Out Of The Red Army, And Into A Pink Tutu free porn video

Out of the Red Army and Into a Pink Tutu by Robyn A. This story isn't complete, yet. It's about 1/3 completed, and I've outlined the rest of the plot. Please, send your comments and critiques to me, at [email protected] Zadroyva, Soviet Union...December 15, 1979 I knew the penalty for running, but I really didn't have a choice. I simply couldn't take another minute of being inside the Iron Curtain, especially as a member of the Red Army. I thought that joining the Soviet Army would be good for me, train me to become a man; I was wrong. I was only Paul Alexsander Droyovich, a frightened, desperate boy, now on the run from the Soviet Army. I had wanted, more than anything in the world, to be a concert pianist. There was very little call for that in the Red Army! With only four kilometers to the Czechoslovakian border, the farmer's cart I had hidden in was stopped by an early border patrol; luckily for me, I escaped unnoticed into the woods. I was so close, and yet, so far! I strayed deeper into the woods. The only part of my uniform I still possessed was my navy-blue uniform trousers and boots. I stole a flannel shirt and jacket from a clothesline a day earlier, which was twelve hours after the last time I had eaten. The sun was setting, and the sky was darkening. Soon, it would be freezing, and I knew that in my condition, with the flimsy protection of only my jacket, I probably wouldn't survive the night. As the night became darker, and the wind became colder, I entered a clearing. In the center of the clearing was a well. My thirst got the better of me, and I took a drink from it, which significantly lowered my body temperature. Of course, I had to break the ice that was forming on the surface of the water, but it was very, very refreshing. What the hell? I thought. If I was going to die of frostbite, I may as well not be thirsty. Snow began falling in huge flakes. Well, I thought bitterly...I may just as well give up, now. No one would shelter me, in fear for their lives. I followed a pathway I could barely see, and eventually came upon a large farmhouse, and an equally large barn. Coming from the farmhouse, I could hear a piano playing Tchaikovsky's "Swan Lake", a personal favorite piece of mine. My older sister Katrina had danced in a production of the ballet two years ago. I moved to the window to peek inside, and I was looking into what appeared to be a gymnasium, with a single mirrored wall, across which was a ballet barre. Three ballerinas, dressed in white and pink tutus, were rehearsing inside, under the watchful eye of an older woman, obviously their teacher. She was dressed in a plain, long-skirted black dress, and carried a long black pointer. The woman playing the piano was also dressed in ballet clothing, but much more casually, in a pink tutu and light skirt. It looked so warm and inviting inside. I silently, idly wished that I were one of the ballerinas, safe and warm inside. I turned to the barn instead. I had to get warm, to sleep. I knew I was risking everything by stopping at the farmhouse, but if I didn't get warmth, I knew I wouldn't see the next evening's sunset. Inside the barn, there were a dozen cows, three horses, and a half dozen goats, all in fairly close quarters. There was also a wood stove, keeping the temperature in the barn just above the freezing point. I hid myself under some hay in the stall of one of the horses, a gelding. As I lay down, and felt myself falling asleep, I hoped that the ladies I had seen in the house would not discover me...it would only be bad for them. They didn't deserve trouble, and I didn't want to give it to them. A few hours later, I felt myself being poked awake. "You there!" It was a woman's voice. "Who are you? What are you doing here?" I rubbed the sleep out of my face and looked up to see the woman I had seen the night before, teaching the ballet class. She wore a long black coat and fur cap...and was holding a German Mauser pistol, aimed at my heart. I knew that the Mauser was WWII issue, and that it probably wasn't functional. Hell, it looked rusty. Probably taken from a dead Nazi soldier as a souvenir, thirty years before. I knew it had a good chance of injuring the woman who was aiming it at me instead of actually firing, but I just couldn't take that chance. It was me who was running from the Army, and she shouldn't have to suffer for my misdeeds. "My name is Paul Droyovich, madame," I said. "I am lost...I was hunting...with some comrades..." "A lie is a wretched way to introduce yourself," she said. "Your trousers give you away. You are a deserter." "No!" I protested. "Then what?" I paused. If she was going to turn me in, she probably already had one of her girls call the local authorities. "Yes," I confessed. "I'm a deserter. I suppose you will find it your duty to call the authorities and turn me in." "I suppose I should, young man," she said. There was a long pause. She looked at me, critically. "Each of us must do our duty by the State," she said. "Stand up." I obeyed her. "You know, that gun is liable to explode in your hand..." "Be quiet, young man!" she snapped. "Turn around!" I obeyed again. She then had me face her. "How old are you?" "Excuse me?" "How old are you?'" "I'm sixteen." "You look younger," she said. "The Army is in rather desperate straits to take a slip of a boy like you. It won't be long now." "I don't understand," I said. I was confused. Why hadn't she just shot me? She certainly would have been justified in shooting a deserter who had broken into her out-of-the-way studio. She lowered the gun. "I can help you." "Help me?" "Yes," she said. "But you must agree, here and now, to do whatever I require of you, without question." "Of course," I said. "I'll do anything you ask." "Good," she said. "Follow me, and I can get you far away from here." "Across the border?" "Yes," she said, leading me out of the barn, and into the farmhouse, through the basement door, and into the cellar. She sat me down near the furnace, and told me to wait there. I sat on a stool, and warmed my hands. She went upstairs, and returned a few minutes later with a tray of food. Pancakes, bacon, eggs, syrup, and hot cocoa. I heard feminine conversation from upstairs. The portions were small, but I ate gratefully. "I suppose you are wondering why I allowed you in," she said, sitting opposite me. "It had crossed my mind," I admitted, taking a gulp of the hot cocoa. Nothing I had ever eaten had ever tasted so good. "I have no love of the current Soviet regime," she said. "In fact, my students and I intend to defect to the United States in seven months time. It occurred to me that I could take you along, provided you are willing." "That is...generous of you" I admitted. "But why are you telling me this? How do you know I won't turn you in, in exchange for a reduced sentence for desertion?" "Simple," she said. "The moment the Soviet Army finds you, they will shoot you. Desertion is a death penalty offense. You won't have a chance to talk." "But the authorities will find me here," I pointed out. "It's only a matter of time." "They will only find you," she said cryptically, "we hide you. I think by keeping you in plain sight, we will have nothing to fear." "I don't understand," I admitted. "The Red Army knows what I look like, and they will turn the farmhouse inside out looking for me." "This is true," she said. "But they will not find you if you were right under their noses, dressed up and acting the part of one of my ballerinas." I stood up, aghast, "Disguised as a girl?" "Certainly," she said. "You're of the right height, thin, and agile looking. You've a delicate face and voice. With the right make-up and clothing, you could easily fit right in with the rest of the girls. We can borrow some dresses from the other girls, and I have enough ballet costumes for your lessons." "I don't know..." "It's either that, or a bullet from a Red Army soldier," she pointed out. "Seven months from now, you'll be in America, and you can resume being a male. But until that time, you will have to learn to walk, talk, act, and most importantly, dress and think as a teenage girl." "But, a ballerina?" I was mortified to think of myself, dressed in a delicate white and pink tutu, wearing make-up, made to dance prettily before a crowd. "An understudy," she corrected. "You will have to learn the basics, of course, but there shouldn't be an opportunity for you to actually take the stage, my dear." "But what of the risk you'll be running? What if I'm exposed?" "Then, my dear, all will be lost," she replied. I thought for a moment, and silently nodded. "Good!" she said. "We'll get started immediately. I will bring you down a robe from upstairs. While I am doing that, I want you to throw every item of clothing on yourself into the furnace. I will be back shortly. We have to begin immediately...the soldiers may be here anytime now." She went to the basement stairs, and I realized something, "But, Madame," I asked, "You haven't even told me your name." "My name is Madame Olga Andorovich-Popovski. But from now on, I am only Madame Olga." She paused. "And you, my dear, are no longer Paul Alexsander Droyovich," she said. "From this day forward, you are...Katya Androvitch...my darling niece, whom I recently took in upon the death of your parents." She disappeared, and left me alone, to burn the last remnants of my life as a male. My name was now Katya. And I was female. And a ballerina. A few moments later, I was ushered from the basement upstairs, through the gymnasium I had seen earlier, and into a changing room. I was wearing a pink, feminine bathrobe, escorted by three young ladies; they were hurriedly introduced to me as Aukse, Ivana, and Paulina. They didn't seem to be embarrassed by my nudity, and were very matter-of-fact about my predicament. Aukse told me, "Right now, the most important thing for us to do is to get you to look like one of us, a girl," she said. "So that when the soldiers arrive, you will be beneath their notice. Now, we can't even begin training you as a ballerina until we know we're not under suspicion of harboring a deserter. "So here's your story," Paulina continued, "you are Katya, a new pupil, who has twisted her ankle badly, and can't so much as stand without crutches. We've got the bandages and such to make it look good, and a wheelchair, just for looks. We keep a lot of first aid equipment, because ballet is very strenuous." "I understand," I said. "Good," Aukse replied. "There is the shower. You'll find a soap, shampoo, and a razor; shave everything but your eyebrows and the hair on your head. Be careful, but be quick. We're putting together a wardrobe for you, and getting you settled into a room upstairs, Katya." "My name is..." "DO NOT TELL US YOUR NAME!" she snapped. "You are now Katya...and you will not forget that!" "I understand," I gulped. "Good," Ivana said. "Now, into the shower with you. You are about my size, so I'm going upstairs to get you a nice dress, some shoes, and a wig. Follow Aukse's orders, and we'll get through all this just fine." Ivana was gone, and as I was shaving my armpits and legs, I asked Aukse what Ivana meant by that last remark. Aukse smiled. It was the first time I had seen it, and it lit her face up beautifully. "I smuggled my little brother out of the Soviet Union," she said. "Dressed as a ballerina, as well. She is now living in Britain." "She?" I asked. "She enjoyed being a female," Aukse said, matter-of-factly. "She decided to make being Ingrid a permanent thing. I guess that Madame Olga remembered my story, and saw a way to get you out, too." I whistled. "Don't be too surprised, Katya," she said. "Sometimes, being a girl can be a lot of fun." Well, that wouldn't happen to me, I thought to myself. Once I was on American soil, and I had officially defected, I'm going right back to being Paul again. Once the shower was completed, Aukse had me stand in front of her, hairless and nude. Embarrassingly enough, the sight of the girls made me partially aroused. Paulina giggled. "She certainly doesn't have to hide very much...", she said merrily. "Something for which we should be grateful," the other girl added. She handed me a pair of pale pink panties and told me to put them on. I swallowed and obeyed, sliding the dainty silk garment up my hairless legs. Aukse instructed me to tuck my penis between my legs, and after I did so, Ivana placed the matching pink bra on me, fastening the clasps, to imprison me in the garment. Falsies were next. Madame Olga, who had entered the dressing room a moment before, explained that many ballerinas were underdeveloped in the chest, and falsies placed in a dancer's tutu worked wonders for giving them a uniform feminine appearance. "She is coming along nicely, darlings," she complimented Aukse and Ivana. "We should forego the corset for the time being, however. There is no time for her to get accustomed to the constriction, and we simply can't have one of our girls fainting when the soldiers arrive..." At least I was spared that! I had seen my mother in a corset a number of times, as well as my sister Yvonne once or twice...corsets were torture devices! And from what Madame Olga had just implied, I too would be laced into one soon...in the near future! I would also have to dance, in a tutu and ballet skirt, as well! I was sat down on a stool, and told to sit up straight, while Aukse plucked my eyebrows. It hurt terribly; I shed a few involuntary tears. Aukse murmured that "Beauty knows no pain, girl. Get used to the idea, and you'll get along just fine in a dress." Paulina was at my feet, lacing me into a pair of pink ballet slippers. Over the right shin, she placed a splint, and then a bandage, for the illusion of a sprained ankle. I was becoming a bit more confident in my disguise, until Ivana returned with some clothing on hangars, and with two other girls in tow, each of them carrying two mannequin heads, each of which sported long, flowing wigs. The two girls were still dressed in their pink and white tutus, which reminded me once more of my eventual fate! "We figured Katya would look best as a redhead," she explained to Madame Olga. "Excellent!" she smiled. "A different hair color will go that much further in disassociating her from the minds of the Army. Keep her make-up simple, Aukse. We don't know how much time we have." "Make-up?" I swallowed. "Of course, make-up!" Aukse smiled. "One of the pleasures of being a girl! You'll have to learn how to apply it yourself in the future. But for now...well, you get treated like a Princess." While the other girls watched in anxiety, as well as amusement, she dusted my face with a simple powder base, and blush. Mascara and eye shadow came next, followed by that ultimate emasculator, a pale pink lipstick. A spritz of perfume, and Aukse stepped back. "What was that for?" I yelped, startled a bit. "Perfume, dearie," Aukse replied. "A girl must be pleasing to all five senses. She must appear attractive to the eye and ear, be soft to the touch, her voice easy on the ear, and her kisses should be sweet to a man's taste." I swallowed. Luckily, I thought, I wasn't likely to be kissed by a man! But deep down, I had to admit to myself a curiosity to what that would be like. A number of wigs were quickly tried, and one was finally selected. It was a shoulder-length mane of ultra-curly red hair, that tousled prettily every time I moved my head. It also had the benefit of covering my ears, so that it wasn't obvious that my ears weren't pierced, like all the other girls'. A small white bow was placed in the back of the wig. "Just darling!" gushed Paulina. I was then told to step into a lace petticoat, which I did without protest. The skirts of the petticoat stood out stiffly, and made an audible shushing noise each time I moved. "Now, the dress," Madame Olga directed. I was buttoned into a white, long-sleeved peasant blouse, trimmed with lace on its' Peter Pan collar and cuffs. It buttoned up the back. My skirt (MY skirt!) was a colorful, multi-tiered affair, with lace to match the blouse on the five tiers of the skirt. Because of the petticoat underneath, the movement of the skirt was always in the bottom of my line of sight, which I knew would remind me of my plight at all times. Finally, I was led out into a sitting room. However, before I got there, I was led through the gymnasium, with it's mirrored wall, where I got my first real sight of myself, made-up, bewigged, and skirted. I looked like a girl! I couldn't help but smile; I was beginning to think that I could get away with this! It was certainly a unique experience! I was dressed up, as a girl, by a half-dozen girls dressed as ballerinas! I would hazard a guess that no male had ever had THAT experience before! Aukse noticed my smiling at my own image. "See," she said, "I told you being a girl was fun." I was told to sit, and to tuck my skirt under my derriere as I did to, and to cross my legs, whenever I sat...but for now, I was to favor the "injured" ankle, so I was given an ottoman on which to rest it. A pair of crutches was placed at my side. "There's no sense in wasting time," Madame Olga sat on a couch opposite me. "In case the soldiers ask you questions, you must answer them properly. Not only with the right story, but also in a girl's voice." I nodded. The curls of the red wig danced about my face; I knew their presence would take some getting used to. "I understand, Madame," I said, trying a falsetto. She rolled her eyes. "No, no, no!" she sighed. "Castratos and drag queens sound like that, not proper young ladies! Soften your voice, almost sing your responses to questions, dear. As Aukse pointed out, a girl must be pleasing to all five senses...it's time for you to learn to be pleasing to the ear." For the next three hours, while Aukse drilled the girls in their routine exercises, I sat in the sitting room with Madame Olga, learning to speak as a girl would, and also learn my "cover story", in case any questions should be asked of me directly. As a prop, I was also given a romance novel I was instructed to be pretending to read when the soldiers arrived in search of the old me. "You need to lose yourself in the part," Madame Olga pointed out. "You have to BELIEVE that you are my niece, Katya. That is of the utmost importance." From time to time, at random during our impromptu lession, Madame Olga would ask me, "What is your name?" or "Are you male or female?" Some time later, one of the ballerinas came into the room, to announce that the girls had seen some soldiers in the woods. It wouldn't be long now, before I...Katya...would be tested, in a situation that literally could become the difference between life and death!" The knock came at the door. "Be calm, Katya," Madame Olga whispered. "Read your book, look up at the officers, and smile prettily." Madame Olga opened the door. Standing in the entranceway was an Red Army Captain, flanked on either side by two rather large enlisted men. Luckily, I didn't recognize any of the three men. "Good afternoon, sirs," Madame said. "Is there something I can do for you?" "Good afternoon, Ma'am," the officer said crisply. "My name is Captain Igor Galinka. My men and I are searching the countryside for a deserter." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a recent photo of Paul. "Have you seen anyone who looks like this in the area? We have reason to believe he may be in the vicinity." "Oh, my," Madame Olga made a convincing show of ignorance. "I'm afraid I haven't seen anyone who looks like this....come in, come in," she said breathlessly. "May I offer you some tea? It's quite cold outside." "No thank you," the officer replied, entering the house, his two flunkies in tow. Seeing me, he smiled, winked, and sat on the chair Madame Olga had vacated. "What a fetching lass," he said, "What is your name, my darling?" "Katya," I replied. My heart was pounding hard underneath my lacy peasant blouse. "I'm Madame Olga's niece." "I see," he said. He put his hand on my knee, and asked, "And may I ask what happened here?" The two enlisted men spread out, looking about the room in an obvious manner, as if looking behind a couch would reveal their quarry. "I fell," I said. Every instinct in my body told me to run! I prayed Captain Galinka couldn't smell my dreadful fear in the air. "Twisted my ankle." "Yes," Madame Olga said. "She thinks that just because she's my niece that she's better than any of the other girls! If she had a brain in her head, she'd know to take it easy!" Captain Galinka's attention went to Madame Olga, momentarily deflecting it from the crossdressed young man. "I'm sure Katya is a wonderful dancer. Poor creature," he said, standing. "I would like to see her perform sometime in the future." He sighed, as if discharging some unpleasant responsibility. "I need to have my men look around your house and it's surroundings. I am fully authorized to do so..." he took out a sheaf of papers. "You'll find them in order." Madame Olga dismissed the papers with a wave. "Look about, but don't touch the girls. They don't get many young male visitors." "Indeed," he said. "None of your girls would happen to be hiding a...sweetheart, would they?" He looked at me significantly. I shook my head daintily, and smiled. "I should hope not!" Olga laughed. "If they did, they would be sent home immediately! I won't have any of that under MY roof, Captain!" "Excellent!" he smiled, giving me a sidelong glance and a wink. When he looked away, I swallowed, praying he wasn't playing some cat and mouse game with me. I was half convinced he had penetrated my skirted disguise. I smiled, and turned my "attention" down to the book I was engrossed in. "Get well, my dear," he said, and he and his men turned their attention to searching the house. And precisely as Madame Olga had predicted, the soldiers asked some minor questions of the other girls, and seached the house from basement to attic, but came up with nothing, not noticing for an instant that their quarry was right under their nose, dressed in skirts, and wearing make-up and a pretty redheaded wig! It seemed like hours, but in reality, it was only a little over a half an hour before the soldiers were on their way. "Katya"...that is, I...breathed a sigh of relief, as did the rest of the household. For the moment, at least, we all were safe! For the first time in days, I was able to relax. Or so I thought. Madame Olga gathered the girls into the sitting room, and congratulated them all. She also had the girls give me a round of applause; I stood and bowed. "No, darling," she corrected me. "Girls don't bow, we curtsey prettily, like so." "But surely you don't expect..." "I...we, I should say...expect you to walk, talk, and act like a female at all times, Katya," Madame said. "We will help you in any way we can. In just over two weeks, you must become, in every respect, a girl named Katya, and know at least a good amount of basic ballet. Can you play the piano, dear?" "Yes, I can. But, Madame Olga," I asked, attempting to use my new, feminine intonations, "I thought the troupe wasn't leaving for another seven weeks." "Yes," she replied. "That is true. However, we have a roadblock." "I don't understand." "Natasha and Bethany Borokonoff," she said. "They are sisters, and star pupils. They are currently at their father's Dacha outside Leningrad. They are very loyal to the State, and their presence at the Ballet Academy has been mandated by Communist Party officials. I wouldn't be surprised if they were also working for the GRU or KGB." "I can fool them," I said. "As easily as I fooled Captain Galinka." "No, Katya," she replied. "They will not be so easily fooled. For the next two weeks, from the time you rise in the morning, to the moment your head hits the pillow at night, you will work at learning not only to be as feminine as you possibly can be, but you will also work at becoming flexible and graceful as any of these other young ladies. And you can earn your way, using your skills at the piano as an accompanist." "For the time being," Aukse stood up, saying, "Katya can wear what she's got on right now. However, we need to get her accustomed to corsets and heels as soon as possible. Bearing that in mind..." "...follow Auske," Madame Olga instructed me. "She will lace you in, and find some appropriate footwear. Excellent suggestion, Aukse." She clapped her hands. "The rest of you girls, back on the floor in two minutes. Let's get back to work!" I followed Aukse up the stairs to the second floor of the building, and down the hall into a bedroom. In the bedroom, there were two beds, and a number of Aukse's sister students, outfitting the left half of the bedroom. A frilly bed was being made, as well as a closet being stocked with some of the other girl's clothing, donated to me. It was both a very generous gesture on their part. I couldn't help but be touched by the attention both she and the other girls were giving me. "Since I am the girl with the experience, Katya," Aukse informed me, "I have taken on the responsibility of changing you. In the next few days, you will learn to adapt to your new role as a female. I hope you understand what that means, Little Girl." Her attitude had changed to a harsher, more severe aspect. Even so, she was still quite attractive. I nodded my head, and said, "Yes, I do." "Nonsense!" she retorted. "Being a female is far more difficult than being a male. At all times, a woman is required to both appear and act attractive and vulnerable, especially in the presence of men." "But there are no men here," I pointed out. "Usually, no," she replied. "Today's visit was brought about by you, Katya. But you will be required to be in public, on display, quite often in the next few weeks. And as such, you will learn the feminine arts. Voice, dance, fashion, and make-up." She shooed the other girls out of the bedroom. "You are to be fitted with a corset," she said. She picked the item up off the bed, and told me to remove my (my!) blouse. She instructed me to turn around, and place my hands on the canopy of my new, feminine bed. Oh, what an indignity it was! Aukse pulled the laces of the corset tightly, slamming the breath right out of me. I felt dizzy and lightheaded, but she would not relent. My hands gripped the canopy tightly, and I looked down to see the bra, corset, and colorful skirt I was wearing. Finally satisfied, Aukse had me replace my blouse. She fussed with it, insuring that I wore it correctly. "Very fetching, Katya," she smiled teasingly. "You'll make an acceptable ballerina. Not exactly what you were planning, on, eh?" "I never thought I'd be hiding out, dressed as a woman," I replied. "You aren't a woman," Aukse said, rather sternly. "You are a teenage GIRL...girls LEARN to become women. First, I think we'll teach you to be a girl, then a ballerina." The remainder of the day, Aukse spent teaching me how to walk and talk like a teenage girl. She informed me that unlike the other girls at the Dance Academy, I would not be allowed to wear shorts, pants, jeans, or slacks. Only skirts and dresses. I would have to learn how to do my own make-up, and how to behave in public. Because I had little practice in the Red Army at the piano, I was made to practice at the Grand Piano for an hour that night, while a half dozen of the girls watched and listened. It felt good, to be playing again, and I could feel my hands loosening up, after such a long time away from the keyboard. It was certainly an odd experience, sitting at the keyboard, playing Scriabin, seeing my feminized hands (pink nail polish and all!) dance across the keyboard as prettily as a ballerina dances across a stage. The girls watched and listened, and when I was done with the impromptu recital, the girls critiqued not only my playing, but my appearance as I did so. "Smile," said Natasha. "You should smile more. Girls smile more than boys." I put a pretty smile on my face, and some of the girls giggled. "You really should be playing more lightly, slowly and more delicately," Ilsa pointed out. "You're hitting the keys like you were bricklaying." I turned to the keyboard, smiled, and played a small piece by Fanny Mendelsohn, who was Felix's sister. The girls applauded. "Much better, Katya," Natasha said. That night, Aukse instructed me in how to remove my make-up, and then, clad in a lace-trimmed pink flannel nightie, I went to bed. Aukse slept in the bed beside me. The next morning, the alarm went off promptly at five-thirty AM. I was still tired, and still wanted to sleep. However, Aukse would have none of that. I found myself with Aukse, nude and in a very cold shower. I gasped when the freezing water hit me, but Aukse seemed accustomed to the cold water. She laughed merrily at my predicament. "Turn around," she said, as she soaped up my body, and lathered shampoo into my hair. I was certainly confused by the attention she was giving me. Though in any other situation, I would have been aroused by being in a shower with an attractive blonde like Aukse, the fact that I was to be dressed as a girl again that day, as well as the freezing water made my cock shrink to nearly nothing, and my balls nearly pulled themselves up into my body. After a few minutes of this, Aukse had me return the favor. She really was a beautiful girl. At twenty-two, she was the oldest member of the ballet company, and her body was a smoothly-muscled, statuesque piece of feminine sculpture. I never would have imagined that I would be sharing a shower with such a beauty...but now that I was, I was certainly not in a position to appreciate it properly! We stepped from the shower, and dried each other off. "We have a very full day ahead of us, Katya," she explained, emphasizing my new, feminine name. "After we get dressed and made up, we'll make breakfast for the girls, and then start you off with some flexibility training, and a few basic ballet steps. Then, some piano practice for you, and we'll have Ivana give you some voice lessons. We'll follow that with some more flexibility routines, and after dinner, we'll have the rest of the girls critique your performance for the day. And tonight, you'll have to start to learn something about fashion..." "Fashion?" "Of course, Katya," Aukse explained. "Cosmopolitan girls--like us-- should always know what's in style. In your case, it'll help you blend in. We can't have a member of our ballet company appearing in public wearing last year's designs, can we?" "I guess not," I shrugged. "But do I have to be so...so feminine?" "You, most of all!" Aukse explained. "Because the rest of us really are girls, we don't have to concern ourselves with looking like females, because we do so naturally. In your case, you need to shroud yourself in girlishness to deflect suspicion, and to escape detection as a male!" Once again, I laced into a corset. It was difficult to believe that such a light, feminine-looking garment could be so strong and inflexible. (In a way, I guess, the corset was sort of like Aukse and my new "Aunt"!) "You don't dance in these things, do you?" I grunted, as she squeezed another fraction of an inch from my waist. "Don't be silly, Katya," she replied. Once your body re-shapes itself into a more pleasing form, you'll dance without it. The sense of freedom you'll have will enhance your performance." The white, satiny corset forced my excess masculine flesh--rather uncomfortably, I might add--up into my chest, and down into my hips and buttocks. Aukse had me don a pair of padded panties and a padded brassiere, to enhance my new feminine curves a bit more. Next, a pair of white stockings were added, which were attached to the suspenders on my corset. I didn't want to admit it, but they felt wonderful against my hairless legs. A pair of pastel pink suede pumps, with a 2-centimeter heel was next. I was wobbly on them, so Aukse had me walk about the room in them. She coached me on how girls walk in heels as she dressed herself (in a simple blouse and American designer jeans, I noted!), and applied her make-up, brushing her lovely blonde hair into a ponytail. It was obvious that I was going to be dressed in a more feminine style than she was. I was mortified. After she was finished, she put a cream-colored full slip over my head, which settled on my body like a cool breeze, or a lover's kiss. Finally, she selected a short-sleeved, belted, pastel-pink dress for me to wear. It was rather a juvenile-looking garment, with a flowered bodice, empire waist, and a short, box-pleated skirt. It was a dress appropriate for a fifteen or sixteen year old girl. And I was wearing it! "You look darling, Katya," Aukse told me. "Good enough for your little trip into town today!" "What?" I swallowed. "I can't go anywhere dressed like this!" "You can," she said, "And you will. We have to establish as soon as possible that there is a new student ballerina named Katya here at the Academy, and the best way to do that is by showing you off to the local populace." "But what if I'm recognized?" I protested. "I'm not ready for this!" "Yes, you are, Miss Androvitch!" she insisted. "The more people that see you, as a girl, the less likely it is you'll be discovered as a boy! We'll go shopping, drop a few hints that you've been here a while, and then, people will remember things a bit differently...so that they'll recall you were actually here a week or two since some deserter absconded from the Red Army!" To be continued...