Being Bimbo
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The Bimbo free porn video
The Bimbo
I guess that I was a rather sexist young boy. I went to an all boys'
school and there was a tendency amongst the teachers to encourage us boys
to think of ourselves as the superior sex. At its root the concept was
essentially that women were there to look beautiful, do the housework and
serve our sexual needs. Sure over the years this had evolved slightly
with women entering the workforce but this was as primary school
teachers, nurses and secretaries. We weren't taught for example about
the "Night witches" (the Soviet women who gave Nazis nightmares) or about
Lyudmila Mikhailovna Pavlichenko and it was a real shock to the system
when Margaret Thatcher became not just the leader of the Conservative
Party but then Prime Minister. However, we still thought of girls as the
weaker sex. I used to delight in Myl?ne Farmer's song "Sans Contrefa?on"
where she sung:
"Puisqu'il faut choisir, ? mots doux je peux le dire
Sans contrefa?on je suis un gar?on
Et pour un empire, je ne veux me d?v?tir
Puisque sans contrefa?on je suis un gar?on"
She was the most beautiful French woman I had seen (although I later
learnt she was born in Canada) and Salman Rushdie had said of her "Sa
voix, moiti? de ce monde, moiti? d'ailleurs est ?tonnante, c'est la voix
d'un ange d?chu. Myl?ne, c'est l'une des plus belles femmes que j'aie
jamais rencontr?es."
But my French was limited when I first heard the song and I thought this
was simply a beautiful women saying what we all knew, women were inferior
to men and she wished she was a boy. I had no idea who the Chevalier
d'Eon was and whom Myl?ne was singing about in that song. The song comes
back to me now as I think about the unexpected route my life took after
leaving university and more particularly how I came to work in our local
French restaurant.
I had come back from university like most students with a large student
loan and no job. I had obtained a degree in French. Sadly my father had
passed away whilst I was at University. Dad worked as a builder. I had
always understood that Dad had been the breadwinner and whilst I
respected my mother and would never have called her a "bimbo", I wouldn't
have been surprised if most men described her as one.
I remember being surprised to find that Mum had managed to get a job just
after Dad's death, at the local French restaurant, but although she had
somehow found the money to help me finish University, she told me she was
not making enough to support us both so she suggested
I should apply to work there too.
I remember a few days before starting work Mum coming in to my bedroom
and hearing me listening to "Ainsi Soit Je..." and saying "Maybe, as you
have a French degree you could teach me some French and come to work at
the Chevalier d'Eon with me." Mum had a strong Essex accent and so the
restaurant name sounded more like "Chay-val-eye-er duh eee-on" than it
should sound but I managed to get Mum to pronoun the first syllable
"shuh" before the Essex came out again.
I tried teaching her to say "gar?on" to describe me. But instead she
said, "Tu est un gars conne." I didn't know then that Mum was playing
with me, that she could speak French fluently and that she meant exactly
what she had just said. I should also explain though that google
translates "conne" as "asshole" if you look up "conne meaning in French"
and it's perhaps better conveyed as "eejit", meaning "You're an idiot but
I love you."
I was by then a bit despondent about having no job and this large loan to
pay off and my birthday approaching.
I had seen my mother's uniform before, it was a silky black dress that
stopped halfway between her knees and backside. In other words it was a
miniskirt. She wore a white lace pinafore over it and a white lacy
maid's cap. My mother was blonde and looked sexier and more beautiful
than the description "a 48 year old widow" might suggest. I know it's
odd to describe your mother as sexy but although I wouldn't contemplate
having sex with her I could see why many men would find her irresistible,
I would if she wasn't my mother.
She wore thick white petticoats under her skirt which puffed it up
somewhat and you couldn't help notice her suspenders when she bent over
and that my mother wore fishnet stockings
underneath and a three inch heel.
I went for an interview and met the floor manageress, Monique, and was
excited to notice that the girls who worked there were also dressed like
Mum. It seemed like a dream job. I was told I would meet the boss some
other time.
I was offered the job at the end of the interview and signed the terms
and conditions without reading the section headed "dress code" properly.
I was told that I would find my uniform in a clothing bag in the dressing
room as Mum had told them my size. This didn't surprise me as Mum bought
a lot of my clothes, even now. I didn't actually even know my shirt
size.
I did not therefore notice that the terms and conditions said that the
company uniform was considered to be gender neutral although I did notice
that I appeared to be the first man they were employing. The restaurant
was called "Chevalier d'Eon" for a reason.
I was surprised to find that it turned out that there was only one
changing room and it had a male symbol on the door in but a female symbol
on the door out. I did not understand that then, but I do now.
Initially I was quite excited at the idea of sharing a dressing room with
the ladies and thought that this was very "Ally McBeal". It would be
exciting watching a group of French Maids get dressed and undressed.
Then I opened the clothing bag. It was obviously meant to be my uniform
as there was only one bag in the room, but to my shock I realised that my
uniform was the same as my mother's!
Yes I was expected to dress as a French Maid!
I pulled out my mobile. I phoned Mum. "Mummy, help me. They want me to
dress up as French Maid!"
"Son, didn't you read the dress code? The bit that said "Every Employee
is expected to wear the company uniform. We are an equal opportunities
employer."? You need a job and I need you to earn a living too. You had
better play along until something better comes along for you, besides
being dressed like a woman may help you to learn to respect what we go
through to look as hot as we do and to take better care of your own
appearance. Don't think I haven't noticed you checking out my outfit!
I'll book you an appointment at the beauticians tomorrow."
So I concluded I was not going to find any help getting out of this from
Mum.
Monique had told me that they would leave the changing room free for me
to get changed on my first day and now I understood why.
It was going to be a strange experience dressing up, not just as a woman,
but as a French Maid.
I thought about rebelling and wearing the clothes that I had come to the
interview in. But Mum had made clear that my employer expected me to
dress as a French Maid. I thought about wearing my boxer shorts under my
dress, but how would I attach my fishnet stockings and suspenders under
them? How indeed would I avoid being ridiculed as a boy in a dress if I
did try to rebel?
I took out what turned out to be my first pair of black silk panties,
from my bag. If I was part of the superior sex, I should be able to
retain my masculinity if I dressed as a girl I told myself. It shouldn't
feel emasculating, should it, wearing this pair of panties?
But you need to look and appear to be as feminine as possible, silly, I
reminded myself as I pulled the panties up around my butt. It was funny
how my panties feminised my butt and made it look more like a girl's
butt.
Where had I got the term "butt" from? Some girls workout video I think.
I had always thought of it as my arse or bottom but now I was calling it
my butt?
I looked down at myself. I hadn't seen any women in panties, except in
magazines and films but I was pretty sure they don't have a penis and my
panties were tight around my penis. I looked in the bag to see if there
was anything to hid my penis. I couldn't see anything but then I noticed
that there was a hole on the inside of my panties that ran towards what
was obviously the back of them and I was clearly meant to tuck my penis
in there. I did so and was amazed at how my groin now looked as feminine
as my butt.
Next came my suspender belt. I had seen girls putting these on in films,
so I knew to hook it around myself before turning it round so the hook
fastening was above my butt rather than in front of me. It dawned on my
that the straps needed to go inside my panties if I was not going to have
to redo them every time I went to the toilet and I then rolled the
stockings up my legs. From the waist down this was the closest I had
been to a sexy woman I thought as I stroked my stocking right leg and
made sure I had fastened the straps properly. I then put on one of the
white half slips.
I looked down at myself and felt the panties tighten around my stiffened
manhood.
I realised that I had to put on two more of these slips to puff out my
dress like the other girls. It now looked a bit like I was wearing a
tutu.
I slid my feet into the shoes. They had three inch heels and clacked
around the wooden floor of the dressing room as I practiced walking.
I realised at that point I needed help. How would I put on my bra and
dress? How would I do my makeup?
I called Mum again. "Mummy, help me," I said.
Mum came in and fastened my first bra around my chest. It matched my
panties and was a padded push up bra.
My mum had a tear in her eye.
"What is it?" I asked her.
"I never thought I would help my daughter, I mean my child, put on her
first bra."
We hugged.
Then Mum zipped me into my dress and showed me how to tie my pinafore.
Next Mum pulled out a name badge with "Myl?ne" written on it.
"Matt, I think I had better call you Myl?ne now. We don't one anyone
knowing you are an English boy, not a French girl, not with tits like
yours!"
Then Mum put foundation on my face before applying lipstick, false
eyelashes, eyeshadow and mascara.
She didn't put nail polish on my fingers as she glued false nails on
instead. Mum then put my hair into a ponytail (I wore it long) and put
my cap on before telling me that I was now ready to look at myself in the
mirror.
"Oh la la!" she said spinning me round.
"Oh my god Mum, what have you done! Even I think I look like a woman
now!" I said looking at myself delighted at how feminine I looked and at
how any trace of masculinity about my appearance had disappeared.
I looked at the girl my mother had just created in the mirror struggling
to connect with the fact that the girl I was looking at was in fact me, a
boy, un gar?on perdu, une fille manqu?e.... I looked at the girl in the
mirror, her fishnet encased legs, her half slips and her push up bra. I
looked up at her perfectly made up face, her lipstick painted lips, her
long blonde hair in a ponytail. Boys just didn't look like this.
"Je suis une femme," I told the French Maid in the mirror.
I looked at the girl in the mirror and concluded yes it was me, but it
was not me, well not a me I recognised any more.
As I looked at myself my mother pulled out what at first looked like a
black ribbon but which she told me was called a choker and tied it around
my neck. You are a beautiful woman I wanted to say to the girl I was
staring at in the mirror. You are as sexy as your mother too.
I was woken from my reverie as my Mother said, "So, Myl?ne. Are you
going to stand around all morning pouting at yourself in the mirror or
are you going to start work?"
Mum posted a picture of me in my uniform on her facebook page with the
caption "My daughter is not a bimbo like her father." Anyone who looked
at Mum's friends can see the only family mentioned is me, her son, and
might be able to put two and two together regarding the identity of the
French Maid.
Part of me was still trying to cling to my masculinity as I thought of my
Dad. I missed my Dad. What would he make of his daughter? I wondered.
I said out loud, "What would Dad have said?"
Would Dad have put a stop to me becoming the woman I saw in front of me?
Would he have saved this damsel in distress.
"Your Dad was a bimbo all his life, Myl?ne."
"Dad was a man's man, Mum. He worked in construction."
"That's precisely the definition of a bimbo, Myl?ne, all muscle and no
brains. Look up the meaning of the word, it was originally used to refer
to men, not women. He used to come here, too."
I thought of Dad watching the various French Maids, dressed like me, but
then it hit me. We were in the changing room.
"What! Not here, here, you mean here out front, don't you?"
"As the meaning of the word bimbo changed, so did your Dad. When you get
to know the boss of this business, like he, your Dad did or rather "she"
when she worked here, you'll find she can be quite persuasive."
"So, the boss is a woman, mum?"
"Yes, she's all three."
Mum helped me back on my feet and coached me in how to walk although as I
said above I had already practiced "It's like walking on a type-rope
Myl?ne. You walk in a straight line placing your right foot directly in
front of your left foot, not beside it like a man. Think in terms of
needing to puff up your chest to show off your breasts. You are
protecting your vagina with the sway of your hips, only of course you
don't have a vagina yet. I have started you on these heels as you need
to learn to walk like a woman in them or you will fall
flat on your face. Once you get used to them and have a more feminine
walk you can have lower heels.."
After a while I got used to my new shoes and Mum said I was ready to face
the customers.
"Now, Myl?ne, you will need training and as your mum I have been
appointed as your supervisor by the boss."
"You mean, Monique?"
"No, the boss, Monique's no more the boss than she's a real girl."
I was shocked.
"But she's so convincing!"
"So will you be if you remember what I am teaching you, Myl?ne. You will
be serving tables with me. You will need to pay off your uniform from
your salary as I don't have enough to buy your uniform right now with
your university loan and obviously a lot of your first salary will need
to go on clothes and makeup so you don't keep borrowing mine. Pretty
much the rest of it will help pay for your rent as you need to learn to
stand on your own heels," Mum said reminding me of the heels I was now
wearing.
I was very nervous as I walked into the restaurant that the customers
would work out that I was a man. No one, however seemed to clock me or
if they saw how nervous I was put it down to first day nerves for the new
girl.
I was surprised and quite relieved that no one seemed to work out that I
was not a cisgender girl or at least if they did that they did not say
anything. But how was I going to get a girlfriend dressed like this? It
was enough for me to look at or rather ogle one of my sexy colleagues,
Zazie, to start with.
We had been at University together.
At the end of my first service my calf muscles were agony and all I could
think of was getting these heels off me as quickly as I could. However
we had to walk a mile home in them before I could get them off.
Whilst Mum had an overcoat to cover herself I only had my uniform and
this meant a number of young men hooted as they drove by and wolf-
whistled. It was something I would probably have done but it was
unpleasant and scary to be on the receiving end of this and I was pleased
to have my Mum with me.
"Don't worry sweetie, we'll be home soon." She kept reassuring me as she
saw the fear in my eyes. "You can borrow one of my overcoats tomorrow."
When we got home I remember Mum said, "Well now you really have had to
walk a mile in my shoes young lady I guess you understand why all I can
think of when I get home is getting out of these heels?"
"Absolutely Mum, and I would like to put back on my regular clothes," I
replied. I had naively thought when we got home I could at least get out
of my uniform and dress like a boy again but mum had other ideas.
Sure, she helped me out of my dress but instead of my boy clothes she
passed me a white lace neglig?e with a matching dressing gown.
I protested, "These aren't my regular clothes!"
"Marie, whilst you work for the Chevalier d'Eon you will dress as a woman
at home as well as at work. You remember how I am meant to be
supervising you, don't you? Well that includes at home. You see you
will need to work on your feminine mannerisms as you have built up 21
years of bad male habits which will be inconsistent with your look and
cause you problems. We can't have you thinking you are a man in your
uniform, can we? So I have bought you your first negligee to wear round
the house. I almost think we really should throw out your male clothes
so that the temptation to dress as a man isn't there but I will leave the
decision on throwing away your male clothes to you. But remember you
have to think like a girl."
Before I put on my neglig?e Mum glued some false breasts onto my chest to
fill out my neglig?e. "It wouldn't hang right otherwise," she said.
Until I put on my neglig?e I didn't think I could feel more girly. So I
would be spending all of my days and all of my nights as a woman!
And I had my own breasts!
The next morning Mum came in to wake me with a fresh cup of coffee. She
was only wearing a dressing gown which was open revealing her black lace
neglig?e underneath. For a moment i thought it had all been some sort of
weird dream. Then my brain kicked into gear.
When had Mum ever come into my bedroom in only a neglig?e before? In
fact when had she ever come into my bedroom since I had hit puberty? As
I sat up I realised I was still wearing the neglig?e I had gone to bed
in. That was why Mum had come into my bedroom and was nit wearing much
more than me.
Instead of being annoyed that I was dressed like a girl, wearing a
neglig?e, though, I was relieved that I was not naked and smiled at Mum.
"Someone in enjoying wearing her first neglig?e!" Mum said and I realised
I had a hard on. "Hurry up we have an appointment at the beautician in
30 minutes. I have a dress you can borrow."
I waited for Mum to leave the room.
"Ok, ok I will turn my back whilst you take off your negligee and tuck
yourself into your panties but you know that there's nothing I haven't
seen before."
She was right. Why was I feeling shy about Mum seeing my tits? It
wasn't like she hadn't glued them on me and didn't have her own natural
ones. Mum helped me into my second bra and then zipped me into her cute
little black dress.
The visit to the beautician felt like we were visiting a temple for women
only. That feeling was brought home to me even more as I smelt the joss
sticks the receptionist was burning.
I have tried to shut out the pain that I then felt as the sadistic
beautician set about stripping my arms, legs, chest and stomach of hair
using wax strips. I screamed in pain as she did this to me and she said
that whilst I otherwise looked more feminine than the other men she had
seen my reaction to my waxing was "just like a boy". Women coped with
the pain far better. Once this had finished she then set about plucking
my eyebrows which were soon arched like any other woman.
There was no point pretending that I was anything else than a shemale
here. I could pretend to be a real woman elsewhere.
The beautician asked me if I wanted anything else done and I decided I
ought to have a manicure and pedicure.
Mum smiled. "Your Dad used to say I spent too much money on looking
after myself, but I can see you see the need to spend as much as your Dad
and I did on your beauty treatment. Your Dad would do the full works
too. They called him Patricia."
As I started to get used to being my mother's daughter and an object of
lust for our male customers at the Chevalier d'Eon I started to notice
when I was being eyed up by the female customers too. Eventually I got
used to being seen as much an object of the female gaze as the male gaze
too.
I realised that Zazie was also checking out my tits, arse and legs. Just
like I looked at her. Was I the first man ever to lust after a woman
dressed the same as him who was also
lusting after him in the same way? Ogling Zazie was natural to me but
realising that Zazie was ogling me made me feel vulnerable and naked.
Mum said I could apply for jobs as a man whilst working at the Chevalier
d'Eon but the people who came to interview me couldn't leave quick enough
when I sat down in front of them in my uniform.
"Never mind, Myl?ne, at least you have a job here." Mum would say.
Eventually Zazie made the first move and invited me to an ice cream
parlour on a date after work. Mum had leant me another of her beautiful
little black dresses again. It had a v neck and whilst there were
sleeves, it was sort of shoulderless between the top of the sleeves and
the neck part of it. I was excited about wearing a different kind of
dress to the dresses I had been used to.
One of the first things Zazie said to me was, "I thought I was an
ordinary heterosexual girl, until I met you."
I knew then that I had to let her in on my little secret. "Do you know
what cisgender means?" I asked her.
She didn't and it took her a few moments to get what I told her.
"It means someone who identifies with their birth sex and I am not
cisgender, Zazie," I said.
"What, you mean you are heterosexual?"
"No, I was born man Zazie."
Zazie still had in her head that I was born female and thought that I was
telling her that I wanted to become a man.
"What? Why do you want to become a man? Why don't you want to remain a
woman?"
"No, underneath my clothes you will find I am all male."
Zazie laughed. "So I am heterosexual after all! You had me fooled I
thought you were born a woman."
"You used to know me as Matt, we were at University together," I told
her.
Zazie was stunned.
"So what do I call you? Matt or Myl?ne?"
"I think we better stick with Myl?ne for now. I don't want the customers
clocking me."
A few weeks later Zazie came to live with Mum and me.
It was my birthday.
Apart from the clothes and makeup which they both bought me, Zazie bought
me a book called "Monsieur V?nus" by Rachilde and said winking at me "I
don't want my boyfriend to die in a duel though".
I understood that this was her way of saying she enjoyed dressing me.
I asked Mum if she knew that this was a book about?
"Bien sur, une femme travesti!" said Mum and it suddenly dawned on me not
only had Mum read the book but she had done so in French.
The look on my face said it all, as she gave me the book "Le Chevalier
d'Eon: Elle ou lui?"
"This should answer your questions, Myl?ne," Mum said. "I knew you had
feminine traits from an early age. That's why I named my restaurant
after you. When it eventually dawned on your bimbo of a father that some
of the French Maids were neither French nor Maids, we had a chat."
"Wait a minute, you said your restaurant?" I said.
"Myl?ne, you really didn't know your Mum is the boss?" Zazie asked,
surprised.
As mum said at the same time "Really, Myl?ne, you are sounding as much of
a bimbo as your father! What do they teach you in universities these
days?"
"Well, Mum never told me she was the boss and I suppose I never asked. I
didn't think the boss of the Chevalier d'Eon would dress so
provocatively, let men lust after her."
"That's part of the fun, Myl?ne. A man sees a woman dressed like you or
me and thinks she's a bimbo. He doesn't understand the history of the
word bimbo - a man who is all muscles and no brain. As a result of this
men will reveal company secrets in front of a woman dressed like you or
me and just sees the outfit we are wearing. He does not realise we are
about to take over the company he is working for."
"I laid your father off, he didn't ever find out. The constitution
industry is so dangerous and he had a weak heart. Eventually, when he
couldn't find work I persuaded him to come and work for me. You did not
know or find out because Dad always went to work and came home from work
dressed like he was working on a site. Also he said I must promise that
I would never get you to work for me over his dead body. He clarified
that he meant by that that you must not come to work for me while he was
alive. It was up to both you and me what we did after he died."
I felt a bit resentful about this, but as I thought about Dad's work in
the construction industry it dawned on me that he would probably have
died in some industrial accident on account of his weak heart. So
forcing him out of his job was the right loving thing for any wife to do.
I understood why she didn't tell him that she had done it. But making a
man like my Dad dress as a French Maid?
"Why did you make Dad dress as a French Maid? It wasn't just your
company rules was it?" I asked.
"No, Myl?ne. It was about getting Dad to understand you better. You
were never going to grow up to be a bimbo like him. You had my mind and
my muscles. We can whip most people on a yoga mat but we're not all
muscle and no brain. He had to understand that you were different and
the best way for him to do that was to dress like you are dressed now.
Also it relaxes men, like your Dad, to dress like women."
"Do you mean I have a weak heart like Dad?"
"No, Myl?ne you are different. You have found that you cannot get a job
elsewhere either as Myl?ne or Matt. But you can make a fortune as Myl?ne
and Matt. And Zazie loves both of you. The Chevalier d'Eon was a
crossdressing spy. This is who you are. Whilst you work here as Myl?ne,
no one will see who you are but as Matt, with what you learn as Myl?ne
you will be both the master and mistress of the show. Not bimbo like
your father."
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