice, asking my opinion on everything under the sun.  So respectful and nice. I bloomed like a flower. A masculine flower of course

 I noticed that Elaine seemed to be the odd man out, so tried to make sure she was brought into the conversation more.  She liked this, and soon began becoming more comfortable in my presence, ending up draping her arm around my shoulders, laughing at all my quips and jokes, and treating me like an old pal!   I was having a great time!

We must have chatted for almost a half hour. I'd found out that other than Sandy, this was the whole group, so figured that, as they'd seen the mess in the dining room anyway, there was no hurry.  A few times I halfway decided to start the clean up, but got distracted.  Then Carole appeared again, and I was in trouble.

She came walking into the living room where we were all congregated, and immediately got all sorts of teasing remarks about living with a man – and pretending he was her uncle.  He was far too young to be such a thing, she had herself a sex toy – that's what it was. She laughed and joked with them and came and gave me a big hug.  Then she happened to glance into the dining room.  I saw her body straighten up and she turned towards me.
"Cecilia!  Why haven't you tidied this mess up? What have you been thinking of! I have guests here and you let them see this . . . this . . disaster!"
Elaine hadn't seen who Carole was talking to, and looked around saying  "Who's this Cecilia?  Where is she?"
I licked my lips, all of the enjoyment dissipating fast.
"Carole?  I'm very sorry.  Honest!  I kept meaning to . . ."  And yowled!  Carole had hold of my ear lobe again and was pulling me in toward the dining room, raising some startled sounds behind me  - which soon were followed by amused noises -  from my erstwhile friends and companions.

"Get your apron on you lazy girl!" Carole was storming at me. "Get this damned table cleaned off!"

And to a chorus of wolf whistles and raucous comments from the girls, I put on the extremely feminine apron, white gauze, with colored tulips embroidered into the bib.  Carole tied a large elaborate bow in the back then gave my ass a whack and told me to get a move on.  Totally humiliated, I scurried away from her and started hauling all the dishes into the kitchen.

I cleared off the table quickly.  I'd have been quicker, except I was called into the living room to serve up more drinks. At someone's suggestion, I  had to start curtseying when taking orders or delivering drinks.  After that, I escaped into the kitchen.  Then Elaine came in and started helping me.  I was terrified that Carole might be upset and said so.  She just shrugged. "Carole's my friend, but I do what I want to do.  If she don't like it?  Screw her!"

This only increased my shame. Okay, Elaine was boyish in a certain way, and she was a bit bigger and  younger than me, and a little bit heavy, but she was still just a girl! .  Even there, I felt belittled as she seemed perfectly willing to take Carole on, whereas I couldn't. I started to snuffle a little in my humiliation. My feelings were in total disarray when she came and put a strong arm around me. "That's all right sweetie," she said  "Don't worry.  But lets get these dishes done, huh? You can have a good cry later."

We were just finished when I heard a noise from the other room. It sounded like a song, but I couldn't make out the words, then realized what I was hearing – the opening line to the old Simon and Garfunkel song, but with different words and being repeated over and over, getting louder all the time:
Cecilia, you're wanted in here!
Cecilia, you're wanted in here!
Cecilia!  You're wanted in here!

"You'd better hurry by the sound of it," Elaine suggested.
Wiping  my hands on my apron I hurried into the living room.  I hadn't noticed, but one of the straight back chairs from the dining room had been moved into the center.  Carole sat on it, the wooden paddle she'd purchased that day in her hand.  Smiling a terrible smile.
"Come to Carole, Cecilia," she purred.  "And we can try this new paddle, huh?  Take your shoes and socks off."
"Aw, please Carole." I said. "Please don't do this?"
"Please take your pants off.  If you don't?  My friends will take them off for you. I'm going to give you ten good whacks for being so inconsiderate."
"But Carole?  Honest?  I meant no disrespect.  Honest!  It's just that the ladies came and.."
"I think Cecilia is arguing with you Carole.  I'm surprised that you stand for that Carole!"  Ann said, laughing.
"But I'm not standing for anything!" Carole laughed. "I'm sitting – WAITING!

"Why don't you add one more for every five seconds he takes?" Anne suggested, laughing.  And she and Shannon and Doris began looking at their watches. "And, and, and, and ONE MORE!" they yelled.  "And, and. . ."
I kicked my shoes and socks off , unbuckled my belt and dropped my pants and draped myself over Carole's knees as quickly as I could, before I could incur another 'penalty' stroke.

Unfortunately, I'd forgotten my choice of underpants.
"Look at the pretty Teal panties!" Shannon shouted. "Gee Cecilia – you sure do like that color!"  And all of the girls came around to see my panties, giggling and laughing about what a sissy I was, and giving me soft pats – almost caresses - on my satin-clad rump..

I gritted my teeth.  I knew I was going to be spanked.  Could see now that nothing was going to stop Carole from doing it. But this was IT! I would show them!  No tears from now on!  I hadn't demonstrated my masculinity up until now. But BY GOD!  NO MORE TEARS!

The spanking wasn't actually as sore as the first, but by the fourth hit I was squirming and pleading and weeping copious tears, pleading, pleading, pleading for her to stop.  By the last, I was just lying there, totally subjugated as the girls all clapped and cheered and did a reverse count down:
…FOUR!  THREE!  TWO!  ONE! – ONE PENALTY STROKE – TWO PENALTY STROKE!  And then a concerted groan as Carole finished.

I was allowed to get up, then given to Shannon. To more ribald comments, a collar was put around my neck, and I was led away like the possession I was. Tears of shame and physical hurt dripping from me.

She was quick.  Cool water was put on a washcloth and I was told to hold it there.  Gratefully I did so, because she was doing something to me that I truly didn't want to see.

My shirt was cut off my back. "Don't think you'll  be wanting this anymore she said scornfully, tossing the remnants into my bathroom wastebasket.  She laughed when she saw how hairless I was on the chest, but was happy that I didn't need to be shaved there.
"I'm glad Suzie used that indelible ink marking you" she told me.  Makes this much easier – and she was applying my breast forms to me, carefully lining up the edges to Suzie's marks..

I rejoined my companions some while later – wearing a creamy white satin, French maid's uniform with matching flounced capo and apron to match, a froth of petticoats, trimmed with blue ribbon peeking out from the under my skirts.  My breasts were uplifted right up out of the décolletage  and I had a very sexy cleavage, enhanced by my lacy bra.  Shannon had also practiced her craft on me, making me up while chastising me for the puffiness under my eyes – as if it was MY fault for goodness sake. But even I had to admit that she transformed me into an almost-pretty girl.

And, as the girls all sang the old Stevie Wonder number 'Isn't she lovely, Isn't she…'  a knock came to the door.

"Marvelous!" Carole said. "An opportunity for you to let us see how nice a maid you can be Cecilia.  Don't forget to curtsey prettily to whoever it is.  We'll all be watching you now . . ."
And they all crowded behind me as I opened the door, and curtseyed to Sandy.

She looked at me pityingly. "Oh dear" she said.  "I did warn you, you know."  Then she came into the house proper and greeted all the girls. As Carole greeted her, she leaned forward and whispered something quietly in her ear.  Carole simply shrugged and called for the other girls to join her in the living room.  "Sandy wants to talk to Cecilia" she said.  "Girl to girl!"  then laughed.  The other girls drifted off with her. Leaving me to face Sandy alone.  She stood waiting patiently, but I could not lift my eyes to meet hers, I was so ashamed.

"Ron?" she said quietly.  "Please?  Look at me.  I know how humiliated you must feel but if you'll listen?  Perhaps I can help you find your way back to your manhood.  Would you like that?"
"Oh yes miss Sandy!" I said fervently – and promptly ruined my words by dropping a deep curtsey!

She smiled understandingly.  "Look Ron.  I know that Carole is a very willful and confident girl.  But that's all she is – a girl!  You are a man.  Presumably stronger then her.  Presumably smarter than her!  You must stand UP to her.  Fight for yourself!  Be a man!"
I shifted uneasily, feeling my dress and petticoats  move around me. Just a fraction, mind you, but enough to remind me that although Sandy was talking about being a man, she had no idea of what I'd have to face if I antagonized Carole. I think that about then, she saw the fear on my face and relented. Put a comforting arm around my shoulder and gave me a nice squeeze.  "I'm sorry" she said. "I didn't want to make you uncomfortable.  You'll do what you're comfortable with, I guess. I shouldn't even think of interfering. I won't embarrass you again.  Why don't we go and join the rest?"

It was obvious that Sandy was a great favorite of all of them, so after we re-joined the group, a lot more drinks were called for, which kept me busy. I gradually found out that Carole was regaling everyone with the saga of 'bringing me on board'.  There was some discussion of a pony race that everybody seemed to consider hysterical, but as I only caught snatches of conversation, figured it was of no consequence to me.  I'd also have my ears pierced, she told them. It turned out that I was to be Shannon's property for the whole beautification process, she would be responsible for my appearance during all of this period.  At this, Shannon held up her clenched fists like a prizefighter, while everybody cheered.  Even Sandy joined in, I noted sadly.

Sandy pleaded old age and left before anyone else. Just before she made her final exit, Carole drew me aside and explained what I had to do, and what the consequences would be if I failed.  Terrified I caught Sandy in the hallway.
"Miss Sandy?  May I come and assist at your party next weekend?"
She shook her head negatively.  "I'm sorry Ron. . ."
"Please, don't call me that miss.  My name's Cecilia now.  But PLEASE let me be a serving girl next week?  Miss Carole is adamant!"
"Ah!  I see.  So it's 'Miss' Carole is it now – Cecilia?"
Shamefaced, I nodded.
"Very well.  Are you going to bring a uniform?  If you are?  I'd rather you wore a less flashy one please?  Ask Carole and make sure she doesn't mind.  But if you don't have another?  The one You're wearing will do, if push comes to shove. Goodnight Cecilia."
"Goodnight miss Sandy" I said gratefully as she left.

But once she left, things started getting a little wild. Everyone had been drinking fairly steadily, and kept me busy acting as a cocktail waitress.  Elaine had started to become a bit of a pest after I'd appeared in my new dress, obviously enamored of me, coming up and hugging me, caressing my breasts, once or twice even running her hand up my skirts. To tell the truth here, I probably made a mistake.

I had been the butt of mockery and sarcastic remarks for what seemed like weeks, with everyone scorning me as if I was wearing women's clothes voluntarily. Now, here was a girl treating me kindly. Okay, admittedly, she was treating me as if I were another girl and she was a boy, but at least she was being pleasant to me! I may have wiggled a little bit when she was looking at me, and I may have giggled when she put her hand up my skirt. And what was I to do when she came up behind me and nuzzled into my neck.  Sure, I stood still and maybe even smiled as I crunched my head over to the side in pleasure.  Who wouldn't?  I think I may have even put my arms around her neck when she kissed me a couple of times – but it was just harmless fun!

Then I made the mistake of slapping her hand away when she got a little too forward.  Carole noticed this and called me aside.
"Cecilia?  These ladies are my guests.  If they want to have a little fun with you?  Please indulge them.  Understand?"
"But she's putting her hands up my skirts, miss Carole.  Treating me like a girl" I complained weakly.
"Well?  If she wants to?  That's what maids are for darling.  Now?  Are you going to argue with me?"
"No miss Carole, but,    . ."

She shook her head impatiently.  "Elaine?" she called out.  "Cecilia would like a private word with you?"
Grinning inanely, Elaine came over and put her arms around me and gave me a kiss.
"You're SUCH a cutie! Wanna talk to Elaine honey?"
"Yes she does.  She's just too shy to admit it.  Isn't that so, Cecilia?" Carole said.
"Yes miss," I said quietly.
"That's a girl!" she said nicely "Why don't you and Elaine go over into that nice dark corner and talk?"

A few minutes later, I was sitting helplessly in Elaine's lap as she fondled and kissed me.  Gradually, I started surrendering, settling further and further back into her embrace and putting up less and less resistance.  I sensed someone coming over to where we sat and placing something on a table there.  Some little time after that, a finger was probing inside my panties and touching my anus..  At first, I was very uncomfortable, it was quite sore. But then, somehow, it felt as if it was lubricated, and then it was two fingers gradually working their way into me – and they WERE lubricated, I could tell.  I writhed and pleaded, but she was giggling quietly now as her fingers probed deeper and deeper.

My eyes were glazed, but all of a sudden I could see that we had an audience! All of the girls were standing around, glasses in hand, smiling a little at my predicament.  I tried to ask for help, but Elaine's mouth closed on mine, and I submitted again.
"I think Cecilia's in love" I heard somebody say.
"Yes. Think you're right," I heard Shannon reply.  Then "Hey!  What about a ceremony!"
There was a gasp of agreement, and I heard Carole say.  Shannon?  You get her ready.  I'll make a call!"

I didn't know what they were talking about, but was greatly relieved when they pulled Elaine off me.  She was pretty truculent about this, but Anne whispered something in her ear that must have pleased her, because she smiled widely.  Shannon led me away, then redid my makeup.  I started getting an awful idea of what was going to transpire when she removed my maids cap,  then pinned a circlet of flowers to my hair - which had a wedding veil attached to it!

She removed my apron then sat and talked to me quietly for a while. I was frightened, but she assured me that it was just a game.  Not to worry.  Then I thought I heard someone at the door.  A few minutes later, Ann came into the room, giggling and bringing a bunch of plastic flowers. "Sorry!" she laughed, but this was the best we could come up with."  And she placed them in my arms.  "They're here" she told Shannon, then darted back out of the room again.
"Showtime dear" Shannon laughed, then pulled my veil down over my face and, linking her arm in mine, led me back down the hall into the living room to the sounds of the girls singing "Here comes the bride"

End of part 4

  Now for a wee bit of Rosie?


“Oh, do take your apron off,” Sylvie said, “It’s not so often that your mother comes to visit.”
“I’d rather not, honey,” I said.
“How about that,” Sylvie, my wife, turned to my mother, “To think I couldn’t get him to wear one for the life of me only months ago. Look at him now, just won’t take it off.”
“Oh, don’t worry, Jake, I know you’re a very helpful husband even if you don’t wear your apron all the time,” my mom said, “You don’t have to prove yourself all the time.”
My mind floated to my mother’s last visit and the same I felt when I had to wear that very same apron. Wearing it for Sylvie was one thing, but I was too ashamed to wear this feminine piece of clothing – no matter how practical I was told it was – in front of my mother. It looked just like a dress, I argued, with its full skirt that reached below my knees, with its full bib, lacy collar and even short, lace-trimmed sleeves. Funny, but I had to be threatened with a spanking to put it on whereas now, keeping it on was protecting me from further humiliation.
“No, it’s okay,” I said, feeling myself blush “I rather like it.”
“But you look all flushed,” my mom said, “How can you possibly say you aren’t hot under it?”
“He insisted on wearing this one specifically,” Sylvie replied, then turned to me again, “If you’re so insistent on wearing an apron, why don’t you at least put on that small one, the one my mother gave you last week?”
Generally, I’d love to put on that minimal, hostess type apron instead of the full one I was wearing as it was in fact getting hot, but I preferred to remain covered. Sadly, it was not to be.
“Martha gave you an apron?” my mom cooed, “Oh, I’d just love to see it.”
“I’ll get it for you,” Sylvie said.
“No, but…” I tried to protest, but she was already off to the kitchen.
“Just stop being silly for a second,” mom said and reached behind my back to untie the bow of my apron. I squealed and stepped back, though she did manage to grab a hold of my apron strings and it started to unfold. I succeeded in stopping it from coming undone and was halfway through retying it again when I realized I was only postponing the unavoidable and prolonging my agony. Hastily, I pulled it over my neck, bunched it up and threw it on the floor beside my bewildered mother.
“There, it’s off,” I said dryly.
“Dear God, Jake,” she said, eyes open in surprise, “Is that a skirt you’re wearing?”
“Yes, mom, it is,” I replied, “I’m wearing a skirt.”
“But why on Earth…” her voice trailed off.
I was beginning to loose my temper. I would even have preferred if she openly mocked me for wearing a skirt under my apron.
“Oh, for crying out loud, don’t act so surprised,” I said, “As if you hadn’t any idea.”
“But it was hidden by your apron,” she said, as if she was apologizing.
“Yeah, but my apron didn’t hide my nylons, did it? Or these high heeled shoes? The sleeves of my blouse?”
She kept staring at me without a word.
”Jesus, mom, look at me. I’m even wearing makeup. How come you’re so surprised to find me wearing a skirt along all that?” I asked.
“I assumed you had some sort of shorts on,” she said, “I mean, it would explain why you’re wearing pantyhose. I thought maybe a pair of shorts would be more comfortable for housework than full length pants.”
“Oh, this skirt is comfortable enough, I’m not complaining,” I said, “Though what about the shoes? The blouse? And the makeup?”
“I did wonder about the shoes,” she said, “And the blouse does seem a bit dressy just for housework, but excuse me for assuming you were just trying to look nice for your mother. The makeup goes with the territory, I guess, when you’re stuck with wearing your wife’s old clothes.”
“My old clothes?” Sylvie laughed in astonishment, “You mean you haven’t told her?”
“Told me what?” mother asked.
“I’ve been buying him new clothes for almost three months now,” Sylvie replied, “I thought he’d have mentioned something.”
“But if you have your own clothes, why aren’t you wearing them?” my mother turned to me.
Shamefully, I dropped my gaze to the floor.
“I am,” I said.
“But then why…” my mother’s voice trailed off.
“Everything your son is wearing, Jane,” Sylvie chirped, “His own. Or, better said – her own.”
“Her?” my mother repeated.
“Well I can’t really keep on referring to her as ‘him’ when he’s wearing skirts, can I? Turns too many heads,” my wife said.
My mother stared at us in astonishment for another moment.
“I’m sorry, but just what on earth is going on here?” she said finally.
“Oh come on, Jane, I’d expect you to be the least surprised of all the people,” Sylvie said, “It was your idea after all, to sell Jake’s clothes when he lost his job. Seeing how he only wore pricy designer stuff, we made quite a hefty sum on eBay. And remember how it turned out that we could sell almost every item of clothing he owned? I offered to get some cheaper outfits off eBay to replace the ones we sold, but it was you that persuaded me to give him my old stuff.”
“Old jeans and sweaters. I meant unisex clothes,” my mom interjected, then pointed her palm at my direction, “Not this.”
“Last time you saw Jake, he was wearing a pair of my pants that zipped up at the back, a blue silk blouse, nylons and mid heeled open toed shoes,” Sylvie retorted, “and I don’t remember you complaining much. If anything, you complimented his full apron.”
“I assumed he was just trying to look nice for my visit,” mom defended herself, “Given the fact he had only your clothes to choose from, I thought he did a rather good job. As far as the apron is concerned – it was very practical of him to wear one. Of course it did look feminine, but the fuller an apron is, the better it protects the clothes.”
“Of course it does,” Sylvie said, “


The transition was gradual and with the fashion nowadays, how could I really tell if my son was actually wearing women’s clothing or just following the latest trends. Only when I recognized the hound’s tooth pattern of the material showing under his jacket sleeve did I realize he was in fact wearing his wife’s blouse. The pantyhose was another puzzling discovery, but like before, I didn’t raise the issue. Times are changing, I suppose, and if men are waxing their bodies now, well, what’s another small step in the feminine? To tell the truth, at first I thought he was just wearing ankle socks made of a different material, and never paid no mind, really. I did wonder about the colors but you know – who am I to judge. I never caught more than a glimpse between his pants and his shoes, but these glimpses seemed to rise higher and higher up his leg until one day I got a very good view of his nylon shod knee popping out between his soft leather boot and his gray checkered shorts. Not even knee highs would have reached that high up his legs. I was surprised, of course, but at the same time, it seemed awkward to comment after having passed so many opportunities by then.
What would I say, anyway? ‘Are you wearing pantyhose?’ when it was patently obvious that he was, and had been for some time, though at the same time he seemed to be very discreet about it. As I said, only glimpses of nylon. But then again – wasn’t I being rude? My son was beginning to become dressed more nicely than he ever had been before and I never as much as said a single word to let him know that I at least acknowledged the change in his looks? I didn’t want him to think I didn’t care about that at all – something I started worrying about when I realized I had ignored the fact he was wearing a blouse I praised so highly when I had seen it on his wife not a month ago.
As if sensing my predicament, my son made it very easy for me when I visited them next time. This time I could catch more than a glimpse of his flower-patterned pantyhose between his loafers and his blue silk capris.
Not only did I commend him on his choice of pantyhose, but I also said I liked his bracelet and his necklace. I probably should have stopped at that point as I could see him grow uncomfortable but I though he was just being modest, so commended his capris and his white sleeveless blouse too. He blushed and when his wife came up behind him and put her hands on his shoulders, almost jumped with fear.
Trying to diffuse the awkward situation, I made what I believed was a humorous observation. Seeing how his wife – in her black leggings and black high heeled boots, wearing a black wide-necked sweater that exposed her broad shoulders – loomed above him, I jokingly suggested that he too should wear high heels, to catch up with his wife. My son was used to my sense of humor and chuckled with me, albeit nervously, whereas his wife took me seriously.
“Go on,” she merely nodded after our laughter subsided.
I watched in astonishment as my son scurried off and returned a minute later, now three inches taller on account of his white court shoes. At that point I sensed that something was amiss, but not wanting to put my son in any more embarrassing situations, I didn’t know how to approach the subject.
After that, I was more reserved at commenting his looks, though he seemed to be quite comfortable in his wife’s blouses and pants. I did still say if he was wearing something I found becoming – especially if I had remember commending it when worn by his wife – but tried not to be too indiscreet about it. Even though I could see the ruffles below his neck, I wouldn’t comment on his blouse until he took of his jacket. Or no matter how diaphanous his blouse was, I didn’t comment on the lacy camisole he was wearing underneath.
My daughter who had come to visit after a lengthy absence had pointed out that her brother had become quite the feminine creature, though at that time, I felt as if she was just teasing him. I became so used to his new image it didn’t strike me the least odd to see him drop his handbag on the couch then sit down crossing his legs and display his high heeled shoes to me. Then again, you probably don’t see many men wearing pantyhose and polka dot blouses.
Still, I can’t say I was prepared for my birthday dinner. It was a small event, I had only invited my daughter and my son and his wife. I think I’m not exaggerating if I say that my daughter didn’t recognize her own brother – nor would have I if his wife hadn’t led him through my door. His brown hair had been painted jet black, his eyebrows that had always been on the delicate side were now twin sharply pronounced thin arches. His cheeks were reddened, his eyelashes thick with mascara, his lips glistening red. The thing that surprised me the most – though it really shouldn’t have, as his sister pointed out – is that he was wearing a dress. A very pretty one too, a strapless black silk creation with a long, pleated full skirt that spread around him prettily when he sat down.
I really was at loss of words and when I commended my son on his pretty dress, remarking that I don’t remember seeing his wife wear it before, she replied that the dress was my son’s own. It was a tumultuous evening for all of us. My daughter accused my son of being a sissy. When – upon being asked, how his workmates looked at him wear women’s clothing – he confessed he quit his job in order to stay at home, she became really angry with him for squandering the college education she was deprived of. As for me – I certainly didn’t appreciate him ruining my birthday party with this little surprise of his, no matter how pretty his dress was. It was only at that point that someone came to his defense, when his wife explained that he didn’t have much say in the matter.
However our passions cooled down eventually and the evening ended very pleasantly. The very next day, my son appeared at the door again, dressed in a cute red tartan skirt and a red short sleeved sweater and without much further ado started cleaning up my house. This was his – or better put, his wife’s present to me. Not that he would just clean my house once, but each week from that day on. I could tell he was struggling at first but after two months he became proficient enough and extended his services to his sister who moved back to town. She wasn’t too comfortable with her brother swishing around her in skirts and dresses but with his homemaking skills at her disposal, she soon gotten used to it and even donated a bunch of her old clothes to his wardrobe.


sis said...

This sissy loves your stories and your site I used to read your stories years ago

Carrie P said...

Thanks for uploading Dave's cartoons Bea. As usual they are brilliant combining humour with our special interests not easily done.One of the best artists around.


Anonymous said...

Dear Bea,

I'm writing to thank you for your posts and your site. I heard that you may not be feeling well and want to send my best wishes for your soon and complete recovery.

For all, I read this weekend a NY Times article, "What's So Wrong with Boys Who Want to Wear Dresses." Excellent article and, I think, fits me. I recommend googling it and reading it. Or send me an email and I can send the PDF.

I also recently read a book by Anne Vitale, "The Gendered Self" where she describes a 'diagnosis' (she's a psychologist) called "Gender Expression Deprivation Anxiety Disorder" (GEDAD, although I prefer 'Gee... Dad' :-) Fascinating and progressive stuff. Maybe in 50-100 years some or all of this crap will be behind us. We'll be able to be and do what we want to, from an early age through adulthood. I dream of that.



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