The Sweet Academy, Part 1 free porn video

THE SWEET ACADEMY (Part 1) By Lisa Lovelace On my fifteenth birthday, my great-grandmother, Nana, dressed me in one of her favorite old frocks, one she'd carefully preserved from way back when she was a girl. It was a pink silk taffeta dress with a white Peter Pan collar, short cap sleeves, a snug bodice with a self-belt, and a full skirt that fell to my knees. Under it I wore old-fashioned nylon panties, a bullet bra, a garter belt, nylon stockings, a full slip, two crinoline petticoats and a pair of white pumps with two-inch heels. I loved the feeling of the dress hugging me above the waist and the skirt billowing out over my petticoats, rustling and swishing around my legs. I loved it... even though I was a boy. A boy named Lee. Lee Little. The last name fit. I was a preemie and sickly as an infant. By the time I entered high school I was a teenage runt, five foot two and barely a hundred pounds. I had no facial or body hair and my voice hadn't changed. I almost looked more like a girl than a boy, with a narrow jaw, button nose, high cheekbones, long, slender neck, slim- waisted body and soft, weak limbs. My male parts were still child-sized. The doctor told me some boys just reached puberty later than others, and I was very late. The way Nana made me look didn't help. She took me to her salon for haircuts and had them style my thick blonde hair in a unisex bob - she called it unisex, anyway, but it framed my face in a way that looked girly to me. Sometimes I emerged with a coat of clear polish on my fingernails. She dressed me for school in tight, stretchy jeans with embroidered pockets, brightly colored V-necked tees a size too small, and girls' white canvas tennies. Once a week I had to wear white jeans, and woe unto me if I got them dirty. Inevitably, other boys at school started calling me fag, sissy, queer, tranny and other nasty names. One bully's girlfriend said I should be called Lisa instead of Lee, and the name stuck. Even my few friends started calling me Lisa at school. I once started to cry while telling one of them to stop calling me that, and after that it was hopeless. Whenever there wasn't a teacher around, some kid would call out "Liiiiisa!" and pretend to burst into tears, and everyone would laugh. Between classes, girls would drag me into their bathroom and put lipstick on me, and if I wiped it off, they'd do it to me again before my next class. It all started after the day Nana discovered that I liked wearing girls' clothes. My boyhood ended that day, to be replaced by something else. ~ ~ ~ It was six years ago. I was nine and was living with Nana in her big, old-fashioned house in White Plains. She was all I had by way of family. Nana told me my dad got in trouble after a bad business deal, flew to Mexico with my mother, and hadn't been seen or heard from since. I no longer missed them. It was quiet and peaceful at Nana's house. No one screamed or shouted at anyone. No one got drunk and broke stuff. One dark, rainy day, Nana was taking her afternoon nap, and I was bored. I found myself eyeing the shadowy stairway at the end of the hall that led up to the attic. I'd never been up there, so I decided to explore. The door at the top of the stairs creaked open to reveal a big, airy room full of old furniture, boxes and random bric-a-brac. The only open space was across the floor in front of a large, old-fashioned wooden wardrobe and a matching chest of drawers. I opened the wardrobe to see if there was anything inside, and found three large garment bags hanging from a rod. On the floor of the wardrobe were a dozen neatly stacked shoeboxes. Lifting a lid, I saw a pair of women's shoes, black and shiny with skinny heels, and wondered what was in the garment bags. I pulled one of the bags out of the wardrobe, laid it on top of the chest of drawers, and unzipped it. Inside I found at least a dozen women's dresses on hangers. Not dresses like women wear now, but dresses like in old movies and TV shows, a mix of polished cotton and silky prints with cute little collars, slender bodices and full skirts. I wondered whose clothes they were. Probably Nana's. They looked too small for Nana's longtime companion, Aunt Rosalind, who'd passed away a few years ago. I was too young to have known her well - she didn't seem to like boys very much - but I remember a tall, athletic woman who always wore trousers, not dresses like these. In the chest of drawers, I found old-fashioned ladies' lingerie, neatly folded and wrapped in pink tissue paper: panties, bras, camisoles, girdles, garter belts, stockings, slips and petticoats. They appeared to be in perfect condition, and I wondered how old they were. A lower drawer held various types of rather forbidding foundation garments - corsets and other things I didn't know the names of. I ran my fingers over the soft fabric of a slip and felt my nerves throb. It was so pretty and soft that I wanted to feel it on my body. I didn't know why. All I knew was that something inside me made me want to put on the slip. I stripped off my clothes and let the slip slide down over my head. I felt a rush of emotion, a mixture of pleasure, shame and fear. I knew it was totally wrong for a boy to wear a woman's slip, but my skin tingled with delight. In another drawer I found panties, the big, fancy kind that Nana still wore, not the tiny slinky things that I saw in her magazines. I found a pink pair with lace panels on the side and a tiny bow at the waist, slid them up my legs and pulled them into place. They were quite loose but felt lovely, so much nicer than boys' underwear. For some reason, they made my little weenie get stiff. I rubbed it through the panties and slip, and the feeling of the fabrics sliding over each other made me stiffer. My nine-year-old body didn't know how to handle this sense of pleasure and somehow felt it was wrong, so I stopped. Instead, I lifted the topmost dress out of the garment bag, a pretty pink and maroon floral print in rayon or some similar fabric. Like the slip and panties, it would be too big for me, but so what, and why not? I could dress up as Nana, the way little girls played dress-up in their mother's clothes. The thought thrilled me. I was alone, Nana was napping, and even if she woke up, there was no reason for her to climb two flights of stairs to catch me up here. I drew the dress over my head. It was probably knee-length on a woman, but it hung to my calves. I managed to reach behind me and zip it up. I twisted my hips to make the skirt and slip swish around me, and spun on one toe to make it bell out. I loved the feeling of wearing a dress, yet at the same time felt deeply ashamed. Boys didn't wear dresses! It was like a law of nature. What was wrong with me? I didn't put on a complete girl's outfit. The drawers included bras and stockings and girdles and who knew what else, but I didn't bother. What I had on was enough for now. What a difference a dress made! The clothes were from a time when girls' clothes were completely different from boys', almost as if the sexes were different species, and I marveled at how they felt on my body. It made me want to... well, I couldn't actually be a girl, but... I peeked in the shoeboxes and found a pair in shiny black patent leather with pointy toes and low heels. They were a couple of sizes too large for my little feet, but I could walk clumsily in them, like a girl in Mommy's high heels. There was a mirror inside one of the doors of the wardrobe. I checked myself out. My hair was too short, and I wasn't wearing any makeup or stockings, but I looked like a girl anyway, and I was cute! I twisted and turned and smiled in the mirror, marveling at the feeling of wearing panties and a slip and a dress. I didn't want to take them off. I heard footsteps on the stairs. Oh my God. Nana was awake! I froze. Here I was, a boy dressed in what were probably her old clothes, and she was about to see me in them. I had no time to undress, nowhere to hide. Nana reached the top of the stairs, wheezing from the effort, and saw me. "I was looking for - oh, my goodness! Don't you look pretty!" I wanted to vanish. "I'm sorry, Nana! I - I..." She smiled. "I remember that dress! I wore it when I was sixteen. In fact, I was wearing it the first time a boy kissed me! What a surprise to see it again! Doesn't it feel nice?" "I'm so sorry, Nana! I'll go get changed!" "Oh, don't! You're so cute, all dressed up like a girl in Mommy's clothes! How often do you dress up?" "This is my first time, Nana, honest!" I said. "I've never been up here before. I didn't even know these clothes were here." She smiled. "So you found them and just had to put them on, and oh, my goodness! Aren't you just a doll!" I wanted to cry. "Can't I put on boy's clothes?" "No! Leave on what you're wearing. You look lovely. The dress is a bit big, but so pretty on you." A pause. "Lee, tell me, do you feel like a boy inside, a boy who maybe likes to dress like a girl, or do you feel like a girl stuck in a boy's body?" She didn't sound angry. I tried to calm down and think. "I guess I feel like a boy, Nana. I don't know to feel like a girl. But I like the way these clothes feel." I expected her to laugh or make fun of me, but she didn't. "Well," she said. "This changes things. How would you like to completely dress up as a girl? I mean, just for fun! I saved my old dresses up here for years, and there might be a girl's dress or two in the garment bags." An hour later, I looked at myself in the mirror. I now wore a dress only slightly too large for me, a frilly little yellow party dress for a ten- or twelve-year-old girl. It was knee- length on me. Made of some light, crisp fabric, it had short, puffy sleeves, a lacy collar, a sash that tied in back and a built-in petticoat. Under it I wore the same panties and slip, and added a lace-trimmed bra and another petticoat. Nana showed me how to tighten the straps so that the undies fit better, and stuffed my bra cups with silk scarves. She also showed me how to put on a garter belt and stockings and strapped a pair of white sandals to my feet. "There! Aren't you pretty?" Nana said. "Now let's go downstairs to my vanity and do your face. Girls your age usually don't wear makeup, but we'll make an exception just this once." We went to her room, where she told me to take off my dress so that we wouldn't get makeup on it. She started working on my face. She explained what she was doing as she went along, but I couldn't take it all in at once. Foundation, powder, eyebrow pencil, eye liner, mascara, eye shadow, blush, lip liner, lipstick, lip gloss... why did women put up with all this? "And now your hair," Nana said. She parted my hair in the center. It was just long enough to be put into short pigtails, which she tied off with yellow ribbons. When she was done, she helped me back into the dress, fluffed the skirt over the petticoat and let me look at myself in the mirror. I was stunned. I instantly understood why women put up with all this. The makeup made me look like an eighteen-year-old girl wearing a young girl's party dress - kind of pervy, but really cute. I held out my skirts and swished them back and forth, loving how they looked and felt. "Can you curtsy, child?" Nana said. She showed me how. I tried to copy her. "Very nice! You make a lovely girl. Thank you for letting me dress you up. Now let's go downstairs and talk." "Can I change into my boys' clothes?" "No. You're too cute in that dress." She led me to the kitchen. I sat, remembering to smooth my skirts under me the way girls did. She served tea, and looked at me over her steaming cup. "Lee, do you want to wear girl's clothes all the time?" I flushed. "No! If I wore this to school, they'd beat me up." "You could wear boy's clothes to school. But what if you always wore dresses at home?" "Why would I do that, Nana?" "Because girls' clothes are so much nicer than boys' clothes. Isn't that reason enough? You make a very pretty girl, and I'd love to see the beauty you could bring to our lives." Tempting... but too strange, too embarrassing. "Could we just try it for a few days to see what it's like?" "How about a week? Curtsy if you agree." I gave my wobbly assent. "We'll need a girl's name for you," she said. "They call you Lisa at school, right?" I pouted. "Can't I have a different name? I hate Lisa." "Nonsense. It's cute, and it sounds like your classmates are already used to it. When you're in girl's clothes, you are Lisa." My transformation into Lisa started the next Saturday morning. Nana started by handing me lace-trimmed panties, a garter belt and stockings, a training bra and a full-length slip. When I had those on, she pulled a knee-length petticoat up to my waist, and then lifted a short-sleeved black dress over my head and tugged it down over me until its full skirt floated smoothly over the petticoat. I loved the feeling, so smooth and slippery and swishy. To finish me off, she tied a frilly white apron around me with a big bow that hung down over my bottom - cute, I suppose, but hardly dignified - and slid my feet into a pair of shiny black low-heeled girls' shoes that fit me perfectly. After giving me a few strokes with a hairbrush and a touch of pink lipstick, she turned me around to face the mirror. I looked like a pretty housemaid in a rather plain uniform. A very pretty housemaid, despite my short hair and lack of eye makeup, nail polish and jewelry. I curtsied in the mirror, and practiced it a few times in my new dress. Nana smiled. "Very pretty, Miss Audrey. Now, let's get you started on the housework." "Audrey?" I asked, puzzled. "Not Lisa?" "Sorry, I was just thinking you remind me of a movie star when I was young. Do an image search for her sometime. Audrey Hepburn." That afternoon, when I finished my chores, Nana told me to change back into the yellow party dress. She put the apron on me again when it was time to make dinner, asked me to make the rice, and told me how. It was easy. Once the rice was simmering, I helped her chop vegetables and then set the table for the two of us. Over dinner, she praised me for being her good little helper in the kitchen, and said she was happy to have Lisa around instead of Lee. I wasn't sure what to think about that. I was proud to have pleased her, but it also made me ashamed to think that she liked me better in skirts than in trousers. I was a boy, not a girl, but I'd found I liked dressing and being treated as a girl - and Nana was encouraging it. I wanted to be delicate and pretty, not big and strong. Now I would get my chance to see what it was like... well... not to actually be a girl, because I couldn't do that, but to pretend to be a girl, and to be as convincing as possible. Maybe that's why Nana had me do the dishes and clean up after dinner. Too tired to watch TV, I changed into a pale blue nylon baby-doll nightgown and bloomers that I found laid out on my bed, found Nana in her boudoir, gave her a kiss and curtsy, and went to bed. My brain was buzzing with thoughts of what it would be like to dress as a girl, and it took me a long time to fall asleep. Nana made me wear the same clothes on Sunday - the black dress and apron in the morning, the yellow party dress in the afternoon and evening - and added a white corset. She laced it up tightly enough to be uncomfortable, and I found it made my skimpy bosom and bottom stick out in a very feminine posture. We spent the afternoon going through the remaining garment bags and found a vintage housewife's day dress in a floral cotton print, with a lace collar, cap sleeves and a full skirt, only one size too large for me. With a petticoat under it and an apron over it, the dress made me look very domestic. We decided I could wear that after school instead of the yellow party dress, and save the yellow dress for special occasions. On Monday, she let me wear boys' clothes to school, but made me strip and change into girls' underwear and my day dress as soon as I got home. I couldn't see my friends after school for obvious reasons, so Nana made me do chores around the house. On Wednesday, she made me start wearing girls' panties under my boys' clothes at school. When I asked her not to, she threatened to add a camisole, so I had to back down. To avoid exposure, I started changing for gym class in a toilet stall, hoping no one would notice and take a peek. By the end of the week, I was a nervous wreck, but Nana declared herself satisfied with the results. I somehow hadn't been discovered at school, and she said I was much better behaved at home while in dresses. She decided that I would wear girls' underwear all the time from then on, and dresses whenever I wasn't at school. At the same time, she said I could hang out with friends at their houses, as long as I went there directly after school. When I came home afterwards, I had to change into a dress as usual, and nightwear later. Over time I got used to it. I loved wearing lingerie, and took consolation from knowing that when dressed, I looked like a very pretty girl, not a boy in drag. Nana frequently complimented me on my looks and took me on shopping trips to fill out my girly wardrobe. I liked looking pretty and I liked getting new things to wear, and resented having to change into boys' clothes to go to school. Which is why, six years later, on my fifteenth birthday, Nana could tell me to put on that lovely pink silk frock and petticoats, and I would happily do so. ~ ~ ~ I was wearing the pink frock when I opened my presents. Most of the boxes were the size and shape that said clothes. I hoped they weren't for boys. I opened the first box and unwrapped a beautiful knife-pleated skirt in a light wool-silk blend, a tartan of royal blue and black stripes shot through with threads of pink and white. I loved it. The next box contained a white georgette blouse with ruffles at the placket, collar, puffy sleeves and hem. It was semi-sheer, and I would have to remember to wear a slip or camisole under it, unless I wanted everyone to ogle my bra or corset. When I opened the last box, I realized what Nana had given me: all the pieces of a rather racy schoolgirl's uniform. With the skirt and blouse came a white bra and panty set, a beautiful white full slip, lace- trimmed ankle socks, a pair of black patent Mary Janes and, last of all, a femininely tailored royal blue blazer with an embroidered crest on the left breast pocket. The crest said THE SWEET ACADEMY - 1869 in gold letters that circled a pink silhouette of a girl wearing a Victorian hoopskirt and carrying a parasol. I looked at Nana. "What's The Sweet Academy?" "First, let's dress you in your new uniform," she said, and proceeded to do so. I swung my hips to see the pleats of my skirt sway and dance. The blouse would have been a bit embarrassing if I hadn't worn the slip under it, but it fit perfectly, felt wonderfully girly, and somehow created the illusion that I had a bustline. Nana asked me to sit, and showed me how not to crush the pleats of my skirt. "I don't think public high school is the best place for you, dear," she said. "The principal called me the other day to let me know you're having a hard time. He said he was sorry, but it's difficult to stop bullying unless the victim stands up for himself. Which, my dear, I'm afraid you are not well equipped to do. It's not because of how I dress you. It's because of what you naturally are. A sissy." I smoothed my dress over my thighs, feeling small and weak and feminine. Tears started in my eyes. It was true. I was a sissy. I would be a total failure as a man - I couldn't even be a proper boy! I pictured myself trying to stand up to one of the boys at school and shuddered. He would beat me to a pulp. He would make me admit I was a sissy girl, and his girlfriend would make me put on one of her uniforms, and... "Well," said Nana, "I happen to know of a private school that might be good for you. It's called The Sweet Academy. It's only a few hours from here, near Albany. A boarding school." "You mean I would have to live there?" I said, instantly anxious. "I don't want to leave! I want to stay with you!" Nana laid her hand over mine. "Let's be realistic, honey. I won't be here forever. We need to plan for your future when I'm gone. The Sweet Academy is a private high school that teaches boys..." "Boys?" I shrieked. "I don't want to go to a boys' school!" "Shush! I was about to say... a school that teaches boys how to be girls." I caught my breath. Could there be such a place? "The Sweet Academy. Very select, only two hundred students. They've been turning boys into girls for more than a century and a half, and have it down to a science. You'll attend classes in your cute little schoolgirl's uniform and study the feminine arts and make new friends and live there year-round." She patted my hand. "The nice thing about The Sweet Academy, dear, is that it has a special program that finds positions for its students when they graduate. You won't have to look for a job. You'll have a place to live. You won't need to worry about the future. That's important, because I'll be moving into assisted living soon, and I'll be selling this house. Finding you a safe place in life is the best thing I can do for you, darling Lisa." "Oh, Nana!" I hugged her and cried and told her she would always live in my heart. She started crying, too, happy tears. She asked if I would agree to go to The Sweet Academy, and I said yes. I thought it would be wonderful to go to a school where all the boys dressed as girls, because then no one would be able to make fun of me for doing it. A month later, spring term finally ended at my public school and I was free for the summer. Nana put me in girls' clothes at once, and made me wear them all the time. She allowed me to schedule times when I could put on boys' clothes and go hang out at a friend's house, so long as I cleared it in advance with her and my friend's mother. It was awkward, and I ended up spending less time with my friends and more time dressed as a girl. Nana received a letter from The Sweet Academy saying that I had been accepted for the fall term, with a list of items I needed to bring: at least two complete school uniforms, a week's worth of underwear and lacy ankle socks, sleepwear, makeup and nail kits, moisturizers and other beauty supplies, brushes, curlers and other beauty tools, a portable hair dryer, leotards, tights and dance skirts in pink, black and white, and a girl's winter gear - coat, flowered wellies, scarf and mittens. Students were also required to have pierced ears, Nana's gift to me when I turned ten. I would have been a sophomore if I'd stayed in public school, but I was going to enter The Academy as a first-year student, repeating ninth grade. Nana said this would allow me to live there for all four years, and the school's curriculum was so different from public school that I would want to start from the beginning. She started giving me two vitamin pills a day. She told me The Sweet Academy sent them to all students to boost their immune systems before starting school, and that I would continue to take them at school. I started wearing my Sweet Academy uniform around the house, just to get used to it. It was comfortable and fun to wear, especially when my skirt swung prettily around my hips. The school's letter said I could bring two of my own outfits for the rare days when I didn't have to wear a uniform. Dresses or skirts and blouses only - no trousers, shorts, yoga pants, jeans or tees. I packed two vintage-looking dresses and a crinoline petticoat in addition to all my other gear. Nana warned me I would have to make a full court curtsy to a large audience the night I arrived. She wanted to show me how, but couldn't. I told her I'd watch YouTube instead, and learned how to do it. What a weird custom! Nana made me practice it in one of her long formal gowns until I could do it gracefully. Before I knew it, it was the weekend after Labor Day. I was to begin classes on Monday. My journey to becoming a Sweet Academy girl started on Saturday morning, when Nana took me to the salon for a complete makeover: a full body waxing (ouch!), a new, more feminine wedge cut with highlights, a facial, a mani/pedi and makeup. Afterwards, I stared at myself in the mirror. I was a pretty girl. Really pretty. I mean, gorgeous. Nana said so, and she was sparing with compliments. She said I looked innocent but inviting in a way that would make it difficult for both men and women to keep their hands off me. I didn't like the sound of that! My life was about to change completely, in ways I didn't understand, and I was afraid. The more I thought about it, the more panicked I felt. What if I couldn't do it? What if I flunked out? What if the other boys made fun of me even though they wore skirts, too? What if it was as bad as public school? What if, what if, what if? I knew it was silly to worry about problems that might never happen, but I couldn't help it. That afternoon, I loaded our luggage into the car, and Nana drove us north to Albany, where we shared a king-sized bed at a romantic little B&B. I wore a cute dress to dinner at a nice Italian restaurant nearby and my baby-doll nightgown to bed, just to get myself into a more feminine mood. On Sunday morning, I dressed in my schoolgirl uniform, as the instructions said. Nana drove into wooded country that I think was west of Albany. Following our GPS, we turned onto a gravel road marked only by a T.S.A. - PRIVATE - NO TRESPASSING sign, and drove through the woods for half a mile or so. The surrounding forest suddenly gave way to a large clearing filled by a compound surrounded by a ten-foot brick wall. I gasped at the sight. Inside the wall, an even taller hedge allowed only glimpses of the top stories and roofs of old-fashioned brick buildings. I wondered if the walls were to keep the world out or the students in. Maybe both. The road ended at big double gate in the wall. Only one side was open. Next to the gate, a bronze plaque set in the brickwork proclaimed THE SWEET ACADEMY - 1869 in beautiful old-fashioned lettering. I felt my heart pound. Six cars ahead of ours waited in line to pull up to the gate, where each disgorged a student and his - her - luggage. Pairs of girls in the school uniform loaded the luggage on carts and wheeled them inside. Other girls in Academy plaid skirts escorted arriving students through the gate. It all seemed very efficient. I didn't see any adults in charge. The line moved quickly, and suddenly I had to say goodbye to Nana. I started to cry. I couldn't do it. I desperately wanted to stay in the car and go home with her. I'd been feeling emotions more strongly of late, no doubt due to the stress of leaving my old life behind. By now it was clear to me that I was moving out of Nana's home for good, that I would live at the school for four years and then wherever they found a position for me. I didn't know if I would see her again. She tried to cheer me up by telling me that of course we would meet again. A girl in uniform opened my door and helped me out of my seat. Nana waved and drove away, and the girl took my hand and led me inside the gate. She asked if I was new, and pointed me toward a group of girls assembling by a large sundial. I joined them and looked around the place that would be my home for the next four years. It was a crisp, sunny September morning. The school grounds were spacious, maybe fifty or a hundred acres, with lots of old brick buildings and tree-lined quads and landscaped pathways between buildings. It looked exactly like the kind of old-fashioned college campus you might see in a movie, surrounded by a tall, thick hedge that cut off the outside world. Returning students headed for one of several three-story brick buildings that must have been dorms, but we new students gathered uncertainly by the sundial until a middle-aged woman wearing a Sweet Academy skirt and cardigan walked up to us. Something about her told me she was a biological woman, not a feminized male. "New students, follow me!" she shouted. We trailed her across the entrance courtyard toward one of the larger buildings. A clump of older girls stopped as we passed and made fun of us. One tall, thin girl gave us a wolf whistle, and a very pretty young lady called me a nice piece of ass and said she had first dibs on the slit, whatever that meant. Her peers jeered at her. The woman leading us called out, "Robinson! Unladylike language! You're six for a week, starting Monday. Tell your prefect." The girl grimaced and curtsied. "Yes, Headmistress." The other girls snickered at her discomfiture as they hurried off. So that woman was the Headmistress! I was pleased that she came to our defense, but wondered what six for a week meant. She led us up the steps of the large building, through a spacious foyer, and down a corridor to a large lecture hall, where she waited for us to file in and take seats. "Good morning, girls," she said in a booming voice. "I am your Headmistress, Miss Backstitch. Say, 'Good morning, Headmistress'." A ragged chorus replied, "Good morning, Headmistress." "We can do better than that, can't we, girls? Good morning, girls!" "Good morning, Headmistress!" "That's more like it! Welcome to The Sweet Academy, where you will learn to fulfill your feminine potential. Like any school, we have a few rules. "You are girls now. Refer to each other as she and her. Our teachers and staff are adults. If an adult is in the room, do not speak unless spoken to. If an adult gives you an order, curtsy and obey at once. If you don't obey at once, you'll be punished. If you don't curtsy, you'll be punished. We have two kinds of punishments here. One is painful and the other is embarrassing. You'll learn about both soon enough." The room fell silent. "We expect Academy girls to be quiet, polite, obedient and ladylike at all times. Running, shouting, fighting and any other form of boyish behavior will be punished. Any girl found with trousers, shorts or any form of male clothing will be punished. Any girl who refuses to wear any item of female clothing that she is given will be punished. Any girl who refuses to wear appropriate cosmetics and accessories will be punished. Always dress and groom yourself properly, girls! "I see that most of you are already wearing your lacy ankle socks. Very good, girls! But we're not doing as well on our pigtails, are we? As first-year girls, you must always wear lacy ankle socks and your hair must always be up in pigtails tied with ribbons, or you will be punished. Anyone not wearing ankle socks and pigtails is senior to you, and you must curtsy to them, or you will be punished. When in doubt, curtsy. You'll spend a lot of your first year curtsying, and you will learn to do it so gracefully that it adds to your beauty. Curtsying is good for girls like you. It teaches you to be feminine and submissive. It should give you a tiny thrill every time you do it." She wagged a finger at us. "A practical matter. All the restrooms here are for girls. There are no urinals." She waited for the nervous titters to die out. "Any student found standing up to urinate, or leaving the seat up afterwards, will be spanked and dressed as a baby girl in diapers and won't be allowed to use the toilet for a week. Don't make that mistake, girls! Always sit, and never forget to wipe afterwards, front to back." More titters. Miss Backstitch raised her voice. "Now then, girls! Tonight is The Sweet Academy Debutante Ball, where you will all make your social debut on campus. You have a busy day ahead of you! This morning, you will all have beauty treatments in one of the school's salons. After lunch, you will go to your room, change into your most formal white lingerie and hosiery, preferably including a corset, and wait until your hall is sent to the Wardrobe Room. There you will be dressed in a debutante's gown. You will not eat or drink after being dressed - we don't want spills on spotless white satin! "At seven o'clock, you will be formally presented to an audience of Sweet Academy supporters, parents and students. You will have to make your full court curtsy on the stage. I hope you've been practicing!" There were murmurs of dismay, but not from me. Thank goodness Nana had made me practice. "As you curtsy, two very important things will happen. First you will be Named. The Headmistress will introduce you to the audience by the girl's name you will use while you are a student here. You will forget any names that you might have used in the past, and will be punished if you ever mention them here." There were a few murmurs at this. She waited for silence. "Then you will be Jeweled, which means you will be assigned to one of our school's five sororities: Ruby, Amethyst, Emerald, Sapphire or Pearl. You will wear your Jewel as a pendant at all times, and starting tonight, you will live with the other girls in your Jewel. "You will sleep in your Jewel's dorm. There you will meet your roommate and your other Jewelmates and future BFFs. You will hang out in your Jewel's common room, eat at your Jewel's table in the dining hall, enjoy beauty treatments in your Jewel's salon, and reflect your Jewel's theme colors in your clothing and accessories. During the year, your Jewel will compete against other the Jewels in ladylike contests: baking, cooking, hairdressing, dressmaking, dancing, singing, embroidery and other feminine arts, and, at the end of the school year, Fashion Week at The Sweet Academy. "When all of you have been Named and Jeweled, you will make the Grand Promenade. Three times around the hall on the arm of your escort, so that everyone can see you and appreciate your beauty. If you don't have an escort, an older student will approach you. After the Grand Promenade, you will dance the Grand Waltz with your escort. Don't be surprised if someone cuts in on your partner during the waltz - it's encouraged, so that connoisseurs of youthful beauty in the audience can dance with as many of you as possible. "After the Grand Waltz, a DJ will play popular songs, including some of your generation's dreadful noise, and guests can ask you to dance, and other guests can cut in. If you don't want to dance with someone, say no, or return to your dorm. Guests are allowed to touch you outside your clothing and can give you one kiss, but that's all! Any form of genital contact with a guest is strictly forbidden and will be punished. At least none of you can get pregnant. Good luck, girls, and have a lovely evening." As it happened, the afternoon and evening went exactly as the Headmistress said they would. The whole thing seemed quaint, but tradition was tradition. All the other new students were dressing up in swathes of virgin white satin, so I had no reason not to, and in the end, I found the actual experience rather romantic. The Wardrobe Room held hundreds of white satin gowns on long racks. The staff were all students, but they managed to dress forty nervous new girls quickly and efficiently. We were allowed to choose one of four styles of dress, and I selected an A-line gown with a princess neckline and lacy cap sleeves. One of the girls checked the racks holding the style of dress I chose and quickly found my size. She grabbed a matching petticoat and a pair of white gloves and handed them to me. I wondered how the school could afford to have so many dresses, and learned only later that all the dresses and petticoats had been designed and sewn by students as part of their senior project, and that they came in only three sizes: misses 4, 6 and 8. I wondered if The Academy simply didn't admit larger girls - I couldn't remember seeing any. How could they get away with it in this day and age? I took my gown, petticoat and gloves into a dressing room, where a Wardrobe girl helped me into the petticoat and lowered the debutante gown over my head, careful not to let it touch my hairdo or makeup. I slid my arms into the sleeves and felt the heavy satin glide down my body. She zipped me up. I felt a thrill as the bodice and waistline tightened around my torso and made the skirt hang properly. I wiggled my fingers into the white gloves. The Wardrobe girl drew them up my arms and fastened the tiny pearl buttons at the wrist. I looked at myself in the mirror and caught my breath at the sight of the elegant young lady I had become. I was perfectly made up, but wore no jewelry, no hair ornaments, as I had not yet been Named or Jeweled. I looked virginal, an innocent girl on the brink of womanhood. Once petticoated, gowned and gloved, we left the Wardrobe Room and, carefully lifting our hems to avoid dirtying them, crossed the street to the rear entrance of one of the largest buildings on campus. We went in to find ourselves backstage in a large theater, where older girls wearing PREFECT badges lined us up in alphabetical order. We checked ourselves out in our compact mirrors, adjusting our dresses and hair and freshening up our lipstick and gloss. It was remarkable how quickly and easily The Sweet Academy had turned us from a crowd of boys in schoolgirl drag into an obedient line of girls in long white gowns and gloves, primping and preening and gossiping in whispers while waiting to make their formal curtsy at a debutante ball. The theater curtain rose. The Headmistress entered, followed by the Head Girls of the five Jewels, and walked up to the microphone. She welcomed the crowd and officially opened this year's Naming. One by one, girls walked onto the stage, made their best attempt at a court curtsy and were Named and Jeweled. When it was my turn, I gracefully dipped into my formal curtsy, bowing low and smoothly rising to my feet, to a scattering of applause. The Headmistress' voice boomed in the hall. "Miss Lisa Little." Oh, well. I didn't like being called Lisa, but my wishes didn't matter, and at least they let me keep my last name, probably because it was derisive and happened to be true: I was little. It could have been worse. Many of the girls ended up with embarrassing names: Patty Pansy, Kandy Kiss, Lucy Lipps, Bethany Bottom. Bethany threw a tantrum when she heard her name, which I must say was not inappropriate in view of her precocious physical assets. She refused to curtsy and had to be escorted from the stage by an Amazonian security guard. I never saw her again, and wondered what happened to her. After my curtsy, the Headmistress Jeweled me by announcing that I was a Sapphire. The Sapphire Head Girl, Miss Susan Slipstrap, a leggy blonde with perfect skin, fastened a silver chain with a sparkling blue pendant around my neck, and inserted tiny matching earrings. As I was to find, my pendant would make every Sapphire my friend, but would give every Ruby, Amethyst, Emerald and Pearl a reason to hate me. I lifted my skirt to navigate the steps down from the stage, gratified by the applause I was receiving, and joined the line of girls waiting for the Grand Promenade to begin. I hadn't worn a dress this large and heavy before, and I smoothed the heavy satin over my body and swished the skirts, just to enjoy the deliciously girly feeling. The sight of so many girls in matching gowns and gloves made me stiff, but I was in no position to do anything about it. All of them girls like me, hiding boyish bits under layers of lingerie and petticoat-poufed skirts, looking and behaving like the girls we wanted to be, only more so: Our underthings were lacier, our dresses fuller and frillier, our hair and makeup more elaborate. Members of the audience, mostly male, began strolling over to ogle us as the Naming and Jeweling continued. I got more attention than I expected or desired, confirming Nana's opinion of my looks. I curtsied to everyone who spoke to me, and got nervous when some of them said I was gorgeous and patted my bottom and played with my boyish nipples, which betrayed me by growing hard. A few of them liked to pinch bottoms, and laughed whenever a girl gave a yelp and jumped. There was no one to make them stop these petty violations of our dignity, so there was nothing we could do, but I must say I didn't like being felt up like a piece of meat. Was this how the school let its students be treated? Two adult guests inspected me closely: a tall man with graying hair, and a good-looking woman twice my age. They obviously knew each other and called each other by their first names, Geoffrey and Maxine. The man gave me the creeps by petting my ass, but the woman seemed nice. I didn't know who they were, so I was polite and curtsied to them and gave them my nicest smile. When the guests were done chatting us up and playing with us, they returned to their seats to watch the Grand Promenade. I had no escort and faced the humiliating prospect of having to circle the floor alone in my debutante gown. I felt a little like a bride whose groom failed to show up. At the last moment, though, a young woman walked up to me, a beauty with long dark hair and kohl-rimmed eyes draped in a sleeveless column of maroon silk that showed off an hourglass figure. She wore a Sapphire pendant like mine, so I assume she was an older student in my Jewel. Could there really be a boy beneath that gown? I found it hard to believe, but I'd seen myself in the mirror in my debutante dress, and I knew that I looked just as convincingly female. "You appear to have no escort. May I have the honor?" She had a charming accent. "They call me Paris. Paris Parsi." I stared at Paris and fell in love. She was taller than me, held herself like a queen, and had a commanding air that made me want to melt into her arms for an embrace that would conquer all my fears. I spread my skirts and curtsied to her almost as deeply as I had on stage. "Oh yes, please, Miss Paris, thank you, Miss Paris. Uh, I'm Lisa, Lisa Little," I babbled. Clumsy! My head buzzed with all the smarter things I could have said instead. She smiled and offered me her right arm, as a man might. I wrapped my left hand around it, as a girl might, and lightly clasped her forearm. The touch of her skin was tantalizing. I wanted to sink gracefully to the floor in billowing clouds of satin, and let her lift me to my feet, oh, and then she would kiss my hand, and then my lips, and... I shook my head to clear it, telling myself Paris was a boy. The Promenade music began. Paris and I slowly circled the floor three times counterclockwise, pausing between each step. I caught her eye, and we smiled at each other. In my long white gown and petticoats, I felt like a bride being escorted to the altar. I could see eyes in the audience following me, and heard whistles and gasps and scattered applause as I passed. As a boy, I never cared how I looked, but as a girl, I was now acutely aware of how others saw me, and instinctively wanted to attract their attention. Not as a pathetic sissy - I'd had plenty of that in public school - but as a girl in her first bloom of beauty. If I was to live as a girl, I wanted to be soft and pretty, the way men wanted to be tall and strong. I wasn't attracted to men, but I felt a desire to fill them with lust, and to fill women with jealousy. The Promenade ended in applause, during which Paris asked me to dance. I gratefully accepted and curtsied. The Grand Waltz began, and I happily let her take me in her arms, pleased not to be a wallflower, delighted not to be dancing with any of the men who'd groped me. Paris knew how to lead, and Nana had taught me how to follow, and I happily spun under her upraised hand and let her steer me around the floor. My bliss ended when a hand tapped Paris' shoulder to cut in. It was my Head Girl, Miss Susan Slipstrap. "May I?" Paris had no choice but to surrender me and gracefully withdrew. Miss Susan knew how to lead and waltzed almost as well as Paris, though her style was more athletic than graceful. "Well, Lisa, you're quite the pretty one, aren't you?" "If you say so, Miss," I replied, wary of compliments. "Oh, I do," she said. "You're much prettier than I am, Miss, if you'll pardon me for saying so," I said. It couldn't hurt to suck up to anyone with authority over me. Miss Slipstrap laughed. "Lisa! Flattery will get you everywhere." She asked me where I was from and who my family was and what did my father do. I told her I didn't know where he was. She seemed put off by that, and was about to say something when a hand tapped on her shoulder and a middle-aged woman cut in on her. Miss Susan curtsied and withdrew. My new partner - another genetic female, I sensed - introduced herself as Ms. Abercrombie, Dean of Girls. I wasn't sure what a Dean did, but judging by where she sat at the head table, she was something like a deputy Headmistress. She wore a sensible beige gown, sensible brown shoes, a sensible flip, sensible makeup and sensible accessories, but she could waltz. "You are exquisite, my dear," Ms. Abercrombie said as she led me around the floor. She slowly ran her right hand down my back and over my bottom. I involuntarily arched my back and stuck out my butt at her touch, and felt embarrassed to respond. She asked about me as we danced. I don't think I said anything stupid. I did wonder if it was usual for the Head Girl and Dean of Girls to dance with a neophyte like me. I hadn't seen either of them dance with any of the other girls, so why me? I was willing to accept that I was pretty, but so were so many of the other girls. The Academy, it seemed, chose to admit only small, skinny boys with soft features like mine, who would be easier to feminize. Paris bravely cut in on Ms. Abercrombie and reclaimed me for the final chorus of the song. Ms. Abercrombie withdrew as politely as if Paris had been an adult. When the last notes of the song sounded, I spun around and curtsied deeply to Paris, and saw delight in her eyes. I hope she saw the same in mine. Ms. Abercrombie returned to the head table. I saw her whispering to Miss Backstitch. The Headmistress looked at me, and whispered back to Ms. Abercrombie. Were they talking about me? Had I done something displeasing? I wished I knew what they were saying. I was probably just being paranoid. It was time for the after party. The lights in the room dimmed. A mirrored disco ball began to spin in the spotlight and a DJ - sissy or female, I couldn't tell - wearing a bright pink Lolita dress started playing loud, happy K-pop, perfect music for teenage girls to dance to. The floor quickly filled with newly Named and Jeweled girls in their debutante gowns and their partners. "Do you want to dance?" Paris asked. I curtsied. "If you wish to, Miss." She cocked her head at me. "You don't want to." I drew myself up, wanting to look good to her. "It's just that I'm tired, Miss. When I got up this morning..." "...You were still a boy?" she said with an impish smile. I blushed. "Not much of one," I said. "Oh? Wearing a cute little nightie, were you?" How did she know? I lowered my eyes, too embarrassed to answer. "You did? Ha! Sexy little Lisa! You have secrets to tell, I see, but they can wait. You must be exhausted! Let's get you to your room. The crowd loved you, so leave them wanting more." Paris escorted me to the front desk, where a girl in a school uniform consulted a chart of the Sapphire dorm, told me my luggage was in S-12 and handed me a key. Paris politely walked me down the street to Room 12 in the Sapphire dorm. I unlocked the door. It was an antique bedchamber roomy enough for two double beds, two vanities with lighted mirrors, two chests of drawers and a walk-in closet. My suitcases were arranged neatly at the foot of one of the beds. "Do you know who's in the other bed?" I asked Paris. "Yes," she said. "Me!" I gaped at her. "You're my roommate?" "Yes!" she said. "And I have a feeling we're going to be the very best of friends." She stepped up to me and took me in her arms. At that moment it did not occur to me that she was a boy. She was so beautiful that I didn't care. I wrapped my arms around her neck and let her kiss me. "Oh, Miss Paris," I moaned. "Drop the Miss," she said, "and drop the Paris, too, when we're alone." "You're not named Paris? I mean, isn't that your, um, girl's name?" "I don't care what this place calls me. My real girl's name is Parvaneh," she said. "It's Persian. It means butterfly." "Oh, how pretty!" I said. "Much nicer than Lisa. I hate that name. The boys at my school called me that instead of my boy's name." Parvaneh covered her ears. "Don't tell me what it was! What's wrong with Lisa? It's sparkly and happy. Like you." I gave her a weary smile. "I'm tired, is what I am. I just want to get this dress off and crash." "No!" she said, sounding shocked. "You must undress properly, and then do your beauty routine. Here, I'll help you. That dress is so pretty on you, but let's get it off!" Parvaneh unzipped me, pulled the gown over my head and untied my petticoats' drawstrings. I felt a frisson of femininity as all the satin and taffeta and lace slid down my stockinged legs. I hung up the gown, petticoat and gloves to return to Wardrobe tomorrow, sat at my vanity, removed my makeup and moisturized myself all over. Parvaneh made me sit as she brushed my hair a hundred times. "You have nice hair, Lisa," said. "It'll be gorgeous when it grows out." "Can't I leave it short?" I said. She gave me a look. "No! First years' hair must reach their shoulders by the end of the school year. You'll wear it as a high ponytail in your second year." I stripped off the rest of my lingerie and pulled a waltz-length nightgown out of my luggage. Slipped it over my head, I relished the feel of the soft nylon falling below my knees. Parvaneh caught her breath. "You aren't wearing a slip?" she said. I was puzzled. "What, instead of a nightgown?" "No! Under it." "I've never heard of wearing a slip under a nightgown." "Well, we do," she said. "We're not allowed to wear only one layer of clothing at night. The Headmistress says it helps keep us modest and trains us to enjoy the feel of layers of lingerie sliding over each other." It sounded odd to me, but I took off my nightgown, found a full slip in my luggage, put it on, and then slid the nightgown back over it. It felt nice, especially after I loosened the slip straps a bit. Slip straps. Ha! Miss Susan Slipstrap. Our Head Girl seemed overly proud of herself - it would not surprise me if her parents were rich - and I was glad she was stuck with such an embarrassing name. I crawled under the silky pink duvet on my bed and wriggled a bit to get comfy in my mandatory layers of nightwear. Parvaneh turned off the light and got into her bed. Our mattresses were close together, only a couple of inches apart. She reached across the gap and found my hand. "Good night, Lisa," she said. "Good night, Parvaneh." I squeezed her hand and kissed it. That was all the encouragement she needed. She rolled across the gap between our beds, landing on top of me and pinning me to the mattress. I squealed with surprise and made a show of trying to push her off. She laughed, caught my wrists, pinned them over my head and kissed me on the mouth. I kissed her back. We kissed deeply, and then she showed me other things we could do to please each other. I won't be so indiscreet as to go into detail, but you can probably imagine. Afterwards, Parvaneh flopped back onto her own bed, and I relaxed and closed my eyes, enjoying the feel of my nightgown sliding over my slip. I imagined two hundred girls like me in their beds tonight, all of us wearing slips under our nightgowns, all of us planning to dress as schoolgirls tomorrow, and as my eyes closed, I knew my life as a boy was over. I was a girl now. A Sweet Academy girl. End of Part 1