Journal free porn video

Journal




CHAPTER I - THE DEVELOPING TEEN


Hi. I'm Chrissy Parsomes. Many boys like myself got their
start wearing girl's clothes by stumbling into cross dressing by
accident. Many tried on their sister's clothes when the family
was away from the house, or dressed as a girl for a Halloween
masquerade party. My introduction to dressing came in a more
insidious fashion. To make a long story short, my step-mother
decided that she preferred to have a daughter instead of a son,
and in one year, she and her sister converted me from a boy to a
12 year-old girl. Here's how it happened.
For most of my school career, I attended a small, private
school in NYC. My mother was a noted archaeologist, and didn't
spend much time with the family. Most of the time, she spent
months on end, digging in Africa for artifacts. My father was a
mild mannered secretary, and didn't have a lot of parenting
skills. As a result, mom enrolled me in this residential private
school beginning in third grade. I usually saw my parents twice a
year during Christmas and summer vacations.
During the fall of my eighth grade year, my father shocked
the family by announcing that he decided to divorce my mother to
marry Mrs. Locke, his boss at the company. I had met Ms. Locke a
few times when I had to get report cards signed, and knew her to
be a dominant woman whose sickeningly sweet persona seemed to
envelope everyone who came into contact with her. Strange to say,
it almost seemed like she treated everyone like a ten year old
girl. "Sweetie this", and "honey that", she always commented how
beautiful my eyelashes were, or how attractive my school uniform
looked. Although I didn't relish the thought of having this woman
as a step-mother, I was sort-of excited about the prospect of
being treated in a feminine manner.
Ever since I was eight years old, I had harbored secret
desires to live life as a girl. I spent October break of that
year at my paternal grandmother's apartment, since my parents had
been called out of town to a big anthropology convention. She
lived in a big high rise in central Manhattan. Since Halloween
happened to fall on that particular weekend, my grandmother had
accepted an invitation on my behalf to attend a costume party at
one of her neighbor's apartments. When my grandmother indicated
that she didn't have time to get me a costume, her lady friend
told my grandmother that her daughter had some pretty party
dresses that would probably fit me, and that I could come dressed
as a little girl. My grandmother thought this was a great idea,
and borrowed everything that I would need to make the
transformation complete, Pink nylon panties, white lace trimmed
anklets, Mary Jane shoes, rhumba over-panties with ruffles, a
fluffy bouffant slip with a form-fitting elastic top, and a
pretty pink satin party dress with long sheer sleeves and a pink
ribbon sash that tied in the back. Although I was a bit
apprehensive about dressing in the clothes of the opposite sex,
my grandmother convinced me how wonderful it would be. We spent
the whole afternoon before the party playing dress up, complete
with makeup, hair curlers, and fingernail polish. As soon as I
donned the first pair of nylon panties, I knew that I wanted to
be a girl. As a result, I had a great time at the party. I made a
perfect specimen of a little girl, and no one figured out on the
trip over that I was a boy dressed in little girl's clothing.
Since this dress up session was our little secret, I never told
my mom or dad about it, though the experience remained in the
forefront of my dreams for years after. Soon after, my
grandmother passed away, thus putting an end to any possibility
of wearing girl's clothes in the foreseeable future. When ever
possible, I tried on my mother's panties and slips, but the
experience wasn't the same. My mother was an avowed feminist, and
wore utilitarian cotton underwear. She never wore a bra or
stockings, so I had to make do with what was available. As a
result, I didn't have much of a chance to do anything about my
wishes to learn to be a girl.
Weird things started to happen as soon as I arrived home for
the Christmas break. Mrs. Locke (she refused to give up her
maiden name) refused to allow me to get my usual haircut. She
said that my hair was much too beautiful to cut, and that I
should start to wear it long. She required that I wash and
condition it every day, and keep it neatly styled. Every morning,
she brushed my hair into what to me looked like a girl's style,
and gave it a light coating with hair spray to keep it in place.
Occasionally, she even placed a few curlers in my hair at night
to "help keep the hair out of my eyes." I wanted to object,
because my feminine desires had been a secret between my
grandmother and I, but I had a feeling that her sweet feminine
exterior masked a dislike for males that could make my life
difficult during the coming summer. Wanting to start my
relationship with my step-mom off on the right foot, I acquiesced
to her demands.
Due to my stressful academic life, I had always been a nail
biter. As soon as she noticed me nibbling on my fingers, she
demanded that I stop biting my nails, To help with this new rule,
she began to manicure my nails, and kept them coated with clear
polish "to keep them from chipping." Soon my nails resembled
those of many of the girls in my class. Even my evening attire
changed. Pajamas were out. In their place, I found Lanz flannel
nightgowns to wear (she called them sleep shirts).
Former vacations were spent hanging around with the guys
from the old neighborhood. This vacation however, it seemed like
every minute of the day was spent shopping for girl's clothes for
Mrs. Locke's many nieces, and I often had to hold the pending
purchases while she looked for other items. This was great.
Before, the closest I ever got to girl's clothing was passing
through the department on the way to the boy's section. Now I was
able to closely examine the beginner bras, slips and dresses.
Although I was excited to be able to touch such items again, I
would have died if this had become public knowledge. Therefore it
was very embarrassing to be asked to hold dresses up against my
body, or to choose which color leotard my cousin Nancy would
like. Soon though, it happened so many times that I wasn't even
embarrassed to carry nylon, ruffled panties, tights or slips to
the register for payment.
The worst part of the whole deal came about when she
suddenly took me out of my old boarding school, and registered me
at a place that I had never heard of called the Petite Fille
Academy. Not only did I have to spend my last week of vacation
filling out reams of paperwork, but I also had to go for a
physical exam with the school physician.
After the usual array of questions, followed by the typical
tests that one expects during such an exam, the doctor told my
step-mother that I was suffering from a serious vitamin
deficiency, and that starting immediately, she would have to put
me on a year long, vitamin treatment program. The doctor gave me
an injection right there in the office, and handed my mother a
prescription for vitamins to be filled at the school pharmacy.
The vitamins were unlike anything I had ever seen. They looked
like big purple footballs.
I entered my new school at the end of January, and settled
into a routine not completely different from my old school. The
Petite Fille Academy was a former girls finishing school, that
decided to admit boys. Although a coed school now, most of the
students were girls. The few boys, if you could call them that,
looked like hippies, with long hair, and fair features. Most wore
clothes that looked more like girl's slacks and blouses than boys
pants. No football players, or jocks here. All seemed effeminate
to varying degrees. School uniforms were gray slacks and white
shirts for the boys, and navy blue pleated skirts, white tights,
white shiny blouses and black mary janes for the girls. If it
wasn't for the girl's skirts, I wouldn't be able to tell the
difference between the girls and many of the boys.
Despite my adoption of a routine, the change of scenery
seemed to prompt a similar change in my personality. Despite
taking the vitamins every day, I felt sort of weak, and quite a
bit laid back. I originally missed the fact that PF Academy
lacked soccer, baseball and track, but after three weeks at the
school, I rarely thought about these male activities any more. I
actually began to enjoy the home ec, dance and baton twirling
classes. I was spending a lot of time hanging around with the
girls on my hall, and soon fit in with the group as one of the
girls. Talking about boyfriends, makeup and fashions was much
more interesting than sports, or cars.
Before I knew it, summertime rolled around, and I was
excited about the prospect of seeing all of my old friends back
in New York. Unfortunately, my step mother had other ideas. As
soon as I arrived home, she told me that I was going to spend the
summer at her sister's house in San Francisco, and that I would
be flying out of JFK the next morning.
The next morning, I discovered that Mrs. Locke had already
packed my suitcase, and while she had packed toiletries, a Lanz
nightshirt, and a few other items, she neglected to include all
of my clothes. For some reason, I had gained a lot of weight in
the hips that semester, and nothing seemed to fit. I told my step
mom before I arrived home about this weight gain, and she told me
not to worry. She promised to take me shopping as soon as I got
home. When I asked about the missing clothes, she told me that
since nothing fit, there was no point in carrying clothes on the
plane. My aunt would take me shopping when I arrived in
California.


CHAPTER II - CALIFORNIA CHANGES
When I arrived in California, Ms. Locke's sister picked me
up at the airport. Aunt Clara was the same age and had the same
build as my step mother, but was considerably more domineering. I
quickly learned that she didn't like boys very much, and was only
letting me stay with her to give her sister a break from c***d
care chores. She informed me that she didn't want me hanging
around all summer, so she had already arranged for me to get a
summer job working for a friend of hers. She had already
scheduled an interview during the next afternoon, and warned me
not to blow it. She told me that if I gave her any aggravation, I
might find myself in summer school instead of on vacation.
Needless to say, I wasn't thrilled, but went along with her
demands. I figured a job was a lot better than summer school. I
asked her when we could go shopping for clothes for me to wear,
but she indicated that the shopping trip could wait. Her friend
would provide me with a uniform for work time, and she had a few
things that would fit me in the interim.
The next morning, Aunt Clara took me downtown for my
interview, which happened to be at a Doctor's office. Dr Jennifer
Nelson was a friend of Aunt Clara's and needed someone to do
basic office work, and filing. Although Dr. Nelson kept asking me
a lot of questions about my skills, and experience, I got the
sense that the interview was just a formality. At the end of our
meeting, she offered me the job, and told me to show up tomorrow,
at 9:00 AM sharp. While I was putting on my jacket, Dr. Nelson
told my aunt that she could pick up my uniforms at the Angels of
Mercy uniform shop down the street. Her secretary would take care
of phoning in the style and size information so that the order
would be ready that afternoon.


CHAPTER III - MY NEW UNIFORM
The next morning, my aunt woke me up at 5:00 AM to get me ready
for my first day at work. My aunt told me that she wanted me to
look very attractive for my new boss, and that she had picked up
everything I needed when she paid for the uniforms during the
prior afternoon. After climbing out of my nightshirt, my aunt led
me to a bubbly, lilac scented bath of steaming water. After a
good soak, my aunt washed and conditioned my hair, and then
picked up a pink girl's razor. She told me that the new uniforms
were very expensive and made of a very delicate fabric that would
pull if I didn't have smooth skin. Despite my fantasies of being
a girl, I had never had any part of my body shaved. When I pulled
my legs away from her, she grabbed them and told me that she
didn't spend all that money on clothes to have me ruin them the
first week. Within five minutes, my legs and underarms were
smooth and shiny, and I was out of the tub drying myself with a
fluffy pink towel. When I was dried off, my aunt wrapped my hair
in a towel so she could make it 'look nice' after I got dressed,
hung the wet bath towel over the rod, and stood me on the bath
mat. I began to protest when she grabbed the scented, women's
body powder, but she began dusting me with the sweet smelling
powder anyway. In a tone that indicated that she rapidly losing
patience with me, she said that perspiration would also ruin the
uniform, and that the powder and extra strong deodorant would
help to keep me dry. When I told her that I would prefer straight
baby powder and men's deodorant, she snapped that she wouldn't
waste the money to buy me special toiletries when I was leaving
in three months. Her things would have to do.

She coated my underarms with her deodorant, and told me to
keep my arms up while the feminine lotion dried. She went into
the adjoining bedroom to get what I thought was my only pair of
boy's underpants.
When she returned, I couldn't believe what she held in her
hand. Panties! She walked over to the padded dressing bench
across from the tub in the bathroom, and proceeded to lay out a
brand new pair of nylon girl's panties, a package of shimmery
white tights, a satin girl's vest, and a boxed control brief for
teenagers. I backed up toward the wall, and proceeded to tell her
that there was no way I was going to wear girl's underwear. I
told her that women's toiletries were one thing, but girl's
undies were another.
"I wouldn't be caught dead in clothes like those" I said.
"Well you don't have a choice deary! Dr. Nelson's choice of
uniform material necessitates underthings that are slippery and
shiny to avoid pulls and wrinkles. If you try to wear the uniform
with boy's things, it'll ruin the expensive material. Besides,
you have to interface with the public in your new job, and will
have to look your best. You can't look your best with a wrinkly,
poorly fitting uniform."
"Why couldn't we take it back?" I asked "and exchange it for
more durable material?"
"Because" she glared with her hands on her hips, "Dr. Nelson
picked out the uniform herself, and that is what she wants you to
wear. Besides, it's too late to do anything about it right now.
You have to get to work."
She picked up the white panties, and began removing the
tags. The panties were cut very high on the leg opening, and had
a small, triangular shaped, lace panel on the front. The material
was almost satin-like in quality, and as my Aunt guided my feet
into the openings and slid them up my smooth legs, the soft
material caused my penis to begin to get bigger. "See, that's why
you need to wear a girdle dear" she giggled. "We can't have that
bulging out of your pants." She tucked my penis down between my
legs and finished pulling the panties up to my waist. I thought
that my weight gain would make me difficult to fit, but I
discovered that the panties fit perfectly. Although I was very
embarrassed standing in front of my Aunt in a pair of pretty
panties, I suddenly realized how nice they looked and felt
against the hips, made chubby by the starchy school food. The
high cut leg opening showed a lot of my leg, and the stretchy
satin really made my bottom look....well....pretty. A smile crept
over my face as I surveyed myself in the mirror.
"Enough admiration dear. We have a lot to do."
She led me away from the mirror and over to the bench. I
suddenly noticed something interesting. The stern, domineering
demeanor that initially characterized her attitude that morning
had melted into a doting, mother hen-type personality, that
seemed to increase with every garment that I put on. Instructing
me to put my hands over my head, she picked up the white, satin
vest and lowered it over my clean shaven body. The edges of the
vest were lined with a small, frilly lace, and a shiny bow
adorned the bodice at the neckline. She tucked the end of the
vest into my panties, and sat me down on the bench. She next
picked up the white tights and began removing them from the
package.
Aunt Clara said that shimmery tights were a lot shinier than
plain stockings, which would help keep my uniform nice and new.
She took the white garment from the package, rolled up a leg and
placed the toe over my arched extended foot. She helped me to my
feet, and soon the stretchy top covered my pretty white panties.
"Don't you love the way pretty stockings make your legs look
so shapely? That's why girls wear them dear. You're going to look
fantastic in your uniform."
"Yes Aunty" I replied like some zombie from a late night
horror film. The material did indeed glisten in the light from
the vanity mirror. I felt like I was in a dream world. The sweet
aroma of the bath powder coupled with the soft caresses of my new
underthings took away all of the misgivings I had about dressing
up in front of my aunt. I suddenly looked forward to trying on my
new uniform and joining the ranks of the working world as a young
woman.
"I know you do dear. You just wait to see how much fun we
are going to have in the next couple of months. I know you'll be
happy that you decided to stay with Aunty Clara. Now then, lets
try on your first girdle."
She looked at me with a wry look on her face. "I remember
when my mother bought me my first girdle. Normally girls your age
don't start wearing girdles until they are teenagers. Your only
eleven right?"
I nodded, transfixed by her voice.
"I am sure that your mother wouldn't mind you starting early
though. This is so pretty and will give you such a nice smooth
outline under your uniform. See, it's designed especially for
young teenagers just like you!" She took out the garment, and
handed me the now empty box.
I blushed when I looked at the picture of the teenaged girl
modeling the girdle. She too was wearing stockings, but she also
was wearing lots of makeup and a girl's bra over her young,
developing figure.
The box read:
"The perfect first panty girdle for today's modern teen."
It was written as if the advertising women were talking to a
teen's mother or aunt.
"Helps her stay smooth under all of her fashions. Satin
front panel gives firm support to the just developing figure.
Lycra spandex blend provides cool, comfortable support in school,
at home or out on the town. Ideal for p*****ns just starting to
show."
I giggled nervously.
"Maybe I need to start wearing a bra too?" I looked sweetly
into her eyes as she removed the tags from the girl's girdle.
"Tsk Tsk Tsk. I really don't think you're quite ready for a
bra yet dear. After all, boys don't have much to put into one!"
I suddenly awakened from my dreamy state, and remembered
that I was a boy dressed in panties and tights. I felt very
embarrassed with the comment and tears started coming to my eyes.
"It's ok dear. Don't cry honey." She put her arms around me
and buried my face in the nylon of her lacy blouse.
"All boys would love to do what you are doing, but they just
don't get the chance. I promise that I'll take you shopping for a
bra when you're ready."
Her smile made me relax, even though I couldn't tell if she
was k**ding or being serious. On one hand, I wanted to fantasize
what it would feel like to be the girl on the box, wearing a
satiny training bra. On the other hand, I was a boy, and was
going along with this uniform to stay out of summer school. She
turned to me with the girdle in her hand and lifted my chin.
"Would you someday like to play dress up with Aunty, and wear a
dress like a real girl? Maybe then Aunty can teach you about
makeup, hair styling, slips, and dresses. Would you like that
dear?" Her gaze melted into my heart. I nodded, wiping the tears
from my eyes.
"I'll bet you'd look beautiful in a pretty petticoat and
heels." She dropped my chin and held up the new girdle, and
squatted down next to me. "Anyway, we have to get moving if we're
not going to be late. Step into the legs dear."
I did what I was told, and soon, the tight, elastic garment
was in place covering my male appendage. With the girdle, there
was no bump or bulge to give away the fact that I was a boy in
girl's clothes. Despite the fact that many of the girls in the
upper grades of my school always complained about the girdles
that were mandatory attire for female students over the age of
13, I enjoyed the feeling of security that the garment provided.
My cute buns that suddenly chubbed out during the last year at
school, looked firm and toned under the white elastic. I secretly
hoped that I would be able to wear my new girdle all summer, even
under my boy's clothes.
It was almost as if she read my mind. "Now then. There's
enough underthings in your dresser to carry you for the week.
There's no point in buying any boy's underwear since you will not
have a need for it five days out of seven. You'll have to wear
your panties and vest on weekends. You don't mind do you?"
I was back under her spell. "No ma'am. Can I wear my girdle
too?"
She responded "Of course dear. I didn't buy socks for you so
you'll have to wear tights. Tights stay up so much better with a
girdle. Next summer, you'll be old enough to wear a girdle with
garters and stockings just like Aunty. Besides you have to keep
working on that figure!" She laughed as she led me out into the
bed room. She sat me down on the bed, picked up the dry cleaning
bag, and unzipped the plastic covering. That's when I got my
first look at my uniform.
Dr. Nelson choice was obviously designed for a girl. The
slacks were white polyester like those worn by most nurses. They
zipped and buttoned in the back, and had been tailored to my
waist measurement since there was no elastic in the waistband.
The top was a plain, white polyester blouse, with buttons in the
back. The material was very similar to the nylon on the front of
my panty girdle, all shiny and slippery. My aunt unbuttoned the
blouse, and after helping me into the sleeves, buttoned up the
back. Unfortunately, there was a problem.
"Hmm. This won't do at all. I can see your vest right
through the thin fabric of the blouse, and it looks terrible. The
vest is too clingy. You look like a little girl. I guess you'll
have to borrow one of my camisoles. She left the room, and soon,
returned with a plain nylon camisole with spaghetti straps. Off
came the blouse and vest, and on went the camisole.
"Much better dear" as she buttoned up the blouse again. "For
now you can borrow mine, but this afternoon, I will pick you up a
few at the store."
Next came the slacks, which she helped me pull up over my
hips. When zipped and buttoned, the slacks fit over my chubby
hips like a glove.
"These slacks fit you much better than your boy's jeans. You
have hips just like a teenage girl." She picked up the white
nurses shoes and began lacing them up onto my feet. She noticed
my blushing embarrassed look and took my hand.
"Don't be embarrassed dear. All members of this family have
big hips. There's no real difference between boys jeans and
junior jeans, except in the hip area. You really should wear
what's comfortable. Don't you agree that you do fit better in
these slacks?"
I nodded my head. She stepped behind me and put her hands on
my hips.
"See, they hug your hips smoothly, but also fit your smaller
waist. Boy's jeans are the same width from the hips up. Your own
pants are tight in the hips and baggy in the waist. You even told
me yourself."
She took me by the hand and led me over to her dressing
table. After a bit of hair spray, some work with a curling iron,
and some powder and blush for my cheeks (to absorb oil and
prevent acne she said), she pronounced me ready for work. We
climbed into the car, and drove me to the office promising to
pick me up by 5:00 PM.

CHAPTER IV - FINALLY WORKING
When Dr. Nelson arrived, she immediately complemented me on
my uniform and overall dress. She told me that my aunt had done a
great job with me, and that I looked very professional for my
first day of work. I commented that I thought I looked too
feminine, but she reassured me that all medical office help
dressed this way. She said that it calmed the patients. She even
complemented me on my camisole indicating that it looked more
stylish than girlish.
Soon I was busy at work, greeting patients, sorting files,
and stuffing envelopes with bills. By the end of the day, I had
already become a functional part of the office staff. All of the
secretaries and other nurses agreed that I was a perfect addition
to the office. The good news was that by the end of the day, I
was on a first name basis with everyone. The bad news was that
the chief secretary had introduced me as Chrissy to a patient,
and the name stuck. After trying to straighten out the mistake, I
finally gave in, and started introducing myself as Chrissy.
My regime of vitamin taking continued. By this time, Dr.
Nelson had taken over my therapy, and along with administering
the shots, advised continuation with the pills.
Things were also changing at Aunt Clara's house. When I got
home from work, I would change out of my uniform, and help Aunty
cook dinner. Then after washing the dishes, my aunt would
manicure my nails (to make sure they were presentable to the
public).
"Dirty chipped nails are not sanitary in a doctor's office"
she said, and would spend 1/2 hour per night removing cuticles,
filing nails, and applying two coats of clear nail polish as a
protector. I kept my nails long on account of my step mother's
attempts to stop my nail biting, so by the end of the week, my
nails were as long any woman's.
When I asked Aunt Clara to cut them, she forbid me to touch
my nails because I would surely mess them up, and told me she
would cut them in time. "Besides" she said, "office girls need
long nails to work with all that paper. You do want them to
consider you to be one of the girls don't you?" As a result, my
long nails stayed.

CHAPTER V - FROM BOY TO GIRL
That Sunday night offered the first inkling that my aunt was
trying to change me into a girl. All week, I had been wearing my
Lanz night shirt to bed, and lately had noticed that the flannel
felt weird against my shaved skin. The cotton really itched, and
I couldn't get to sleep. I complained to my aunt about it, and on
Wednesday, she bought me some pink cotton panties, hoping that
the soft cotton would reduce the irritation. It didn't work. They
felt too much like my boy's underpants.
By Sunday night, my aunt had lost all patience with me. My
tossing and turning all week had kept my aunt from getting a good
night sleep, and my her domineering attitude had returned in
spades. After a thorough bath, leg shaving, and powdering, she
sat me down in my panties and nightgown and began to work on my
nails. That's when the problems started.
"Did you get the clear polish that I asked you to pick up
when you went to the d**g store?." She stopped filing and looked
up at me.
I looked at her blankly and responded "What polish? You only
told me to get Kleenex and Shampoo." After last night's dinner,
my aunt had sent me to the local d**g store.
"I told you to get clear polish for your nails. I used the
last of it yesterday, and told you to pick up some more. How did
you forget?" I sensed that she was getting angry.
"I'm sorry aunty. I didn't mean to forget. I'll walk over
tomorrow after work to pick some up."
"So what am I suppose to put on your nails tonight, dearie?
Unreal! Sometimes boys can be so stupid!" She looked up at me
with disgust.
"Well, nothing I guess. Tonight we can skip the polish and
I'll be extra careful not to break a nail." I sensed that I had
better find a way to quickly end this argument.

"And ruin a week's worth of my work? You really are stupid.
I'm not going to let you out of this chair until you have a coat
on those nails."
A sinister smirk crossed her face. "I guess I'll have to use
Pink." She reached for a bottle of Marvelous Mauve polish and
grabbed my hand.
"Please aunty, I'll be the laughingstock of the office. I
can't wear pink. Please!"
"Pink will match your beautiful new pink blouse I bought you
this afternoon. A femme boy like you will love it. It has lace
around the collar and is very see through. All the women will be
able to see your new camisole!. You'll be so pretty when you go
to work on Monday! Now hold still or I'll send you to work in a
dress."
She locked my hand to the table, and soon, all ten
fingernails and toe nails were painted a beautiful shade of pink.
When they were dry, she sent me up to my room to get ready for
bed.
Then things got worse. That evening, my cotton nightgown
really felt uncomfortable. For some reason, my breasts were very
sensitive. Perhaps it was due to the extra-close shaving that my
aunt performed on my body, or perhaps I was upset over the
feminine manicure. I kept tossing and turning and couldn't fall
asleep.
After yelling at me three times to quiet down, Aunt Clara
finally lost her temper. Turning on the lights, she stormed into
the room.
"Well sissy boy. Don't like your night shirt hmm? Well
perhaps nightshirts are too masculine for sissies like you!"
She jerked me out of bed onto the floor. Off came the Lanz,
and cotton panties. Leaving me naked, she stormed back to her
room with my night clothes. Soon she returned.
"If you're going to whine like a girl, then I'm going to
treat you just like a little girl. Put this on for aunty,
precious."
She held out a mound of pink satin. When I held it up, I
realized it was a pink baby doll nighty with matching ruffled
rhumba panties just like little girls would wear.
"Put these on first." She threw a pair of plain, pink satin
girl's panties, and a pair of pink, shimmery tights into my face.
"Please aunty, I promise I'll be good. Just bring back my
night shirt" I begged her to give me another chance.
"You're giving me so much trouble that I think I'll send you
to work tomorrow in a dress. Just like a little sissy." She
smiled at the tears running down my face.
"Ok. Ok. Please not that. I'll do as you say." I ran over to
the bed, and quickly donned the panties and tights.
"Now, pull the lacy panties up over the tights. Aren't they
precious honey? So feminine for such a pretty little girl." She
picked up the rhumba panties from the bed and handed them to me.
I immediately pulled them over my tights. Next, she picked up the
nighty and dropped it over my head. As usual, she had picked my
size, and the puffed sleeves hung perfectly over my body.
"Such a pretty little princess. You look just like a fairy.
From now on, this is how you will dress after dinner to get your
nails done. Tomorrow, I am even going to buy you new baby dolls,
so you never have to wear those awful night shirts again. Now go
to bed little one. Give aunty a kissy." She walked out of the
room, and turned out the lights.
The next morning, Aunty allowed me to dress myself in the
usual panties, white tights, and girdle. As promised, I kept my
pink nails, which did indeed match my new blouse and matching
pink camisole. Aunty said that she bought me a pink camisole
because she didn't want my lingerie to show under the blouse. The
material was so sheer however, that I knew everyone could easily
see the lace trim and satin bow on the front. Luckily the day
proceeded uneventfully. All of my fellow secretaries commented
how nice my nails looked, and how impressed they were that I
wanted my nail color to match my new blouse. I figured that they
would object to having a boy dress in such a feminine manner, but
they told me that they appreciated my aunt's efforts to make me
fit in with the rest of the staff.

CHAPTER VI - FAIRY FOR A WEEK
The rest of the week flew by. Every day, my aunt would drop
me off at the doctor's office, and would pick me up after work.
On Friday, my feminization really shifted into first gear. When
I was cleaning up my desk at the end of the day, Dr. Nelson told
me that Aunt Clara had called, and had asked her to drive me
home. Aunty told Dr. Nelson that she was entertaining a friend
and couldn't come to pick me up. I grabbed my new purse that my
aunt had bought for me to hold my powder and climbed into Dr.
Nelson's car.
On the ride home, I really felt grown up. Dr. Nelson told me
how much the other secretaries liked having me as an office
assistant. She told me that initially, she wasn't sure how well I
was going to fit in with the all-girl office, but after seeing me
work, she was happy to see how much effort I expended to get
along with everyone. She told me that "the girls" especially
liked the new additions to my wardrobe, and they all hoped that I
would continue to wear such pretty clothes with my uniform
slacks.
"The girls are very conscientious about their appearance"
Dr. Nelson said, "and were concerned that you might clash with
their clothes." From these comments, I could only assume that I
was really becoming one of the girls. Instead of feeling
embarrassed about my pink nails and see through blouse like last
night, I now felt proud about how well I was getting along with
my co-workers. Not proud enough though, to meet my Aunt's friend
dressed in such a feminine manner.
When Dr. Nelson dropped me at the end of the driveway, I
quietly entered the house through the back door, and crept
upstairs. I changed into the single pair of ill-fitting boy's
jeans, and my old gray sweatshirt, and proceeded to wash off the
makeup, that made me look so much like a girl. I headed
downstairs for supper.
When I rounded the corner into the dining room, I couldn't
believe what I saw. There, on the dining room table, amidst the
coffee cups and raspberry danish crumbs lay my rhumba panties,
tights and baby doll nighty.
"Well look who's home from work. Our own fairy princess.
Chrissy dear, say hello to Mrs. Morgan. I was just showing her
your pretty panties, tights and nighty, and telling her how much
you love dressing up like a cute little girl. Isn't that right?"
I couldn't respond. I was shocked that my Aunt would betray
my confidence to the outside world.
"Mrs. Morgan is putting on a play at the girl's club, and
her head fairy is sick. I'll bet you'd love to take her place!"
All I could do was shake my head. My mouth was frozen shut. How
could this be happening?
Mrs. Morgan got a doubtful look on her face. "Gee Clara,
Chrissy does appear to be the right size, but I honestly don't
think he would look anything like a girl."
My aunt smiled and quickly responded. "Well, why don't you
see for yourself. I am sure Chrissy would love to model her
pretty new things. She always did want to go to modeling school."
"Aunty, please no." My eyes pleaded for leniency from my
Aunt's strange sense of humor. Unfortunately, Mrs. Morgan seemed
to warm to the idea of seeing a boy dressed up as a girl.
"Clara, what a great idea. I would love to see Chrissy
dressed in her baby doll and panties. Can I give you a hand?"
My aunt grabbed my hand and started to lead me up the stairs
to the bedroom. "Grab Chrissy's undies, and lets get started."
Mrs. Morgan picked up the panties, tights, and nighty, and the
two women herded me upstairs.
I tried to fight them as they dragged me toward the bedroom,
but the two women were much stronger than I. By the time I got to
my Aunt's bedroom, I had no strength left in my body. Mrs. Morgan
pulled the sweatshirt over my head, while Aunt Clara, unbuttoned
my jeans, and pulled my underpants down to my ankles. By this
time the sweatshirt was over my head, holding my arms from
moving. Someone pushed me down onto my back, and in one fell
swoop, I was naked on the bed.
"I'm going to throw these boy's clothes in the trash
compactor. Since I dressed him last night, I'll let you have the
honors tonight." My aunt headed down the stairs carrying the last
tie to my masculine life. Considering the circumstances, I
decided to plead for clemency.
"Please Mrs. Morgan. I'm so embarrassed. Just tell Aunty
that I am the wrong size, and let me go. Please? Can't you
understand how humiliating it is to wear these things?" I pointed
to the pile of satin in her hands. Suddenly, this hateful look
crossed her face.
"Of course. That's why I want to take part in making you
Aunty's pretty little princess. I already know that you'll fit
into Melissa's costume, but I've always wanted to dress a boy as
a girl. Now I have the perfect opportunity to do as I wish with
my own little boy! And let me tell you sister, if you think that
this is bad, you just wait. You think you'll just be able to wear
your costume over your jeans? Guess again. I am going to do
everything I can to make you into a proper little girl. Just wait
'till dress rehearsal. You do know why they call it dress
rehearsal don't you?!"
I shook my head.
Well you'll find out soon enough. Now then, unless you want
me to tell your aunt to send you to work in a dress, I would
suggest we get started." She picked up the plain panties, knelt
in front of me, and held open the waist. "Let's see how Chrissy
puts on her satiny panties."
Resigned to my fate, I lifted my shaved leg, and pointed my
toe toward the floor. Mrs. Morgan put the opening, first under my
right foot and then under my left, slid the panties up my legs,
and covered my private parts.
"See dear. Don't these feel so pretty? Much better than
those nasty briefs. Now, lets get your tights." She picked up the
pink Danskins.
"Oooh, shimmery tights. Aunty really knows how to make her
little boy pretty." She rolled the toe of the stockings over my
feet, and carefully pulled them up over my bottom.
As the tights reached my waist, my aunt reentered the
bedroom.
"Doesn't he make an adorable niece?" my aunt gushed as she
surveyed her nephew, once again clad in panties and pink tights.
"Absolutely. You know you were right. This IS much better
than having a daughter." She picked up the lacy, rhumba panties,
and held them up to my aunt.
"Where on earth did you get these? They are so adorable? I
didn't think that anyone sold these anymore." Not waiting for an
answer, she pulled them over my tights before my aunt could
respond.
"The Proper Princess in Santa Clara of course. The
proprietors are a couple of elderly women who remember just how
prettily girls dressed back in the sixties. They have factories
in the Orient that make old fashioned petticoats, rhumba panties,
bouffant slips, girdles, garter belts and sweater bras, all for
girls from 5 - teen. Of course, they also stock things for
special boys like Chrissy. You should see some of the Nylon party
dresses that they have in the shop. Chrissy would look great in a
party dress. I even saw some satin, sanitary napkin belts for
teenagers there. Talk about sugar and spice and everything nice!"
Without looking up from the task of adjusting the fit of my
lacy overpanty, Mrs. Morgan continued with the conversation.
"Wow. You don't see those things around much any more. I
always thought belted napkins were much more feminine than those
stick in kind. Did you buy Chrissy one? She might be having her
period soon!" Both women burst out laughing.
"No not yet. I think it is still too early for Chrissy to
make the transition from c***dhood to young womanhood. All in due
time thought. I did tell them about Chrissy, and they thought
that having a nephew who really wanted to be a niece was divine.
They told me to bring our Chrissy in anytime to start building a
wardrobe suitable for an eleven year old."
By this time, Mrs. Morgan had lowered the baby doll over my
head, and was fluffing my hair.
"Well, are you going to take her shopping?" I looked up in
horror, waiting for the answer that might determine my future
fate.
"Well, maybe. It depends on whether or not Chrissy behaves
himself." Aunty looked at her friend. "See, didn't I tell you
that Chrissy would make a perfect pixie."
Mrs. Morgan looked at me and spun me around to get a good
look at my new clothes. "Chrissy. I never would have believed it,
but you look absolutely exquisite. Just like a ten year old
girl." She reinforced my humiliation by patting my panty clad
bottom. I felt sick to my stomach, and slumped onto the bed.
Mrs. Morgan went on.
"Let me tell you about the production dear." She sat down
next to me on the bed. "I am the director of a play being staged
by the Carlisle Academy Girls Theater Company. It's called "The
Fairy Princess in Pixieland", and it's all about this little girl
who dreams that she travels to the land of Pixies, and is changed
into a fairy princess. The play opens in one week, and one of our
head pixies has come down with a dreadful case of stomach flu.
The problem is that we have already ordered all of the costumes,
and none of the stand ins are the right size. I happened to
mention our little problem to your aunt, and she mentioned how
much you enjoyed your school theater group, and how much you'd
love to join our little production. And guess what? You really
ARE the perfect size for the costume. Now I know that we have an
all girls theater company, but you shouldn't have any trouble.
After all, in your nighty, you really do look just like one of
the girls."
She continued. "Now the part is real easy. There are no
lines to memorize or anything. All you have to do is sit there,
and smile pretty. You'll even get to wear stage makeup like a
grownup!" She seemed to enjoy the fact that I couldn't blush more
if I tried.
On one hand, I really wanted to say yes, but would be
mortified to go out in front of people dressed like that.
Besides, I was so angry over this intentional humiliation at the
hands of my aunt, I had no intention on cooperating. I took two
deep breaths, and responded.
"Thank you Mrs. Morgan, but I don't think so. I have to wear
these pajamas because I am allergic to the cotton nightshirts
that my mom bought for me. I don't really want to be one of the
girls." Things were proceeding so fast, that I was terrified that
this "one of the girls" thing was getting too far out of hand.
Suddenly my aunt dropped a bombshell. "Well dear, if you
aren't one of the girls, then why are you wearing pink nail
polish? Perhaps you'd also like to show Mrs. Morgan your new
panty girdle." She turned to Mrs. Morgan. "How many boys do you
know who wear teen panty girdles? He even asked if we could go
shopping for a training bra."
Aunt Clara surveyed my satin-clad body. "Perhaps we should.
Do you think he is ready for his first bra? He's only eleven you
know!"
Mrs. Morgan looked at my aunt and smiled. "Clara, you really
are still living in the sixties. A training bra is very
appropriate for an eleven year old. Some girls in our theater
troupe who wear them are only ten years old. Now then how about
it Chrissy? Do you really want to go shopping for your first bra,
and be in our production?"
Darn! I forgot that my nails were still pink from last
night's session. It was obvious that this was a set up and that I
couldn't get out of this mess. Sensing victory, my aunt didn't
wait for me to respond.
"Of course Chrissy would love to be in your play. When does
rehearsal start?" She shot a triumphant look in my direction.
Mrs. Morgan turned to me and held my hands. "Marvelous.
Final rehearsals start on Monday at 6:00 PM. I'll bring over the
costume tomorrow afternoon to see if any alterations are
necessary. Otherwise, have her there at 6:00 on Monday." Mrs.
Morgan's face was beaming.
"As far as a bra goes, we'll have to see how developed
Chrissy is when I bring the costume over for her to try." Mrs.
Morgan winked at my aunt, and began gathering up her things.
I tried to muster as much masculine determination as
possible. "I am not a her, and I don't need a bra!" I stood up
and crossed my hands in front of me in an attempt to hide my
feminine fingernails.
"Let us be the judge of that young lady." Both women
giggled. "We can't have your boobies bouncing around under your
pixie costume, now can we?" The giggles turned to laughter as
both women headed for the door.
As Aunt Clara bid Mrs. Morgan good-bye, I sat back in the
chair, too weary to contemplate my latest humiliation.
"I'm not doing it. I am not a girl, and I don't like being
called one. Who do you think I am? Your niece? Get real!" I
turned away with disgust.
"Enough of that impertinence young lady. Let's get something
straight." She grabbed my chin tightly in her hand, and looked me
straight in the eyes. "If I tell you that you are a girl, then
you will be a girl!. I can easily send photos of you in your
nighty to your mother, or your friends at school. I can dress you
in skirts, and send you out for a quart of milk. What I say goes,
and you'd better do EXACTLY as I say. Otherwise, I'm going to
make this 1000 times worse for you!"
She released my chin, and sat down on the bed. "I told Jane
that you would help her out, and you are going to follow through
on that promise.
What choice did I have? I already knew how much she enjoyed
humiliating me. If I refused the part, she would make sure that
everyone knew that I was a sissy boy, a femme, or a fairy. If I
did go along, I might be able to keep this humiliating summer
under wraps. Besides, despite what Mrs. Morgan threatened,
costumes did go over your original clothes, and I probably could
wear my boy's underpants and socks to cement my status in front
of these other girls. Aunty would HAVE to go along with that.
And the bra stories? Probably just designed to scare me into
going along with the deal. What did I have to put in a bra
anyway?
"all right, I agree. But as long as you promise to cool the
girl stuff from now on!"
"Of course dearest, your the sweetest!" She kissed me on the
forehead. "I'll even let you wear your nightshirt tonight,
instead of your baby doll. See, I know that you want to be
Aunty's little man." She strode over to the closet, opened the
door, and lifted my nightshirt out of the laundry basket.
"Oh, I'm sorry Chrissy. I didn't wash your nightshirt. You
don't mind wearing your baby doll to bed do you? I promise to
wash it tomorrow." She kissed me again and hugged me to her body.
Mrs. Morgan 'the bitch' was gone, and the sweet, loving mother
figure had returned. She was being so sweet and all, that I
totally believed her words.
"No aunty. I don't mind." Besides, the nylon did feel much
better than the cotton.
"Perfect. Now go brush your teeth, and I'll see you in the
morning. You'll have to find something to keep you busy tomorrow.
I have a long report to write for work on Monday, and I can't be
disturbed. Now I suggest that you hit the sack. It's really
getting late."
After I brushed my teeth, she led me over to my bed, and
tucked in the covers around me. "Isn't Mrs. Morgan nice?" she
exclaimed as she turned out the lights.
As I closed my eyes, I said to myself "Yeah. Mrs. Morgan is
perfect....as a witch." Secretly, I was enjoying the opportunity
to fulfill many c***dhood fantasies about becoming a girl, but my
transformation was proceeding along much too fast. I hoped that
soon, things would get better, and this girlish stuff would slow
down. I didn't know how wrong I was.


CHAPTER 7 - THE COSTUME
Due to all the stress of the previous evening's activities,
I hoped to sleep past my usual weekend wake up time of 9:00 AM.
Unfortunately, I didn't count on my aunt's plans. At 7:00, my
aunt breezed into my room, pulled up the shades, leaving me
blinking in the strong sun.
"Wake up dearest. Today's costume fitting day! Mrs. Morgan
just called and came up with a great idea. She suggested that you
attend this weekend's afternoon rehearsals to get a feel for your
part. Since I have work to do, Mrs. Morgan suggested that you
could stay with her for the weekend, and she would take you to
the theater. Isn't that sweet of her?"
"Indubitably." I tried to muster as much sarcasm as
possible. Somehow I knew that this would not be as simple as a
lift to rehearsal, but I didn't see that I had much choice in the
matter.
She pulled off my covers and headed for the bathroom. "I'll
run your bath, and while your in the tub, I'll lay out your
clothes. Mrs. Morgan lent you some boyish slacks and shirts that
belonged to her daughter. I told her about your chubby hips, and
she thought that these would fit you instead of buying brand new
clothes. I'll leave your undies on the chair."
Resigned to my fate, I took off the baby doll, panties, and
tights, and after putting them in the laundry basket, I grabbed a
fresh towel and headed for the bathroom. As I hung up the towel
next to the hot, steaming tub, I noticed the usual pink nylon
panties, and one of my girdles. Instead of tights and a camisole,
I found the girl's satin vest that I tried on during my first day
at work, and a pair of white, opaque, shiny knee high stockings.
I turned toward the door, and yelled down the hall
"Aunty, where are my tights and camisole, and how come I
have to wear these other things?"
My aunt poked her head into the bathroom. "Because silly. In
Dr. Nelson's office, you have to fit in with a group that is much
older than yourself. At Sunday's rehearsal, you be with girls who
are younger just like you. Besides, Mrs. Morgan sent them along
with the slacks and shirts. Now hurry up. Mrs. Morgan is
expecting you in 3/4 of an hour. Make sure you shave your legs
too. They are getting stubbly. Don't bother with your hair. You
don't have time this morning."
I didn't see any stubble, but did as I was told anyway. In
fifteen minutes, I quickly completed my bath, took care of my
legs and underarms, and quickly rinsed off the suds from the
bubble bath. I hopped out of the tub, dried my smooth body,
dusted myself with bath powder, applied deodorant, and slid on
the undergarments laying on the dressing bench. I hurried into my
aunt's bedroom.
There on the bed, lay a pair of pale blue stirrup pants, a
soft pullover sweater and a lavender blouse with buttons on the
front. I pulled on the pants, pulled the stirrup under my feet,
buttoned up my blouse, and pulled on my sweater. My aunt combed
my hair with a part in the middle, and after a few dabs of facial
powder, we were ready to go. We hopped in the car, and drove
across town to Mrs. Morgan's neighborhood. With a kiss on the
face, she dropped me off in front of the house, and drove away as
I rang the bell. Almost as soon as I pushed the doorbell, the
door opened.
"Good morning Chrissy. How did you sleep in your pretty
nighty last night? Do you like the clothes that I dropped off
last night? They fit you marvelously."
I blushed at her comments, and offered a reserved thank you.
If someone else was listening in to this incredible conversation!
I would have melted into the ground.
"Well don't just stand there, come inside. As soon as I get
rid of this coffee, we can get started with the costume. I know
you'll like it since it's much prettier than your baby dolls!"
She closed the door behind me, and led me through the living room
and into the kitchen where she rinsed out her cup.
"You know, your aunt told me all about your wanting to be a
girl. She said that your step-mother found pictures in the family
photo album of you dressed as a girl for a Halloween party when
you were 5. She said that your grandmother use to love making you
pretty. Was that true?"
I couldn't believe that my grandmother had betrayed our
little secret. I also was kind of disappointed that someone else
in my family who had seen the pictures didn't pick up where
grandma left off. In spite of these feelings, I was terrified of
having anything to do with dressing up around an obvious
stranger. I shook my head, and started mumbling about Halloween.
Mrs. Morgan quickly cut in. "Well, I hope that you can learn
to like being a pretty girl because it will be a lot easier on
you if you do. If you choose to fight me on this, it will be 1000
times more humiliating than if you cooperate. Do you want me to
tell all the neighbors the newest pixie is really a fairy little
boy? Hmm? Wouldn't it be a lot easier if everyone thought that
you were just another girl?"
She had a point. I didn't relish the thought of wearing a
tutu, tights and makeup while looking like a boy. I wanted to
avoid attention to get the whole mess over with. The humiliation
of being crossdressed in public was a lot worse than getting the
chance to fulfill my dreams again. Mrs. Morgan's voice
interrupted my train of thought.
"Besides, if you enjoy being made a girl as much as everyone
says, we can have so much fun together this weekend. I've always
wanted to dress a pretty boy as a girl, and you'd make a
perfectly darling new daughter. I promise I won't tell anyone as
long as you tell me not to. It will be our little secret." She
smiled and waited for my answer.
Well, the syrupy sound of her voice worked its magic, and
the soft touch of her hand erased all fear of public exposure.
It brought back all of the fantastic memories of my last visit to
grandma's house six years ago.
"Are you sure that no one else will find out?" I whispered.
"As long as you do exactly as I say, no one will ever find
out. I'll bet you'd love to wear all kinds of makeup wouldn't
you? Did your grandmother put makeup on you?" She picked up my
hand, and looked into my face.
I nodded sheepishly, while a broad smile crept across my
lips.
"Well, if you want, I can put makeup on you too! Well, why
don't we get started making my new daughter pretty." She picked
up my hand and led me upstairs into the master bedroom of the
house.
There were clothes laid out all over the queen sized bed,
and I started to shake when I began to suspect that my new aunty
bought all of these pretty things for me.
"Mrs. Morgan, I thought I was just going to try on a pixie
costume." I pointed to all of the clothes on the bed. "Who are
these pretty things for?"
"Why you dearest." She started unbuttoning my blouse. "First
off, you need the proper underfashions for the pixie costume to
look right. Second, you're going to need something to wear to get
you over to the school for rehearsal. These clothes are much too
boyish for you. You don't want to look boyish do you dear?"
She took my shoes off, and began working on my blouse.
"And since you're my new daughter, you can quit with the
Mrs. Morgan stuff, and call me aunty!"
It was almost like falling down the rabbit hole into a
fantasy world. My new aunty was going to make me pretty, and no
one would know our little secret. She finished with the last
button on the blouse, took it off my shoulders, and pulled down
my stirrup pants.
The tights, panties and vest followed, until I was naked.
Her sweet attitude had totally removed any fear or concern on my
part about what lay ahead for the weekend. I actually loved the
fact that I was standing with no clothes on in front of this
strange woman, awaiting my transition from young man to young
woman.
"Now for this costume, you need special panties. You really
need to wear a girdle to keep you from bulging under the clingy
fabric, but a girdle would show under the short puffy skirt.
That's why I got you something that should keep you all snug down
there."
She picked up a bag, tore open the plastic, and removed a
white, elastic garment from the bag.
"This is called a dance belt." she explained as she held up
the garment in front of my face. The belt looked like a pair of
very-high cut panties without backs. The front was a plain,
heavy, satin-like material, triangular in shape, with light lace
trim around the edge, and a bow at the waist. In the crotch area,
the heavy material narrowed down into a very strong elastic
strap, that went all the way up the back to the waist. The waist
band itself was a similar kind of white elastic strap that sat
low on the hips, but was only 3/4 of an inch in diameter.
She picked up a powder puff, and dusted my private parts to
keep them dry and comfortable. Next, she had me place my legs
through the loops, and pulled the belt up to my thighs. She
reached over to the bed, and picked up what looked like a
sanitary napkin that was much thinner than the ones that I saw in
my mother's bathroom.
"Now I know how excited young boys can get when they get to
wear frills and lace, and we can't have you messing up your
costume now can we? So let aunty put this panty liner into your
belt to keep you nice and clean. Ok?"
Mesmerized, I nodded agreement. She unpeeled the sticky
back, and stuck the liner into the front of the belt. She stood
up, stepped behind me, and worked the belt over my hips while
tucking me into the front of the garment. As she pulled the belt
into place, the back elastic strap disappeared between my cheeks.
"There. Perfect. Next we need tights." She picked up the
package, and removed the stockings. The tights were the standard
shimmery kind, except this time they were powder blue in color.
Since I had been putting on tights for the last two weeks, I took
them from my new aunty, and pulled them up over the dance belt.
"My aren't you an expert! Have you been dressing up in
secret?"
I shook my head. Turning me around, she surveyed the
abbreviated panty line under the tights.
"You know, if I took a picture of you from the waist down,
you'd look just like a girl. I can't even tell you have a pee
pee."
As I looked into the mirror, I could tell that she was
right. My tights and dance belt made my penis totally disappear.
"Now dear, the skirt on the costume is very short, so the
audience will probably be able to see underneath, so we are going
to wear these lacy panties to give them something pretty to look
at! See, these are just like your pink ones that you wear under
your nighty."
These rhumba panties were even more frilly than the ones my
aunt picked out. They were made of what my aunt called taffeta,
and had an inch of soft, net-type ruffles around the leg opening.
Rows of lace were sewed every inch or so across the rear. The
waist band was hidden in the taffeta, while two white bows graced
the hips of the garment.
"What's a petticoat?" I asked as I pulled up the fancy
panties.
"Have you ever worn a half slip dear?"
I shook my head. I knew what a slip was, but I wanted her to
tell me herself. The way she talked to me made me feel just like
her daughter.
"Well, a half slip is just like a nylon skirt with an
elastic waist. It gives you modesty under a sheer skirt to keep
the boys from seeing your legs. It also protects your stockings
and panties from the rough wool or cotton material. A petticoat
is a fluffy slip that helps to hold your skirt out nice and wide
so that you look like a ballerina."
She held up a white skirt of sorts that looked like it was
made of layers and layers of material.
"See? we ordered one with each costume."
The outside layer was a thin, see through, lightweight
tulle, which lay over four alternating layers of taffeta and
nylon net. The outside layer of taffeta had been embroidered with
lace rose flowers which were faintly visible under the tulle. A
large nylon bow accented the front. The edges were all lined
with lace trim.
Mrs. Morgan motioned me to put my arms over my head, and
lowered the petticoat over my head until it hung over my chubby
hips. I looked into the mirror and discovered that she was right.
The edge of my panties did indeed peek out from underneath the
short slip.
Mrs. Morgan walked over to the door, and picked up a garment
bag that had been hanging over the edge. She unzipped the bag,
and removed the most beautiful pixie costume I had ever seen. It
was prettier than anything I ever dreamed about. So pretty in
fact, that I felt woozy just thinking that I would soon be
wearing such a dance dress. The skirt was made of the same light
blue sheer tulle as the outer layer of the petticoat I was now
wearing. It was obvious that my pretty petticoat would show
through the skirt. The bodice of the dress looked like a clingy,
v