Here's the first of several "lost" stories by Priscilla Gay Bouffant. I think you'll be able to figure out her favorite subject matter pretty easily.
"Mr. Terrence, your wife is on the phone," Janet the receptionist called to me.
I was in the process of giving Virginia Wilson a comb out. Before I could tell Janet to have Phyllis call me back, Virginia stated, "Terri darling, go ahead and speak to your wife. It's probably quite important. That way, I'll have your undivided attention when you finish my styling dear."
I cringed at the name Terri. Janet was just about the only person at the salon (client or employee) who didn't refer to me as Terri.
When I'd begun working at Michele and Company I had asked for the name Terrence on my nametag. It had come back "Terri." I'd never even liked Terry, the masculine version. Much too childish. But the feminine form "Terri" insured a lot of teasing from the wealthy socialites, and female staff at Michele's.
At five foot eight, 140 pounds, with shoulder length dark brown hair, and soft pretty boy type looks, I needed a little help in the masculinity department. Especially when one considered my occupation.
Throw in a demanding, somewhat full-figured wife (size 16), who had her own flourishing interior decor business, and the teasing took on greater proportions. Add to that, this same, very pretty wife, heading up a feminist group, and her superior (to mine, of course) athletic abilities (tennis, horseback riding), and it got even more humbling.
Phyllis, and her best friend, Mary Ellen, were partners of sorts. Mary Ellen, an architect, designed many of the same, new, luxury homes that Phyllis decorated. More like associates. Often they took part in joint ventures.
They had other things in common. Like their husbands.
Rodney, married to Mary Ellen, had a part time job, just as I did. He took a lot of teasing. Not only was he smaller and softer looking then me, he did floral arrangements. I should say, he had once done floral arrangements. All he did now was keep house. I cringed again, just thinking of him.
As much as I liked Rodney, I also felt very sorry for him. I didn't like being around him and Mary. Not after what he was letting her do to him. Worse yet, both Mary and Phyllis were trying to get me to participate.
They were really into it. They wouldn't even let him use the name Rodney any longer. They referred to him as Sylvia. Sylvia Beth, to be exact.
I didn't have time to think about him, or her, though. Anytime Phyllis called, I had to give her my undivided attention. She insisted on it.
On my way to the phone I decided to remind Linda to see what the hold up was on the new nametag I was supposed to be getting.
Michele had insisted I wear the "Terri" tag, so of course I still wore it.
"All my employees wear their name tags, Terri. You'll simply have to wait for another one to be ordered and delivered. I can't have you, my only male stylist, making an exception to the rule. Before you know it, the girls would be complaining," she reminded me.
I wasn't the only male employee, but I was the only guy that was a stylist. Actually I was a full cosmetologist. I did full makeovers. Hair color, eyes, makeup, the works. I was actually pretty good. Michele had three other male employees. Her personal secretary, Bobbie, and two shampoo boys, Nikki and Dani.
I felt a little better, knowing that their nametags seemed to have been misspelled also.
Getting to the phone I picked it up to hear my wife ask, "So it's Mr. Terrence now, is it love? Since when? Do they limp their wrists when they call you, Terri dear?" she asked sarcastically.
"Of course not darling," I replied both softly and meekly.
"Lighten up Terri. I'm only teasing you. I just prefer to call you Terri. Terrence is just so formal and stuffy. Besides, that 'Mister' stuff at a salon conjures up the wrong impression," she stated for my benefit.
"Now Terri, concerning my call. I placed a rather large order with Michelle for beauty products. Janet tells me it's already boxed. Bring it home this evening, and put it in the trunk of my Volvo. I'm taking it to Mary Ellen's tomorrow. It's for her, Sylvia, and myself. You'll be putting it to good use Monday afternoon when you do our hair," she stated.
"Please darling. Do you have to use the name Sylvia?" I asked with just the hint of a plea in my voice.
"Why not? Oh, I see. You must like to use that cute little nickname of hers. Sylvie. Or do you prefer her middle name? Beth," she asked in a somewhat sarcastic tone of voice.
She continued, "Because I know you wouldn't dare, ever again, refer to her as Rodney. Would you dear? Not after our previous disciplinary sessions. Especially after the partial role you've played in her transformation. Terri my love, I'd appreciate a response from you. Now!" she stated commandingly.
I knew I had upset her. I didn't need that. I immediately retreated by saying, "I apologize dear. I really do. I'll do just as you said. When you see Sylvia and Mary Ellen tomorrow, let them know I look forward to the Monday beauty session." I said this very submissively.
"Wonderful," was her quick response, as she added, "You should be getting back to your client, don't you think? Give Virginia my best."
Janet must have told Phyllis who I was working on. Sometimes I felt as if she had spies everywhere.
We both said our good byes and I returned to Virginia, my last client of the day, the nametag forgotten. It's importance paled in comparison.
Two days from now I'd be giving Sylvia more beauty treatments and lessons.
I went deep into thought, both while combing Virginia out, and during the ride home. I thought back to the events of the past few months, especially that evening in bed. The evening that had seemed to set this whole bizarre train of circumstances in motion.
Here I was, being asked, no, expected, to participate and cooperate, in the male to female transformation of another guy. Not a really close buddy--I didn't have any of those. Just someone whose home I'd been to. Someone I knew socially.
I had experienced, first hand, as a teenager, the embarrassment of this type of transformation. It could be sort of humiliating at times. Especially if one resisted. I knew. I had resisted somewhat. Sylvia wasn't. Hardly at all. It was puzzling. Maybe she enjoyed it.
I recalled the evening clearly. Phyllis and I had just been making love, and were chatting and basking in the afterglow.
I have no idea why, but I began to tell her of these embarrassing secrets from my childhood. Secrets I had kept from her concerning my nanny, Marie.
Marie had been quite strict with me. She was a firm believer in administering hairbrush spankings. In addition she was a true aficionado of "petticoat discipline." My mother and older sister Linda both supported her in these endeavors with me.
As I began to tell my wife of these circumstances, fully expecting some sort of sympathy, she began to belly laugh hysterically. I really had only given her a brief outline, never getting into any details. Not yet anyway. What I did say had a definite effect on her.
Once she composed herself and calmed down some she got up from the bed saying, "Oh, my goodness. I can't believe this. 'Sweet thing' is finally coming out to me!" she laughed again and went toward the closet.
"Oh. This is rich. I can't wait to tell to Mary Ellen. Maybe Rodney can come out too." She said as she rummaged through the closet.
"If you're going to tell the whole story Terri. Let's do it with some effect. Put this negligee and these high-heeled slippers on, and sit on the settee for me. I'll sit in my easy chair, and we'll have a lovely little hen party." She added as she threw the items onto the love seat. "You heard me babe. Put them on," she said with effect.
Not wanting to displease her, I dressed myself as told and then seated myself gently on the seat, as I watched her place a headband, brush, tube of lipstick, and bottle of perfume on a mirrored tray. She crossed the expansive bedroom smiling. Then she seated herself beside me the tray on her lap.
"I won't have a closet queen for a husband. Let's pretty you up smartly. This Governess of yours--Marie? What did she call you when you were dressed? Let me guess. Was it Teresa?" She asked as she was putting the hair band around my head and brushing, my shoulder length hair. I was frozen. This had been done to me before and I felt just as helpless to
resist as I had in the past.
I began to answer her just before she started applying my lipstick, a Pink Frost shade by Sally Chanson. "She liked calling me Celeste", I replied, just before she told me to "pucker up."
"Yes of course. She was French. Wasn't she? Celeste? That's cute. I like that. I'll keep it in mind if I decide to permit you to dress around the house once in a while." She calmly said this as she wet my lips with the creamy lip color.
She finished with my lips and gave me a heavy dose of "Shalimar". Then crossed the room to sit in her favorite chair.
"Now dear I want you to relax, and tell me everything about this phase of your childhood. I'll not have you being some sort of sissy cross dresser ruining our marriage. I'll be as patient and understanding as possible. I prefer you dressing with me in a healthy atmosphere. I don't want you frequenting professional dommes out of shame. All right dear, continue," she said firmly.
"Phyllis, I didn't tell you this because I wanted to 'come out.'" I pleaded.
She smiled sweetly and said, "Of course not dear, but you should share this with someone. Especially me. I'm your spouse. I fully intend to share it with my best friend Mary Ellen. She's very bright and understanding. I'm certain she can help us through this."
"Now. Tell me. When did this start? What type of clothes did Marie have you wear? Did she do your hair? Make you wear make up? What age were you when you stopped this behavior?" she inquired, with a questioning glance. "I need to know these sort of things darling. I want to help you," she added firmly.
She smiled delightfully as she said this. I was only a little concerned about the possibility of her friend knowing. I also somehow believed that this little discussion might prove to be therapeutic. The childhood dressing had haunted me for some time.
I could see my feminine reflection in the mirror and actually felt comfortable with it at the moment, though I had no intentions of making dressing up a habit. My wife's change of attitude, from laughing at me, to understanding, concerned, supportive spouse, had loosened me up quite a bit.
I went on to describe the clothing first, the memories flooding back. I recalled candidly that during the daytime poodle skirts with peter pan blouses were the usual attire. Afternoons, I usually wore party frocks. Always some type of heel. Anytime I was dressed, I could be assured I'd get a lesson in high heel walking. Usually my punishment lasted an entire weekend. Summertime, it could go on a week or two.
Evenings, at bedtime, nightgowns. All very silky and pastel. When my hair got long enough, I was taught to roll it up tightly. Once I had learned, I became the on site hairdresser. I was very popular at my sister's slumber parties.
Punishments could be for any reason. Bad grades or any trouble at school was a sure thing. Make up? Always. Marie was a real pro. She taught me to do mine and hers in no time.
When I began to tell Phyllis that I had been punished for bad grades while at beauty college, she looked at me with a start. When I continued to tell her that coming home late from a date was a cause for a dress up session, I knew I'd made a big mistake.
"Wait, Terri. Let's go back. You and I met and began dating, during your second and final year at beauty school. You mean they were still dressing you then?" she asked almost incredulously.
As hard as it was to look at her, I did, and said, taking a deep breath, "Yes Phyllis, there were times I couldn't see you because Mother and Marie had me dressed. That way they were assured I'd study for my written and practical tests."
"My goodness Terri! You were 20 years old! What kind of a sissy were you? You canceled dates with me to let two women put you in a dress and heels, put make up on you, curl your hair, and set you at a desk to study for an entire weekend? Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot. By this time you could dress yourself and do your own hair and cosmetics. Probably your nails, too. By this time Little Celeste was making her governess very proud, wasn't she?" she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Well dear. I've heard just about enough. I'm not sure how we'll handle it. I'm certain Mary Ellen will have a few good ideas," she stated as I began to interject.
She raised her hand in a "stop" signal. "Don't say anything. Don't ask me not to tell Mary Ellen. We're best friends. We confide in each other quite often. I've made up my mind," she said emphatically.
"Now as for tonight, I think I'll 'walk on the wild side' and enjoy this 'new you'. Just for the evening of course." Saying this she walked towards me, hands on her waist, hips swaying very seductively, smiling all the time. She stopped in front of me and said, "I have a little secret for you Terri. Want to hear it? You see, right now you appeal to me. You know why? You smell pretty, you're submissively girlish, you're dressed pretty, and you look a little scared. I like that in a girl. Did you hear what I said? I like that in a girl. Not a guy, Terri, but a girl." She really emphasized the word.
"There are lots of girls at Arts and Design College, Terri. Very few guys. The few guys that did attend, well most of them liked girls as girl friends. Not as lovers Terri, and we women can get very, very lonely. Now Terri, I'm going to let you guess. What am I, your dear wife Phyllis, trying to tell you?" she asked, peering into my eyes.
I did my best to answer her politely, saying, "Well," I hesitated, "I believe that you're telling me you had a few, adolescent, same sex affairs."
"Bingo Terri! Mummy didn't raise a fool after all. That's putting it mildly though. I had more then a few. I love them soft and cuddly. In a stereotyped way, you might call me a 'Butch.' I like 'femmes'. Would you like to be my femme tonight Terri? No wait. How about it, 'Little Celeste'? Want to make Marie proud, and Phyllis happy tonight?" she said pulling me to my feet.
Before she'd let me be her Celeste though she sent me to the bathroom. Had me shower and remove all hair from the neck down with a depilatory. Told me to keep it that way, in case we should "play" again. Had me paint my toenails also. Told me to keep them painted all the time, even at work.
By the time I got into bed with her, I was Celeste again. Perfume, filmy nightgown, panties, heels, curled hair, full make up. She loved every moment. Made love to me the way one makes love to a new bride. Even left me there that morning, the "ravaged woman". Her "angel of the morning", she joked over the phone.
My rear was sore. It had good reason to be. She was overjoyed to have taken "another virgin."
TO BE CONTINUED
[Don't forget to choose the man you think makes a prettier girl (details here)!]
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