Tuesday, May 17, 2016
another shortie, as these are all I seem to be able to write these days. Either it's done in an evening, or it doesn't get done at all. I got the idea for this one when I was putting on a denim skirt, thinking how it makes for a 'basic look'. Then it sort off just rolled off from there into 'I want a basic look for my husband, a simple denim skirt...'.
Thursday, May 12, 2016
I can feel my heart pounding in my chest. Well, not just my chest, but it seems that my whole body is pulsating with the rhythm of my heart. Even though my eyes have long accustomed to the dimly lit anteroom, I don’t even notice Erin beside me anymore. My eyes, my nerves, my mind are all fixed on the door and the moment that Martha will pull it open, starting the great entrance. I don’t even mind wearing Erin’s clothes anymore, all I want to do is to walk in and show myself. Show my progress.
Suddenly, it happens. The door cracks open and before I know it, I am walking, blinded by the bright light, into the room. There are gasps of amazement and I have to do my best fighting the urge to flex my muscles right here and now. But Martha, who I suddenly regard once again as my future mother-in-law, not just my personal trainer, was very clear about that. As my eyes are starting to recognize the silhouettes of the people in the room, I walk as I’ve been instructed, all the way to the end of the room, turn around and walk back to the center of the room, where Erin has stopped, to face the silhouettes. It is indeed a select audience, as Martha has promised, there’s only my mother and my sister Karen. Well, and Erin’s sister Stephanie, but she sees me regularly, so he doesn’t really count. Erin and I stand side by side for a minute, then I take off my blazer to reveal the muscles on my arm.
It’s more than a wee pang of pride that I feel as I watch Roger’s mother and sister stare at him in amazement. My future son-in-law is standing before them half the size than he was before I took him in my weight loss program. He is wearing a pair of my daughter’s old black dress pants, and a her matching tailored blazer that makes his hips flare out below his now waspishly thin waist. There is no way Erin could put it on anymore, but it fits Roger’s thin arms quite snugly. When Roger finally takes it off, there is another gasp of amazement as he reveals his black satin halter top that tautens invitingly over his now flat belly with every breath he takes, but more importantly, it displays his thin, though shapely arms. There is definitely tone and shape to his muscles, all joints are beautifully rounded, but the muscles, just like the skin that enwraps them, are deliciously soft. Even as I look at him, I’m having a hard time believing that I have managed to turn the shapeless fat fuck he once was into this lithe, slim creature.
Behind him, Erin is also sleeveless in her red satin dress. Even though her fiancé is standing right in front of her, she is fully visible behind his thin silhouette which, rather than conceals, only emphasizes her powerful figure. Erin steps forward and hugs Roger from behind, displaying the bulging muscles on her arms and I feel another not-so-wee pang of pride to see my daughter all developed like that. Of course, she lacks the hourglass figure of the man she is about to marry, but that’s nothing that can’t be fixed by a wide, patent black belt and a full skirt that flares out at her hips.
It was Erin that wanted to lose weight in the first place, and I was only too happy to help her. Of course I wanted my daughter to feel beautiful on her big day, and I wanted her to be healthy, but beside that, as a co-owner of one of the busiest gym’s in town, and a fitness instructor, it was bad publicity for my daughter to go about neglected like that.
I figured that I could use her slimming down to lure more women into my gym, but it soon turned out that Erin wouldn’t give me the before and after pictures I was hoping for. Just like me, she got the weight fever soon enough and was all about gaining weight, rather than losing it. She did take off a lot of her body fat, mind you, though it has been evident that that wasn’t her primary goal. Roger, on the other hand, was a completely different story. I soon found out that he was pliable enough that I could get him not only to do the exercises I wanted, but also follow a strict diet and take any supplement I wanted him to without a question. Once I started feeding him doses of estrogen he became even more trustful of my decisions. As his tearful outbursts of emotions started, he agreed that it would make more sense to carry out his training in the privacy of my own working out space in the basement of my house, rather than in full view of everybody in the gym. Shortly thereafter, Roger moved in with me, and was spending his days doing my housework and working on what he believed was a high intensity body building regime. When he lost enough fat that traces of hardly existent muscles began appearing under his skin, I managed to convince him that he was making great progress, just I had managed to convince him that the shiny leotards I had him wear were regular men’s gym clothes. When the day that he was ready to be shown to the world finally came, he didn’t think it strange that Stephanie put his hair up in rollers until it was a mass of tight, jet black curls, that she filed his nails and covered them with a clear varnish, nor that she plucked his eyebrows into thin arches. When I gave him Erin’s old clothes to wear he trustingly accepted the explanation that I had realized that none of his old clothes fit him too late to get him new ones in time for the show.
We stand together like that, with Erin’s arms around me, for a minute, then my mother gets off her chair and I feel Erin step back.
“My, you’ve grown,” she says to me.
“Actually, mom,” I smile awkwardly, “I’m wearing high heels.”
I pull the left leg of my pants to reveal my black, four inch heeled pump. Martha gave me these shoes so that they would bring out the muscles on my thighs and calves, and also because we realized too late that my pants were a bit too long.
“It wasn’t your height I was talking about,” mom says, then drops her eyes to my chest.
I feel a surge of pride and I push my chest forward.
“Oh, God,” she breaths, “Are they real?”
Before I can answer, her hand is on my pecs.
I can’t help it, I know Martha will be mad at me, but I simply have to do it. Just like Martha has trained me to do for dozens of times, I pump my arms in toward the center of my chest, then I bring my shoulders in toward the center of my chest. I should have done a quick exercise or two before, to get the blood flowing, but as it is, all I can do is to clench my hands together, hoping to flex my pecs as much as I can.
Before I succeed to, my mother’s hand moves to my left triceps.
“So soft,” she whispers.
“Just give me a minute,” I say, fighting tears of shame. It’s not fair, not only I hadn’t done any pre-warm exercises, but she’s not even feeling the muscle group I’m flexing.
“I meant your skin,” she says, “It’s so soft.”
“Oh,” I say, “Well, I’m oiled up a bit.”
“I see,” she mutters, then her hand is back on my pectorals.
“Yes, yes,” Diane says, as she fondles her son’s budding breasts, “They’re definitely getting harder.”
Roger proudly juts his chest forward again, exposing his swollen nipples through the black satin.
“I’m glad to hear something does,” Erin mutters, just loud enough for me to hear her.
“Erin!” I hiss at her and she shrugs apologetically.
“Sorry,” she whispers back, but I can’t really blame her. The heavy hormone treatment does take its toll, I suppose.
“You guys said you had something for me,” Erin turns to Diane and Karen.
“About that…” Diane says, then turns to Karen.
“No, we don’t,” she says to Erin, “Sorry. I know we said we did, but it turns out we screwed up, so…”
“Oh,” Erin says, not hiding the disappointment in her voice.
“Oh dear,” Diane sighs.
“This is embarrassing,” she says, “We asked your mother for your measurements, because we wanted to have a wedding dress made for you. She gave us the measurements of both of you, and we mixed them up.”
“It was an honest mistake,” Karen says defensively.
“Karen!” Diane hisses at her.
“Well, it was,” she pouts.
“Anyhow,” Diane turns back to Erin and me, “We had the wedding dress made in Roger’s size, not yours. Never mind, we’ll take it back.”
“Hold on,” I say, “Let us see it, first.”
Karen pulls out the dress from a black garment bag and it’s Erin’s turn and mine to gasp in astonishment this time. It really is a wonderful gown.
“It would be such a shame if no one wore that dress,” I say.
“Well, there’s no way Erin can put it on,” Karen says.
“It’s not what I meant,” I say.
“I wonder…” Diane mutters and as if on cue, Stephanie takes the dress in one hand, grabs Roger with the other and leads him out of the room.
“Actually, Martha?” Diane says, “I really don’t think this is such a good idea…”
“Why not?” I say, looking her in the eyes.
“In fact,” she begins, then pauses as I lean closer towards her, “I think it’s time Roger moved back to my house…”
“That’s up to Roger, of course,” I say, “But let him try on the wedding gown first.”
“I hope you don’t mind if I take some pictures,” Stephanie says to Roger as she leads him back to the room, dressed in the bridal gown, “This will be good publicity for my beauty salon, and I don’t get to do too many bridal makeup jobs.”
Posing for Stephanie, Roger looks as if he’s floating on a cloud of white satin, chiffon and lace. Even with the full makeup, his face strangely doesn’t look much different than before. When Stephanie puts her camera down, he gives his mother an accusing glare.
“Oh, Roger,” Diane moans out loud, “I swear, this was honestly the furthest from our intentions.”
“Don’t worry about it too much,” I say to Diane, feeling her shiver as I place my palm on her nylon-clad knee, “I don’t think he was really that comfortable in Erin’s old pants before.”
“Actually, Martha,” Roger speaks out in his soft voice, “I would prefer to be back in Erin’s pants after all.”
I flash him a kind, but dismissive smile, then turn back to Diane.
“He does look lovely, though,” I say to her.
“Seriously, though,” he says again, “Stephanie promised me I wouldn’t have to wear this dress longer than just to see if it fits.”
Slowly, I turn to face him again, though I don’t take off my hand of Diane’s knee.
“And?” I say, “Does it fit?”
“To a T, mummy,” Stephanie says happily.
“Well then, I guess it’s best if you help him take it off,” I say, “But Roger, it really is time you stopped wearing Erin’s old pants.”
“Erin, honey?” I say, “Why don’t you take Karen and see if you can find a dress of yours that would fit Roger?”
With a quick nod of her head, Erin takes Karen by her hand and leads her out of the room, leaving me alone with Diane.
“Well,” I say, sliding my hand up her thigh, “Looks like you won’t have to take the dress back, after all.”