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Standard warning and disclaimer: All characters are fictional. If you see yourself, buy a new mirror. Contains subjects some people may find offensive. If you are one of them, why are you reading this? Protect your kids. If you are worried about them reading this sort of material, please censor free speech and use a safe surfing program such as net nanny. Or better yet, teach them early and lovingly to understand and accept different lifestyles. Before they learn from bad experiences. All constructive comments are welcome. Please e-mail to me: [email protected] or [email protected] Finally, this is a piece of adult fiction. If you are underage, or if you find it offensive, please go elsewhere. Quickly. Emily and Me By Samantha Michelle Copyright 2000 It took me years to quit hating my parents. They never intentionally mistreated me or my sister; rather, they were the most wonderful, loving people one could imagine. But when we were born they were still young romantics, with the common sense of clams. I guess they had just finished French history when Mom gave birth us, fraternal twins. In a strange fit of insanity, they named us after some French relatives many generations back. Thus I, the boy, became Francis Emile Bordoun, and my sister Frances Emilie Bordoun. And like the good parents they were, they immediately went and requested social security numbers for us. Perhaps there is more Irish in my father's blood than he claims; we must have a relative named Murphy watching over us. The only difference in our social security numbers were the last two digits. Mine ends in 96, hers in 69. With Frances coming before Francis, and 69 coming before 96, hers was always the first record reviewed. As we grew up there were constant problems with people confusing us with each other. It did not help that we were so similar in appearance many thought us identical twins. Or that our artistically inclined parents made us both grow our hair long. And insisted that we be called by our given names. So most everyone thought we were both girls. At six we entered the public school system with a thud. We lived in a small community near the coast where there was only one class for each grade. Mom enjoyed sewing far too much, and so we were wearing almost identical outfits, French-style drawstring pants and beautifully embroidered poet's shirts. Appropriate for Paris, perhaps, but not for rural Maine. By the end of the day the teacher had a headache. We had been so well taught at home that we were far too advanced for the class. So the next day we started 2nd grade, and found to our dismay that we were both the most advanced and the smallest children there. Our teacher tried unsuccessfully to settle problems with other students harassing me about my long hair and clothing. We both were teased about our names. Thus we began a lonely several years of growing up. At home, Mom taught us about theater and acting, and modern and classical dance. Dad taught us art and music. By the time we were in fifth grade people were used to us. When Mom and Dad started teaching the same classes as volunteers at our school, finally we were able to share some of our interests with others. I guess that we inherited some of the nonconformity of our parents. We quickly learned to use our almost identical appearances to our advantage. We never got in too much trouble, but we sowed confusion whenever possible. Besides, who would expect twin girls to have that as a hobby? Most of the families in our area were poor, blue-collar types, so our highly educated, eccentric parents and culturally rich upbringing made us black sheep among the locals. We were, however, finally accepted by a few of the kids as "odd but nice", and enjoyed a little company, as we grew older. Frances and I remained almost identical in growth. Like our parents, we were small and slightly built, with heavy, soft brown hair. Since we stayed in the same school through the 8th grade, most everyone was used to our appearance, but I was still constantly harassed. Neither of us was very big. We barely tipped the scales at 120 pounds, and stood just five feet three in our stocking feet. Although I had hoped to grow more, our doctor told Mom that we were probably full-grown at fourteen. We were a bit taller than Mom, who weighed a little more then us, and just an inch shorter than Dad. We actually looked taller than we were, because we both had long, muscular dancer's legs. We were not looking forward to high school with our acquaintances, so when Dad came home one July evening and made a momentous announcement, we thought it was the answer to our prayers. He and Mom, who we knew had been struggling to pay the bills, had accepted teaching positions at a small college in western Maine, so we would be moving within the month. We said a few good-byes that August, and moved into our new home in a village near the college just before the start of classes. There was no high school in our little village, so we, and the few other secondary school students, all older, had to take a bus almost twenty miles to the county school, located in a fair-sized manufacturing town. Once at school, things went relatively smoothly, aside from the kidding we expected because we looked alike. I found myself, almost unexpectedly, being treated as a girl. I guess my long hair and delicate features didn't help much. My small stature made me look even more girlish. We found the school, which was somewhat overcrowded, had scheduled us for all the same classes. Mom and Dad had not filled out the registration forms carefully, and the school assumed that since we were twins, we were identical twins. For our first period we were scheduled for home economics. It was there that my problems really started. The teacher, a matronly woman, immediately mispronounced our names, and tried to tell us that Frances was to use her first name, and I was to be called by my middle name, "Emily", to reduce confusion. When I politely, and privately, informed the teacher that my name was Francis, with an "I" and that I was a boy, not a girl, she got upset. Apparently there was a policy (which she had insisted on) that home economics was a "girl's only" class. So she took me down to the office and quickly found that they had us both registered as girls. She wasn't the brightest star in the sky. She told me that the school said I was a girl, and for her class a girl I would be, so addressing me as "Emily" she assigned me a seat next to my sister. It was kind of strange to be in a class of twenty-eight girls, a lot of whom looked quite attractive. No one seemed to notice us, except that we were twins. The rest of the day went the same way. I didn't feel like arguing about who or what I was, so I quickly got used to being called Emily. Even Frances picked it up quickly. We both were signed up for dance classes as, thanks to Mom, we were by now accomplished dancers. The school brochure had indicated that all dance students were to bring leotards, tights and dance (not ballet) slippers. To us this did not seem at all odd. When Frances and I went looking for the dance class, our final class for the day, we were directed by a teacher to a room located near the school's auditorium. We were almost late, and failed to note the sign on the door as we followed other students rushing inside. The sign, I found out later, read "Girls dressing rooms". Once inside, we were told to find a locker, and change into our dance clothes. Because we were late, we wound up in the area normally reserved for the advanced students. We had been in professional dance studios and theaters before, and were used to everyone changing in the same room. It was only after I stripped out of my shirt, slacks, and underwear, and started pulling on my gaff that everything got eerily quiet. Startled, I looked around and saw everyone staring at me, and I realized that I was the only boy in the entire room. Frances looked at me, looked back at them, and started giggling. I frantically got the gaff in place, and pulled on my tights and leotard as several of the girls started to laugh while others grabbed their clothes and covered themselves. Thinking they were going to kill me, Frances and I ran into the dance studio. I knew I was dead when a couple of girls went over to teacher and announced that there was a boy in their dressing room. She let loose a relatively mild curse, and stating she would throw the offending male out in the hall naked, strode right past me into the dressing rooms. I could not figure why she did not grab me. A moment later she re-appeared, and looked around until she saw Frances and me trying to disappear into the background. With a puzzled look she called us both over, and looked each of us over carefully. It was then I realized that, with the gaff on, I looked almost exactly like my sister. The same two girls came over and pointed at us, saying, "One of them is the boy that was in the dressing room." In front of our accusers she asked my sister and I who, or what, we were. Frances answered first, and again giggling, introduced me as her twin brother Emily. She coughed and corrected herself, re-introducing me as Francis. Shaking her head, the teacher, told me to get out of the class immediately. Several of the older girls popped up with "Since he looks like a girl, make him dance like one." She started to smile. Turning to me, she began "well, young lady, since you have decided to join us here, I guess that it would be fitting for you to participate in today's class. Unless, that is, you want to be suspended for what you did." I gulped and nodded. She introduced herself to the class as Ms. Osborne, and gave a list of credentials that was unexpected for someone teaching at such a remote public school. She also reminded us that we would be there for several hours, well past the end of the regular school day, as this was also to be auditions for the differing dance groups. We were then paired off, each new student with one of her most experienced dancers. She made a point of matching me with a tall, really muscular girl named Natalie, who I had seen in the dressing room, and ran us through warm-ups. Throughout the warm-ups Natalie continuously berated me for my small status and appearance, calling me a sissy and a wimp. She seemed surprised when I was easily able to keep up with the warm-ups, including some very advanced moves. To find out what we knew, Ms. Osborne then put on a series of popular and classic pieces, and told us to dance solo to each piece. Most of the new (and from my view many of the older) students were pathetic. Natalie looked at me just before we started and challenged me to keep up with her. With all her teasing, I was less than cordial, and almost hissed as I told her to try and keep up with me. She looked surprised at being challenged. We started with a waltz, and ran the gamut from classic to modern. Natalie was an excellent, aggressive dancer, more experienced than I in the most modern pieces, but woefully lacking polish in the classics. Soon she had to quit heckling, and was using all her energy to keep up with me. Ms. Osborne announced a fifteen-minute break, and advised us that the next couple of dances were the hardest, and would be partner dances for only those students she was considering for the "upbeats", which was the school's top dance group. I headed for Frances, who had been paired with a tall, beautiful, china- doll blond named Beth, whose graceful, precise movements bespoke of years of formal ballet training. Frances was smiling, and said that Natalie and I were being watched by everyone. I groaned, and she said she thought we would both make the advanced group. I thought it possible, then remembered that I would be booted out of the class after today. I stood silently for the rest of the break, feeling sad. Ms. Osborne spoke up "Each pair I announce will dance both pieces. I am looking for both individual talent, and the ability to interact dynamically with your partner. There are twelve positions in the upbeats. She then began to call off pairs. Soon sixteen of us stood in front of the class, including Frances and myself. She continued, "The first piece is the theme from the movie "Dirty Dancing", and the second is the theme from "Grease". For the first piece the more experienced student will take the male lead. For the second, they will take the female. Use the whole floor, as these pieces are, shall we say, energetic. We spread out, and she started the music. I always thought that the theme from dirty dancing was fun. I now found it was erotic. Natalie was, if nothing else, uninhibited. Her body contact, which was technical before, now became sensual. It did not matter if I was dancing the female role, I too abandoned myself to the music, and the electricity flowed between us and across the floor. All to soon, the music stopped, and I found myself in a tongue-sharing embrace with Natalie that took a physical pull and disapproving frown by Ms. Osborne to separate. I don't know who was more shocked, Ms. Osborne, Natalie, or myself. After determining that we were both all right, she started the music from "Grease". I tried to take the male role, but it was immediately apparent that I did not have the strength to carry out the part. Natalie shrugged and started leading. Again we abandoned ourselves to the music, and when it stopped we found that we were being watched carefully by the entire class. I wanted to run and hide, but Natalie was holding me close and personal, and refused to let go. It felt so good, I was afraid. I'd never been this close to a girl, other than my sister. This time Ms. Osborne did not try to separate us. She announced the names of those chosen for the advanced class, and I grabbed Natalie even closer when Frances, Beth, Natalie and I were all in the named group. The six non- selected students were dismissed, and we were told to gather around the water fountain. Natalie finally released me, and if Frances had not been there to grab me I think I would have melted onto the floor. "Wow, I've never seen you dance like that. What did she do to you?" Frances asked. I gave her a foggy look and silly smile. Little did I know that the same type of conversation was going on between Beth and Natalie. After some cool water, Ms. Osborne addressed our small group. "You young ladies are the best dancers I have had here in many years, and there is not a senior among you. We will have the best high school women's troupe in the state by the end of the year." One of the other older girls spoke up. "Ms. Osborne, one of us is not a girl, remember?" She looked at Frances and myself, shook her head, and muttered "Oh Dear! I forgot completely when I watched her dance. Him dance. Dammit!" She paused, looking very annoyed. Natalie grabbed me and gave me a crushing hug, then spoke up. "So, let -her- stay a member of the troupe." All of the other girls echoed Natalie's statement. Ms. Osborne looked confused, and then addressed my sister and me. "You twins are the most advanced students that I have ever had start in any of my classes. Where did you learn to dance like that? Frances jumped in and explained "Our mother is an accomplished actor and dancer, and taught us as soon as we were able to walk." Ms. Osborne shook her head. And again looked me over carefully. "You dance, move, walk, and speak like a girl. Except for what was reported in the changing room, no one would ever ask the question. Unfortunately, in this backwater school, if you want to be in dance you must be a young woman, as there are no dance classes for boys." I looked sadly at the floor. Dance was one of my few great pleasures in life, and dancing with Natalie had opened up a whole flood of new, wonderful, and scary emotions. Natalie piped up with, "That's not fair," and the others loudly echoed and nodded agreement. Frances began giggling and said, "Since the school already goofed and has Emily, er Francis, registered as a girl, why tell them differently?" I gave her a funny look. Just then a tousled looking man poked his head into the door and called out that if we wanted to get home the bus was leaving in two minutes. This broke everyone's concentrations, and we all dashed for our lockers to grab our books and clothes. I guess because I was in shock, and did not change, it did not sink in that I was back in the girls' lockers, and no one seemed to notice me either. Still dressed in our dance gear, Frances and I hopped in the bus. I guess we were too stinky from dancing, or everyone else was tired, but no one bothered us and we reached home uneventfully. Mom and Dad, seeing how tired we were, sent us for showers, and let us eat a quiet dinner before quizzing us on the day. I guess it was the proverbial silent communication between twins, but neither of us brought up the mix-up in my registration. Frances and I discussed trying to pull off the charade. I was scared that I would be found out, but she pointed out that we had been doing the same thing, always pretending to be girls, successfully to other people for years. There were none of our former classmates here, and as long as I did not take off my underwear, there was nothing to give me away. That hurt, as I knew how little I looked like a boy anyway. She pointed out that she had observed the smaller boys getting picked on. I nodded, having seen it myself. If they thought I was a girl, my size would not matter. She also pointed out that girls taking dance did not have to take gym. I did not like gym; I'd been picked on and roughed up too many times. Finally I acceded to her wishes, and agreed to try. We had been together in classes since we started school, and neither really wanted to venture forth separately. Yet. I suddenly remembered a real problem. "What about clothes, and going to the bathroom..." Frances looked thoughtful. "We dress almost alike anyway, and I almost never wear a skirt or dress, so that's not a problem. And the girls' restrooms all have stalls with doors, so if you go in and sit down no one will know." She paused "Just don't stare at them or let them see your underwear." She giggled, and I groaned. I had mixed feelings, as girls' bathrooms had always been forbidden territory. I started to say something when the bus pulled up, and we had to change topics. The day was anticlimactic. I was petrified when I made my first trip to the bathroom, but nothing happened. I changed into my gaff in a bathroom stall just before dance class No one said anything when I changed to my dance gear in the dressing room. I was, however, watched carefully by Natalie, Beth and a few others. Again we decided we were too tired to change after class, and like most of the others, simply put on whatever shoes we had and dashed for the bus, carrying our clothes. It may sound silly, but for the next couple of months playing the part of a girl at school, and a boy at home was simple, and became automatic. I really didn't think about acting like a "girl", or a "boy" because nothing changed except the sign on the bathroom door. Making sure Frances called me Francis rather than Emily at home was the biggest worry. It was a Friday in mid-November, just after our fourteenth birthday, when disaster struck. There was a power failure around noon at the College, and with all classes canceled Mom and Dad decided it was a good time to see our school first-hand. So they dropped in at the school office, and received permission to visit us in dance class. It happened to be one of the days when we had a long last period, so they headed for the dance studio. We were already practicing, and they slipped in unnoticed. It was only at the end of class they came down to the floor. Frances's whispered "Oh my god" caused me to turn, and there they were, right next to Ms. Osborne. I made a mad, but stealthy, dash for the dressing room. While I was departing in haste, Mom was introducing Dad and herself to Ms. Osborne, who immediately lavished great praise on their two daughter's prowess. According to Frances, who was listening to everything, it took Dad a minute to realize there was something wrong. I guess when he pointed it out to Mom, Ms. Osborne become conscious she had forgotten I was a boy, and got really quiet. Mom then realized that there were no boys in the class. I guess Mom was really quick on the uptake at that point. She dragged Dad out of there before he caused a scene. Frances collared me in the locker room, and told me what had happened. I wanted to hide, but the bus was due to leave, and I hoped to sneak on and avoid going back with my parents. It was not to be. Just before we reached the bus, Mom grabbed us and said to come with her. Dad was in the car, with a distinctly peeved look on his face. I could not read Mom's expression, but it was not pleasant. We were unceremoniously told to sit in the back seat and be quiet. The drive home was ominous. Frances and I held each other's hands. When we arrived, we were told to sit in the living room and wait for them. Mom and Dad headed for their bedroom, and we could hear the sounds of arguing. We would up hugging each other and promising mutual support. They both looked tired and upset when they returned. Dad looked at me, and started in. "Well, children, since we seem to be the only ones not involved in your latest escapade, would you mind terribly filling us in on why Francis is impersonating a girl?" He looked at Frances "And don't get any ideas, young lady, about pleading innocence. I'm sure you are at least as responsible for this ridiculous charade as anyone." She sank quietly back against the couch. I started in "Well, it began the first day of school, when we found out that the registrations you filled out were not quite complete, and they had assumed that since we were twins, and looked so much alike, we were identical twin girls." I paused, letting them absorb some of the blame -- I hoped. "Then our home economics teacher told me, despite my protests, I was a girl until the school told her otherwise, and it was easier to not argue, no one seemed to ask any questions until dance..." I paused again. "Well, what happened in the dance class? It's obvious that they think you are a girl..." Suddenly Frances started to giggle. Dad gave her a disapproving look, and she spoke up "Can I tell this part? Please?" I gave Mom and Dad a pleading look, and they acquiesced. "Well, we didn't know that dance was reserved for girls, so we headed into the dressing room, and..." When she finished the part about the teacher running back past us into the dressing room looking for the offending boy, Mom and Dad lost it. They started to laugh so hard they were crying. I guess the theater bug was still in them. Finally Dad got Mom some water, and asked Frances to continue. Fortunately for me, Frances left out the part about Natalie and me getting close and personal while dancing. For some reason, neither of our parents was looking as upset anymore. Frances finished with, "It was the only way that Francis could stay in the class, and since he is so small, and he has such pretty long hair, by pretending to be a girl it keeps the bullies from bothering him." Dad winced. "Besides, I enjoy having a twin sister to do things with." I looked at her in amazement, as she had never expressed that to me. Mom and Dad were staring at each other. After a bit they got up and told us to fix dinner, and left the house together. We managed to get everything ready and on the table just before they returned. Dinner was quiet and tense, but neither parent was saying anything. After dessert, they told us to clean up and meet them in the living room. It sounded like we were about to be sentenced to something. Something really unpleasant. Mom started first. "Francis, your father and I really need you to answer one question. Do you mind being treated as a girl?" I had to think about it. Frances and I had swapped places before, almost always pretending we were girls. And I liked the company of the other girls, they were less pushy and more fun than the few boys I had been acquainted with. I fit in with them, especially the girls in the dance class, like Natalie. With the guys I was always too small or too weak to be a part of their games. I guess that was my answer. "Well, I really don't think about it much, but the girls treat me like one of them, and I'm not always being pushed around because I am so little..." I paused. "And I've made friends with several of them and none of them treat me like I'm a freak or anything..." Frances spoke up. "And everyone likes Emily and thinks she is really cool..." and then she realized what she had called me, and slapped her hand over her mouth. "And who may I ask is this 'Emily'?" Dad inquired knowingly. Frances looked like she had eaten a toad. I just felt a tad green. "That's what they, the teachers that is, started to call her so they knew which of us they were talking to. It's how they first mispronounced her middle name, and it kind of stuck." Mom looked at Dad. "Did you know that you have not once referred to your brother using a masculine pronoun?" I stared at Frances, and she looked scared. "I just don't think about it, it seems so, well, natural..." I got a really uneasy feeling. Dad looked upset. Dad spoke up. "Francis, who at your school knows that you are a boy? "Well, there's Ms. Osborne, who I guess forgot, and Natalie and a couple of the other girls in the dance class, if they remember the first day, but that's all." I paused "And, of course, Frances." "How much do you want to continue your little game?" I had to think about it. "Dad, it really doesn't seem like a game. It's just what I do when I'm at school so I can be in the dance class with my friends..." I had to think some more "And no one has picked on me this year, at least not like they used to, so I've been a lot happier, and I have made a lot of new friends, and..." I paused again. "And I really don't act any different. And girls aren't always fighting with each other, or trying to be macho and show off, like the guys, so I feel comfortable when I'm around them." He and Mom looked at each other. "We need to talk some more" They headed for their bedroom. It was a while before they returned. Mom was the spokesperson. "Francis, we've decided to let you continue with this charade until at least the end of the semester." Frances and I grabbed and hugged each other, and started bouncing up and down. "But if you are going to play the part of a young lady then you will have to do it all the time, including here at home." I gave her a 'so what' look. "That means wearing only girl's clothes, having your hair and nails done, and learning how to behave like a proper lady. This will give you a chance to really understand what it means to be a girl." I gave her a startled look. "Since Frances seems to need the same training in proper manners and behavior," Frances made gurgling sounds "we will start tomorrow. Or, if you want, you can go back to being a boy, and we will notify the school so they can assign you to the proper classes." Frances and I sat down hard in the same chair, and we looked at each other. She begged "Please, please, please do it Emily, it's been so much fun being sisters, and we can share clothes, and that way you can stay in dance..." I looked at her and then at Mom. "Will I have to wear a dress?" I think I sounded scared. Mom smiled, and Dad winced. "Dresses and makeup and panties and stockings and heels and every other wonderful thing all the other girls wear." I think I whimpered, but Frances started bouncing again, saying how much fun it would be to have someone with whom she could play dress-up. I had worn girl's clothes in theater productions, and they mostly seemed to be too many layers and too frilly, but clothes to me, up till now, were just clothes. But the idea of girls' underwear bothered me. "Um, Mom, girls underwear won't fit me because, like, I..." I sort of pointed at my crotch "and you don't make Frances wear a bra, 'cause she doesn't need one." Frances gave me a dirty look. "You will have to wear a dance gaff all the time, and even Frances has to wear a slip with her dresses." Frances nodded. I looked at her, then at Mom and Dad. Dad looked disgusted. There didn't seem to be much of a choice. If I wanted to stay with my friends, and be in dance, then I was going to have to follow their rules. It wasn't much of a decision. "Okay, I'll do it." Frances grabbed me and gave me a great big kiss on my cheek. Dad looked disappointed. Mom was shaking her head. I don't think they expected my answer. We were told to get some sleep, and Mom indicated we would have a busy day Saturday. As we headed for bed Mom and Dad were sitting at the kitchen table, holding hands. It took me a while to get to sleep. Visions of Mom dressing me up in a pink chiffon and lace outfit, with a bow in my hair like a six-year old kept running though my head. I did not sleep well at all. Mom roused me out of my sleep like it was time to go to school. I took a minute for me to remember it was Saturday. Frances was apparently already up. I started to get out some clothes, but Mom stopped me, and pointed to a small stack on my dresser. "Take a shower, shave your legs and armpits, wash and condition your hair, put these on, and then join us for breakfast." I stared at her as she headed for the kitchen. Was a girl's life always this complicated? The shower was easy, shaving was weird. I carefully laid out what was in the stack. Mom had not been kidding. She had borrowed some of Frances' things for me to wear. There was a note included. "Put the panties on after you put on the garter belt and stockings. Wear the slip. Try on the shoes and see if they fit. They should be not be tight in the toes." I had seen Mom and Frances dress before, so I knew what went where. The cotton panties felt like my shorts, only much lighter and softer. I thought the stockings would feel like my dance tights, but instead on my bare legs they felt smooth and silky and really nice. The nylon slip felt funny on my chest. The dress was long and fitted, reaching to my calves. It took a minute to get the shoes on. They had about two-inch heels, and were held on by a small strap around the ankle. I guess dance training helped, because I had no trouble standing or walking in them. I twirled in front of the mirror. Before, at school I had looked like a small boy or a really underdeveloped girl. Now I could barely see any boyish hints. I looked pretty. "What am I thinking?" went through my mind. But I had to admit I liked what I saw. The thought scared me. I tried to move as femininely as possible as I walked towards the kitchen. The shoes helped. Mom intercepted me in route. "Let's get your hair and makeup fixed before your father sees you." Now I was really scared. She pulled me into her dressing room, and shut the door. It took her only a minute to brush out be out using a blow drier, and I soon had a head-full of soft, wavy hair. Makeup followed. This was just like in theater, but when I looked in her mirror I sat back in shock. It was not me staring back. It was my sister, only cuter. Mom looked at me, shook her head, and we headed for the kitchen. Frances was dressed in an almost identical outfit, her hair done like mine. Dad was in the middle of taking a bite of breakfast, and when he saw me, he stuck himself in the nose with his fork, dropping his food in his lap. Frances got up and looked me over. "Wow, Emily, you look fantastic!" Mom was still shaking her head. Dad knocked over his coffee as he tried to clean the food off his lap. He finally gave up and sat there quietly with a stunned look on his face, and coffee dripping off the table. Mom grabbed a towel and started mopping up. Dad got up in disgust and headed for the bathroom, coffee dripping down his pants. I helped Frances and Mom finish cleaning up, and had finished a breakfast of fresh fruit and cereal by the time Dad came back out. He had changed, but his expression was unhappy. He looked at Mom, shook his head, and then looked at us. "Your mother is right, you do make a striking young woman." It sounded like sour grapes. I guess I was a bit too theatrical at heart. I grabbed Frances by the arm and said "Lets go, dearie, before he changes his mind." With the help of the heels I pranced out, trying my best to swivel my hips like the models on TV. I think I succeeded. There was a gasping sound from the kitchen. I decided not to look back. Mom joined us outside, and advised me in no uncertain terms not to tease my father too much. "He's having enough trouble with this as it is, so please don't rub his nose in it." This took me down a notch, but I still felt like I was doing everything right. This was a feeling that did not last long. We drove for nearly two hours, our destination, Bangor. Once there we headed to an older part of the city. We wound up at a house with a sign proclaiming, "Theresa's Timeless Fashions - hours by appointment only." "Girls, Theresa used to make most of my clothes when I was a young actor. I had been promising myself that as soon as I could afford it I was going to take Frances here, and outfit her as a proper young lady. When I found I have, at least for now, two daughters, I called her last night, and she agreed to fit you both. So be on your best behavior." Mom looked at me. "And, Francis, she knows you're a boy." I looked at her in shock. "Mom, I thought that you were not going tell anyone about..." Her look said 'be quiet'. I took the hint. "In the theatrical world, many men and boys dress like women, so she is used to it." I gave her a funny look. "So let's head inside." The inside looked like a set from an 18th century movie. Theresa greeted Mom with a big hug. She looked like she was in her early fifties, tall and slender, with an hourglass figure. "Marie, it's so nice to see you after so many years." She gave us an appraising look, and then shook her head. "You said they were fraternal twins, but I can't tell one from the other. They look like they stepped out of the same mirror." Mom chuckled. "The one in the brown dress in Frances, my daughter. The one in the blue dress in Francis, my son, now known as Emily." Both Frances and I curtsied in unison. Theresa was shaking her head. "You are sure you are not pulling my leg, Marie, I know you used to play pranks on everyone." Mom shook her head, and blushed. This was a side of Mom we had not been told about. "Even I did not believe how much they looked alike after I dressed them this morning. Their father had a fit and wound up wearing his breakfast." They both laughed at that. Frances and I just giggled. "Well, follow me to the fitting room so I can get their measurements." Almost an hour later, Frances and I were still standing on little platforms in our panties, as Mom and Theresa poked and prodded us and took measurement after measurement. I was as red as a beet. I almost screamed when a young woman named Mercy, whom Theresa said was her prot?g?, came in and helped. She was pretty, and I started to get aroused, which simply made me hurt, but I could not reach down in front of her to re-arrange things. I was pretty miserable by the time they decided we could break for lunch. "Eat lightly," was Theresa's advice as we left after dressing. When I asked Mom why, she simply smiled at us both and said we would understand this afternoon. We wound up having soup and a salad at a quaint little caf?. It was good, but both Frances and I were still hungry. Mom reminded us of Theresa's warning. It didn't help, but we complied. When we returned, Theresa and Mercy were waiting for us with big smiles. "Marie, just after you left, Mercy remembered that several years ago an Englishwoman had her twin daughters fitted here, and they never returned to claim their garments. They had spent so much money we were loath to throw them out, or send them to auction, so Mercy stored them in the attic. She managed to find them, and they are so close in size to your daughters that we may not even need to do adjustments." She looked at Mom, then at us. "There are four complete sets of undergarments, and three formal gowns for each child." She looked at us again, and then at me in particular. "There is only one problem with them. The mother loved historical fashion, and demanded that the cut be as realistic as possible, so the garments are, well, more fitted than you had intended. Especially for Emily." I had a sudden urge to get out before I found out what she meant by fitted. "What is the waist size?" Mom left the question hanging. "We had agreed on a twenty-four inch final measurement for your daughters. The gowns are cut for between twenty-one and just under twenty-two inches, and can be taken in another two inches without difficulty. Frances and I looked at each other in shock. Our waists were about twenty-six inches, and we thought we were thin. Mom had a thoughtful look. "They both dance and will have to be able to move." "It should not be a problem, with proper training and exercise. Why don't I show you the gowns, and then we can fit them into their new undergarments if you approve." I wondered why we would have to be fitted into underwear, and Frances' expression said the same thing. Mercy led us back to the fitting room. Neatly draped on mannequins were three pairs of the most beautiful dresses I had ever seen. One was a peaches and cream ball-gown, done in the airy style of the old south. Another was a formal Victorian, beaded and embroidered, done in heavy, dark green velvet and brocade. Frances went over and petted the velvet, enthralled. It was the final creation that caught my eye. Plainer than the others at first glance, its beauty was in the thick, soft, earth-toned fabric that matched our hair. A cross between something one would imagine on an Emily Bronte' heroine, the garb of a lost princess on the Scottish moors, and the bosom-revealing style found on romance novel covers, it called intoxicatingly to me. I lifted it's bulk from the mannequin and, hugging it to my body, began to waltz slowly around the room with my eyes half-closed. I had never found any clothing that was so, well, intoxicating. Mom finally intercepted me and sat me on one of the stools, rescuing the gown and placing it back on the mannequin. I found everyone staring at me. I blushed bright red, and tried to hide my face. "Wow, I think she likes it" was the only thing anyone said. And it was Frances's comment. After I regained my composure, Frances and I were told to make a trip to the washroom, and then remove everything but our panties again. Soon we found ourselves back on the little platforms Frances's "Oh my god!" caused me to turn around to see what Mercy was holding, and I almost fell off. I had seen corsets in costume books, but they never looked as formidable as the ones she bore in her arms I gave Mom a panicked look. She was smiling. I suddenly felt like things were getting awfully involved. They started with a thin cotton undergarment that draped tightly over our upper bodies. Then the corsets were draped around us, hooked all the way down the front, and the shoulder-straps fastened in back. Mercy came back in with a stepladder and hung a wide wooden bar, from which descended soft rope loops, from the ceiling. She adjusted the height so with our hands through the loops we hung standing on tiptoe. I noticed that once our hands were in place, we would not be able to get free until they lifted us several inches. For some reason this gave me an erotic rush, which pain from my tight underwear quickly subdued. Theresa and Mom started with Frances. In segments, they laced the corset on, tightening it firmly. It pulled her shoulders back and made her stand rigidly erect, with perfect posture. After the second tightening, they checked it for pinching and fit. Satisfied, they lifted her effortlessly so she could put her hands through the loops. It took them only a minute to tighten the laces another inch, and when Frances was lowered back to the ground, I saw her trying to breathe. The corset gave her an almost hourglass shape, except for her lack of a chest. When she turned around, I was shocked to see that there were still several inches of adjustment in the corset. She looked in the mirror, and ran her hands across her compressed torso. She looked pleased. Mom tapped me on the shoulder, indicating it was my turn. With great trepidation I helped them wrap the corset around me, and they repeated the same procedure as before. By the time I was lowered to the platform, I had to breathe shallowly, but the confining tightness of the corset was enthralling. I slowly examined myself in the mirror. Francis seemed to fade into memory, and I started to shake. "Emily, what's wrong?" Mom dashed over to me. "It's, well, it's like I was never meant to be a boy..." She looked alarmed. "Do you want to stop now?" "No!" was my instant and emphatic reply. "I love the way this feels, and I won't let you stop until I can wear that beautiful dress!" It came out on its own, and I grabbed Mom and hugged her until the shaking passed. Mom was watching me carefully, like I was not quite with it. After I assured everyone I was okay, they had Frances do some stretches, and then lifted her back to the bar for more tightening. This time she made grunting and gasping noises, and when they let her down she seemed a bit light-headed. Mercy took a tape and measured her waist. "Just another half an inch. One more try, and she should be able to try on a gown. Frances looked pale, but nodded. I was next. Much tugging later I was again examining myself in the mirror. Mercy checked my waist, and the dress, and told Theresa that it would take at least another inch. I felt like one more tightening and I would break in the middle. But the dress kept calling out to me. "Do it," was all I could manage. I tried to sit, but the corset restricted my movements. Theresa brought me a tall stool, and showed me how to properly settle into a sitting position. I managed to relax, letting the corset support me, and soon was watching Frances get her final adjustment. She hung almost limply from the bar when they were finished, and Mercy checked her measurements before they lowered her. After a few sips of water, and some slow and steady breathing, she stood proudly as they lowered the peach gown over her head, and began the long process of buttoning it in place. As Mom and Theresa were finishing the buttons, Mercy returned with white elbow-length gloves, some cone-shaped pads, and a carefully arranged wig, which was close to Frances's hair color. She placed the pads in the bodice of the dress, giving Frances a more mature figure. Frances looked really embarrassed when Mercy played with their fit. When the wig and gloves were in place, Mom lead her unsteadily over the to the large mirrors in the far corner of the room. Gone was my sister. In her place stood a striking young woman awaiting her prince charming. Slowly she pirouetted and studied herself. Between the corset and dress, she was forced to move with grace. I saw a tear run down her face, and she grabbed Mom and hugged her. "It's so beautiful..." Mom had a tear or two in her eyes. Slowly she came over to me. "Do you really want to try it?" she paused looking me in the eye "Mercy says the dress you like is smaller than Frances's gown, and I'm afraid it will be very uncomfortable if we are able to lace the corset tight enough." I nodded. For some reason I really wanted, no, needed to try on the dress. Soon I was hanging from the bar as both Mom and Theresa tugged on the laces. Mercy held me in place against their efforts. Just before I fainted from the compression, I felt them tie the laces in place, and lower me to the floor. They set me on the tall stool, gave me some water, and Mercy kept me from falling until I regained the ability to breathe and balance by myself. Mom and Theresa looked anxiously at me. "Are you sure you're going to be all right?" I carefully stood and stretched. Despite the crushing pressure on my body, I felt oddly excited, yet at ease. "It actually feels wonderful. I never expected to enjoy this." Mom and Theresa exchanged surprised looks. I slowly stepped down and went to the mirrors. I was beautiful, my tiny waist contrasting against the muscles in my thighs. I realized giddily that I was becoming aroused at my own image. Mesmerized, I started to caress myself, when Mom came over and gave me a disapproving stare. Mercy was giggling, and Theresa had an amused look. Because the dress had a relatively high neckline, Mercy pinned a set of pads into the top of the corset. It felt weird to have her play with my non-existent breasts. Back on the platform, I raised my arms and Theresa slid the dress over my head, and began to lace it on. Lacing was much faster than buttons. Soon I stood there as Mercy placed a wig similar to Frances's on me and pinned it in place. When they led me to the mirror and I saw myself for the first time I almost forgot to breathe. Entranced, I slowly danced with myself in front of the mirrors. I was beautiful; my now-proud bosom thrust forward by the corset, setting off my tiny waist and slim hips. It was like I had suddenly emerged from my cocoon, and was spreading my wings for all to admire. I was lost in a land of make-believe. I saw Frances looking at me like I was a ghost, and managing a ballet-like curtsey, took her hand and drew her into the dance. I drew her close, and we moved together in time with an unheard orchestra. Finally Theresa drew us apart, breaking the spell. Mom grabbed me and hugged me. "Emily, you and Frances are the most beautiful daughters a mother could ever dream of having." I saw tears running down her face. I felt the tears well up in my eyes. I dimly heard the word "daughters", but it kept echoing in my mind. We held on to each other like we were afraid that if we let go it would all end. I forgot to breathe, and quietly fainted in her arms I awoke to Mercy and Theresa unlacing my corset, and Mom wiping my forehead with a damp cloth. I slowly shook the cobwebs from my consciousness, and realized that it had all been real. I smiled at Mom. "Emily, are you okay?" were the first words out of her mouth. I nodded. "Yeah, I mean yes, I think I'm fine. It was like a dream...' She gave me a loving grin, and stood me up so they could unhook the corset. It felt so good to take a deep breath, but I missed the confinement of the corset. Soon we had unlaced Frances, who did not want her corset removed either, and dressed in our travel clothes. Theresa invited us all into her parlor, where Mercy served us tea and some sort of delicious, tiny pastries. "I'm afraid it's going to take me years to pay you for all these clothes," Mom said sadly to Theresa, who grinned. "They are already paid for. All you owe is for today's fittings, and any accessories you need me to provide." Mom looked at her in shock. "But those gowns must be worth..." Theresa cut her off. "They were collecting dust in my attic. It was payment enough to see your daughters fall in love with them." Mom got up and hugged her. "The other undergarments and corsets should fit without any changes, but I recommend that you read the instructions for each corset. At least initially, the girls need to wear one at all times, even when sleeping. They should loosen them slightly, but not remove them, when dancing, at least until they have attained the proper shape and posture. After that, they should go un-corseted for several hours each day." She paused. "Make sure they exercise daily. This is not the eighteenth century, and you don't want them to become dependent on the corsets for support." Mom nodded, then looked concerned. "The corsets you fitted them with were rather, well, limiting. How are they supposed to wear something like that to school?" The same thought had crossed my mind. "Those were the formal corsets. There are also short, flexible ribbon corsets for daily wear, and sleeping corsets. I suddenly sneezed, and managed to dribble tea down my chin and into my underwear. I managed to keep it off the dress, but things were distinctly sticky underneath. Frances started to giggle, and Mom hushed her. Theresa and Mom left the room for a minute. When they returned, Mom looked flustered. "Emily, please go with Theresa. You need to change before we head home" she looked at me. Frances started to snicker, and Mom gave her a "don't think about it" look. I headed off with Theresa towards the fitting room. She pointed me towards a washroom, and handed me a towel and some folded clothes. "Go wash up, dust yourself with some talcum powder, and put these on." I scurried off, and soon had managed to clean up the sticky mess. I washed out my panties and the gaff, and then wrapped them in the towel. I found the talcum powder, and once thoroughly dusted, unfolded what she had given me to wear. There were a pair of white satin elastic women's briefs, which looked way too small, and a cotton undergarment almost identical to the one I had worn under the corset. I quickly found out the briefs were designed to stretch, and I was able to tuck everything away. I put on the chemise and stepped into the fitting room. Theresa was waiting, and telling me to put my hands back through the loops on the bar, lifted me up. I sort of hung there, stretched out, and watched as she unwrapped a fairly short, flexible corset. "This is one of the ribbon corsets. When your mother asked if I had any clean clothes that would fit you, I suggested you wear this home." I nodded, smiling. Soon I was laced into the corset, and Theresa began the process of tightening it down. "When you were dancing with yourself in that gown, what were you thinking about?" I pondered this for a moment. "It was like I was a fuzzy, ugly caterpillar that had come out of it's cocoon, and turned into a beautiful butterfly for all the world to see." She pulled the laces tighter. "Who were you dancing with?" "Myself". She did seem to like that answer. "Well, if you had to be dancing with someone, who would it be?" This made me think, and I was starting to notice that it was harder to breathe. The answer almost surprised me. "I would be dancing with Natalie, and she would be wearing a gown like mine. And we would be dancing really close." "Who is Natalie?" "My best friend at school. She is my partner in dance class. She's really tall and super-strong, with these wonderful, expressive eyes..." I paused "And since there are no boys allowed in the class, she always leads, because I'm too little, and compared to her, weak. Sometimes when we finish, she will pick me up and carry me off the floor, like I belong to her." It was getting harder to breathe, but Theresa had finished lacing, and lifted me so I could free my arms. Once I was standing on my own, I did a series of dance movements, and found the corset did not limit me too much. The tightness felt wonderful, and despite it's flexibility, I appreciated how it made me stand and sit much straighter. "Have you ever thought about dancing with or going out with a boy?" Her question caught me off guard. I sat on one of the tall stools, and stared at her. "If you mean, am I gay, the answer is I don't think so." She looked guilty. I thought for a moment. "It's funny that you asked, because I have never even considered it. I really like girls, and..." I paused "Will you promise not to tell this to my mom?" She nodded. "Well, I get really aroused when I dance with a girl. Especially Natalie." I guess I blushed, but Theresa was watching me intently. She smiled. With her help I put on the dress I had worn to the shop, which had not gotten dirty, and pulled on the hose, fastening them to the garters on the corset. The dress now fit loosely, and I had to tighten the belt two full notches. I realized Mom would soon have to take in all of Frances's outfits. Theresa frowned, and telling me to stay put, went to get something. She returned with an unexpectedly heavy, padded bra. "Take off the dress and put this on." I slipped off the top part, and made a fool of myself trying to get the bra fastened. She chuckled, and hooked it behind me. After adjusting the straps, she helped me re-fasten the dress, and took me over to the mirrors. I stared at myself. I no longer looked like a kid. Staring back at me was a cute, slender teenager with a definitely feminine build. When I moved my fake breasts swayed slightly, and it felt weird to have that weight jiggling against my chest. I liked how I looked and felt. "Frances will be jealous." I grinned. She went and brought back another, identical padded bra, which she handed to me. We headed back to the parlor, where Mom and Frances were packing up the last pieces to put in the car. The look in their eyes when they saw me was priceless. Frances was green with envy. I handed her the padded bra, and she dashed for the washroom. Mom was just green. Frances returned with a smile, and a better figure. Before we left, Mom insisted on fixing our makeup. I quickly found out that, at least in a car, I was going to have to sit very straight, which eliminated any chance of taking a nap. Frances tried to jab me in the ribs, and when she hit the corset, she gave me a dirty look, and whispered in my ear that she wished she was wearing hers. The trip back was quiet, with Mom sending occasional furtive glances my way. We stopped in route at one of the new mega-stores, where mom bought me my own panties, and several slips. She seemed thoughtful. She found a long cotton flannel nightgown with a high neck, and told me to try it on. It fit comfortably, and mom bought all four they had. I finally wound up with several new dresses, three jumpers, and lots of stockings. We then stopped in the shoe section, where she bought me two pairs of girls' flats, and a pair of two-inch heels like I was wearing. There was hardly room for us in the car for the rest of the trip. The trunk and half the front seat were piled high with clothes and accessories. Dad was waiting for us, scowling, when we arrived. When he saw me he looked even less happy. Mom looked worried, and told us to put away the clothes in our rooms. She and Dad waited until the car and trunk was empty, and drove off without another word. Frances almost dragged me back to her room. Laid out on her bed was a corset like I was wearing, and a chemise. "My turn, Sis" was all she said. Soon I was lacing her into the corset. She had to hold on to her bedpost while I pulled the laces tight, like I had seen Theresa do. When she put her dress back on, it fit more loosely than mine. "Do you want me to loosen it a bit?" She shook her head. We stayed corseted through the evening, and when it was an hour past our normal bedtime, decided to close up and get some sleep. Frances made me undress first, claiming I had been wearing my corset longer. Soon we were both down to our panties. She then pulled out a thin cotton nightgown and another corset from one of her drawers. "The instructions said this is a sleeping corset". She handed me a typewritten sheet. Longer than the ribbon corset, it was very plain, and cut differently. I went and found mine. It was not long until we were both laced up; using a tape measure to make sure everything was adjusted properly. We agreed to start at twenty-four inches. It did not feel as tight as the others, but it was rigidly boned and the shoulder straps forced us stiffly straight. She then found the new flannel nightgowns Mom had purchased, and when we put them on we looked like something out of a movie. We giggled, and hugged each other. Hugging someone in a corset while also wearing one was a strange feeling. We snuggled together on her bed, and when she pulled up the covers I didn't complain. We fell asleep next to each other. I awoke early, learning a quick lesson: corsets compress the bladder. It took a minute to remember why I was asleep with my sister, and lot longer to figure out how to get out of bed wearing a corset. I made a mad dash to the bathroom, and realized that the only way I was going to make it was to lift everything and sit. When I was finally finished, I looked at my self in the mirror, and smiled. From the look of the kitchen, Mom and Dad had made it back late. I checked the clock, and it said six AM. I heard movement from the back of the house, and waited for the expected flush. Frances came in and joined me. "You too?" I nodded and she giggled. We were both disheveled looking, but seemed more, well, mature in our corsets and nightgowns. Frances suggested we clean up and make our parents breakfast. I agreed, but recommended that we get ourselves presentable first. Ten minutes later we had straightened our corsets, brushed each other's hair, and Frances was cleaning the last traces of makeup off my face. She found us a pair of Mom's aprons, and soon the kitchen was spotless, with fresh coffee brewing. It did not take long for the smell to waft through the house. Dad was the first one up. He was up, but not awake. As he walked by me to the table he said "Frances, please make me some toast and get me two aspirin." I managed not to giggle, and started his toast. Frances served him coffee, and went to get two aspirins. When she delivered the aspirin at the same time I handed him his toast, he woke up with a start. "Arrgh!" Frances rescued his coffee before it was knocked over. He looked at each of us through bleary eyes, shook his head, and reached for the aspirin. I got him a small glass of water. He whined "Don't do that to me so early in the morning!" "Do what?" came Mom's voice from the hallway. She came in, stopped, looked, and continued, "Oh my," and started to laugh. Dad held his head in his hands. Giggling, Frances and I curtsied in unison to them, and served Mom her coffee. Suddenly she sat up and stared at us. She motioned us both to come over, and she carefully poked a finger into our midsections. "Ahh... That explains a lot..." Dad looked up. "Explains what?" Mom gave him a "you don't want to ask" look, and he studiously spread jam on his toast. We made mom her toast, and then sat ourselves down to breakfast. A bowl of cereal and fruit was enough for our now-compressed stomachs. By the time we were finished, the aspirin had relieved Dad's headache, and he was looking at Mom with that "it's time" expression. I nudged Frances, and we started to sneak out of the kitchen. "Ahem! Going somewhere?" Mom asked, just before we could disappear. We moved back into the kitchen, and stood like recruits awaiting inspection. "Girls, your father and I spent a long time talking last night about, well, Francis and his pretending to be a girl..." she looked nervous "and we are not sure that it's a good idea." I looked at them, and then at Frances, scared. "See, boys who try to look and act like girls can get, well, confused, and..." I looked at her. "Mom, I'm not gay." Frances started giggling. "I know what you and Dad are thinking, but I like girls, not boys." They stared at each other. "So much for your theory, my husband." Mom looked tired. Dad just shook his head. "So why did you and your sister dress like this today?" Frances spoke up. "We haven't changed since last night, and we are only following Theresa's instructions." Mom nodded. "Theresa?" Dad inquired. Mom gave him a "later, dear" look. "Children, it is time you prepared for the day's activities." We looked at Mom, and beat a hasty retreat. I was getting my clothes ready when Frances walked in. "Emily, we are going to have to move into the same room, because we can't get dressed, or undressed, without the other's help." I nodded slowly. She quickly stripped off her nightgown, and I unlaced her. She repeated the favor, and claimed the first shower. I finished undressing, and after selecting clean panties and gaff, wrapped myself in a towel and headed into the bathroom. Frances was just getting out of the shower. I stared at her, and she quickly covered herself. A moment later she laughed, and lowered her hands. "Sisters don't have any secrets from each other." I blushed. She grabbed her towel and started to dry off. "Now it's your turn." She pointed to my towel. Slowly I removed the towel and stood there in my panties. "All of it." I turned red, and turned away, pulling the panties off. The sharp snap of a towel on my bare bottom caused me to spin around, things swinging loosely. She was giggling and pointing. I jumped into the shower, and heard her leave. Once clean, I was drying off when she returned, still wrapped in her towel. She wiped down the large mirror that covered most of the door. We stood there and compared bodies. Except for the not-so-obvious differences below the waist, as everything of mine was trying to hide, the only other visible things were her much larger, swollen nipples. I had never seen them so big. Even our backsides looked the same. She rubbed her nipples and they got instantly hard and pointy. I did the same, and nothing much happened. Frances smiled. "I'm finally starting to grow! Do you know how hard it has been being the flattest girl in school?" She suddenly realized what she said. "Oops, well, try biological girl." I gave her a dirty look. I was jealous, which didn't seem right. "It's not fair!" Now it was her turn to look at me funny. Mom's shouting from the front of the house, "Children, we need to leave soon," ended that train of thought. Re-wrapped in our towels, we made beelines for our rooms. We wound up in Frances's room to lace up, and found it was much easier than yesterday, so we went for the same tightness. Mom came by and knocked on the door. "By the way, it's been snowing, and is just above zero out, so you need to dress warmly. Fortunately the chemises and corset-liners we had chosen were short, so we wore Frances's jeans. She searched her closet, and found two thick, clingy sweaters that molded to our shapes without advertising the corsets. We left off the padded bras. I had to go back to my room to get an extra belt. We each grabbed heavy socks and headed for the kitchen. They looked us over as we walked in. We looked much less daunting to Dad, I guess, because he smiled. Frances went to get our boots. We had to help each other get them on, as the corsets made bending difficult. Mom snickered, and Dad seemed to miss the significance. As we headed out, I noticed Frances was carrying her shoulder bag. I didn't even have my wallet. Mom was dressed in nice clothes, so we got stuck shoveling off the car, walk, and driveway. It was going to take some time to get used to breathing properly, as we had to stop several times to catch our breath. At least lifting properly was a given. Keeping our backs straight was not merely an option. The roads were plowed, so the trip to town took just a bit longer than usual. Our first stop was at a bookstore, where Mom picked up an order. We wandered around, and found some SF we had not yet read. There were several guys about our age there, and we were carefully watched. It made me nervous, and Frances whispered