It was the last day of school. I had just completed my sophomore year in high school and now I was free for the summer. I was a little frightened about what my mother would say when I told her I had been left back a year because I had flunked too many subjects, but I knew how to take care of that: I would be 16 in two days and I planned to quit school.
I hated school. The studies weren't too hard, but I had been barred from most school activities. The coach said they didn't need football or basketball players who only stood 5 feet 2 inches tall. Most other activities such as cheerleading and tennis were reserved for girls. I tried to copy the other boys in every way I could, wearing the same clothes and letting my hair grow, but I could not copy their height. Even most of the girls towered over me. As a result, I was always cocky and getting into trouble. I failed my studies, because I simply refused to do my homework.
As expected, Mother had a great deal to say about my flunking. My older sister, Linda, just stood there with an "I-told-you-so" expression on her face while Mother bawled me out.
The next morning I was greeted with a surprise. "Bob, I'm sending you to stay with your Aunt Millie for the summer," Mother told me. Aunt Millie lived in California, almost a thousand miles away, and I had seen her only once in my life. She had visited us nearly six years before with her son, Don. I remembered him as a small, dark hellion. In fact, seeing what Aunt Millie let him get away with was probably what made me so hard to get along with.
In no time Mother had me packed, drove me to the airport, and put me on a plane to California. I arrived late in the evening and Aunt Millie took me straight home and put me to bed.
At breakfast the next morning, I experienced the first of many shocks. As a pretty maid served us breakfast, Aunt Millie told me what was in store for me. "There's only one way to keep a problem boy like you in line--you will dress and behave as a girl for the summer!" she announced. "I suggested this to your mother when I heard of the trouble you were in. Petticoating you will straighten you out just as it has Don."
"You mean you made Don wear girls' clothes for a summer?" I stammered.
"Somewhat longer." she replied. "Who do you think served us breakfast?"
At her words, I looked more closely at the pretty maid who by then sat at the table with us. She wore a black sheath, stockings with seams, and matching heels. Her hair was arranged in a pile of curls on top of her head, her ears sported pearl stud earrings, and her face was perfectly made-up, very pretty, and familiar. I suddenly recognized that this lovely girl was my cousin Don!
"How long has he been a girl?" I asked.
"Donna has worn dresses for six years now." Aunt Millie continued. "She's 18 and will graduate from high school tomorrow. You will be there--as her girl cousin.
"Now get ready to go downtown." she ordered. "You'll need some clothes and you have an appointment at the beauty parlor."
At the dress shop, I was horrified to discover that all the salesgirls seemed to know what my aunt had planned for me because I was required to change into girls' clothes right there in the store. They all seemed to know that Donna was a petticoated boy and they called both him and me "boy-girls." It was a small town and I wondered if the whole town knew about Donna.
The salesgirls provided all manner of clothes for me...and all of them as feminine as possible.
They decided my legs were my best feature, so all the outfits had short skirts and were accompanied by very high heels. Even with my hair and face untouched, it was clear I was going to be an attractive girl.
In the beauty parlor I was given a trim, a shampoo, and a permanent. While I sat under the dryer, the attendants brought me a drink. I began to feel quite drowsy and comfortable. When I awoke, the prospect of wearing girl's clothes no longer bothered me quite as much. I was still positive it would not really change me, but something had changed. I just wasn't sure what.
My eyebrows were plucked, make-up applied, and my ears were pierced. Aunt Millie refused to let me look in a mirror until we got home. When I finally did see myself it was quite a shock. Aunt Millie brought me into the room I would share with Donna, and stood me before a full-length mirror.
"Beverly is beautiful," she announced. So Beverly was to be my name. Something about those words stirred a reaction in me. I looked in the mirror and felt my sexual arousal beginning. I was a girl. I wore a beige shirtwaist dress with coffee-colored nylons and matching beige pumps with four-inch heels. My black curls covered my head, just allowing my earlobes to peek through. My lips were pink and my curled, mascara-covered eyelashes framed wide-open brown eyes. "Why, you're even prettier than Donna Aunt Millie exclaimed.The following night I attended the graduation. I wore a lemon yellow suit and white four-inch heels with brown nylons and a little white hat perched among my curls. Donna wore a black minidress and patent-leather pumps with five-inch heels. When Donna received her diploma the principal confirmed my fears by remarking to the audience that Donna, despite the high heels and long hair, was a boy. The principal asked Donna to remain on the platform, and then said, "Don is Donna." It seemed a new light came into Donna's eyes then, and she stumbled a moment in her heels and suddenly seemed far less self-assured and poised. "Tell everyone how you feel about being a girl, Don," the principal asked.
"Being a girl has made me a better person," my cousin answered, in a voice I recognized as being male and not the breathy feminine sound Donna used. "I am pleased that my mother changed me and I know that my cousin Beverly will learn to appreciate her changes as well.""Thank you, Don," the principal said. "Donna is beautiful,," she said, and once more it was clear that it was Donna who stood beside her. "Donna is, indeed, a much better person than Don had been," the principal continued. "Now, will Donna's cousin Beverly please rise?" I did as requested, seemingly unable to resist the request, and stood there, red to the roots of my hair, while the principal commented on my girlishness and asked everyone in the town to help Aunt Millie with me as they had helped her with Donna.
Aunt Millie was very strict with me that summer. She made me exercise every morning and taught me to sew and cook. The whole town treated me like a girl and reported any trace of boyishness to my aunt. When she received these reports, she would make me practice that movement, action, or gesture until I did it like a girl.
Strangely, I seemed unable to resist these practice sessions. Moreover, they often passed like a dream to me, as though I learned my lessons in some kind of sleeping state. But once learned, a lesson was not forgotten--often, I tried to recall my old way of sitting or standing or walking and found myself incapable of duplicating it.
I especially recall the session that followed a report to Aunt Millie that I had been seen walking down Main Street in my stockinged feet, having removed my four-inch heels as too uncomfortable. As I walked into the house, Aunt Millie called me to her room and confronted me with the report. She went to her closet and pulled out a pair of pumps with six-inch heels. "Put these on, Beverly," she insisted. I complied and wobbled on the unfamiliar stilts.
"This is important, Beverly," she said, and suddenly her words seemed to be the only thing that mattered to me, and no other sound penetrated my mind. "You will wear at least four-inch heels at all times, Beverly," Aunt Millie told me, as she made me walk up and down the length of her room in these skyscrapers. "Your legs will feel cramped and uncomfortable in flats or bare foot; you will even have to wear high-heeled bedroom mules upon getting up in the morning." She kept me practicing and, as I did, the heels became not only comfortable, but almost relaxing.
Half an hour later, she told me stop and posed me before the full-length mirror. "Look at your legs and feet, Beverly," Aunt Millie instructed. "Aren't they lovely? Aren't they sexy? Don't they make you feel good?" With those words, I felt myself come inside my panties...and knew I'd never be seen without heels again!
More to come
No comments:
Post a Comment