COSSETED AND CORSETED
By Bea
My mother is very feminine, kinda dithery if you go by outward
appearances, but has a habit of getting things her own way. My
dad died before I had time to establish any memories of him, so
my formative years were pretty well dominated by her. Not that
she was mean - far from it. I was spoiled I guess, but on
looking back, I'm fairly sure that she 'protected' me from any
elements that she felt would be detrimental to what she wanted
for me. She was also very good at managing money. She'd received
a tidy package of insurance when dad died, but had been
extremely savvy in her choice of investments so that, by the
time I was eighteen, we had no worries about finances.
We did run into one problem though. I'd finished high school and
was making noises about college. This upset her a little. She
couldn't see why I wanted to train myself for some career when
there was no earthly reason that I needed to work at all. She
considered me her friend, and was more than a little put out
about me wanting to 'desert' her. To be honest, I wasn't really
that interested in college, it was just fun to tease her more
than anything else.
We traveled a lot. Changed homes and or apartments more than
anyone I knew. I guess that was one of her tactics in keeping me
close to her - and lessened my chances of making attachments to
anyone, other than her. Accordingly, I had few friends,
especially those of the male sex. As most of her acquaintances
were of the same sex as herself, I had a great deal of exposure
to the feminine side of things, little in the masculine.
This may sound strange, but I had no sense of her keeping me
segregated from other boys, or that I was anything other than a
male. As a matter of fact, I considered myself a 'normal' boy -
an outlook that she had fostered all of my life.
"Oh!" She'd say, talking of me. "A typical boy! A harum scarum!
Always up to mischief. Into everything that he's not supposed to
be into. A constant threat to my peace of mind! Naughty! Why you
can't imagine the half of it!" And her lady friends would all
coo their understanding and sympathy and look at me as if I were
a close relative of Genghis Khan or Attila the Hun.
In truth, I was a quiet little boy, that turned into a quiet
youth. I was never in any mischief, and my chief pursuit was
stamp collecting. I was small and delicate of build and
certainly totally inexperienced in the normal rough and tumble
of a boys existence. Nevertheless I was absolutely positive that
I was king of the hill - at least as far as the opposite sex was
concerned. (Though, as I went through the high school years, I
discovered that I was actually very timid around girls.
Certainly never managed to raise the courage to ask one for a
date.)
We had moved to a new house not far from San Francisco
immediately after I graduated from high school. It was a nice
place, south and on the coast. It was secluded and somewhat
smaller than the normal house she'd get. Four bedrooms, nice
sized living room, big kitchen, a sewing room, three bathrooms
and a comfortable dining room. The yard was landscaped with
plants indigenous to the area, so needed little if any
maintenance. What I liked though, was the swimming pool and
tennis court. I considered myself a good swimmer and a fair to
middling tennis player - although my mother was the only person
I'd ever played with any regularity. We didn't have a maid or
gardener - which wasn't common for us as mother doesn't care for
housekeeping too much, but I didn't care. I helped her out some
- though in her usual way, she'd describe how she went through
the torments of the damned trying to get me to do any work
around the house. "You know boys! Disappear the minute chores
need doing!" She'd gripe to her friends. I felt no end of a
fellow.
I was with her one day, shopping in one of the small nearby
towns. I was amazed to meet Duncan Reed - the closest thing I'd
had to a friend in my Senior class. He and his family had just
moved as well, and he was lonely as he knew none of the locals
either.
He hadn't been too popular at school because he was an awful
snob. Didn't mind me, because mother was well known in social
circles at the time and probably outranked his family. With him,
I'd done something I'd never done - got into a fight. A real,
honest to god, roll around on the ground, punching, pulling and
whacking, fight. Though we were very similar in build, he'd won,
of course, but like boys everywhere we'd settled into a sort of
friendship - him being the cock of the walk of course.
Much to mother's dismay, I invited him out to the house, and he
started showing up on a regular basis. I could beat him
swimming, but he had the upper hand on the tennis court. We'd
argue about various things but got along fairly well on the
whole. I didn't really get too much of a chance to develop a
long term relationship though, as things turned out.
One morning, mother informed me that a girl was coming to stay
with us for a while. "Naomi Child. Daughter of an old school
chum of mine. My friend's going traveling for over three months
and Naomi didn't want to go. She's about your age I think. Very
pretty if I remember correctly. Have to watch you and your
hooligan friends like a hawk!"
Flattered by this, I mentioned the visit to Duncan. He preened.
"Hope she's hot! I need a girlfriend over the summer. She'll
probably be some kind of goddamned wimp though - just our luck!"
"What makes you think she'll have anything to do with you?" I
laughed. "A manly stud like me available!"
He poked me and laughed, and we went off on something else.
He wasn't around when I met Naomi for the first time. She was
gorgeous! A little taller than I, and quite well built across
the shoulders but the first impression I got of her was of a
womanly softness. Rounded arms, dimpled at the elbows. Soft
forearms with just a trace of pale down that shimmered when the
sun caught it. Straight, beautiful legs, with smooth, shapely
calves. A golden tan that seemed absolutely even, no creases or
pimples to blot it. Calm gray eyes that surveyed me with a
studied appraisal.
She had beautiful blonde hair that fell in soft waves to her
shoulders and, when I first met her was paying off the taxi
driver who'd brought her to the house. The poor man was
obviously smitten by her and was practically falling all over
himself to get her luggage - and she had plenty - out of the
back seat and the trunk of the taxi. She stood there, quietly
looking in her purse as he arranged the suitcases around her.
"I'll take them up to the door if you want, miss." He said.
"You must be Naomi!" I called out. "No driver. That's all right.
I can manage from here."
I don't think he was any too happy with my offer, but he smiled
when she paid him and, by the looks of it, included a big tip.
Touching his cap deferentially, he got back in the cab and drove
off. She walked towards me holding out her hand, a real vision
of femininity in a long, silky looking light brown skirt and a
light blue silk 't' top with a pink blazer over it.
"You must be Ryan." She said "I've heard quite a bit about you."
Her voice was like her appearance. Soft, calm, feminine but
confident. Her soft hand was actually a little bigger than mine,
and had a surprising strength to it. I was totally impressed, so
said hastily. "Here. Let me get this," let go her hand. And
picked up the largest of her suitcases.
At least, that was what was supposed to happen. What actually
did happen was that I barely got it off the ground. Red faced,
I immediately realized I'd bitten off more than I could chew.
"Oh dear!" She said. "I'm such a pack rat! But there's a knack
to these suitcases. Here, let me show you."
And damned if she didn't pick it up effortlessly! I gawped at
her, she was walking up the path with no signs of effort on her
face at all. I picked up another two - much lighter, but still
had to stagger after her. "It's all a matter of balance." she
called over her shoulder. "You just have to get used to them."
I wasn't too sure if I'd ever be able to heft that big weight
that she was moving so easily.
Then another shock. Mother must have seen us, and came charging
out of the door.
"Naomi! How wonderful to see you! You're SO like your mother!
How you've grown! Here, let me take that!" And with that, she
took the bag out of Naomi's hands - and damned if she didn't
carry it upstairs, Naomi protesting behind her. Then more
humiliation. Naomi happened to turn around and saw me struggling
up the stairs. "Here Ryan. That looks very awkward." - and took
the two cases from me. "These other two back in the driveway are
much lighter. Could you get them? If you still have any
problems, just yell and I'll come back and give you a hand.
Okay?"
I did manage to carry the (lighter) cases remaining back up to
Naomi's room, practically ignored by the two women chattering
together. Slightly miffed at being left out, I went back to my
room and read for a while, then showered and changed for dinner.
When I went downstairs I was surprised to se Naomi in a frilled,
feminine apron working in the kitchen.
"Why THERE'S Ryan!" She called. "Thought you'd died up there!'
"Typical man!" My mother said, coming in from the dining area.
"Never anywhere when you need a little help around the house!"
Naomi turned her calm, all-knowing, eyes on me. "Do you think
that's fair, Ryan? Making your mother work while you loaf?" But
then she smiled. Showing her beautiful white teeth. "But that's
a man's prerogative, right?"
I was flustered. If I said "yes" it would appear that I felt
what she said was a man's prerogative. If I said 'no' it would
appear that I'd been loafing. Neither of these were true, but I
felt that if I didn't accept what had been said, then for some
reason, I was putting myself in a feminine role. I blushed but,
to make amends, offered to help wash up after the meal. Mother
pretended astonishment. "My Naomi! What a difference a pretty
girl makes in a house! These men! There's no telling what
they'll do when a nice looking girl smiles at them!"
I couldn't very well admit then that I did dishes most every
night. Couldn't understand where mother was coming from when it
was clearly understood at most times, that when mother cooked,
I did the cleaning up.
"Well, I think it's very nice of him!" Naomi retorted. "So many
men refuse to anything that even looks like woman's work!" She
turned to me. "Just hold on a minute. I'll get an apron for you.
You can give me a hand to set the meal up as well."
Blushing a deep shade of red, two minutes later I was working
side by side with her, a full, frilled apron swishing around me
as I tidied up under her direction. I was surprised to discover
that the aprons we wore both belonged to her. She apologized
briefly for their effeminacy, explaining that she felt a woman
should take pride in doing woman's work and should therefore
look as pretty as possible. Mother drifted off somewhere leaving
us to work. We didn't talk much, just got down to tidying the
place up and getting the dishes into the dishwasher. It didn't
take long. I was surprised and astonished when she came over and
gave me a girlish peck on the cheek. "Thanks Ryan. That was
really nice of you."
When I took off the apron, I held it out to her. She laughed.
"Finished with it now, eh? Now that you've shown off to the
guest?"
I didn't know what to say. She laughed some more and finally
took it from me. Then she hung them both up on a hook in the
larder. "Just remember," she added "when you work with me in the
kitchen, you'll wear an apron. This one with the pink frills is
yours." It wasn't an order. At least she didn't bark it out or
anything like that, but I was aware that I was now expected to
wear the apron on a regular basis.
We didn't do much that evening, just watched TV for a while
before going to bed. Again I was surprised when she came and
kissed my cheek to bid me goodnight. I saw that she kissed
mother exactly the same way. Went to bed in a confused state of
mind.
I didn't see much of her the following morning as she was very
busy washing and ironing the clothes she'd brought with her.
"Weren't they clean when you brought them?" I asked, as I
thought, sensibly. Both women snorted derisively. "Men!" Mother
said.
"What's the matter?" I asked. "Was that a crazy question?"
"No Ryan." Naomi said sweetly. "It's just that a girl likes to
have her clothes nice and fresh looking - and feeling fresh as
well."
I wanted to tell her how pretty she was. She looked plenty fresh
to me in a pale yellow, sleeveless dress with a white belt and
open toed sandals to match. A single strand of pearls with
matching earrings. Just a touch of makeup. A plain white
hairband pulling her hair back from her lovely face.
"See the difference between you two?" Mother asked, not
unpleasantly. "Naomi here is up early, and helps me make
breakfast. Then she does the washing. Not only hers mind you,
but yours and mine as well, while you're stomping about
pretending to get ready! She's so nice and helpful and reliable.
It certainly wouldn't do you any harm to take her as a role
model!"
"Aw mom! C'mon!" I yelped. "You want me to ..."
"I wish he'd forget that stupid masculine pride." Mother said to
Naomi.. "All that noise and bluster. Swaggering about all macho.
He looked SO nice too, helping you with the dishes last night."
She turned her attention back to me. "Yes! It wouldn't do you
any harm to climb down from that high masculine horse of yours,
once in a while!"
I actually felt guilty! The years of brainwashing by mother had
really taken their toll. I never stopped to think how anyone in
their right mind could see a slightly built, shy, young man like
me as some kind of Rambo character. Common sense had nothing to
do with it. For years she had inflated my male ego with
exaggerated comments about my behavior. Now I was accepting them
as gospel.
"I'm sorry mother. Sorry Naomi. Guess I wasn't thinking.
Anything you'd like me to do to help?"
Mother snorted. "Now he offers! When the work's all done." But
I could see that she appreciated the offer. Naomi came and put
a gentle hand on my arm.
"That's a very nice offer Ryan. There's nothing just now. Maybe
you can help me make lunch?"
Again, it may sound crazy, but I was absurdly grateful for this
young lady allowing me to redeem myself and actually made it a
point to be in the kitchen early awaiting my orders. It was
still embarrassing to be wearing my frilled apron, but not quite
as bad as before. Mother actually complimented me when I served
her lunch. Naomi gave me another soft kiss in thanks after I had
finished doing the dishes. I saw another side to her character
that afternoon.
Duncan knew of her visit and timed his visit accordingly. He
sauntered up to the house in his tennis whites (Mother demanded
that, if we played, we dressed properly) his racquet in his
hand. Stopped for a second, goggle-eyed at this good looking
young woman, then proceeded to make a total ass of himself,
coming off like a conceited, overbearing, chauvinistic idiot.
Naomi surprised me, becoming even more feminine and pliant,
kowtowing to him, I thought bitterly. After finishing with his
show, he turned to me.
"Come on. Get your whites on! I'll show you how to play tennis!"
I shook my head. Had no wish to have Naomi see him beat me - and
could vividly imagine the strutting and boasting that would
follow his victory.
"Sorry Dunc. Sort of twisted my wrist this morning. Think I'll
give it a rest today."
His face fell, but then I guess he figured that he'd now have
more time to sweep Naomi off her feet with his nonsense. "Could
you spare a guy a beer?" He asked, knowing full well that mother
didn't buy beer at all - and would never have let him have one
for another. Just showing off - the retard!
"No. I'd have to ask Mom and she's off shopping. But I'll spring
for a coke if that's all right?" I said, with minimum grace.
He accepted this offer with a disdainful look, but was happy
enough to be left with his new heart-throb while I dashed into
the kitchen to get soft drinks for all of us. When I came back
with the tray, they were discussing books, and somehow, the
subject of male gallantry had come up. He was going on and on
about the male's strength as versus the female, and his duty to
protect his woman!
Naomi was perfectly charming, but arguing now and then. "I don't
think that strength by itself determines masculinity. You could
be right, but does that mean that if some woman about two
hundred pounds can beat up some poor guy weighing a hundred and
twenty, that he's a woman? Is that what you're saying?"
"No. Not really." Duncan sneered. "But he's not much of a man,
is he? Letting a woman beat him?"
"Well. That is a very old outlook." Naomi said, almost agreeing
with him. "I'm a feminist myself. But back in the days of King
Arthur the men were truly gallant....."
"Yeah! Back in the good old days. Man to man. Sword to sword!"
Duncan interrupted, smitten with the idea.
"Yes. They felt very much the way you do." Naomi said
thoughtfully. "There's quite a few examples where there'd be
some woman who was head of the local area. She'd fight in armor
like a man but always made the challenge that, if she won, the
guy she beat would become one of her hand maidens. You know,
wear dresses and join her other maids in looking after her"
"Yeah. I saw a story like that once." Duncan said. "Made a lot
of sense. Hah! Did you hear that?" And proceeded to spell it
out. "M.A.I.D. A lot of sense! I'd say the loser got what he
deserved!" He laughed uproariously.
We sat talking for just a little while longer, then Naomi asked
him. "Duncan. Who's the best tennis player, you or Ryan?"
"Oh I guess we're pretty even." He said, obviously not believing
a word of it.
"He beats me like a drum." I said, sick of his behavior. Even
kind of upset with Naomi at her calm acceptance of his
boastfulness.
"I used to play a little." She said modestly.
He practically jumped to attention. "Wow! Want me to give you
some pointers?"
She looked down shyly at the ground. "I'd rather play a couple
of sets first. Get rid of some wrinkles. Say best of five sets?"
He pretended concern. "You have the stamina for three sets? I
mean, I'm not really being a chauvinist pig, but girls do have
a stamina problem."
"Oh stop being so protective!" She teased him. "If you want to
go and check the net height, I'll run up and change." With that,
she gave us a tiny little wave and left us, running lightly into
the house.
I was sick with jealousy. How could she be taken in with his
stupid line? She HAD to be smarter than this, I thought
despairingly, watching him strut down to the court, swinging his
racquet around his head like a drum major.
She came back out in a plain, short tennis dress. Pure white
with a pleated skirt. Looked like a million dollars. I even
noticed that she'd put a little more makeup on in his honor.
Inwardly, I cursed Duncan. Wasn't even going to go and watch the
match, but had nothing better to do, so strolled lethargically
down to where they were starting to warm up, knocking the ball
around.
She was stiff looking. A little slow, with a tendency to slice
her backhand out of court. A sort of jerky serve, but not a bad
forehand I noticed. Not bad at all. As they warmed up, she was
improving by the minute. Even hit an overhead cleanly - a thing
that I have problems with. I thought I saw a look of 'something'
cross Duncan's face, but wasn't sure. After a while they played
for service. She hit some decent shots back across the net, but
he was too strong for her and took the honors.
His first service aced her. Left her almost sprawling. The next
point, he tried too hard and netted the first service. Smiled
and 'dinked' the second over the net. Didn't smile at all when
the ball was rocketed back at his feet. She smile sweetly at
him.
"I know I'm just a weak girl Duncan, but you don't need to give
me points."
I sat up straighter in my chair. Was that sarcasm in her tone?
I thoroughly enjoyed the rest of that set. I don't know how many
points he won - but it wasn't many. She ran him ragged. Took
complete control of the center of the court and had him going
from side to side. I'll swear that, at times, she deliberately
placed shots where he could just get to them, so that she could
humiliate him more.
"Nice shot Duncan!" She'd call sarcastically. "But you'll really
need to build up your wrist muscles. Just a teeny bit more
strength and you'd have got it over the net!"
When he served, she had him so psyched out that he was trying to
blast everything past her. Naturally, this led to a lot of
double faults. Finally, to overcome this shame, he started
'dinking' the ball over. She'd just stand right up in the court
and rocket it back at him. She won the first set 6-0 in about
ten minutes. Then she rode him, just a little bit.
"I think my stamina's is still okay Duncan, but are you SURE you
want to play best of five?"
What could the poor guy do. He'd claimed that it was girls that
couldn't hold up, now here he was, totally defeated. He nodded
agreement, though I could see his heart wasn't in it.
She was cruel to the poor guy in the next set as she dissected
him on the court. "That's an awfully weak backhand Duncan. Who
taught you. Your sister?" Then "Wow Duncan! You almost got that
one over the net!"
She started going around to his side of the court, then standing
behind him and, with her arms around his waist, showing him some
rudimentary strokes. Then came the coup de grace.
"Duncan? You play like a girl. I've got a very pretty tennis
dress that would just suit your game right down to the ground.
Why don't you come back up to my room with me and try it on? The
break will give you a little rest and make you feel better. That
way, you can play the third set dressed properly?"
She had intimidated him, right down to the core.
"Aw, c'mon Naomi. Don't." He pleaded weakly.
"I thought it was you who said that the weakest were girls? Or
have you changed your mind?"
He blushed so much that I could see it from more than twenty
feet away. "Yes." He mumbled.
"Aha! The feminine prerogative. Changing her mind? Is that what
you're doing Duncan? Getting all feminine on me?"
"No. I'm not feminine!" He blurted.
"Well, I am! But I'm not going to change my mind. We're going to
play a third set and, as you play like a girl, I feel you should
play in a pretty dress. Let's go!"
With that, she took hold of his arm, and started pulling him off
the court. It finally dawned on me. She was serious! Then I saw
that, even though he seemed to be resisting her, she was
actually pulling him along. Off the court and up the path
towards the house, while I sat there, open mouthed in
astonishment. He finally must have realized the picture he made
and started to struggle. The next thing, they're wrestling with
each other then, I'm astounded again to see that she has him
down and is sitting on top of him, pinning his arms to the
ground! I was too far away by this time to hear what was said,
but a minute or so later she let him up and they went into the
house together.
I don't think it took ten minutes for them to return. Naomi
hadn't changed. Duncan had. He was wearing a frilly tennis dress
in a multi-layered material, but with a very short skirt. Even
from a ways off, I could see flashes of pink frills from his
panties. Closer, I could see the outlines of a lacy pink bra
underneath his dress. It looked like the cups had been padded a
little because he had a definite sign of breasts. His hair had
been brushed to one side and was being held in place by a pink
barrette. His mouth was lipsticked, his eyelashes mascara'd, and
his cheeks tinted with blush. He was carrying a little white
handbag.
"Ryan?" I'd like you to meet my new friend. I should say, my new
girlfriend, Margaret." Naomi said, grinning. I couldn't help it.
Burst out laughing.
Duncan's face got very red. "I'm gonna get you later! I'm
gonna...."
"Margaret!" Naomi snapped. "That is not ladylike. You curtsey
prettily to Ryan and apologize. Hurry now! If you don't, I'll
put you over my knee and spank you on your panties - again!"
And my friend - or more like my ex-friend - took the sides of
his dress in his hands and curtseyed to me. "I'm sorry Ryan."
"You'll be a good girl for the rest of the afternoon now, won't
you?" Naomi said.
"Yes."
"Say it!"
"I'll be a good girl for the rest of the afternoon." He mumbled,
tears forming in his eyes.
"That's much better Margaret. Let's go and finish our game,
shall we?"
By the middle of the last set, she had him behaving like the
girl she said he was - actually having him squeal and giggle and
wiggle about the court - a feminine girl playing a feminine
game. I actually felt sorry for him. The playing deteriorated
into a patty-cake type of game her keeping the ball in play to
him, with him dinking the ball back to her - which looked like
as good as he could play now. Once, she made him take a short
break, open his handbag and refresh his lipstick and powder his
nose. By the time the game ended, he had become exactly what she
wanted him to be - and he played the part for the rest of his
stay there that day - a shy, obedient girl.
His mother was picking him up at four o'clock. Naomi actually
kept him in his dress until her car drove into the driveway,
before allowing him to run back to the house to change. "Now
hang up the dress nicely Margaret" Naomi yelled after him "and
put your undies in the laundry!"
He ran out of the house a few minutes later. Gave a sort of
half-hearted wave as he got in the car. Naomi laughed as they
drove away. "That was fun! These male chauvinists think they can
say anything! Hah!"
I gulped inwardly. All of a sudden this sweet young thing had
shown that she had both claws and very sharp teeth. I was not
about to disagree with anything she said. No, not at all! Nodded
in full agreement.
"Tell you what." She said. "Why don't we go and get our aprons
on? Start getting dinner ready. What do you think? Good idea?"
"Absolutely!" I agreed enthusiastically. And started my career
as her apprentice.
Ever seen a couple of girls in a friendship? It's not always the
case of course, but one of the pair is decidedly the boss, the
other the willing - oh so willing - servant. Usually the 'boss'
is the prettier one, or of a higher 'caste' in the social
pecking order. Whatever the reason, the pecking order is easily
seen. The 'servant' tries to hide it, of course, often arguing
or talking back to the boss, showing that she's not anybody's
tool. I was that way a little bit, but Naomi kept me on a pretty
short leash, giving me glances that were more effective than
cannons being fired across my bows.
I was introduced to work aprons - and serving aprons, all
feminine of course: the serving aprons usually being smaller,
and fancier, often trimmed with frills or lace. I learned to
wear them properly - a distinctive, puffed bow at my back - as
I served both women at meal times, my mother extolling my
masculinity as I served up the food in my pretty little,
feminine, aprons.
"It takes a real man to wear a girls apron like that!" She'd
say, "come here and let me see it darling."
And, blushing pure beetroot red, I'd stand there while she
examined the frills and praising the way I'd tied the bow. Then
she piled on more humiliation. "Oh Naomi! You've worked wonders
on him. If I paid you for them, would you make him some, say a
half dozen? Satin, with scads of frills and lace? Peach and pink
and baby blue. Pretty pastel colors like that. Big wide ties so
that he can tie big bows just like the one he's got just now?"
"What for mother? I'm going to college! What on earth would I
be..." I was yelling.
"RYAN! That's no way to be talking to your mother! Say you're
sorry! Right now!" Naomi broke in, scolding me.
"But Naomi.."
"RYAN!"
"I'm sorry mother. Honestly." I said.
"Oh, that's all right darling. I forgive you. It seems that men
have to have their little outbursts every so often. But, if you
hate wearing pretty aprons so much why are you wearing one
now?"
I was speechless. I couldn't even say that I'd been forced into
it, though in truth I had been. To admit that I wore them
willingly to avoid a confrontation with Naomi would be truthful,
but difficult to say, since she had never, ever, threatened me.
I just stared at my mother with total frustration. Said nothing.
She turned her attention back to Naomi.
"Will you do that for me Naomi - Make the aprons I mean?"
"Of course! It'll be a pleasure. I promise they'll be extremely
pretty. He'll just love them, once he gets used to them." Naomi
replied. Both women laughed.
That night, Naomi showed me the rudiments of fine stitchery. I
ended up making minute repairs to her lingerie - re-affixing
lace edging to a couple of her slips, re-enforcing a seam on a
blouse, sewing on some buttons on another blouse. She was very
complimentary before allowing me to go to bed.
Mother went on a shopping trip to San Francisco the following
day. She had a date to meet an old friend for dinner, so was
pretty certain she'd stay in an hotel for the night. Naomi
demonstrated her power over me finally. Made me sit with her and
pick the fabrics, colors, and frills, for my new aprons. Then
she yawned.
"I'm really bored. Think I could use some entertainment. Why
don't you call Margaret on the telephone. Ask her over for a
game of tennis?"
"Margaret who? Margar.... Oh Naomi. You know he won't come..."
"SHE darling! SHE! Now, be a dear and do as Naomi tells you!"
She didn't know Duncan the way I did, I thought, picking up the
phone and dialing. He answered the phone on the third ring.
"Hello? Reed residence."
"Hi Duncan. It's me, Ryan."
"What do you want?" He barked.
"Naomi asked me to ask you to come over for a game of tennis."
"Ah shit! No way!"
"I told her you'd say that" I started, then felt Naomi take the
phone gently from my hand.
"Margaret? I'd like you to come over here. Say, by ten o'clock?"
I didn't hear his response, but heard her say. "The Polaroid
photos I took of you in your pretty tennis dress. Putting on
your lipstick. Remember? Yes, I promised. But what are you going
to do if I break my promise?" She laughed. "Beat me up? Ten
o'clock! Don't be late!" As she was hanging up the phone, I
thought I heard weeping coming from the other end.
"Why do you want to play him again Naomi? He was far too easy
for you." I asked, flattery oozing from me.
"Me? Oh no. I don't play sissies like that more than once. I
want you to play her."
"Naomi? I don't know why you want to humiliate him - I mean her"
I interjected quickly.
"Actually? I'm doing your friend a favor. If I leave things the
way they are, she'll probably hate you forever. This way, she'll
probably feel that things have been opened up - balanced, so to
speak."
"I don't know what you mean, Naomi." I said.
"Come on, and I'll show you." She took my arm.
-----------------------
When Margaret arrived, I opened the door for her. He looked at
me stupefied for a moment, than a grin spread over his face.
"Ryan? She's got you as well?"
"My name's Melissa now." I admitted, plucking nervously at the
hem of my white tennis dress. "C'mon in. Naomi's waiting for
you."
He lost his grin. "What does she want Ryan? Is she doing this
for kicks or what?"
I blushed. "I'm to tell you to make sure you call me Melissa.
Just like I've to call you Margaret. She says she'll spank both
of us real hard if we don't. And you better hurry upstairs. She
heard the door bell and..."
"Margaret!" Naomi's voice carried down to us. "Is that you down
there, you naughty girl? Come up here and get into your pretty
dress! You can gossip with Melissa later! Hurry now!"
His mouth weakened, and I thought for a second that he would
cry, but instead he gave a weak glance at me, then ran upstairs.
I'd been told to go and prepare a light snack for Naomi to bring
down to the court when she came to spectate at the match between
Dun - Margaret and me. I hadn't been wearing the dress too long,
and still wasn't used to it, although secretly I knew that I
kinda liked the feel of the air around my legs and thighs, and
the silky feel of the short petticoat layers and panties. I even
had to admit that when I saw my reflection in any of the mirrors
or windows I passed, it was decidedly girlish, enhanced by the
lipstick, blush, and mascara I wore. My hands were also
constantly in front of me as I made her sandwich - my slender
hands enhanced by the red polish on my fingernails. The
tightness of the bra straps on my back and shoulders, and the
feel that the forms inside the cups imparted was another
constant reminder that Naomi had dressed me as a girl in
practically no time at all.
I used the term 'Naomi had dressed me'. In actuality, I had
dressed myself in the lingerie and the dress. She had assisted
by handing the clothes to me, fastening the bra straps behind
me, and showing how to use the little buckles on the shoulder
straps of both the camisole and bra to adjust these garments to
fit.
She had never threatened me in any way. As she had led me to her
room, she had spoken quietly and calmly. "You know why I'm
taking you to my room, don't you?" she had started out, a slight
smile on her face. I licked my lips nervously, trying to say
something - anything that would deter her from what I was sure
was going to happen.
"Come on now dear," she pressed gently. "You do know. Please
don't pretend."
I nodded my head, blushing.
"That's right. I'm going to give you a pretty dress to wear.
Make your face up. Put a nice ribbon in your hair. That way,
when Margaret gets here, you can play tennis with her, just like
two girls would. Won't that be fun?"
"But why Naomi? Why do I have to wear a dress? I'm not a girl."
She gave me a comforting smile, then put her arm around my waist
and pulled me to her as we walked along. "Oh, you don't have to!
What a silly thing to say! Now, I'll admit that I made Margaret
put her dress on. Made her look like a girl. But you see, she
was acting like a man, and I have this thing...?" Her cheeks
dimpled prettily as she smiled at me... "about men strutting
about and boasting. Just can't wait to beat them at whatever
they think they're good at, then get them into pretty frillies.
They become so nice and docile then. I know it's naughty of
me.." she smiled merrily again... "but I just can't resist it."
"But?" I started.
She squeezed my waist again and beamed at me. "Yes dear?"
"But... I'm a man. And I haven't strutted or boasted. I've been
nice..."
"Of course you've been good. But wasn't your behavior a big part
of you being scared of me?"
I considered what she said carefully. "Well... kinda."
"If you were? Doesn't that mean that you're truly weak and
feminine? And? If you are, shouldn't you be wearing a dress?"
By this time we had arrived at her door, so I wasn't able to
come up with any response. She opened it, and ushered me in,
then closed it behind me. She was speaking softly to me now.
"I'm going to start calling you Melissa. Isn't that a pretty
name? You see Melissa, you're not a man. You're just a sweet
little sissy. All frightened of Naomi, aren't you? Scared she
would see how much you want to be her little handmaiden?" She
paused. "See? I really wasn't going to bother but, like I said,
it looked like a very boring day today. Thought I'd have some
fun. Now, which color of lingerie do you want? Pink or Lilac?"
When Margaret came back downstairs, she was wearing the same
frilled tennis dress she had worn the first time. At Naomi's
urging, Margaret and I had to greet each other as if we were
long lost sisters. Hugging and kissing. Smiling prettily at each
other. Admiring each other's dress.
All the while, naturally, Naomi was giving us instructions as to
how to behave - and pose, snapping Polaroid photographs, handing
some to me, and some to Du - Margaret.
"This way, you'll have SUCH nice memories of today, both of you.
Won't that be NICE? You can remind each other, just how pretty
you were!"
Then, holding our little clutch purses with our makeup, Margaret
and I held each other close as we made our way to the court,
Naomi trailing behind us, with the cam-corder focused closely on
us. "You girls can have the snapshots" she warned us "but I want
a memento as well!"
And, knowing what was demanded, we played our set of tennis.
There's an old saying that 'Clothes make the man'. In our case
the dresses defined our game. Two squealing, prancing, young
women taking the occasional break to repair our makeup. As would
be expected, I lost the set. Naturally, Naomi had further
humiliations in mind.
"You girls look all hot. Like to go for a swim? Melissa?
Margaret says that you're a good swimmer. Why don't the two of
you have a race? I'll film it for posterity?
Naturally, Margaret and I agreed wholeheartedly. After we
separated to shower, Naomi gave me a coral one-piece swimsuit
with a built-in bra. Over it, I wore a sleeveless chiffon wrap,
cinched at the waist by a coral colored filagree belt. I had on
white sandals that had about two inch heels, and carried my
small handbag holding my makeup and a comb along with a white
bathing cap. I met Margaret in the hall coming out of Naomi's
room. She was wearing a black one piece bathing suit and a
multi-colored wrap. Like me, she carried a handbag and her cap.
Her sandals were also white but appeared to be a little higher
in the heel.
Knowing now what was expected, we brushed our cheeks together
and told the other how pretty 'she' was, Naomi praising us for
our speedy conversion into feminine behavior while focusing the
camcorder on us. She then followed us down to the pool, then sat
and watched as we raced. I won, but barely. The tight suit
seemed to restrict my stroke, and the cap felt very strange on
my head. As I stepped out of the pool, I was suddenly aware of
how the swimsuit had molded my body. My waist seemed smaller and
my hips and breasts more predominant. Margaret looked the same.
We both removed our caps, then started repairing our makeup
without having to be told. Naomi laughed about this, then left
to get 'us' girls a cold drink.
Margaret looked at me, her lipsticked mouth trembling. "Is she
going to let me get dressed before I get to go home?"
"I don't know Margaret." I replied. "But I wanted to apologize
for laughing at you the last time you were here."
"That's okay. I would have done the same to you. But at least I
know you won't be running around telling everybody, now that
she's got you in dresses too. But MUST you call me Margaret?
She's not here you know."
"Maybe so," I admitted, "but I don't want to get into any bad
habits. If I start getting used to thinking of you as Duncan,
I'm scared that I might slip up in front of her."
He shook his head. "Yeah, okay. I guess you're right - but I'm
starting to think that Melissa might be the right name for you
after all."
"Is that you admitting that you don't want to slip up either?"
I asked cattily, then added in a sweeter tone. "Lets not fight.
Okay?"
"Okay." he said. "Here she comes. Better watch out."
"Thanks for telling me." I said, just as Naomi called out "Okay
girls! Refreshment time!"
We sat around for a while after that, enjoying the sun, Naomi
guiding our conversation along girlish lines. I didn't discover
until much later that a chiffon wrap provides no protection from
the sun. I'm fair skinned, but normally tan rather quickly. That
evening, I discovered a perfectly defined tan line above my
breasts and across my back. The problem was that it was easily
identifiable as the tan line a woman's swimsuit would leave.
I could sense Margaret getting concerned as the afternoon wore
on. It was about time for her mother to pick her up, but I knew
that she didn't want to ask Naomi unless she had to. Naomi
finally laughed.
"Oh dear! Margaret? I forgot to tell you. I called your mummy
while I was up getting the drinks and asked if you could stay
the night. She said it was fine. Just think, now we can have a
slumber party!" Then she giggled. "You should see your faces
girls! Don't you just love the idea of wearing pretty nightgowns
and having a nice gossip while we experiment with different
lipsticks and stuff? Just wait, you'll both love it!"
I couldn't help it. I started to cry. It just felt like one
humiliation was being piled on another. Naomi brought my drink
and put it on the ground beside me. Gave me a comforting hug.
"There, there Melissa. Don't cry. You'll make such a pretty
girl. Honest! I just know I'm going to be so jealous." She knelt
beside me and pulled my head into her breasts.
"But I don't want to be a girl." I snuffled into them.
"Of course you do! Silly! All soft and smooth. Nice silky things
to wear. Smelling nice. Looking pretty. Just wait. You'll just
love it. Trust me. Now just stop those tears and behave like a
big girl! All right?"
I listened in consternation. Was this girl mad? But found myself
nodding an agreement that I'd stop crying and be a good girl.
"There! That's better, isn't it?" She loosened her hold on me
and turned to Margaret. "Melissa's going to be the kind of girl
who just loves a good cry." Then she turned her attention back
to me. "Feel much better now, don't we?"
I nodded sheepishly, fearing to see what Margaret would think of
me. When I saw her face though, I realized that she was
dangerously close to tears as well. Naomi must have felt the
same, because she went and handed out exactly the same kind of
saccharin sweet condolences to Margaret as she had given me.
When she finished, I knew that Margaret and myself were two
abjectly cowed little sissy boys under the total domination of
a strong and imperious woman.
We both had to wash the chlorine from our bodies in heavily
scented bubble baths. While we soaked there, Naomi had a pizza
delivered. Margaret and I had to join her at the dining table,
both of us in extremely feminine nightwear. Margaret in an ivory
satin nightdress with scads of mocha lace dripping from the
bustline and sleeves - and a long, beige, chiffon peignoir. Me
in dark blue satin baby dolls, fringed in white lace frills and
shorty matching peignoir. Both of us were wearing high heeled
slippers, too ashamed to look at each other directly, though
Naomi gradually forced us back into our feminine personalities
as she took one photograph after another.
After we'd eaten, she took Margaret away while I did the dishes.
When they returned, Margaret was in full evening makeup.
Sparkling eyeshadow, eyelashes dark and lustrous with mascara,
heavily lipsticked scarlet lips pouting and gleamingly wet,
cheeks highlighted with blush. She tried to smile when Naomi
asked me if I thought Margaret beautiful.
"Yes Naomi. She does look very pretty." Admittedly I wasn't
going to argue with Naomi, but there was no question about it.
Margaret had become a very pretty girl.
"Okay Margaret." Naomi said. "Melissa has just about tidied
everything away, but why don't you just finish cleaning up for
her? Melissa? Your turn to be beautiful."
And I was led away.
She didn't take a lot of time on my makeup, but used quite a few
minutes on my hair, using a hot curling iron to shape it more to
her liking. She then attached two barrettes with small blue
ribbons. She also came up with the idea of having me put on a
strapless bra under my baby doll top, then inserted breast forms
in the cups. When we rejoined Margaret, I was practically
identical to her, at least in the level of cosmetics I wore,
although my eyeshadow was a sparkling blue, to match my baby
dolls. My 'breasts' were easily visible now, tending to bounce
when I walked.
"Okay girlies!" Naomi said when we were all together again.
"I've been looking after you all day. Now, it's high time you
become the handmaidens I want you to be. Lets start out
properly. I want you girls to curtsey to me when I speak to you
and when I finish speaking to you. Understand?"
Blushing furiously, I took the hems of my shorty robe at the
sides and dropped a quick curtsey.
"Yes ma'am," I said a split second ahead of Margaret.
"Very pretty Melissa," Naomi laughed. "It looks as if you were
born to be a maid. Margaret, you're a little clumsy. Watch
Melissa, see how she positions her feet, and how prettily she
holds her dress. Go on Melissa. Curtsey again. Show Margaret how
it's done."
And, in a strange mix of pride and embarrassment, I continued to
show Margaret the proper way to curtsey until she was as good as
I was.
"Well done Melissa!" Naomi beamed at me. "Now that that's done,
I want you two girls to listen up. You are going to be my
handmaidens for the next few hours. I want you both to move
slowly and gracefully, speak quietly in soft feminine voices,
and try to anticipate what I will want of you. You will not
speak unless spoken to. You will be models of feminine decorum.
Understand?"
Margaret and I curtsied simultaneously and said "Yes ma'am" in
chorus.
Naomi nodded her approval. "Melissa. You can help me undress.
Margaret, go and run me a nice deep bath. Lots of bubbles."
She did very little to assist me in undressing her. I unbuttoned
her blouse, then undid the fastener at her skirt waist band,
pulled the blouse up out of her skirt, then off from her back.
I then unfastened the skirt zipper and worked the skirt down to
the floor. She stepped daintily out of it. Then I took off her
camisole, lifting it up over her head. I then slid her half slip
down from her thighs, kneeling down to ensure that her heels
didn't catch in it as she stepped out of it.
While I was down in this subservient position, I unbuckled the
straps of her sandals, then helped remove them from her feet.
She placed one of her hands on my shoulder for support.
"You feel lovely in that robe Melissa. Do you like it?"
"Yes Ma'am." I answered, surprising myself with the honesty in
my voice, pulling her knee highs down and off her feet as I did
so.
When I got up, she had nothing on but a bra and panties. A
picture of lovely femaleness, that was only enhanced as I
removed these last articles of clothing. Beautiful firm breasts
poking straight out, above a washboard flat tummy. Hips swelling
gloriously out from a small waist line, then scaling down to
perfectly formed thighs, knees, and calves. I couldn't help
myself. My erection grew until it was difficult for me to move
at all without the obvious bulge in my panties.
"Oh dear!" Naomi said. "I hadn't thought of that!" She sighed
resignedly. "Well, can't have a handmaid of mine walk around
like that. Go and get a pair of satin panties from my lingerie
drawer Melissa."
I bobbed a curtsey. "Any particular color ma'am?" I asked.
"No. The color is immaterial. Just make sure they're satin."
I had to turn my back to her to look in her drawer. When I found
a pair of panties, I turned around to find that she had sat down
in a chair. I paused, not knowing what was expected of me.
"Well? Come here you silly girl! Sit on my lap!" she snapped
impatiently.
She held her hand out for the panties as I followed instructions
and settled my rear end down on to her thighs. As I got down, an
arm snaked around my shoulder and I was pulled back so that I
was reclining in her left arm. Her right hand, then slid under
my baby doll panty elastic and wrapped the satin undies I'd
brought around my erection.
"Oh Naomi!" I sighed lifting my arms to put them around her neck
as she lowered her lips gently on to mine. Not long after, I
ejaculated with a fierce rush into the panties she held.
"That's a good girl" she cooed gently. "Now do you think that
you'll be able to keep your mind on your job - at least for a
little while?"
"Yes ma'am. Thank you." I murmured apologetically, getting up as
she released me.
"You can rinse these out quickly. Wring them out and put them in
the dirty wash." she said, handing me the soaked panties.
Later, Margaret and I had to take turns at washing her in the
bath, then at drying and powdering her, then dressing her in a
beautiful nightdress and peignoir set - each of us recording on
film the other busy in one maidenly pursuit after another, Naomi
smiling regally into the camera all the while.
I was allowed to brush her hair as Margaret cleaned out the
bath. To tell the truth, I felt honored at being the one chosen
for this personal task, while my rival was relegated to more
mundane maid's work. This was enhanced especially when mistress
- I mean Naomi - complimented me on the softness of my hands.
She even pointed out a jar of special moisturizer for me to take
to use on my hands and face every night. "It's got a very
pleasant perfume" she told me. "and you won't believe how well
it works. Your skin will be lovely and soft in a week."
Finally, she was satisfied. A drowsy smile played about her lips
as she had me and Margaret sit on her bed and talk about 'girl'
things. Once or twice she heard songs being played on the radio
that she especially liked. She'd turn up the volume then have
either Margaret or me dance with her - we took the girl's part,
naturally. Once she had us dance together, but we were both
totally embarrassed, so she nicely let us split and didn't ask
us again. It was heavenly being held in her arms and guided
slowly around the floor. I was happy that she'd eased my sexual
tension before as I had the notion that I might have embarrassed
myself otherwise.
I was getting drowsy so she invited me to come and sit right
beside her on the bed. Then she propped a pillow up beside her,
and allowed me to slide in under the sheets and lie close beside
her. Next, she put a proprietary arm around me, and pulled me
into her until my head rested on her shoulder. Adoringly, I lay
there, her hand now gently caressing me as she talked to
Margaret about something (yawn) or other.....
"RYAN! RYAN!" A harsh whisper was waking me up. I lay there
sleepily, looking up at Duncan. NO! what was I thinking! Duncan?
Had I been dreaming this whole thing? I lifted my hand to rub
the sleep from my eyes. Saw the large puffy sleeve of my baby
dolls. Knew that at least some of my 'dream' was reality. Then
I noticed that Duncan, still had traces of Margaret in his face.
Eyebrows a little arched and finer. Eyelashes. Was that traces
of mascara there?
"Wake UP Ryan!" He hissed.
I felt like laughing at him, he looked so scared, but just
blinked instead.
"Ryan? You've got to get away from her. Naomi's gonna change
you!"
"What are you talking about?" I managed hazily. "She changed you
too."
"She's letting me GO Ryan! But she's warned me that if I ever
talk to you or come by this house again, she's gonna let
everybody see all these goddam photographs!" His eyes started to
fill with tears. "Oh god! What will my mom and dad think? Oh
god!"
"Why can't you talk to me? I don't understand?" I mumbled.
"I think she wants you all to herself. She said as much. You
better watch out.!" Then he looked at his watch. "Oh Ryan!
You've been the closest thing I ever had for a friend... but I
can't see you again... Got to run. She's taking me home right
now. Probably didn't think I'd disobey her, but she had to go to
the bathroom. I can't let her catch me up here. Please don't
tell her I spoke to you! Please? Bye!" With that, he was gone.
I was puzzled. What could he have meant when he said she wanted
me all to herself? She had me that way already! He had to be
wrong, I mused settling back into the silky warmth of my satiny
baby dolls and the cosiness of the bed....
"C'mon little sleepyhead. Time to get up!" A voice was cooing
gently in my ear, and a warm hand was caressing my breasts.
"Huh? Ummm" I mumbled, totally under the control of the hand
which had now worked its way down to my privates.
"Come on pretty Melissa. Time to get up and get your work done.
I've let you sleep far too long. You've got some washing to do.
Some ironing."
I did something without thought that probably saved Margaret's
skin.
"Where's Margaret?" I asked, forgetting for a moment that she
had just talked to me a short time before. "can't she do it? I'm
tired!"
"I took her home." Naomi said briskly. "She wasn't the stuff to
make a good handmaiden. Not like you!" she smiled, stressing the
last word. "You I'm gonna keep!"
Flattered by her kind words, I yawned drowsily, lifting my arms
in front of me - and being reminded of my pajamas as I saw the
puffed sleeves and the frilled bust line. "Okay Naomi. Where's
my clothes? Do you want me to make breakfast first?"
She beamed a high voltage smile at me, and gave me a firm kiss
on the lips. "Knew it! You're gonna be so good to me! I'll have
coffee to start, along with some orange juice. Then some
scrambled eggs - two will be plenty - and a couple slices of
toast. Not too dark please. You can make yourself anything you
like and join me for breakfast. That'll be so nice!"
Delighted, I slithered out from under the bed sheets. "My
clothes? I can't remember where I put them."
She got a puzzled look on her face. "You're wearing them. What
clothes are you talking about?"
"My other clothes. Pants, shirt - you know?"
She shook her head, smiling at my ridiculous notion. "You'll be
doing woman's work dear. While so employed, you should be
wearing women's clothes. I thought you'd want to get your chores
done before your mummy got home, so wouldn't want to waste time
changing. But if you want? I can look you out a nice dress?"
Horrified, the meaning of what she was saying froze me to the
spot. I licked my lips nervously. "But Naomi? Mom could be home
almost any time now..."
"Melissa! That's something you'll have to stop! Immediately!"
She interrupted.
"What do you mean." I asked defensively.
"The disrespectful way you talk of your mother. MOM indeed! I
want you to start referring to her - and calling her - Mummy!"
I giggled. "Mummy? You must be kidding. It makes me sound like
a little girl."
She gave me a cold stare. "What's wrong with that? It's what I
want you to call her. Are you arguing with me?" A dangerous tone
had edged into her voice.
"Oh no, Naomi. I'm not arguing." I surrendered weakly. "I just
thought that mo - mummy - might be surprised if she came home
and found me wearing these." I plucked at my baby dolls.
She shrugged. "So?" Then she added. "Melissa? You're becoming
very aggravating." She started ticking orders off on her
fingers. "Go and put your peignoir on. Then I'd like you to put
on a pair of knee-highs. Then put on these nice high-heeled
slippers. Freshen up your makeup. Go and make breakfast. After
we've eaten you can tidy up the kitchen, then handwash my
undies. After that, you can iron my green blouse. At that point,
if I haven't thought of any other chores for you to do, I'll let
you put on your silly clothes again. If you wish to stand
debating with me, however, I'm sure I can find other chores, or
other clothes for you to wear?"
She didn't add anything as I scurried to do her bidding. Well,
scurrying isn't the right word. In my new slippers, I discovered
that there is a knack to walking in higher heels than one is
used to.
They didn't hurt my feet. Were quite comfortable as a matter of
fact, but I did find that the backs of my legs seemed to get
very tight as I worked my way through my chores, but I couldn't
hurry in them, that's for sure. Not only that, Naomi saw me
trying to move quickly and demanded I slow down. "Rushing around
is not ladylike." she said
It took me some time to repair my makeup, but she patiently
taught me how to apply the various cosmetics. I was looking
increasingly girlish I thought, seeing the reflection in the
mirror becoming more and more feminine. Afterwards, she was
pleased with the breakfast I made and sat chatting to me as I
cleared off the table and did the dishes. Then she showed me how
she wanted her undies washed. I blushed a lot as I hand washed
and rinsed them- it seemed such a highly personal thing.
While her lingerie was in the dryer, I ironed her blouse. It
became a highly charged sexual activity as she stood close to me
while I performed this maid's chore, patting my posterior,
sometimes putting an arm around my waist then moving her hand
upwards to caress my breasts.
I was halfway through touching up her lingerie with a warm iron
when I heard mummy's car in the driveway. I looked at Naomi
pleadingly. "Please mistress Naomi? Please let me change before
mummy sees me like this. Please?"
She considered my request for a few seconds before agreeing.
"Okay. You've been very good. Even remembered to refer to your
mother properly. Just one thing though. You start wearing
panties from here on in. No more silly Jockey or boxer shorts.
Just pastel colored nylon or satin panties from now on.
Understood?"
I nodded, shamed.
"Very good! I looked out a dozen pair for you. They're lying on
my bed. take them to your room, and you can start your own
lingerie drawer. That'll be nice, won't it?"
"Thank you mistress Naomi." I curtsied and hurried away,
followed by what sounded like her mocking laughter.
The following weeks gradually eliminated much of my remaining
masculinity. I became nothing much more than an appendage
existing for the sole purpose of looking after Naomi. I washed
her clothes for her. Sewed her undies for her. Ironed her
clothes. Brushed her hair at night. Ran her baths in the
evening. Made breakfast for her in the morning. In the words of
the old poem, I gloried in her smile, and trembled at her frown.
Learned to speak softer and in more dulcet tones. I became
totally enraptured with her, but there was something essentially
strange in the relationship that was developing between Naomi,
Mummy, and myself.
To Naomi, I seemed to have become a 'project'. I was gradually
being transformed into a demure young lady. I spoke slower and
more softly. I blushed a lot. I wore ever increasing amounts of
women's underwear under my outer clothes, my lingerie drawer
filling with bras, panties, camisoles, garter belts, and
stockings. I became accustomed to going to bed in a series of
feminine nightgowns or baby dolls. I used makeup - sparingly
perhaps - but makeup nonetheless, on a daily basis: foundation,
blush, eyeshadow, mascara, and lip gloss or lipstick. My finger
and toe nails were manicured, pedicured, and polished at all
times. I put my hair up every night, and such attention to
detail was starting to show in the wavy feminine hairdo that I
wore all the time.
To mummy, my increasing girlishness seemed to be invisible. I'd
be serving up lunch in one of my pretty frilled aprons (this had
become my function), my hair waving softly around my face, my
oval fingernails in pink polish putting dishes down in front of
her, my high heels clicking on the wooden floor and she'd say
something to Naomi like "You know dear? Men are such beasts. I
mean, Ryan is at least somewhat civilized, but even he is not to
be trusted. They all carry that 'macho' stuff around inside them
like a loaded gun."
She'd also discovered that I was using the same cleansing cream
at night that she did. This led to a number of conversations she
had with me where we'd discuss the pros and cons of scented
versus non-scented creams, the available shades of foundation -
and the smoothness of application. One afternoon, in one of
these little 'chats' she had me trying her blush and lip gloss.
As I was wearing one of her blouses that clearly showed my
lingerie underneath, you'd think that she'd at least see
'something' effeminate about me - but she didn't. Was actually
commenting on the fact that men were so stupid in not using
cosmetics to enhance their appearance as I peered into her
compact mirror so that I could see to apply the gloss correctly.
She didn't even seem to notice that I took my own lipliner to
finish off the job.
You're probably wondering why I was wearing her blouse? Let me
explain.
Naomi had been teaching me to sew. I'd made her a couple of
skirts. She'd also had me make my own satin aprons - then model
them! (Again, this showed the size of mummy's blind spot - her
son parading around modeling little satin, lace edged, serving
aprons - that he sewed himself - and all the time he's doing
this, she's making some comments about how masculine he is!)
Naturally, it never crossed her mind that I had sewed these
aprons. To her thinking it obviously had to be Naomi that had
done this feminine task.
Mummy had been on a regimen of diet and exercise kick for a few
years: quite successfully too. Had lost about three inches
around her waist in the process. At first, she had been so
pleased she had just went and bought a completely new wardrobe.
Being a bit of a pack rat though, she had kept a fair amount of
dresses, skirts, and blouses she liked. Now, remembering this,
she asked Naomi if she could possibly do the alterations to make
them fit her again. Naomi couldn't see any reason why not, but
wanted to have a "measuring session" to record all of mummy's
measurements. Naturally, she wanted me as her assistant.
It was a strange feeling measuring my own mother as she stood on
a little stool wearing only her lingerie. Again, she didn't seem
to notice anything unusual in having her 'son' taking all of her
measurements under the close supervision of a girl (so that he
could learn more about dressmaking). I had to write them all
down on a chart that Naomi had made up.
"I'm so glad you're having Ryan do the measurements Naomi," she
said, "I've always felt that men do such a far better job of
measuring things. It's a sort of 'logic' thing I guess."
Afterwards when mother had left, Naomi measured me in many of
the same places.
"Thought so!" she said. "Apart from your waist size, you and
your mother are almost identical."
"Surely not, Naomi? I mean, " I giggled, "I don't have a bust."
"Silly girl! A bra and some padding? You'd be like twins!"
Now, up until that point, I hadn't been introduced to the joys
of wearing a bra, but later on that day I was back in the sewing
room wearing one that was padded exactly to let me match mummy's
dimensions. This allowed Naomi to use me as a dressmakers
'dummy' as she made alterations to the blouses.
"Shame that you're so plump." she said "Could use you for the
dresses as well. Maybe I'll put you an a diet?" She grinned, so
I had hope that she was only kidding.
It was just as well I thought, a few days later, after what
seemed like a never-ending series of blouse alterations. At
Naomi's 'request' I started wearing the bra - and padding - all
the time. My new feminine figure was explained to mummy as a
time saving device. It would let me be ready to help Naomi, any
time she had a minute. Mummy thought this a very good idea.
"Bet HE came up with it. Men are really wonderful at
labor-saving methods, aren't they?" she said.
Then Naomi decided that I should maybe wear the blouses for a
while, just to make sure that they were comfortable - or if she
needed a break from sewing for a while. More and more, I wore
blouses practically the whole day. Frilled ones, plain ones,
diaphanous ones, silk ones - the whole gamut of available
styles, my lacy bras and camisoles easily seen under the sheer
materials. Mummy was impressed by how nice I'd become. "A lot of
men wouldn't have the courage to do this for their poor old
mothers." she confided "I'm SO proud!"
Then came the day of the tennis match. Mummy had commented the
previous evening that we hadn't had a game for a long time and
suggested a match. "You're far too strong for me." she admitted,
"but I do need the exercise."
I'd tried to decline, but Naomi thought it was a wonderful idea.
"You're spending far too much time in the house dear. Need to
get out in the sunshine for a bit." That cinched that
discussion.
Mummy wore a plain white, linen dress, with a short, pleated
skirt. I wore the dress that Margaret had wore the first time,
my hot pink