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Leslie in Petticoats by Jenny Leeds For Nan Gilbert, with heartfelt appreciation of her pioneering effort. Chapter 1 Mrs. Chard and Mrs. Argentina got along famously from the first time they met. Both ladies were divorced; both bitter about their former husbands; both in their early thirties; both with thirteen-year-old sons. They had each inherited more than enough riches to remain idle and indulge themselves in their discontent. They were tall, elegant women. Mrs. Chard was blonde, so blonde her hair was almost white. Her startling blue eyes were set in a fine-boned face that was only just beginning to show the passing of thirty-two years. A slender and small- bosomed figure gave her an appearance of fragility. By contrast, Mrs. Argentina was dark. Her hair was black as a raven's wing, usually piled on her head in an intricate hairdo, but when it was unpinned it fell almost to her slim waist. Her body was lushly curved; her bust, full. Generous lips suggested great sensuality. It couldn't be said she was older or younger than Mrs. Chard, for her beauty had a timeless quality. When their neighbors in the condominium complex saw them together they smiled and said, "As different as night and day," which was not at all accurate, because the similarity of their personalities bridged their physical differences completely. Their children also got along well. The two boys were skinny and smaller than average, which caused them to seek out each other's company since they couldn't compete in the rough-and-tumble physical sports of their bigger friends. Although they were at that age when girls become of consuming interest to boys, and vice versa, in their cases the interest was not reciprocated. The young ladies in their eighth-grade class never gave them a romantic thought, preferring to make eyes at the taller boys and athletes. Johnny Argentina didn't resemble his mother much. He had inherited her liquid dark eyes and his lashes were too long and pretty, but his hair, which he wore long like most of the other boys in imitation of rock stars, was an ordinary brown, unlike the luxurious ebony of his mother's. Where she was dignified and poised, he was a scampy little rascal. Nor did Leslie Chard look much like his mother. Although he could properly be called blond, his tangled curly hair, not quite as long as Johnny's, was a dark honey color. His eyes were gray and his features lacked the aristocratic fineness of his mother's. His nose, for example. Instead of being thin, almost aquiline, it was a cute turned-up button hardly worthy of being called a nose; and he had an overbite that gave him a friendly look that drew people to him. In the open, innocent way kids have, Leslie and Johnny comforted each other about their mothers's unfairness to them. It seemed they were always in trouble. For being late, for making too much noise, for getting too dirty, for being clumsy--for any and everything their mothers could think of. In short, for being boys. Not long after they met, Johnny revealed his darkest secret to Leslie. Mrs. Argentina had devised an uncommonly cruel punishment. She made him wear a dress. "A *dress?* A girl's dress?" "Yeah. If I do anything wrong, she has this dress she makes me put on. And then I have to do housework like a girl. Even if I don't do anything bad she just makes up something so she can punish me. It's not fair. I have to wear the dress almost every day. She calls it petticoat discipline." Leslie didn't know what to say. He knew how mortified he would be if he were in Johnny's shoes. Finally he said, "That's really pretty creepy." On the way home, he cut across the lawns that terraced the condominium complex where he lived, just as the sprinklers came on. A shocked moment later he laughed and raced for the safety of a walkway, but by the time he got there he was drenched. He shrugged and ran back on the lawn, charting a zigzag course for home, pretending the sprinklers were land mines. He crashed open the front door in exhilaration, dropped his sodden books on the hall table, and went to the kitchen, shoes squishing, to gorge on the milk and cookies the maid always left for him. As he sat happily dunking cookies in milk and slathering them down, he became aware of a presence behind him. Mrs. Chard stood in the doorway. Her eyes were blue chips of ice. He ventured, "H-hi, Mom." Silence. He swallowed. "What's wrong?" "What is *wrong?* Just look at yourself!" "Oh. Well, it wasn't my fault, the sprinklers came on." "So you decided to track water through the house and sit in a puddle in the middle of the kitchen." "I'm sorry." "Not as sorry as you're going to be, young man. I'm sick and tired of this kind of behavior. Go upstairs this instant and dry yourself off. Take your schoolbooks with you. They're in the hall. Ruined. Put them away in your room. And wash your hands and face, you're filthy. You must be deliberately trying to annoy me. When you're finished come back down. You're to be punished." Leslie opened his mouth to protest but closed it again. When she was in this mood there was no reasoning with her. He made a face behind her back but did as his mother told him. When he came down, Mrs. Chard was in the living room. One of Angie's maid's uniforms was laid out on the couch. "Leslie, you have become far far too careless and impudent lately. You need to be taken down a peg. Remove your clothes and put on this dress." "What!" "Do as I say, young man." "No! What a dumb idea," he retorted, shocked into rudeness. "Where'd you get it from, Johnny's mother? That's what she makes him do." "Never mind. I think Mrs. Argentina and I know more about raising children than you. Now do as I say." "I don't want to." "Leslie, you know the court gave me sole custody. You must obey me in every particular. If you don't, I'll see to it that you are put in a juvenile detention home. That's what they do with incorrigibly disobedient children." However unrealistic a threat, to a thirteen-year-old it was effective. He shrank a little. "Aw, Mom, please." "Do as I say this instant." Sullenly, the boy stripped to his jockey shorts. The maid's uniform, black satin with white cuffs on the sleeves and a Spanish lace collar, was almost a fit. It was large around the waist, but when he tied the little white apron around him it took up the slack. Since he and Angie were the same height, the hem fell to mid-thigh as it was supposed to. It felt strange. Air circulated freely around his bare legs. Somehow wearing the dress made him feel more naked than if he had no clothes on at all. He was uncomfortable. He was also confused, for his penis hardened in his underwear. True, almost anything made him excited these days. Ever since he had discovered masturbation a few weeks before, he got erect at the very slightest provocation--but this was different. There was a special kind of "no-no" about wearing a dress. "Can I go up to my room now?" "Let me look at you. Why, it's rather becoming." Mrs. Chard's eyes softened. "You would have been quite an attractive girl ..." Her voice trailed off and she appeared to be lost in reverie. The boy said again, "Can I?" Mrs. Chard gave a start. "Can you what? Oh. No. I want you to vacuum the living room. Angie didn't get around to it today. You'll do the dishes after dinner too. That will give Angie time to run errands for me in the morning." Leslie hated housework. "I don't have to keep wearing this dress while I vacuum, do I?" he whined. "What if somebody comes?" "Nobody's coming. You're being punished, and you will remain clothed like that until I tell you different." By the time his mother allowed him to go to bed, Leslie was in tears. He had never been so humiliated. Nevertheless, he noticed that he had to masturbate before he could get to sleep, and what he fantasized about while doing it was wearing the maid's uniform. If his mother hadn't put it in the laundry he would have donned it, now that he was alone and safe in bed. The next afternoon after school he and Johnny went to their hideaway in an empty lot and Leslie told his friend all about it. The other boy was sympathetic; he tried to take Leslie's mind off his troubles by suggesting a hike over to Hilbert Park. Somehow the time slipped away. They were late getting home. It was Friday--being late shouldn't make any difference since they had the whole weekend to do their homework, but both boys wended their way home with foreboding. Mrs. Chard was in the living room. "Where have you been? It's after five o'clock." "I'm sorry, Mom. Johnny and me, well, we just--" He broke off. He had a feeling it wouldn't do any good to explain. He hoped she wasn't going to make him wear the maid's uniform again, but a sinking feeling told him that was what she had in mind. "Leslie, dear." He looked up in surprise. Her gentle tone put him off balance. "Come sit here beside me." She patted the couch. "You remember I made you put on Angie's dress yesterday?" "Aw, Mom, you're not going to make me wear it again, are you?" "Poor dear, you didn't like it much, did you?" "No." "Leslie, it couldn't be all that terrible. Girls wear dresses all the time, after all." "But they're girls." "Yes, of course. Do you know," she said brightly, "I've always thought it would be nice to have a daughter that I could dress up in all kinds of frou- frou and teach to make up and, oh, all the things that mothers do with their little girls. I don't suppose you can understand that." "Sure I can," Leslie lied. "When I saw you in Angie's dress yesterday I thought you'd make a perfectly lovely young lady. You're still so slender and delicate-looking." She gazed at him earnestly. "I wonder if you would do something for me," she continued. "Would you?" Leslie was suspicious, but said, "Sure, Mom." "Good. Come with me." Mrs. Chard led Leslie upstairs to her bedroom. Chapter 2 Leslie looked around his mother's spacious sanctum of elegance and femininity, hitherto all but off-limits to small boys. The carpet was a figured old-rose color, complementing the pale pink of the walls. A canopied bed jutted out from one wall; opposite were mirrors; a dressing table covered with perfumes and cosmetics, scenting the very air with mysterious sultry aromas, stood in front of the mirrored wall. The setting sun shone gently through voile curtains on the windows. On Mrs. Chard's bed was an assortment of lingerie and a sleeveless blue dress. Holding up the dress she said, "I bought some things for you today. I'd like you to wear them." Leslie's cheeks flamed. "But Mom--" "Now, dear, I just want to see what it would be like if you were my daughter, to get a chance to have a sweet girl around the house for a little while. We're all alone and nobody can see. You *will* do your mother this small favor, won't you?" "It's embarrassing." "You're a dear child. You won't regret it, I'll make it up to you. Come into my bathroom, I'll run a bath for you. You can't put on nice clothes if you're all grimy. Oh, dear, wait. You have to shampoo first. How long has it been since you washed your hair? Never mind, here's some lovely shampoo with a conditioner. Wash your hair in the shower while the tub fills." He undressed, keeping his back to her with the painful modesty that afflicts children whose pubic hair is coming in. Through the wavy glass of the shower door he saw her put bubble bath and scented oil in the water. She picked up his clothes and held them out at arm's length. "Phew!" he heard, "These coarse old things can go directly in the hamper." He lathered his hair. A dress. His mother wanted him to put on a dress and pretend he was her daughter. Leslie wondered if she had gone nuts. Well, it wouldn't do any harm to be nice, he guessed. He was glad she wasn't mad about him being late. Wait a minute. If she punished him for being late he'd have to put on a dress. But he was going to have to wear one anyway! At least she wasn't angry. He held a towel in front of him while he stepped from the shower to the tub, hair hanging wet and bedraggled over his ears. The foamy bubbles in the tub concealed his body. He found himself relaxing in the warm water. "Lift your leg up." Mrs. Chard held a can of shaving cream and a lady's razor. What was she going to do now? She knelt by the tub. Holding his ankle, she covered the leg with lather and skillfully shaved the fine golden hairs. He squirmed, wanting to protest. After repeating the process with the other leg, she made Leslie put his arms behind his head while she shaved the light hair in his armpits. "But, Mom, what if the guys at school see?" "Why? You don't take off your shirt in school, do you?" "In gym!" "Never mind, nobody will ever notice. It will grow back before you know it." Mrs. Chard looked at his face intently. "You have no fuzz at all yet. I'm glad." She put the shaving equipment away. "Now finish your bath. When you're all dry, dust yourself with this body powder and put on this robe." She hung a negligee on the door. Leslie used his mother's soft natural sponge. It slopped smoothly over his shaven legs and hairless underarms. The fragrance of her imported soap rose to his nostrils. When he had washed every inch of his skin he lay back in the soothing water, not quite conscious of deliberately avoiding getting up and facing her again. Finally he forced himself out of the bath and toweled himself dry. At the last minute he remembered to pat himself with the scented powder puff. The robe was pink satin with lace all down the front. Putting it on made him bashful. The material slid silkily over his naked skin. It came down to his ankles. He fastened the little snaps and made himself open the bathroom door. "Oh, there you are, dear. Sit down here. We've got such a lot of work to do." During the next hour and a half, Mrs. Chard fussed over him like a little girl playing with her dolls. It really was like that. Surprised, Leslie thought it was as if she had become a child again and he was a Barbie doll or something. She busied herself with his hair, trimming it evenly with scissors, putting it in curlers, and blow-drying it. While he winced and wriggled, she plucked his eyebrows judiciously and darkened the blond hairs with an eyebrow pencil. False eyelashes and mascara followed. When Leslie blinked, the eyelashes touched his cheek and eyebrows. She regarded him speculatively. "Oh, well, it's evening. A little eye shadow won't hurt, just for fun. Even if you're so young." She suited action to words and brushed a blue tint above his lids. The mirror showed Leslie eyes that were embarrassingly wide and innocent. Their gray was altered in hue by the eye shadow. He didn't need the touch of rouge on his cheekbones to give him color--his face was blushing. A pink lipstick completed the makeup. It tasted perfume-y. Pink plastic curlers stuck to his head made him look like some kind of space alien. With an attack of shyness he recognized the same thought he had when he saw Patty Perkins in the supermarket, rollers imperfectly covered by a thin scarf, and was embarrassed to identify with her that way. He was thankful when Mrs. Chard finished drying his hair and removed the curlers. She brushed it out so that it fell softly across his forehead and curled around his ears. It made a big difference, Leslie thought uncomfortably. Although the hair was no longer than it had been before, it was unmistakably feminine in appearance. He'd have to wash it again before going to bed so he wouldn't look like a sissy the next day. "You're just darling. Oh, Leslie, I'm glad you're being a good child. Come over here and we'll get you dressed." She made Leslie slip off the robe. He covered his genitals with his hands. She pushed them away and smiled. "Don't be so silly, Leslie. I'm your mother. You have no secrets from me. Now put on this garter belt. Yes. Clasp it in front, then move the clasp around to the back." The lacy elastic exerted an unfamiliar light pressure on his waist, and the garters dangled against his thighs and bottom. She handed him a sheer brassiere and showed him how to fasten it in front like the garter belt and turn it around before slipping his arms through the shoulder straps. "Put these in the cups," she said, holding out a pair of breast forms. They were some kind of flesh-colored rubber, liquid-filled, complete with rosy nipples. "At your age you would already have developed this much." It was too embarrassing. His eyes filled. "Stop that, Leslie. If you cry, your mascara will run. Whatever is the matter?" She dabbed at his eyes with a tissue. "I don't know. It makes me feel all funny inside. Do I have to do this? What if somebody sees me?" "Nobody's going to come. Now pay attention. This is the way you put on your stockings." She knelt in front of him and helped him on with a pair of nylons. The warm tan color made his legs look rounder and sleeker. As she fastened the garters to the stockings, her arm kept brushing the boy's genitals. Despite all he could do to prevent it, Leslie's prick lifted. The tip peeked out from the foreskin. "What's this?" Mrs. Chard stared. "I didn't know you were old enough to-- Oh, dear." "I'm sorry, Mom, I can't help it." "See, you do like dressing this way. Never mind, here, put on this pair of panties and tuck it down between your legs. Think of something else. It will go away." She sounded flustered. The panties were hardly more than a scrap of nylon, but Leslie was relieved to have his private parts covered. He did his best to make his penis bend down along the crotch, but it was too stiff. He made do by pinning it up against his belly with the elastic of the panties. The head still showed. The blue dress came next. It was short. So short, Leslie saw, that if he bent over carelessly, the tops of his stockings might show. He enjoyed seeing girls in mini-skirts, but it was different wearing one. A pair of dark blue pumps with two-inch heels finished Leslie's ensemble. His mother had to force the shoes on. He complained they were too tight. She assured him he would get used to them. "There," she said. "Isn't that better? You're taller. Why, the top of your head is on a level with my eyes." She stood back, arms akimbo, studying Leslie attentively. Her expression softened as it had the previous day. "It's quite surprising, Leslie dear. You really should have been a girl. You're far more attractive like this than in those awful old boy's clothes. I'm pleased. I think I shall always want you to be dressed this way when you're not in school." She looked at the clock. "My goodness, it's past seven. Come, let us get dinner together." Leslie teetered after her on his heels. The garters tugged at the stockings, making them move sensuously on his legs with each step. Air circulated around them and up along his crotch. The falsies, alive against his chest, bobbed gently. At the table, Mrs. Chard kept reminding him to sit up straight and eat daintily. She seemed to have got carried away with the game, out of touch with reality. She kept referring to him as a girl or young lady. She appeared secretly elated. It troubled him--putting on a dress and makeup was crazy--but his mom was being nicer to him than in a long time, so he didn't say anything. For once he had her approval. He loved her. If it made her happy to dress him up like a girl, he could put up with it. It wasn't too bad if he didn't let himself think about somebody seeing him. He was cleaner than he could remember, and he hadn't known his hair could be so soft and light. The bar soap he usually used just didn't do the job. On the other hand, everything about him smelled like perfume. It spoiled his dinner. The taste of his food mixed with the taste of his lipstick. The worst thing was being afflicted with an erection that wouldn't go away. He still couldn't understand why these clothes made him excited, but they did. When he moved, the imitation breasts bounced naughtily; and each time he shifted his legs he could feel a sly tug on his garters, and his prick would throb. He wondered if wearing a dress affected Johnny that way too. Leslie wished he could go to the bathroom to jerk off. After dinner they had coffee in the drawing room. Leslie's was "cambric coffee," mostly warm milk with only a little coffee. His mother didn't believe in stimulants for young ladies. She instructed him in sitting properly, knees and ankles together, skirt pulled down as modestly as possible considering its shortness; and to lift the cup to his lips instead of bending his head to the cup. She urged him to sit straight, saying he had such a lovely young bosom he should be proud of it and not hunch his shoulders. At bedtime she insisted he wear a nightie and sleep in her bed. "It's marvelous to have a girl in the house again. When I was your age we used to visit and all sleep together." Mrs. Chard got undressed in front of him, something she had never done before. It was as if she really thought he was a girl. Leslie tried to look away, but his eyes kept coming back to her body, and when she stood naked a moment before putting on her nightgown he stared openly. It was the first time he had ever seen a naked woman, and he couldn't help looking. His eyes marked the sway of her breasts as she moved, the soft curve of her belly and the gentle swell of her mound of Venus. Her breasts were larger than they appeared when she was in her clothes. The nipples, a rose brown in color, protruded stiffly. There was a sparse triangular patch of silver-blond hair at the junction of her legs. Through the hair he could see the beginning of her cleft, and he had to sit down. When she lifted her arms to slip the nightgown over her head, her breasts rose enticingly. In the instant the falling gown covered her eyes, Leslie leaned forward to try to see what was between her legs, and caught a glimpse of pinkness between the white lips. He was glad the panties were holding his prick. He was so hard he feared they would tear. From seeing his own mom! Heat rushed into his cheeks. He must be a really bad guy. She directed him to get undressed and come into bed. How could he with his prick this way? He sat on the edge of the bed, back turned, to remove his shoes and stockings. Sliding the nylons down his shaved legs did nothing to lessen the rigidity of his penis. Not looking at her, he took the nightie she had laid out for him into the bathroom and closed the door. After stripping off the dress he removed the bra and falsies and garter belt, and stood quietly, concentrating on reciting the times-table to himself in an effort to make his cock go down. Six times one is six. Six times two is eighteen. Six times three ... After a while his prick softened; he was able to crush it down into the crotch of the panties. He put on the nightgown. Its nylon folds slithered down his body, threatening to arouse him again. Still concentrating on not being hard, he returned to the bedroom. "Leslie." Mrs. Chard's voice completed the job of rendering him flaccid. "What?" "Young ladies don't wear their panties to bed." "Oh." He pulled them off under the gown and climbed into bed next to her. Mrs. Chard leaned over him to turn out the bedside light. For a moment he was smothered by her breasts. Moonlight shone in the window, illuminating the large room with a silvery radiance. She spoke. "Isn't this nice? We can cuddle together." She shifted against his back, spoon fashion. Her body was soft and warm. The affection rather frightened him. He wondered all over again if his mother was going nuts. As if in response to his thoughts, Mrs. Chard said softly, "You don't mind dressing like this, do you, Leslie dear? It's good for you, you know. You've been getting too rough and coarse, and it will remind you to be more gentle. Besides, it gives me great pleasure to look at you and think of you as a daughter." Leslie rolled over on his back and turned his face to his mother. Her breath brushed his cheek. "It's okay, Mom. I understand. I love you." "Oh, Leslie, you're so sweet when you're like this." She hugged him. "You deserve a reward." She reached down and fondled his limp organ through the silky nylon of his nightie. Chapter 3 It was inconceivable that Leslie's mother could be touching her son in a sexual way. He was terrified that his penis might betray him and come erect. That was the only thing that kept the organ from responding to the manipulation of Mrs. Chard's hand. Leslie gritted his teeth, trying, as his mother had suggested earlier, to think of something else. The times-table again. After a while her hand left his penis to slide caressingly down his leg. He exhaled a shaky sigh of relief. The relief was short-lived. When her hand reached the hem of his nightie, it moved back up, this time under the garment, on his shaven skin. Mrs. Chard took his weenie between her thumb and two fingers and tugged it gently, making the foreskin slide. She spoke quietly in his ear. "What's the matter? It was certainly very big before. Don't you want your reward?" "I--I didn't know you were d-doing it on purpose." His throat seized. "Of course I am. Girls sometimes touch each other like this." There was a nervous note in her voice. "It's like a big clitty." "Wh-what?" "A clitoris." Her breath fluttered. Leslie's penis grew stiff. "What's that?" "Like this." She squeezed his organ gently. "It's just like this, only smaller. It's what women have." Mrs. Chard was silent a long moment while her hand caressed his aroused penis. He held his breath and squeezed his eyes shut, concentrating hard on maintaining his equanimity, but afraid he would ejaculate anyway. After being hard all evening, he was ready to come at the drop of a hat. Squirt in his mother's bed! He couldn't let that happen. A vagrant night breeze came through the open window, lifting the voile curtains, and sighed across his forehead, chilling the sweat that had sprung out in tiny droplets. Mrs. Chard said unevenly, "As long as you're being a girl for your mother, I suppose it would be all right for you to touch me too." His scalp prickled; his heart began to thud so hard his chest vibrated. Was she really going to let him touch her down there? She let go of his prick; her body nudged against him intermittently and he became aware that she was pulling up her nightgown. Her legs, and then her belly, were suddenly soft against his back. "Turn over," she whispered. He squirmed around to face her, his own gown riding up to his waist. He heard her catch her breath as his bare cock came in contact with her skin. She held him close. His penis was compressed throbbing between them. It felt a tremor in her stomach. "This is your clitoris." She clasped his prick. "And this is where mine is." She took his resistless hand and placed it on her triangle. The fine hair under his palm was damp. Leslie began to shake. His heart was racing so fast he thought he was going to faint. He remembered the pink thing he had seen between her legs. Was that what she meant? He let his fingers roam tentatively through her fur until they pinched a tender moist finger protruding from her crack. "Not so hard!" She winced away. "Girls are gentler with each other." A second later she said, "--I forgot. You don't know, do you? Would you like me to show you?" She released his penis and leaned over him to turn on the lamp. The warm aroma of her body filled his nostrils. He blinked when the light went on. There was surprise and pleasure in her pastel blue eyes. They had a humid look as she gazed at him raptly. "Leslie, you look just *darling.* I had forgotten. --Take off your nightie." "Huh?" "I'll take mine off too. Go ahead, it's all right for girls to see each other, especially when they're sharing a bedroom." She crossed her arms, ducked her head, and pulled the nightgown off; then helped him remove his own. Mrs. Chard sat back against the headboard. "Kneel in front of me so you can see." She raised her knees and opened her legs. "It's all *right,"* she repeated when he hesitated, "Go ahead, I want you to. Come closer. Closer. That's right, look at it. That's what you wanted to do before, isn't it?" Leslie's face flamed, but he couldn't turn away. He was having a lot of trouble just breathing. On his knees in front of his mother's vulva, he saw that thing sticking out deep pink from between the lips at the front. It reminded him of what he had seen when he watched a toy poodle belonging to one of his mother's friends lick itself. "You can touch me. See this? It's my clitoris. It's just like yours, only smaller. It has its own foreskin and everything. Push away the tissue around it, you'll see. It's very sensitive, so you shouldn't touch it as hard as you did before, but it feels good when you touch it lightly. Down here is my vagina, see the opening? Spread the lips apart. Right at the opening is where I tinkle--the little orifice there? You can be closer." She pulled Leslie's head down to within an inch of her vulva. In an uncertain voice she said, "Girls sometimes kiss down there. Would you like to do it to me?" Leslie hesitated only a fraction of a second before dipping his head and planting a kiss on the hairy lips. "No, I meant--I meant really kiss it." "I did." "You're supposed to open your mouth. You're supposed to--touch it with your tongue. My sex," she explained. Leslie's face heated again. He was paralyzed. "Don't you want to?" "Y-yes. Oh, yes!" His prick was leaking. A drip of viscous moisture hung from the head, stretched slowly downward, and fell on the bed sheet. He knelt between his mother's legs and bent over, honey locks falling softly on her thighs. She moved her pussy to meet his mouth. It smelled musky, an exciting odor overlaid with a faint hint of urine. He let the tip of his tongue contact her lips, unbelieving, afraid every second she would stop him, heart jammed in his throat, delirious with the warmth glowing from her and the intimate aroma of her crotch, and licked slowly from back to front. Mrs. Chard's body shook. "Deeper," she gasped. "In the crack between the lips." Leslie forced the outer labia open with his tongue, dug inside the inner, and licked up and down her cleft. Her juices were almost sweet; the taste was redolent of her exciting musk. He began kissing and lapping her secret parts in a frenzy. His tongue discovered her vagina and stiffened and stabbed up her. The hole was very wet. Her secretions flowed copiously. Her body quivered. She groaned, "Yes. That's right, that's wonderful. A little farther forward. My clitty. Not too hard, just barely touch it. Oh-h." On an inspiration, Leslie engulfed the little penis and the flesh surrounding it with his lips, then sucked the whole area in. Mrs. Chard gave a shriek. She convulsed. She held Leslie against her as her lips flared open and closed repeatedly. Her slender thighs clamped his head. It went on a long time. He was suffocating. He tried to wriggle free of her convulsive grip. At last her body relaxed, all at once, as if a string had snapped. Leslie breathed deeply and returned to his licking, but now she flinched each time his tongue touched her clitoris. "Wait," she panted. "Wait a minute." She tugged at his ears. "Come up here, darling, and lie beside me." She kissed his wet face and held him in her arms while she lay recovering. Leslie controlled his high excitement, conscious of his prick throbbing, knowing that after this, when he could decently get up, he would have to go to the bathroom to jerk off. He made himself calm down. In a few minutes Mrs. Chard whispered, "Now for your reward." She climbed over him. Straddling him, she took his steaming cock in her hands and held it pointing at her crotch as she slowly lowered her hips. An inward look appeared on her thin face as she sat on his pole. She wriggled. Her cunt made liquid noises. Leslie was stunned. He saw his cock slowly vanishing into the hole between her legs, felt the warm, wet sheathing tissue surround his organ, palpitating around it, swallowing him deeper until the weight of her body rested on his midsection. He couldn't take in what was happening. Only when she lifted herself and dropped unhurriedly once more did he get it. His mom was letting him fuck her! Her breasts bobbled in front of his face. He reached up and held them. She bent toward him and said, "Yes, kiss my titties, darling." He obeyed with alacrity. The nipples were stiff and wrinkled in his mouth as she moved her hips steadily up and down. Her cunt was squeezing his prick gently, rhythmically, wetly. She leaned farther forward, straightened her legs so they were between his, still keeping him in her, still moving her hips in that sensuous rhythm. It made sucking noises in the silence of the lamp-lit room. It was too much for a poor overloaded child. Without warning Leslie's cock jumped and he gasped, frantic, holding his mother to him, arms around her waist as the liquid contents of his balls spewed into her womb, pumping rapidly spurting through his prick into her intimacy his mother's cunt massaging him milking in wet squeezes and sucks the room dimming in front of his eyes as he *CAME* in her and kept coming, semen flowing out around the organ adding to her wetness so their united genitals slipped and slid and their entangled pubic hair was soaked. It excited her. She spasmed. Her vagina gripped his surging cock fiercely. She gasped, "I can't tell if I'm doing it to you or if you're doing it to me!" Leslie was drained but so excited his penis remained rigid for minutes while his mother continued her sensuous back-and-forth movement, now moaning repeatedly, erotically. At last she slumped on him panting, pelvis still making exquisite little rotating motions. He let his shaking knees collapse to the mattress. His penis finally got limp and slid out of her on a wash of semen. Mistily he thought, My mom let me fuck her! but he was too overcome to think about it. It was too much for him right now. Mrs. Chard rolled off him. She fingered the flaccid wet dick and said dreamily, "It's all small again, almost like a real clitoris." She turned out the light. Holding him in her arms she said, "So nice to have a girl around the house." Chapter 4 The next morning Leslie woke up slowly, swimming dreamily out of the tides of sleep. A stripe of sunlight emerged from between the closed drapes and lay lazily on the floor. The pink canopy overhead confused him until he remembered where he was. He turned his head and saw that his mother was gone from his side. A fragrance of perfume filled his nostrils. His eyelashes touched his cheeks when he blinked. He tasted the remnants of lipstick on his mouth. His body was covered with a silken material. Leslie's heart started to pound. His mom had dressed him in girl's clothes, and as a reward for his cooperation had let him have intercourse with her. She let him *fuck* her! His prick, already half-hard as it frequently was in the mornings, sprang erect. Fucking had been wonderful, more wonderful than he had ever imagined it would be while jerking off. Would she let him do it again? He would dress up for her any time. But--his own mother! He got nervously out from under the bedclothes and went to the bathroom, nightgown swirling about his legs. Hiking the gown up, he concentrated on making his cock soft enough to be able to relieve himself in the toilet. The pounding stream of urine faltered when he heard dishes clattering in the kitchen downstairs. Angie was here, making breakfast. His heart jumped and his stomach got scared. He had to get out of his mother's room and wash off the remnants of the makeup and put on his own clothes before the maid could see him. The door opened. Mrs. Chard, her nightgown covered with a negligee, said cheerfully, "So you're awake at last, sleepyhead. How pretty you look this morning. But you don't have to be up. Angie will bring us our breakfast in bed." "Mom--" "Don't worry about Angie, dear. I explained everything to her." "But she'll see me wearing a nightgown! And with my hair this way and lipstick still on. I can't. Aw, Mom, I don't have to wear girl's clothes again today, do I?" Mrs. Chard looked surprised. "Of course you do, Leslie. It's Saturday. You don't have school." "But Johnny and his mother are coming over later, remember?" Her laugh tinkled. "Don't worry about that either. Mrs. Argentina was with me when I shopped for your clothes yesterday. She thought it was a delightful idea and bought just as many as I did. I have no doubt Joan will be dressed as nicely as you." "Joan?" "That's what Mrs. Argentina will call your little friend when he's dressed properly--perhaps I should say when *she* is dressed properly. Come, let's get back into bed." "Aw, Mom," Leslie said, clambering onto the soft mattress. "Now, don't make a fuss, Leslie." Mrs. Chard got under the covers next to him. "Be a good child and do as I say. If you're specially obedient, you may get another reward. --No, not *now!"* She pushed playfully at Leslie's rigid prick under the sheets. "Gracious, will you get like that every time I'm near you? Behave yourself. Act like a lady." There was a rap at the door. Leslie's heart jumped. He wanted to hide under the covers. Angie came in bearing silver breakfast trays. She was a plump dark-haired girl in her twenties with a cheery expression. She wore the same kind of black satin dress Leslie had been made to wear, and had a French-lace cap on her head. Her eyes widened when she saw the boy sitting up in bed next to his mother. "Oh, Les! I mean," she corrected herself archly, *"Miss Leslie.* How pretty you look this morning." Leslie felt his cheeks redden and looked down. Angie put the trays on the table and bustled around the room picking up discarded lingerie. She opened the drapes, letting in a flood of morning sunlight, before arranging lap tables over Leslie's and Mrs. Chard's legs. Leslie saw her trying to appear nonchalant, but she kept peeking curiously at him out of the corner of her eye. Her hand shook as she poured the chocolate. "Have a nice breakfast, Ma'am--and Miss." Angie grinned suddenly. "Ooh. Our Miss Leslie is just too cute for words, isn't she, Ma'am?" "Now, Angie, don't make her blush. That will be all for now. I'll ring when we finish our breakfast." Angie said, "Yes, Ma'am," and contrived to tip Leslie a wink before she left the room. "She called me 'Miss.' " "Why, what else should she call you when you're in a nightie?" "It's too embarrassing, Mom. Please don't make me." "Nonsense, Leslie. You look very attractive. I'm sure Angie understands. It looked to me as though she, too, preferred you this way." After breakfast Mrs. Chard opened the door of her walk-in closet, revealing packages stacked on the floor. She piled them on the bed. "Look at the lovely clothes I bought for you. See, here's a pretty spring frock, you can wear that today. And shoes to match. "This one," she held up a black taffeta dress with a low-cut neckline and looked at it critically, "may be too old for you still. Perhaps it's too daring, with that decollete. Still," she speculated, "you could wear a black bra, and pin the neckline together a little." She opened another box and unwrapped the tissue paper inside. "Oh, and this! I couldn't resist it." It was a brilliant yellow play dress made of nylon, backless, with only thin silken strings for the shoulder straps. It was slashed at either side of the waist; on the left the skirt was open nearly to the hip. A matching pair of bikini panties of the same material were evidently meant to be seen. "Here are a couple that are more modest, a jumper--see what a darling blouse to go with it!--and a shirtwaist. And look at all the beautiful lingerie!" She showed him lacy wasp-waisted garments with dangling garters. "They're called merry widows. They'll give you an extra-special figure. They're boned." Mrs. Chard's face was alight with pleasure. "I just *loved* buying all these things for you. See, four more pairs of shoes, and two pairs of sandals. You'll be the best-dressed young lady on the block! Now, get up, lazybones. It's time for you to bathe. I'll help you." It was another scented bubble bath. When he was scrubbed pink she dried him thoroughly. As the effect of her rubbing made itself shown, she smiled and mischievously stripped back his foreskin to dab gently at the swollen head with a corner of the towel, observing him twitch, but said nothing. She made him raise his arms and examined his armpits critically. "You're still perfectly smooth, but let's shave you again anyway. I want you to be perfect for Mrs. Argentina." After his legs were done, she made him stand while she trimmed his pubic hair and shaved the margins to shape it into a narrow triangle with cleanly- defined edges, "so it won't show when you wear brief panties," she explained. She turned him to the floor-length mirror. "Except for one thing," she said. "It's very naughty of you to be this way. It will spoil the appearance of your dress." Leslie felt his face redden. "I'm sorry, Mom. I can't help it." She put her arms around him from behind, soft against his back. "If you get dressed will it go away?" "I don't think so." "Why not? Are your new clothes so exciting for you?" Leslie ducked his head shyly and whispered, "Yes." "I'm glad. I knew you'd like them. But it leaves us with quite a problem. What shall we do?" Leslie shrugged hopefully. She said, "We don't have time to-- Mrs. Argentina and Joan will be here soon." There was a tremor in Mrs. Chard's voice. "Perhaps if you-- relieved yourself. Would that help?" She took his hand and put it around his stiff penis and made it work back and forth. It shocked Leslie. She said, "I'll close the door behind me and you do whatever it is you do. Just be sure you won't disgrace me after you're dressed." He turned red all over as he watched the door close. Even if she couldn't see it, she would know what he was doing. His penis softened slightly. He had to do it, though. If he didn't, he would never get rid of the hard- on. He sat on the toilet and held his erect prick, fingers underneath and thumb on top, pulling rhythmically, remembering the cool touch of his mother's fingers the night before. He pictured himself wearing a nightgown and making love to her in it, and felt once more the tight warmth of her vagina engulfing his cock. In a short time semen splashed on the floor in front of him. His knees were weak; he leaned against the sink shaking while his organ softened. Cheeks hot, prick now dangling, he went into the bedroom to face his mother. All she said was, "Good. Now you can get dressed without spoiling the effect of your clothes. Come, Leslie, there's no time for lollygagging around. It's almost noon. Mrs. Argentina and Joan will be here any minute." She made him stand still while she fastened one of the merry widows around his waist. Despite its delicate appearance it was stiff on his skin. Mrs. Chard put her knee in his back and yanked on the laces. "Ow! You're making it too tight," Leslie complained. "Not tight enough, you mean." She continued to pull until Leslie got dizzy from lack of air. When she finally tied the laces, his waist had been forced into so small a circumference that his hands could almost encircle it. Leslie was gasping. "I can't breathe. It's too tight." Mrs. Chard said cheerfully, "You'll get used to it. We girls sometimes have to suffer to be beautiful." She kneeled in front of him and rolled a pair of nylons up his legs and buttoned the garters to them. She planted a soft wet kiss on his flaccid penis and hanging testicles before standing up. "There!" She smiled at his expression. Handing him a pair of white lace panties, she said, "Put these on and tuck yourself in so nothing shows." As Leslie donned the flimsy garment she picked up the false breasts. "How real they seem. They have glycerin in them. The salesgirl said foam rubber would be just as good but less expensive. I'm glad I didn't let her talk me into it. These are much better." She pried the cups of the merry widow away from his skin and filled them with the soft rubber. The gentle pressure and weight tantalized his own nipples. "They give you a lovely figure. Stand still while I put your dress over your head." Mrs. Chard straightened a white sleeveless frock on him with the serious, intent expression that again made Leslie think of a girl playing with her dolls. "There. You look very nice. Come, put on your heels and I'll ring for Angie to help with your makeup while I get dressed." Chapter 5 "All done. Oh, Miss Leslie, you look just delicious. How exciting!" Angie enthused. The boy's hair fell in soft waves to below his ears. His eyes, expertly mascaraed, looked wide and virginal, but the lipstick on his mouth made his lips seem fuller, giving them a sensuality to belie the innocence of his eyes. Garnet earrings added a subtle maturity. Mrs. Chard had dressed him in a sleeveless frock. It was white cotton, full-skirted, of a deceptively simple design. Nylons made his legs golden and lent them a sleek roundness. White high-heeled pumps matched the dress. Angie had painted his fingernails the same deep pink as his lips, and fastened one of his mother's gold bracelets, ringed with garnets like his earrings, to his left wrist. To finish off her production, she dabbed a light floral perfume behind his ears. Mrs. Chard was calling him from downstairs. "Leslie! Your little friend is here. Come and say hello to Joan and Mrs. Argentina." He cast an anxious glance at Angie. She said, "It'll be all right. You look so nice, nobody will blame you for dressing this way. Come on, your mother is waiting. I have to hurry and get the refreshments." Leslie wobbled self-consciously after her on his heels. The pounding of his heart made the falsies vibrate under the thin dress. He held the rail as he descended the stairs, knees shaking. Letting Angie make him up had been an ordeal. He kept looking into her face to see any signs of disparagement or contempt, but she treated his dressing in girl's clothes as perfectly natural. He had finally burst out, "I look silly! Why do I have to do this?" Angie replied calmly, brushing out his curls, "Because your mother knows what's best for you, Miss Leslie. As a boy you are ill-mannered and crude; now you have a chance to be sweetly demure. Your mother has always wanted a daughter to fuss over. Believe me, your life will be a lot more pleasant if you learn to enjoy your dresses and allow your mother her little pleasure. Anyway, girl's clothes are ever so much nicer and softer than boy's, and if you look at yourself in the mirror without prejudice, you'll see how pretty a girl you can be. You don't look at all silly." "Really?" "Really." "But I don't want to be a girl." Angie laughed, "What's wrong with being a girl? Half the people in the world are girls." "Yeah, but they're real girls. I mean--" "Well, everybody can't be perfect. So long as you look like a girl and behave like a girl, that's ninety percent of it." Angie wasn't going to be much help, Leslie saw. He felt like Alice in Wonderland. All this seemed so queer and unnatural; yet everybody else took it in stride. At least they weren't laughing at him. He tried to take a deep breath before venturing into the living room, but the constriction of his waist prevented it. Johnny was standing by the window looking somber. With heartfelt relief Leslie saw the other boy was wearing a dress too, just as his mother had predicted. He knew it was Johnny, he recognized him, but his eyes kept telling him his best friend was an attractive girl. It was like a magic spell or something, or like seeing photographic double images superimposed on each other. Johnny's dress was pink, off-the-shoulder, a demure fold of white material around its upper edge like a collar. His straight hair was pulled up in a short ponytail. Like Leslie he wore stockings, and pumps that matched his dress. His eyebrows were plucked tastefully and his mouth was a vivid red, contrasting with his fair skin and melting dark eyes. The ladies were sitting at either end of a curved sofa that flanked a coffee table with a piano finish. Mrs. Argentina was sleek and lustrous. Sparkling jewels dangled from her ears. Her bolero jacket and skirt were black silk brocade; under the jacket her blouse was white silk. She looked formal next to Mrs. Chard's sky-blue cotton shirtwaist dress. Mrs. Chard said, "Oh, there you are, dear. Come say hello to Joan and Mrs. Argentina." "Hi," Leslie said shyly. "When you are greeting visitors you should say how do you do, and curtsy." Mrs. Chard turned to the other woman. "She's quite attractive, don't you think? But she has a lot to learn about deportment." To Leslie, "Do it, dear." Leslie's cheeks heated. He looked nervously at Johnny, then back to the ladies. "How do you do, Mrs. Argentina." He dipped his knees stiffly because of the rigid undergarment, and held his skirt out the way girls did in dancing class. "That was very nice, dear. You don't have to hold your skirt the next time. It's old-fashioned." Mrs. Argentina was looking at Leslie entranced. "She's breathtaking, Estelle, just breathtaking. So slender and feminine. You must be very proud." "I am," Mrs. Chard said with a touch of smugness, "but she has a long way to go." Angie entered carrying a tray. Her eyes flickered from one boy to the other but her face remained impassive. Mrs. Chard said, "Ah, here are our refreshments. Tom Collins for us, lemon soda for the girls. Thank you, Angie." "Will that be all, ma'am?" "Yes, Angie, thank you," Mrs. Chard dismissed her. "Your maid is a gem, Estelle. I envy you. Good help is so hard to find." Mrs. Argentina smiled. "But do you know, I think our girls are far prettier." Mrs. Chard simpered comfortably. "They are, aren't they? We really ought not to say so in front of them. They're likely to become vain. Joan, come sit by me. Leslie, you sit next to Mrs. Argentina." With sheepish looks at each other, Johnny and Leslie obeyed. "Marie, I can't tell you how grateful I am that you suggested this," Mrs. Chard said. "Not at all. It was your idea to teach them refinement by dressing them this way. It's marvelous. When Joan is like this nothing about her reminds me of her father or any of the other male chauvinist pigs. Perhaps these children will learn how much better it is to be a woman than a man." "I certainly hope so," Mrs. Chard sipped her drink. "What do you say, Leslie?" "Yes, Mother." "Joan?" "Yes, Ma'am." Mrs. Argentina said, "It's doing them a world of good. My Joan is so much better behaved." "Yes," agreed Mrs. Chard. "She's a charming young lady." Leslie finished his soda. He caught Johnny's eye. The other boy nodded faintly, ponytail swinging. He put his glass down. "May we be excused?" "Yes, of course, dear. Run along and play. You may show your little friend your lovely new clothes if you wish." "Joan, don't forget your purse," Mrs. Argentina reminded her son with a tolerant smile. Once they were up in his room Leslie exhaled shakily. "Boy, I couldn't have stayed there a minute longer. When I saw you dressed up like that I started to get a hard-on and I was afraid they'd see it through this, ugh, dress." He bounced onto the bed, sitting carelessly on the edge of the mattress, legs braced apart, everything his mother had taught him about girlish mannerisms forgotten. "Yeah, me too." "You got a hard-on too?" "Yeah," Johnny admitted. "I couldn't help it. You look pretty good. I never knew your waist was so narrow. It's hard to believe you're a guy and got a thing under there. Besides, I don't know why, but wearing these clothes--" He stopped. "Wearing these clothes what?" Johnny looked down. His dark eyelashes glimmered. "I don't know if I should tell you." "It's okay, we're friends." "Well, see, at first--when Mom first punished me?" "Yeah?" "I told you I hated it, remember? I didn't really. It kind of gave me a kick. I even put the dress on sometimes without her telling me to. In the bathroom when I--you know." Leslie nodded. Johnny meant when he jerked off. "So this morning when she dressed me all up, not just the dress but undies and makeup and all, it made me feel all, kind of, funny. Real, uh, sexy. Even though it was scary walking over here from the other condo, it was a sexy scariness. I mean ... *girl's clothes!* I--" He shivered and finished shyly, "--I liked it." "I can't believe you walked over here. Did anybody see you?" "Yeah, Mister Anderson the gardener, but he wasn't paying attention. And Mrs. Philpot stopped to say hello to us. Mom introduced me as her daughter. She didn't even notice, she was so busy complaining about her refrigerator that broke. And then Patty Perkins, that girl from our school, came out and passed us. She looked at me but I don't think she recognized me." "I'd'a been scared." "I was, but it was daring. I got a boner." After a moment Leslie asked, "Did your mother ever see you?" "Yesterday while she was dressing me, and then again this morning. She got real mad. She said I'm not supposed to be a disgusting man, and stop it right away or she'd cut it off. I knew she wouldn't really, but I got nervous so it went away. How about your mom?" Leslie was silent, making up his mind whether to tell Johnny what he and his mother had done together. "Well," he said finally, "Mine says she hates men, too, but I don't know if really does. Anyhow, last night she made me sleep in her bed in a nightgown. She was happy about me wearing a dress before, 'n she said she'd give me a reward." His face burned. He went on, "She--touched me." "Touched you? You mean, your thing?" "Yeah. I didn't think she knew what she was doing at first, but she made it hard. Then she let me put it inside her." "I don't get it." "You know. Inside her." Johnny's jaw hung open. "Inside her? Like fucking? She let you fuck her?" "Yeah." "Get outta here." "No, really." "Come on, you didn't do that." "I did too." Johnny looked stunned, then admiring. "You really fucked her? Boy, that's something. Wow. That's terrific. How was it?" "Great, what d'you think?" Johnny shook his head, ponytail flirting. He looked up slyly. "Hey. You know what that makes you? A mother-fucker." Leslie started laughing. "That's right, I never thought of that." Johnny was still shaking his head. "Boy, am I jealous. Your mom is really beautiful." "So's yours." "Yeah, but she would never let me do that," he said mournfully. "You're lucky. Boy are you lucky. I been wearing a dress for years, and nothing, and the first time you do you get laid." He squirmed. "I got to take down my panties, my thing hurts." He reached up under his skirt and slid the panties down to his ankles and stepped out of them. Leslie saw they were pink like his dress, with little white ribbons threaded through them. Johnny's skirt was held up like a tent. Leslie followed suit. "Me too. Whew!" He looked sidelong at Johnny. The awareness that they were all alone together in the room hung in the air, almost palpable. "I can see your thing under your dress. I'll show you mine if you show me yours." Johnny looked shy but said, "Okay." His hands shook a little as he raised his skirt, exposing himself to Leslie. His prick was straight as a rod, not curved upwards like his own. Leslie observed a certain lack of skin on the organ. The head was red and shiny. A sticky drop of moisture welled out of the hole in the tip. Apart from his own it was the first erection Leslie had ever seen. In the school locker room the boys were always limp. There was something about seeing Johnny's hard-on that made his heart beat and gave him butterflies in the stomach. He wanted to touch it. He swallowed. "You're circumcised. It looks real neat." "Aren't you? Let me see. I showed you." Leslie pulled up his skirt, heart in his throat. Johnny said, "Oh, I see. Hey, I like it. It's so skin-y, like a collar in back of the head. Yours is bigger than mine, isn't it? I always wondered what yours was like. Can I feel it?" "If you want. I'll do it too." Johnny's fingers clasped Leslie's cock gently. They were cold. Leslie's organ throbbed. Johnny said, "Oh gosh. You're really hard. Your thing feels so hot, it's almost burning my hand." Leslie shivered as he reached out to let his hand encircle Johnny's prick. It felt very firm and warm and it twitched in his grasp. The drop at the tip became a leak, and dripped stickily onto his fingers. He couldn't help stroking his friend's organ, and as he did so, felt Johnny's hand moving on his own. He choked, "You know what else Mom let me do?" "What?" "Kiss her--down there." "Kiss her!" "Yeah, you know, like ... lick." A tremor passed over Johnny's body. His hand stopped moving. His face was pale as he said, "You're so lucky." After a moment he went on, "Did she do it to you, too?" "What?" "Kiss you there. You know." "No! She wouldn't do that. My mother would never! That's gross." "No, it isn't. Girls do. They suck it. I would if I was a girl." Leslie looked sharply at his friend. Johnny's face was red. His carmined lips were trembling. A wave of heat went through Leslie. "You would?" "That's what they do." "Would you do it to me?" "If I was a girl? Sure." "Well, our moms want us to be girls, don't they?" The afternoon sun streamed through the windows at the end of the room, making bright squares on the blue carpeting. A fly buzzed in lazy circles up near the tall ceiling. Johnny's low voice broke the silence. "I will if you will." Leslie looked anxiously at the closed door, then back at Johnny. "What--" His throat caught and he had to start over. "What would we do?" "You know. Suck each other's thing." "Yeah, but what if we squirted?" A new blush deepened the color on Johnny's cheeks. "Well ... I thought about it a couple of times when I was in the bathroom with the dress on. I'd--drink it," he admitted, looking down at the floor. "If you wouldn't tell." "Oh, wow," Leslie breathed. Drink it. If Johnny did, he'd have to, too. He didn't know if he could. Have another boy's jism in his mouth, and then swallow it? It was so creepy it made him squirm inside. He wondered what it tasted like. He remembered the sweet sexiness of his mother's juices, and gasped, "Okay, let's." The boys stared at each other appalled. Johnny stammered, "I'll d-do it to you first if you promise to do it to me after." "We could do it at the same time." Leslie whispered. "Lie down next to me on the bed, but the other way around." He pried off his pumps and lay on his side, worrying briefly about wrinkling his dress, but too excited to care. Johnny pulled off his own shoes, got on the bed opposite. Leslie tugged up Johnny's skirt. The boy's garter belt matched his outfit-- the garters were white ruffles with a pink stripe. He caressed the other boy's smooth hips and thighs, and looked at the stiff prick pointing at him. It was so rigid it vibrated with a fine tremor that pulsed with his friend's heartbeat. With a preternatural clarity, he saw the shiny red head dripping liquid; the white shaft with veins curling along its length, rooted in a nest of dark pubic hair; the tight balls. Leslie panted. He couldn't believe he was doing this. He felt as though he were going to faint. He couldn't get enough oxygen because of the tightness around his waist. There was a rush of fresh air on his midsection as Johnny pulled up his skirt. He heard the boy say, "It's so big." The voice got a surprised note. "You shaved the edges of your hair! I like it. It's really neat-looking." Leslie sensed they were both putting off the fatal moment. He took as deep a breath as he could, and pushed his head forward. His tongue went out and licked the tip of the penis in front of him. It twitched. The sticky fluid didn't seem to have much taste. Mustering his determination he opened his mouth and took the prick in. He had to open wide. He moved his head too far at first--the meaty cock pushed against the back of his throat, making him gag. For a moment he thought he was going to throw up. It was hot in his mouth. The nutty odor of his friend's balls filled his nostrils. Holding the base of Johnny's tumid organ, he moved his head back and forth. It was hard to keep his mouth open so wide; his jaw began to ache a little and his lips soon grew tender with the friction of their movement. The fluid leaking from it increased in volume. It didn't have much taste. It wasn't the real thing, though, only the stuff that came before. He liked its slipperiness; he sucked to see if he could get more of it. His own prick was suddenly surrounded by Johnny's soft mouth. The wet warmth was shocking. As the other boy's throat jammed against his cock, he heard him choke the same way he had. His prick thrilled to the movement of Johnny's tongue and the gentle, rhythmic suction being applied. His friend's hand was fondling his balls. Without warning Johnny's prick, now ringed halfway down with lipstick, jumped strongly. Leslie's mouth got full of a strange new taste, alkaline, tingly, like it was alive. He made a small noise in his throat. He had to swallow; sperm was pumping in and dribbling out the corners of his lips. He continued moving his head. When Johnny became limp and squirmy in his mouth and his leg began jerking each time Leslie's tongue wrapped around the soft head, Leslie let the penis go. He had done it! His face heated. What if Johnny told? Oh, gosh, then if the other boys called him a, oh jeez, a *cocksucker*--he cringed inside-- he couldn't deny it. His cheeks burned. Johnny, who had apparently been lost in the explosion of his testicles, was no longer working on his prick. Leslie moved his hips to remind him. The warm wet motion resumed. Johnny had already ejaculated; nevertheless he persisted, and in a few minutes Leslie rewarded him with a fierce spurt and subsequent rhythmic jets. He heard Johnny say, "Guk." There were swallowing noises. The wet pulling at his now-softening cock redoubled, as if the other boy was seeking to drain every last drop of semen from his balls. He saw Johnny's flaccid prick stir, trying to become erect again. After a while his cock got too sensitive to the caressing touch of his friend's tongue, and he moved his hips away. The boys lay quiet for a time. When they recovered they sat up side by side, avoiding each other's eyes. Leslie stared at the sunlight on the floor, full of mixed emotions. He was shocked at his actions but thrilled by them. He was deliciously drained, but he had performed the ultimately shameful act-- and what's more, he had liked it. Was he what the guys called a homo? The tho