Stephanie's Scheme Part 4 free porn video

Warning. This is an adult story with some strong sexual content. It is not intended for and should not be read by minors. It is also not intended for anyone who believes that men are men, women are women and that's the way things should always be. It is concerned with themes of male transvestism, panty fetishism, male submission, female domination, and the like. It does not contain any kind of violence nor does it depict children under the age of consent. This is the fourth part of this story that I have posted to fictionmania. There has been a year long hiatus before I came back to it. Over different periods of time I have posted this story on different sites. As of 3rd of September 2009, this is as far as I have got with it. I have a .pdfversion for the whole story with pictures. If you would like this, or would like to contact me - alamopreacher at gmail.com is the address. I won't attempt to write a prelude here - if you're interested in reading this you really ought to go back and read parts one, two and three on FM first. Or you can read it all at alamo-preacher.com. And so I left. My head spinning, my heart thumping, my mind darting between humiliation, excitement, shame and fear. I was caught. I'd always been caught. My stepmother knew all my secrets. All our secrets. I was a panty boy, and she knew it. I stood in the hallway outside the room. I didn't know what to do next. I had been planning to go back to work. Dammit, I had to go back to work. But now? What would I say to Steph? I had to talk to her. But how? Cherie would know we were talking. Know what I was saying. And Ellen? I wanted to talk to her too. Really, I wanted to talk to her first. But I couldn't face it. I had to get out of there. Collect my thoughts. Try to make sense of it. Steph and Dad were still in the kitchen. I could hear them talking, laughing, oblivious. I walked quickly to the study and picked up the phone there. I dialled Ellen's house. Her mother answered. Ellen was out, having dinner with some other girlfriend. Trying to sound calm, I left a message, asking her to ask Ellen to call me at the Express alterations number. Ellen's mother insisted on talking. Asking how my bruise was, and how my Dad had got on on his honeymoon. She didn't ask about Cherie. As a first wife, she probably regarded all second wives with a certain coldness. Finally I was able to put the phone down. I popped my head round the kitchen door. "See you later guys. I'm going back in to work for a couple of hours," I called. "Sure, see you later." Said my Dad. Steph caught my eye. She probably wanted to talk to me. "I'll be back soon," I told her. She shrugged. "Do what you like, Ken," she said coldly. I hurried out. 'Fuck her,' I thought. 'It's not my fault. I was caught anyway.' The walk to town seemed to take an age. As I hurried down the roads and streets, I tried to figure out what this meant. Had she known about me from someone else? From when had she known? Could it really have been from when we first met at our house? Was what she said about the wedding dress true? I groaned. Of course it was true. Maybe she had only suspected but my face had given the whole story away anyway. Was she really that insightful? Maybe. She'd hooked up with my Dad anyway. Maybe all women could pick out submissive men by their mannerisms, their eyes, their voices. But more worryingly. If she knew about cousin Phyllis, then what else did she know? She'd said nothing about spying on Simon Field. But would she anyway, even if she knew about that? I found myself wishing that she'd just kept all this to herself. Leave me in blissful ignorance. I stopped Stopped dead on the footpath. Why had she told? What purpose did it serve? Was she intending to blackmail me? Did she really have an evil scheme? Was I part of it? Or was she just playing with me? Dominating me. Just stepping on me on her way to become the alpha female in the house? Perhaps. Or perhaps she was just playing. Cruel and mocking. That actually seemed pretty likely. It had fitted with her manner anyway. But what did it all mean for me? I had resolved to be nice to her anyway. Of course, she wasn't to know that. I avoided thinking about the inevitable conversation with Steph. I would have to tell her. I dreaded the thought of it. I was there, slightly surprised to have reached it so quickly. I fumbled for the keys, turned off the alarm and hurried upstairs. It was odd to find the place so dark. I turned on all the lights and sat down at my work desk. Now what to do? Wait for a call from Ellen? Actually go ahead with making my panties? Get some real work done? 'Make a cup of tea,' I said out loud to myself. The strong brew calmed me a little. I stood in the silent building sipping it and letting my heart slow down little by little. I reached for my necklace. Gripped it tightly. 'Be strong.' I whispered to myself, and I felt better. Still, I had no idea what to do. I looked down at the pile of clothes awaiting my attention. At least I could get on with them. I sat, and began unpicking, letting my mind freewheel to a stop. I unpicked and turned up, put in holding stitches and started my machine. Soon, the sound of the machine and the need to concentrate blotted it all out and I began to make progress. Between garments, my mind returned to my stepmother. 'Do they feel nice? Do they let you be who you want to be?' She was so perceptive, so accurate. Was this how she had caught my Dad? Had she learned something about submissive men? She had power, insight. But no. There was something missing. She wasn't quite right. How had they met? Gordon Burley was a colleague of my Dad. Not really friendly, but they had worked together pretty closely at one time. That was the only connection, at least prior to her moving here. They hadn't been married long. A couple of years, the years after she'd returned from America, after she'd quit her modelling and porn work. What had she learned there? Had her incredible attractiveness taught her to despise weak men? Did they fall so easily under her spell? And then, Simon Field. He'd handled her divorce, but there had been no case, only a massive settlement. And then, the move here, and the rapid hookup with my Dad. There had to be some other connection. A missing piece. I paused for a moment. She could not possibly know that I knew all this history. And that gave me an advantage over her. All of a sudden I was aware of someone standing in front of my desk. The machine had drowned out their footsteps till the were right in front of me! I looked up with a terrified start. Ellen! "Jesus! You gave me a shock," I squeaked in sudden relief and shock. She just smiled. "I rang the bell, called out. You were miles away. Didn't you realise you'd left the door at the bottom unlocked. I just had to push it. Don't worry, I locked it behind me." Oh, god I loved her so much. She was utterly, amazingly beautiful, and her smile radiated an inner loveliness that couldn't stay hidden. That was what Cherie was missing. She was only beautiful on the outside. Ellen shone from within. "Why didn't you phone here? I left the message with your Mom?" She smiled more. "Because I wanted to see you, stupid," she said. "Am I disturbing you?" she added. "Oh no, of course not. I so wanted to see you." "Hold it, just one sec," she said quickly. "You hear that? The way you said that? I love that. I want you to sound more like that. Say it again." I wasn't exactly sure what she meant. 'I so wanted to see you?' She grimaced. "Don't lose it. Yes, obviously that. But say it like you said it first. Quickly, try again." I realised what she meant. I'd sounded needy, girly, gushing a little. It was embarrassingly, and not a little humiliating. But I could tell she meant it. And, oddly, yes, I felt I liked it too. "I so wanted to see you." "Yes, almost. But more feeling, not whining, remember when you trained to sound like a girl? Now." "I so wanted to see you." "Close. Again. Close your eyes. Be the girl." "I so wanted ..." "More!" "I so wanted to see you." Quieter. "Yes." "I so wanted to see you." A whisper. "Yes. More." "I love you Ellen. I can't help myself." She stepped closer, around the desk. Her heels loud on the wooden floor. "Be my girl Ken." "I want to be." And she put her arms around me, pulled me to her, kissed me so roughly, squeezed me so tight. I felt her heart pound, her passion released. Her hands snaked inside my waist. "Uhhhh. Panties. Fuck Ken. You are such a sissy." "For you," I mumbled. "Yes, but for yourself too. Now, remember what you promised me. Have you remembered to be pretty for me." I squirmed. Her hands were caressing my ass. "Well, no. No. Just the panties, and yes, yes, they're really mostly for me. But wait. I'm doing something else for you, and well, yes, partly for me. But. But." She moved in closer. "Yes, but what? What is it?" "Well, it's a surprise." "Hmmm. I don't think you've regained my trust sufficiently for surprises. What is it?" I gulped. I'd imagined showing her later, when they were ready. Now, I wasn't so sure they'd be up to her expectations. "Well. I, I wanted to make you something. Well, really for me. For you." Her hands stopped caressing, and she moved back a little, with the hint of a quizzical frown. "I'll show you," I said, and I pulled out the bag with the material and the trim, pulled it out, showed her. Her frown deepened, if anything. I pulled out the paper pattern and drawing, smoothed them out on the table. At that her expression changed. She looked from the drawing to me, and back again, her eyes widening. "Panties?" She breathed. "Panties, for you to wear, for me?" She asked. She seemed totally surprised, but I couldn't tell if she was pleased or not. Clearly it wasn't what she'd expected, if anything. "Yes. I wanted something. I'd drawn them before, and I thought I could make them. I liked what you'd said about what I was wearing for you the other day, and yes, it'd for me really, but I was thinking of you. I'm sorry. It's not much..." But she cut me off, put her arms around my head, clasped me to her, kissed me. "Oh Ken. You're so lovely. It's wonderful. I love them. I love you. I can't wait to see you in them, to pull them off you. Oooh. The thought of you wearing special panties that you made just for me. Oh, it's adorable. Yes. I love it." She snatched up the picture again, examined it more closely. "I'm sorry I spoiled the surprise, but the anticipation is just as good. Did you really draw them yourself? And make the pattern. How clever. Seriously Ken, these are good. If you can really make them. Wow, you could sell these. They look like they would be very popular." She smiled at me. "With a certain kind of girl anyway." And she laughed. Then, she saw my face. "Is there something wrong? I'm not angry. I'm delighted with you. It's okay." I shook my head. "It's not that. I mean, I'm glad you like them, but something terrible has happened. I don't know what to do. I need to talk to you." She looked serious, concerned, but not realising the seriousness of the situation yet. "Sit down on my lap and tell me all about it," she said. And even though what I was going to tell her really called for less playful set-up, I lowered myself onto her lovely lap. "It's Cherie," I said. "She knows everything." Ellen nodded, frowning, and I began to tell her, stating with our conversation the night before, and all the way through what she had told me in the sitting-room earlier that evening. I left nothing out, not even the part where I'd loaded the machine with her lingerie. Ellen didn't interrupt, just let me tell the story, but her expression grew darker and darker as I talked, and eventually a look of horror stole over her face as I got to the part where Cherie told me that she knew who cousin Phyllis was. "Oh shit. How? How does she know this?" she exclaimed. "Does Field know? Did she say that?" "No," I said. "She just knows that I was Phyllis. Maybe from him, but maybe not. And I don't think so, because if she did then she would be more suspicious. If she did know, then why tell? I could have been seen or recognised by anyone at the concert. She works in the school. She could know anyone there who might have told her." Ellen looked unconvinced and worried, but spelling it out made my brain switch on a bit more. "Actually, it's very unlikely. There's no connection between Phyllis and my family. Nobody at the law firm knew of the connection. If she's heard about her, as our cousin, it's more likely she knew from someone at the concert." Ellen nodded, thinking it over. "But it's not certain, is it?" I had to agree, there was no way to know for sure. "That bitch!" she suddenly exclaimed, startling me. "I can't stand the thought of her teasing you like that. She has no right. None! I see what she's doing .She thinks she can waltz in to your home and dominate you just like your Dad. Well, she's wrong. You are mine Ken. Do you understand?" I nodded, suddenly sheepish in Dominant Ellen's presence. "Yes Ellen. I didn't do anything..." "You'd better not. Do I need to reinforce the lesson from the other day?" "No. No." "Are you sure? I bet you were loving it when she was talking to you." "No. No. I swear. I wasn't. I was shocked. But no." Her eyes bored in to mine. She looked furious. "Wait. Sorry." I let my eyes droop. Thought back, sought the truth. I looked up again into her eyes. "I wasn't loving it. But it, yes. I have to admit it, at one level it did give me a thrill. But I was thinking of you." "Were you now?" she asked, clearly not believing me. "Yes. Yes I was." "And when she told you to load her lingerie into the machine?" I rolled my eyes. "Well, at the time, I didn't know any of this. It seemed kind of innocent. But yes, yes. I have to admit it, you know, you know what I like. But actually, well..." "Well what?" "Well, I don't really like used things. I mean they weren't dirty. But the thought of it. It's not nice. I mean. If to be honest, she'd asked me to fold her clean lingerie, I probably would have liked it more. But Ellen, I love you. I don't think of her like that." "Nevertheless Ken, you are weak. And you're particularly prey to women like her. I don't want to hear of anything more like this. It's not appropriate. You make sure you keep out of situations like this. Whatever happens. And you're absolutely not to go into her panty locker. Do you understand?" I nodded, miserably. Were all our times together going to end like this I wondered. "Tell me Ken," she continued. "If I hadn't told you not to just now, would you have gone into her things? Worn her panties?" I looked at her, the answer written all over my face. "What?" She hissed. "What? What do you not understand? How could you possibly think I would give you permission to wear her panties? You are mine Ken. Mine! I don't just own your body, but your mind too, and your soul. You still don't seem to have grasped that, do you? I can't believe this shit! You were thinking of me when you were fondling your stepmother's panties? That's bullshit! And you know it. And when she was telling you she knew you were a secret sissy boy. I bet you loved that too!" "But Ellen, what was I supposed to do...?" "I don't care," she said, getting herself under control. "But you should have found a way to get out of it. Now, look into my eyes Ken." I raised my drooping eyelids. Sitting in her lap I had to actually look down to her, but the feminine nature of the way I was sitting in her lap made me very much the inferior in our position. Her eyes were so very brown, so very clear and beautiful. So strong and commanding. I forced myself not to blink, felt my own eyes weaken. "Now Ken. Answer me. Who do you love?" "Oh. You Ellen." "Who do you need to tell you what to do?" "You Ellen." "Who is the Sissy, panty girly boy?" "I am." "Repeat." "I am a sissy, panty, girly boy." "Who looks up to me, and worships me and obeys me in everything?" "I do." "Repeat," she said more firmly. I was lost in her eyes now. "I do. I look up to you in everything. I obey you. I worship you. Ken, the sissy, panty girly boy." "Who fucks her Ken when he's been a good little girly boy?" "You do. Ellen does." She paused. I repeated more fully. "Ellen does. You fuck your sissy little girly boy when he's been good." "And who fucks Ellen?" For a moment I was lost, I almost broke contact with her eyes. My head swam. My stomach threatened to choke me. "Whoever you like to?" No answer. I was wrong. "Nobody fucks Ellen. But maybe you might have sex with a man if you wanted to." "Mmm Hmmm," Said Ellen. But deep down, a thought popped up. Was she seeking an answer from me here? Maybe what I said might determine what she would let happen in the future? Maybe if I'd said 'Only Ken.' that might have been okay. It wasn't that I'd got it wrong the first time. It was that there had been doubt in my voice. And the second time? No. No doubt. That was what I wanted. If she did. "Mmm. Hmm," she hummed again deep in her self. Thinking. "It's not very fair is it Ken?" She asked, her tone a little different, but her eyes still holding mine like steel beams. "Yes. Yes it is. I love you Ellen," I said, the words coming unbidden, uncensored, from deep within, as she wanted. "How is it fair?" "Well, well, eh, hang on a minute, please. Let me think." "The truth Ken." "Yes, yes, and it is the truth. I do love you and I know you love me, I do. But it's fair because well, because well, I know you love me when you fuck me, and well, I know you still would love me if you have sex with someone else. I mean, I know it because I can see it in your eyes, and I would still see it in your eyes, even if you were fucking someone else." "Would you like it Ken?" she whispered. "Yes. I think so," I nodded meekly. "Is it that you think I'm a slut and you want to watch me get fucked?" "No. No. No I don't think that. How can you say that. I worship you. I don't think that. Don't say it." "Well, how is it? How do you explain it?" "I don't know, I can't, it's difficult. But I know that it's true. I suppose I think that I love you so much, no, it's not that, though that's true - but it's more that I worship you so that whatever you do is okay, and I mean, I know you have needs, needs that I can't satisfy, not being a sissy, and yes, I love to look at you, and maybe, maybe you're right, it would be exciting to watch you have sex with someone, and that's partly because it would be so humiliating, so emasculating, and I don't know why, but that is exciting, but that's it I suppose, it's more about me, I guess. I suppose that it would demonstrate your power over me so graphically, so excitingly. So, it's not that I think of you as a slut. I mean, I don't think that I think of any woman as a slut, and especially not you." "Not your mother either." I gasped. "No. No of course not." You seem shocked Ken. Most people would think that about your mother. Stephanie would." "She might say it. But she doesn't think it. She loves our mother. She isn't a slut." Ellen smiled a wry, pitying smile. "You're missing the point Ken. People say it about your mother. They say it about me." I seemed to be losing the course of the conversation. I didn't get the point of what she was saying at all. I was almost angry, upset at what she was saying. "Well, so what? I don't care what other people say about you or my mother. I mean, yes I do, I wish that they didn't say or think mean things about either of you and if I heard anyone say that I'd, I'd I suppose challenge them, or fight them. Stand up for you, I mean. But this is about us, about what we want. And Ellen, please, don't make this into more than it is. I mean, you asked me if I would enjoy something like that. I have to tell the truth, and yes I would, but I'm not asking you to. I mean, I don't think it would be demeaning, but if you think that, then let's not even talk about it any more, please. You're not a slut. You're not. I couldn't bear it if you believed that was what I thought, because I don't. I never have. I never will." She was shaking her head. "Okay, okay. You've made that point. But, like I said. You're missing the point. You love your mother. Yes?" "Yes. Yes of course." "And you love me." "Yes." "People say she is a slut..." It began to dawn on me. I remembered the afternoon a few weeks back, after she'd caught me with the magazine with Cherie in it. She had mace me spell out the fantasy. She knew everything about me. "But Ellen, what are you saying, that I only like the idea of this because of my mother? Because of what she and my Dad did?" "What did they do?" "Well, you know, that she would sleep with other men to turn him on." "Is that why she did it? To turn him on?" "Well, yes, I think so. Yes. I mean maybe that wasn't the only reason. I don't think she would have done it if she didn't like it too. But yes, I think that was the main reason." "And that means that she wasn't a slut?" "Well, yes. Doesn't it? I mean, I suppose, I'm not entirely sure what would make someone a slut." She smiled at me. It seemed I'd passed whatever test she'd had in her mind. "Yes. That's okay Ken. Yes. It's something in your mind. If you don't think it matters then it doesn't. And I love your Mom too. I'd love to be like her. I don't know why they broke up, but I think what your parents had was wonderful. I was round at your house a lot when they were together, and I hope we can be like that forever. Would you like that?" My head swam a little. "Yes Ellen. I would love that." She kissed me. "Don't worry Ken. Everything will be fine. You just have to remember that I love you, and everything will be okay. We will always have each other, and that makes us strong. So strong that no-one can touch us. Not Cherie. Not Stephanie, not anyone." I buried my face in her neck, closing my eyes tight to hold back in the tears. She didn't have much time. She'd told her mother she would be back soon. We agreed that we'd do nothing about the Cherie situation until we'd had a chance to talk with Stephanie. I agreed to meet her and Stephanie the following day after work. I worried about telling Steph at all but we knew we couldn't keep the news that Cherie knew about me and Phyllis from her. Ellen would clearly have liked to stay and watch me make the panties but we both knew that she would only distract me, so she gave me a hug and a kiss and was left, with only a single backward glance. I smiled to myself. She was right, as long as we had each other everything would be okay. Before starting on the panties I did some real work. Hems and belts and gathers. I worked quickly but not sloppily, doing only enough that Miss Chisel wouldn't be able to complain too much. When I had done about half the pile she'd left I took out my own cloth. I pinned the pattern on, adjusted the bias a little and began to cut. Quickly, I had the panels ready. I tacked the pieces together and adjusted the size again so that it would fit snugly. I pulled off my jeans and underpants and put it on. More adjustments. When I was happy with the fit, I fiddled with the sewing machine settings to adjust for the fine thread and the thickness of the cloth. I loaded the thread, and slowly began to stitch it together, testing the size and the stitches as I went. The time passed quickly. The lacy trim and hem were next. I cut the pieces to size and tacked them on, adjusting the length. Then the elasticated waistband. The fabric itself was a little stretchy with lycra, but it wouldn't be sufficient to keep the panties on. I'd done elasticated waistbands before, but in this case, it needed to hold without gathering the fabric or else it wouldn't lie flat. I tacked it on a few times before I got it right, then I realised I'd need to add the skirt pieces on before sewing it all together. Cursing my lack of foresight, I took it apart again and sewed it all together, skirt and waistband together. I'd decided before to add a little ribbon as piping on the seams but this now seemed like a lot of extra effort, and would probably make the whole thing too fussy. Instead, I turned on the iron in the corner and wound the hem over the hard sleeve ironing board. I'd seen my mother do this before but I worried that I might damage the fabric. Still the effect I wanted couldn't be done any other way. When the iron was hot enough I pressed it down on the hem and pulled it hard but evenly over the board, then lifted it up again to judge the effect. It worked, the fabric had softened and stretch, giving it a flouncy edge. I did another section and another, working my way around the whole of the skirt hem. Finally it was done. I quickly removed my tacking stitches and pulled them on. Immediately I got an erection. The little skirt felt lovely and the sexy little boy shorts fit snugly around me. They were very impractical. The skirt would bunch up under any kind of jeans, they could really be only be work with a short skirt or dress, but that was really the point. I turned the iron down, took them off again and ironed them neatly. Reluctantly I folded them up with the remains of the cloth and put them in the bag. I tidied up all the evidence of my extra-curricular activities and mad the place look like it had before I'd started. I looked around before turning out the light. Although I'd only worked there one day, already I felt a little sense of ownership in the place. That it was so untidy and disorganised offended me a little. Also, while most of the clothes lying n piles or on hangers were womens' clothes there was quite a lot of mens' cloths too, which I didn't like. If this were my business it would be women's clothes only, I thought. And then a sudden thought struck me. Not a thought, a revelation. The scene I saw in my mind, my future, or at least a future which might be mine - it came into sharper focus. A workshop. No, a studio, a fashion studio. A design studio for lingerie and other women's clothes. It's what I wanted to do. I knew I could do it. Even though I'd made exactly one item of clothes in my whole life, the experience had been so natural, so right, that I knew I could do it. I could design clothes for a living. I could go to art school? Fashion school? Whatever people did, and then make and sell my designs. Sell them in boutiques. Sell them to clothing lines. It was perfect. I clicked off the light and went outside, my mind buzzing with plans and fantasies of what I would do. I was so entranced by the idea that I found myself at home before I realised I'd been walking at all. The house was dark. No-one else was up. I was so keyed up I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep. I quietly made myself a mug of soup and tiptoed into my room. I put down the mug and took out my larger sketch pad. I closed my eyes and pictured Ellen. No, Stephanie. What would she wear? What would she be sure to buy if she was in a clothes shop. At once it came into my mind. A zip-up top with hood, but fitted, and with a striking but subtle pattern. I could picture the fabric. I quickly sketched the pattern, stars and bars, with a fleck as part of the fabric. I sketched the outline of the hooded top. The back, the sides, drew quick sketches of the details of the collar and sleeves, trying to get it all down before the picture in my head faded or got confused. As I drew, I felt the door open silently behind me. Someone came in. I didn't care who it was. Let them see. I just needed a few seconds more to capture it. "Wow," came Steph's voice over my shoulder. I felt a little twinge of pride at the surprise and admiration in her voice. "If I'd had a thousand tries I would never have guessed what you were doing. That's really, really good. Are you going to make it?" I looked up at her. She was in her flannel PJs, her hair damp. "Maybe. I'm not sure if I could find the fabric. Would you buy something like that if you saw it in a shop?" "Honestly? Yes, probably, if I could afford it. It looks expensive. Is it something you've seen, or is it straight out of your own head?" "Hmm. Well, I suppose maybe I've seen things like it, maybe different parts. But yeah, it's out of my head. Actually, I was trying to picture something you would like." "To make for me? Really? Ellen rang before you got back. She said you were making something for her. What is it?" She'd gotten slightly the wrong end of the stick. But that was okay. "Yeah, like I said, I don't know if I can find a fabric that would be right for it. But yes, I'd make it for you if you'd like. What else did Ellen say?" "Only that she wanted to meet up tomorrow after work, with you too. I came in to tell you." "Okay. Listen Steph, about what we talked about last night..." "Don't. Please don't rake it all up again. I may have said some things I regret. Let's leave it at that. The thing is Ken, you need to be careful of her, that's all, okay?" I sighed. I wanted to leave telling her till the next day, with Ellen there, but how could I? If I'd been able to avoid talking to her till then, I could have said there had been no opportunity to talk to her properly, but now, here was the perfect opportunity. If I didn't say anything, then tomorrow's conversation would be about how I had kept it from her, and start off on the wrong foot. I had to tell her now. "Steph. Sit down. There's something you need to know. Before I went out this evening, when you and Dad were clearing up, Cherie took me aside and told me something. Something bad." She frowned and sat, and her frown grew deeper, and deeper as I related the conversation. When I got to the end, all she said was, "Fuck. Fuck!" "I've been going over and over it in my mind. Ellen said I should have just walked away, but I didn't really tell her anything she didn't know or at least strongly suspect anyway. And it's easier now, with hindsight, but at the time I was so shocked and, and...." "Frightened." I looked up. "Well, yes, frightened I suppose, yes, that..." "Shut-up Ken," she said, but not unkindly. "It's not your fault. She's just too clever for you, and she knows you." I didn't say anything. There didn't seem to be anything left to say. "So, this is why Ellen wanted to meet up tomorrow, to tell me?" "Yes. We wanted to talk to you together." "And now you'll be in trouble because you told me without her here." That was a little annoying. "Oh don't be stupid Steph. Of course not. It doesn't work like that." She shook her head. "Sorry. You're right. And you needn't blame yourself. It's my fault. It was my plan, and you carried it out as well as you could. She found this out from someone. She knew the name already. It has to be someone who was at the concert or the party afterwards. I think I know who." "Who?" "Never mind. I can find out for sure tomorrow." Her brow was furrowed, concentrating, thinking. "This doesn't change anything. In a way it may even be an opportunity. Ken she threatened you, blackmailed you. You must see now that I was right about her. Will you help me?" This wasn't entirely true. She hadn't really threatened me. In fact she'd said she wouldn't tell anyone my secret, or at least anyone who didn't know already. And she hadn't blackmailed me either. In fact she hadn't looked for anything from me, except confirmation of what she already suspected. Still, I feared her now all the same. I hadn't liked the easy way she'd toyed with me, or her knowing smiles. Well, in fact I had liked it, but that wasn't the point. Still, before I spoke, my inner caution, more and more alert these days, advised caution. So, when I did answer, it wasn't with ready agreement either Steph or I expected. "Well, let's talk to Ellen first," I said hedging. Steph. gave me a look. "This is a family matter Ken. Our family." "Yes, but Ellen was part of your plan, and she knows all about this too. And I said we'd talk and decide what to do tomorrow, with her." I was surprised at my own firmness. If my sister was, she didn't let on. "Right. Okay. We'll see what she thinks. But Ken, will you help me?" I looked at her. She seemed strangely vulnerable in her P.J.s, her eyes weren't exactly pleading, but they weren't the orbs of fire that she could sometimes summon up. "Steph. If it's a question of who's side I am on - yours or Cherie's. I am always on yours, and I always will be." "But..?" she asked. "No butts. I am your brother and I love you and I'll always be there for you. As will Ellen." She stepped forward and put her arms awkwardly around me, her loose, long hair falling over my face. "I know. And I'll always protect you Ken. Whether you think you need it or not. She won't frighten you again." Her promise sounded a little ominous, but I let it pass without comment. I hugged her back and then she turned away. "Good night Ken," she said. "We'll talk tomorrow. Take care. And Ken?" "Yeah?" "I would like the top a lot." She closed the door behind her and I looked back at my sketch. Yes, she would. I thought. And probably many other girls with her style too. I got undressed quickly and got into bed and turned out the light. A minute later I turned the light back on, got out of bed and stripped off my pyjamas. I moved the chair and stood to retrieve the box of sleepwear from the upper wardrobe. "Who the fuck am I hiding from now?" I said to myself out loud as I selected a powder blue satin slip. I got back into bed in my girly nightie and fell asleep with a peaceful smile on my face. I'm not sure if it was the nightie or the late night but the following morning I overslept terribly. I was awoken by the sound of someone swishing open my curtains to let the bright end-of-August sunshine flood into my room and burn my eyes. I sat up to protest only to find Cherie standing over me. She was wearing lilac satin pyjamas, and I was momentarily rendered speechless by the sight of her large breasts and firm nipples clearly visible within the soft fabric. Whatever comment had been on her lips died when she saw what I was wearing in bed. "Well, well well. I see you like to sleep in a girl's slip Ken," she said. The remains of my anger at being woken so brutally had enough momentum to give my voice some defiance. "Yeah, so what?" I said. "I like it." She was knocked back. In a moment, my sleep-addled brain came awake. What was I saying? Fuck. A lifetime of secrecy thrown away in an instant, and to who? To Cherie! But, I thought - my brain calculating furiously - this was good, if risky, and terrifying. At a stroke I'd removed all her power over me. So what now, to my secret? So what? She knew. Dad had to know, Mum knew, Steph knew for years, my girlfriend knew. What could she do? Tell strangers. Who cared? For a moment she looked a little lost for words, but only for a moment. "Stop looking at my breasts Ken. And get up, you're late for work." I couldn't think of any retort to this as she turned and swept out of the room. Still, I had never seen her even a little less than totally sure of herself before. She hadn't been exactly rattled, but she'd certainly not been totally in control of our short conversation. Still, I couldn't help but fear that she would think up some way around my openness and defiance of her. I had no time to worry about it though. The clock said 7:55 which meant I had no time for breakfast and barely enough time to get dressed and in to work. I stuffed the slip under my pillow and raced to have my shower and get ready. I saw Steph briefly in the kitchen as I raced through on my way. "See you later," she called as I ran out the door. I made it to work with two minutes to spare. I tried to slow down as I stepped through the doorway - no point in revealing how close I'd been to being late. Miss Chisel was picking through my work as I walked in. "You didn't get much done did you?" she said frostily. "How long were you at this?" "An hour," I replied truthfully. I'd been there much longer of course, but I'd timed how long I'd spent doing 'real' work. "Hmph," she snorted, but didn't make any other objection. "And are you intending to do the same this evening?" "I'd like to," I said. "I could probably get more done this evening. It's easier to work with no distractions." And with that, the bell rang and I had to answer the counter. "Do two hours, and twice as much," she called to my retreating back. The day dragged at times, as myself and Wee Soo picked and sewed. When the counter was busier time went past quicker but I didn't get as much done. Miss Chisel grumbled and muttered and complained about everything, but I could tell she was actually pretty pleased with me and the amount of work I was getting done. She was picking through the backlog of work and dividing it between us, and tidying. I wondered if she was beginning to hope Fanny wouldn't come back to work for a lot longer. Around 11 o clock she produced cups of tea for all of us and indicated I could take a break. Wee Soo didn't get this privilege I noticed. "So, Ken. When do you go back to school?" she asked. "Not next week but the week after. I'm going in to the sixth form." "Right. But you probably want to earn some money during term don't you?" So that was it. She was hoping to keep me on in the evenings after I'd gone back to school. "Well, I'll have a lot of study to do. Having a job at the same time might be a problem." "Ha! A smart boy like you ought to have no trouble getting good exam results. What do you plan to do when you leave school?" "Well, I'm hoping to go to college, but I haven't picked anything out yet." "Pppft. College!" Spluttered Miss Chisel. "An excuse for sitting around doing nothing if you ask me. Your Dad never went to college and look at him." "Well, yes," I smiled. "But as you pointed out, he married into money." "Doesn't matter," Said Miss Chisel, with an airy wave of her hand. "You can either make money or you can't. College won't change that. Your Dad would have made good with or without your mother's fortune. You'll be the same, I can tell. You know the value of money and you don't mind hard work. You think on it Ken. You could have a tidy sum when you finish here, whatever you decide to do." "Actually Miss, I have been thinking about maybe trying some fashion design. But I'm not sure how to go about getting fabrics. Do you know anything about it?" "Design?" She snorted. "Is that what they call it now. In my day it was just dressmaking or tailoring. Is that what you mean?" "Well, yes, I suppose. I know there are courses in fashion and tailoring and that kind of thing, but usually to get in to the good ones you need to be able to show some work you have done. I can buy material locally but to find new fabrics is hard. How do people do that?" "Well, you might not think it now, looking at this place, but at one time, this town had several tailors and dressmakers, and I was one of them. Now of course, it doesn't pay. Not with all the high street shops and their Chinese sweatshops that make rubbish for half nothing. But in those days, dressmakers would go to the big suppliers and importers like Swanns in Cardiff. They get all the new stuff in - as samples you understand - and they would take orders. If you have an account with them, you can buy direct, but they're not really open to the public you understand." "Would you have an account with them?" She smiled dryly. "Tell you what Ken. If you agree to do two evenings a week with me here - two hours minimum I'll see what I can do. How's that?" I thought for a moment. "That's fair," I said. "Thank you Miss Chisel." "Right that's settled then," she said getting up. "Now back to work." And I bent to my unpicking again, but with my head abuzz with plans. For lunch I called down for Carol. We went to a local coffee place and she babbled away about boys and music and clothes and hair while I picked at my quiche. Normally I'd have loved the girly conversation but I was distracted by thoughts of my plans and Cherie and Steph. Carol noticed. "What's up with you Ken? A lot on your mind? Trouble with Ellen?" "No, no. Just thinking. Carol, you saw me and Ellen at the concert that time. Do you think anyone else would have known it was me?" "Not anyone who didn't know your secret already. Why? Has someone said something. I never told, you know. Not that anyone would believe me." "No, nobody has said anything. But I just wonder if anyone could have found out." "I don't think so. You really do look like a girl. And with your hair and make-up and all, I don't think anyone could have told." I smiled at the casual way she had told me I looked like a girl. "Okay, thanks, it was probably nothing." And, with that, she went back to her stream-of-conciousness rambling again until it was time for us both to get back to work. The rest of the day dragged terribly. Taking in, taking up, unpicking, ironing hemming, taking in work and handing it out, dealing with irritated customers whose clothes weren't ready yet. By the time five o'clock crept round I was very ready to go. Miss Chisel had left a giant pile of work for me for that evening. She seemed to have regretted her earlier kindness and had picked out the most awkward, fiddly pieces for me to work on in my overtime. She smirked at me as I regarded the pile. "Hard work never hurt anyone," she said, as I pulled on my jacket. I managed a cheery enough good-bye before I bolted. It was best to be on good terms with her, even if she was a old slave-driver. I hurried to the cafe where we had agreed to meet. To my relief Ellen was already there, but Steph had yet to arrive. I kissed Ellen and quickly told her about my conversation with Steph the night before. Ellen actually seemed relieved that I'd broken the news to Steph before her, and that it wasn't going to lead to some sort of angry row in the cafe. Before she had a chance to ask about anything else I also quickly related the conversation I'd had with Cherie that morning. I could tell that wasn't going down so well by the expression on her face. "Tsk. Ken. I don't like you talking to her about this stuff at all. You being a sissy is our thing. My thing. Don't you see that you discussing this stuff with her, even just for a moment, is like cheating on me?" "But Ellen. What am I to do? She's right there in the house. She's my Stepmother now, and she knows everything." "Well not wearing a slip to bed would help to keep it from coming up in conversation, wouldn't it," she hissed sarcastically. I had to reluctantly agree. I didn't press this. She'd stopped short of forbidding me to wear girl's clothes in my own house - an injunction I didn't think I could have borne. So I kept quiet, hoping that it wouldn't come to that. In any case, Ellen was silent for a minute while she turned this over in her mind. "Actually, as you say it is a good thing that you've called her bluff a bit. Now it'll make it easier for you to ignore and brush her off if she brings it up again. Be like that, matter-of-fact, brusque - 'So what?' And just refuse to discuss anything like that again. And don't ever let her find you in girl's clothes again. Sissy Ken is mine alone. Do you understand?" I nodded, meekly. This wasn't so bad. Maybe she knew how difficult it would have been for me to completely give up wearing panties at home. With that, Stephanie breezed in. She plonked a couple of bags down beside her chair and sat down without saying anything. A waitress came over and we all ordered some tea. Stephanie didn't speak until she'd brought it over and we could talk privately. "I know who it is," said Steph. We gaped. "Who told Cherie about Phyllis?" I asked. "What else?" said Steph, contemptuously. "Well, who? Miss Holmes?" Demanded Ellen, irritated at her superior air. "And how did you find out?" I blurted. Steph was enjoying our exasperation. "It was obvious. As soon as Ken told me, I knew where to look." She calmly took a drink of her tea. Clearly she wanted us to drag it out of her. I thought hard. As soon as I'd told her? Was there something in what Cherie had said? "Clare Marsh," said Ellen. Steph smiled. "Yes. She knew Phylis is our cousin. And Cherie knows her. " It became clear. It was Clare's house where we'd gone to after the concert. Her mother was a teacher in the school. She and Cherie were friendly, eating together at the staff table, that kind of thing. I'd told Cherie that we'd been to the concert. It would have been easy to ring her and check up on who had been to the concert, and discover we'd been there with a cousin Phylis. Ellen was confused. "But how does she go from knowing that Phylis was there to knowing it was Ken?" Both Steph and I looked at her until she figured it out. "Ah, because Ken told her that we all went, but of course, Clare doesn't mention him, only this mysterious cousin." "Yes," Said Steph and she puts that together with knowing about Ken's fondness for dressing as a girl and she has the answer. "Really?" I wondered out loud. "I mean, okay, it adds up, but can she really have been so sure it was me? I mean, joking aside, it's not really known about me. Clare didn't know and she was there. How would she know for sure?" "Dad," Said Steph. simply. "No," I said. "I don't see that. I see her being able to tell just by looking at me more readily than that." "Well, what does it matter anyway," interrupted Ellen. "In any case, she knows and we know she knows about Phyllis through the concert rather than through Simon whatshisface's firm." "Simon Field," said Steph firmly. "And yes it, does matter. What are you suggesting Ken?" "Well, I don't know. It just seems like a pretty big leap to me, and she seemed so sure. Not only, well, about me dressing as Phyllis, but well, about me, myself, if you know what I mean." "And you don't think she would have weaseled that out of Dad in some intimate moment?" I frowned. Steph and I had quite different ideas about our Dad. Her opinion was a lot lower than mine. In fact I did have a theory about how Cherie could know more about me and my habits, but I didn't want to say it out loud. Partly because I didn't want to argue about it with Steph, but also because I wasn't really sure about it, and in any case, I didn't want it to be true. So I shut up. "Okay, let's say it doesn't matter. The thing is what to do about it. And here's what I think," I said, before letting anyone else speak. "I think we should do nothing. Like I told you, I already had it out with her, only in a minor way. But I think this is the best policy. Say nothing. Avoid the conversation. I'll keep out of her way, and not let myself, well, fall into her clutches I suppose." "You'd better not," said, Ellen glowering. I continued. "You see the way I see it, we gain nothing from confronting her and she gains everything. If she thinks she can blackmail me, then I'll just call her bluff. What can she really do to me, to us?" Steph held up her hand, angry. "I've told you before, Ken. Whatever you think, having this kind of thing bandied about town is unthinkable. Our family name has already been through the mud in the last few years, with the divorce, rumours about our Mother, and well, other things." "What other things Steph?" asked Ellen pointedly. Steph turned to her. "You know Ellen," she said firmly. "No, I don't know. Tell me." I could sense an old argument being brought to the surface here, and I didn't like it. Especially not now. My first instinct was to try to say something to defuse the situation, avoid the conflict, but I sensed that Ellen wanted to have this out with Steph here and now, and she wouldn't want me coming between them. "Okay, rumours about me and you. People calling us lesbians, that kind of thing." "And how, exactly is that dragging your family name through the mud?" Steph lowered her eyes. "The comments hurt Ellen." "Only if you're ashamed." There was a long pause. Ellen spoke again. "Ken is not ashamed of me," she said quietly. This was a little too hurtful. "Ellen. I don't think Steph is ashamed of you. And I don't think it's unreasonable for her not to want people talking about her, or me, or you behind our backs. This is a small, conservative town. People will talk about anything unusual." I turned to Steph. "And Steph. You can't change what people think, or last year's rumours. But this isn't about that. It won't come to that. I know what you have in mind, that Cherie will somehow blackmail our Dad, that she'll divorce him and take all his money by threatening to expose his own and his son's unusual sexual hang-ups. But it's not going to come to that." She turned to me, her eyes red. "How is it not?" "For two reasons. One, I don't care what she says about me. And two, because Dad has already been through this once with Mom's divorce." Her eyes flashed. "You're an idiot Ken. Dad and Mom argued, they broke up, but she was at least half to blame for what went on there. She had no hold over him, and she didn't need to take his money, she had her own. Cherie is different. She has already taken one poor stiff for his money and she's taken up with Dad to do the same thing. She could easily say that she had no idea about what a pervert he was before they married, and throw in stuff about you to make it worse. Don't you see how explosive that would be? It wouldn't just be a private divorce settlement, it'd be all over the papers, all over town. We might get taken into care." I was astonished. Steph's paranoia and suspicions had led her to an absolute nightmare scenario. I just couldn't see this happening. For a start I didn't believe it of Cherie. Manipulative and vampish as she was, I couldn't see her taking this to that degree. Also, it seemed so far-fetched. "Look..," I began, but Ellen interrupted. "Let's just leave the speculation for the moment, and get back to the question at hand. Steph, what are you suggesting we do?" Steph sighed, she looked like she was forcing back her torrent of hatred with considerable effort. "Okay. What I'm saying we need to do is this. Keep watch on her. Actually, I have already done this before, so I'll do it. She has visited Field at his office before. Ken failed to find anything useful in his time there, but I think she's more confident now. She'll slip up and when she does I want to know about it." I sighed inwardly. This was what I'd been expecting. More sneaking around. But at least Steph seemed to be prepared to do this herself. She wasn't finished though. "The other thing is this. Gordon Burley was married before his marriage to Cherie. He has a twenty year old daughter who lives here in Cardiff. She goes to the University. She will have been Cherie's stepdaughter for a while and she's bound to know something about her. I want you, Ken to meet up with her and find out whatever she knows." "What the fuck Steph?" I blurted out. "How on earth will I manage that?" She gave me a disdainful look. "Don't worry, I'll coach you on what you need to say. We won't have to rely on your initiative." I was about to protest. I had no wish to go hunt down some stranger and begin to ask her personal questions about her dad's breakup with her stepmother. It sounded like a recipe for a slap in the face. To my surprise though, Ellen broke in. "Okay Steph. Ken will do it," she said to her, covering Stephanie's hand with her own. I looked at her, but realised they were just talking to each other. There was some more subtle message passing between them. And of course, I had to do whatever Ellen decided. Some small part of me protested sharply at the way she had so casually passed over my wishes, without even seeming to consult me. The hurt was deep inside, somewhere in my guts, but while it hurt, it had no chance of making me actually protest about this, much less actually stop it happening. As I felt this feeling inside me, a feeling I knew so well, it struck me that, oddly, it was the source of all my pleasure in this. As if some sort of gland, meant to stimulate pain, had somehow, in me, been trained to also stimulate pleasure. Also. Not instead of, for it still hurt. It hurt a lot. But that same feeling - had it a name? - was what I felt when I was in my most humiliating fantasy, when Ellen had fucked me, what I had felt when Cherie called me a sissy. And now, here it was again, squeezing out a bellyful of the same sour, but delicious shame, as my girlfriend casually dismissed my pride. But the sour feeling had an inverse, an opposite, the sweet feeling, and now I had somehow identified, isolated the sour feeling, the sweet feeling came more fully into focus. It was what I felt on those rare occasions when I had been most a girl, most fully unself-consciously a girl, when I had imagined myself in the future, living as a girl, but not dressing up, just living breathing, being a girl. They were yin and yang these feelings. It was not possible for them to live together in one body. For if I was a girl, I felt no shame in wearing girly things, felt no manly pride, no humiliation. The revelation seemed only to take a moment, but I must have seemed a little lost, as Stephanie suddenly turned to me and spoke sharply. "Ken, are you with us? Hello?" I snapped back out of my internal reverie, feeling that an important truth had just escaped me, an insight about myself that I had just been about to realise, which had just floated away. They'd been talking while my mind was elsewhere. "Yes? What?" I said distractedly. "What have I agreed to?" "Doesn't matter. Ellen will fill you in later," said Steph. I realised she was getting ready to go. "Eh, okay," I said. "Are we going home for dinner?" "I am," said Steph. "You're going to go to Ellen's house and have dinner there. Do you have overtime afterwards?" "Yes," I said, noticing that Ellen was picking up her bag too. "Well, you can do that later. I'll tell Cherie you'll be home late. Probably best if you keep out of her way for the moment anyway." We all left. Me, feeling that I'd missed something important, the two girls very businesslike. I waved goodbye to Steph and Ellen linked arms with me. It felt like I'd been passed from one girl to another like a child, without my consent, but her closeness, the smell of her, the feel of her hand, all soothed away my worry and my pride. "Ellen, I'm not sure about this..." I began, as soon as we were out of Steph's hearing range. "No. Don't you worry about that right now," she said firmly. I know what you need to do and you'll do fine." In fact it wasn't so much how to go about doing it, as whether I ought to do it at all that I was worried about, but Ellen's tone brooked no argument. "What you need to worry about now is making a good impression on my Mother." I looked at her dumbly. "I told you before, she's very interested in you. Since the incident with Kurt she's ever more keen for me to keep away from what she calls 'rough boys'. She was very impressed that you didn't try to fight back when he knocked you down and she likes you. But, she has some doubts." "Doubts?" I asked, this was all sounding a bit confusing. "Yes. For a start she's not much of a fan of your parents. She never was. She didn't like what she heard about your Mom being, well 'loose' as she says. Or at least she didn't when my Dad was still around." That made a certain amount of sense. Ellen's Dad was rumored to be something of a skirt chaser himself, and while I was sure he and my Mother never had any kind of relationship, I would imagine that my Mother's reputation didn't make her any friends among the town's more jealous wives. "And, while she doesn't know your Dad much, and probably would like him if she knew him, he's a divorced man who has married a much younger wife, and that makes him the enemy as far as Mom is concerned." "Okay, what has that to do with me?" "Well, silly, you're a Carter. She was never much of a fan of your sister either, and while she likes you, or at least thinks she should, you are a Carter, and therefore you have a question mark above you." We had walked past the bus stop. Ellen wasn't in a hurry to get home. "Also, while you seemed very passive and well mannered the other evening, she hasn't really seen the two of us together much. If she does, her mind will be put at rest and she'll kind of, give her blessing to us going out." "Okay. I'm still not sure I understand," I said. "But it sounds okay. Do I have to do anything?" Ellen smiled at me. "Just do everything I say," she said. "Well, no change there," I said, and she grinned even wider. We walked on a little further, me enjoying being with her, Ellen lost in her own thoughts. "Ken," she said eventually. "What were you thinking about when Ellen and I were talking?" Something in her tone told me she wouldn't be satisfied with a simple answer. She had noticed something about me. I thought hard. "Tell me," she insisted. "I'm going to. I'm not stalling. It's just that, well, it was more of a feeling, an idea. It's kind of hard to put into words." "Try," she said. "I like hearing what goes on in your head." "Okay, but bear with me. And it's going to sound very introspective and self-absorbed." "Well, everyone's thoughts are. Be truthful, mind." "I will be." I took a deep breath. "Well, it's two things. The first is, well, you know what I like. Sexually. That kind of thing." "Being a sissy boy," she said quickly. "Well yes, but well, actually no, not that part of it. I mean, you can break it down. One of the things that I like, that gives me a thrill, a rush, is well, being humiliated. In particular by women." "Sexually humiliated," she said. "Well, yes, of course, but actually, almost any kind of thing will do it, will almost become sexual, to me." She nodded. "It's really hard to explain why that is. But it is, and I've always felt like that, for as long as I remember." "And that's what you were thinking about?" "Not exactly. When you said I'd do what Steph wanted, without asking me. That was kind of humiliating." "Yes. It was meant to be," said Ellen. I glanced at her. There was something going on in her head too, I thought. "Well, yes. And when that happened, I had that feeling, and well, I suppose I named it. It's a feeling, but I think of it, as being like a sour feeling." "Not nice," said Ellen. "Well, no. Not obviously so. But sour can be nice. Lemonade is nice. Sour sweets are nice. I know that they have sugar in them too. But the sourness gives them a flavour. And there are sour drinks too. They have no sugar, but people like them." "I can't imagine why." "Well, yes, me either. They are, as people say, an acquired taste. And I suppose I have acquired the taste of this sour feeling. Or maybe I always had it. I don't know." Ellen was quiet for a moment. "You said two things." "Yes, and the other is harder to explain. When I first started dressing to go to that job, after a while, I got this other feeling. It came on me by surprise, and I've felt it again since. It's hard to explain. But I suppose it's like a premonition, imagining what it might be like to live as a girl all the time. This other dreamy feeling came over me, almost like an out-of-body experience. Very vivid, but only for a moment." "A sweet feeling?" "Exactly. Perfect. And in that feeling. There is no shame. No sour." "You were right. It is very self -absorbed." I laughed. "You asked." "Yes. I'm joking. It's interesting actually. What do you see in these premonitions?" "Well, it's really just a picture. Of me, living as girl, somewhere far away, maybe going to college." "And dressed as a girl?" "Well, yes, but more than that. Living as girl." "With no shame, no embarrassment." "Yes." "And without the pleasure you get from the sour feeling." "Well yes," I said. And I realised she'd grasped the thought that had eluded me. If I lived as a girl, then I would lose the pleasure I had in the shame of it. "But, even so, that is what you want, isn't it?" "Yes. But I don't know how to get there." "Don't worry," said Ellen. "We're here." I was startled. Where? And then I realised. We were at her apartment. I was surprised that her Mother wasn't already there. The large, luxurious apartment was empty. "Don't be silly," said Ellen when I said so. "That's the point. You're going to make dinner for us." "Okay," I said slowly. "That's fine. How is that the point?" She just smiled. "You'll see. Now, don't worry. I've already bought some food. You just have to cook it and get the dinner table ready, that kind of thing." She showed me the meat and vegetables she had got, how the cooker worked and where all the utensils, cutlery and plates were. I realised that I was expected to do everything myself, and that Ellen wasn't going to help at all. "Now, you're all set. I'm not exactly sure when Mom will be home, but you should aim to be ready by six thirty at the latest. I'm going to go and get changed. She vanished off to the bedroom, leaving me in the kitchen. I got to work, trying to get everything ready as quickly as possible so I could spend some time with Ellen before her Mother got home. Eventually, Ellen reappeared. She'd changed out of her cotton top and skirt and into a little black dress. She'd put her hair up. While not overly formal, she was certainly more glamorous. "Put an apron on Ken," she said. "You don't want to get your clothes splattered with food. They're in the third drawer. I nodded and opened the drawer. Now the 'point' began to be clearer. The aprons, while not exactly frilly, were still quite feminine. I selected the least obviously girly, but it had a large ruffle all the way round. Ellen gave me a meaningful smile. "Lovely. Now open a bottle of wine please and fetch me a drink." While I hunted down a corkscrew and a glass, Ellen relaxed on the settee with a magazine. "Thank you honey," she said when I placed the glass beside her. She didn't look up from her reading. I hurried to get on. If I could finish soon, then I'd be ready before Mrs. Purdue came home and I could remove the apron. But it was not to be. I was almost ready, just setting the table while Ellen idly flicked through her magazine and sipped her wine, when Mrs. Purdue breezed in. "Oh Kenny!" she cooed as soon as she saw me. "You're making us dinner. How nice of you." She bustled over, all flapping hands and clucking noises, exclaiming over the sauce and the vegetable batons I'd made and the care I was taking with laying the place settings. Soon, I was utterly abashed and condescended to. While endlessly praising the trouble I'd been to and telling me it was all unnecessary she didn't actually offer to help at all. Before I'd had a chance to say hardly a word at all, beyond mumbling that it was nothing, she bustled off to get changed out of her work clothes herself. As soon as she was gone Ellen sidled over to me. She came behind me and put her arms around me. "Well done," she murmured into my ear, making little tingles run down my back. "It couldn't have been better if you'd been in a dress." I trembled. Maybe she had considered making me do that. The sour feeling, that had been rising all the while grew stronger. Soon we were all three sitting down to eat. "Well, this is delightful Ken," said Mrs. Purdue. "Ellen's usual boyfriends just loll about waiting to be offered something to eat themselves. This is much nicer. Even your sister, when she cal