EVEN MORE SHORT STORIES FROM BEA
By Bea
SMASHWORDS EDITION
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PUBLISHED BY:
Bea on Smashwords
Even More Short Stories From Bea
Copyright @2011 by Bea
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My mother is very feminine, almost 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 apartments 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 acquaintances 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 Attila 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 apologized 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 derisively. “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 hair band 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 behavior. 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 behavior. 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 was girls 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 lingerie 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 almost 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 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 behavior a big part of you being scared of me?”
I considered what she said carefully. “Well... almost.”
“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 further 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 filigreed 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 behavior 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 predominant. 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 apologize 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 bust line 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 eye shadow, eyelashes dark and lustrous with mascara, heavily lipsticked scarlet lips pouting and gleaming wet looking 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 eyes hadow 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.