Reluctant Prom Queen, Conclusion

Part Three: Queen for a Day?

Sam spent the afternoon as Samantha at Liz's house, practicing for his "debut" at the prom later that month. He go home just before dinner, expecting his father to have gotten home and to swiftly put an end to all this ridiculous feminizing.

"Your dad's flight was delayed," Mrs. Wilson explained, when Sam asked. "I don't expect him in before midnight at the earliest," she continued.

Sam shrugged, still certain his father would not let all the changes go on a moment later. His mother raised her eyebrows and smiled secretively at Margaret.

Sam was up and out to school before his father was awake, apparently, because Sam saw nothing of the elder Wilson male the next morning. School was still abuzz about the mystery prom queen candidate, and Sam pretended the same interest, all the while hoping nobody took a real close look at that photo on the bulletin board. Fortunately, he didn't see Liz or his sister all day, so he was seemingly rescued from another afternoon as Samantha.

He burst in the door and called out, "Dad?" He wanted to get all this cleared up as quickly as possible. There was no answer. He began to explore the house and went up to his parents' room. There he was greeted by an unfamiliar sight: An attractive brunette woman, clad in a classic maid's outfit, was bent over the nightstand, dusting it--presenting a lovely picture of her long, black-nyloned legs on their black patent heels, and of her pert, pantied bottom.

"Hello? Who are you?" Sam asked.

The woman turned her head toward him and smiled. "Why, good afternoon, Miss Samantha. Welcome home!"

Sam gasped. The "maid" was his father. "She's quite lovely, isn't she, Samantha?" The boy turned to discover his mother, his sister, and his transformed little brother in the hall behind him.

"Mom! How could you do this? How did you do this?" Sam blurted.

"Daddy was never delayed," Margaret replied. "His plane landed just when it was supposed to--but right after you left Liz's house yesterday, Mom sent him over. We worked our 'magic' on her and here's Belinda, our lovely servant!" Sam was non-plussed; his father's name was Bill.

"I don't believe this!" he cried out.

"Believe it, brother," Margaret countered. "Here, I'll prove it to you." She spoke to the maid: "Belinda, Bill's home."

Immediately, a change came over the vision in satin and lace. Her feminine movements became awkward and she stumbled on her spike heels. "Carol, what's the meaning of this? Why have you gone along with Margaret and Liz's mad scheme?"

"Let's just say Margaret and I were tired of living in a home where we were outnumbered three to two. We've decided an all female household is a much more pleasant experience," his wife replied. "Belinda's the maid." Instantly, the transformed husband's ability to imitate femininity returned. Mrs. Wilson turned to her son. "Satisfied? There's no way out for you, now, Samantha, dear."

Margaret walked up to her twin brother, looked him straight in the eye, and said, "Prom sissy." And the protests forming on Sam's lips died without receiving breath.

Two weeks later, Sam joined his sister and Liz at a local beauty salon for their pre-prom makeovers. The salon staff had been let in on the secret of Samantha, and girls decided to let Sam have the "joy" of experiencing the makeover in his male persona. When told of their plans, Sam could merely groan. He knew the situation was far outside his control.

Margaret and Liz had insisted that he let his hair grow over the six weeks since their plan had been set in motion and it was now long enough for a sophisticated style without a wig. The final look, after much rolling and spraying and drying, was a shoulder-length page boy, with a red flower perched in the front. His makeup was done dramatically, even more impressive than the glamour job that had so impressed his classmates.

The salon staff had even agreed to help in dressing him, so that the real girls could concentrate on their own prom appearance. Stripped to nudity, Sam's prom wear started with white satin panties, followed by a matching corset, laced to the tightest he'd experienced in his short time as a transvestite--whittling his waist down to a mere 22 inches. Sheer nude stocking were attached to the garters of the corset and a well-padded bra was wrapped around his chest, expanding his faux bosom to an eye-catching 36C.

Now came the dress, so white, lacy and virginal it might be mistaken for a wedding gown. It fell nearly to the floor, giving just a peek at his well-turned ankles. The salon staff placed his feet in white satin pumps with four-inch heels, and draped a retro strand of long pearls around his neck.

"When do I get to see what Liz and Margaret are wearing?" he asked. "At the prom, and not before," the salon owner said, grinning. "We're even sending you in a separate car."

True to their word, they bustled the lace-bedecked boy out into a waiting limousine. Sam saw another identical car parked behind his, and thought he spotted two dark images climb in as well.

Moments later, the limos pulled up in front of the country club, site of Ridley High's prom. The driver opened Sam's door and said, "They want you to go over to the other car, now." Realizing he still had no choice, Sam minced over to the rear passenger door of the other limo. The tinted window rolled down just a crack and Margaret's voice was heard: "Prom sissy."

Sam's fears and worries disappeared as Samantha, the aspiring prom queen, took over his body. The limo driver opened the doors and Samantha's cohorts stepped lightly from their carriage. "Walk with us, Samantha," Liz commanded and the three entered the country club hall, pausing at the top of the stairs to be announced.

"The mystery queen candidate, Samantha, with her court, Liz Carpenter and Margaret Wilson," the announcer cried, and all eyes on the dance floor turned to the trio in the entrance.

They made quite a sight: Samantha in her virginal white lace was flanked on the left by Liz, who wore a figure-hugging black leather gown with a keyhole over her ample cleavage, a slit up the side, and matching patent-leather platform sandals. Her black hair had been frizzed and permed into a mane that declared her dominance.

One the right was Margaret: Her hair, every bit as coppery red as her "sister's," was piled on her head. She, too, was in black--but it was a stunning column gown with bare shoulders and a slit skirt that revealed her matching formal sandals. It was all accented with elbow length black satin gloves.

The assembled teens applauded. The election of prom queen was a foregone conclusion-- Samantha was the winner. But with Sam apparently nowhere in evidence, there was no prom king that year, so Samantha danced the victory waltz with her "lady-in-waiting," Liz. As they spun around the floor, Margaret cut in and asked, "OK. You've got your queen, where's mine?"

Liz stopped for a moment and eyed the tuxedo-clad boys staring at the three beauties. She waved her hand in a circle, indicating them. "See one you like?" She grinned, as Margaret surveyed the crowd like a tiger picking its prey from the herd.

THE END