Apron Strings

Remember Halcyon Publications?

That was an UK magazine in the nineteen-nineties, with two daughter publications, Apron Strings and Pinafore Pages. They both catered to that narrow segment of the public which is interested in the feminization of men. Each magazine was supposedly aimed at a particular sub-segment, but in the end, they were very much alike one another. Mostly, they published stories and erotic illustrations. Judging from the website, they were published as actual physical magazines at first, but later on it looked like they had switched to online only issues. Each monthly issue focused on a certain theme, with several feature stories (such as case histories of husbands who enter the Empowerment Academy, where they are transformed to simpering shemales) and some other, miscellaneous stories. The content was pay-per-view, however it was relatively easy to get around the protection – something that the owners realized but failed to do anything against. Anyhow, they stopped updating the magazines around 2007 and after that, the domain names have been snatched up by others.

The stories, sometimes published as true confessions, other times as fantasies, were, in the end, remarkably similar – at times identical passages can be found in two stories (often one of them marketed as a true confession), with only the names changed. In some stories there is some “very rational” pretext for the feminization, in others the woman makes it clear from the beginning she wants her man in skirts. As far as the feminization alone is concerned, every story pushes the right buttons for me, though it is obvious that whoever wrote them had a thing for older women so, unless the hero has an older wife to begin with, always ends up in bed with the mother in law.

If reading Bea’s stories is like eating a wonderfully structured cake, layered with layers of gentle, moist sponge, refreshingly crunchy fruit and rich, rich cream, reading these stories is like eating sugar by the spoonful. They don’t mess around. There are no surprises, once you’ve read more than two, but they always work.

Lately, I’ve attempted to re-create the spirit, and the literary style of these fine publications. Here’s my first attempt.

My eyes widened in horror as Sandra showed me the ridiculously frilly silk blouse she expected me to wear for her mother’s visit.

“No, Sandra, I can’t possibly go through with that,” I protested weakly, “I said I would wear a skirt, but this is too much.”

“You sounded so eager to wear a skirt,” she said with a mocking note to her voice, “I thought you would appreciate something that matched the skirt better than your shirts.”

“I only said I would do it so you wouldn’t beat me,” I admitted.

The memory of her mother’s last visit was still painfully fresh. Sandra had always wanted to show off her dominance over me to her mother. I had been trying hard to please both Sandra and Doreen that evening, but Sandra’s eyes had that dangerous gleam I had learnt to fear. Sandra’s annoyance was ever increasing and I knew it was only a matter of time before it would erupt in a physical confrontation. The only way to keep that from happening was to submit myself to her completely. When Doreen mentioned something along the lines that it was hard to see who was wearing the trousers in our marriage, I simply could not miss that cue.

“Perhaps I should wear a skirt, the next time you visit? Just to clarify things?”

I knew it would be humiliating, but less humiliating that to have my mother-in-law witness me being beaten by my wife. And of course, I had thought that by offering to wear a skirt, I would have to do just that. Wear a skirt, and nothing more. Naively, I even entertained the thought of being allowed to simply wear one over my pants. But I realized how wrong I had been when Sandra showed me the blouse, shoes and lingerie she wanted me to wear along with her skirt.

“Please, Sandra,” I pleaded, “I said I’d wear a skirt, nothing else. If I knew I’d have to wear all… this, I’d have never agreed.”

“Would you rather I beat you?” she said provocatively, “In front of my mother?”

I gulped.

“This is too much, Sandra,” I repeated, pointing at the heap of clothes on our bed, fighting tears.

“I can still do it, you know,” she said, “Don’t wear my clothes, and you get a hiding when my mother arrives. It’s as simple as that.”

For a second, I thought over her ultimatum. My silence was answer enough for her.

“But I promise you this,” she said, “If I beat you, it will not be only humiliating. It will be painful.” This was an ultimatum that I didn’t need to think over at all. I could feel tears of shame trickle down my face as I agreed to wear everything Sandra put in front of me.

The process of my transformation was lengthy as Sandra insisted that I removed all of my body hair, and made me promise I would keep myself smooth and hairless from then on. After she helped me get dressed, she proceeded to do my makeup. Although she hadn’t mentioned makeup until then, I didn’t feel the strength to argue any more. All along, Sandra wouldn’t let me look in the mirror until she was finished. I didn’t even believe I was looking at my reflection until I saw myself blushing, even through the thick layer of my makeup, at the realization that the lacy edges of my slip and bra were fully visible underneath my diaphanous blouse. Except for my flat chest, there was nothing about my image that would indicate I was a man.

Doreen seemed much less shocked by my transformation.

“Hello, Mike,” she said pleasantly as I greeted her at the door.

“I call him Shirley when he’s dressed up like that,” Sandra said from behind me, and that was the only time my transformation was mentioned that evening. In some way, I was almost disappointed by the lack of embarrassment and humiliation of being made to look like a woman. My main consolation was, of course, the thought that I had managed to keep Sandra from hurting me. But at the back of my mind, I knew that she would get her way in the end.

I realized how right about that I was when we visited Doreen. I was spanked mercilessly by both women. Then, they made me put on one of Doreen’s dresses – and keep it on until we got home!