Julian - Part 4 free porn video

Every step that I took in my new outfit was a painful reminder of my predicament, from the way the gingham dress rubbed against my bare thighs to the straps of the pink vest which snugly sat on my shoulders. Not to mention my new long blonde hair, and the childish plaits which bounced against my chest acting as a metronomic memento of my new station. There was no escaping it now, not for a second. It wasn't helped by the amount of mirrors that were positioned around the house. I was trying my utmost not to look at my reflection, but it was a bit like having a mouth ulcer. You know you shouldn't touch with your tongue of course, but for some reason you just can't stop prodding it. So I kept on looking, and was taken aback each and every time by the girl that looked back at me. The thing that women don't seem share with you, or had never shared with me anyway, is just how cumbersome it is to wear a skirt or a dress when you're trying to do something. The first thing I noticed was that I couldn't walk as fast as I did normally because my stride was constricted by the hem of the dress. Then I found myself hugely self-conscious every time I had to bend over or kneel down, even when there was no one watching, because of the fear that I would expose my underwear. I simply couldn't believe that any woman or girl would choose to wear a skirt, given the effort involved. But it's a gender re-enforcement thing I suppose. Pink is for girls and blue is for boys. And I was definitely "in the pink'. Still, my mother always used to tell me to be thankful for small mercies. In this instance that was that Sara and Bethany were leaving me alone as I worked my way through the large house, tidying, washing, hoovering and polishing as I went. The ridiculous outfit aside, it wasn't all that different to how I'd be spending my day at home. Fran had always left it to me to do the housework, even before I was made redundant, so I was fairly adept at all of the tasks that Sara had instructed me to do. In a way the cleaning was therapeutic, something to take my mind off things. And there was a lot of things that I needed distracting from. Even putting to one side my total and utter degradation this morning by a 13 year old girl and her feminine mother, there was the issue of my marriage which appeared to have fallen apart. I really hadn't suspected Fran of cheating on me. I still couldn't believe in my heart, even now, that she would. But perhaps I was being a fool, and a short-sighted one at that. Besides, what would Fran think when she saw me like this? How could I expect her to ever see me as a man after I had been regressed in the way that I had? My thoughts were interrupted by a sudden vibration coming from one of tables nearby. I moved toward the sound, and realised that it was Sara's mobile phone going off. I knew it was her phone because she had put it in one of those custom cases that you can buy, and this one was pink with "Sara" emblazoned in flowery script at the top. I began to consider once again that my new station placed me below even this oh-so feminine woman, but my train of thought was well and truly lost when I saw who was calling. It was Fran. I didn't know whether to answer it or not. Stupidly, I felt my heart start to race and I realised that the thought of talking to my own wife was frightening me. It occurred to me that I had absolutely no idea what to say to her, "Oh yes Fran, I'm here in my school dress with my hair in plaits. Aren't you glad you chose me out of all the boys?" No, there was no way that I talk to her. Instead, I carefully picked the phone up and headed upstairs to find Sara. "Is that my phone?" came the call from the master bedroom at the end of the hall. "Yes, I'm bringing it to you," I replied, trying to walk quickly but still being constricted by the damn dress. Sara was laying on the bed, reading a book. I handed her the phone and she looked back at me when she realised who was calling, with a look that seemed to me to be somewhere between shame and pride. "Fran," she said, answering the phone and turning away from me, "is everything alright?" I don't know why, but I stood motionless as Sara listened to my wife's response. Fran never called me during the day. Never once. "Oh OK," was Sara's response to whatever Fran had said, "so I'll see you later then." "Everything alright?" I asked, as she ended the call. Sara regarded me for a moment. As she did so, I noted the glass of wine that sat on her bedside table. It was a bit early for that. "Oh no, everything's fine sweetie," she replied, sitting up a little, "how's the housework going?" "Fine, I've done nearly everything downstairs. I'll get started up here when I'm done." Sara was smiling as I answered, and she was staring at me. "That's good," she said eventually, "why don't you have a little break, come and sit next to me." She patted the sheet to further explain that she expected me to climb onto bed next to her. I felt like such a child as I clambered on. I sat next to her as instructed, but kept my eyes locked firmly forward. This didn't help much, as it only brought my girlie outfit into full view. "It's great having you to do the housework," Sara continued, moving her book so that it sat next to the glass of wine on the table, "you know, I was going to hire a maid after Robert left. He'd never let me have one. Isn't it amazing how the well-off people are always tight as well?" I didn't know what to say, so I gave a gentle nod instead. I'd never really known many well-off people, truth be told. Without warning, Sara put her arms around my waist and pulled me in closer to her. I was amazed by the warmth coming from her body, "you're so adorable," she cooed, "I'd never believe that a man could be as pretty as you. Are you enjoying being my little girl?" No! I wanted to scream. It's humiliating and terrifying, and I want my old life back. But Sara didn't wait for a response, "I think this is perfect for you," she continued, stroking my hair as she did so, "you're too delicate to be a big, ugly man. You belong in pretty dresses and sparkly shoes, with your Mummy to look after you." I continued to stare straight ahead. To be honest, I was afraid to look at Sara. She wasn't finished, "it's so easy when you're a little girl. All you have to worry about is doing what your Mummy tells you and making sure you look pretty. Look how nicely you've kept your dress all morning, that tells me you're going to make a perfect girl." She took my face and turned it to look at her, "girls always keep their clothes nice and clean. Not like dirty boys who play in mud and roll around the floor. When I had Bethany I was so glad I'd had a girl....." She trailed off. Although she was still looking me straight in the eye, I got the feeling that her mind had gone elsewhere, "But Bethany's not like you," she continued after a moment, "she's always been her own person. A daddy's girl I suppose. I look at some of the mother's and daughter's when I go to parent's evening and they all seem much closer than Bethany and me. I love her, don't get me wrong, but she's always been Robert's." This surprised me. I thought of Bethany as quite a girlie girl. "It hurt her when he left," Sara said softly, "She'd never admit it, but that's why she's angry with everyone and everything. It's tiring after a while." I'm never sure what to think about what people say to me after they've been drinking. I didn't think that Sara was drunk, but even the smallest amount can make people say things that they didn't mean to. The challenge is to work out if they were things that the person has said because alcohol has released some suppressed feeling or desire, or if they were stupid things said with no basis. We sat in silence for a few more minutes, Sara just staring at my emasculated body, before she clicked her fingers loudly, making me jump, "I've just remembered something exciting, would you mind bringing that box over here? She was pointing at a plain white box that sat on top of a large cupboard on the other side of the room. "OK," I replied, swinging my legs off the side of the bed and moving toward the item. "It's very exciting," Sara said, a touch of glee in her voice. The cupboard was tall, and as I approached it I began to worry about whether I could even reach the top. I nervously reached up, but could only just touch it. Realising that I needed to be just a few inches taller, I tried moving onto my tip-toes, but I still couldn't quite get enough traction to pull it down. This was terrible. How much more of a useless child could these people make me feel? Now they were doing it without even trying. Determined, I stretched out my arms as far as I could. It was then that I became aware that the hem of my dress was getting dangerously high, and I was about to reveal my underwear. I was shocked by how much this idea bothered me - Sara had watched me get dressed after all - but I just couldn't bring myself to stretch my arms the extra couple of inches needed. So, in a shamefully feminine motion, I tried to grab the box with one hand while holding down the bottom of the dress with the other. But it was still no good. Sara was watching this intently. I could see her reflection in the mirror of the cupboard, and I wondered if she would say anything. Instead though, she seemed happy to watch me struggle. I was defeated again. "I can't reach it," I admitted, feeling thoroughly pathetic. "That's OK," Sara replied cheerily, getting up to move toward as she did, "I forget how tall these cupboards are. It's a struggle even for me." Belying this comment, Sara reached up easily and pulled down the box. It was long and slender, with a decorative bow on top. This was looking bad already. I watched her as she walked back to the bed and placed it down. It was only then for some reason that I started to realise just how strikingly attractive Sara really was. She had a wonderful figure, dressed today in a floral blouse and a pair of black shorts which showed off her perfect legs. I had heard Fran call her a "doll" on the phone a couple of times, which then I thought was just the kind of term women use when they're talking to each other, like chick or babe. But staring at her now I understood that perhaps Fran had also been referring to her friend's gorgeous body, which all of a sudden seemed so wonderfully perfect. "Come over here silly," Sara said, untying the string that held the box closed, "I can't wait for you to see this." Finding myself full of a strange mixture of lust and trepidation, I moved over to Sara's side. "I bought this a few years ago for Bethany when we were going to a wedding. Can't remember whose wedding actually," she pulled the next string loose, leaving only two to do, "doesn't matter I suppose. Anyway, I saw this and had to buy it, but Bethany being Bethany she just wouldn't wear it." The third tie was loose now, and I waited with baited breath to see what lay beneath. It wasn't going to be good. "I loved it so much though," the woman continued, fiddling with the last bow, "I just melted in the shop. I dreamed of putting Bethany in it." I took a deep breath. Sara removed the lid. Straight away, I knew it was as bad as I had feared. This became even more apparent as Sara lifted the garment out of it's box and held it up. "Isn't it the prettiest dress you've ever seen? I would have killed to wear something like when I was younger but Bethany wasn't interested." The dress was white, with a purple waistband and a very frothy looking skirt. It was by far the most feminine item of clothing I'd ever laid eyes on. "It's so delicious," Sara continued, stroking the dress with one hand, "I begged her to wear it, but she said she was too old for it. Maybe she was right. I think it was my last try to turn her into the girlie girl I really wanted. Here, feel inside the skirt." She grabbed me hand and pulled it into the froth of material that sat underneath the dress. It was incredibly soft to touch. "It's two tiered, which makes it so pretty, don't you think? And I love the the bow at the back." She turned the dress around to show the large purple ornamental bow which sat on the waist of the dress. I looked at Sara as she admired the outfit. She seemed lost in herself, as though in some kind of dream world. "I should dress you in this now," she said very softly, "this is exactly the kind of outfit that you should be wearing now that you're my little girl." I knew that was coming. Suddenly the gingham school dress seemed positively masculine compared to what was in front of me. "But I won't," she said, a hint of sadness in her voice. What she did do however was place the dress in front of my frame, as if to inspect fit. I can't express just how relieved I was, which was made stronger by the feeling of the dress against my bare legs. It was so incredibly feminine, so girlie. "Don't thank me yet," she smiled, "I'm only not doing it because I think some things are best left as reminders of just how much worse it can get. Now, you've been well behaved so far, but I think you just kept in mind that this dress is going to be waiting for you if you start to act up." She moved closer into me, the faint smell of wine was noticeable, "You might think about rebelling against me, or about being naughty again. Just remember that if you do, I'm going to force you to put this on." She was talking very quietly, almost whispering, but there was a tone of menace in her voice which was frightening. I stood there like a mouse as she kept talking, "I'm going to bring you in here and strip you naked. I'll make you wear the prettiest pink knickers that I can find, and a little pair of white tights maybe. After I'm going to make you ask me to put the dress on you. You're going to look so adorable, just like my little girl should. I'll do your hair as well, put it in some fancy style with some purple ribbons, and find some soft pink lip-gloss for you to wear." I was almost frozen with terror as Sara laid the dress back in the box and grabbed something else off a table nearby. She came and sat on the bed, me standing squarely in front of her. It was then I could see that she'd picked up a pink lip-gloss tube, and was unscrewing it slowly, "I think I'll use this colour," she said, bringing the tip of the gloss into the light where it glimmered demurely. Then, before I could protest, she put her hand behind my head and moved the gloss toward my lips, "Open your mouth slightly," she ordered. I wanted to disobey, but the spectre of the dress loomed large. "That's it," she cooed, gently moving the brush over my lips, "this is what I'm going to do. Just be thankful that you're not wearing the dress now, with your hair all done up and your fingernails painted all glittery." The gloss felt strange. I had tasted Fran's when kissing her, but it was nothing like wearing it. At first it had felt heavy, but it became softer after a few moments. Sara seemed positively possessed now, and her tone had become almost sensual, "When you're dressed we're going to go into town. You'll wear some lovely white shoes, maybe even with a little heel, and a soft little cardigan in-case you get cold. I'll get dressed up in my favourite frock as well, and we'll go to the tearooms together and be ladies who lunch. Cream cakes and tea, that's what Bethany and I used to have every month before she grew out of it." The thought of going outside sent a chill though my spine, "Sara, please no. Please don't make me go outside. I'll be good, I promise." I felt so ridiculously small as the last words escaped from my newly glossed lips. "That's good," Sara replied, "I just knew you'd be a well-behaved little girl for me. I think you secretly want to wear this dress though, don't you? Don't you just want to feel it on you, to feel like a princess?" "No, I really don't," I replied, finding myself shaking a little now. "Well OK," the woman sighed, "shame really. A little thing like you is going to look perfect in a gorgeous frock like this. It suits you down to the ground, it really does." I just couldn't believe the change in this woman. Was it really just the alcohol that had done it? Either way, she appeared to have become a totally different person from the Sara I thought I knew. Was this some kind of fantasy for her, to have a man dressed up as a girl? Or was she just trying to scare me into submission, or even frighten me away to leave the path clear for her and Fran? Perhaps she was just over excited at the prospect of having a new doll to play with. Thankfully, she placed the box back on top of the cupboard. Instead of coming back to sit on the bed though, Sara moved to the window and stared out into the bright afternoon sun, "It's lovely out there today," she observed, moving the net curtain slightly to take a closer look, "actually, what time is it now?" I wasn't sure. It had felt like the longest day of my life certainly, but I figured it will still reasonably early. I looked around the room for a clock before remembering Sara's phone, which was still sitting on the bedside table. It was only 2 o'clock! Mind you, they do say the time flies when your having fun, so I was obviously experiencing the opposite. "Feels later," Sara replied when I told her the time, "you know what? You've had a tough day, why don't you leave cleaning upstairs until tomorrow?" I wasn't sure that I really wanted to. The cleaning was the only thing keeping me sane and the only time I was left alone, free of the threat of further degradation. "I tell you what would be fun," Sara continued before I could respond, walking over to the large wardrobe on the other side of the room but not answering her own question. I sat down meekly on the bed as she rummaged through her clothing. Perhaps it was the new threat of the frilly dress, or maybe it was the realisation that Sara was serious about all this, but a feeling started building inside me that I needed to think about a way of extracting myself from this mess before it went too far. That was if it hadn't already done so. Filled with this realisation, I got up off the bed, "Sara, I can't get go on with this. I'm a grown man for crying out loud, not a girl. Look, I know I did a terrible thing to Bethany, but it was out of character and I feel awful about it." I paused, waiting to see if I got any response, but Sara simply continued to search her wardrobe. "Sara, did you hear me? I think I've been punished enough for what's happened. It's not right what you're all doing to me." My tone was strong and certain, but still Sara took no notice. Perhaps a different approach was needed, "Look, I know about you and Fran. I'm not happy about it, well, I'm pretty devastated actually, but I don't deserve to be humiliated like this just to make you look good." This caught Sara's attention more fully, and she turned to look at me before asking, "do you think that is what this is really all about? "I'm not sure what's going on," I replied, feeling a little less certain now that she was staring at me. God! I needed to start standing up for myself more, "but I want to put a stop to all now. Can't you just give me my old clothes back and I'll get out of here. Fran can decide what she wants to do about it." "And what about what you did to Bethany, should I just forget about that?" I sighed, "I don't think this is about what I did to Bethany......" "You hit a girl," Sara said sharply, "a 13 year old girl. What man would do that?" "I know it's bad, but I was angry at the situation. Plus she said something about you and Fran which she shouldn't have." "Pathetic," Sara said, laughing, "you're still trying to justify what happened. But you didn't answer my question anyway. What kind of man gets into a petty fight with a teenage girl?" I didn't understand what this woman wanted me to say! How many more times could I apologise? "I'll tell you the answer," she continued, "no real man would do that. Also, not many real men would let their wives dominate them the way Fran does with you." "You don't know anything about that," I protested, feeling my cheeks getting red, "you shouldn't say things like that." "I'm not trying to upset you, but us women talk you know. Fran's told me all about your relationship and how you stay at home while she's off building a career. About how you do all of the housework and wash all of the clothes, not to mention having her dinner ready for her when she gets home." "I was trying to be supportive," I argued, "I'd lost my job......" "Two years ago! Why hadn't you found another one? You've got a good degree and you'd worked for a good newspaper, surely someone would have taken you on." "It's not easy at the moment, in-case you hadn't noticed," I replied, "not many companies are hiring." "Perhaps," Sara said, turning away from me to return to her wardrobe, "but that's not really why, is it? I think you want to keep Fran happy. I also think that you got to realise that you preferred life as a housewife. No career stresses, no commuting to and from the office every day. You became a wife to Fran, no two ways about it." "That's not true! I did want to go back to work, but the time never seemed right." "Yeah, OK. I know what you were going through don't forget. I stayed at home to look after Bethany and become a housewife. Difference was, I hated it. Not that I wanted to get a job, but all of the housework and washing and dutifully sitting up for him waiting to cook his dinner. It was never for me." "Lots of men stay at home now," I reasoned, "we're not living in the fifties any more. I love my wife, and I was trying to do what was best for both of us." "Sure, lots of men do stay at home now, I agree. But 99% do that because they've got kids to look after and I bet they don't let their wives dominate them like you let Fran dominate you. Tell me something," she continued, once again coming back to stand in front of me, "what exactly is it that makes you a "man'? Is it just that silly little thing that I saw this morning, that's now hidden away in a pair of pretty knickers?" "What a horrible thing to say." I was angry at the woman now, there was no need to stoop so low. "I'm not trying to be mean, just making a point. Look at it another way. On Saturday you got beaten in an arm wrestling match by a 13 year old girl. That means she's stronger than you." "It was a fluke! My arm slipped." "No it didn't," she replied, shaking her head, "you were beaten fair and square. Then you let us dress you up as a school girl. Still doesn't sound much like a man to me, penis or not." Sara put her hand on my shoulder, which emphasised the difference in height between us, "Then you start a fight with Bethany," she continued, "but you were fighting as equals as that point really. She was treating you like her little sister and you reacted like a little sister would." "No, she was saying awful things. It wasn't just that she was winding me up." "She was teasing you! You lashed out. Then you accept a smacking from your wife, letting her pull down the leggings that a teenage girl had dressed you in and then being pulled over her lap. Doesn't sound very manly to me." "I was taken by surprise, you know that. She'd never done anything like that before." "And what about this morning! What were you thinking as my 13 year old daughter put your hair into plaits and we put you in a school dress that only young girls would wear? Not to mention the frilly socks, the knickers or the pink vest that you let me dress you in. Still trying to tell me that you're a "man'?" "C'mon Sara," I replied, my cheeks positively flushed with embarrassment now, "you know I'm a man, no matter what you say. I've got a wife and a house, and like you said yourself with my degree I can still make a decent career at some point." Sara was laughing now, "no, Julia. You really can't see it, can you? We've found your station this weekend sweetie. Whether you have one of those or not," she pointed at my groin area, "you really are a girl. You're so small and weak and you look so pretty, that sounds far more like a girl than a man to me. I mean, I've always been quite a girlie girl, but even I'm more masculine than you. So I think it's right that you be treated the same as any young girl would be, the same as all of the silly little girls that are sitting in St. Margarets right now, wearing exactly the same clothes as you are. I'm doing you a favour here, in time you'll understand." "Sara, you've got this all wrong. I want to be a man, not a woman or girl." "I've told you over and over again that the door is wide open if you want to go. But I'll report you for hurting my daughter, and whether they decide to charge you or not, I'm sure all the papers will want to hear about the man who was turned into a little girl and then beat up my daughter. Out of everyone you should understand what a juicy story that one is." "This is blackmail, pure and simple," I countered, "you're going to ruin my life either way." "Well, I know that if I were you, I'd go along with this and hope that we all get bored and let you go eventually. And when we do, no-one will know what had happened and you can move on with your life. If you leave now though, everyone will find out and it will follow you around forever. But it's up to you." She took her arm off my shoulder and returned to her search in the wardrobe. I pondered all this for a few moments. It seemed that, whatever her motivation really was, that Sara was determined to see me humiliated and force me to become her girl. Could I run away? I'm sure that people have made themselves disappear before, and I had a small amount of money sitting in savings account that even Fran didn't know about. But Fran was the problem. Was I really ready to walk away from my wife? From the only woman I'd ever loved? "A-ha," Sara cried, "I knew they were in here somewhere!" I looked up to see her holding some purple clothing. At first I couldn't tell what they were, until Sara moved closer. Bikinis. "I bought these a few months back for our summer holiday. They were on offer so I bought matching sets for me and Bethany, but I was being silly. No way would she wear the same thing as me." Sara had moved to the mirror and was holding the bikini bottoms against herself, "Let's go and get some sun for an hour," she continued, "you can do the rest of the housework tomorrow." She threw me "my" bikini. I had to hand it to her, she always seemed to be able to find my worst nightmare. "C'mon, hurry up," she chastised, "we haven't got long before it starts to get dark." And with that she actually started getting undressed herself, unbuttoning her flowery blouse right in front of my eyes. I didn't know where to look as the blouse fell to the ground, leaving Sara standing right in front of me in only her black shorts and a black bra. The woman seemed to be totally removed of any modesty around me, treating me as though I really was just her daughter. "Do you need to me to get you undressed or something?" The question made me snap out of my train of thought. Was I really going to put on this purple bikini that sat in my hands? Sara appeared to have assumed that I would, because she started to remove her shorts, revealing a pair of very feminine French knickers. I knew what they were because I had bought a pair for Fran once as a Valentine's present. Was she really going to get fully undressed in front of me? She was even standing facing me, making not the slightest effort to hide anything. As if to answer that the question, she reached back and unhooked her bra. Now I really didn't know where to look. Instinctively I averted my gaze, not wanting her to think I was a peeping tom or a letch, but she didn't seem to care. "Last chance," she said, pulling her purple bikini top on and positioning her breasts so that they fell into place, "do you really want me to undress you?" With a sigh I started removing my shoes and socks, "are we going to sit in the back garden?" "Of course," she replied, "don't worry, the neighbours can't see in." As I removed the last of my socks, Sara pulled down her knickers. She was only the second woman after Fran that I had ever seen naked, but strangely I didn't find myself getting aroused. Perhaps that had all been knocked out of me this morning. I was thankful for it though, because she was about to see me naked again and I didn't want to be standing to attention. Two minutes later we were standing in the room wearing matching bikinis. With nothing to fill it, the bikini top hung loosely off my frame but the bottoms did a "good" job of hiding my manhood. Sara returned to her wardrobe and pulled out a loose fitting short white skirt, which she pulled up her legs, "Hold on a sec, I'll get you something to wear too in-case it's too cold when we get out there." I looked at myself in the mirror as she left the room. My hair was still in plaits, held into place by the flowery clips that Bethany had put in, and I could see the pink lip gloss that Sara had tormented me with glistening in the light. It all added up to a very feminine picture again. "I found something," Sara said on her return, handing me a dress. I held it so I see it before putting it on. It was a white and black summer dress with polka dots all over and thin white straps with a little flower on each one. It was obviously meant for girl, not a woman. "Just put that on quickly," Sara demanded, as she pulled her hair into a pony-tail, "it's nice and light." Frustrated once again at my gutless behaviour I raised the dress over my head and let it fall down my body. I was concerned that it was too short, the hem only fell a few inches below the purple bikini bottoms, but Sara told me that it didn't matter. It actually left me feeling more exposed that I had been when wearing just the bikini. "Right, I've got the suntan lotion. Let's go and get a nice tan," Sara said, taking me by the hand. I caught a glimpse in the mirror and she shepherded me out of the door. We looked just like two girls heading to the beach, our smooth legs shining in the late afternoon sun. Except that wasn't quite true. With my flat chest, girl's sun-dress and plaited hair, I looked far younger than Sara in her well filled bikini top and grown up skirt. In fact, we looked just like mother and daughter. I just hoped that we didn't bump into Bethany on the way downstairs. For the first half an hour it was actually OK. Sara had pulled two sun loungers onto the patio and poured me a glass of ice-cold Cola, and it all felt very pleasant as the sun rested on my new smooth skin. I found that shutting my eyes helped. With them closed I could imagine myself being somewhere else - on a warm beach in Barbados or sunning myself in my own garden - and it was only when I looked down at my new effeminate appearance that the illusion was shattered. I had debated whether to take the dress off, but Sara had left her skirt on and I figured it would be too strange to be the only one in just a bikini. It wasn't that it was too hot for the dress, it was just that it was too short and it kept riding up every time I repositioned myself on the lounger. After about fifteen minutes Sara had told me to turn onto my front to make sure that I tanned evenly. She had also made me slide the straps of the dress and the bikini top off my shoulders so that I didn't get "tan- lines'. I had seen Fran do something similar when we had gone on holiday, and it struck me just how much effort women put into their appearance that us men don't really notice. It was because I was now facing the floor that I didn't notice Sara get up and go inside to fetch the two bottles of nail varnish. "C'mon Julia, I'm going to teach you how to paint your toenails," she said, shaking the first bottle, "consider it your first girl lesson." To do this, Sara had decided that I should paint her nails first and then practice on my own. I had seen Fran paint her nails many times, but I had never paid much attention. How hard could it be? "This is a base coat," Sara explained, unscrewing the lid, "just take the brush and carefully spread it across the nails." I actually felt nervous as I took the brush from her and began moving it gently across her small nails. "That's really good," Sara said softly as I finished the first foot, "you've got a knack for this." I know it's pretty shameful, but I felt a pang of pride on hearing the compliment. If a jobs worth doing, it worth doing well, I reasoned. "It's nice to keep your nails painted," Sara explained as I moved onto the other foot, "it means you can wear nice sandals or open top shoes when the weather turns hot. I love wearing a denim skirt and sandals on a summer's day. " I worked with more pace on the other foot, feeling more confident now. "Good girl," Sara laughed as I finished, "perfect job. Now, you've got to let it dry for a few minutes before putting the varnish on." It sounded like I was painting some furniture or something. I'd never realised how complicated it all was. "Now, same thing again but with the varnish this time. Go slowly, make sure it's nice and even and don't leave any gaps or stray onto the toes." As I took the red nail vanish from her, it struck me just what a feminine picture this was all making. Here I was, knelt in front of this woman, the skirt of "my" dress barely long enough to conceal the purple bikini I had been dressed in, painting her nails. It was another one of those moments where I realised just how far I had regressed in just two and a bit days. "I've chosen red because it's only for fun," Sara continued, as I started to carefully apply the varnish, "but you need to think about the outfit that you're wearing when choosing the colour. Like for example, if you're wearing a green dress, what colour do you think you should use?" I considered this for a moment. I'd always heard that girls like to match, so green seemed the best answer. "Not really," Sara replied, "I think it would clash with the dress. A gold colour, or maybe black, would be better." Sara made a little game of this as I continued to paint. I got some right, and every time I did she said "good girl!'. It still made me wince every time she addressed me in that way. It just felt so strange after 26 years of being described using only masculine terms. "What a great job," Sara said, inspecting her newly painted nails as I finished, "are you sure you've never done this before? For Fran I mean." "No never," I replied, feeling that shameful pride again, "beginners luck maybe." "Well let's find out," Sara responded, "try your own nails now." Remembering all that I had just been taught, I took the base coat and began applying it to my own toenails. It was an incredibly strange sensation to see my feet turn from their present asexual appearance into an undeniably female one, made even weirder because I was the one making the change now. Sara watched me closely as I carefully moved from toe to toe. It occurred me how quickly our roles had changed. Just two days ago I had seen her as my wife's silly little friend. Now, she was my boss and I was her underling. The woman was full of praise when I had finished, "you've passed your first girl lesson with flying colours, no doubt about it." I dreaded to think how many more of these "girl" lessons she had in mind for me. One was bad enough. I hadn't been on holiday for a couple of years. The last time was with Fran to Spain, and it had amazed me just how long my wife could lay on a sun-bed without getting bored. A couple of hours was always my limit. After that, restlessness would set in and I'd have to find something to do. Strangely though, I felt more than happy to lay perfectly still on the lounger today. It was all quite peaceful and relaxing after the terror of the past 72 hours. "Oh my God," came the unmistakable tones of Bethany, just I felt myself start to doze off, "is that my old sun-dress?" "The one from when we went to Bulgaria you mean," Sara replied, "I think so. I found it in one of those bags of clothes we were going to give to charity." "I was like 9 or something wasn't I? And it fits her perfectly." That wasn't true of course. It was far too short. "And look, Mummy and her little angel have been painting their nails," the girl mocked, moving around the lounger to inspect me fully, "and they're wearing matching outfits. How precious!" I didn't respond. What was the point? Sara didn't actually rush to my defence either I noted. "Anyway get up," Bethany said to me, in threatening tones now, "I want to sit there." I looked at the girl as she towered over the sun lounger. She was wearing denim shorts and a plain white t-shirt, and I wondered whether she was dressing in a more boyish way purely to exacerbate my torment. "C'mon Julia," she continued, putting an emphasis on my new name, "let your big sister sit there now." I was starting to feel angry with the girl again. She had changed the mood from peaceful to combative in only a few seconds. "No," I argued, "I was here first. Isn't there another lounger?" "I said get up," Bethany replied, sounding incredibly petulant, "it's my turn to sit there." I didn't want to get into another childish fight with her, but she really had a way of pushing my buttons, "I'm not getting up. Go and find another seat." "Or what, you'll hit me again? C'mon I told you to get up." With that she grabbed my shoulders and tried to yank me from the chair. In response, I channelled all of my energy into making myself as heavy as possible so that she couldn't move me. Sara had seen enough, "girls! No fighting! Now Julia, you've had the lounger all afternoon. Let Bethany sit there for a while." "Ha," Bethany mocked, "girls sounds about right. You're such a little baby." "It's not fair," I protested, "I have to get up just because she wants to sit here?" Sara shot me a look. It was a look of a mother losing patience with her child. I remembered it well from my own mother. It was also a look that told me to remember why this was all happening, which was made even clearer by the splint on Bethany's nose. "Fine," I said finally, climbing off the chair, "just take it." "Ha ha ha," Bethany said, moving into the chair, "you've got to let the big girls have the chairs. You can sit on the floor." Words couldn't describe how much I was beginning to hate the girl. Hell hath no fury like the vengeful teenager. Bethany moved her head to face the fading sun and asked, "what's with all the nail painting anyway?" "It was Julia's first girl lesson," Sara replied, "she was very good at it actually." For crying out loud! Why would she tell her that? "Girl lessons," Bethany replied enthusiastically, "what a great idea. What else can we teach her? We've already done sitting in a dress and painting your nails. How about putting on make up? Ooh, or doing your hair." "All in good time," Sara responded happily. I could tell that she enjoying connecting with her daughter. "I've got a great idea for another girl lesson," Bethany continued, getting up off the lounger that she had just worked so hard to get, "perfect for a little girl like Julia." I felt my body fill with a nervous tension, and for a second I thought I was going to sick. Bethany's "girl" lessons were sure to be far more humiliating that Sara's. Bethany walked onto the grass, looking for something. I glanced at Sara but she had her eyes closed, still taking in the sun. "Found some," Bethany cried out, "there's always chalk laying around here for some reason. Now Julia, you just have to know how to play hopscotch if you're a girl." Hopscotch! I didn't know that girls still played that. Bethany proceed to mark out a messy looking course on the patio. I stood in terror at the thought of having to play such a girlie game. "It's easy really," the girl explained, "you have to throw this stone into each one of the sections and then hop to the end of the course and back, missing out the section that you've just thrown the stone into." It didn't sound that clear. "But where I've put two sections together you have to put both feet down. Here, I'll show you." Bethany proceeded to hop from one end of the course to the other, slamming both feet down on four and five where she had placed the two next to each other rather than one after the other. I noted that she didn't seem to care too much about the pain from her nose at that moment. "And you have to throw the stone into each one of the 10 squares and then hop to the end and back when you do," she continued, a little bit out of breath, "it's fun, you'll love it." I had been reduced to begging again. The thought of having the two women watch me play such a feminine game was too much to bear, "please Bethany, I'm tired from all of the cleaning this morning. Don't make me do this." "Little girls don't get tired," she replied, the vicious upturned smile mocking me again, "get on with it Julia." I turned by hopes to Sara. She had been nicer to me this afternoon after all, "Sara, please don't make me do....." "Naughty," Sara replied sharply, "I told you to call me Mummy." "Oh come on," I protested, "that's ridiculous!" "Have you forgotten our conversation earlier," Sara responded, "or what I said I'd do if you started to be a naughty girl?" This caught Bethany's attention, "ooh, what are you going to do?" "Never you mind," the woman replied, sounding impatient, "c'mon Julia, start playing your game. We'll make sure we watch." I sighed again, I seemed to be doing that a lot recently, and with a sense of unfairness racing through my body I threw the stupid stone into the first section and started hopping. I was incredibly self-conscious of course. It was bad enough feeling my new long hair bounce wildly against my chest and face, but it was even worse worrying about the bottom of the dress swinging up in the wind. I also started to realise that I wasn't in particularly good shape, because I started to feel very out of breath after only a couple of throws. "Very good Julia," Bethany mocked from the sun lounger, "but I can see your pants." Red faced from the humiliation and the exertion, I resolved to finish the game as quickly as possible. The women chatted as I did so, with Bethany in particular still very excited about my "girl" lessons, "This is so much fun," she laughed, putting a prolonged emphasise on the word "so" in the way that teenagers do these days, "ooh, can we take her shopping? It would be so great to take her to New Look or somewhere and make her pick out some clothes herself." "No way," I called back breathlessly, "I'm not leaving the house like this.'. I could only imagine the terror of wondering if people would recognise me as a man. Or even worse, the idea that people would just think I was a girl. "Sssh Julia, the big girls are talking," Bethany said sharply, "if we want to take you out shopping we will, OK? What do you think Mum?" "It would be nice," Sara replied, "that outlet place that Fran and I went to yesterday was good. But I can't go tomorrow, I've got my book club with the girls." Bethany called out to me, "what about that for your next girl lesson Julia? Do you want to go shopping and pick out some clothes for yourself?" The girl laughed wickedly at the idea. I was too tired to respond. By the seventh section I was absolutely shattered. My legs were aching from the effort, my calf muscles screaming out in pain from their infusion of lactic acid. I was also dripping with sweat, and could feel my hair getting heavy from the perspiration. "That's all I can do," I panted, aware of the pathetic picture I was making, "please let me stop." "No, keep going," Bethany demanded. "Don't be silly Beth," Sara interjected, "you'll make her ill. Don't worry Julia, we'll leave the course chalked out and you can try to pass this girl lesson tomorrow." "Thank you," I replied slowly, still trying to get my breath back to normal. Children were so much fitter than I realised. Or I was terribly unfit, one or the other. What would Fran say if she saw me now? Thankfully Sara decided it was time to go in after my game of hopscotch. It was only after she mentioned dinner that I realised how hungry I was, I'd had nothing other than my derisory bowl of cereal in the morning and suddenly my stomach had started to cry out for food. I did all the cooking at home. I wasn't the world's best chef, adequate would be a better description, but I had assumed that Sara would expect me to do the cooking now in my new split role of daughter/housemaid. So I was surprised when the woman started preparing the dinner herself. "You go and sit in the front room," she told me, shooing me out of the kitchen, "I'll call you when it's ready." The idea of a rest sounded good. My legs were still aching from the exertion of earlier and I felt like the lack of sleep from the last few days was really starting to catch up with me. "Aren't we going to wait for Fran?" I asked, as Sara started to struggle to open a jar of something. "No, Fran isn't staying here tonight," Sara replied, straining to remove the lid, "she called earlier to say that she was going to be working too late and just wanted to go back to her house." I didn't know whether to feel relief or disappointment. On one hand I was terribly ashamed of my new appearance and what Fran would think of my spineless behaviour, but on the other hand I wanted to see her and try to reason with her. "Can't do it," Sara groaned, putting the jar back down on the kitchen counter. "Let me try," I offered, walking over to it. I saw Sara smile a little, "don't be silly," she replied, putting her arm out in front of me so I couldn't get any nearer, "if I can't do it you certainly won't be able to." Before the comment would have made me angry, but now I felt a sense of resignation. If she didn't want my help so be it. Instead I walked into the front room and flopped down on the sofa. As I took in the peace of the room I thought about Bethany and realised that, despite her efforts to make my life hell, deep down I actually felt sorry for the girl. Like her, my dad had walked out on us when I was young and I knew all too well how that made you feel. I thought about what Sara had said earlier about Bethany being angry with everyone and everything. I had gone the other way, and tried my best to be nice to my mother because I felt sorry for her and what she'd been through. But everyone was different. Or perhaps I was reading too much into all of this. Wasn't the bottom line simply that girls enjoyed dressing boys up? I remembered the charity auctions that we used to have back in secondary school, where people would bid to obtain the person as their slave for day. Without fail at least one poor boy would be bought by a group of excitable giggly girls and you just knew that by the end of the day he'd be dressed up as a woman. Girls know there is nothing more humiliating to a boy than being made to do girlie things. "Julia," Sara called in from the kitchen as I considered all of this, "go and get Bethany. I need her help with something." "It's not that jar is it? I might be able to open it you kn......" "For crying out loud," she replied impatiently, "just do as you're told." Shaking my head at the perceived unfairness, I got up and headed upstairs. I headed to Bethany's room first but finding it empty I continued my search along the hallway. Eventually I found the girl in "my" new room, and she was busy. "Bethany! What have you done in here?" "Hello little Julia," she replied, "do you like it?" I took in the room. In not much time at all, Bethany had decorated the walls with posters of horses and unicorns. Plus she had placed two blue storage boxes next to the bed. "Just sold of my old posters," she laughed, "I was obsessed with unicorns and rubbish like that a few years ago. How lame is that? I thought you might like them." I looked at the girl sadly. When was she going to get tired of this? Also, I got to thinking about how Sara had said that she wanted Bethany to be a girlie girl. To me, it seemed like she was more than feminine, or at least she had been in the past. Unfortunately I had become the beneficiary of these girlie hand me downs. "Hey, don't pout," the girl continued, "I could've put some boy band posters up or something. Or maybe you'd prefer that?" "Bethany, why don't you give it a rest? You know, I'm so, so sorry about your nose. I wish I could go back in time and not do it, but you know I can't." "Whatever," she replied, going back to pinning the pink unicorn poster in her hands onto the wall, "this is just all too much fun. You should take a look at yourself, God even if you were really a girl I wouldn't be friends with you. You're too girlie." "And what about your friends," I countered, a new tact coming to mind, "how can you have anyone over here to stay any more with me here. Isn't this the room that your friends stay in when they sleepover?" The girl gave a shrug, "hadn't thought about that really. But they probably wouldn't even realise that you're a boy. I'd tell them you were my little cousin or something." "Yeah, but what if they did find out? What would everyone at school say?" "Just shut up," Bethany replied, "you're not getting out of this. I haven't even started making your life a misery. Hopscotch? Oh my God, I haven't played that since I was like seven or eight." I regarded the girl as she moved around the room. I suppose she was quite normal really, prettier than most perhaps but not breathtakingly so. I wondered if she was popular at school? I had assumed that she was, but you could never know really. I remembered girls being much crueller than boys at school. I didn't think she had a boyfriend - one hadn't been mentioned certainly - but again, I guessed that a 13 year old would keep that quiet. "I've given you my old dolls and that as well," she continued, pointed to the two blue boxes, "I knew you'd like them." I couldn't help but smile at this point. She really was trying to humiliate me to the fullest extent possible. But I was starting to see a bigger picture now, one of a girl angry and confused, taking her frustrations out on yours truly, "You know Bethany, I went through the same as you. My dad left when I was nine or ten. He was a drunk though, I remember him bea....," I stopped, realising that I shouldn't tell her about what my father used to do to my mother. It was easy to forget that I was dealing with a child, given her precociousness, "Anyway," I continued, "I know what it's like to feel abandoned. You should talk to your mum about it more, she loves you you know." "Whatever," the girl replied, "like I've got anything to talk to that lesbo about." "Bethany! That's your mother, you shouldn't say things like that." Bethany climbed down off the bed, "oh just shut up! If I need any advice from a little girl like you I'd ask for it, OK? God, look at you in that dainty little dress, you're pathetic." I started to protest, but she wouldn't listen, "No, really. Why would I need any advice from a little sissy like you? I was thinking earlier about how you're only a few years younger than my dad and look at you! Wearing my old clothes and painting your nails with your mummy! What a wierdo." I was about to start a counter argument, for what it was worth, when Sara's impatient tones wafted upstairs, "girls, where are you both? Get down here now before I lose my temper." "See, we're being called," Bethany mocked, leaving the room, "mum wants her girls downstairs. I am a girl, what's your excuse?" We ate dinner in near silence. I was full of frustration at my general treatment and also anger at Bethany, who seemed like the most insufferable human being on the planet. My mood wasn't helped by the fact that Sara had changed out of her bikini and back into the black shorts that she'd be wearing earlier, which once again meant I was the only one in a skirt. After we finished I was forced to do the washing up while the women went into the front room. Every now and then I'd glance down at my bare feet with their newly painted nails and it brought to mind that joke about women having smaller feet so that they could reach the sink. I'd laughed at that when I'd first heard it, but it didn't seem so funny any more. I was worried about Fran, and the fact that she wasn't coming to stay the night. Was she really working late or was she just too disgusted with my actions yesterday to look at me? I wouldn't have blamed her if it was the latter, but I didn't know what to do to make it up to her. I just ached to see her. Every time I closed my eyes I pictured her soft face and captivating lips, and thought about how much I wanted to be with her. But for now I had to put up with being Sara's daughter, and the object of Bethany's vengefulness. Heading into the front room, I found Sara and Bethany crouched at a cabinet next to the television, and it became clear that they were debating which DVD in their collection they wanted to watch. I sat down quietly, wondering if I was ever going to be allowed to take this damned bikini and sun-dress off. "What about Mamma Mia?" I watched Bethany dismissively shake her head at her mother's suggestion, "that film is so lame," she argued, "it's just rubbish." "That's not fair," Sara replied, clutching the box to her chest in mock outrage, "it's my favourite film. Every girl loves Mamma Mia!" "Not me," Bethany groaned, "I bet Julia loves it though." The women laughed. I wasn't sure if they knew whether I was in the room or not, "Actually, I hated it," was my riposte, "Fran did too, if I recall." Sara turned quickly to face me, "oh Julia, I didn't know you were in here. You've finished all the dishes?" I noted that Sara was drinking again. I suppose she had more time now that she had her own slave, "yes, I've done them all. I washed down the kitchen counter as well and emptied the bins." "Good girl," Sara replied happily, "I don't know what I'd do without you." Bethany suddenly raised her arms in a triumphant motion, "I've found it!" The girl was clutching a copy of The Social Network, that Facebook film that had come out recently. I had really wanted to see it actually, but Fran didn't want to go. "I thought I'd lost it or that Dad had taken it," Bethany said gleefully, "this is my favourite film." "You love Justin Timberlake," Sara laughed, obviously trying to get a rise out of her daughter, "that's why it's your favourite film." "Err, no," Bethany replied disgustedly, turning the box over to read the back "it's just a good film. Oh no, there's a problem. It's a twelve, so Julia can't watch it." "Don't be stupid," I replied angrily, "I'm twenty six years old for crying out loud. I think I'm OK to watch it." "No, you're an eleven year old girl," Bethany grinned, "or had you forgotten?" "Sara, please let me watch the film. I've done everything you've asked today. It's not fair." "Well, you have been good," Sara began, looking at me with more than a little pity. "That's not fair," her daughter cried, "you said we'd make him be an eleven year old. If I'd have known you were lying I would have called the police." "But he's been really good," her Mother replied, "I don't think letting him watch a film is going to make much of a difference." "Fine," the girl moaned, "you can either watch it with him or with your real daughter. Which is it?" Sara, still staring at me, scratched the back of her head as she said, "I'm sorry Julia, but I think you should go up to your room. It is a twelve after all." "This isn't fair," I replied, "I just wanted to watch the film!" "Well, you're too young," Bethany said mockingly, "so bye bye!" "What am I going to do in my room all evening? It's only seven o'clock!" "There's a DVD player in the room," Sara said kindly, "you could take another film up there to watch." "As long as it's not a twelve, fifteen or eighteen," Bethany laughed, "or you can play with those dollies I left in your room. Why don't you dress them all up in the prettiest outfits you can find and we'll come up and look at them after the film? "Just forget it," I said, standing up, "I'll just go upstairs. But can't I have something else to wear, this bikini isn't really that comfortable." "Oh, I'm sorry," Sara replied softly, "c'mon I'll go with you and find something for you to change into." The woman took me by the hand. I was beyond a joke now. "I'll stay here and get some crisps and that ready," Bethany grinned, staring at me with total contempt. Who could blame the girl? I had sat pondering my misfortunes as the light of the day slowly creeped away, swinging between incredible self pity and self loathing. I had done nothing as Sara had led me up the stairs and then changed me into a pair of soft pink shorts and white t-shirt with pink trim. I had done nothing as she had gently sat me down in front of her and removed the plaits from my hair, explaining how she was doing it as she went along. Then I had done nothing as she had produced a baby wipe and removed the remnants of the lip gloss that she had subjected me to earlier on. It was the story of my life really. I had done nothing. I didn't know what was worse, Sara's soft and caring attitude or Bethany's hateful, spiteful one. There wasn't much in it really - Sara had the ability to make me feel so small and useless, and the way she treated me at times as nothing more than a little girl was deeply humiliating. Bethany was hard work, and I dreaded every time she came into the room, but at least the contempt wasn't hidden behind some strange facade like I felt Sara was hiding behind. The thing that was terrifying me most was the idea of being taken outside the house. How would people react to me? It occurred to me that I'd have to act more femininely just to make sure that people didn't suspect me to be a boy, and that made it worse. Plus, what would happen if I needed to go the toilet? I'd have to go into the women's I suppose, a truly horrifying idea. It was no point pretending otherwise any longer. I needed an escape from these crazy women, and I needed it now. Fran was my hope. Surely she would she that this was all wrong. I needed to talk to her though, but I'd only seen a phone downstairs. Unless Sara had left her phone in her room from when I had brought it up to her earlier? As quietly as I could, I tip toed across the hallway into the master bedroom at the end of the passageway. I could hear Sara and Bethany moving around downstairs, and a sense of urgency flooded through me. I had to call Fran while I had a chance. Moving into Sara's room, I looked quickly over to the bedside cabinet. The phone was still there! I slid over the bed and grabbed it, nearly knocking over the discarded glass of wine that it sat next to. It occurred to me that I'd have to call the home number as opposed to the mobile - I didn't want Fran thinking it was Sara calling for some reason - and I felt nervous as I hurried back into my room. I dialled the number as I sat down on the bed. The phone told me it was a quarter to nine, surely Fran would be home by now? It rang and rang, each ring increasing my frustration. Then, it went to answer-phone. Unperturbed, I hung up and rang again. Fran hated it when someone called twice, and she always assumed it was bad news. But it kept ringing. I gave out a quiet cry of anguish at the thought of defeat, and I considered calling her mobile. But then, miraculously, a voice answered the phone. Only it wasn't my wife's voice that greeted me. It was a man.