From alt.sex.stories.tg Wed Jul 24 10:54:27 1996
Path: nienor!mordred.cc.jyu.fi!forwiss.uni-passau.de!suelmann
From: suelmann@forwiss.uni-passau.de (Michael Suelmann)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.tg,alt.sex.stories
Subject: TG: The Pageant
Date: 22 Jul 1996 22:35:18 GMT
Organization: University of Jyvaskyla, Finland
Lines: 2629
Message-ID: <4t0vn6$c1f@mordred.cc.jyu.fi>
NNTP-Posting-Host: beleg.forwiss.uni-passau.de
Xref: nienor alt.sex.stories.tg:2066 alt.sex.stories:61522

TG, teen, FemDom, blackmail, cd, (mm)			§§§§§§§§c
I found this on a BBS.

   This is the first part of a four part story I wrote on spec for Stephanie
Edwards, the transsexual owner of TMC publications in Great Britain. They
wanted a novel-length piece so I cranked out this story. As a consequence it
drags on forever, so to speak. Reading it over after a long hiatus I find it
to be labored and not as imaginative as I'd like. However if a long tease is
your pleasure then The Pageant might be of some interest to you. By the way,
the TMC deal fell through. My loss is your gain. While this story isn't my
finest hour it still has the Leigh de Santa Fe trademark's: good speling and
real good grammer. As always I look forward to your remarks, praise, cash
rewards and stimulating feedback.


                           THE PAGEANT
                             Part I
               Copyright 1990 by Leigh De Santa Fe

   "You have such gorgeous hair, Steven."  Steven's mother said as she lightly
stroked her son's shoulder length brown hair.
   "Stop it, Mom," the young man said, pulling away from his mother's admiring
looks. The sixteen year old boy felt uneasy with her praise. She made his
hair sound so . . . girlish, so feminine.
   "I just meant that many girls would love to have . . ."
   "I know what you meant, Mom. Just lay off, okay."
   "Alright, Stevie. You know, I used to have lovely brunette hair like
yours."
   "My hair is brown. Brunette is a girl's color."
   "Brunette or brown I just wish you'd let me brush your hair out."
   "No. No. No. Mom, just leave my hair alone," he yelled, running from the
kitchen into his room and slamming the door. He sat on his bed for a long
time and then he opened his closet door and stared into the full length
mirror fastened to the back of the door. He examined his hair. It was long,
thick, curling under slightly as it touched his shoulders and parted on one
side. He turned his head slightly to examine his profile. With his hairless
face and delicate features, his lustrous hair did seem to suggest a girl's
profile. Unconsciously his hands gathered his hair up and swept it up off the
nape of his neck. Holding his hair up with one hand, he backed up to his
dresser without taking his eyes off the mirror and delving under a pile of
shirts with his free hand, he emerged with a pink plastic barrette which he
clumsily threaded through his hair and snapped tight.

   Steven's mother's comments on his hair were particularly compelling because
she was a beautician. Without a father, much of his life had been centered
around his mother and the beauty parlor where she worked. As a toddler his
memories were of the linoleum tiled floor of Anita's Hair Salon, the chrome
legs of the chairs and the comments of his mother's customers about what a
lovely child he was. As he grew older his mother put him to work around the
parlor and it seemed like a natural extension of their home.
   When he was 12 his mother became involved in the Miss Teen Pageant. At first
she had merely helped out on the final night, applying hair spray and words
of encouragement but gradually her role expanded to head hairdresser for the
pageant and providing out of town girls with a place to stay. During the
height of the pageant there were often two or three girls staying with Steven
and his mother. And now the pageant was about to descend again.
   This year was different though. Steven was sixteen. The same age as the
girls in the pageant. Before it hadn't mattered much but now he felt
apprehensive about being in presence of girls his own age. He watched from
his bedroom window as the station wagon drove up with the three girls that
his mother was putting up.
   "Steven, come here and meet the girls." he heard his mother call as she
unlocked the front door. He wandered out of his room and tried to appear as
though he weren't nervous.
   "Steven, this is Suzy, Diane and Brooke."
   They were a gorgeous trio. They were always pretty but this year they
seemed even more intimidating. Suzy and Diane were freshly scrubbed blondes
with the long feathered perms that seemed de rigueur for the ideal Miss Teen.
Brooke had thick black hair that was hardly styled at all but fell smoothly
over her shoulders. The two blondes acknowledged his presence with an easy
grin but Brooke seemed merely to stare, making it impossible for him to hide
his discomfort and he met her eyes only briefly.
   "Well don't just stand there, Steven. Help the girls with their stuff," his
mother broke in and he leapt at the opportunity to end this embarrassing
moment.
    Suzy and Diane were put in the large guest room with twin beds while
Brooke had the smaller room adjacent to Steven. While they unpacked their
numerous bags of clothes and cosmetics Steven returned to the kitchen.
"Aren't they pretty, Steven. That Brooke has such big dreamy eyes. She wasn't
even wearing make up. I could do wonders with her hair but somehow I don't
think she will let me near it. Like someone else I know." she said coming up
behind her son and grabbing his thick hair with both hands.
   "Cut it out, Mom."
   "Come on Stevie, wouldn't you like me to put curlers in your hair. I could
give you a flip or a very cute page boy." she laughed, knowing that nothing
made him more enraged than her teasing and true to form, he pulled away
angrily.
   "Oh Stevie, I'm just teasing. Which reminds me, do you know how lovely
you'd look with a slight tease," she said with a smile as he stalked off to
his room.

   After what seemed like hours of isolation in his room his mother took the
girls down to the high school auditorium for orientation and he could roam
the house again. He walked by Brooke's room. The door was closed but he made
up an excuse to open it and walk in.
   Brooke had quickly made the room her own by setting out a few cosmetics on
the vanity and filling the small closet with her gowns and other clothes.
Steven walked to the closet and examined her things. The dresses were
simple and straightforward, not glitzy or cheap. That was the way she'd
impressed him. Then he went to Suzy and Diane's room and checked out their
dresses. More glitz here. And their cosmetics filled the two small vanities.
Diane had already pasted a picture of herself in her evening gown on the
mirror over her vanity. She looked about 10 years older. Steven went back to
Brooke's room and took one of the dresses down to look at it. It was encased
in a dry cleaning bag and he knew she'd never know. Besides this was his
house and he had the right. It was a chic black dress with a ruffled hemline
and puffed sleeves. He held it up to his chin and looked in the mirror. His
head tilted involuntarily letting his long hair drape over the puffed sleeve.
He grew bolder and waltzed a few steps with the gown covering his body like a
paper doll dress. He found himself becoming aroused and this surprised him so
much that he hastily put the dress back on the pole and ran to his room.
   The following week was filled with pageant events, dinners, photo shoots
and parties and his mother and the girls were gone night after night.
Frequently, he would return to Brooke's room to "play" with her things, never
actually taking them out of the clear plastic bags but simply pretending he
was wearing them. Occasionally, he "tried on" Suzy or Diane's clothes but
Brooke's seemed to excite him the most. And just when his excitement reached
the unbearable level he would break off abruptly and go watch TV or fix
himself a snack and try to forget what he'd just been doing. It was a nerve-
wracking week and at the same time the most thrilling.
   One day he was in Brooke's room "wearing" a red party dress and in one of
his graceful pirouettes he knocked over a half-empty can of coke and the warm
syrupy liquid poured over the dry cleaner bag and onto the exposed hem of the
dress. Panicked, Steven, put the dress back on the rack and walked to his
room. They would be back in a half an hour. What could he do? He ran back to
Brooke's room, grabbed the dress and ran to the bathroom. Washing the sticky
stuff off the hemline, he realized that he couldn't possibly dry it out in
time. The slumber party was tonight and he knew Brooke was wearing this
dress! He raced to Suzy's vanity and whisked her blow dryer off the table
taking with it a bottle of open nail polish that quickly soaked into the
white rug. Now he was really sunk. He ran back to the bathroom and dried the
garment out as best he could but the soaked area was still slightly
discolored from the coke. He couldn't help that now though. He had to get it
back on the rack and get up the nail polish from the floor before . . .
   Too late. The front door was opening just as he slid the hanger over the
pole. As he walked out of Brooke's room, Brooke was walking down the hall
towards him. She looked slightly startled but didn't say anything. He was
going to offer some improvised explanation but fell silent when she didn't
ask him what he was doing. He walked past her to his room, closed the door
and sat on his bed in abject terror as to what would happen next. When
nothing did, he picked up a book and tried to read. He'd forgotten about the
nail polish. And the blow drier which was still on the bathroom counter.
   The slumber party was a two part affair with all the girls getting together
at Steven's moms and then breaking up into smaller groups that stayed at
different homes. Besides Brooke, Suzy and Diane, there were three other girls
slated to stay the night at Steven's. His mother had told him it would be
alright to stick around but after his afternoon tragedy he decided to go to a
late movie and come home after all the girls had gone to bed.
   That had seemed like a good strategy when he conceived it but when he came
home around midnight the girls were still up, playing records, doing each
other's hair and, of course, talking. His mother had long since abandoned
them to their fun and gone to bed. Now as he walked in the front door,
conversation stopped momentarily. They stared for a moment, then said hello
and then giggled which unnerved Steven to his core. Suzy put something behind
her back with deft timing but Steven saw what it was and Suzy brought it out
and rather brazenly offered it to him.
   "Want some?" she said, holding the plastic flask out to him. The girls
stared at him. It was a challenge.
   "Sure," he said and took it from her. She smiled crazily at him and he
wasn't sure what was going on but he unscrewed the metal cap and took a
drink. It was tequila and his eyes burned as he swallowed and then he started
to cough which made the room roar with laughter.
   He tried to recover by laughing too but he didn't feel comfortable. Brooke
was brushing her hair slowly and looking at him strangely. She knows, he
thought. He was about to go when Diane came up to him. Wearing a flannel
nightie that barely covered her thighs, and with her blonde hair in curlers,
she was a species of womanhood he had never encountered. He was repelled by
the curlers and excited about them as well. Many times he had taken a
solitary curler out his mother's collection and wrapped a tendril of his own
long hair around it. Once he had even wet his hair and tried it, waiting in
the tub for it to dry and then taking the bobby pin out and watching the curl
bounce up and down as he moved his head from side to side. His mother called
him and he panicked and dunked his head under the shower nozzle.
   Now it was Diane who called to him. "You like them don't you, you like my
curlers." she said teetering in drunken high heels.
   "I don't know, Suzy," she said finally, "I think the large ones would be
best." She reached out and put her hands under Steven's hair, fluffing it up
like a pillow.
   "You girls are drunk. I'm going to bed."
   "I don't think you should go to bed yet . . . Stevie." Suzy said blocking
his path. She looked down at her freshly painted nails.
   "What do you mean?" he said trying to push past her.
   "Well, Stevie. We thought you might want to join us." Diane answered from
behind him. Steven wheeled around. Diane was holding the blowdryer up to her
curlers. She switched it on and pointed it at Steven's hair, in an indelicate
mimicry of the hairdresser's art.
   "What were you doing with my dress, Stevie or should I say Stephanie?"
Brooke asked, point blank.
   "What dress?"
   "Don't be so coy. We know what you're up to." Suzy said.
   "We did a little snooping in your room too. Sheila . . ."
   A comely redhead in a black lace baby doll night gown held up the pink
barrette.
   "Now don't you think you ought to join us. We're just dying to make you
over. One little pink barrette is so sad, when you could have a headful of
curls and a pretty black bow. Not to mention lipstick, heels and hose,"
Brooke said putting her fingers under Steven's chin.
   "What are you going to do?" Steven asked sorrowfully.
   "We're going to give you want you want."
   "What do you mean?"
   "You're going to become a girl. A shy girl with a body that would stop a
train. You're going to be our bashful sexpot. Our demure Jayne Mansfield. In
a week you won't remember how you look or think or feel as a boy. Instead
you'll be tying your hair up in a pony tail and wondering if the boys will
like it." As she said this Brooke drew her lips across a tube of lipstick,
slowly but expertly covering them with blood red balm.
   "What if I won't do it?"
   "We'll tell your mother what a disgusting pervert you are."
   Brooke offered Steven the lipstick and then shrugged and put it away.
"We're just making you one of us, Stevie. Isn't that what you really want?
I'm sure you've seen make overs in Cosmo. Well, Stevie we're going to give
you the most interesting make over you've ever seen. You know, your hair is
lovely and soooo long."
   "I think he should start tonight. Right now." Diane yelled.
   "Yeah, right now." Suzy added.
   "Take off your clothes, Steven," Brooke said nonchalantly. Then added with
more vehemence, "Everything!" when he hesitated to remove his underwear.
   When he pulled off the last sock his lip began to tremble. He felt small
and weak. His hair felt alien falling over his back as though it belonged to
somewhat else. His hands covered his penis.
   "Suzy, get me his panties."
   "Oh, this is going to be easy, he has a girl's body." Sheila said Steven's
taking note of narrow shoulders. Taking the black silk panties from Suzy she
slid them up Steven's smooth legs, taking care to brush his penis casually
but purposefully.
   "This isn't too girlish," Suzy said drawing her claws across Steven's flat,
hairless chest.
   "Bring me the bra, Diane." Brooke once again ordered.
   Brooke held it up like a squire helping a knight to put on his armor. The
brassiere was a black longline, with a dozen hooks in the back that Diane
quickly fastened.
   "Look at yourself, Steven. Look in the mirror." Brooke said positioning him
in front of a small mirror hanging in the foyer. All he could see was his
head and his naked shoulders. A certain sad sweetness had surfaced in his
eyes that he felt a compelling attraction to. A sad waify quality. Then as he
turned his head slightly, a bra strap came into view traversing over his
naked shoulders. The brown hair cresting over his shoulder, the black strap
of the brassiere and his miraculously sad eyes, it was a portrait of a young
girl lost in her thoughts.
   Brooke began to brush his hair, pulling the brush through the thick strands
with long languorous strokes. She brushed it forward over Steven's face and
then brushed it back, back combed it, then smoothed it all out. At one point
she turned to Sheila and extended her hand into which Sheila deposited the
red barrette. Drawing his hair over one ear she snapped the barrette in
place. Once again his mind went back over the dozens of times he'd clipped
his hair up with that barrette but it was different now. The cumulative
effect that the barrette and the bra strap produced can only be described as
a girlish swoon.
   Now with his hair combed across his forehead and pinned behind his ear he
underwent an immediate transformation. As soon as the barrette snapped the
gangly boy in bra and panties became a teary, frail young girl.
   "Hey, this is amazing." Diane said turning Steven around by his shoulders.
"He's really cute."
   "And that's without make up too." Brooke said with a very satisfied smile.
Then addressing Steven directly she said, "Tonight we'll orient you to your
new status as pageant mascot. Tomorrow I want you to attend the Miracle with
Make up Seminar at the auditorium." She paused to let her decree sink in and
then continued.
   "And the girls want you around to run errands, fetch our gowns from the dry
cleaners, and do whatever else we want you to. You're going to be our sexy
little errand girl."
     Brooke brought him a purple satin robe that barely covered his upper
thighs and pulled him over to a straight backed chair. "Sit down, Steven."
she said smiling.
   "I think our new contestant needs a new name," Suzy said. "Any
suggestions?"
   "Chesty," Diane offered, pulling two points of Steven's robe out a foot.
   "Serious suggestions . . ."
   "How about Bev."
   "No. Jacqueline."
   "Davlina." The girls groaned.
   "Jane."
   "Christine." Brooke said thoughtfully. The girls seemed to like this one.
   "Christine is cute." Suzy agreed. "Reminds me of Christine Keeler or . . .
Christine Jorgensen."
   "Oh, this is going to be fun?" Sheila, redhead said, plopping herself into
Steven's lap. "We're going to make you our toy girl, Steven? Are you going to
be a lovely girl, Steven." Steven turned his head away but Sheila pulled it
back.
   "Yes."
   "Yes, what, Chistine?"
   "Yes, I'm going to be a lovely girl." he said as tears stained the purple
robe.
   "Okay, Sheila. That's enough. You can have your fun later.
   "Now Christine," Suzy said addressing Steven directly, "I want you to obey
the girls. If they want you to help them with their hair, then you'll help
with their hair. If they want you to wash out their bras, then that's what
you'll do. Is that understood? And I'd like you to wear your panties to bed.
And don't look so depressed. When we're finished, you'll have a lot more to
show off than a pink barrette and a pair of panties. Now stand up and let Mia
take the before pictures."
   Steven stood up and submitted to Mia's camera.
   "Now take off your robe and show us your breasts, Christine." Brooke said
as though she were orchestrating a fashion show.
   "You're not posing, Christine. We want you to pose for the camera."
   Steven tried a halfhearted pout but something much stronger was being
registered on the film. Knowing he looked like a sex kitten but not knowing
how to register that in front of all these girls created an attractive
awkwardness. Very innocent and yet quite libidinous. A fearful apprehension
of his own beauty expressed itself in his clumsy stance or the way his arms
crossed over his breasts as though to hide or was it to proffer?

   That night Steven dreamt the girls were taking him to get his hair done.
Blindfolded in the backseat of a long black limousine, he was forced to
listen while they described how wonderful he'd look with his new perm or with
his brunette hair bleached a pale blonde color. When he emerged from the car
and his blindfold removed he saw with horror that the girls had taken him to
his mother's beauty parlor and that it was SHE who swung open the heavy glass
door with a knowing grin. He woke up in a sweat.

   Arriving outside the lecture hall, he found clusters of girls talking and
laughing. Laughing, it seemed, at him. He did feel ridiculous. There were no
other males present and he had no justification for being there. But this
paranoia ceased momentarily when Suzy, Brooke and Diane took him by the arms
and led him into the auditorium where they sat in the front row. The stage
was bare except for an easel which bore a sign that read, "Miracles with
Makeup" and beneath that the Merle Kay logo. Finally, after the rest of the
giggling teens had entered the hall, an attractive woman in her mid-twenties
appeared on stage and waited for the girlish buzz to die down.
   Steven could tell something was up. Suzy and Diane could hardly contain
themselves and Brooke kept staring at him with a knowing grin. The woman
began her lecture. Her thesis was that Merle Kay makeup could accomplish
miraculous changes in a girl's looks. She developed her argument with a slide
show which showed before and after pictures that were just this side of
unbelievable. When the lights went on she asked if anyone had questions. Suzy
raised her hand and the woman turned to her with a smile.
   "Miss Jordan, you've shown us some slides to prove your point but
photographs can lie. Don't you think you should demonstrate the Merle Kay
products on a real person, here in the auditorium." The woman laughed
nervously and was clearly on the defensive as she responded. "Of course,
that's a wonderful idea. Would you like to step up on stage?" Suzy smiled
broadly and said, "No, I have someone that would though." At this point,
Diane and Brooke pushed Steven forward out of his seat. He turned round to
Suzy with pleading eyes. But she refused to let him off the hook.
   "But, this is a boy! I can't put make up on him. What would that prove?"
   "It would prove that your products can work the miracles you've been
promising for the past hour." Suzy shot back tartly. "If Merle Kay is such a
hot shot cosmetic firm they should be able to turn our friend, Stevie, into
an attractive girl without any problem. What do you think girls?" The
auditorium exploded into applause.
   Miss Jordan was no longer flustered, she was angry. "Well, if the volunteer
is willing I see no reason to let his sex stop him. Your friends don't seem
to mind offering you up as a guinea pig. Do you?" she asked Steven.
   Steven looked back at the trio of girls. They smiled sweetly at him while
Suzy coyly fingered the red barrette. He was trapped and it was all he could
do to clear his dry throat and offer "No, I guess not." to the irate woman.
   "Well, take your shirt off and come up here then?" she said hastily as she
reached for her bag of cosmetics samples.
   Steven removed his t-shirt and fighting back tears he sat quietly in the
folding chair in beside Miss Jordan who was too incensed to notice his
discomfort. Positioning herself behind him, she stood over him and almost
shouted, "Never put your make up on after you do your hair, always before."
grabbing Steven's long hair roughly and tying it back with a black velvet
ribbon. Then with a slight tug on his pony-tail she forced his head up.
   "Now, Steven is blessed with a beautiful, olive complexion which
nevertheless can be enhanced by Merle Kay foundation and base," she
continued, fairly spitting out the words and applying the foundation in
short, choppy movements that seemed more like tiny attacks on his face than a
make up demonstration.
   Miss Jordan's presentation continued in this thinly disguised aggressive
manner for the next five minutes or so until her professional comportment
returned and the difficulty that Steven's male face provided her a challenge
that rapidly dissipated her anger into determined effort. With each passing
moment, her voice regained its composure and she began to talk earnestly
about how to feminize Steven's masculine features using nothing but
foundation, blush and other cosmetic tricks.
   "Now, of course, you won't have to go to the extremes that I have with
Steven but you can see what I'm talking about here at the jawline. A deeper
shade of foundation makes this slight harshness dissappear while a lighter
shade at the bridge of the nose can . . ." she continued, losing herself in
the task at hand.
   "We're lucky that Steven's face has soft contours. We can dispense fairly
easily with his masculine features and concentrate on developing the feminine
ones. His eyes or his cheekbones, for example," she said dusting his cheeks
with two shades of dramatic Merle Kay blush. "He's also very lucky to have
these wonderfully, accessible eyelids which provide great canvases for the
intricate shadowing that I'm doing here. You didn't know you'd make such an
attractive girl, did you?" she said addressing Steven briefly. "Now notice
what I'm doing here to create the illusion of . . ."
   As Miss Jordan's professional expertise continued to cover his face with
powders and paint, paradoxically, Steven felt increasingly exposed. A hush
had fallen across the auditorium as the once giggling girls became absorbed
in the display of skill and the amazing metamorphosis that was taking place.
Only the sound of Miss Jordan's voice filled the room and seemed to focus an
unbearable weight on the prettified boy at center stage.
   "Now we're getting somewhere at last," Miss Jordan said examining Steven's
feminized features closely and applying the last touches of brush and pencil.
As she untied the ribbon, she unconsciously told Steven to shake his head
which he did causing his hair to fall over his face covering her handiwork.
She then pulled a brush from her purse and began to brush it back over his
ears so that her living canvas could be displayed. "You need a barrette," she
said more to herself than Steven. Suzy promptly produced the red barrette and
Miss Jordan took it and adroitly fastened Steven's hair back. "Alright, now
where's your shirt, Steven? Oh, we can't put you back in a t-shirt. You'll
ruin your make up. Does anyone have a shirt or blouse Steven can borrow?"
This time it was Brooke who walked to the stage with a flashy red satin
blouse. "I see you came prepared," Miss Jordan said helping Steven into the
garment.
   "Now walk to the front of the stage a little bit and show everyone what you
look like, Steven. I feel so odd calling you by that name now that you're all
made up like a girl. Isn't he lovely, girls? All you need is skirt and a bra,
Steven, and you're all set." Miss Jordan laughed, joining the girls in their
amusement. The girls agreed and applauded her skill with a standing ovation.
   Some girls, motivated by curiosity, moved down to the front to examine this
pretty boy-girl while others retrieved cameras from their purses and began
snapping away. The camera flashes made the whole scene reminiscent of an
actual pageant event. All this activity and attention directed toward the shy
young debutante, for that essentially was what Steven had become, created a
heady mixture of powerful emotions in him. As he walked around the stage
absorbing the girl's admiring glances he felt like a plant that had been left
in the closet and was now suddenly in the sun. But he also felt humiliated
that what drew them to the stage was the conundrum of girlish beauty on a
boy's body, like a dog with a cat's head. He felt very conscious of being a
freakish combination of feminine loveliness with a boyish figure. Deep within
him a desire to be the center of attention for quite different reasons was
born and unconsciously he began to daydream that instead of wearing his
tennis shoes and denim jeans he was swirling around onstage in something more
suitable to his feminine appearance, a white summer dress, perhaps, or
Brooke's black evening gown. These fantasies created subtle shifts in his
posture, slight changes in his demeanor, shifts that weren't noticed by many
of the girls. Just three in fact, Brooke, Diane and Suzy.
   Suddenly, Steven's mother appeared in the doorway of the auditorium. Steven
spotted her immediately and having no where to run decided instantly that his
only hope was to act the part to the hilt. He began to sashay about the stage
with what he hoped was a model's insouciance. The girls, not aware of his
mother's presence, responded to this change as though it were a bit of camp
and applauded vigorously. Then, very  coquettishly, he eased himself to the
edge of the stage and sat back down in his seat, praying that his mother
wouldn't walk over to him. She didn't but all the girls did, creating a scene
that allowed Miss Jordan a graceful exit.
   Suzy grabbed Steven's hand and made as though to lead him through a
triumphal procession towards the door. Steven resisted at first but the girls
surrounded him and soon he was flowing toward the exit and past his unknowing
mother in a sea of girls. Once out in the hallway he found himself smiling at
his successful ruse and in the midst of the giggling girls he continued to
act the part of the pretty mannequin, driving them to further hysterics.
   When they reached Suzy's car, the girls were disappointed to leave
their new pageant rival. But Suzy reassured them that they would get to see
"Christine" again. On the way home, the girls told him how lovely he looked
and how successful he was at being a girl. What a pity it was that he didn't
have any clothes to go along with his exquisite new face. "Hey, let's take
Christine shopping." Brooke suggested.
   Steven had been floating on air since leaving the auditorium but this
suggestion brought him back down again. "Oh no, I couldn't go into a store
like this." he protested in voice that seemed more Christine's than Steven's.
   "Why not? You look better than most of the pageant girls," Diane said.
   "But they'd see I was a boy. I don't have any . . ."
   "Breasts?" Brooke suggested. "That's no problem. I'll loan you my bra. Take
off your blouse . . . Christine." Brooke hiked her own blouse up and removed
her brassiere. "Here, put this on."
   Steven did as he was told, trying to lower himself in the car so that no
one could see him putting his arms into a black brassiere. Brooke hooked the
eyes for him and he had an odd thought, one only dimly formulated the night
before: he belonged in a bra. Shocked by this emotion he sank even lower in
his seat.
   "Oh, that's much better," Suzy said glancing into the back seat at the
brassiered young boy. "You'd better stuff your cups, Christine." Diane and
Brooke unrolled their nylons and Brooke tucked them into the cups but it
wasn't enough. "Oh, you're so big Christine. How did you ever get so bosomy?"
Diane asked coyly.
   It was true. Brooke's bra was a 36 C and it took more than three  pair of
nylons before Christine's chest wasn't as flat as Steven's. "Oh, you're
gorgeous now." Brooke said. Something about the combination of the black bra
straps against his white skin, the tousled, shoulder-length hair and the
vivid makeup gave him the look of one of the very modern, sullen beauties
that pout their way across lingerie ads. Steven blushed.
   "Put your blouse back on before some boys see us." Diane said. For some
strange reason the thought sent chills down Steven's spine. " . . . before
some boys see us." That seemed an intriguing proposition and horrible too. It
passed as quickly as it occurred and soon they had pulled up to the mall.
   As the four made their way through mall it seemed quite a different place
than Steven had ever found it before. Every store seemed to offer something
tantalizing for girls and he almost wished his companions would let him enter
each of these glittering caverns with their silvery interiors and their rock
music pounding. But they hurried him up escalator and down walkway towards
their own predisposed goal. Soon they were walking through one of the large
expensive department stores at the far end of the mall. They finally stopped
their prowl in the lingerie department.
   The girls picked out some suitable things for Christine and then marched
him into a dressing room where they unburdened him of his jeans and tennis
shoes and the blouse, bra and panties as well. This was the strangest
situation Steven had ever been in. Here he was, stark naked in a department
store changing room for women while three pretty girls had him putting on
clothes as though he were their own private doll. And that's exactly what he
was. Suzy and Diane went out into the store searching for suitable clothes
while Brooke remained behind in the stall with the demure Christine before
her like an embarrassed Greek sculpture.
   While they waited for the clothes to arrive Brooke removed her blouse and
retrieved her bra. Steven stared in wonder at her gorgeous body. She had
lovely olive skin and large breasts that he longed to caress. His presence
seemed to have no affect on Brooke's modesty whatsoever until she noticed
Steven interest was manifesting itself in a distinctly unladylike manner.
   "Would you like to kiss them, Christine." Brooke asked softly. "Go ahead,"
she said pressing her body against his naked chest, "but don't loose control.
You're a girl now, remember." As she said this she grabbed his cock and
pressed it downward until he was forced to bend at the knee. "That's better,"
Brooke said looking down at her pretty victim whose head bobbed just beneath
her bustline. "Don't even think about it," she said, letting go of his cock
as he dropped to his knees. "As a boy you disgust me. Wait until we're
finished, then I might have a change of heart." she said turning to put her
bra on.
   Steven was petrified that a saleslady or a customer would walk in and
witness this degradation, a fear that abated only slightly after Brooke
pulled a padded corselette up over his naked torso.
   A more suitable brassiere was found for Christine who it was determined had
the more reasonable bra size of 36 B cup. Diane found a white angora sweater
that managed the difficult task of accentuating Steven's bust while still
retaining a touch of girlish modesty. And while Suzy arranged to pay for the
clothing, Brooke squeezed Steven's enhanced body into a pair of very snug
girl's designer jeans.
   They left Steven's tennis shoes and jeans in the changing room like a
discarded skin and hustled their attractive protegee along to the shoe
department where a debate was launched on heels: 2 inch or 3 inch. 3 inch it
was and shortly the four girls were headed for the open mall, one somewhat
unsteadily.
   A passerby would have found nothing remarkable about this quartet. Except
that one didn't giggle with the rest, the one that seemed to be somewhat
overly madeup even allowing for young girls' experiments with makeup. Still,
he would have noted that this was an exceedingly ripe specimen of young
girlhood. All the lovelier for the air of tentative apprehension which
lingered over her while the other girls pulled her towards another store.
   This time it was the Earring Palace where Steven was seated in a chair next
to two or three other cute girls waiting to have their ears pierced. Suzy
picked out a pair of rhinestone danglies and held them up to Steven's ears.
The other girls nodded.
      After the earrings were in place and glittering from Steven's ears the
girls took him to a fast food restaurant in the mall and examined their doll.
   "Oh, Christine, you are chic. Except for one thing." Brooke said.
   "What . . . ?" Steven asked, almost hurt.
   "Your hair, Christine. It's not very pretty hanging limply down past your
shoulders." Suzy added.
   "I think it's time, don't you girls?" Brooke said.
   "Yes," Suzy agreed. "Let's go, Christine."
   "Where?" he asked in a timid voice.
   "To get your hair done, of course. I know just the place."
   Suddenly Steven's fears welled up in his chest and his throat went dry.
They were going to betray him. The girls hustled him out of the mall and into
the car and soon his concern was confirmed when they pulled up in front of
his mother's hair salon.
   "This will be the ultimate test, Christine. We're not going in with you.
But we're going to stay here until you come out with hair to match the rest
of you. Here's your purse. It has money in it."
   "But, what will I say? I don't know anything about girl's hairstyles."
Steven protested in a submissive whine.
   "You'll think of something, Christine. Remember, you're a girl now, be
resourceful."
    Steven walked into the salon, his heart pounding in his ears. Jackie, the
winsome black receptionist, smiled as he walked to the counter. "Love your
sweater. Can I help you?"
   His mouth was suddenly dry but he managed to eke out a shy, "I'd like to
get my hair done."
   "Do you have an appointment?"
   "No."
   "Hmmmm, let me check." she left him for a moment and told him to wait for a
moment, indicating the chromium chairs he knew so well. He sat down and
picked up a magazine.
   "What's your name?" Jackie asked in a friendly way when she returned.
   "Uh, . . . Christine." Steven answered as daintily as he could.
   "Christine. Say, you have an appointment. You're 5 minutes early. Hold
on."
   The girls had been planning this treachery all along he thought as Lynette
appeared at the counter.
   "Would you come with me, please."
   Steven followed her past several women getting their hair done. A few were
pageant girls and they seemed to smile in a meaningful way at him as he
passed. Lynette asked him to sit in one of the chairs by the sinks in the
back and proceeded to wash Steven's long brunette hair in the small blue
basin.
   "It's been a while since you had your hair cut, hasn't it?"
   "Yes, I guess it has."
   "I can tell by the way it's grown out. There's barely a suggestion of any
styling left. But we'll change all that. Did you want a perm today?"
   "Oh, no . . . I don't think so."
   "Just a cut and curl?"
   "Yes."
   Steven tried to relax as Lynette, a woman he had spoken to many times
plunged her fingers deep into his hair and massaged his scalp with hands full
of creamy lather. It did feel good. But he was filled with dread that he
mother would come in and discover him. Lynette rinsed his hair out and put it
up in a soft, white towel, then marched Steven to a chair in the front,
passing the now whispering girls and women as well. What were they whispering
about?
   "Okay, what did you have in mind?"
   "Oh . . . I don't know. What do you think?"
   Lynette paused for a moment. This wasn't an unheard of question but it
seemed odd for a young girl. "Well, you could go in a lot of directions. Your
hair has plenty of body so we could curl it."
   Steven was panicked. "Yes, curl it. But not too curled."
   "Well, that's a start, I guess. How about if . . ."
   "Why don't you decide. I trust you . . . I guess, uh, just not too curly."
   "Yes, I got that. Alright, well, I've got a few ideas. Say, you're not one
of the pageant girls, are you."
   "Uh, . . ."
   "Yes, she is," a voice answered. It was Sheila, fresh from the hair dryer,
her abundant red hair coiffed for the final competition. "Hi, Christine,
getting your hair done? How are you going to style it?"
   Sheila knew this question would embarrass Steven and she was right. He
tried to shrug it off and Lynette finally came to his rescue. "I thought we'd
leave it as long as possible, adding waves for more fullness and try thick
bangs that fall just below her browline."
   "Sounds great. See ya, later, Christine." Sheila said laughing.
   Lynette combed out Steven's wet hair and began cutting away at his split
ends. Soon little clumps of wet hair surrounded Steven's chair but Steven
couldn't see this. His vision was obscured when Lynette combed his hair
forward and began to design his bangs. A few moments later she was finishing
the cut and then rolling strips of wet hair into huge curlers. Sensing
Steven's discomfort, Lynette refrained from starting any small talk as she
methodically continued the task of feminizing his tresses. At one point, she
did interject, "It's a pleasure working with your hair it's so long and
thick," echoing his mother's entreaties to do his hair.
   Soon his entire head was covered with rollers and Lynette put him under the
dryer with a Cosmopolitan magazine. He couldn't read though. He was too
nervous about his mother walking in and seeing him under the dryer in a
headful of curlers. It hadn't even occurred to him that after the curlers
were removed there would be no going back. At least, not for a long while.
   At last, Lynette returned to remove the curlers. Working swiftly, her
nimble fingers quickly removed the pins, then the curlers until Steven's face
floated in the middle of a soft bubble of curls. She now worked with comb and
brush to create her desired ends, teasing, combing out and brushing. This
seemed to take forever. Finally, Lynette removed the plastic smock and turned
his chair around to face the mirror.
   He was astonished. It wasn't just the hair which formerly had hung limply
down to his shoulders and now framed his face in a stylish bouffant. Nor was
it the make up that the girls had carefully kept him viewing. It was the
whole effect, the hair, the make up, the soft white sweater with its
protruding bust. He did not resemble a girl. He was a girl.
   He touched his hair. It was buoyant. He tilted his head slightly and was
amazed at the simple sensuality of the gesture. His head moved and with it
the soft bouncy curls. He became aware of Lynette standing over him, watching
his reaction to his new coiffure.
   "How do you like it?"
   "It's very . . . nice."
   "You don't like it?"
   "No, I do . . . uh."
   "Can I ask you something? Have you ever had your hair done before?"
   "Uh, well, not exactly."
   "I thought so. Well, . . ."
   "What?"
   "Well, it's just that the first time is usually the most fun. But you seem
more disturbed than excited."
   "Oh, no. I love it. I do." Steven said without much conviction. He stood
up, absorbed in his girlish reflection. She was lovely and moved much
differently than Steven did. Graceful and delicate, her eyes projected an
innocence that Steven found fascinating. Until it hit him that the girl he
was observing in the mirrored walls was Christine, his altered self.
   To say that Steven walked to the front of the salon would not really be
accurate.
Floated would be more descriptive. His whole demeanor had been transformed by
the sight of Christine and her stunning new hairdo. How could he walk like
boy now that he looked so much like a girl? He had had a girl's face, figure,
clothes and now hair bestowed upon him like a fairy godmother's spell. And
the enchantment continued as he sashayed past the amazed pageant girls as
though born in high heels. He remained in this altered state as he paid his
bill, pulling money out of his purse and handing it to Jackie.
   "Don't I know you?"
   "I don't think so. I've never been here before." Steven responded with a
sly smile.

   Let us consider our boy\girl at this point in the story. He stands before
us transformed at every level of his being. But it hadn't really begun with
the panties or the make up. It had started many years before. Before
consciousness it was there in some seed like form, not attached to form or
content but merely coded into the DNA like a mutant virus. Later the virus
attached itself to a longing. A longing for loveliness, a longing for radiant
femininity however that might be defined. In the earliest years Steven sat
enthralled in front of the television easily digesting the antics of a Warner
Bros. cartoon when suddenly Bugs Bunny and Elmer Fudd are tossed of a cliff
together along with a suitcase full of women's clothing. During the fall the
suitcase opens and as each item of clothing flies by Bugs Bunny takes it and
dresses Elmer Fund up like Rita Hayworth including makeup and wig. As he
watches this scenario unfold, something alien in him awakes and he responds
in a way he has never done before. He gets an erection.
   When he hit 13 the virus asserted itself in less passive ways. A lewd
cartoon in a men's magazine featuring a science experiment gone awry when one
of the scientists is transformed by an elixir into a lovely blonde, breasts
exploding from his labcoat. Nothing else in the magazine excited him as much
as this cartoon though there were lurid photos of busty pinups everywhere.
That cartoon printed deeply into his memory and he recalled it many times, a
xeroxed fantasy that he fingered many types before it faded way entirely.
   The cartoon was the first clue that things would be different with him but
every day new ones were added as he accumulated a file in his head composed
of the references to the transformation of boy into girl. In that file were
magazine and newspaper articles about "Transvestite Arrested in Bank
Robbery," movie reviews of Some Like It Hot, ads for drag shows in big city
newspapers, more cartoons and even pictures of women that he admired or
secretly wanted to look like. Elizabeth Taylor appeared on the cover of Life
and for weeks after, Steven imagined himself as a bosomy, heavily made up
Cleopatra.
   From there he moved to the barrette and, had his progress not been greatly
accelerated, would have proceeded to a bra or a slip.
   Now he stands before us, his metamorphosis quite beyond what he ever
imagined possible. A nervousness shakes through him as he doesn't know if he
has the resources to call up the girl he has conjured so many times and have
her inhabit this curvaceous body, lovely face, delectable clothes and totally
feminine coiffure.
   Let us examine him again.
   His hair once shaggy and unkempt, now falls in soft waves to his shoulders,
his delicate features framed by bangs and fluffy masses of curls. Miss
Jordan's skill with liner and mascara has given his already large eyes a look
of startled innocence, a look heightened by his own amazement at the success
of his feminization. His lips are full, moist, inviting and incredibly red,
subtlely outlined to maximize their ripe nature. His cheeks are a blossoming
pink.
   His posture, never very good as a boy, has been much improved by his
feminine appearance and as he stands before us we are struck by his graceful
bearing. The soft white sweater with its bunny-soft texture and v-neck line
is a most suitable vehicle for the display of his bosom which projects boldly
from his chest. And the tight denim pants do similar wonders for his teardrop
buttocks which his heels seem to accentuate.
   In short, there is nothing left of the awkward teenage boy that waltzed
Brooke's dress around the room. He has been displaced by this radiant,
budding young girl who startles us with her beauty. And herself as well.


                           THE PAGEANT
                             PART II

               Copyright 1990 by Leigh De Santa Fe

   It was early evening as Steven left his mother's salon. Clutch purse in
hand, he looked around eagerly to show off his new coiffure to the girls. But
the car was gone. The girls had left him. The streets were quiet as
businesses were getting ready to close and pedestrians scarce. He began to
walk toward home. Suddenly he realized that he could not go home. Not like
this anyway. He glanced at his reflection in the store windows. It was
Christine who stared back, doubly alluring because of the helplessness this
new turn of events had introduced to his feminized features. Though walking
the streets in his heels kept his heart pounding, it also filled him with a
strange excitement. In the mall or at the beauty parlor he had felt protected
by either the presence of the other girls or the familiarity of his
surroundings but now he was alone, a pretty girl alone. The sense of danger
only seemed to heighten the need for a successful masquerade, and he felt,
with each step he took in his high heels, that he was becoming a real girl.
And this fresh perspective on his predicament fueled the exhilaration he now
felt as he observed his dainty progress home in the picture window
reflections.
   He had walked four or five blocks toward home when he reached Dunlop's
Department Store. They were open till nine. It was almost twilight and the
lights and people milling around inside seemed more inviting than the dark
streets ahead. He pushed the heavy plate glass doors open and found himself
in the safe, familiar haven. How many times had he come here as a boy to
browse the toy departments or the sports and recreation departments, making
sure that his circuitous route to those destinations would take him past the
lingerie displays or the cosmetic counters. In the past the haughty
mannequins always seemed to taunt him, their arrogant expressions hurrying
him past the racks of brassieres, the stacks of sweaters on sale, the endless
bottles of perfumes arrayed along the glittering chrome and glass
countertops. For a moment the memory of those earlier journeys caused him to
quicken his step as he approached the cosmetic department. Then he glimpsed
himself in one of the many mirrors provided for make up application and he
realized that the toy section would not be his destination tonight.
   He had earned the right to linger here amongst the glittering prizes, the
shimmering metal tubes, the fragrances of girldom. He didn't have to rush
past anything anymore. He looked at himself in the mirror and didn't notice
the bored salesgirl appear behind the counter.
   "Can I help you find something?" she said, startling Steven so that he
jumped back.
   "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to . . .Can I show you anything." she asked
again.
   Steven shook his head, then, recovering slightly said, "Oh, no thanks. I'm
just looking." He hardly recognized his own voice. It was so soft and shy.
   "Say, are you one of the pageant girls? They've been in here all day."
   Steven felt a swell of pride. Not only had he passed but he passed well
enough to be a pretty pageant contestant. "Yes, I am." he said pushing his
hair back over one ear. Their eyes met for the first time. He swallowed hard
again. He knew her. It was Charlotte Fiorello, a girl that lived just two
doors down from his mom's.
   "You're blushing. Aren't you proud of being in the pageant? All the others
girls seem to be. They practically shout it every time they come in the
store. But you're not like that at all."
   Steven smiled demurely but said nothing. He felt any moment Charlotte was
going to see past his bangs and bra and expose him. He had a short, violent
vision of being led from the store by the store detectives while Charlotte
called everyone in the school to tell them "Steven was shopping for cosmetics
while dressed like a girl."
   "Listen, I'm bored. No one ever comes in here at dinner time. Why don't you
come have a cup of coffee with me on my break and tell me about the pageant?"
she said. Not waiting for an answer she took his hand and led him down the
aisles to the coffee shop. The mannequins now seemed to mock him more than
ever as fate led the skirted boy toward yet another adventure.
   Steven was of two minds. On the one hand, he was terrified about the
performance he was called upon to give to this audience of one and on the
other he felt a strange confidence, a confidence that seemed to emanate from
his chest or rather breasts. As they passed through the various departments
he struggled for glimpses of his feminine form flying past the mirrors and
was reassured to see how convincing he looked as a girl.
   Charlotte was an unpretentious girl with attractive thick auburn hair that
fell smoothly to the middle of her back. Even her white smock couldn't
disguise her pleasing figure and as they whisked through store she chattered
away, glancing over at Steven occasionally to make sure he was still
following her.
   "Yeah, I thought about entering myself. But I'm too short and my breasts
are way too big." she paused and considered her bosom with a smile. "You're
kind of big yourself. You know, we have a bra sale. You should check it
out. Anyway what's it like to be considered pretty enough to win contests?"
she said as they entered the coffee shop area. Without waiting for a reply
she motioned him into a booth and yelled out to the waitress, "Two cups of
coffee, Jill. You drink coffee don't you?" Steven nodded.
   For a short but uncomfortable moment they stared at each other while the
coffee was set down in front of them. Charlotte was certainly pretty enough
to be a pageant girl. Working at the cosmetic counter afforded her
opportunities to use plenty of makeup but she didn't really need any. Her
wide eyes, soft, inviting features and olive skin were the basis for a very
appealing sensuousness. She parted her bountiful hair down the middle and
when she leaned forward her face drew back into a luscious tent of hair.
Steven found himself comparing his looks to hers. And so must have she
because she said, "I like your hair. You don't see bangs very often these
days. But they really work on you. Did you just get it done?"
   "Yes."
   "I thought so. It's cute. So tell me about the pageant."
   Steven looked down and studied his coffee. He racked his brain for the
silly remarks the girls make when asked by the master of ceremonies or a TV
newscaster how they liked the pageant. "It's a lot of fun. You meet some
wonderful girls." he finally said without much enthusiasm.
   "You sound like you're answering the questions they ask at the end of the
show."
   "I do?"
   "Yeah, but that's okay. Frankly, most of the girls I've waited on have been
first rate bitches. What's it like backstage? Are the girls clawing at each
other for mascara and hairspray? That's the way I always picture it."
   "Oh, yes. It's a little like that." Then, taking a chance, he improvised.
"It's really weird to see all the girls getting ready in their bras and
panties. They. . . uh . . . we look like some gigantic lingerie commercial."
   "I'll bet. Most of the girls have good figures?"
   "Oh, yes. I guess so. What's good?"
   Charlotte laughed. "Big tits, small waist, big hips, long legs."
   "Yes. There's one girl who's really stacked."
   "Stacked? I've never heard a girl use that term before. How big is she."
   Steven carved an ample chest in the air with his hands.
   "That's another thing I've never seen a girl do. You're strange. Hey, I
don't even know your name."
   "Christine."
   "Hi, I'm Charlotte. Listen, I've got ten more minutes left. You want to go
try on some bras."
   Once again she didn't leave room for no but took Steven's trembling hand
and pulled him out of the booth. She saw the frightened look on his face.
   "What's the matter?"
   "Oh, I should be getting back."
   "It's only ten minutes. It's a big sale. Really sexy bras. Come on. I won't
let you be late."
   He was no longer of two minds. He was panicked. But there didn't seem to be
any way out of this short of running away. Charlotte pushed him across the
store until they had reached the hitherto forbidden zone: the lingerie
department.
   It was very odd. There was no one in the store except for a few bored sales
people and they seemed far away. The lingerie department was unmanned or
womanned. He could walk up and down between the aisles of panties and bras
without fear. It was a dream come true and yet somehow it had turned into a
nightmare. Charlotte was already fingering some lacy black brassieres. She
turned to him suddenly and said,
   "What's your size, Christine?"
   His mouth went dry. What was his size? He stared at her and then blurted
out, "Medium."
   Charlotte burst out laughing. Steven quickly turned and pretended to look
at some panties but Charlotte grabbed his arm and turned him around.
   "Medium? Here, come with me, girl." she said as she pulled him toward the
dressing room.
   "What are you doing?" Steven said in a frightened girlish whimper.
   "I want to check your bra size. Stop fighting and come with me," Charlotte
laughed as she tugged him into the stall. "Now, take off your sweater."
   "No."
   "No? What's the matter with you anyway? Are you embarrassed to show me your
breasts?"
   "Yes. Yes, I'm shy."
   "But why. I'm a girl too, remember? Here, let me help you . . " Charlotte
pulled the angora sweater up over the top of Steven's brassiere and Steven
struggled to pull it down again. In the ensuing tussle Charlotte's hand
pushed up underneath the cups of the bra and when she felt his flat hard
chest she knew instantly what was going on. She withdrew her hand
immediately. Her demeanor suddenly changed and while a smile never left her
lips its nature became hard and cruel.
   She pushed him down onto the leatherette bench in the dressing room and
stared at him with amusement.
   "Unzip your jeans."
   He looked up at her fear. His tousled bangs suddenly very sensual.
   "I said unzip your jeans, girl or the store dick's going to be in here
looking at yours." Charlotte said and moved toward him. He opened his fly.
   "Now pull them down, sweetheart. I want to see your chaste little snatch.
Now!"
   Steven stood up and pulled the snug-fitting jeans down to his ankles.
   "Take that off too." she said motioning to the fanny padder.
   He pulled the padder down and his panties went with it revealing his naked
sex to Charlotte's inquiring eyes. She pushed him back on the bench again.
   "Well, isn't this a pretty picture?"
   And it was. With his sweater pulled up over his bra, his pants, corselette
and panties down around his ankles, black heels emerging at the cuff, his
disheveled hair, and his lips in a frightened pout, he could have been a
randy store employee caught in the middle of a quick grope at lunchtime by
his superior. And right now, that's exactly what Charlotte was.
   "What are you going to do?" he said in a faltering voice.
   "I don't know yet." Charlotte said looking down at this boy/girl gone
astray. But that seemed a lie. It seemed to Steven as though she knew exactly
what she was going to do.
   A voice from outside the booth intervened.
   "Do you need any help girls?"
   Steven jerked abruptly to cover his maleness. "We're fine Patty. It's me
Charlotte."
   "Oh. Hi, well, just let me know if you need anything."
   The voice departed and with it Steven's sinking hopes of getting out his
predicament. Charlotte knelt down in front of him. "Don't I know you?" Oh,
God, please, Steven thought, let her not recognize me.
   "I do know you. You're Steven, aren't you. You're in my math class." she
laughed quietly.
   "Well, won't the girls at school be interested to hear how you spend your
evenings. Not to mention the boys," she reached out and grasped Steven's
flaccid cock and squeezed it. "You might even get some dates if you get rid
of this little detail," she continued, massaging his cock in her warm hand.
   "You know, you really had me fooled. You make a great girl, Christine,"
Charlotte said, drawing the word, his femme name, out slowly and sarcastically.
"For future reference, you are a 36 B cup. Though I personally would love to
see you with a 38 Double D. Something with enough underwiring to give you the
support an overbuilt girl like you needs. As a matter of fact, wait here,
Christine. And don't even think about leaving." Charlotte let go of Steven's
soft cock and dashed out of the booth. As soon as she was gone he heard
voices coming into the dressing room area. Following some instinct for self-
protection he leapt up and pulled his corselette up around his waist. Then in
a moment of inspiration he took off the sweater and slipped out of his jeans.
It was at that moment that two young teenage girls opened the door to his
stall.
   "Oh, sorry. We thought it was empty." they said giggling.
   "That's okay." Steven said, turning in the mirror as though he were
examining a possible new lingerie purchase. When the door shut he found
himself amazed by his performance. His femme voice was soft, yet self-assured
and his femmy pantomine apparently had deceived the startled girls. With the
threat gone, he turned and actually did look into the mirror. It was a
ravishing and erotic vision that greeted him. One that sent his hand down to
the corselette to straighten out things. Involuntarily he began to do what he
had merely been pretending to do. Turning this way and that in front of the
mirror, pulling his newly curled tresses up off the nape of his neck, or
cupping his breasts in gentle hands, he almost forgot that Charlotte was ever
going to return.
   "Oh good. You've taken off your sweater."
   Steven recoiled at the sound of Charlotte's voice and spontaneously covered
his bosom with crossed arms.
   "Oh, that's touching. Now, take off your bra. Take it off." Charlotte said
in voice that conveyed itself easily to every booth in the dressing rooms.
   Steven obeyed.
   "Here try this one on. It will fit you better." Charlotte said as she
handed him a black longline brassiere that sported enormous bullet shaped
cups. He put his arms through the straps and she fastened the hooks nimbly
behind him. "Now turn around." As he did, she burst out laughing. "Oh, yes,
that much better, don't you think?"
   Steven turned to face the mirror. It was absurdly large for his body, made
for the "full-figured gal" and fulfilled Charlotte's obvious desire to make
him look ludicrous.
   "Yes, I'd say that's definitely more you than your other bra was." Then,
sotto voce, "Now how are we going to stuff your cups? Wait here, Christine."
and she was gone again.
    She returned almost instantly with an armload of panties which she
proceeded to stuff into the gigantic twin caverns on Steven's chest. She had
to make two more trips out of the booth to accomplish her goal but finally
the cups projected a firm 38 DD out into space. "That's it. Yes, that's more
like it. Now you can put your sweater back on, Christine." she laughed
gleefully.
   Steven pulled the angora sweater over his head and stretched it out to
accommodate his enhanced bust. It was a joke and he knew this was not the end
of it.
   "There now don't you feel even more feminine now, Christine? You certainly
look more feminine." Charlotte said in her stage whisper. "Let's go buy it.
Right now."
   Steven pulled up his pants and slipped into his high heels and followed
Charlotte and his mammoth mammaries out of the booth. Once they had emerged
back into the lingerie department Charlotte grabbed Steven's hand and led him
up to the cash register.
   "Patty, we found a wonderful Lily de France longline which Christine just
had to wear. Put it on my card." Patty, an older but very attractive woman
glanced over at Steven and did a doubletake.
   "Oh, I bet you have back trouble with those, don't you honey." she asked
sympathetically.
   "She's so hard to fit that she just fell in love with it. Didn't you,
Christine?"
   Steven tried to look nonchalant. He knew that he looked foolish but his
greatest fear had not been realized. Patty had no idea that she was looking
at a boy. Having passed this hurdle he began to adjust to his new bosomy look
with a vengeance. "Yes, it's difficult to find bras that fit me as well as
this one," he heard himself saying. Charlotte shot him a quick glance and he
turned demurely and smiled. He knew he'd won, the moment Patty addressed him
as a girl.
   "Yes, Christine's thinking of having surgery to reduce them."
   "Oh, I don't think you should. They come in handy sometimes." Patty
laughed, glancing down at her own generously endowed bust.
   "Patty, will you tell Miss Omphale that I'm going home early. Christine
needs a ride home."
   "Sure. Bye."

   "I don't suppose you'd like to tell me why you're dressed like a girl."
Charlotte asked after they'd gotten into her car.
   Steven sat timidly with his clutch purse in his lap. His future looked
bleak now that Charlotte was prepared to tell the entire school about his
crossdressing adventure. He did have one trump card: Charlotte's curiosity.
"If I tell you why I'm dressed like a girl will you promise not to tell the
whole school you saw me wearing these clothes."
   "Look, Christine, I don't really think you're in a position to extract
promises from me. After all, I could have had you arrested for trying to pass
yourself off as a girl in the lingerie dressing room."
   Steven stared out the window.
   Charlotte continued, "On the other hand, I might offer you another sort of
deal. But if you don't comply with every single part of the bargain, then I'm
telling everyone."
   Steven turned to look at her. "What's your deal?"
   "I want you to come over to my parent's house tomorrow night at 7:00."
   "That's all?"
   "No. I want you to be dressed and I mean dressed. No jeans, no skirts. A
prom dress would be suitable with a corsage and matching shoes and purse.
Your hair should be up and your makeup as professional as it is now. Got it?"
   "But where could I get a dress like that overnight?"
   "That's not my problem, Christine. I think you'll manage somehow. If you
don't there'll be a lot more interesting gossip in the fall. Who knows? Maybe
you'll be asked to join the cheerleading squad. You've got the breasts for
it." Charlotte laughed.
   The car pulled up to Steven's house. He had planned on darting into the
shadows and taking off his comically inappropriate brassiere before sneaking
into the house. But fate thwarted that scheme when a carload of pageant girls
pulled up just as his heels hit the pavement. The girls piled out and
squealed with delight, "Christine. It's Christine."
   "Well, I see you have your own fan club. I won't keep you. Be there
tomorrow night, dear or you'd better stay in skirts permanently. It will be
less embarrassing," she said. As she spoke her nimble fingers produced
Steven's original bra and folded it neatly into his clutch purse. "Here's
your purse, girl," she laughed, throwing the bag out the window and then she
was gone.
   Steven now became the center of a maelstrom of feminine attention as he
stood surrounded by a horde of pageant girls who oohed and ahhed over his
incredible transformation.
   Most of the girls had seen his makeover at the auditorium and a few had
seen him in girls' clothes after his trip to the mall but none had seen how
his trip to the beauty parlor had turned out. His new hairstyle delighted
them and they laughed and reached out to touch his girlish curls as though he
were their own private doll. And he was.
   It was Brooke who first noticed his bustline had increased. "What's the
matter, Christine? Did your breasts get bigger? Look at his, I mean, her,
breasts, girls."
   Steven felt a heady but pleasant mixture of pride and humiliation in the
girls raucous acknowledgement of his successful metamorphosis. Then, as the
sea of giggling girls revolved around him, he thought of someone that had
remained in the back of his mind the entire day: his mother.
   "Oh my god! My mom. Is she home?" he said, touching his curls in manic
terror. The mere thought of his mother seeing him made up like a chesty mall
tart, his coveted tresses waved and styled, his boy's hairless face painted
with the exquisite subtlety of a Kabuki boy, his gangly boy's body punctuated
with girlish exclamation points. How would she welcome this freshly
conceived, yet astonishing unvirginal girl, into her home? As Steven's
thoughts ran down the scenarios one by one, he felt a curious pleasure
creeping into his speculations. And what injected this moment of panic with a
distant but quite real possibility for delight was a reminiscence, a nano-
second long image of a previous, more academic deliberation on his mother's
knowledge of his secret life.
   It had been two summers ago. They were up at Huntington Lake, car camping.
He lay on a cot in the canvas tent. It was unbearibly hot, like a sauna. But
Steven found it unperturbing. He was enjoying the twin dreamy states of youth
and summer languor. He was cultivating a fantasy, a forbidden thing, hot,
slow-moving and irresistible. Suspended between waking and dreaming by the
slender thread of his insistent narrative, he hung over himself and imagined.
   He'd felt this way before and he recognized it at once. But those incidents
were barely conscious feelings that swept over him and were gone. Like the
time he had swooned when Superman's girl, Lois Lane had changed overnight into
an immensely fat woman. Over and over he looked at the panels where Lois goes
to bed, her trim self and awakens to find herself obese. That had kindled in
him a feeling of intense emotion. And this was similar except that now he
believed he had found the key to that earlier mystery. Now he felt he was
directing the show, creating the comic book in his mind that would unearth
those feelings again.
   But not it's not Lois Lane who's changing, it's him. And he's not becoming
fat but feminine. The boy, lying on a cot in the tent becomes a girl lying on
a cot in the tent. His hair, creeps over the edge of cot and falls in
sinuously waves to the floor. His hips swerve up into space and his folded
arms become a shelf for his breasts. He is beatific.
   He gropes for the tiny round mirror hanging on the tent pole. No light. He
reaches for the cord on the window flap and pulls gently so that a single
shaft of light falls across the mirrors surface. It flashes for a second and
then he sees himself. A tiny round circle of face. But it is a girl's face
framed by smooth black hair. He reaches up to touch his cheeks and is struck
by the femininity of the gesture. He is now a girl. Holding the mirror
judiciously he examines his body in tiny sections, paying close attention to
his lush lips and his wondrously rubbery nipples.
   Someone is coming. He can hear flip flops approaching the tent. "Cmon'
Dave, let's go swimming." His mother. He picks up a towel to hide himself but
too late. She has pulled the flap back exposing his very feminine silouhette.
She enters and sits down opposite him.
   "I'm a girl, mom." he says in a frightened voice.
   "Well, we'd better get you a new swimsuit then, hadn't we?"
   Steven then conjures a scene to the resort gift shop where they are looking
through racks of girls' swimsuits. For the time being he is dressed in
decidedly un-unisexual t-shirt and jeans. And his mother is worried about the
tawdry sensation her daughter is making with her jiggling overripe breasts.
   He tries on some suits while his mother looks on approvingly at how well
her son has filled out. And that's where the daydream would end; modeling
suitsuits for his mother in a resort gift shop.
   And now he stood confronted by a real life version of his hothouse tent
dream. He turned away from the crowd of girls and began to walk across the
grass toward the house. The girls followed him, still enthused over his
consummate evolution. When he reached the door he stopped and Brooke stepped
in to open it. They entered en masse. His mother sat on the sofa drinking tea
with . . . Charlotte's mother. She looked over at the gang of girls.
   "Girls, you're back. Has anyone seen Steven? I realized this morning I
haven't seen him for twenty-four hours."
   "I saw him this morning," Brooke said immediately. "He said he'd be home
late tonight. After the girls had gone to bed. I think we scare him."
   "You're right about that, Brooke. Did he say where he was going to be?"
   "No. Shopping I think, maybe."
   "Shopping? For what? Not clothes. I have to drag him to the mall."
   This provoked titters among the girls. Steven slunk down among the bobbing
heads of curls. Suddenly Brooke led the girls from the foyer down the hallway
leaving him exposed to his mother's penetrating gaze. He waited to hear his
name called out. It didn't happen. She merely smiled and turned back to her
friend.
   When he turned to head down the hallway he faced the girls grinning faces.
They suppressed their giggling and spirited him into Brooke's room.
   "Well, you passed that test, Christine," Sheila gloated. "Your own mother
thinks you're a girl. You could fool anyone now, even with these unbelievable
boobs."
   Steven wanted to tell her about the saleslady he'd fooled but Brooke
wheeled him around.
   "Take off your sweater, Chrissy." she said without smiling.
   Steven did as he was told. And once again the room rocked with laughter as
he revealed the enormous bra cups bursting with multi-colored panties.
Suddenly all the girls were grabbing at his treasure chest, plucking out
pairs of panties and shrieking with delight.
   "Seems we've not only created a girl but a girl who likes to steal." Brooke
suggested.
   "That's not true." Steven said with a catch in his voice.
   "Well, then, why don't you tell us how you came by your panty-filled bra,"
Brooke said pulling the last pair of panties out of Steven's deflated
bustline.
   Tearfully Steven related his tale of woe, his encounter with Charlotte, his
humiliating unmasking in the lingerie dressing room and the dreaded date
Charlotte had exacted as punishment.
   The girls had listened with great interest to this unexpected diversion,
especially Brooke and Suzy.
   "I'd like to meet Charlotte. She sounds like a smart girl. It'd be fitting
to leave you on your own Christine. After all, you got into this mess by
being such a prideful hussy."
   "Yeah, it'd be fun to watch him making up for his big date."
   "Or shopping for evening wear? That would be interesting."
   "No, girls," Brooke countered. "The real fun is playing with our doll. Now
that he's so pretty," Brooke said touching Steven's curly tresses, "it be a
shame not to put some really nice clothes on him for his big date on the
town. We'll stay by you, Christine," Brooke said, her voice dripping with
sarcasm.
   "Now go back to your room while we decide what you're going to wear," Suzy
said dismissing their junior miss with a wave of her haughty hand.
   Sheila opened the door and Steven crept back into the hall. Sweaterless,
and with the stuffing removed from his bra he looked like a damsel who'd had
a tough night on the town. And he had.
   When he was safe in his room again he collapsed on the edge of his bed.
Numbed by the day's events and starving for food, he knew he'd have to wait
another hour before everyone went to bed and he could raid the refrigerator.
He leaned back on the bed and dozed off into troubled sleep. He woke to hear
his mother saying goodnight to Mrs. Fiorello. Rousing himself, he wondered
how he should dress for his trip to the kitchen. Practically, he knew that
his hair would have to be explained if he was caught.
   He decided to continue the masquerade for a little longer. After all, he
still had his make up on and he had fooled his mother twice today already. As
a precaution, he did switch bras. Retrieving the more suitable brassiere from
the clutch purse and stuffing the cups with tissue, he checked his profile in
the closet mirror and for the first time didn't linger over his delectable
image in the mirror. For some perverse reason he decided to jettison his
jeans and make his late night pantry raid in nothing more than bra,
corselette and heels. He justified this change in wardrobe with some very
sleepy logic. The real reason, of course, was that it was more exciting to be
scantily clad in such dangerous territory. And then again, his childhood
fantasy might have been tugging at him as well.
   Steven waited till he heard the last of the girls leave and the giggling
subside. Then he emerged from his retreat and proceeded down the hallway with
the stealth of a beautiful secret agent that he imagined himself to be. Heart
pounding under his bra cup, hair blowly softly against his cheeks, the swish
of spandex between his thighs, this was a kind of fun he'd never knew
existed. When he reached the kitchen he waited a full five minutes before he
opened the refrigerator. And when he did the light frightened him so that he
jumped back in his heels. As soon as he recovered he sensed another presence
in the room. Half of his body was hidden by the top of the dutch refrigerator
doors. But as he glanced below he realized what someone else was seeing: his
tight fanny forming corselette, his long legs sliding down into a pair of
heels. He remained very stiff while the cold air from the fridge blew over
him.
   "Remember what Miss Ekberg told you about snacking between meals. Don't you
think you should just go to bed now."
   It was his mother! Panicking for a moment, he inhaled deeply and imagined
his girlhood was real, that he had been raiding ice boxes all his life in bra
and heels. He summoned up the voice of this fictional creation and replied:
"Just one tiny snack won't hurt, will it? I didn't get much to eat today." He
was pleased with the coyness he achieved.
   "Well, I warned you, so my duty's done. Get to bed soon now." as she spoke
she had walked to the refrigerator and placed her hand on Steven's bottom,
carressing it gently. "Goodnight, dear." and then Steven held his breath on
the far side of the fridge door till her footfall reached the carpeted
hallway, then he exhaled and resumed his search for food.
   As he left the kitchen he no longer felt the need for stealth. In fact,
with the addition of food, his sleepiness reasserted itself in a mild
euphoria. He felt like flying all around the house in his heels. Forbidden
zones in the past for his nighttime revels, like the living room, were now
inviting him to strut his feminine self through them like a ghost in
lingerie. He switched on the dimmest of lamps on the piano and observed a
shadowy reflection in the big picture window on the far wall. He was a
girlish sprite in the picture window, totally believably as the leggy beauty
with the lusciously sophisticated coiffure that he had mimed so successfully
for his mother only moment's earlier. That was just her voice however. Now in
the still and silent, nearly dark living room, the shadows played across the
overstuffed furniture in a way that suggested a stage set for "pagan dance of
the suburbanites."
   And Steven feeling the events of the day filling his soul in a way that
nothing, not even his carefully cultivated hot house fantasies, had,
responded to the mood of this ritual awakening of the young girl and her
powers by obliging the gods in their request for a sinuously feminine dance
of the hours.
   The dance itself might have been peculiar to outside observers for it
appeared to be the gay ministrations of a sylph to a collection of inanimate
furniture. In fact, Steven was playing with each chair, table, sofa, surface,
space or shadow, introducing them to Christine and her totalling different
attitude toward the simple, the dumb, the inert which Steven had somehow
never even noticed. Flitting from one to the other she would spread her
curves over the length of the sofa and in a moment create the ennui of an
unrousable teenage girl, then on to a straightbacked dining room chair where
her previous and somewhat stilted persona would never let her get away with
the lewd invitations she made which the chair seemed to regrettfully decline.
Striding to the mantle, she strikes a sophisticated pose, almost matronly,
elongating her already slender arm with an imaginary cigarette holder, then
breaking that mold she leaps into the air and lands a prima ballerina.
   This delicate erotic ballet was encouraged and inspired by the occasional
glimpses Steven had of himself in the black reflection of the picture window,
a reflection which softened the incongruities in his body by its virtue of
incomplete likeness. Where a mirror had been a harsh judge of his boyish
body's ability to read as a female, the picture window, allowed him to swim
in and out of the lamplight in this somber living room aquarium, his mind
making seamless the voyage from male to female by filling in the shadowy
reflection with Christine's nubile musculature.
   Now standing before the window, legs spread, arms extended, his head moves
to one side, letting the distinctly girlish coiffure fall over one shoulder,
feeling the curls touch his skin, sliding smoothly down his back, seeing his
feminine silhouette emerging from and submerging into shadow, he felt like
Christine, agile, free and unleashed, kittenishly alluring.
   Just then a sound from down the hall startled him. It was only one of the
girls getting up to use the bathroom but it was enough to make the girl in
the picture window disappear leaving the awkward boy\girl in a bra
withdrawing into the darkness. He crept back to his room.
   The next morning Brooke appeared by his bed before the rest of the
household was up. When Steven's sleepy eyes became aware of her she smiled
lasciviously and pulled the covers back to reveal his naked body.
   "Oh, you sleep in the nude too, Christine." She was at it again. Her hair,
tousled by sleep, looked ever lovelier, he thought. Wearing only bra and
panties, she sat down on the edge of the bed.
   "It's time you got up. Preparing you for this date is going to take all
day. And we're not even going to be here this afternoon, so you'll have to
make the final preparations all by yourself. So get up and dressed now."
   "How . . ." he looked up helplessly.
   "Like a girl, stupid," she said walking over to the closet and pulling the
mirrored door open. "Come here." Steven reached for a pair of apricot panties
but she grabbed him by the arm and pulled him to the mirror.
   "Look at yourself. If it weren't for this you'd be a girl." she said
pushing his penis between his legs. "Flat-chested? Of course, but no one
would mistake you for anything but a girl. Just keep this thing well-hidden
and your own mother won't know you."
   It was true. In the dim morning light his reflection was a confusing mix of
irreconcilable details but the overriding portrait was one of soft femininity
fused with a boy's genitalia. The stark contrasts defined an eroticism all
its own and his delicate features face framed in femmy curls falling down to
his flat hard chest overwhelmed him with sexual feelings that even Brooke's
presence couldn't suppress. Luckily she left him with his ambiguous erotic
self before his sex began to rise to salute the boy/girl in the mirror.
   He began to think about his mother seeing him in this altered state. It was
just a matter of time before she did. It had been three days since she last
saw him. Of course, he had seen her but not as Steven the boy but as
Christine the girl. A lot had happened in three days. He wondered what would
happen when she eventually did see him in skirts and heels. She'd probably be
mad that he didn't let her do his hair. Or would she be shocked and demand
that he give up his new look? This revery was disturbed when there was a
knock on his door.
   "Steven, are you in there?" It was his mother.
   He reached for the doorknob to lock it but it was too late. The knob was
already turning. He dove into the closet leaving only his bare buttocks in
plain sight.
   "Oh, you are here. You know I haven't seen you for days. What have you been
up to?
   Steven found a T-shirt on the closet floor and pulled it over his head.
"Mom!" he said trying to force her retreat with false modesty.
   "Oh, for heaven's sake, I've seen you naked before." she protested but
withdrew nonetheless much to Steven's relief. Outside the door she continued:
   "I'm going to be busy for the rest of the week. Are you alright?"
   "I'm fine Mom," he said, his voice slipping a bit into Christine's breathy
speech.
   "You don't sound fine. If you need me I'll either be at work or at the
auditorium rehearsing. I'll call you later. Bye bye, hon."
   Steven slipped off the t-shirt and stared once more into the mirror,
smiling shyly at his deception. Then he wrapped the t-shirt around his chest
like a bandeau and he pushed his penis between his legs. The illusion was
stupifying. Hanging his index finger on his lower lip, his face filled with a
vacant babydoll sexuality. It excited him so much that his penis reemerged
with a vengeance to destroy the illusion but its message was clear: he'd come
a long way from his pink barrette. If he wanted to, he could go anywhere and
do anything as a girl. Suddenly the knowledge of this freedom depressed him
and he felt as a door to one world was opening up, another door was closing.
He slammed the mirrored closet door shut, banishing the babydoll. But she
wasn't evicted that easily; his fingers idly went to his lips involuntarily
recreating his nymphet pose.

   The girls were assembled around the kitchen table when Steven finally
emerged. Their conversation focused on Steven's big date and how they'd dress
him but the atmosphere was charged with suspense at what he'd look like this
morning. Brooke informed the others of her demonstration to Steven that he
had no choice but to dress the part of a girl. He couldn't pass as a boy
anymore she laughed.
   But Steven had made an effort to defy her edict and sat at the table
dressed in a dirty t-shirt and jeans. His face was scrubbed raw in an effort
to remove any trace of Miss Jordan's skillful makeup job. But his hair,
although it had been washed and combed, remained quite girlish, the bangs
falling stubbornly down to his eyebrows. The incongruity of his boy's clothes
and femmy curls made the girls burst into laughter. Even without makeup he
looked like a girl unconvincingly playing a boy.
   "Why Christine, you're so butch this morning." Suzy snickered.
   "And no bra either." Diane added.
   "Chrissy, are you fighting your destiny?" Brooke asked. "You know you're
going to have get femmed up tonight or your secret will be all over the high
school."
   Steven stared at the table feeling his heart sink right through the floor.
Tears were welling in his eyes as he said, "Well, I'm not a girl now."
   For some reason this made the girls laugh even harder. The plain truth was
that he was a girl. At least in appearance. And the tears only seemed to
confirm that his emotional makeup was changing as well.
   "Now Chrissy, don't get depressed because you look cuter than most of the
girls in the pageant. There was a lot of envy when you left the stage
yesterday and even more when you arrived home last night." Brooke admonished.
She stood up and walked behind Steven, pulling his hair back with her hands.
"Your hair is so lovely." This phrase, so reminiscent of his mother's own
efforts to feminize him, sent him into a paroxysm of despair.
   "But I'm not a girl. I'm not. I'm not." he said wrenching her hands from
his delicate tresses.
   Brooke pulled his hair back which jerked his head up violently and with a
new edge in her voice said, "You are for now, honey. Remember my dress.
Remember the pink barrette. Remember your date with Charlotte. For now you
are our little girl toy and you'd be better off not fighting it. Now go get
dressed properly, Chrissy. I've laid out your clothes on my bed. And don't
forget your accessories."
   Steven ran down the hallway into Brooke's room and collapsed sobbing on her
bed. Fifteen minutes later the tears had stopped and his eyes began to focus
on what Brooke had laid out for him. Neatly arranged on the bed were a soft
white padded brassiere, pink panties, the padded fanny former, taupe
pantyhose, a short acid-washed denim skirt and a royal blue silk blouse. In
addition, Brooke had put out blue high heels, a turquoise scarf, several
round brass bracelets, a gold chain necklace, beaded barrettes, a pair of
round blue enameled earrings and a small leather purse.
   Steven surveyed the array with the confusing mix of emotions that had
confronted him earlier. The clothes on the bed were the open door and he
stood looking through it with curiosity and a sense of delight but they were
also the closing door and he also felt a sense of dread and despair. He began
to pull the panty hose on.
   Fifteen minutes later he reemerged and sat down at the kitchen table for
the second time that morning. It was a distinctly different Steven that
joined the girls this time. The girls applauded.
   "Oh much better, Christine. The jewelry's a nice touch, Brooke."
   "Yes, it is, isn't it?" Brooke said admiring her tasty creation.
   "Don't you feel good now, Chrissy?" Diane asked.
   Steven looked up for the first time and smiled demurely. "I couldn't fasten
the necklace." The girls stood up together and rushed to hug their alluring
new girlfriend.
   "Hurry up and eat breakfast so we can go do your make up, Chrissy," Suzy
said petting his bangs lightly.
   Steven smiled widely. For the moment he dismissed his doubts and basked in
the girls acceptance of his girlhood. A girlhood that fit better than his
previous tomboy image.
   He looked up at their admiring faces and bit his lower lip, "Do I really
look good?"
   The girls responded with peals of laughter. That was all the answer he
needed. He felt loved.
   And he felt sexy. The silk blouse was so sensuous the way it glided cooly
over his skin and the bra beneath it seemed the most natural of garments. He
could almost feel he heft of his imaginary breasts in the padded cups. He
loved looking down at this legs emerging from the tube of his skirt. And the
bracelets clinking down his wrist added another sensory pleasure to his femmy
posturing. But what caught his fancy the most was the turquoise scarf. It
just added that over the top foxiness to his female image and gave him a
sense of assurance that no other accessory had. He had posed in Brooke's room
with nothing but the pantyhose and scarf and felt terribly wanton.
   But now as the girls stood over him, praising his successful transformation
he felt nothing but the warm glow of vanity. He knew he looked good and it
felt good to look good. It felt better, in fact, than anything he could
possibly imagine.
   The girls, all four of them, retired to Brooke's bedroom to make up
Steven for his big day. This time he studied their techniques as they applied
what seemed like hundreds of cosmetics to his eager face. They had a
wonderful time arguing over colors, shades of eyeshadow, whether to apply
false eyelashes, (they voted 3 to 1 in favor) and a thousand other details of
Steven's beautification campaign.
   All throughout the procedure Diane snapped polaroids and fed them to the
other girls who oohed and aahed but refused to let Steven see. They also
studiously kept him out of the mirror's way. When he protested Brooke shook
her finger at him and cautioned him against "being vain." When they finished
making up Suzy brushed out Steven's hair and back combed it so that it poufed
up.
   "Oh, Suzy, it's so . . . sixties."
   "Yes, I think so. It suits him."
   "Suit her, Suzy, her."
   "I think we're done, Diane. Take the final picture."
   Diane propped the camera up on a table, set the self timer and joined her
friends behind their ingenue. Then on a whim Brooke opened her blouse and
signaled to the other girls to do the same and soon the picture resembled a
coming out party at a brothel. Unbeknownst to Steven the girls continued to
disrobe until they were down to their bras and panties.
   "I think it's time to show our tarty girl what she's been missing. Suzy,
the mirror please." Brooke said. Suzy obliged opening the closet door wide so
that the erotic tableau was available for Steven's eyes at last.
   The reflection that greeted him seemed like a lewd James Bondette movie
poster with he as the heroine surrounded by lovely unclad girls. Steven
quickly went red as he viewed the underdressed pageant contestants.
   As soon as Brooke noted his demure prudery she bent over and pressed her
breasts against the back of his hair and put her hands on his arms.
   "Do we frighten you, Christine. Don't be frightened. You're one of us now.
You can be lewd too."
   "Take off your blouse," Suzy said.
   "Yeah, take off your blouse, Chrissy," Diane added, obvious enthused by
this idea.
   "But I just put it on?"
   "Take it off." Brooked said bluntly.
   "But why . . ."
   "Take it off . . . now!" Brooke said and began unbuttoning him.
   Once he'd removed the blouse, the mirror's reflection took on a whole other
aspect. It was no longer the James Bond movie poster but a group of sorority
sisters during hazing. The initiators and the soon-to-be initiated faced each
other, undistinguishable except for the awkward look the frightened inductee
wore along with his skirt.
   "Suzy go to the kitchen and find an apron. Something white would be nice.
And a tray too. Diane, reload your camera. I think maybe we should take some
pictures of our cute new girlfriend."
   "What are you doing . . ."
   "We're going to take some fun pictures, Christine."
   Suzy returned with an apron, not white, but pink with a ruffled edge.
   Steven was then asked to take his skirt, fanny padder, panties and panty
hose off and put the apron on instead. So that he was now dressed in only the
bra, heels and the apron.
   The scene in the mirror began to resemble an innocently seductive Playboy
magazine spread with Steven as the promiscuous homemaker surrounded by
encouraging nymphs. He radiated, despite his profound humiliation and
embarrassment a certain kind of erotic charm based perhaps on the pleasant
blend of bewildered innocence and outrageous sexiness.
    Diane fashioned a hat from a hankerchief and pinned it to Steven's pouffed
up hair. This gave him the aspect of a Benny Hill nurse or very mod
chambermaid. Brooke opted for the latter and the girls began to pose him in
odd erotic dioramas.
   In one the girls sat in chairs while Steven holds a tray off to the right.
In another Steven's stands facing the camera while the three girls pull up
the flap of his apron as though they were ad bimbos revealing a new product.
In yet another Brooke peels down a cup of her bra so that Christine the
chambermaid can kiss her nipple. This one turned out very well and the girls
had fits of laughter when they saw their doll's tongue extended to meet
Brooke's pink nubbin.
   For two hours, they moved him around, snapping pictures of his naked
buttocks peeking through the back of the apron or shyly holding his own cock
while the girls died laughing beside him, or brushing his young mistresses
hair or pretending to be held captive by Suzy while Diane pushed a lipstick
crudely over his lips. They stopped only because the girls had to get ready
for an afternoon pageant photo shoot leaving him tousled and mussed like a
abandoned bride.
   The girls large ignored him as they prepared their own femininity for
battle except to zip here, or retrieve this, or hook up this. As he fastened
Brooke's garter belt she looked over at Diane and motioned her take one more
shot.
   "She does make a good maid," Suzy whispered to Diane.
   After that they all took turns using Steven as their personal aproned maid.
He performed all the services without complaint but he still longed to be
accepted by the girls instead of being treated like a freakish slavegirl.
   After they had dressed and Steven had combed their hair they daubed make up
on quickly and left. And abruptly he was alone with his thoughts. He lay on
his bed for a long time without taking off the apron or the bra. After a
while he slept until a noise startled him.


                           THE PAGEANT
                            PART III

               Copyright 1990 by Leigh De Santa Fe

   Hello, Steven. What's going on here."
   His mother stood over him, staring down in amazement at the
barrettes in his hair, the bra straps emerging beneath the frilly
apron.
   He stood up in a panic, instinctively covering his breasts as
though he were a naked girl which is exactly how he felt.
   "Oh, Mommy!" he said reverting to a word he'd hadn't used in
years. As soon as he popped up off the pillow his hair fell sexily
into his face, making him seem even more feminine.
   "Well, what is it!" she practically screamed.
   "I fell . . . asleep." he offered lamely.
   "I can see that. Why are you wearing girl's clothes?"
   "I . . ."
   And even angrier, "Who did your hair?" True to his prediction
she sounded more wounded by his coiffure infidelity with another
hairdresser than she was surprised by his clothes or his made up
face.
   "I . . . uh, . . .I . . ."
   "What is it! What is it!"
   Steven burst into tears, deep sobs heaving his bust in short
jerky spasms. His mother looked hurt, then shocked, then
sympathetic and reached out tentatively to him..
   "Honey, honey, honey."
   "Oh, mommy, mommy, mommy." he sobbed into her neck.
   "Yes, baby. Yes, yes, Mommy's here."
   The story poured out over the next hour. The incident with
Brooke's dress, the blackmail, the make-up session and trips to the
mall and finally his encounter with Charlotte.
   His mother listened intently, unconsciously admiring her son's
transformation. With the apron straps fallen off his shoulder, the
barrettes loosened in his hair, even his puffy, mascared-stained
eyes seemed to add a new dimension of femininity.
   "And if I don't go out tonight with Charlotte, everyone in the
school will know about this. I'll never be able to go back to
school in the fall."
   "Maybe if I called her mother . . ."
   "Oh, don't do that. That would only make Charlotte more mad."
   "Well, then you'll have to go through with it, Steven."
   Steven. It seemed odd to hear his male name when he felt so
female. He watched his mother's concerned look fade to one of
scrutiny as she began tracking his bust and hip measurements for
his dress size. A light gleamed in her eye briefly and got up
suddenly.
   "Honey, I think I have something you could wear tonight. Wait
here a minute."
   She whisked herself out of the room and returned with a big
bundle of plastic. As she unwrapped it he realized it was her old
pageant dress. Something he often taken down off the rack to
examine but never unwrapped because he thought he would never be
able to put it back exactly right. Now he watched as his own mother
stripped away the dry cleaning bags to reveal the satiny, strapless
black dress.
   "Stand up, honey!" she said impatiently. "It's perfect! We're
the same size or we were the same size. You know you're very lucky.
Short black dresses are back in again. This is going to work
wonderfully. Let's see, uh, what time is your date?"
   "Eight."
   "Eight! It's six now. We've got to hurry. Go get into the
tub."
   "But I took a shower this morning."
   "I know, honey, but I want you to shave your legs. You've got
to wear sheer hose with this outfit."
   A few minutes later he was in a tub full of bubbles, his hair
under a plastic shower cap. He was trying to get a fix on exactly
what was happening when his mother burst in on. He dived bashfully
beneath the bubbles. She seemed not to notice.
   "Here's my razor. And some cream. Here, let me put the cream
on." she said immediately applying herself to the task. When he
started to draw the razor down his leg, she quickly stopped him and
said, "No, not like that, like this. There that's it." Then she
looked up and laughed. And he did too.
   They giggled right through the next two hours. At one point
his mother said, "You're like my daughter. I always knew you'd look
good as a girl but I never thought you'd be this good." Steven
turned away and hoped that his mother couldn't see how happy these
casual remarks had made him.
   The time passed quickly as the older woman guided the young
boy/girl in and out of the various preparations for his/her date.
   "Now your bust isn't as big as mine was. Hmmm, I guess that's
not a problem," she said retrieving a smaller bra. "I don't have
the bra I wore this dress with but I haven't changed that much and
this one is much sexier. Bras are sexier now, don't you think?"
   The banter continued in this vein, with his mother rattling
on about bras and make up and he making odd little assents when he
felt comfortable doing so. At one point when his mother was combing
his hair out, he blurted, "Lynette did my hair."
   His mother stopped brushing. "She did? Uh huh. Tell me, why
didn't you ever let me fix your hair?"
   Steven hadn't realized what a can of worms he had opened.
"Because, because it wasn't right."
   "You mean isn't right, don't you?"
   "It's different now,." His mother began to brush again.
   "How is it different?"
   Steven shifted uneasily on the stool. He glimpsed the image
of his mother standing behind him while he sat on the stool in
front, his hairless chest bouyed up by a strapless black bra, his
waist cinched in an ill-fitting garter belt and his legs encased
in seamed stockings. Long mascaraed eyelashes batted at him in the
mirror and hanging to his eyebrows were long thick bangs cut in as
semi-circle. He wore a pouty expression of teenage insouciance.
   "Because I look like that now," he said pointing at the pretty
girl in the mirror.
   His mother reached for the black velvet bow. "Yes, you do."
Their eyes met in the mirror. She pulled his hair back over his
ears.
   "It's just that I wanted to show you . . ."
   "Show me what?"
   "Girl things."
   "I know . . . but . . ."
   "It doesn't matter now. I'm not going to treat you like my
daughter but like a girlfriend. I have a son already. Now I have
a young girlfriend I can teach . . . .things to."
   At a quarter to 8:00 he stood before her, poured into the
black dress, in black heels, his hair pulled back tightly with a
bow, his bangs falling down past his eyebrow. He wore two elegant
onyx earrings.
   "Oh that's stunning." She leaned forward and whispered,
"Christine, you look lovely."
   "Do you really think so? Am I really pretty?"
   "Not pretty. Luscious."
   "I like being . . . luscious."
   "That's normal." She turned to examine herself in the mirror.
"When I was your age I . . ." His mother arced her back and pulled
her black hair off the nape of her neck. She blew him a kiss in the
mirror.
   "Well, you'd better hurry. Here's your purse. I put some money
on the left side and your make up in the right. Good luck, honey."
she said as he stepped into the evening twilight.
   As Steven walked the short distance between the houses he felt
the night was waking up to him walking in the streetlight. He no
longer thought about being dressed. No, his concerns now were the
girlish anxieties of a first date.
   It opened suddenly. It was Mrs. Fiorello. She fell back a bit
as she saw Steven. "Oh, I thought you were my husband." and then
she laughed at the seeming absurdity of the remark and Steven began
to giggle too.
   "You must be Christine. Charlotte, Christine is here." she
yelled. Steven liked her. She seemed a lot younger than she was and
she acted young too. "Oh, I love your dress. So elegant."
   Charlotte appeared at the top of the stairs and was
immediately upset when she spied his short strapless gown.
   "Oh, no, Christine, that's not the right look at all, it's too
fifties, too cool and dry." she rushed down the stairs to Steven's
side. "Come with me," she said taking his hand and leading him
upstairs. Steven looked back for support from her mother but she
just smiled up at him.
   "I like that dress, Charlotte."
   "But Mom, it's not right for Christine tonight."
   Once they arrived at Charlotte's room, she turned to Steven
and said, "Okay, take off all your clothes. We're starting from
scratch."
   "But I like this dress."
   "You like it? What's that got to do with it? Come on, take it
off."
   "It was my mother's dress."
   Charlotte stopped for a moment. "Did your mother dress you
up? Oh, isn't that sweet. Mommy dressed her femmy little boy up
like a prom queen from the fifties. It's touching. Maybe you could
sell it to the National Enquirer. No, not for tonight Christine.
Your not Mommy's little girl tonight. You're mine."
   Steven reluctantly began to unzip the black dress, sliding it
to the floor and revealing his cool white body in black lingerie.
Charlotte never even looked at him. She was busy getting stuff out
of her closet and placing it neatly on the bed.
   "Everything. Take it all off."
   "Everything?"
   "Oh, leave your panties on if you're that shy."
   Steven sat passively on the edge of the bed in black panties,
his full length evening gloves still in place. He looked quite
forlorn. Charlotte was rummaging around in her walk-in closet.
Suddenly the bedroom door opened and Charlotte's mother walked in.
   "Oh, I like your new look. Charlotte are you redressing him?"
   Steven blanched. She knew.
   Charlotte screamed from the closet, "Mom! This is my fun."
   "Oh, don't worry. I just wanted to see Christine without her
lovely clothes on. Christine, you really are a pretty thing." She
put her arm around Steven. He shrank away from her but she hugged
him tighter.
   "You know, you could have been arrested for going into the
ladies' dressing room with this beneath your skirt." she said
patting his genitals gently.
   "Charlotte, what about the red sweater?"
   "Mom! You promised not to interfere."
   "Oh, I know something you're going to need." She jumped up and
left the room as Charlotte emerged from the closet with a black
longline brassiere.
   "Here this is for you. Try it on. It's bigger than your other
one. But not too much bigger. Just enough."
   As he took the brassiere from Charlotte's hand, her mother
appeared in the doorway. "Wait, he's going to need this." she threw
a roll of tape to Charlotte who caught it as though she'd been
catching this moment for years.
   "Oh, yes, the tape. Thanks Mom."
   "Here let me hel . . ." a withering glance stopped her. "Well,
it's not as though I haven't had some experience with this."
   The foot door opened and closed downstairs and Charlotte's
mother, cutting strips of the surgical tapes, turned briefly toward
the sound. "Your Dad's home."
   "Oh, now he'll want to get into the act as well, I suppose."
   Steven sat on the bed while his two tormentors knelt before
him preparing bondage for his chest and listened to the soft
footfalls on the carpeted stair. Charlotte's father approached.
   "We're in here, honey." Mrs. Fiorello cried out.
   Steven waited for a businessman in a suit to appear in the
doorway, a man who smoked a pipe and probably played golf. Instead
a woman in her late thirties appeared, surveyed the situation
quickly and said with mock surprise: "Hey, what's going on here?"
Her voice was feminine but oddly baritone.
   Charlotte and her Mom turned to the woman in door and laughed.
She smiled back. She wore a bright blue knit dress that clung to
her curvy symmetry fearfully. Her face was oval and heading
smoothly into middle age. Her hair was curly, dark and
incongruously long, perhaps a little too young for her age but she
carried it off. She carried in one hand an attache case and in the
other, a small red purse.
   Steven who was already confused by this turn of events grew
even more bewildered when the stunning brunette crossed the room
and kissed Mrs. Fiorello on the lips. It was not a quick kiss of
feminine affection but one invested with a quiet domestic passion.
   "So this is Christine." she said looking down on Steven and
smiling. "Oh, honey not like that, like this." The woman in blue
took the tape from Charlotte and cut a strip. Then, she knelt
carefully in front of Steven and with her palms, squeezed his
babyfat chest together. "Oh, you've got plenty to offer,
Christine." she said in a Mae West voice. Close up Steven could see
she was very heavily made up but still quite attractive. She had
large eyes with large elaborated painted lids. Her fair framed her
face prettily. She smiled at him as though they were sharing a
secret in midst of this confusion.
   "Here, honey, put the tape on while I hold his tits together."
Mrs. Fiorello carefully placed the tape beneath Steven's nipples
and smoothed it down. When she took her hands off the result was
an increase in Steven's illusory bust. "Voila! Debby Fiorello's
Miracle Bust Development. Now you don't see it, now you do. Instant
cleavage." The woman in blue got up off her knees and turned to
leave the room.
   "Who are you?" Steven blurted out.
   "I'm Charlotte's father," the curvy brunette answered throwing
him a sassy backward glance.
   "Oh, I'd better go get dressed too. Sorry, Christine, it could
have been fun." Mrs. Fiorello left.
   "Oh good, we're alone at last." Charlotte said, picking up the
longline bra once again.
   "Charlotte, uh, what's going on."
   "We're double dating with my parents, dummy."
   "But your Dad . . ."
   "You mean my Aunt Debby."
   "No, that woman that just left."
   "That's my . . . Aunt Debby, Christine."
   "Oh, I see."
   "He likes to wear girl's clothes too, sissy boy. Now put on
your bra."
   Steven slipped the brassiere on and Christine quickly knitted
up the hooks in back. She rushed around to see the effect. "No,
that's not nearly busty enough. Here." She jumped up and retrieved
a pair of falsies from a bureau drawer and then without any fanfare
began stuffing Steven's bra cups.
   "That's better. Take a look."
   Steven turned to look at his reflection. He looked like a
bored call girl waiting for her trick to come out of the bathroom.
He had to laugh.
   "What's so funny, girly girl." Charlotte said with a snarl.
   He stopped laughing. "Nothing."
   "Good. Now here's your top. Put it on." she said, handing him
a short-sleeved red sweater.
   Steven pulled the sweater over his head, trying to prevent his
hair from being mussed. The sweater was tight, very tight and this
pleased Charlotte no end. Steven's spurious cleavage emerged in the
V-neck, appearing much more dramatic now that it was framed by the
lurid red sweater.
   "Yes, that's more the look I want. Tarty."
   Mrs. Fiorello appeared briefly in the doorway in a black half
slip and strapless bra. "Oh, that's good. Now, don't go too far,
Charlotte."
   Charlotte rolled her eyes. "I think this is the skirt." She
pulled a black denim skirt off the back of a chair and tossed it
to him. He stood up and pulled it up, inching it up over his padded
buns. It too seemed incredibly tight.
   "Yes, that's the skirt. Okay now let's go redo your hair. It's
much too boring."
   Steven followed her into the bathroom. The skirt was choking
him off but he made the effort to walk in a feminine manner.
   "Hair as thick as yours shouldn't be tied back. It should fall
freely around your face. Like my Da . . .uh Aunt Debby's." she said
loosening the barrettes that held his hair in place.
   "That's much better. Now some teasing and fluffing." Charlotte
obviously took much pleasure in assaulting his elegant hair style
and turning it into something more aggressively feminine. He sat
in front of the bathroom mirror and watched as his hair seemed to
get bigger and bigger around his head. Then with great skill
Charlotte maneuvered the bubble of curls into a fluffy page boy
coiffure.
    Aunt Debby arrived with a wig on her hand that made it look
like a puppet. "I thought you might want this. Oh, no, that's much
better than a wig. He has his own hair. How precious." Aunt Debby's
own hair had undergone some radical changes as well. He was now a
blonde with a gypsy cut. Steven's first thought was that she looked
more her age. And the wig went better with the bright blue dress.
   "My, you are a busty thing, aren't you? Funny, I was too when
I was your age."
   "Aunt Debby, don't you think you ought to help mom dress."
Charlotte said barely restraining her irritation.
   "She can dress by herself. It's the boys that need help, isn't
it Christine?"
   Steven looked at her in the reflection. She was already
ignoring him and putting on more lipstick. The blonde wig made her
more sophisticated and haughty, he thought.
   "Now I'm going to totally redo your makeup, girly girl. It's
just too dull. You do want to be sexy don't you?"
   For an hour the Charlotte devoted herself to the task of
destroying the subtle effects his mother had created and giving
them a slightly cruder but also much bolder effect. His eyes
gleamed with incandescent colors, his lips were fuller now and
blared red and the blusher was used to demonic effect. Sometimes
in the course of the application Mrs. Fiorello or "Aunt Debby"
would appear in the bathroom door suggesting shades of color or
hints about application.
   At one point, Mr. Fiorello came in with yet another wig on.
He had doffed the blue knit dress in exchange for a pair of tight
designer jeans and a scooped-neck leotard top that left no doubt
about the shape of his chest. It was decidedly curvy. This made
Steven even more confused about Mr. Fiorello's true sex.
   "Aunt Debby's" hair was now red and cut in Dutch boy fashion.
It was younger in spirit than either of the previous wigs and yet
something about the way he was dressed seemed to lend itself to a
younger look. Or was it the look of an attractive older woman
trying to look young? Whatever, it was successful. With each wig
Mr. Fiorello's adjusted his demeanor accordingly. Now he seemed
very bubbly and vivacious. Not at all the sophisticated woman of
the world that he'd entered as but more a tarty mother of 2, not
terribly bright and thrilled about going out on the town with the
girls.
   "Oh, Dad, have you changed again?" Charlotte said not
bothering with the silly "Aunt Debby" ruse.
   Her father gave her a slightly sour look at hearing the word
"Dad" but seemed to recover his or her composure and return to
character. "The name is Tina and yes, I've changed again. What do
you think?" he whined back at her.
   "It's too young."
   "That's what I like about it. Oh, I love what you're doing
with Christine's hair. Fluff City. I love your hair, Christine. So
thick and long for a boy." Mr. Fiorello said lewdly savoring the
last two adjectives.
   "Dad!" Charlotte yelled.
   "How did I ever raise such a prude. Was it bad genes or bad
jeans?" she said patting her denimed derriere and leaving with a
laugh and a burlesque flourish.
   "He's such a case when he comes home. All day long he works
as an uptight bitch lawyer and when he comes home he turns into a
raving tart." Charlotte could tell Steven was bewildered by Mr.
Fiorello's appearance.
   "What! Did you really think you are the only boy who likes to
dress up?"
   "But he has . . ." Words failed him so he carved out a healthy
bust with his hands.
   "Yeah, he got those four years ago when he decided to cross
over full time."
   "What did your Mom say?"
   "Well, she was worried for a while? She thought "Aunt Debby"
might come back from the hospital with larger breasts than she had.
But that fear proved groundless. He's a very sensible 36A. Just
right, don't you think?" she said with total admiration for her
father's restraint.
   Steven looked at himself in the mirror. The false eyelashes
batted back at him. The elegant young woman in the black strapless
gown has been erased and now in her place was a younger and more
attractive version of Mr. Fiorello's latest female incarnation. He
was Tina as a young girl . . . or as a boy.
   The comparison played across Steven's mind. For a moment he'd
see himself as the boy that Charlotte's father must have been at
one time and then he'd see Tina as the older woman he'd become. It
was a rather pleasant thought. He thought how wonderful to age as
gracefully as Mr. Fiorello and have the courage to add breasts to
her fantasy as just as she was hitting thirty. He knew who he was
or she knew who she was or something . . .
   He entertained an idea of his own father dressing up and being
as gorgeous as Mr. Fiorello, dispensing fatherly advice about how to
wear his bra artfully or where to put the corsage on prom night.
But when he pictured his imaginary Dad in tulle petticoats he
laughed out loud.
   Charlotte immediately perceived an affront and struck him on
the back. "What is it?"
   "Oh, I was just imagining my father in a dress."
   "I thought you didn't have a father."
   "Well, I didn't but I have a father I've created and he
doesn't wear dresses. Though after seeing your Dad, I wished for
a moment that he would have."
   Charlotte felt sorry for him briefly but then said, "Maybe he
does."
   Steven turned to look at her. He felt the teased hair turn
stiffly on his head. She was grinning down at him.
   "Come on, Christine. Let's go see what they're wearing." she
said with a touch of mockery in her voice. Mockery directed not
only at him but at her parents as well.
   She took his hand and pulled him up out the chair. He thought
he felt his breasts jiggle as he bounced out of the room and down
the hall alongside Charlotte.
   The enormous bedroom was dimly lit except for the ornate
vanity across the room. There, Mr. Fiorello was seated while Mrs.
Fiorello attended to his hair. Though still dressed in leotard and
jeans Tina's severe hairdo was gone. Replaced by the original wig
Steven had seen him in. Mr. and Mrs. Fiorello both turned and
smiled as Steven and Charlotte entered. They seemed like two
girlfriends who'd been tarting it up together for years. Mrs.
Fiorello resumed spraying Mr. Fiorello's hair.
   "Oh, Charlotte, it's wonderful. Attention to detail.
Christine, how do you feel now?" in a perfect feminine purr.
   Steven's mouth was dry. Mr. Fiorello intimidated him. He found
his femmy lusciousness inappropriate and yet he was also quite
aroused by it. "Fine."
   "Fine?" What does that mean? You're not freaked out because
I'm Charlotte's father are you? TVs do grow up, you know."
   "TVs?" Steven said.
   "Oh, he's such a baby. Tranvestites, honey. Boys in bras, lads
in lace, men in. . . uh, men in . . ."
   "Mama's clothes." Mrs. Fiorello finished.
   "Thanks you." Mr. Fiorello said without looking up. "Now
things might be a little different in our house but I think we're
better off if I'm up front about my lifestyle," he said emphasizing
the words "up front" with a busty thrust of his shoulder.
   "But you're so . . . pretty." Steven said shyly.
   "Oh, dear, dear boy. Tell me more. Tell me more. Are you
hearing this, Charlotte?"
   Steven looked at Mr. Fiorello and their eyes met briefly. Long
enough for Charlotte's father to deliver a genuinely warm message
with his smile. Then he turned to look at his wife's progress.
   Mrs. Fiorello wore an off-the-shoulder white blouse and a snug
black skirt that seemed tawdry until you took in her patrician good
looks and then it seemed elegant and wonderfully slummy. Then ends
of her hair were still swinging in curlers which added a homey
backstage touch to the scene.
   "I'm so excited." Tina sang.
   Charlotte groaned.
   "Tina, remember we're here as chaperones only."
   "Speak for yourself Linda. I intend to flirt with any sailor
I see."
   "Oh really. Well, maybe we'll both get lucky." Linda Fiorello
replied.
   "Aren't you guys ready yet?" Charlotte whined.
   "Charlotte, the place doesn't even get going till 9:30. Relax.
Christine, I can't believe what a great little trollop you make.
When I was your age I always wanted to achieve that look and never
quite made it. It was more the 'put a t-shirt on your hair and
pretend it's long hair and color your lips with a red pencil type
of thing.' But you. You look realer than real. 100% female and
itching to show it."
   Steven found himself blushing deeply at these remarks. Though
it was true that he felt differently about being a girl since he'd
been divested of his more sedate attire. He felt sass creeping into
his step and swivel appearing in his walk. Now as this quality
became apparent too others he withdrew a little, became a little
less stridently feminine and more boyishly awkward.
   Debby extended her hand to Steven and he took it. "Don't
worry, Christine. I won't let Charlotte hurt you." Their eyes met
again and Steven felt a strange calm emanating from this attractive
brunette and flowing into him.
   Half hour passed and the quartet of girls were on their way
to the disco. The two older girls rode in front with Mrs. Fiorello
driving. The entire time Debby was turned round and filling the air
with chatter about her life as a woman. How it was much harder to
get ahead when she crossed over the sex line and how much more
interesting life became once he'd acquired a real bust to flaunt.
And how good it felt to flaunt it on the right occasion.
   "Once I wore that blue silk blouse with white polka dots. You
know. The one with the plunging collar. I put my hair up that day.
And I could feel the eyes on me. The secretarial pool applauded as
I walked by. It was quite a triumph."
   Mrs. Fiorello seemed to find all this quite amusing. Steven
thought she looked lovely with her black hair falling in a lively
flip over her exposed shoulders. Every once in a while she'd turn
round and smile at him.
   "Don't you find being a girl much more interesting than being
a boy." Without waiting for an answer, went on, "I do. Of course,
when I was your age it was more of a mystery than anything else.
A delicious mystery. Why would a 14 year old boy want to wear his
sister's brassiere? Why would he imagine while he sits in a
chemistry class that he is wearing a dress? Why would he get the
most enormous pleasure from using his mother's lipstick?"  turned
round to look at the road.
   "Yes, why?" Steven said, wanting her to finish the mystery.
   "Hell if I know." Debby said and they all laughed.
   "I know." Mrs. Fiorello offered. "It's because they want to
be attractive to boys. They want to show themselves off. It's as
though they were given the wrong set of instructions. And when the
other boys are out learning the art of the hunt, they want to be
learning the art of the . . ."
   "Cunt."  Debby said.
   "You are so crude," Charlotte said.
   Debby pretended not to notice and instead began to muse, "I
remember when I was 16 and my parents had taken my sister back to
college in the fall. That was a weekend to remember. I used make-
up for the first time and I went out dressed for the first time."
Charlotte groaned loudly.
   "Well, Christine hasn't heard it. Anyhow I laid all my
favorite things out on the bed. My sister's strapless bra, the
white cotton sweater with the pearl buttons, the pleated skirt. It
was a terrible mish-mash of stuff. And I put them all on and walked
out of the house. It was twilight in the fall and my legs never
felt so cool or free as beneath that pleated skirt. The sweater was
way too tight but I liked it that way. The heavy underwiring in the
bra gave my breasts that surreal Brunhilde look, menacing bronze
bullets. I loved it."
   "What about your hair?" Steven asked, touching his own teased
locks.
   "It was at the time when boys were starting to wear it long
and although I wasn't much of a hippie I certainly loved taking
advantage of the chance to have hair down to my shoulders. I must
have spent about 2 hours styling it for my brief walk in the world.
You have to remember that before I did all this stuff I'd been
thinking about it for weeks, months, years. In my fantasy I'd go
out as a girl, my hair long and straight, like Cher's, and falling
to my sexy chest and immediately I'd meet some boys who thought I
was lovely and we'd go riding in a convertible to the beach. I
embellished it to the point where I was elected Prom Queen and
dating boys like crazy and then an odd thing happened . . I started
to fantasize about being discovered."
   "As a boy?" Mrs. Fiorello asked.
   "As a boy. Yes. I had a very elaborate fantasy about all the
cheerleaders and the football team catching me in the girls' locker
rooms, half-nude and obviously not female. By birth anyway. Oh, it
was too delicious."
   Talking about all these things made Steven uncomfortable. He
felt embarrassed for Charlotte. But a part of him, the part that
was dressed so convincingly feminine, also wanted to hear more and
more. Debby obliged.
   "And then you really were discovered." Mrs. Fiorello prompted.
   "Yes, I was discovered and maid to pay the price."
   "Maid?" Mrs. Fiorello smiled.
   "Yes, maid." Debby laughed. Then he turned to face Steven and
continued his story, "One night when I thought the house was empty
I preceded to do what I did when I was alone: I dressed up. It was
after a long hiatus and my nerves were raw with anticipation of
this moment. During my break from dressing my hair grown from over
the ears to down the neck and I had a terrible fascination with
feminizing it. Something I only toyed with in the naked moments
before a shower. I was so thrilled with my long hair that merely
scooping it off the back of my neck gave me goosebumps and other
things as well.
   "At any rate, it was around 8:00 when I heard the door open
and my younger sister Carol and her friend Linda Valentine come
running up the stairs. There was no time to hide or collect the
dozens of dresses I had laid out on the bed and restore them to the
closets, I remember just standing in the bathroom. Not even
bothering to shut the door. Remember, by this time I'd progressed
to rather elaborate makeup, most of which I'd filched from my sister
Carol's cache. I wasn't very good with it but I certainly managed
to attain the level of a journeyman drag queen. The sort of girls
that you might find in an old drag magazine. Very into eyelashes.
Something like you're wearing tonight but not quite as subtle. At
any rate I think all I was wearing when they appeared at the end
of the hall was a pair of black bikini briefs, the false eyelashes
and a pair of Carol's very mod dangly earrings. My hair was up and
ratted into an imposing pompoudour with sausage curls at the ears.
I suppose I could have said I was understudying for Marie
Antoinette in a travesty at school but the look on their faces
didn't really allow any lame deceits of that kind."
   Mrs. Fiorello continued. "Carol of course was furious and
confused. She screamed at him. "What are you doing with my makeup
and my earrings? What have you done to your hair? You look like a
girl! What are . . ." I interrupted her to point out that Debby's
eyelashes were crooked and I went up and fixed them."
   "Then she and Carol started laughing uncontrollably and
disappeared into Carol's room for a moment. When they returned they
were carrying a skirt and sweater and . . ."
   "The rest is history."
   "The rest is her story." Debby corrected. "And now it's
Christine's story. I'm so jealous. When I went out with Linda and
Carol I looked so . . .well, I never look as good as you do. Are
you happy with your triumph?"
   Steven looked down at his lace gloved hands. His hair drooped
down and framed his face seductively. Then he looked up and smiled.
"Yes, I like it. I think. I'm not always sure how to act." his
modesty was quite becoming and even Charlotte's heart went out to
him. She reached for his hand.
   "Then you're no different than anyone in the world." Debby
said without much interest. "Remember that you only achieve
femininity by acting on it."
   "He means that you can't be afraid of boys," Mrs. Fiorello
translated.
   "You won't have any trouble attracting boys, Christine.
Charlotte's clothes will see to that. But you won't keep them
unless you know what to do with the clothes. Be proud of your bust
and make good use of it. Sometimes a profile is much more arresting
than a full-front overload, for example. And keep your motion fluid
and full of liquid grace. All stiffness will do is show them you're
a boy dressed like a girl. And that will confuse them to their
souls because you don't look like a boy." Debby laughed.
   "Well, he won't have to worry about being the gay deceiver
tonight. All the girls where we're going are boys." Charlotte said.
   "With a few exceptions . . ." her mother added.
   "Oh, you spoiled the surprise," Debby said with mock
disappointment.
   "Debby, you could tell without even going in to this place
that it's for boy/girls. The location alone would tell you that."
Charlotte sassed back.
   And it was true that her mother was now winding down an alley
an industrial part of the city. A place full of warehouses and
garages, large abandoned buildings with windows broken out. The
alley was long and dark but the further they traveled the lighter
it seemed to get. And parked cars started appearing. Mrs. Fiorello
parked the car and the four girls sat for a moment while Debby
retouched her lipstick.
   "Do we have to walk all the way up there?"
   "Charlotte, you know there's no parking up there."
   They began the trek. A parade of heels and hips, hair and
swiveling buns. Steven watched Debby maneuvering through the
potholes and puddles of rainwater with the most feminine delicacy.
And he had the longest heels of the four. His buttocks were totally
convincing in the tight jeans as was his bust, protruding sexily
in the leotard top. She was at ease with the withering figure she
cut and quite devastating for that reason. Steven tried to emulate
his walk and hoped that he was succeeding. Snickers from Charlotte
told him he had to work harder.
   Finally, they turned a corner and immediately a pink neon sign
sputtering the words "Girl's Club" illuminated a group of "girls"
silhouettes lounging under a frowsy red canopy that was obviously
an impermanent part of the Girl's Club.
   The silhouettes emerged from the shadows once they spotted
Debby and Linda and the air was filled with affection cattiness.
   "And this is my daughter's latest discovery, Christine.
Charlotte caught him with his panties down at the department
store."
   Whether this embarrassing introduction caused Steven to blush
is moot. In the light of the pink neon everyone seemed flushed with
a certain glow. Certainly the creatures that emerged from the
shadows had a glow. Now they were all fawning over him, these gaudy
birds of the night. In the center of a maelstrom of teased hair,
feather boas and leather skirts, Steven swooned from the sharp
fragrances that competed in the tight circle. The scents of Chanel
No. 5 mingled with dance sweat and hairspray. He couldn't really
see individuals as much as a painted chorus woven into one another
with interlocking arms. A large rubbery black face with thick curls
cascading down one side emerged from the flock and said with a pair
of enormous and extremely red lips, "Welcome to the Girl's Club,
Christine. You're goin' to fit in just fine."
   And so Steven was ushered into the foyer of the Girls Club.
The foyer was really a long corridor lined with mirrors and dimly
lit by a succession of bulbs. It's narrow width was made more
impassable by the profusion of "girls" fixing their hair and makeup
and making lascivious faces at themselves in the mirror. Some of
them turned and smiled indelicately at Steven as he made his way
down this gauntlet of girls. One, a pretty brunette wearing a black
bustier, even said, "Hello," and then brought a fan up to cover
his face coquettishly. It seemed an odd gesture to Steven and he
glanced back at the brunette to find him smiling back at Steven
over the top of his fan.
   As the heels clicked on the plywood planking, the sound of a
mournful wail grew steadily louder until turning a sharp corner it
opened into the Girl's Club and the source of the wail became
apparent. It was a blonde chanteuse singing "The Man That Got Away"
in a bright spotlit circle of light against a curtain of black
velvet. As Steven's eyes became accustomed to the light he found
tables of two and three watching the singer respectfully and over
against the far side, a bar where several statuesque specimens of
femininity lounged against bar stools. The mirrors continued all
the way along the back of the club and here were snared four or
five more "girls" primping, combing out or making up. Debby led the
way along the back wall to the bar area and eased herself up on a
barstool. Steven followed suit. Charlotte was no longer at his side
but had lingered to talked to a cute black girl in a sequinned
gown. Mrs. Fiorello sat next to him. Charlotte joined them after
a moment.
   "Charlotte, take Christine to the bathroom and show her
around."
   "Can't he go by himself," Charlotte said.
   "I want you to show him around," Debby said leaning forward
to expose her cleavage.
   "Come on, then, Christine."
   Charlotte cut a dramatic figure as she swirled into the crowd
of boy/girls in the tight red dress and Steven quickly followed her
let the wake close up again and separate them.
   "You first, Christine," Charlotte said as they reached the
door appropriately titled "girls and boys." Someone had scratched
out the "d" and replaced the "a" with an "i."
   Steven entered. In the corner a couple of boy/girls were
necking voraciously. Charlotte and Steven's arrival had no effect
on them until, Charlotte said in a very unladylike bellow, "Get
out."
   The two boy/girls left in a joint sulk and Charlotte quickly
locked the door.
   "Now Christine what Debby is dying for you to know is this,"
Charlotte said and nonchalantly pulled up her skirt with one red
gloved hand and pulled down her panties with the other. Then she
grabbed the limp member in her hand and waved it gently. "See
this?"
   "Yes," Steven said, his voice cracking.
   "Believe it."
   Charlotte put her cock back in her panties, dropped her skirt
and turned to the mirror to examine her makeup. Then she turned
slowly and smiled at Steven.
   "We're both boys in dresses?" Steven said.
   "Honey, I'm more girl than you'll ever be." Charlotte said
nastily. Then she turned and said in much gentler voice: "Did you
ever suspect?"
   "Never."
   Charlotte smiled broadly. "Now you know why I never tried to
enter the Pageant." She laughed.
   "But you're so feminine."
   "You would be too if both your parents wore bras."
   A voice outside the bathroom began getting louder and louder.
   "We'd better go," Steven said.
   "In a minute. You make a better reentry if all the eyes are
on you," she said, daubing her lips with lipgloss. "Here, let me
put some on you. But close your eyes first."
   Steven closed his eyes and thrust his lips forward. Charlotte
planted a chaste series of kisses on his lips, tranferring the
gloss in the process. Her hair touched his bosom and in the process
gave Steven a jolt that went straight to his groin. Which also
happened to be where Charlotte's hand went. Steven's followed suit.
   "You know, you're the only boy that's ever come close to
matching me."
   "Have there been others?" Steven asked.
   "Well, no, not actually. But in the magazines, I mean."
   "I didn't want to go this far."
   "I find that hard to believe," Charlotte said, gently probing
beneath his skirt.
   "I just wanted to try on a dress and . . ."
   "And now, you got the complete package. Dress, hair, make up,
and . . . Kiss me." Charlotte breathed in his ear.
   Steven kissed her and they embraced, pressing breast to
breast, dress to dress.
   The voice at the door had become an insistent pounding.
Charlotte withdrew and smiled at him through hair that fell in her
face. Then, pausing briefly to repair her makeup, she whisked past
him and out into the club.
   Steven was stunned. Charlotte Fiorello was a boy! One of the
most attractive beauties at the high school had a cock. The
cosmetic girl was a cosmetic girl. Steven turned to face himself
in the mirror. He swooned at the sight. He looked like disheveled
tart, make up smeared, hair tousled. Somehow he now seemed to fit
the voluptuousness of his sweater and skirt. His glance went
demurely to his decolletage. The tape and the bra had created the
semblance of a believeable bustline and as Steven looked at it he
began to feel a strange transformation taking place. A warming
trend moved over his body, starting in his black heels and working
it's way past his skirted torso, up into his spurious bosom and
then down to the tips of his curled brown hair. When he looked up,
he saw himself differently. No longer did he seemed the frightened
boy/girl, the misplaced tart, the humiliated sissy. He felt a power
entering through his chest. He was a real girl. And he smiled a
real girl's smile into the mirror before he left.
   When he returned to join the "girls" at the bar he met the
smiling eyes of Linda and Debby.
   "Were you surprised?" Debby asked, offering Steven the empty
barstool on right.
   Steven couldn't speak. His smile was enough to tell the story.
Charlotte turned briefly to him and flashed a quick grin which
pierced his heart with its intensity. All he wanted to do right now
was talk with Charlotte about being a girl. Talk about dresses and
lingerie and hairstyles and makeup. Talk about boys, and flirting
and cup sizes. Talk about eyeliner and sweaters and earrings. Talk
about the million things he had to learn to be a real girl.
   The chanteuse had left the stage and a ventriloquist and her
dummy had taken her place. It was an odd act. The ventriloquist was
slender young blonde in a Tuxedo and his dummy was a girldoll with
a beehive hairdo. She wore a white fiesta dress with off the
shoulder neckline and skirts billowing from her wooden torso. It
soon became apparent that the dummy was not a girl but a boy/girl.
The most obvious clue to this was a running gag that had the
dummy's skirts rising whenever the boy in the tuxedo mentioned
clothes.
   "Tammy, you sure are dressed to the nines?"
   "And you're dressed to the threes, my dear. I thought you said
we were going to this gig together."
   "We are here together,"
   "You call this together," the dummy pulled at the young stud's
tie and pulled it loose.
   "Hey, wait a minute. . ."
   "And this," she continued, peeking between the buttons of his
shirt which revealed a thin black band across his chest. A black
string with a silver ring attached to it dangled off the black
band. She waited for the laugh and then tugged on the silver ring.
The shirt burst open to display black bra cups filling with air
like a life jacket.
   The dummy then turned to the audience and bowed as they
applauded her discovery.
   "Are you doing Marlene or what, honey?" the dummy asked.
   "Oh Chloe, would you mind coming in here a minute."
   A long-legged queen appeared in a black leotard embroidered
with sequins with seamed stockings and heels completing his
wardrobe. His hair was in a Jackie O flip and to leave no doubt he
wore a Leopard-skin pillbox hat.
   "What is it Tammy?" the Jackie O girl says in huskily feminine
voice.
   The dummy whispers into her ear.
   "Are you sure?" Jackies O says looking sceptically at the
brassiered ventriloquist.
   "Believe me, he wants it." Tammy replied.
   "Okay." Then turning to the wings, "Come on, girls."
   From out of nowhere queens appear and descend on the
ventriloquist, ripping off the breakaway Tuxedo to reveal the rest
of his undergarments until he's left holding the dummy in nothing
but bra, panties and black stockings.
   "You look ridiculous, Charlie. Chloe, can't you fix him up
with a wig." the dummy said.
   Two more queens appear with blonde wig styled in an overblown
Dolly Parton manner and placed it on his head. Then one of the
queens held his face tightly while the other applied cosmetics.
They finished and Chloe reappears and with her back to the audience
she gets on tiptoe to spray the ventriloquists hair and comb it out
lightly. In the process there's plenty of girlish wiggling which
the dummy reacts to my kissing Chloe's deliciously round buttocks.
   After the laughter subsides Chloe steps aside to disclose the
very convincing transformation of the ventriloquist from tuxedoed
boy to lingeried lass complete with false eyelashes and rhinestone
earrings. The dummy stares at his master's obvious discomfort with
his feminized state.
   "What's wrong now, Beulah?" the dummy asks.
   "I forgot my lip gloss." her mistress replies in a churlishly
girlish voice.
   They bow and disappear to wild applause. The stage goes dark
and music begins to throb throughout the club. Then moving strobe
lights bombard the tiny dance floor in front of the stage.
   "Do you want to dance," Debby asked Steven.
   "Oh, I couldn't really. I . . ."
   "Everybody dances without partners here, so you don't have to
feel like your dancing with me although I don't think that's so bad
a fate anyway." she said pulling her hair up into an impromptu
ponytail and turning to offer Steven a glamourous and buxom
profile.
   "Come on. It will be fun," Mrs. Fiorentino said taking
Steven's arm. The dance floor is already crowded with girls of all
kinds. And the strobe has the effect of doubling the true number
by fragmenting everything into a face here, an earring there.
Steven feels like he's looking at hundreds of queens when actually
there's only 25 or so bobbing around him.
   After a minute or so a few quite startling girls emerge from
the crowd either by dint of their outrageous clothes or their
exotic beauty. In one corner a captivating black queen with her
hair pulled back severely with a big black bow glances up from her
heavy lashes periodically to send strange signals to Steven. Her
face is nearly expressionless except for her occasionally emerging
tongue licking her lips. The strobe gave the effect of a series of
increasingly lewd polaroids of seduction flashed before ones eyes.
In another corner a very cool blonde a in short lime colored dress
gyrated wildly but was careful to glance Steven as he enters the
dance floor.
   It was a full five minutes before Steven realized that he was
dancing in high heels and without the slightest discomfort. After
a moment of withdrawal he shook his hair and felt it brushing the
back of his neck. It felt sexy and good. Watching himself in the
mirrored walls he couldn't resist touching his sweatered chest and
feeling the cups of the bra beneath. It was a gesture that didn't
go unnoticed. Charlotte appeared by his side and they danced
together, looking at each other indirectly through the mirror,
comparing their curves and laughing.
   Charlotte's mother broke a heel and both parents left the
dance floor and then surfaced a moment later. "We're going to go."
Debby shouted, then mimed in frustration.
   "Can we stay?" Charlotte asked.
   "How will you get home?"
   "She can get a ride with Jasmine."
   "Not too late," and then spotting Steven mimicked his breast
grabbing pose. They left and Charlotte took Steven's hand and
shouted into his ear, "Let's go."
   "Where?"
   "Another club. It's straight but there's boys there. Real
boys."
   "What if we get found out?"
   "They tear us limb from limb. So . . . Don't you want to pass
the ultimate test?" the luscious brunette said, punctuating her
last word with a tongue down Steven's ear.
   Jasmine drove too fast. She was a punky flapper with a chalky
white helmet of shoulder length hair. Her skin too seemed chalky
against the bright red of her bustier which she filled to the brim
with the best approximation of breasts Steven had ever seen. On a
boy.
   Steven could hardly contain his excitement. But it wasn't
centered in his groin but in his pounding heart. Each beat seemed
to cause his entire chest to quake beneath the scarlet sweater.
Charlotte flipped the visor down and tried to catch glimpses of
herself when the bright lights of downtown bounced briefly off the
mirror's surface. At a stoplight, the harsh glare of an all-night
drug store provided enough illumination for Steven to catch tiny
portraits of Charlotte's glossy red lips in the mirror's surface
before Jasmine turned out the lights by speeding out of the light.
   Charlotte's demeanor had changed somewhat since her secret had
been revealed. She no longer treated Steven with the supercilious
air of a tormentor but more like a soliticous older sister. A
sister that can't resist toying with Steven's coiffure and touching
up his make up, straightening his skirt or his posture.
   "Now this is the big test. If you can pass here you can pass
anywhere. A lot of boys who dress up think that means acting ultra-
femmy. But the trick is that today's girls aren't ultra-femme. Did
you watch the Miss USA Pageant the other night? They all look like
Bambi till they open their mouths and then out come the most
voracious world-beating Marketing Majors the world has ever seen.
You can't be too femme these days. Women aren't. So be a little
butch, a little brassy. If you act like you've got balls they won't
suspect that you actually do."
   "I don't have trouble being butch," Jasmine said, the toe of
her pink heels burrowing into the floor board. "It's being femme
enough for a boy when he grabs me after a dance. I tend to freeze
up and get all musclely."
   "Musclely?"
   "Yeah, haven't you ever put on blouse and then flexed your
arms so that you look instantly like a boy in a blouse?"
   "Never." Charlotte said, casting a smile at Steven as she laid
her leather gloved hand on thigh and flexed her forearm. Steven
thought he'd never seen anything quite so erotic.
   "Christine, let me hear you talk. Yes, just talk in a feminine
voice. Not that anyone in the club could hear you but you might
have to talk in the bathrooms."
   "What should I say?"
   "I'll pretend I'm a girl in the bathroom and you've just come
out of the stall. "Can I borrow a lipstick?"
   "Sure. What color?" Steven responded in a breathy whisper.
   Jasmine and Charlotte laughed. "You better not go to the
bathroom." Jasmine said.

   Finally Jasmine turned the car down a street and a crowd of
people in the most outrageous evening cloths were lined up outside
an unimposing wooden door. "Oh shit. We'll have to wait."
   "I don't mind." Steven said, looking forward to being a glam
girl out on the street.
   "It's riskier. We might get read in the street light."
   Steven didn't care. He felt the veneer of his lush femininity
was inpenetrable. And the more he thought that way the more his
body seem to fall into the soft round shape of a young woman, the
more his own gestures were graced with delicacy and girlish
hesitation, the more his tousled hair achieved a look that was both
innocent and wanton but definitely all female.
   The three boys retouched their make up for the eightieth time,
pouffed their hair for one hundredth time and left the security of
Jasmine's car. The crowd turned to watch them cross the street and
fall in at the end of the line. Steven stared back trying hard not
to seem too brazen or too meek. He watched Charlotte. She was
flawless. Hips swiveling, he tossed his mane of black hair over his
shoulder with a poise borne of years in dresses and years watching
Debby tossing his gorgeous curls around. Steven tried to simulate
this movement and found his mouth moving into an involuntary pout,
his gait Mae Westing. Jasmine took no such tack but instead
presented herself as very butch which suited the angularly feminine
look of her leather jacket and black hot pants.
   Soon the three were standing in line, shoulder pad to shoulder
pad and trying not to break into giggles. A car drove by slowly and
stopped in front of the crowd. Steven glanced over. It was Brooke,
Suzy and Diane and they had three boys in the back, two big
wrenching football types and one mild accountant/possible
frustrated artist type. Brooke immediately spotted Steven legs and
yelled out, "Well, girls, look who's saving us a place in line."
Steven could hear Suzy laughing maniacally. The car moved on and
parked.
   "Maybe we'd better go now," he suggested to his girlmates.
   "Why go now, they had some boys in their car," Charlotte
snapped back. Charlotte, who had never had any trouble with the
hardy muster of the pass/fail test because he'd never flunked one
yet, began teasing his moussed forelocks. And Jasmine was already
applying rouge to his cheeks with the dangerous calm of a soldier
preparing for battle.
   "But, I don't think you understand," Steven protested limply.
   "Of course, I understand. They'll humiliate you and think I'm
a real girl doing the same thing. They'll want to thank me.
Meanwhile I get the interesting pleasure of seeing you get "dressed
down, Christine."
   "Well, what about Jasmine. They'll read him for sure and then
draw the logical conclusion that you're a boy as well."
   Charlotte was shocked that anyone could think that he could
be read. This made the veins in his neck stand out. It was the
first time Steven had ever seen him look like a boy. His anger
asserted control over his feminine curves and his posture became
somewhat Supermanish if such a description will be permitted. He
tried to relax as Brooke and the others approached but his feminine
bravado was wearing quite thin and the maleness was emerging at the
seams.
   "Hi, Christine." Suzy said with a leer.
   "Hi, Christine. Like the sweater." Diane said.
   "Hello Christine. Small world," Brooke said smiling at Steven
and then glancing over at Charlotte who stared back with a
conspiratorial smile. Brooke looked away and examined Jasmine for
a quick moment, then she turned to Suzy and whispered something.
They burst into laughter. Then Brooke turned to the boys and said,
"Larry, Lance and Ethan meet Christine, . . ." she turned to Steven
to fill in the blanks.
   "Uh, Charlotte and uh Jasmine."
   "Jasmine," Brooke repeated, "Oh, that's a real girl's name,
isn't it?"
   Jasmine managed a brittle smile and then turned away with
retreat in his eyes. Brooke smiled and whispered again to Suzy who
nodded vigorously.
   "I think we should forget this place. We'll never get in.
Besides we can go back to our house and party there. Bettykins is
out with the pageant committee and her twerpy son isn't there
either." Brooke placed her hand around Steven's arm. "Come on,
let's go."
   Charlotte was eager but Jasmine more clearly seeing disaster
at hand wanted to stay. Finally, the decision was made when the
group enveloped Steven and walked away with him. Charlotte and
Jasmine went after him.
   "You guys follow us," Brooke yelled, "Christine will ride in
our car. Okay?" she said starting up the car.
   Steven found himself sandwiched between the quarterback Larry
and halfback, Lance. The crowding made it seem only too natural for
Larry to place his throwing arm around Steven's shoulder begin to
play with Steven's hair in a distracted way. Suzy turned around
periodically to monitor this discomfort and shot Lance encouraging
glances. Steven tried to ignore it entirely. He suddenly felt that
his bust was too obvious, too big for a real girl. His efforts to
diminutize it only made things worse and in fact Larry regarded
his squirming torso as in invitation to place his hand on Steven's
knee.  And this was how they drove back to Steven's house. A
quarterback on the 2 yard line and a halfback closing in on the
outside while Ethan, the accountant cum poet was way out in left
field.
   Once there they all crammed into the kitchen while Brooke
passed out cokes and played hostess till Charlotte and Jasmine
pulled up. When they did she said, "Let's all go into the living
room."
   Charlotte asked where the bathroom was and Brooke said
politely but firmly, "You can do that later."
   Charlotte wasn't used to be ordered around but he complied
with the same conspiratorial smile. And was again rebuffed.
   Brooke maneuvered the three boy/girls onto the sofa while the
rest sat facing them.
   Brooke and Suzy were laughing together about something and
then Brooke stood up and said, "Christine has a confession to make,
don't you Christine?" she said in a soft syrupy voice.
   "I do?" Christine asked with panic in his eyes.
   "Yes, you do,"  Charlotte said, glancing back at Brooke who
nodded for the first with approval.
   "Yes, I guess I do," Steven said. He stood up. "I am a virgo."
   "Don't you mean virgin?" Ethan joked not immediately sensing
the seriousness of the situation.
   "Charlotte why don't you show the boys Steven's confession,"
Brooke suggested.
   "Listen, I believe you. You don't have to do that," Ethan said
nervously.
   But Charlotte was already pulling up Steven's hem, gradually
folding the tight skirt as she went. When the garter straps running
down Steven's milk white thighs were revealed the football boys
yelped and the girls screamed. Charlotte stopped and turned to look
back at the audience. It was not altogether a reassuring sight. He
had a feeling for the first time that he was not one of them and
when he turned back to finish his job he hesitated.
   "Well, go on, you're not through yet," Brooke yelled.
   Charlotte continued now but more deliberately until the skirt
was coiled at Steven's waist.
   "Now pull down his panties," Suzy said matter of factly.
   Charlotte yanked down the satin briefs and looked for a brief
instant like a magician's assistant, beautifully superfluous
alongside a great trick.
   Meanwhile the trick himself stood unmasked, his shrunken
genitalia transformed into the oddest of accessories. He felt hot
tears welling in his eyes. The football boys couldn't contain
themselves but Ethan was terminally embarrassed. While the girls
cheered.
   When the laughter had subsided Brooke said, "Now for Jasmine's
confession. Charlotte would you do the honors."
   Charlotte pulled Jasmine to the feet and unceremoniously
unzipped Jasmine's jeans and peeled them back like a banana. Once
again she grasped the panties firmly and pulled down. And lo and
behold, Jasmine too possessed the slight jewelry of boyhood, the
tough facade fading rapidly as the room convulsed with laughter
over his shy white penis.
   "Now is that everyone? No, wait it's Charlotte's turn for
confession." Brooke said. Charlotte shot her a glance.
   "I don't have one Brooke, I'm a girl," Charlotte said with a
mannish fervor.
   "Oh, is that so? What kind of a girl are you, Charlotte?"
Brooke asked. Without waiting for a replying she continued,
"Christine. Jasmine would you like to show us Charlotte's true
colors."
   Steven and Jasmine exchanged glances and took their place
alongside Charlotte. Jasmine pulled the zipper down while Steven
peeled the sleeves off of Charlotte's shoulders. Charlotte
struggled and withdrew but not before her dress hung from her waist
displaying her proud cleavage heaving in the confines of her
strapless bra.
   "You don't think I'm a girl now? Drag queens don't have tits."
Charlotte screamed. And he did look awfully feminine at that
moment. The tight black dress unravelling off his narrow frame, the
black bra barely restraining what appeared to be a large pair of
breasts, his thick hair falling into his face.
   "Keep going, girls," Brooke ordered.
   Jasmine grabbed Charlotte while Steven eased the dressed past
her hips. Once again Charlotte seemed to defy the senses. Her
impeccable snatch was a flat pink triangle framed by the two bands
of her garter belt. All seemed well here.
   "See," Charlotte said, wriggling free. A tremor had entered
his voice which seemed once again to heighten his femininity. Ethan
was beside himself and so were the football boys but for very
different reasons.
   "Go on." Suzy screamed.
   Jasmine and Steven grabbed Charlotte's panties and jerked them
down. This only revealed his gaff but it brought down the house
with its anticlimactic effect.
   "Go on," Brooke said.
   Jasmine pulled off the gaffe and a thick pink cock flopped
down.
   "The prettiest has the biggest cock. Isn't that sweet, boys?"
Brooke said.
   Charlotte had never seemed more femme. As he fell back on the
sofa, revealed, exposed and humiliated, his demure embarrassment
glorifying his girlishness. His impersonation of a bad girl undone
was the last and most successful of all his illusions.
   Ethan jumped up as though to defend Charlotte's honor and the
quixotic gesture reduced the girls to tears of laughter.
   "Charlotte, did you see that? Ethan wants to defend your
honor. That kind of devotion deserves a reward, don't you think?
Suck his cock, bitch." she barked.
   Ethan balked but the footballers held him while Jasmine
unzipped his corduroy pants.
   Charlotte was crying on the sofa with his dress draped over
his crotch. Brooke stood up and walked to the sofa and pulled the
dress off. "Suck his cock and prove you're a real girl, Charlotte,"
Brooke said.
   Ethan was brought alongside Charlotte and Brooke grabbed his
cock in one hand and shoved Charlotte's head at it with the other.
"That's it," Brooke said as Charlotte opened her mouth to take in
Ethan's trembling cock. "Now lick it . . . like a girl, Charlotte."
Charlotte responded by running her tongue along the length of the
flaccid penis.
   Then a strange thing happened. Charlotte took the cock from
Brooke's hand and began to suck it in earnest, with a nuance and
concern for Ethan's astonished and immediate arousal that went
beyond the simple demands of Brooke's vicious assignment.
   Then another strange thing happened. Charlotte's own
excitement began to register in a very graphic way. She moved off
the sofa and knelt on the carpet and began to play with herself as
as she continued the laborious pursuit of Ethan's happiness.
   Ethan for his part no longer had to be held by the Larry and
Lance and dipped slightly when they released him to his pleasure.
The room became quiet as all eyes focussed on Charlotte's virtuoso
performance. Ethan responded to all this attention in a suitable
way and for a time he allowed Charlotte to suck his cock. But then
he bent over, gently placing his hands under Charlotte's bare arms
and pulling her away from his cock. She stopped sucking and gave
him a look that conveyed the tenderest of remonstrances. Ethan
pulled her up to her feet. Their stiff cocks crossed and bobbed
against each other in a tender pas de deux. Then he kissed her, his
face disappearing behind a thick curtain of black hair.
   Brooke hadn't expected this outcome but was utterly entranced
with it nonetheless.  But Suzy wanted more drama than the scene
afforded so she created her own by ripping off Charlotte's
brassiere. Charlotte flew back, the bosomy illusion reduced to his
taped up boyish chest. But this last exposure didn't lessen Ethan's
passion and he resumed his lusty necking with the the olive-skinned
beauty clutching her buttocks in his hands and showering kisses on
her naked shoulders.
   There was something so touching, so absolutely feminine about
Charlotte's surrender that the whole sordid nature of Brooke and
Suzy's games fell away and was replaced by a tangible exoticism
comprised of the strangeness of these two young bodies and their
mutual capitulation to the needs of their very different libidos,
one unformed, the other reformed.
   Steven found himself wanting to surrender as well and he
touched Lance's arm quietly and smiled. That was all it took and
Lance, himself swayed by the randy moment took Steven's chin in his
hand and kissed him on the lips. Though his cock dangled limply
between his naked thighs, Steven had never felt so lovely or so
girlish. And he desperately wanted to put the gathering bulge in
Lance's pants in his mouth.
   Jasmine, meanwhile had found Larry and they were soon entwined
on the couch, achieving a delicate symmetry in their punky
hairstyles.
   Charlotte separated long enough from Ethan's embrace to survey
the situation. Then she turned to Brooke and said, "Why don't you
girls, go to bed. We real girls have work to do here."