March of the Southern Belles Chapter Three
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March Of The Southern Belles--Chapter Two free porn video
"March of the Southern Belles--Chapter Two" by Heidi-Jo
McGillicuddy
Clutching at my petticoats with my lavender-colored fingers, I prepared
to squeeze my way through the door. Outside I could hear a continuous
and entirely feminine murmur. As I stepped forward I felt Lisa's hoops
pushing at my skirts from behind, and I quickly stepped forward, lest
anybody see under my raised hoops and catch a glimpse of the lace and
satin pantaloons that went all the way down to the top of my girlish
slippers.
Although my dress was far too wide for the doorframe, a gentle squeeze
was enough to allow me through, my hoops snapping back into place as I
entered the slightly more spacious hallway--slightly being the operative
word. Many of the other girls were already dressed and assembled, chit-
chatting excitedly as they awaited further instructions from Gretchen,
standing literally hoopskirt-to-hoopskirt in an ocean of chiffon. Some
of the belles were wearing light green, others baby blue, others girlish
pink from head to toe. At least one girl was wearing a lavender gown,
identical to mine. I didn't recognize her at first underneath all over
her feminine accessories, but when she turned and saw us, I recognized
her voice. "Lisa, you did it!" she exclaimed.
It was Carrie, Lisa's best friend and co-worker. "Doesn't he look
gorgeous?" Lisa squealed back.
"Yes! Yes! Yes!" Carrie squealed back, and before I realized it, she
was compulsively embracing me with her long, lavender gloves, our skirts
compressing together. I dumbly reached around her and felt the shape of
her trim waist through my satin gloves. "I can't believe it!" Carrie
exclaimed.
Her outburst had caused enough of a commotion to attract the attention
of the rest of the girls; almost in unison they craned their necks and
absently adjusted their skirts in order to see what all the fuss was
about.
Lisa pulled one of my gloved arms back and interlocked her yellow satin
fingers with my own. "I saw him first, Carrie," she said, her tone
mockingly stern.
I heard giggles from the other belles, as well as other snatches of
conversation.
"That's Lisa's boyfriend," I heard one girl say.
"How did she talk him into it?" somebody asked.
"He looks better then me!"
"Oh my God!"
"Is he wearing the pantaloons and everything?"
Flustered, I smiled nervously and tried to find something to do with the
arm that Lisa wasn't clutching. If I let it hang straight down, it fell
into the folds of my dress, which somehow didn't seem right. I looked
at the other girls, and noticed how all of them were keeping both of
their elbows bent at their sides at about a ninety-degree angle, their
gloved hands hovering at about the waist level of their petticoats. I
looked down and put my hand in the same position, and noticed how when I
let my wrist go limp while in this position, it looked somehow...
appropriate.
"We could use him at the club!" Carrie was telling Lisa. "He'd make a
beautiful hostess!"
"Don't joke about that," Lisa said. "His hours just got cut again."
"We need all the help we can get!" Carrie exclaimed.
"How would you like to be a hostess, sweetie?" Lisa asked.
"Ho or hostess?" I asked, trying to deflect the question. Lisa gave me
a scolding look, but Carrie spoke up next.
"Does he have nice legs?" Carrie asked.
"Mhh-hmm," Lisa said, coyly, smiling demurely and fluttering her
eyelids. I looked at her in wonderment as she did this, and she then
looked back at me strangely. "What?" she asked.
"I don't know," I said. I felt very strange at that moment, to say the
least, but before I could say anything else, I heard Gretchen's voice
boom among the din. "LADIES, MAY I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION, PLEASE!"
We all fell silent, save for the persistent rustle of crinoline.
"Thank you," Gretchen said. "As you have all probably noticed, we have
found a replacement for Erica. Please warmly welcome her."
Welcome her? I thought, but I saw a lovely show of satin fingers
fluttering in my direction. I smiled and waved back.
There was not a lot of room in the hallway. My hoops kept getting
nudged this way and that. As Gretchen delivered her last-minute
instructions concerning the forthcoming parade, I licked my lips
nervously and tasted the unfamiliar lipstick that Lisa had put on them.
Would my wig stay on straight for the duration of the parade? This
ruffled ladies hat was the largest item I'd ever worn on my head, and
fear of knocking its floppy brim askew impeded me from any sudden head
movements.
I felt Lisa's fingers digging into my wrist through my gloves. "Pay
attention," she whispered. Gretchen was now demonstrating the proper
way for a southern belle to wave to parade goers, and the other girls
were raising their hands in imitation of her, revealing their delicate
glove buttons. I tried to copy her as well, keeping my elbow close to
my waist and moving my hand from side to side rather than up and down,
but Lisa nudged me. "Left hand," she hissed.
"Why?" I whispered back.
"You'll be carrying a parasol in your right hand," she said.
Of course I remembered. Good lord, how could I forget? And of course
it would be lavender and trimmed with still more copious ruffling. I
pressed my satin-covered legs together underneath my hoopskirt and
shuddered.
And waved.
"I want to see smiles!" Gretchen announced.
I looked around and saw smiles. Some of the other belles were even
smiling at me. I waved girlishly at them and smiled back.
"This is your last chance to powder your noses, ladies," Gretchen told
them. "We need to be lined up and ready to go at nine o'clock sharp."
With that she suddenly turned her back on us and walked away.
"Do you need to powder your nose, sweetie?" Lisa asked me.
I crossed my eyes and tried to look at it. "You tell me."
"She means go to the bathroom."
"Oh," I said. I looked around. Many of the other girls were already
halfway up the hall. "I did have half a cup of coffee earlier."
"You'd better take care of business then," Lisa said. "Luckily for you,
you won't need to wait in line."
"I won't?"
Carrie was listening to this. "Oh, I wish I could see him trying to pee
in his hoopskirt!"
I turned the logistics of the activity over in my mind, and suddenly had
a new appreciation for what these girls were putting themselves through
to dress like this--it would probably be relatively easy for me to void
my bladder in this outfit, and I was very happy I didn't need to...
er...sit on the toilet or anything. Or stand in line, for that matter.
All this talk about urinating, of course, didn't help me to not want to
do it. How long was the parade route, anyway? Then I remembered--after
the parade, where would I be? Surely the men's room here would be safer
than any public men's room at the other end of the parade route... There
was so much I didn't know about what lay ahead for me this day.
"Take your gloves off first," Lisa said.
I gingerly pulled at the fingertips of my gloves. "He looks so ladylike
when he does that!" Carrie gushed as I slid the gloves off my arms.
"Try not to wrinkle them," Lisa said. "Did you want me to hold them?"
"I can handle them," I said. They hung limply against my gown.
"He needs a purse!" Carrie exclaimed.
I looked at the door marked "MEN", which was right next to another door
where a half-dozen girls in identical antebellum costumes were semi-
patiently lined up, and took a deep breath. They looked at me somewhat
jealously as I, still clutching my gloves, pushed myself, and my skirts,
through the door and into the men's room.
The bathroom was empty, of course. This was the most breathing room I'd
gotten in several minutes, and it contained the first large mirror I'd
seen since putting on the dress. Catching a glimpse of myself, I
gasped. Then I slowly walked towards the mirror, my reflection gliding
towards me from the opposite direction, the ruffles on my skirt bouncing
slightly.
My face was smooth, clean, pale. With the floppy lavender bow tied
girlishly under my chin, my soft bangs and my bright red lips, the
masculine features of my face were almost hidden. The row of ruffles
across my chest had a decidedly feminine slant to them (thanks mostly to
my rolled-up socks) and my shoulders looked narrow and delicate. I felt
a stirring down below that was not being caused by my bladder.
I carefully draped my gloves across the towel dispenser, turned around
and approached a urinal with added urgency. I pulled up my dress, hoop
by hoop, and looked down at my lavender legs with their lacy ankle trim
and ruffled petticoat backdrop. I'd never seen a girl in undergarments
so frilly, although I'd certainly wished I'd had. Lisa was right; for
years I'd always enjoyed seeing these girls in their pretty dresses
during the Heritage Day parade, and my desire to see Lisa in all of this
19th century finery was possibly based upon something less than G-rated.
I untied the string at the waist of my bloomers and pulled down the
elastic waistband. The caress of the silky bloomers against my groin
was exquisite. As I stood there at the urinal, what I did next was the
most unladylike thing that I would do all day. I'd rather not say
exactly what happened, other than to say that after it happened, I stood
there stupidly for at least a full minute, holding up my skirts and
hoops with one hand and holding down the waistband of my pantaloons with
the other hand, breathing heavily, before I was able to relax long
enough for the urine to begin to flow through my now, significantly more
subdued, manhood, being extraordinarily careful to not splatter anything
on my beautiful gown.
My beautiful gown. For a few hours, anyway. What a comforting thought.
When I was positive that I was completely finished at the urinal, I
retied the string on my pantaloons, my exhausted little winky grateful
to return to the luxurious satin confines. I then stepped backwards as
I flushed the urinal, dropped my hoops, and turned back around to look
at myself in the mirror again. I wished for a full-length mirror, as in
this one I was only unable to see most of my endlessly flowing skirts,
but I noticed now how the precious little puffy shoulders of the gown
rose a full three inches, perfectly framing either side of my face, and
I took another step towards the mirror, fascinated by all of the
exquisite detailing that I kept discovering, enthralled by how my dress
moved as I did. I took my gloves back from where I'd left them hanging,
and watched myself in the mirror as I slowly drew them back up my arms
and over my elbows.
"Hey sweetie," I heard a familiar voice say softly, breaking me from my
reverie. It was Lisa. "Do you like what you see?"
"You're not supposed to be in the men's room," I said, smiling.
"I wasn't sure if you needed any help," she said. "Did you pee?"
I nodded shyly.
"You look beautiful," she said.
"So do you," I said, and she did. In her bright yellow ruffles, she
looked as wholesome and as beautiful as a girl can get, and suddenly I
had to kiss her right then and there. Even wearing a ball gown, my love
for her suddenly felt no barriers, and I took her in my arms and kissed
her gently on the lips, so as to not smear our lipstick or knock our
hats askew. Even though I had just reached some sort of literal sexual
climax only moments before, the glowing warmth I felt right then was far
more lingering and profound.
She reached up with her yellow gloves and adjusted my bangs. "We've got
a lot of walking ahead of us," she said.
"I feel as though I'm walking on air right now," I said.
"Well," she said, smirking naughtily, "you might not be saying that
later this afternoon."
I shrugged, removed my fingers from her waist, and turned to look at
myself one last time. I doubted just then that it was possible to feel
any more exquisite than I did just then. I smoothed my gown over my
hoops, more for the pleasure of doing so than to smooth any wrinkles,
and finally tore myself from the mirror and from Lisa. I glided over to
the door and gallantly pulled it open with my satin covered hands, and
she curtsied just before she squeezed past my hoops and back out into
the hall.
"Lisa!" Gretchen called. "There you are. You're going to be in row
two." She handed Lisa a card with a large number "2" printed on it.
"You'd better join your row."
I watched as Lisa quickly gathered up her skirts and made her way out of
the building to the parking lot, then stood there stupidly as Gretchen
seemed to not notice me as she intently studied a clipboard that she was
holding.
"What about me?" I asked, trying to sound feminine, even adding a slight
drawl to my speaking voice.
"Hmm?" Gretchen said absently. She looked up. "Oh," she said, looking
down at her clipboard before she did something completely unexpected:
She looked back up at me again and actually smiled. I nervously touched
my bosom in response.
"Enjoy yourself out there today," she said, sounding suddenly warm.
"Remember--it's fun to be a girl."
I nodded, smiling. Blushing, almost. Then Gretchen's smile vanished as
she handed me a card with the number "6" printed on it. "Go outside and
find the three girls who are also in your row. And do not leave without
your parasol!"
Outside, I thought. Outside, as in 'in public'. My heart rate began to
increase. Clutching my card, I took a deep breath and started for the
front door.
Walking in hoopskirts wasn't actually difficult at all; if I needed to
pick up the pace, it helped a little bit to lift up the front of my
dress, but my legs were able to pretty much move under my skirts
unimpeded. Doors and doorways, however continued to be a nuisance,
especially doors like these that were designed to swing shut on their
own, obviously invented after hoopskirts went out of fashion. I also
wasn't sure about pushing open the door using my gloves, as I didn't
want to soil them and I had no idea how many other grubby hands had
pushed through those same doors since they had last been properly
cleaned.
I was certainly becoming quite prissy!
Luckily Gretchen had apparently thought of everything. Before I got
within five feet of the door, a young man sprang to his feet and
immediately pulled open the door for me, standing back to allow all of
my petticoats past. Seeing another male so soon after leaving this
hyperfeminine cocoon made me feel even more special; he was wearing a
drab polo and khakis and nearly faded into the wall as a result. He
looked at me, however, only with respect and acceptance. Could he tell?
I couldn't tell if he could tell. He just smiled at me sincerely and I
smiled back and whispered 'thank you', to which he gently replied,
"You're welcome, miss!" I smiled some more upon hearing that, and if I
felt soft and pretty before, I felt absolutely glorious as I emerged
from the building into a beautiful spring morning, the polite young man
keeping the door open for me until after the last of my voluminous
petticoats were clear of the doorway.
It was easy to see where I needed to be; the large phalanx of
multicolored southern belles assembled in the parking lot were probably
visible from space. I held up my number, and was directed to three
other young ladies also holding sixes. They introduced themselves to
me; the belle in pink was Claire, the belle in baby blue was Brandi, and
the belle in light green was Laura.
"And what's your name?" Brandi asked, winking.
"I'm Lisa's boyfriend," I said, and everybody giggled.
"But you need a girls name!"
I was stumped. "I guess I do," I said finally.
There wasn't much time for girl talk, however. One of Gretchen's
assistants came by then and lined us all into columns--I was put in the
middle, between Laura and Claire. Brandi was on the far left.
The girl in front of me was wearing orange. She turned around and
smiled. "You look very pretty," she said.
"So do you," I said, and I meant it. All of these young ladies looked
about as beautiful as a young lady could possibly look, as far as I was
concerned. I leaned slightly to my left to try to catch Lisa's eye,
four rows up. She saw me and waved; she already had her parasol cradled
in her right arm, twirling the open canopy over her shoulder.
"Psst," Laura said to me, and I turned to see another of Gretchen's
assistants holding a lavender parasol out to me. I accepted it,
stopping to study the delicate ruffle-trimmed cap of the umbrella. It
looked perfectly impractical--it really didn't offer much more
protection from the elements than my hat did--but as I cradled it in my
gloved right arm like all the other belles did, I felt absolutely
beautiful.
I suddenly realized that I was more or less trapped at this point. All
of my male clothing--indeed my ID, my cash, my keys--was stuffed in the
corner of a dressing room in a building that I was about to walk away
from, with no idea when (or how) I would return. This costume, this
gown, whatever else you might call it, would be the only clothing
available to me for the indefinite future.
Bolting at this point would be problematic, as well. I was surrounded
by girls in hoopskirts. Even if I did try and squeeze through, would
they try to stop me? And where would I go? Dressed this way, I really
couldn't possibly belong anyplace else.
I had hardly any time to ponder this however. Suddenly the columns of
belles ahead of um were beginning to move forward, out of the parking
lot. I concentrated on the girl ahead of me, on the orange bow she was
wearing at the small of her back, and when she began to walk, so did I,
along with the other girls in my row, and then the row behind us was
moving as well.
The parade had begun. Ahead of me I could hear the din of the crowd as
they spotted the first row of girls exiting the parking lot and turning
left to go up Main Street. The route, I knew, lasted from 2nd Street
West all the way up to 20th Street East.
"Stay in your rows, ladies!" I heard Gretchen calling from somewhere.
As I stepped up across the slight grade of the parking lot and onto Main
Street, I lifted the front of my dress to avoid tripping on it. Smiling,
I raised one gloved arm, revealing the lovely little lavender buttons at
my wrist, and began to wave at the assembled parade watchers...
TO BE CONTINUED
Fay
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