COSSETED AND CORSETED

By: Bea


My mother is very feminine, kinda dithery if you  go by outward appearances, but
has a habit of getting things her own way.  My dad died before I had time to
establish any memories of him, so my formative years were pretty well dominated
by her.  Not that she was mean - far from it.  I was spoiled I guess, but on
looking back, I'm fairly sure that she 'protected' me from any elements that she
felt would be detrimental to what she wanted for me.  She was also very good at
managing money.  She'd received a tidy package of insurance when dad died, but
had been extremely savvy in her choice of investments so that, by the time I was
eighteen, we had no worries about finances.

We did run into one problem though.  I'd finished high school and was making
noises about college.  This upset her a little.  She couldn't see why I wanted
to train myself for some career when  there was no earthly reason that I needed
to work at all.  She considered me her friend, and was more than a little put
out about me wanting to 'desert' her.  To be honest, I wasn’t really that
interested in college, it was just fun to tease her more than anything else.

We traveled a lot.  Changed homes and or appartments more than anyone I knew.  I
guess that was one of  her tactics in keeping me close to her - and lessened my
chances of making attachments to anyone, other than her.  Accordingly, I had few
friends, especially those of the male sex.  As most of her aquaintances were of
the same sex as herself, I had  a great deal of exposure to the feminine side of
things, little in the masculine.

This may sound strange, but I had no sense of her keeping me segregated from
other boys, or that I was anything other than a male.  As a matter of fact, I
considered myself a 'normal' boy - an outlook that she had fostered all of my
life.
"Oh!"  She'd say, talking of me. "A typical boy!  A harum scarum!  Always up to
mischief.  Into everything that he's not supposed to be into.  A constant threat
to  my peace of mind!  Naughty!  Why  you can't imagine the half of it!"  And
her lady friends would all coo their understanding and sympathy and look at me
as if I were a close relative of Genghis Khan or Attilla the Hun.

In truth, I was a quiet little boy, that turned into a quiet youth.  I was never
in any mischief, and  my chief pursuit was stamp collecting.  I was small and
delicate of build and certainly totally inexperienced in the normal rough and
tumble of a boys existence.  Nevertheless  I was absolutely positive that I was
king of the hill - at least as far as the opposite sex was concerned. (Though,
as I went through the  high school years, I discovered that I was actually very
timid around girls.   Certainly never managed to raise the courage to ask one
for a date.)

We had moved to a new house not far from San Francisco immediately after I
graduated from high school.  It was a nice place, south and on the coast.  It
was secluded and somewhat smaller than the normal house she'd get.  Four
bedrooms,  nice sized living room, big kitchen, a sewing room, three bathrooms
and a comfortable dining room.  The yard was landscaped with plants indigenous
to the area, so needed little if any  maintenance.  What I liked though, was the
swimming pool and tennis court.  I considered myself a good swimmer and a fair
to middling tennis player - although my mother was the only person I'd ever
played with any regularity.  We didn't have a maid or gardener - which wasn't
common for us as mother doesn't care for housekeeping too much, but I didn't
care.  I helped her out some - though in her usual way, she'd describe how she
went through the torments of the damned trying to get me to do any work around
the house.  "You know boys!  Disappear the minute chores need doing!"  She'd
gripe to her friends.  I felt no end of a fellow.

I was with her one day, shopping in one of the small nearby towns.  I was amazed
to meet Duncan Reed - the closest thing I'd had to a friend in my Senior class.
He and his family had just moved as well, and he was lonely as he knew none of
the locals either.

He hadn't been too popular at school because he was an awful snob.  Didn't mind
me, because mother was well known in social circles at the time and probably
outranked his family.  With him, I'd done something I'd never done - got into a
fight.  A real, honest to god, roll around on the ground, punching, pulling and
whacking, fight.  Though we were very similar in build, he'd won, of course, but
like boys everywhere we'd settled into a sort of friendship - him being the cock
of the walk of course.

Much to mother's dismay, I invited him out to the house, and he started showing
up on a regular basis.  I could beat him swimming, but he had the upper hand on
the tennis court.  We'd argue about various things but got along fairly well on
the whole.  I didn't really get too much of a chance to develop a long term
relationship though, as things turned out.

One morning, mother informed me that a girl was coming to stay with us for a
while.  "Naomi Child.  Daughter of an old school chum of mine.  My friend's
going traveling for over three months and Naomi didn't want to go. She's about
your age I think.  Very pretty if I remember correctly.  Have to watch you and
your hooligan friends like a hawk!"
Flattered by this , I mentioned the visit to Duncan.  He preened.  "Hope she's
hot!  I need a girlfriend over the summer.  She'll probably be some kind of
goddamned wimp though - just our luck!"
"What makes you think she'll have anything to do with you?" I laughed.  "A manly
stud like me available!"
He poked me and laughed, and we went off on something else.

He wasn’t around when I met Naomi for the first time.  She was gorgeous!  A
little taller than me, and quite well built across the shoulders but the first
impression I got of her was of a womanly softness.  Rounded arms, dimpled at the
elbows.  Soft forearms with just a trace of pale down that shimmered when the
sun caught it.  Straight, beautiful legs, with  smooth ,shapely calves.  A
golden tan that seemed absolutely even, no creases or pimples to blot it.  Calm
gray eyes that surveyed me with a studied appraisal.

She had beautiful blonde hair that fell in soft waves to her shoulders and, when
I first met her was paying off the taxi driver who’d brought her to the house.
The poor man was obviously smitten by her and was practically falling all over
himself to get her luggage - and she had plenty - out of the back seat and the
trunk of the taxi.  She stood there, quietly looking in her purse as he arranged
the suitcases around her.
“I’ll take them up to the door if you want, miss.”  He said.

“You must be Naomi!”  I called out.  “No driver.  That’s all right.  I can
manage from here.”

I don’t think he was any too happy with my offer, but he smiled when she paid
him and, by the looks of it, included a big tip.  Touching his cap
deferentially, he got back in the cab and drove off.  She walked towards me
holding out her hand, a real vision of femininity in a long, silky looking light
brown skirt and a light blue silk ‘t’ top with a pink blazer over it.
“You must be Ryan.” She said  “I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”

Her voice was like her appearance.  Soft, calm, feminine but confident.  Her
soft hand  was actually a little bigger than mine, and had a surprising strength
to it.  I was totally impressed, so said hastily.  “Here.  Let me get this,” let
go her hand.  And picked up the largest of her suitcases.

At least, that was what was supposed to happen.  What actually did happen was
that I barely got it off the ground.  Red faced, I immediately realized I’d
bitten off more than I could chew.
“Oh dear!”  She said. “I’m such a pack rat!  But there’s a knack to these
suitcases.  Here, let me show you.”

And damned if she didn’t pick it up effortlessly!  I gawped at her, she was
walking up the path with no signs of effort on her face at all.  I picked up
another two - much lighter, but still had to stagger after her.  “It’s all a
matter of balance.” she called over her shoulder.  “You just have to get used to
them.”  I wasn’t too sure if I’d ever be able to heft that big weight that she
was moving so easily.

Then another shock.  Mother must have seen us, and came charging out of the
door.
“Naomi!  How wonderful to see you!  You’re SO like your mother!  How you’ve
grown!  Here, let me take that!”  And with that, she took the bag out of Naomi’s
hands - and damned if she didn’t carry it upstairs, Naomi protesting behind her.
 Then more humiliation.  Naomi  happened to turn around and saw me struggling up
the stairs.  “Here Ryan. That looks very awkward.” - and took the two cases from
me.  “These other two back in the driveway are much lighter.  Could you get
them?  If you still have any problems, just yell and I’ll come back and give you
a hand.  Okay?”

I did manage to carry the (lighter) cases remaining back up to Naomi’s room,
practically ignored by the two women chattering together.  Slightly miffed at
being left out, I went back to my room and read for a while, then showered and
changed for dinner.  When I went downstairs I was surprised to se Naomi in a
frilled, feminine apron working in the kitchen.
“Why THERE’S Ryan!”  She called.  “Thought you’d died up there!’
“Typical man!”  My mother said, coming in from the dining area. “Never anywhere
when you need a little help around the house!”

Naomi turned her calm, all-knowing, eyes on me.  “Do you think that’s fair,
Ryan?  Making your mother work while you loaf?”  But then she smiled. Showing
her beautiful white teeth.  “But that’s a man’s prerogative, right?”

I was flustered.  If I said “yes” it would appear that I felt what she said was
a man’s prerogative.  If I said ‘no’ it would appear that I’d been loafing.
Neither of these were true, but I felt that if I didn’t accept what had been
said, then for some reason, I was putting myself in a feminine role.  I blushed
but, to make amends, offered to help wash up after the meal.  Mother pretended
astonishment.  “My Naomi!  What a difference a pretty girl makes in a house!
These men!  There’s no telling what they’ll do when  a nice looking girl smiles
at them!”
I couldn’t very well admit then that I did dishes most every night.  Couldn’t
understand where mother was coming from when it was clearly understood at most
times, that when mother cooked, I did the cleaning up.
“Well, I think it’s very nice of him!”  Naomi retorted.  “So many men refuse to
anything that even looks like woman’s work!”  She turned to me.”Just hold on a
minute. I’ll get an apron for you.  You can give me a hand to set the meal up as
well.”

Blushing a deep shade of red, two minutes later I was working side by side with
her, a full, frilled apron swishing around me as I tidied up under her
direction. I was surprised to discover that the aprons we wore both belonged to
her.  She apologised briefly for their effeminacy, explaining that she felt a
woman should take pride in doing woman’s work and should therefore look as
pretty as possible.   Mother drifted off somewhere leaving us to work.  We
didn’t talk much, just got down to tidying the place up and getting the dishes
in the dishwasher.  It didn’t take long.  I was surprised and astonished when
she came over and gave me a girlish peck on the cheek.  “Thanks Ryan.  That was
really nice of you.”

When I took off the apron, I held it out to her.  She laughed. “Finished with it
now, eh?  Now that you’ve shown off to the guest?”
I didn’t know what to say.  She laughed some more and finally took it from me.
Then she hung them both up on a hook in the larder. “Just remember,” she added
“when you work with me in the kitchen, you’ll wear an apron..  This one with the
pink frills is yours.”  It wasn’t an order.  At least she didn’t bark it out or
anything like that, but I was aware that I was now expected to wear the apron on
a regular basis.

We didn’t do much that evening, just watched TV for a while before going to bed.
 Again I was surprised when she came and kissed my cheek to bid me goodnight.  I
saw that she kissed mother exactly the same way.  Went to bed in a confused
state of mind.

I didn’t see much of her the following morning as she was very busy washing and
ironing  the clothes she’d brought with her.
“Weren’t they clean when you brought them?”  I asked, as I thought, sensibly.
Both women snorted derisevely.  “Men!”  Mother said.
“What’s the matter?”  I asked.  “Was that a crazy question?”
“No Ryan.”  Naomi said sweetly.  “It’s just that a girl likes to have her
clothes nice and fresh looking - and feeling fresh as well.”
 I wanted to tell her how pretty she was.  She looked plenty fresh to me in a
pale yellow, sleeveless, dress with a white belt and open toed sandals to match.
 A single strand of pearls with matching earrings.  Just a touch of makeup.  A
plain white hairband pulling her hair back from her lovely face.

“See the difference between you two?”  Mother asked, not unpleasantly.  “Naomi
here is up early, and helps me make breakfast.  Then she does the washing.  Not
only hers mind you, but yours and mine as well, while you’re stomping about
pretending to get ready!  She’s so nice and helpful and reliable.  It certainly
wouldn’t do you any harm to take her as a role model!”
“Aw mom! C’mon!”  I yelped. “You want me to ...”
“I wish he’d forget that stupid masculine pride.”   Mother said to Naomi..  “All
that noise and bluster.  Swaggering about all macho.  He looked SO nice too,
helping you with the dishes last night.”  She turned her attention back to me.
“Yes!  It wouldn’t do you any harm to climb down from that high masculine horse
of yours, once in a while!”

I actually felt guilty!  The years of brainwashing by mother had really taken
their toll.  I never stopped to think how anyone in their right mind could see a
slightly built, shy,  young man like me as some kind of Rambo character. Common
sense had nothing to do with it.  For  years she had inflated my  male ego with
exaggerated comments about my behaviour.  Now I was accepting them as gospel.
“I’m sorry mother.   Sorry Naomi. Guess I wasn’t thinking.  Anything you’d like
me to do to help?”
Mother snorted.  “Now he offers!  When the work’s all done.”  But I could see
that she appreciated the offer.  Naomi came and put a gentle hand on my arm.
“That’s a very nice offer Ryan.  There’s nothing just now.  Maybe you can help
me make lunch?”

Again, it may sound crazy, but I was absurdly grateful for this young lady
allowing me to redeem myself and actually made it a point to be in the kitchen
early awaiting my orders.  It was still embarrassing to be wearing my frilled
apron, but not quite as bad as before.  Mother actually complimented me when I
served her lunch.  Naomi gave me another soft kiss in thanks after I had
finished doing the dishes.  I saw another side to her character that afternoon.

Duncan knew of her visit and timed his visit accordingly.  He sauntered up to
the house in his tennis whites (Mother demanded that, if we played, we dressed
properly) his raquet in his hand.  Stopped for a second, goggle-eyed at this
good looking young woman, then proceeded to make a total ass of himself, coming
off like a conceited, overbearing, chauvinistic idiot.

Naomi surprised me, becoming even more feminine and pliant, kowtowing to him, I
thought bitterly.  After finishing with his show, he turned to me.
“Come on.  Get your whites on!  I’ll show you how to play tennis!”
I shook my head.  Had no wish to have Naomi see him beat me - and could vividly
imagine the strutting and boasting that would follow his victory.
“Sorry Dunc.  Sort of twisted my wrist this morning.  Think I’ll give it a rest
today.”

His face fell, but then I guess he figured that he’d now have more time to sweep
Naomi off her feet with his nonsense.  “Could you spare a guy a beer?”  He
asked, knowing full well that mother didn’t buy beer at all - and would never
have let him have one for another.  Just showing off - the retard!
“No.  I’d have to ask Mom and she’s off shopping.  But I’ll spring for a coke if
that’s all right?”  I said, with minimum grace.

He accepted this offer with a disdainful look, but was happy enough to be left
with  his new heart-throb while I dashed into the kitchen to get soft drinks for
all of us.  When I came back with the tray, they were discussing books, and
somehow, the subject of male gallantry had come up.  He was going on and on
about the male’s strength as versus the female, and his duty to protect his
woman!

Naomi was perfectly charming, but arguing now and then.  “I don’t think that
strength by itself determines masculinity.  You could be right, but does that
mean that if some woman about two hundred pounds can beat up some poor guy
weighing a hundred and twenty, that he’s a woman?  Is that what you’re saying?”
“No.  Not really.”  Duncan sneered.  “But he’s not much of a man, is he?
Letting a woman beat him?”
“Well.  That is a very old outlook.”  Naomi said, almost agreeing with him. “I’m
a feminist myself.  But back in the days of King Arthur  the men were truly
gallant.....”
“Yeah!  Back in the good old days.  Man to man.  Sword to sword!”  Duncan
interrupted, smitten with the idea.
“Yes.  They felt very much the way you do.”  Naomi said thoughtfully.  “There’s
quite a few examples where there’d be some woman who was head of the local area.
 She’d fight in armor like a man but always made the challenge that, if she won,
the guy she beat would become one of her hand maidens.  You know, wear dresses
and join her other maids in looking after her”

“Yeah.  I saw a story like that once.”  Duncan said. “Made a lot of sense.  Hah!
 Did you hear that ?”  And proceeded to spell it out.  “M.A.I.D. A lot of sense!
 I’d say the loser got what he deserved!” He laughed uproariously.

We sat talking for just a little while longer, then Naomi asked him.  “Duncan.
Who’s the best tennis player, you or Ryan?”
“Oh I guess we’re pretty even.”  He said, obviously not believing a word of it.
“He beats me like a drum.”  I said, sick of his behaviour.  Even kind of upset
with Naomi at her calm acceptance of his boastfulness.
“I used to play a little.” She said modestly.

He practically jumped to attention.  “Wow!  Want me to give you some pointers?”
She looked down shyly at the ground.  “I’d rather play a couple of sets first.
Get rid of some wrinkles.  Say best of five sets?”
He pretended concern.  “You have the stamina for three sets?  I mean, I’m not
really being a chauvinist pig, but girls do have a stamina problem.”
“Oh stop being so protective!”  She teased him. “If you want to go and check the
net height, I’ll run up and change.”  With that, she gave us a tiny little wave
and left us, running lightly into the house.

I was sick with jealousy.  How could she be taken in with his stupid line?  She
HAD to be smarter than this, I thought despairingly, watching him strut down to
the court, swinging his raquet around his head like a drum major.

She came back out in a plain, short tennis dress.  Pure white with a pleated
skirt.  Looked like a million dollars. I even noticed that she’d put a little
more makeup on in his honour.  Inwardly,  I cursed Duncan.  Wasn’t even going to
go and watch the  match, but had nothing better to do, so strolled lethargically
down to where they were starting to warm up, knocking the ball around.

She was stiff looking.  A little slow, with a tendency to slice her backhand out
of court.  A sort of jerky serve, but not a bad forehand I noticed.  Not bad at
all.  As they warmed up, she was improving by the minute.  Even hit an overhead
cleanly - a thing that I have problems with.  I thought I saw a look of
‘something’ cross Duncan’s face, but wasn’t sure.  After a while they played for
service.  She hit some decent shots back across the net, but he was too strong
for her and took the honors.

His first service aced her.  Left her almost sprawling.  The next point, he
tried too hard and netted the first service.  Smiled and ‘dinked’ the second
over the net.  Didn’t smile at all when the ball was rocketed back at his feet.
She smile sweetly at him.
“I know I’m just a weak girl Duncan, but you don’t need to give me points.”

I sat up straighter in my chair.  Was that sarcasm in her tone?

I thoroughly enjoyed the rest of that set.  I don’t know how many points he won
- but it wasn’t many.  She ran him ragged.  Took complete control of the centre
of the court and had him going from side to side.  I’ll swear that, at times,
she deliberately placed shots wher he could just get to them, so that she could
humiliate him more.
“Nice shot Duncan!”  She’d call sarcastically.  “But you’ll really need to build
up your wrist muscles.  Just a teeny bit more strength and you’d have got it
over the net!”

When he served, she had him so psyched out that he was trying to blast
everything past her.  Naturally, this led to a lot of double faults.  Finally,
to overcome this shame, he started ‘dinking’ the ball over.  She’d just stand
right up in the court and rocket it back at him.  She won the first set 6-0 in
about ten minutes.  Then she rode him, just a little bit.
“I think my stamina’s is still okay Duncan, but are you SURE you want to play
best of five?”

What could the poor guy do.  He’d claimed that it wasgirls that couldn’t hold
up, now here he was, totally defeated.  He nodded agreement, though I could see
his heart wasn’t in it.

She was cruel to the poor guy in the next set as she dissected him on the court.
 “That’s an awfully weak backhand Duncan.  Who taught you.  Your sister?”  Then
“Wow Duncan!  You almost got that one over the net!”

She started going around to his side of the court, then standing behind him and,
with her arms around his waist, showing him some rudimentary strokes.  Then came
the coup de grace.
“Duncan?  You play like a girl.  I’ve got a very pretty tennis dress that would
just suit your game right down to the ground.  Why don’t you come back up to my
room with me and try it on?  The break will give you a little rest and  make you
feel better.  That way, you can play the third set dressed properly?”

She had intimidated him, right down to the core.
“Aw,  c’mon Naomi.  Don’t.”  He pleaded weakly.
“I thought it was you who said that the weakest were girls?  Or  have you
changed your mind?”
He blushed so much that I could see it from more than twenty feet away.  “Yes.”
He mumbled.
“Aha !  The feminine prerogative.  Changing her mind?  Is that what you’re doing
Duncan?  Getting all feminine on me?”
“No. I’m not feminine!” He blurted.
“Well, I am!  But I’m not going to change my mind.  We’re going to play a third
set and, as you play like a girl, I feel you should play in a pretty dress.
Let’s go!”

With that, she took hold of his arm, and started pulling him off the court.  It
finally dawned on me.  She was serious!  Then I saw that, even though he seemed
to be resisting her, she was actually pulling him along.  Off the court and up
the path  towards the house, while I sat there, open mouthed in astonishment.
He finally must have realized the picture he made and started to struggle.  The
next thing, they’re wrestling with each other then, I’m astounded again to see
that she has him down and is sitting on top of him, pinning his arms to the
ground!  I was too far away by this time to hear what was said, but a minute or
so later she let him up and they went into the house together.

I don’t think it took ten minutes  for them to return.  Naomi hadn’t changed.
Duncan had. He was wearing a frilly  tennis dress in a multi-layered material,
but with a very short skirt.  Even from a ways off, I could see flashes of pink
frills from his panties.  Closer, I could see the outlines of a lacy pink bra
underneath his dress.  It looked like the cups had been padded a little because
he had a definite sign of breasts.  His hair had been brushed to one side and
was being hels in place by a pink barrette.  His mouth was lipsticked, his
eyelashes mascara’d, and his cheeks tinnted with blush.  He was carrying a
little white handbag.
“Ryan?”  I’d like you to meet my new friend.  I should say, my new   girlfriend,
Margaret.”  Naomi said, grinning.  I couldn’t help it.  Burst out laughing.

Duncan’s face got very red.  “I’m gonna get you later!  I’m gonna....”
“Margaret!”  Naomi snapped.  “That is not ladylike.  You curtsey prettily to
Ryan and apolgize.  Hurry now!  If you don’t, I’ll put you over my knee and
spank you on your panties - again!”

And my friend - or more like my ex-friend - took the sides of his dress in his
hands and curtseyed to me.  “I’m sorry Ryan.”
“You’ll be a good girl for the rest of the afternoon now, won’t you?” Naomi
said.
“Yes.”
“Say it!”
“I’ll be a good girl for the rest of the afternoon.”  He mumbled, tears forming
in his eyes.
“That’s much better Margaret.  Let’s go and finish our game, shall we?”

By the middle of the last set, she had him behaving like the girl she said he
was - actually having him squeal and giggle and wiggle about the court - a
feminine girl playing a feminine game.  I actually felt sorry for him.  The
playing deteriorated into a patty-cake type of game her keeping the ball in play
to him, with him dinking the ball back to her - which looked like as good as he
could play now.  Once, she made him take a short break , open his handbag and
refresh his lipstick and powder his nose.  By the time the game ended, he had
become exactly what she wanted him to be - and he played the part for the rest
of his stay there that day - a shy, obedient girl.

 His mother was picking him up at four o’clock.  Naomi actually kept him in his
dress until her car drove into the driveway, before allowing him to run back to
the house to change. “Now hang up the dress nicely Margaret”  Naomi yelled after
him  “and put your undies in the laundry!”

He ran out of the house a few minutes later.  Gave a sort of half-hearted wave
as he got in the car.  Naomi laughed as they drove away.  “That was fun!  These
male chauvinists think they can say anything!  Hah!”
I gulped inwardly.  All of a sudden this sweet young thing had shown that she
had both claws, and very sharp teeth.  I was not about to disagree with anything
she said.  No, not at all!  Nodded in full agreement.
“Tell you what.”  She said. “Why don’t we go and get our aprons on?  Start
getting dinner ready.  What do you think?  Good idea?”
“Absolutely!”  I agreed enthusiastically.  And started my career as her
apprentice.

Ever seen a couple of girls in a friendship?  It’s not always the case of
course, but one of the pair is decidedly the boss, the other the willing - oh so
willing - servant.  Usually the ‘boss’ is the prettier one, or of a higher
‘caste’ in the social pecking order. Whatever the reason, the pecking order is
easily seen.  The ‘servant’ tries to hide it, of course, often arguing or
talking back to the boss, showing that she’s not anybody’s  tool.  I was that
way a little bit, but Naomi kept me on a pretty short leash, giving me glances
that were more effective than cannons being fired across my bows.

I was introduced to work aprons - and serving aprons, all feminine of course:
the serving aprons usually being smaller, and fancier, often trimmed with frills
or lace.  I learned to wear them properly - a distinctive, puffed bow at my back
- as I served both women at meal times, my mother extolling my masculinity as I
served up the food in my pretty little,feminine, aprons.
“It takes a real  man to wear a girls apron like that!”  She’d say   “ Come here
and let me see it darling.”

And, blushing pure beetroot red, I’d stand there while she examined the frills
and praising the way I’d tied the bow.  Then she piled on more humiliation.  “Oh
Naomi!  You’ve worked wonders on him.  If I paid you for them, would you make
him some, say a half dozen?  Satin, with scads of frills and lace?  Peach and
pink and  baby blue. Pretty pastel colors like that.   Big wide ties so that he
can tie big bows just like the one he’s got just now?”

“What for mother?  I’m going to college!  What on earth would I be...” I was
yelling.

“RYAN!  That’s no way to be talking to your mother!  Say  you’re sorry!  Right
now!”  Naomi broke in, scolding me.
“But Naomi..”
“RYAN!”
“I’m sorry mother.  Honestly.”  I said.
“Oh, that’s all right darling.  I forgive you.  It seems that men have to have
their little outbursts every so often.  But, if you hate wearing pretty aprons
so much?  Why are you wearing one now?”

I was speechless.  I couldn’t even say that I’d been forced into it, though in
truth I had been.  To admit that I wore them willingly to avoid a confrontation
with Naomi would be truthful, but difficult to say, since she had never, ever,
threatened me.  I just stared at my mother with total frustration.  Said
nothing.  She turned her attention back to Naomi.
“Will you do that for me Naomi  - Make the aprons I mean?”
“Of course!  It’ll be a pleasure.  I promise they’ll be extremely pretty.  He’ll
just love them, once he gets used to them.” Naomi replied.  Both women laughed.

That night, Naomi showed me the rudiments of fine stitchery.  I ended up making
minute repairs to her lingerie - re-affixing lace edging to a couple of her
slips, re-inforcing a seam on a blouse, sewing on some buttons on another
blouse.  She was very complimentary, before allowing me to go to bed.

Mother went on a shopping trip to San Francisco the following day.  She had a
date to meet an old friend for dinner, so was pretty certain she’d stay in an
hotel for the night.  Naomi demonstrated her power over me finally.  Made me sit
with her and pick the fabrics, colors, and frills, for my new aprons.  Then she
yawned.
“I’m really bored.  Think I could use some entertainment.  Why don’t you call
Margaret on the telephone.  Ask her over for a game of tennis?”
“Margaret who?  Margar.... Oh Naomi. You know he won’t come...”
“SHE darling!  SHE!  Now, be a dear and do as Naomi tells you!”

She didn’t know Duncan the way I did, I thought, picking up the phone and
dialing.  He answered the phone on the third ring.
“Hello?  Reed residence.”
“Hi Duncan.  It’s me, Ryan.”
“What do you want?”  He barked.
“Naomi asked me to ask you to come over for a game of tennis.”
“Ah shit!  No way!”
“ I told her  you’d say  that”  I started, then felt Naomi take the phone gently
from my hand.
“Margaret?  I’d like you to come over here.  Say, by ten o’clock?”
I didn’t hear his response, but heard her say.  “The polaroid photos I took of
you in your pretty tennis dress.  Putting on your lipstick.  Remember?  Yes, I
promised.  But what are you going to do if I break my promise?”  She laughed.
“Beat me up?  Ten o’clock!  Don’t be late!”  As she was hanging up the phone, I
thought I heard weeping coming from the other end.

“Why do you want to play him again Naomi?  He was far too easy for you.”  I
asked, flattery oozing from me.
“Me?  Oh no.  I don’t play sissies like that more than once.  I want you to play
her.”
“Naomi?  I don’t know why you want to humiliate him - I mean her”  I interjected
quickly.
“Actually?  I’m doing your friend a favor.  If I leave things the way they are,
she’ll probably hate you forever.  This way, she’ll probably feel that things
have been opened up - balanced, so to speak.”

“I don’t know what you mean, Naomi.”  I said.
“Come on, and I’ll show you.”  She took my arm.

When Margaret arrived, I opened the door for her.  He looked at me stupified for
a moment, than a grin spread over his face.
“Ryan?  She’s got you as well?”
“My name’s Melissa now.”  I admitted, plucking nervously at the hem of my white
tennis dress.  “C’mon in.  Naomi’s waiting for you.”

He lost his grin.  “What does she want Ryan? Is she doing this for kicks or
what?”
I blushed.  “I’m to tell you to make sure you call me Melissa.  Just like I’ve
to call you Margaret.  She says she’ll spank both of us real hard if we don’t.
And you better hurry upstairs.  She heard the door bell and...”
“Margaret!”  Naomi’s voice carried down to us.  “Is that you down there, you
naughty girl?  Come up here and get into your pretty dress!  You can gossip with
Melissa later!  Hurry now!”
His mouth weakened, and I thought for a second that he would cry, but instead he
gave a weak glance at me, then ran upstairs.

I’d been told to go and prepare a light snack for Naomi to bring down to the
court when she came to spectate at the match between  Dun  -  Margaret and me.
I hadn’t been wearing the dress too long, and still wasn’t used to it, although
secretly I knew that I kinda liked the feel of the air around my legs and
thighs, and the silky feel of the short petticoat layers and panties.  I even
had to admit that when I saw my reflection in any of the mirrors or windows I
passed, it was decidedly girlish, enhanced by the lipstick, blush, and mascara I
wore.  My hands were also constantly in front of me as I made her sandwich - my
slender hands enhanced by the red  polish on my fingernails.  The tightness of
the bra straps on my back and shoulders, and the feel that the forms inside the
cups imparted was another constant reminder that Naomi had dressed me as a girl
in practically no time at all.

I used the term ‘Naomi had dressed me’.  In actuality, I had dressed myself in
the lingerie and the dress.  She had assisted by handing the clothes to me,
fastening the bra straps behind me, and showing how to use the little buckles on
the shoulder straps of both the camisole and  bra to adjust these garments to
fit.

She had never threatened me in any way.  As she had led me to her room, she had
spoken quietly and calmly.  “You know why I’m taking you to my room, don’t you?”
 she had started out, a slight smile on her face.  I licked my lips nervously,
trying to say something - anything that would deter her from what I was sure was
going to happen.

“Come on now dear” she hsd pressed gently. “You do know.  Please don’t pretend.”
I nodded my head, blushing.
“That’s right.  I’m going to give you a pretty dress to wear.  Make your face
up.  Put a nice ribbon in your hair.  That way, when Margaret gets here, you can
play tennis with her, just like two girls would.  Won’t that be fun?”
“But why Naomi?  Why do I have to wear a dress?  I’m not a girl.”
She gave me a comforting smile, then put her arm around my waist and pulled me
to her as we walked along.  “Oh, you don’t have to!  What a silly thing to say!
Now, I’ll admit that I made Margaret put her dress on.  Made her look like a
girl.  But you see, she was acting like a man, and I have this thing...?”  Her
cheeks dimpled prettily as she smiled at me...  “about men strutting about and
boasting.  Just can’t wait to beat them at whatever they think they’re good at,
then get them into pretty frillies.  They become so nice and docile then.  I
know it’s naughty of me..”  she smiled merrily again... “but I just can’t resist
it.”

“But?”  I started.
She squeezed my waist again and beamed at me.  “Yes dear?”
“But... I’m a man.  And I haven’t strutted or boasted.  I’ve been nice...”
“Of course you’ve been good.  But wasn’t your behaviour a big part of  you being
scared of me?”
I considered what she said carefuly.  “Well... kinda.”
“If you were?  Doesn’t that mean that you’re truly weak and feminine?  And?  If
you are,  shouldn’t you be wearing a dress?”

By this time we had arrived at her door, so I wasn’t able to come up with any
response.  She opened it, and ushered me in, then closed it behind me.  She was
speaking softly to me now.
“I’m going to start calling you Melissa.  Isn’t that a pretty name?  You see
Melissa, you’re not a man.  You’re just a sweet little sissy.  All frightened of
Naomi, aren’t you?  Scared she would see how much you want to be her little
handmaiden?”  She paused  “See?  I really wasn’t going to bother but, like I
said, it looked like a very boring day today.  Thought I’d have some fun.  Now,
which color of lingerie do you want?   Pink or Lilac?”

When Margaret came back downstairs, she was wearing the same frilled tennis
dress she had worn the first time.  At Naomi’s urging,  Margaret and I had to
greet each other as if we were long lost sisters.  Hugging and kissing.  Smiling
prettily at each other.  Admiring each other’s dress.

All the while, naturally, Naomi was giving us instructions as to how to behave -
and pose, snapping Polaroid photographs, handing some to me, and some to Du -
Margaret.
“This way, you’ll have SUCH nice memories of today, both of you.  Won’t that be
NICE?  You can  remind each other, just how pretty you were!”

Then, holding our little clutch purses with our makeup, Margaret and I held each
other close as we made our way to the court, Naomi trailing behind us, with the
cam-corder focused closely on us. “You girls can have the snapshots”  she warned
us  “but I want a memento as well!”

And, knowing what was demanded, we played our set of tennis.  There’s an old
saying that  ‘Clothes make the man’.  In our case the dresses defined our game.
Two squealing, prancing, young women taking the occasional break to repair our
makeup.  As would be expected, I lost the set.  Naturally, Naomi had firther
humiliations in mind.
“You girls look all hot.  Like to go for a swim?  Melissa?  Margaret says that
you’re a good swimmer.  Why don’t the two of you have a race?  I’ll film it for
posterity?

Naturally, Margaret and I agreed wholeheartedly.  After we separated to shower,
Naomi gave me a coral one-piece swimsuit with a built-in bra.  Over it, I wore a
sleeveless chiffon wrap, cinched at the waist by a coral colored filagreed belt.
 I had on white sandals that had about two inch heels, and carried my small
handbag holding my makeup and a comb along with a white bathing cap.  I met
Margaret in the hall coming out of Naomi’s room.  She was wearing a black, one
piece bathing suit, and a multi-colored wrap.  Like me, she carried a handbag
and her cap.  Her sandals were also white but appeared to be a little higher in
the heel.

Knowing now what was expected, we brushed our cheeks together and told the other
how pretty ‘she’ was, Naomi praising us for our speedy conversion into feminine
behaviour while focusing the camcorder on us.  She then followed us down to the
pool, then sat and watched as we raced.  I won, but barely.  The tight suit
seemed to restrict my stroke, and the cap felt very strange on my head.  As I
stepped out of the pool, I was suddenly aware of how the swimsuit had molded my
body.  My waist seemed smaller and my hips and breasts more predominent.
Margaret looked the same. We both removed our caps, then started repairing our
makeup without having to be told.  Naomi laughed about this, then left to get
‘us’ girls a cold drink.

Margaret looked at me, her lipsticked mouth trembling. “Is she going to let me
get dressed before I get to go home?”
“I don’t know Margaret.” I replied.  “But I wanted to apologise for laughing at
you the last time you were here.”
“That’s okay.  I would have done the same to you.  But at least I know you won’t
be running around telling everybody, now that she’s got you in dresses too.  But
MUST you call me Margaret?  She’s not here you know.”
“Maybe so.”  I admitted  “But I don’t want to get into any bad habits.  If I
start getting used to thinking of you as Duncan, I’m scared that I might slip up
in front of her.”
He shook his head. “Yeah, okay.  I guess you’re right - but I’m starting to
think that Melissa might be the right name for you after all.”
“Is that you admitting that you don’t want to slip up either?”  I asked cattily,
then added in a sweeter tone.  “Lets not fight. Okay?”
“Okay.”  he said.  “Here she comes.  Better watch out.”
“Thanks for telling me.”  I said, just as Naomi called out  “Okay girls!
Refreshment time!”

We sat around for a while after that, enjoying the sun, Naomi guiding our
conversation along girlish lines.  I didn’t discover until much later that a
chiffon wrap provides no protection from the sun.  I’m fair skinned, but
normally tan rather quickly.  That evening, I discovered a perfectly defined tan
line above my breasts and across my back.  The problem was that it was easily
identifiable as the tan line a woman’s swimsuit would leave.

I could sense Margaret getting concerned as the afternoon wore on.  It was about
time for her mother to pick her up, but I knew that she didn’t want to ask Naomi
unless she had to.  Naomi finally laughed.
“Oh dear!  Margaret?  I forgot to tell you.  I called your mummy while I was up
getting the drinks and asked if you could stay the night.  She said it was fine.
 Just think, now we can have a  slumber party!”  Then she giggled.  “You should
see your faces girls!  Don’t you just love the idea of wearing pretty nightgowns
and having a nice gossip while we experiment with different lipsticks and stuff?
 Just wait, you’ll both love it!”

I couldn’t help it.  I started to cry.  It just felt like one humiliation was
being piled on another.  Naomi brought my drink and put it on the ground beside
me.  Gave me a comforting hug.
“There, there Melissa.  Don’t cry.  You’ll make such a pretty girl.  Honest!  I
just know I’m going to be so jealous.”  She knelt beside me and pulled my head
into her breasts.
“But I don’t want to be a girl.”  I snuffled into them.
“Of course you do!  Silly!  All soft and smooth.  Nice silky things to wear.
Smelling nice.  Looking pretty.  Just wait.  You’ll just love it.  Trust me.
Now just stop those tears and behave like a big girl!  All right?”

I listened in consternation.  Was this girl mad?  But found myself nodding an
agreement that I’d stop crying and be a good girl.
“There!  That’s better, isn’t it?”  She loosened her hold on me and turned to
Margaret.  “Melissa’s going to be the kind of girl who just loves a good cry.”
Then she turned her attention back to me. “Feel much better now, don’t we?”
I nodded sheepishly, fearing to see what Margaret would think of me.  When I saw
her face though, I realized that she was dangerously close to tears as well.
Naomi must have felt the same, because she went and handed out exactly the same
kind of saccherine sweet condolences to Margaret as she had given me.  When she
finished, I knew that Margaret and myself were two abjectly cowed little sissy
boys under the total domination of a strong and imperious woman.

We both had to wash the chlorine from our bodies in heavily scented bubble
baths.  While we soaked there, Naomi had a pizza delivered.  Margaret and I had
to join her at the dining table, both of us in extremely feminine nightwear.
Margaret in an ivory satin nightdress with scads of mocha lace dripping from the
bustline and sleeves - and a long, beige, chiffon peignoir.  Me in dark blue
satin baby dolls, fringed in white lace frills and shorty matching peignoir.
Both of us were wearing high heeled slippers,  too ashamed to look at each other
directly, though Naomi gradually forced us back into our feminine personalities
as she took one photograph after another.

After we’d eaten, she took  Margaret away while I did the dishes.  When they
returned, Margaret was in full evening makeup.  Sparkling eyeshadow, eyelashes
dark and lustrous with mascara, heavily lipsticked scarlet lips pouting and
gleamingly wet, cheeks highlighted with blush.  She tried to smile when Naomi
asked me if I thought Margaret beautiful.
“Yes Naomi.  She does look very pretty.” Admittedly I wasn’t going to argue with
Naomi, but there was no question about it.  Margaret had become a very pretty
girl.
“Okay Margaret.”  Naomi said.  “Melissa has just about tidied everything away,
but why don’t you just finish cleaning up for her?  Melissa?  Your turn to be
beautiful.”
And I was led away.

She didn’t take a lot of time on my makeup, but used quite a few minutes on my
hair, using a hot  curling iron to shape it more to her liking.  She then
attached two barrettes with small blue ribbons. She also came up with the idea
of having me put on a strapless bra under my baby doll top, then inserted breast
forms in the cups.  When we rejoined Margaret, I was practically identical to
her, at least in the level of cosmetics I wore, although my eyeshadow was a
sparkling blue, to match my baby dolls.  My ‘breasts’ were easily visible now,
tending to bounce when I walked.

“Okay girlies!”  Naomi said when we were all together again.  “I’ve been looking
after you all day.  Now, it’s high time you become the handmaidens I want you to
be.  Lets start out properly.  I want you girls to curtsey to me when I speak to
you and when I finish speaking to you.  Understand?”
Blushing furiously, I took the hems of my shorty robe at the sides and dropped a
quick curtsey.
“Yes ma’am”  I said a split second ahead of Margaret.

“Very pretty Melissa”  Naomi laughed.  “It looks as if you were born to be a
maid.  Margaret, you’re a little clumsy.  Watch Melissa, see how she positions
her feet, and how prettily she holds her dress.  Go on Melissa.  Curtsey again.
Show Margaret how it’s done.”
And, in a strange mix of pride and embarrassment, I continued to show Margaret
the proper way to curtsey until she was as good as I was.

“Well done Melissa!”  Naomi beamed at me.  “Now that that’s done, I want you two
girls to listen up. You are going to be my handmaidens for the next few hours. I
want you both to move slowly and gracefully, speak quietly in soft feminine
voices, and try to anticipate what I will want of you.  You will not speak
unless spoken to.  You will be models of feminine decorum. Understand?”
Margaret and I curtsied simutaneously and said “Yes ma’am” in chorus.
Naomi nodded her approval.  “Melissa.  You can help me undress.  Margaret, go
and run me a nice deep bath.  Lots of bubbles.”

She did very little to assist me in undressing her.  I unbuttoned her blouse,
then undid the  fastener at her skirt waist band, pulled the blouse up out of
her skirt, then off from her back.  I then unfastened the skirt zipper and
worked the skirt down to the floor.  She stepped daintily out of it. Then I took
off her camisole, lifting it up over her head. I then slid her half slip down
from her thighs, kneeling down to ensure that her heels didn’t catch in it as
she stepped out of it.

While I was down in this subservient position, I unbuckled the straps of her
sandals, then helped remove them from her feet.  She placed one of her hands on
my shoulder for support.
“You feel lovely in that robe Melissa.  Do you like it?”
“Yes Ma’am.”  I answered, surprising myself with the honesty in my voice,
pulling her knee highs down and off her feet as I did so.

When I got up, she had nothing on but a bra and panties.  A picture of lovely
femaleness, that was only enhanced as I removed these last articles of clothing.
 Beautiful firm breasts poking straight out, above a washboard flat tummy.  Hips
swelling gloriously out from a small waist line, then scaling down to perfectly
formed thighs, knees, and calves.  I couldn’t help myself.  My erection grew
until it was difficult for me to move at all without the obvious bulge in my
panties.
“Oh dear!” Naomi said.  “I hadn’t thought of that!”  She sighed resignedly. 
“Well, can’t have a handmaid of mine walk around like that.  Go and get a pair
of satin panties from my lingerie drawer Melissa.”
I bobbed a curtsey.  “Any particular color ma’am?”  I asked.
“No.  The color is immaterial.  Just make sure they’re satin.”

I had to turn my back to her to look in her drawer.  When I found a pair of
panties, I turned around to find that she had sat down in a chair.  I paused,
not knowing what was expected of me.
“Well?  Come here you silly girl!  Sit on my lap!” she snapped impatiently.
She held her hand out for the panties as I followed instructions and settled my
rear end down on to her thighs.  As I got down, an arm snaked around my shoulder
and I was pulled back so that I was reclining in her left arm.  Her right hand,
then slid under my baby doll panty elastic and wrapped the satin undies I’d
brought around my erection.
“Oh Naomi!”  I sighed lifting my arms to put them around her neck as she lowered
her lips gently on to mine.  Not long after, I ejaculated with a fierce rush
into the panties she held.
“That’s a good girl”  she cooed gently.  “Now do you think that you’ll be able
to keep your mind on your job - at least for a little while?”
“Yes ma’am.  Thank you.”  I murmured apologetically, getting up as she released
me.
“You can rinse these out quickly.  Wring them out and put them in the dirty
wash.”  she said, handing me the soaked panties.

Later, Margaret and I had to take turns at washing her in the bath, then at
drying and powdering her, then dressing her in a beautiful nightdress and
peignoir set - each of us recording on film the other busy in one maidenly
pursuit after another, Naomi smiling regally into the camera all the while.

I was allowed to brush her hair as Margaret cleaned out the bath.  To tell the
truth, I felt honored at being the one chosen for this personal task, while my
rival was relegated to more mundane maid’s work.  This was enhanced especially
when mistress - I mean Naomi -  complimented me on the softness of my hands.
She even pointed out a jar of special moisturizer for me to take to use on my
hands and face every night.  “It’s got a very pleasant perfume”  she told me.
“and you won’t believe how well it works.  Your skin will be lovely and soft in
a week.”

Finally, she was satisfied.  A drowsy smile played about her lips as she had me
and Margaret sit on her bed and talk about ‘girl’ things.  Once or twice she
heard songs being played on the radio that she especially liked.  She’d turn up
the volume then have either Margaret or me dance with her - we took the girl’s
part, naturally.  Once she had us dance together, but we were both totally
embarrassed, so she nicely let us split and didn’t ask us again.  It was
heavenly being held in her arms and guided slowly around the floor.  I was happy
that she’d eased my sexual tension before as I had the notion that I might have
embarrassed myself otherwise.

I was getting drowsy so she invited me to come and sit right beside her on the
bed.  Then she propped a pillow up beside her, and allowed me to slide in under
the sheets and lie close beside her.  Next, she put a proprietary arm around me,
and pulled me into her until my head rested on her shoulder.  Adoringly, I lay
there, her hand now gently caressing me as she talked to Margaret about
something (yawn) or other.....

“RYAN!  RYAN!”  A harsh whisper was waking me up.  I lay there sleepily, looking
up at Duncan.  NO!  what was I thinking!  Duncan?  Had I been dreaming this
whole thing?  I lifted my hand to rub the sleep from my eyes.  Saw the large
puffy sleeve of my baby dolls.  Knew that at least some of my ‘dream’ was
reality.  Then I noticed that Duncan, still had traces of Margaret in his face.
Eyebrows a little arched and finer.  Eyelashes.  Was that traces of mascara
there?
“Wake UP Ryan!”  He hissed.
I felt like laughing at him, he looked so scared, but just blinked instead.
“Ryan?  You’ve got to get away from her.  Naomi’s gonna change you!”
“What are you talking about?”  I managed hazily.  “She changed you too.”
“She’s letting me GO Ryan!  But she’s warned me that if I ever talk to you or
come by this house again, she’s gonna let everybody see all these goddam
photographs!”  His eyes started to fill with tears.  “Oh god!  What will my mom
and dad think?  Oh god!”

“Why can’t you talk to me?  I don’t understand?” I mumbled.
“I think she wants you all to herself.  She said as much.  You better watch
out.!”  Then he looked at his watch.  “Oh Ryan!  You’ve been the closest thing I
ever had for a friend... but I can’t see you again... Got to run.  She’s taking
me home right now.  Probably didn’t think I’d disobey her, but she had to go to
the bathroom.  I can’t let her catch me up here. Please don’t tell her I spoke
to you!  Please?  Bye!”  With that, he was gone.

I was puzzled.  What could he have meant when he said she wanted me all to
herself?  She had me that way already!  He had to be wrong, I mused settling
back into the silky warmth of my satiny baby dolls and the cosiness of the
bed....

“C’mon little sleepyhead.  Time to get up!”  A voice was cooing gently in my
ear, and a warm hand was caressing my breasts.
“Huh?  Ummm”  I mumbled, totally under the control of the hand which had now
worked its way down to my privates.
“Come on pretty Melissa.  Time to get up and get your work done.  I’ve let you
sleep far too long.  You’ve got some washing to do.  Some ironing.”

I did something without thought that probably saved Margaret’s skin.
“Where’s Margaret?”  I asked, forgetting for a moment that she had just talked
to me a short time before. “can’t she do it?  I’m tired!”
“I took her home.”  Naomi said briskly.  “She wasn’t the stuff to make a good
handmaiden.  Not like you!”  she smiled, stressing the last word.  “You I’m
gonna keep!”

Flattered by her kind words, I yawned drowsily, lifting my arms in front of me -
and being reminded of my pajamas as I saw the puffed sleeves and the frilled
bust line.  “Okay Naomi.  Where’s my clothes?  Do you want me to make breakfast
first?”

She beamed a high voltage smile at me, and gave me a firm kiss on the lips.
“Knew it!  You’re gonna be so good to me! I’ll have coffee to start,along with
some orange juice.  Then some scrambled eggs - two will be plenty - and a couple
slices of toast.  Not too dark please.  You can make yourself anything you like
and join me for breakfast.  That’ll be so nice!”

Delighted, I slithered out from under the bedsheets. “ My clothes?  I can’t
remember where I put them.”
She got a puzzled look on her face. “You’re wearing them.  What clothes are you
talking about?”
“My other clothes.  Pants, shirt - you know?”
She shook her head, smiling at my ridiculous notion.  “You’ll be doing woman’s
work dear.  While so employed, you should be  wearing women’s clothes. I thought
you’d want to get your chores done before your mummy got home, so wouldn’t want
to waste time changing.  But if you want?  I can look you out a nice dress?”

Horrified, the meaning of what she was saying froze me to the spot.  I licked my
lips nervously.  “But Naomi?  Mom could be home almost any time now...”
“Melissa!  That’s something you’ll have to stop!  Immediately!”  She
interrupted.
“What do you mean.”  I asked defensively.
“The disrespectful way you talk of your mother. MOM indeed!  I want you to start
referring to her - and calling her - Mummy!”
I giggled.  “Mummy?  You must be kidding.  It makes me sound like a little
girl.”
She gave me a cold stare.  “What’s wrong with that?  It’s what I want you to
call her.  Are you arguing with me?” A dangerous tone had edged into her voice.
“Oh no, Naomi. I’m not arguing.” I surrendered weakly.  “I just thought that mo
- mummy - might be surprised if she came home and found me wearing these.”  I
plucked at my baby dolls.

She shrugged. “So?”  Then she added.  “Melissa?  You’re becoming very
aggravating.”  She started ticking orders off on her fingers.  “Go and put your
peignoir on.  Then I’d like you to put on a pair of knee-highs. Then put on
these nice high-heeled slippers.  Freshen up your makeup. Go and make breakfast.
 After we’ve eaten you can tidy up the kitchen, then handwash my undies.  After
that, you can iron my green blouse.  At that point, if I haven’t thought of any
other chores for you to do, I’ll let you put on your silly clothes again. If you
wish to stand debating with me, however, I’m sure I can find other chores, or
other clothes for you to wear?”

She didn’t add anything as I scurried to do her bidding.  Well, scurrying isn’t
the right word.  In my new slippers, I discovered that there is a knack to
walking in higher heels than one is used to.
They didn’t hurt my feet.  Were quite comfortable as a matter of fact, but I did
find that the backs of my legs seemed to get very tight as I worked my way
through my chores, but I couldn’t hurry in them, that’s for sure.  Not only
that, Naomi saw me trying to move quickly and demanded I slow down. “Rushing
around is not ladylike.” she said

It took me some time to repair my makeup, but she patiently taught me how to
apply the various cosmetics.  I was looking increasingly girlish I thought,
seeing the reflection in the mirror becoming more and more feminine.
Afterwards, she was pleased with the breakfast I made and sat chatting to me as
I cleared off the table and did the dishes.  Then she showed me how she wanted
her undies washed.  I blushed a lot as I hand washed and rinsed them- it seemed
such a highly personal thing.

While her lingerie was in the dryer, I ironed her blouse.  It became a highly
charged sexual activity as she stood close to me while I performed this maid’s
chore, patting my posterior, sometimes putting an arm around my waist then
moving her hand upwards to caress my breasts.

I was halfway through touching up her lingerie with a warm iron when I heard
mummy’s car in the driveway.  I looked at Naomi pleadingly.  “Please mistress
Naomi?  Please let me change before mummy sees me like this.  Please?”
She considered my request for a few seconds before agreeing.  “Okay.  You’ve
been very good.  Even remembered to refer to your mother properly.  Just one
thing though.  You start wearing panties from here on in.  No more silly Jockey
or boxer shorts.  Just pastel colored nylon or satin panties from now on.
Understood?”
I nodded, shamed.
“Very good!  I looked out a dozen pair for you.  They’re lying on my bed.  take
them to your room, and you can start your own lingerie drawer. That’ll be nice,
won’t it?”
“Thank you mistress Naomi.”  I curtsied and hurried away, followed by what
sounded like her mocking laughter.

The following weeks gradually eliminated much of my remaining masculinity.  I
became nothing much more than an appendage existing for the sole purpose of
looking after Naomi. I washed her clothes for her.  Sewed her undies for her.
Ironed her clothes.  Brushed her hair at night.  Ran her baths in the evening.
Made breakfast for her in the morning.  In the words of the old poem, I gloried
in her smile, and trembled at her frown.  Learned to speak softer and in  more
dulcet tones.  I became totally enraptured with her, but there was something
essentially strange in the relationship that was develoing between Naomi, Mummy,
and myself.

To Naomi, I seemed to have become a ‘project’.  I was gradually being
transformed into a demure young lady.  I spoke slower and more softly.  I
blushed a lot.  I wore ever increasing amounts of womens underwear under my
outer clothes, my lingerie drawer filling with bras, panties, camisoles, garter
belts, and stockings. I became accustomed to going to bed in a series of
feminine nightgowns or baby dolls.  I used makeup - sparingly perhaps - but
makeup nonetheless, on a daily basis: foundation, blush, eyeshadow, mascara, and
lip gloss or lipstick. My finger and toe nails were manicured, pedicured, and
polished at all times. I put my hair up every night, and such attention to
detail was starting to show in the wavy feminine hairdo that I wore all the
time.

To mummy, my increasing girlishness seemed to be invisble.  I’d be serving up
lunch in one of my pretty frilled aprons (this had become my function), my hair
waving softly around my face, my oval fingernails in pink polish putting dishes
down in front of her, my high heels clicking on the wooden floor and she’d say
something to Naomi like “You know dear?  Men are such beasts.  I mean, Ryan is
at least somewhat civilized, but even he is not to be trusted.  They all carry
that ‘macho’ stuff around inside them like a loaded gun.”

She’d also discovered that I was using the same cleansing cream at night that
she did.  This led to a number of conversations she had with me where we’d
discuss the pros and cons of  scented versus non-scented creams, the available
shades of foundation - and the smoothness of application.  One afternoon, in one
of these little ‘chats’ she had me trying her blush and lip gloss.  As I was
wearing one of her blouses that clearly showed my lingerie underneath, you’d
think that she’d at least see ‘something’ effeminate about me - but she didn’t.
Was actually commenting on the fact that men were so stupid in not using
cosmetics to enhance their appearance as I peered into her compact mirror so
that I could see to apply the gloss correctly. She didn’t even seem to notice
that I took my own lipliner to finish off the job.

You’re probably wondering why I was wearing her blouse?  Let me explain.

Naomi had been teaching me to sew.  I’d made her a couple of skirts.  She’d also
had me make my own satin aprons - then model them!    (Again, this showed the
size of mummy’s blind spot - her son parading around modeling little satin, lace
edged, serving aprons - that he sewed himself - and all the time he’s doing
this, she’s making some comments about how masculine he is!)
Naturally, it never crossed her mind that I had sewed these aprons.  To her
thinking it obviously had to be Naomi that had done this feminine task.

Mummy had been on a regimen of diet and exercise  kick for a few years: quite
successfully too.  Had lost about three inches around her waist in the process.
At first, she had been so pleased she had just went and bought a completely new
wardrobe.  Being a bit of a pack rat though, she had kept a fair amount of
dresses, skirts, and blouses she liked.  Now, remembering this, she asked Naomi
if she could possibly do the alterations to make them fit her again. Naomi
couldn’t see any reason why not, but wanted to have a “measuring session” to
record all of mummy’s measurements.  Naturally, she wanted me as her assistant.

It was a strange feeling measuring my own mother as she stood on a little stool
wearing only her lingerie.  Again, she didn’t seem to notice anything unusual in
having her ‘son’ taking all of her measurements under the close supervision of a
girl (so that he could learn more about dressmaking).  I had to write them all
down on a chart that Naomi had made up.
“I’m so glad you’re having Ryan do the measurments Naomi,” she said,  “I’ve
always felt that men do such a far better job of measuring things. It’s a sort
of ‘logic’ thing I guess.”

Afterwards when mother had left, Naomi measured me in many of the same places.
“Thought so!”  she said.  “Apart from your waist size, you and your mother are
almost identical.”
“Surely not,  Naomi?  I mean, “  I giggled,   “I don’t have a bust.”
“Silly girl!  A bra and some padding?  You’d be like twins!”

Now, up until that point, I hadn’t been introduced to the joys of wearing a bra,
but later on that day I was back in the sewing room wearing one that was padded
exactly to let me match mummy’s dimensions.  This allowed Naomi to use me as a
dressmakers ‘dummy’ as she made alterations to the blouses.
“Shame that you’re so plump.” she said  “Could use you for the dresses as well.
Maybe I’ll put you an a diet?”  She grinned, so I had hope that she was only
kidding.

It was just as well I thought, a few days later, after what seemed like a
never-ending series of blouse alterations.  At Naomi’s ‘request’ I started
wearing the bra - and padding - all the time.  My new feminine figure was
explained to mummy as a time saving device.  It would let me be ready to help
Naomi, any time she had a minute.  Mummy thought this a very good idea.
“Bet HE came up with it. Men are really wonderful at labor-saving methods,
aren’t they?” she said.

Then Naomi decided that I should maybe wear the blouses for a while, just to
make sure that they were comfortable - or if she needed a break from sewing for
a while.  More and more, I wore blouses practically the whole day.  Frilled
ones, plain ones, diaphanous ones, silk ones - the whole gamut of available
styles, my lacy bras and camisoles easily seen under the sheer materials.  Mummy
was impressed by how nice I’d become.  “A lot of men wouldn’t have the courage
to do this for their poor old mothers.”  she confided   “I’m SO proud!”

Then came the day of the tennis match.  Mummy had commented the previous evening
that we hadn’t had a game for a long time and suggested a match.  “You’re far
too strong for me.” she admitted, “but I do need the exercise.”
I’d tried to decline, but Naomi thought it was a wonderful idea.  “You’re
spending far too much time in the house dear.  Need to get out in the sunshine
for a bit.”  That cinched that discussion.
Mummy wore a plain white, linen dress, with a short, pleated skirt.  I wore the
dress that Margaret had wore the first time, my hot pink bra and matching
frilled panties, easily seen under the dress materials. My hair had been styled
into bouncy curls, and I wore pink ribbon (to match my undies) in my hair. I
wore glossy lipstick (matching my bow and undies of course), mascara, and blush

Mummy actually noticed!  “My, what a pretty outfit dear.  But don’t you think
it’s a little - eh -feminine?”
I stammered the reply that Naomi had thought up for me, just in case mummy did
come up with such a question  “Yes, kinda, mummy - but me and Naomi felt that
with your inferiority complex about men, you’d have more confidence playing me,
if I looked a little girlish.” I answered. (little?!).

Mummy’s eyes got a little puzzled, but then she smiled brightly.  “My!  What a
nice thing to do!  Honestly, some times I think you must be the sweetest boy
alive!”  She then linked arms with me and escorted me to the court.

She thrashed me!  Someone I’d always beaten!  Yes, I played like a girl, but not
so much that my game suffered any real amount.  The dress felt funny at first
but I gradually got used to it.  The ribbon in my hair also distracted me, but
again, once I got into the game, it was also forgotten.  The only thing that I
can possibly use as an excuse is that every so often, I’d get a birds-eye view
in my head as to how the game would appear.  Two women  playing : one in an
athletic dress playing a controlled game: the other dressed prettily, playing in
a way to match the dress - flouncing and womanly .

The loss was my undoing.  Two sets, without winning one single game!  To my
mother!  She, of course, was delighted.  Naomi had made lunch for us, so we
didn’t have time to shower.  I had to serve it up of course and, to my horror,
Naomi had laid out an apron to ‘protect my pretty dress’.  It was a full apron
that I had to put on over my head.  A wide, embroidered, bib.  Wide straps and
ties, all lavishly edged with lace.  A full, heavily ruffled skirt - and
naturally, pink was the primary color.

I had just finished serving all the plates to the table and was on my way to sit
down when mummy said.  “That was such fun!  And Ryan?  You looked so pretty in
that dress.  it’s hard to believe that a man could look that nice.”  She smiled
a coy smile, giggled.  “I think I’ll buy some more pretty tennis dresses for
you, if that’s all I need to win!”
The combination of the defeat and her attitude cost me my temper.  I shouted
“Oh MOM!  Enough!  I’m not going to...”
“MELISSA!”  Naomi interrupted clearly and commandingly. “That is NO way to speak
to your mother!  Now apologize!  And address her properly!”
I knew I was in deep trouble. Could actually feel my emotions almost running
away from me, but managed to exert some control.   “I’m sorry mummy.  I don’t
know what came over ...”
“MELISSA!  Apologise PROPERLY!”

Mummy had a sort of bemused expression on her face as I took the sides of my
apon in my hands and curtseyed.  “I’m very sorry mummy.  Honest I am.”
Before she had a chance to reply, Naomi spoke to me again.  “That’s better.
Much better!  Now come over here.”

She had pushed her chair back from the table and stood up.  While talking, she
pulled the chair out even further, then sat down on it again.  I knew what she
had in mind.  Started to cry.  “Oh Naomi.  Please don’t.”
She said nothing.  Just glared at me and crooked her finger a few times.
Sobbing, I went to her.

She took my hand gently then slowly pulled me down and over her knees.  Lifted
my skirts to bare my panties.  “What happens to naughty girls?” she asked
softly.
“They get spanked, mistress.”  I snuffled.  “But please don’t.  I said I was
sorry.”
“You’re going to be sorrier.”  she said coldly, and proceeded to give me about
ten spanks - hard ones - on my panties.  While she was so employed, mummy asked
her how come she was treating me this way.  Didn’t I object?  Naomi answered,
seriously, that I had agreed that I was too macho for my own good, and had
agreed - no, demanded that she be empowered to reach my feminine ‘core’ so that
I could reach my potential as a ‘complete’ human being!  If my backside hadn’t
been hurting so much, I would have laughed!

Instead, I wiggled and squealed and cried.  Made all sorts of girlish noises.
It didn’t help.  Finally the punishment was over, or so I thought.
“Now Melissa?  Go over to your mother.  I’d suggest that you go over  her knees
as well.  She’s the one you offended...”
“Oh really Naomi!” mummy laughed,  “There’s no need....”
“I’m sorry.  I beg to differ.” Naomi answered.  “Your son was very rude.”
“My son?  You called him Melissa?”
“A pet name for his ‘feminine’ side.” Naomi said laughing.  “But I still think
that a spanking from you might prevent any more displays of bad - or should I
say, masculine? - temper?”
She’d invoked the key word.  Mummy mused for a second.  “Well?  If you think
it’s appropriate?”
“Tell you what.  Why don’t you ask her?” Naomi countered.

I could have sworn that mummy blushed.  “Ryan?  Do you think I should spank
you?”
“Yes mummy” I said softly.  “I was very naughty.”  Saying this, I was walking
around the table to her.  As I  did, she repositioned her chair away from the
table.

She only gave me six.  Not as painful as Naomi’s, but she held me down after she
finished, her hands stroking my burning posterior.  “These undershorts?  They
feel like satin.  Amazing what they’re making men’s stuff from nowadays.  Though
they’re going overboard I think, copying the frills from women’s panties. Are
you crying dear?  Surely not?  I mean, I didn’t hit you that hard.”
“I think  these may be tears of true apology.  Are they Melissa?”   Naomi asked.

“Yes.  I’m so ashamed.”  I snuffled, lying in my teeth, thinking something
entirely different.

  I’d been dressed like a sissy girl, made up like one, and played tennis like
one.  Now I had just been spanked by two women, as if I had been a naughty girl.
 A littlegirl!

 I was truly crying for my lost, totally lost, masculinity that had been taken
from me in less than a month.  My status in the house was made doubly clear whan
Naomi added.  “And Melissa?  After you’ve done the dishes, I need some undies
rinsed out and ironed.  Then I think you’d better go to your room, and stay
there for the rest of the day.  No dinner for you tonight!”

Sensing her mood, and not wanting any more punishment, I hurried to get the
dishes done, so missed a lot of the following conversation between the two
women.  I did, however, manage to catch little snatches of mummy trying to talk
Naomi into going on a shopping trip into San Francisco the following day.  She
wasn’t being too successful by the sound of it.

After I hung up my apron and started going upstairs, Naomi called to me.
“Melissa?  Please come to my bedroom at three o’clock this afternoon.  Promptly
please?  I want you to do my hair.”  Then I heard her say to mummy “Melissa’s
become very good with hair.  Did I tell you?”
“Will wonders never cease?” mummy laughed.  “A  man goodwith hair?!”
“Wonders indeed!” Naomi said brightly.

I went and did Naomi’s undies, then went and showered.  Changed into a yellow
nightgown and peignoir that I knew Naomi liked me to wear (figuring I’d better
get on her good side as quickly as possible).  Up until then, I’d always been
terrified that mummy would see me in feminine fripperies, but it was becoming
almost impossible to keep up with Naomi’s demands and stay with any degree of
masculinity.  And, after all?  If mummy could se me dressed in a little tennis
dress, then assume that the satin panties I had been wearing were men’s apparel,
what would she think of a sheer nighty and peignoir set? I couldn’t imagine.  I
was physically and emotionally exhausted, to the point of tears, so set the
alarm and laid down on top of the bed for a short nap.

I had left plenty of time so that, when I wafted into Naomi’s room at 2.59pm, my
hair was neat, and my makeup was immaculate.  Naomi noticed, and gave me a nice
smile.
“Very nice Melissa.  I’m sorry I was mean to you before, but it was for your own
good you know.”
I couldn’t help it.  Started to cry a little.  I had been prepared for a cold
reception and her warmth totally confused me.   She came to me, put an arm
around my shoulders, and gave me a comforting hug.  “There, there.  It’s all
right.  Now come and brush my hair, like a good girl.  I know you like to do
that, and it’ll help calm you down.”
“Thank you Naomi.  But don’t you want me to wash and set it?”
“No.  Not today.  I’ve got something else I want to do this afternoon and with
you not having to go downstairs for the rest of the day, this gives us the
perfect opportunity”

Rather than having me work on her, it was the other way around.  She did let me
brush her hair, but only for a short time. Then she plucked some of my eyebrows,
then had me shave my face and underarms. (This confused me more as I’d shaved my
face only two weeks before, and the hair in my armpits was sparse to say the
least).  Nevertheless, when I’d finished, she had me get in the shower and spray
my legs, and other parts of my bdy with Nair.  After waiting a short time, I
showered, which removed all of the residue.
While all of this was going on, she ran a bath for me, deep and redolent with
bath oils, lots of bubble foam on top.  She turned her head when I modestly got
out of the shower and tippy-toed into the bath.  “Now, lie and soak there.”
I’ll come and see you in a while.” she said.

Despite having had a nap, the warmth of the bath made me drowsy again.  When
Naomi returned, I was so sleepy and relaxed, that she helped me wash and dry
myself.  Then, before I put my nightgown back on, she liberally dusted me with a
pleasantly scented powder.  I had washed my makeup off in the bath, but she
didn’t want me to re-do it.  “Just use your cleansing cream when you get back to
your room.”  she instructed me.  “Now sit here and we’ll put your hair up.”

Sitting there in my fine lingerie, scented and smooth all over, my hair being
put up in rollers felt wonderful, and I started to get the feeling that any
woman must get when she is being cosseted.  I’ll admit that I did feel strange
having Naomi working on me, rather than the other way around, but it felt very
pleasant indeed.  When she had done with my hair, she wrapped a yellow chiffon
scarf around the rollers.  After that, she removed the polish from my nails and
replaced it with a creamy smooth light pink shade that I liked very much.
“Now, tomorrow morning?”  she said.  “I want you to be very careful with your
makeup.  Not too much.  Okay?”
“Yes Naomi.”  I answered.
“And I want you to wear this new lingerie under your clothes.  Understand?”
With that, she handed me a set of matching, pale blue, panties, bra, camisole
and garter belt.  Then a pair of nylons in a neutral shade.
“Oh thank you Naomi!  What a pretty shade of blue!  Thanks!” I said.
“You’re welcome.” she replied, then proceeded to tell me what outer clothes to
wear.  This puzzled me a little as she normally didn’t seem to care what male
clothes I wore, but I just listened carefully to what I was told, and memorized
it.

Then, she rewarded me! Had me go and get a pair of satin panties from her drawer
then sit on her lap, where she kissed and fondled me, the panties in her hand
cool against my erection.  I lay back in her embrace, totally in thrall to this
woman with magic in her fingers. Finally, with a small cry of exultation and
pleasure, I came into the panties.  She leaned over and kissed me.
“Liked that, did you Melissa?”
“Oh yes.  It’s dreamy.”  I sighed.
“I like doing it to you sometimes.” she said.  “You feel so nice and weak and
soft.  Smell so pretty.  But one of these days, I’m going to have to teach you
how I want you to make love to me.  Would you like that?”
“Mmmmm!” I sighed contentedly. “That would be nice.  Like two girls?”
She giggled softly.  “Well - maybe.  But not always.  We’ll talk about it some
other time.  Now, off you go to bed.  You can read if you want to, but no dinner
- and I want your lights out at eight o’clock.

I couldn’t even stay awake that long.  I used the cleansing cream on my face and
wiped it dry, then went to bed.  Drowsy, and eyes constantly closing , I finally
stopped fighting it and drifted off to sleep, my book left lying on the bed
covers.

Naomi woke me about eight o’clock.  “Came to tuck you in.”  she smiled sweetly
down on me.  “Brought you a glass of wine and a cookie - and a sleeping pill.
Want you bright eyed and bushy tailed for tomorrow.  Here, sit up, so’s you
don’t make a mess.”
“Tomorrow?  What’s on tomorrow?” I mumbled as she handed me the glass of wine.
“Here” she said  “Don’t spill.”
I knew better than ask the question again.  Naomi often chose to ignore what I
asked.  I’d discovered that she could easily get upset if I ‘pestered’ her about
something.  I was allowed to ask any question I wanted, but had learned not to
ask it twice.

She sat and chatted lightly with me while I washed the pill down with a sip of
the wine, then ate the cookie.  Watched patiently while I finished the wine,
then took the glass from my fingers.  Nodded approvingly as my eyelids
threatened to close, then leaned over the bed and kissed me.
“Better get back down into the bed again dear.  Can’t have you fall asleep
sitting up now, can I?”
I nodded stupidly.  I have no head for alcohol, or drugs and the combination was
acting on me already.  As my head found the pillow, I could feel her hands
tucking the bedclothes in around me.  Wrapped in the silken promises of my
nightgown, I slid easily into the land of Nod.

I woke at six thirty the following morning, with plenty of time to get ready,
then prepare breakfast for mummy and Naomi.  I wasn’t exactly as bright as would
have ben expected, but thought that a shower would wash away the residue of the
night before, and was proved correct.  I removed the chiffon scarf, and used a
shower cap to protect my hair.  After drying, and powdering myself, I put on the
new undies that Naomi had given me, little sighs of delight escaping from me as
I cocooned myself in the delicate fabrics and made the tiny strap adjustments
necessary for a good fit.  I was surprised that I had not been told to use the
breast forms.  Thought of putting them in anyway, but decided against it.  Naomi
had not mentioned them and, even if the bra didn’t feel quite right without
something inside the cups, I left them empty.

Then, over them, the pants and shirt.  Plain fawn pants, Light brown belt, blue
button down oxford shirt, cordovan penny loafers.  No socks.  The straps of my
undies were visible, just, under the heavy material of the shirt, but it was a
change from the blouses I’d been wearing recently.  My nylons were also clearly
visible at my ankles, but that was another thing I’d gradually got accustomed
to. I took a deep breath and sat in front of my dressing table mirror.

I was getting quite a collection of cosmetics I thought: creams, foundations,
powder, blush, lipstick, eyeshadow, mascara - and more than one choice of each.
I was getting quite facile an applying them as well, I thought, expertly
starting my facial transformation.  I finished by blotting my lipstick on a
tissue, then quickly removed the rollers from my hair.  I brushed it out
roughly, enjoying the little tugs and pulls that the brush imparted, then used
to comb to finish it off, amazed once more by the girl that looked back at me
from the mirror.  I wasn’t satisfied with the way I’d done my eyebrows so used a
darker pencil to change the look.

I had one silly problem that delayed me for a few minutes.  Could not find my
watch.  Had no memory of where I’d taken it off, but that was not uncommon.
What was strange was that it wasn’t in any of the six or seven places I usually
park it when going to bed.  It’s not that tiny either, so it should have been
easy to find.  ‘Must have taken it off in Naomi’s room’ I thought, even though
that didn’t make much sense - surely I hadn’t worn it in there along with my
yellow nightgown and peignoir? I finally gave up though and left the room.

Downstairs, I put on one of my satin aprons, expertly tying the knot behind me
before getting down to the mundane tasks of breakfast preparation.  I heard
mummys’ shower start up, then shortly after that, Naomi’s.  Got the juice on the
table and the coffee ready.  Started getting the table set and the grapefruit
ready.  Went outside and brought in the morning paper.  Opened it up for the two
ladies.  Poured the cereal into the bowls and served up the creamer and sugar
onto the table.  Poured myself a cup of coffee and sat down to enjoy it, just as
mummy came in and gave me a kiss.
“Morning Ryan.  You smell nice today.  You’re such a dear!  That coffee smells
delightful!”

With that, she poured herself a cup, picked up a section of the paper and
retired to the table where she started reading while I served up her grapefruit
and put her cereal bowl where she could reach it when it was wanted.  Within
minutes, Naomi wandered in.

She was not, and I say that with certainty, a morning person.  Wordlessly she
took a cup of coffee from me and wandered to the table.  She did manage a grunt
in response to mummy’s greeting, but that was all.  Within seconds, she was deep
into the paper while I bustled around with the normal chores of serving two
breakfasts, while eating my own on the run.  I finally joined them at the table.
 I didn’t read any of the newspaper as Naomi felt I was better served by getting
my education from magazines that mattered: Cosmopolitan; Vogue; Ladies Home
Journal and suchlike.

Mummy finally finished her paper and put it down.  Smiled brightly at me.
“Well”  ready for our big day?”
“Our big what?”  I asked.
She looked at Naomi.  “I thought you were going to ask him Nome?”
“Nome?  What are you talking about?  Her name’s Naomi.  At least, I always
thought so.”  I added, laughing.
Naomi looked up from her paper, an aggravated look on her face. “I asked your
mother to call me that. I prefer it that way.  Any objections?”
“No.  Of course not.  I just didn’t know. It just sounds kinda strange - sort of
masculine.”   I stammered quickly.  “Want me to call you that too?”
She stared at me coldly.  “Yes.  That’s maybe a good idea.”  Then she paused for
a few seconds, then added “Melissa.”

My mother giggled.  “Oh Nome!  You’re such a tease!” Then she turned back to me.
 “Well it looks like Nome didn’t tell you.  I’m going shopping in San Francisco
today and asked her to join me.  She thought it might be a better idea for you
come instead.  Thinks we haven’t seen enough of each other for the last few
months.”

I swallowed, hard.  “But I can’t go like this mummy.”
“Like what?”  She seemed genuinely puzzled.
“Yes.  Like what?”  Naomi - Nome - asked as well.

How can you explain to someone who is right in front of you - and isn’t blind -
that, although you are a young man, your hair is a in girl’s style, you are
wearing makeup and nail polish and, not only that, it isn’t too difficult to see
the straps and lines of feminine lingerie under your shirt?  I did try, by
tentatively puting my fingers to my hair.
“Well ... this.”  To my internal horror, I found myself  bouncing my hair in my
palm, in the extremely feminine gesture beloved of girls everywhere.

“Oh stop it!”  Mummy was laughing.  “For goodness sake!  Your hair is fine!
Nice and neat and tidy.  Go and put your blazer on.  All I have to do is get my
handbag.  We’ll have a lovely day.  Just wait and see!”
“But the breakfast dishes!  The clean up!  What will....”
“Don’t worry about them.  I’ll take care of the clean up.”  Nome said.  “Do as
your mother suggests.  Go put your jacket on.”

There was obviously no point in arguing.  I did as I had been instructed and in
less than ten minutes was ensconced in the car being driven to San Francisco.  I
tried to make the best of what I was sure was going to be a series of
embarrassments, thinking that our destination had a reputation of being very
upen towards gays and effeminate men.  At the same time, I’d put some cosmetics
in my blazer pockets, hoping that I might get the chance to wash the lipstick,
blush, etcetera, from my face.  Then, before I went home to face Nome again, I
could re-apply them.

“Where are we going mummy?”  I finally asked.
“Well, Estelle - woman dressmaker has a dress and a couple of skirts for me.
I’ll have to try them on, so have no idea how long it might take.  If they fit
and don’t need any more fitting, we can maybe go and do some window shopping.
Take in lunch.  Maybe a matinee?

One dressmaking place?  It could have been worse, I thought.  maybe I could even
get away with staying in the car?  I immediately suggested this.  Mummy laughed.
 “Don’t be silly.  I want to hear what you think of the clothes.  You’re coming
in with me, and I won’t be argued out of it!”
I sighed.  Well, it had seemed like a good idea at the time.
Mummy looked very nice in a brown wool dress,  and  beige swagger jacket, with a
touch of color at the neck from  a hermes scarf.  As usual, when she went to San
Francisco, she wore a hat - a rather silly thing of close fitting feathers, but
it looked attractive on her.  Her shoes, gloves,  and handbag were of matching
brown suede.

Her dressmaker was obviously exclusive.  It was cold and windy when we got into
San Francisco.  Luckily, mummy knew exactly where she was going and found a
parking spot immediately close to Estelle’s doorway.  I was in such a hurry to
get in out of the cold that I didn’t see any indication of the salon’s name.
Inside though, all was warmth and glamour.  I was surprised, as neither the
exterior of the building, nor the entry to the place had given evidence that
something like this existed inside.

We, or at least mummy, were greeted like royalty.  Estelle herself greeted us
warmly.  She obviously adored mummy.  She was a rather small, intense woman who
shook my hand when I was introduced but otherwise showed absolutely no interest
in me.  Dragged mummy off with her, yattering something that sounded like
Italian.  I was left alone feeling somewhat out of place.  There were no other
customers that I could see, but there were tables piled with materials of
different fabrics and colors.  Some lingerie was draped over chairs and etarges,
and there was a fairly large mirror facing me.  There were a few portable racks
used to hang dresses scattered around the large room.

I jumped in fright when someone’s voice sounded at my ear.
“Can I help you , miss?”
“What?  Who?  Where did you come from?”  I stammered to the young girl who had
magically appeared beside me, then added weakly.  “And I’m not a ‘miss’!”

“I’m sorry if I frightened you.”  said the girl.  “I guess you were so busy
looking at the dresses that you didn’t hear me come up to you.  I’m sorry if I
called you ‘miss’, but you do look like a girl you know.  I use that shade of
lipstick myself, “ she peered at me closely “and you’ve got a girl’s hair style.
Can’t blame me, can you?”
She was very young.  Probably no more than fourteen or fifteen, but her
composure was fantastic.  I was still shaken by the scare she had given me, but
tried to get the upper hand.
“Shouldn’t you be at school today?”  I asked, trying for an ‘adult’ tone.
“No.  There’s a special program being held for the school administrators, and my
class got the day off.  I like to come and help mom - she’s Estelle by the way -
when I can.  This is going to be MY store someday.  Now.  Can I interest you in
a dress?  A skirt?”
“I TOLD you, I’m not a woman!” I retorted.  “Don’t want to look at...”
“I’ll just be a minute” she interrupted.  “Hold on please.”
And, next thing, she’s moved one of the portable racks over to beside me and has
pulled a yellow dress, still on its hanger, and is approaching me.
“Bet this color would look nice on you.” and she’s holding it out for my
inspection!

As if hypnotized, I take it from her, but just stood gawping.
“Well?”  she said.  “Hold it up against you.  See how it would look on in the
mirror.”
Still frozen to the spot, I just stared at her.  She made an impatient “tutting”
noise and actually took it back from me, then took the hanger out, and placed it
back on the rack, then came and stood beside me, holding the dress up to my
front!
“Hold it there!” she said, placing my hand over the dress.  “That’s it.  Good!”

Dumbstruck, I stood there, in the classic pose of a woman trying to get an idea
of how a dress would look on her.  Then the girl made the “tutting” sound with
her tongue again.
“That yellow has too much white in it for you.  Makes your complexion sallow.
Here, this might be better.”
With that, she took the dress out of my nerveless fingers and put a light green
silk blouse into my hands.  Dazed, I spent the next five minutes holding up all
sorts of feminine blouses, skirts, and dresses up to myself.  All I could think
was how grateful I was that there was nobody there to see this girl from hell
dominate me.

I finally heard mummy coming back before I saw her, and finally managed to break
away from my tormentor.  Her parting shot was a direct hit though.  “So nice to
have met you .... miss”  she said with all the sincerity that one could possible
ask for.
Mummy modeled a yellow dress and a few skirts and tops for me.  She looked nice
in them, but they weren’t her usual style.  When I made a comment to that
effect, she loooked startled somehow, and pressed me for a reason.  I finally
told her that the styles seemed a little ‘younger’ than what she normally wore.
For some reason, she seemed inordinately pleased.

“Okay!”  she said as we left Estelle’s.  “One more stop I think.  Just as long
as we’re near Market street, we may as well drop in and see Ann.”
“Who’s she?”  I asked.  “Don’t think I’ve ever heard you mention her before.”
“A charming lady.  Was a  lawyer at one time, but dropped it when she started
Ann’s Slimmery”
“That’s a strange name.”
“Oh, she runs a lovely establishment!  I used her a lot when I wanted to cut my
waist size down.  Don’t need her so much now for myself, but she’s a very handy
lady to know.”
“Cut your waist size?  What does she do, run a gym, or something like that?”
“Gym?” Mummy laughed. “No.  Nothing like that.  She sells corsets.”

I looked at her in amazement.  My mother admitting that she had once worn a
corset!  Then I made the mistake of laughing.  “You!”  I said “in corsets!“
“What’s wrong with that!” she snapped.  I was taken aback , had not expected
such a reaction from my sweet, dithery mother.
She relaxed a little.  “My dear son?  Men have no idea - NO idea! of what women
have to put themselves through to be attractive  to them.”  Then she smiled
tenderly.  “Though, you are about to learn, I think?” A look came into her eyes
as she remembered ‘something’.  “Your father?  He LOVED me in a  wasp-waisted
dress.  Was it uncomfortable?  Betcha!  Was it worth it?  Damn right!”

The ‘about to learn’ comment disturbed me, but, by that time we we were entering
the Slimmery.  Instantly I was so embarrassed by the profusion of ladies
undergarments that surrounded us that I couldn’t comment.

Corsets everywhere!  Satin!  Taffeta!  Silk!  Scarlets! Yellows! Greens!  Oh
God!  Everywhere I looked there were corsets of every type and persuasion - all
female of course.  I took a deep breath.  Never could I have imagined such a
place!
As we entered, heads were raised.  Teeth showed in genuine smiles of welcome.
An attractive, extremely slim lady joined us, two others trailing her.
“Hi Marilyn.  Long time no see!”  she greeted mummy with a huge hug, then turned
to me.
“This Melissa?”  she asked mummy.

Mummy looked at me smiling sadly and put an arm around my shoulders.  “Yes Ann.
This is Melissa, my son.  Melissa?  Say hello to Ann.”

Transfixed with horror, I could only manage a kind of garbled ‘hi’.  What was
going on!?  Ann smiled gently, then shook my hand.  “Melissa? So nice to meet
you at last. Let me introduce two of my invaluable associates.  This is Krystal,
and this is Monica.  Krystal specializes in makeovers, and you won’t believe
what Monica will be able to do with your hair.”

As I said my hello’s, she turned to them and asked.  “What do you think ladies?”
They both said cursory hi’s to me and closed in.  As Ann was still holding my
hand and mummy was standing directly behind me it was almost impossible for me
to retreat.
“Ooooh! Lovely complexion!  Did you put on your own makeup dear?” Krystal asked
me.
“Yes.” I admitted sheepishly.
“It’s so nice to work on someone who has a nice basic complexion that hasn’t
been ruined by application of too many cosmetics, Krystal said to Ann.  “Don’t
see any problems here at all!”

“Has lovely hair as well.” Monica was saying, rubbing a tendril of my hair
between a thumb and forefinger. “Good body.  Well taken care of.  No split ends.
 No problem here either.  When do we start?”
“No time like the present I think.”  Ann replied, letting go of my hand and
walking to a nearby table, picking up a light blue corset and bringing it back
with her.  As she was doing this, I felt mummy’s hands reach around my waist,
unfasten my blazer button, and pull my jacket back, off from my shoulders.
“Darling?” I heard her say.  “Step out of these ugly shoes, would you?”
“Okay mummy.” I said, doing as she asked.  “But why?”
Still standing behind me, she was now unbuttoning my shirt.  Without having to
look, I knew that my lacy lingerie had to be showing.  Totally helpless, I just
stood there as my shirt was removed.  Then Ann was wrapping the corset around
me, while mummy undid my belt, allowing my pants to fall to the floor.
“Oh please ladies.  Don’t!”  I pleaded.
“It’s all right Melissa.”  Ann said gently.  “We’re all going to work on you.  I
promise that you’ll be pretty.  If you are not, or don’t like what you’ll
become, I promise you’ll get your own clothes back.  Promise!”

As she was speaking, I stepped out of my pants, and she closed me into the
corset with some front fasteners.  “Let’s get that camisole off for now” she
said, lifting that garment by the hem and pulling it over my head.  Then holding
out her hand, she spoke to Krystal.  “Be a dear, give me these breast forms
there, would you Krystal?”

I was just standing there now, lost in an activity that seemed to be swirling
around me, Ann gently sliding breast forms into the cups of my bra.  “Okay
Monica?”  she said.  “Want to start tightening the laces?  Take a deep breath in
Melissa.”

I had thought the corset would feel tight on, but it hadn’t.  All of a sudden
though, as I took the deep breath, I felt a sort of ‘tug’ at the back, and my
waist started to shrink.  A few minutes later I was gasping for air as Monica
tied the back lacing into a bow.
“Very nice!”  Ann said.  “It’ll feel strange for a while Melissa, but trust me,
you’ll learn that it’s a wonderful way to create a nice womanly shape, and help
your posture.  Want to see how you look?  Well then, put these shoes on and come
and see yourself in the mirror.”  She indicated a pair of high heels for me to
step into.  They were a perfect  fit.  She led me over to the mirror.

A young lady looked back at me from the mirror.  Corset, bra, panties, and
garter belt all matching.  Smokey nylons and a pair of yellow high heeled shoes.
 Hair a little tousled, face flushed with embarrassment. Breasts pleasantly
upthrusting from the lace top of the corset.  Not a single piece of evidence to
indicate a single male propensity or feature.  Ann stood beside me, a comforting
arm around me.  “See?” she said.  “We’ve only just started and already you look
nice.  Just wait and see what an hour or two will do.”

Then mummy appeared beside us.  “Ann?  I’ve been thinking.  Would it be too much
of an imposition if I got to talk to Melissa for a short time.  Couple, maybe
five minutes?”
“Of course not!”  Ann replied.  “You’re the customer, and the customer is always
right!  Krystal?  Monica? Marilyn wants to talk to Melissa in private for a
little while.  Okay?”
The two ladies smiled agreeably, then walked away with her, talking animatedly.

“I think you need to know what’s going on Melissa.”  mummy said.
“Yes mummy.  I’d really like to know.  Why are you calling me Melissa all the
time now?  Why’d you make me undress and show all of the stuff I was wearing
underneath to these ladies?  Why do...” She stopped my onrush of questions with
a raised hand.
“First things first.  We’re going to be friends from now on.  I want you to stop
with the ‘mummy’ business.  Call me Marilyn.”
“But Nome wants...”
“Nome wants what I want.”  she said quietly.  But just be quiet for a second.
let me explain.  Okay?’
“Yes mummy - sorry - I mean Marilyn.”

“You’ve always been on the delicate, girlish, side,” she started.  “Kinda quiet
and reserved.  Not rambunctious.  Not noisy.  I tried for years to brainwash you
by exaggerating any boyish tendency you came close to showing but it didn’t work
too well.  You seemed to gravitate towards girls more than boys.  I moved us a
lot because I was trying to keep you away from some girls who I feared would
dominate you into being a sissy.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but she put a finger to her lips. Then she continued
speaking.
“Frankly dear?  I was so happy when you finished high school.  Thought that
maybe we could go traveling for a year or two.  have some fun.  Just the two of
us.”  Her mouth tightened for a second.  “Then you started that nonsense about
college!  I could have killed you!  Then, I just said ‘the hell with it!’  I’d
heard stories about Naomi and how much she likes to ‘convert’ young lads into
girls, her mother was constantly moaning about it.  I thought I’d go at it from
another direction.  Stop boosting your masculinity.  Have someone threaten it.
See how you reacted.”
“But why?” I asked.
“Figured I couldn’t lose.  If you dug your heels in and fought, you’d be a
stronger man for it and much more capable of holding your own at college.  If
you couldn’t?  Why then, I’d have a daughter for the companion I’ve always
wanted.”
“But I’m your son!”
She laughed, but not unkindly.  “Technically perhaps, but right now you’re on
the verge of becoming my daughter in a lot of ways.  I’ve signed you up with Ann
for a three months ‘re-shaping’ program.  You’ll be in corsets for a while now.
They’ll help your posture, give you a much more womanly figure, and maybe help
curb your diet.  They’ll also be a constant psychological reminder that you’re a
girl now.”
“But Ann said I could back out any time I wanted.”  I protested.
“Yes.  And she keeps her word - but you’re going to have to convince me to let
you out of the program now, and that won’t be easy.”
“But....”
“Melissa dear?  You’re naturally submissive.  You’ll do what I tell you - or any
other woman tells you.  Did you think that nobody saw how Estelle’s little girl
had you looking at dresses?  Skirts and blouses too?  Just like a woman.  And
that was only a little girl?”
“How did you know?  There wasn’t anybody there!”  I said.

“About two years ago?  Estelle was losing a lot of expensive clothes to
shoplifting.  She was pretty sure it was one of her rich customers, but was
scared of making an accusation that could be wrong.  She installed a one-way
mirror in her salon...”
“Oh my god!” I wailed.  “You and Estelle were watching?”
“Yes.  Ann too. See she didn’t want to get involved in anything that looked like
you were being ‘forced’ into being made over into a young girl.”
“But that is the case!”  I protested.
“Estelle promised her daughter a candy bar for simply trying to get you to look
at clothes - and a commission if she sold you any!  A little girl wanting a
candy bar walked all over you! Darling?  Everyone watching felt the same way.
If you hadn’t really wanted to, that little girl couldn’t have got you to do
anything.”

I was totally humiliated.  “So that was some kind of test?
“Yes, it was.”
“And I failed it miserably!”
“No darling Melissa.  You passed with flying colors.!  Another thing?  You
noticed something wrong with the dress and skirts I bought there?  Noticed they
were ‘young’ for me?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say..”
“Of course you were right!  they’re for you!”
I giggled.  “Oh mummy!  Don’t be silly.  They were built for you.  I’d never get
in...”  I paused as the thought struck me.  “But I would now, huh?  The corset?”
“Yes darling.  Now let’s get that yellow dress on you.  I’m bursting to see how
you’ll look in it!  Bet it suits you to a ‘T’!”

She would have won that bet hands down.  Not only did it fit be beautifully.  I
felt beautiful in it.  It was silky and a buttercup yellow.  Short, preppy
sleeves and a sweetheart neckline.  A full skirt, cinched at the waist with a
gold filigreed belt.  I wouldn’t take it off, even when Monica and Krystal swore
blind that they couldn’t do a good job for fear of dirtying it in some way.

Ann had lunch brought in and I had my first meal as a woman.  It was funny - or
should I say, peculiar. I sat there with Marilyn and the other women enjoying,
and participating a great deal in the conversation.  As a man, I’d actually been
terrified of women, but now I’d lost that fear.  Felt as if I were amongst
equals.  Then realized that this was the case!   I had, effectively, become one
of the girls!

After lunch, I spent hours being pampered.  Hair, nails, skin.  My eyebrows were
plucked, my ears were pierced.  My skin was deep cleaned.  My hair was washed
and set, then brushed out.  Ann had been incredibly accurate - I  was now pretty
- and there was no way in hell I was going to give up my new confidence and
pleasures for anybody.  I gave both Krystal and Monica big hugs of genuine
thanks.

I had also learned of the deal that Marilyn had made with Naomi - or Nome, as I
thought of her now.  Was told how she was a law student at Hastings in her final
year.  Had been top in her class from her first year , but had started to have
problems raising tuition fees.  Marilyn had heard of her ‘proclivity’ to
effeminate males from her mother, so approached her.
“The way I figured it Melissa?  If she ‘converted’ you?  I was saved four years
of tuition and all that stuff, plus would not lose you, all for the cost of one
years tuition for her.  If she didn’t?  I was simply helping out the daughter of
an old friend.  An easy decision to make as far as I was concerned.”

“But, if she didn’t have money for school, how could she possibly afford all of
these clothes she gave me.  Made me wear?  I know enough to guess that they’re
not cheap.”  I asked
“Who do you think actually paid for them?”  Mother smiled.   “Me, of course!  I
looked on it just as another part of the ‘investment’.”  Then she thought for a
second.  “The deal was for no sex with you though.  But I think she fancies you
pretty strongly.”  She halted, then added with a rush  “As a girlfriend of
course!”

My heart started pounding.  So that was the reason Naomi had never made love to
me!  I looked at my watch ( a ladies watch that Marilyn had provided, along with
my necklace, rings, bracelets and earrings)  “Can we go home now mummy?”
“I thought you agreed that we’d go for dinner and a show Melissa?” She was
grinning openly.
“I want to see Nome.”  I said pouting my lips.
“Ah!  Young love!  Want her to see how pretty you are now?”
I blushed as an answer. Lowered my head.
“Well, don’t think we need to go home.  Here comes Nome now.  Doesn’t he look
nice?”
“Nome’s a ‘she’ mummy.” I giggled, looking up towards the door.  Then I saw her.
 Wearing one of my shirts, pants, low heeled shoes - MY watch!
“Not any more - at least not as far as you’re concerned.”  my mother said, her
warm hand resting on the skirt of my dress, heating up the layer of silk slip
and nylon stocking underneath her hand.  She leaned towards me and whispered
softly.  “Ann’s got some lovely wedding gowns here.  Like to have a look later?”