Thursday, February 25, 2016

Scenes from family life, #2

As I was posting the first one yesterday, I realized I'd written one a month ago already. This one is slightly different, slightly longer, slightly more telling not showing. Neither are quire perfect, but I'd like to know which one you prefer.

Hello, Christopher, so glad you could make it,” my mother says as she greets me by the door, “Your father and I are going to make an announcement shortly and we really wanted to tell you beforehand. I know it would just devastate your father if you learned about it like that…”
“Announcement?” I ask, trailing behind her through the doorway, “What are you talking about.”
She stops in her tracks and turns towards me.
“Well,” she begins, “As you’ve noticed, our relationship has been somewhat strained recently.”
I nod. Stained is in fact an understatement. For the past two years, our house has been home to constant fighting between my parents. First, there would be the loud explosion of yelling and, as if that wasn’t hard enough to bear, it was followed by crying which was even worse, or just deadly silence which was the worst of all. I’ve learned to stay out of the house as much as possible but even if I didn’t witness my parents fighting, I could always tell if I’d come home to an aftermath of one of their increasingly frequent confrontations. Eventually, I had moved in with Bethany and her family. Bethany was the daughter of a new friend of my mother’s who was about the same age as me. Ever since my mother befriended hers, we were encouraged to spend time together, so much in fact that our relationship almost seemed to be based on our mother’s insistence rather than actual mutual affection. Still, when it got un bearable at home, I was just glad I had someplace to go.
At the back of my head, I had a premonition of what my mother was going to say next, but I didn’t even want to acknowledge the existence of the thought, much less actually think about it.
“Before I say anything else,” she continues, “I want you to know that your father and I love you very, very much. But we simply can’t go on living like this.”
“Oh god, you’re getting a divorce,” I groan, though secretly, I feel relieved for my father. The constant arguing alone must have been difficult enough, but in the past months, the fights between my parents were getting more and more one sided, with my mother doing all the yelling and my father doing the crying afterwards.
“Oh, no, no,” she says with a mixture of reassurance and urgency, “Nothing like that.”
“What is it, then?” I ask.
She takes me by my hand and leads me towards the living room.
“Why don’t you come in” she says, “Your father wants to tell you this in person.”
“Christopher’s here, honey,” she announces when we enter the living room and my father gets up to greet me.
“Oh,” I gasp in amazement when I realize he is wearing a blue and green flower print blouse with long, billowing sleeves, a white pencil skirt and three-inch-heeled court shoes in a pale shade of blue that matches his blouse. Not counting my mother’s old aprons, I had witnessed my father wear her clothes several times before finally moving in with Bethany. Whether it was punishment for my father or entertainment for my mother, it was always very obvious that it was causing him a great deal of embarrassment and humiliation. That was one of the reasons that I was happy to move to Bethany’s but since then, I have to admit I got my taste of the same medicine, too. Mrs. Erica Devon, Bethany’s mother is a kind and loving woman, but she’s also very strict and authoritative and until I learned to follow the rules of her house with perfect obedience, I was, more often than not, wearing Bethany’s dresses at the family dinners. The last time I was punished like that was weeks ago, but Mrs. Devon has since replaced my own underwear with scats of lacy panties, to keep me in check.
While I don’t feel the same contempt as I used to before, I still can’t hide my surprise. This time he seems much more at ease with his clothes and as we hug hello, I also realize that even though I’ve seen him dressed up many times, I’ve never seen him dressed up quite like that. His legs are shaved and encased in shiny nylons. His longish hair is sporting soft, feminine waves and blonde highlights. His fingernails are painted red and his makeup is a bit crude, but very explicit. He is even wearing a padded bra that gives him the appearance of a very realistic bust. Owing to the fact that he is almost the same size as my mother, her clothes have never really looked ill-fitting on him, but now I can’t help but wonder if my mother would look any better wearing the same outfit.
He sits on the couch by my mother and places his hand in her lap. She gives it an affectionate squeeze. He pauses for a second, then begins to speak in a low, soft voice.
“In light of the problems your mother and I have been having,” he says, “I have agreed to live as a woman from now on.”
“What?” I stutter, flabbergasted, “Why?”
He pauses for another second and my mother moves her hand from her lap to his knee.
“Sometimes one reaches a point in their life when they realize that they need a change,” he says.
“Is that it?” I ask, “You needed a change?”
“Christopher,” my mother says strictly, “Don’t interrupt your father.”
Then she turns to my father who seems to be losing some of his calm composure and hugs him around his shoulders.
“It’s ok, honey,” she encourages him, “Go on.”
“Actually,” he continues, “It was your mother that needed a change.”
“Then why is it you that is changing into a woman?” I ask.
“Christopher!” my mother hisses.
My father pauses again, takes a deep breath and continues in a low, but determined voice.
“Your mother has reached a point in her life when the nature of our relationship thus far was not working out for her anymore,” he says, “She has decided that it was in the best interest of our relationship that I start living as a woman.”
“I knew this was all your fault!” I say accusingly to my mother, “Those bitches at that club must have put you to it, haven’t they?”
“I realize that you’re upset. You’re affected because you care deeply about your father,” mym mother says surprisingly calmly, “So I won’t punish you this time. But I also want to make it very clear that this matter is really not up to you. Do we understand each other?”
“Yes, mom,” I nod, suddenly subdued.
“And I should also point out that one of those ‘crazy bitches’ from ‘that club’ has been generous enough to take you in her house,” she says, “I hope that is not how you show your gratitude to her.”
“It’s not, mom,” I say, “I’m sorry.”
“Now, since you asked,” she begins, “The ladies from the club have indeed helped me to develop myself to levels I might have not reached alone, at least not so quickly. They did show me some things I might not have thought of. But the decision to turn your father into a woman is all mine. You see, I have been doing some soul searching lately and I have come to realize that I have outgrown my husband, your father. But all the while, I was still trying to live in the same marriage as I had before the start of my growth. I realized that I needed my marriage to grow together with me. After making your father put on my clothes a couple of times, it seemed like this was the right way to go.”
My father is visibly uncomfortable and is getting ready to get off the couch.
“Don’t leave, honey,” my mother says to him as she catches him by his arm.
“I know it’s hard,” she says, then pulls him towards her and he gingerly sits in her lap, burying his head in his shoulder.
“It took your father a while before he finally agreed to start living as a woman,” she said, “But not that he has, he couldn’t be happier. Could you?”
He lifts his head just long enough to say, “No dear,” then drops it down again.
“We’re getting along better than we ever have, don’t we?” she says.
“Yes, dear,” he says.
“I love you, Veronica,” she says affectionately and they share a long, gentle kiss. Then, she helps him straighten up.
“How about making us some tea?” she says.
Obediently, he goes to the kitchen.
“Veronica?” I say incredulously.
“That’s your father’s new name,” she says, “It’s not yet legal, but it’s soon going to be. Now, as you can imagine, the next couple of days will be very difficult for your father and he’ll need all the support he can get.”
“Yes?” I say as my mother looks at me expectantly.
“I was hoping that you could move back home, at least just for the time being,” she says, “It would mean a lot to your father. To both of us.”
I can’t say that living with Beatrice has turned out as I have hoped and I would be quite glad to move out, but at the same time, I’m not sure that home would be a healthy environment right now. On the other hand, anything would be better than the constant fighting.
“Well, I’ll have to think about it,” I say, “It’s a big decision, after all.”
“By all means,” she says, “Just don’t take too long.”
My father returns with the tea.
“Have you asked him?” he asks my mother.
“Just,” my mother replies, “He needs to think about it.”
“I meant about the other thing,” he says shyly.
“Oh, Veronica, what would I do without you?” she says, then turns to me.
“This might sound a bit silly,” she says, “But seeing how both me and your father are all dressed up, would you mind terribly putting on a dress yourself?”
 “What?” I spit, “No way!”
“Oh come on, it wouldn’t be the first time for you,” she says, “I know what’s been going on at Erica’s house.”
“That’s different,” I says, blushing furiously, “And anyway, it doesn’t happen anymore.”
“Once more won’t kill you”, she says, smilingly. I want to protest, but I find myself being led to my parent’s bedroom. Quickly, my mother has me strip down to my floral print satin panties, makes me put on a pair of pantyhose and her teddies, then helps me into her full skirted, short sleeved blue and white polka dot dress that buttons up the front. She does my makeup, then takes me back to the living room.
“Feels more proper, doesn’t it?” she says when we finally sit down for tea.
“I suppose,” I smile weakly.
The rest of the afternoon passes uneventfully. It is true that my parents are getting along much more nicely and it is in fact very pleasant to spend time in their company.
“It’s getting dark,” I say, “I should get going.”
“Okay honey,” my mother says, “Think about what I asked you.”
“Sure, I just need to talk to Mrs. Devon,” I say, “But anyhow, I should change back into my clothes.”
“Well,” my mother muses, “You are wearing your clothes.”
“My men’s clothes, mom,” I say.
“About that, honey,” she says, “You see, I’ve been doing some more soul searching and I have decided that you should live as a girl as well.”
“Mom!” I moan, “Come on, this isn’t funny!”
“I’m not joking, dear,” she says, “Erica agrees with me, too, you know.”
“What?” I say, flabbergasted.
“Christopher,” she says seriously, “If Erica wanted to turn you into a woman, do you honestly think you could stop her?”
“No,” I mutter and hang my head.
“But you said ‘if’?” I suddenly remember, “She’s not really about to turn me into a girl, is she?”
“Maybe not now,” mom replies, “But who knows. Maybe you’ll do something to anger her again. Maybe that time, wearing a dress around the house won’t be enough to make peace with her.”
“But aren’t I going to live with you guys again?” I ask, hopefully.
“I hope so,” she says, pushing me towards the front door, “But not before you discuss it with Erica.”
“Please let me change back in my clothes, mom,” I plead, but she ignores it.
“I’m sorry dear,” she says, “But this is really not up to you.”
And then, she closes the front door behind me.


rocketdave said...

Hi, Rosie. To be honest, I'm not sure I prefer either. I liked the last two Apron Strings ripoffs you posted, not to mention a lot of the other stories by you that I've seen, but I'm afraid this particular scenario really doesn't appeal to me.

If you've ever been to Carole Jean's site, she observes that an oft-used rule in these sorts of stories is, "first, kill off the father." It's definitely a cliche, but it's one I happen to like seeing employed.

I know that if feminization were to occur on a frequent basis in real life, it would be unrealistic to expect the father to be out of the picture in every instance, so I guess it's an interesting change of pace for me to read what such a scenario might entail, but it's impossible for me to find it stimulating reading. It just makes me really uncomfortable to read about a father being privy to his son's feminization or vice versa.

It probably doesn't help that I have such a strained relationship with my own dad. I can't really divorce myself from those feelings while reading this, but even if things were better between us, it would be too awkward to try to imagine myself in your protagonist's position or, as I get a bit older, even in the position of the father.

On an unrelated note, Rosie, I'd been meaning to say that I liked what you wrote in response to the news of Bea's passing. Actually, it's not totally unrelated- I went back and looked at what you wrote again, and the first thing you said was that being a closeted transvestite was firstly a sexual thing. I'd agree with that, and that's the reason this specific story just isn't my cup of tea. There's a definite sexual component that compels me to seek out this genre of fiction in the first place, and something involving fathers and sons is just too much of a turn-off for me personally.

Anonymous said...

You mention Carole Jean's site. Which site is this? A link please.

rocketdave said...

Anonymous, the site which I was referring was

rocketdave said...

That should have read "to which I was referring." Damn.

Anonymous said...

Thanks. I'm familiar with that site. Just hadn't seen it referred to like that.

Anonymous said...

Just to add that I loved Bea and all her work, and I love all of the girls here, I just adore Monica and her writing. I would give anything, and I mean anything to be living the life of one of her maids. Maybe for me that day is coming, no pun intended, but oh my.

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