From alt.sex.stories.tg Sun Jun 2 23:59:00 1996

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~From: LabRat@i-link.net (Karen Mitchell)

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~Subject: Story - Leslie.txt (Yes, THAT Leslie Story)

~Date: Thu, 30 May 1996 14:05:09 -0500

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I did not write this and you must be 18 or over to read it as it may

contain a great deal of adult explicit sexuality. If this is

offensive do not read - delete file. For those of us who enjoy ....

enjoy! Please do not ask for files by e-mail - I can barely keep up

with what I have now.

***From FEMINET

Petticoated Male

By Nan Gilbert

A wave of consternation swept over Leslie as his aunt steered him

toward the ornate entrance of one of the many exclusive shops that

lined the most fashionable thoroughfare in town. Leslie's

consternation resulted from the fact that it was a shop for misses and

girls. When he hesitated at the entrance, his aunt took a firm grip

on his arm, saying, "Come along, Leslie!"

"But, Aunty, this is a girl's store; why do you want me to go in

there?"

"Come now, Leslie. No fussing, please." A bewildered Leslie

found himself being propelled abruptly into this delicately scented

haven of femininity. As a smartly dressed lady hurried forward to

meet them, he felt that all eyes were gazing on him in disapproval of

his intrusion. Had he not been in the firm grip of his aunt, he would

have fled.

"Ah, good morning, Mrs. Smythe," the woman said to his aunt. "I

presume this is the young person you spoke to me about." Her eyes

coursed over his body, giving him the feeling that he was completely

nude. "He appears to be a most suitable subject. I believe you'll be

pleased with the result." She indicated the rear of the store. "This

way, please."

"Why are we going back there?" Leslie inquired as Madame led the

way. "Shush! You will soon learn," his aunt said. "Just come along,

and no nonsense!" Obviously his aunt meant business.

On the way they passed a pretty young clerk who smiled curiously

at Leslie. Madame said, over her shoulder, "You will please join us,

Mary." The clerk fell in behind them. They arrived at a small

corridor with closed doors on either side. Madame opened one and bade

them enter.

"Please, Aunty, why do I have to go in there?" She merely shoved

him inside, and he found himself in the delicately scented atmosphere

of a fitting room. He turned in dismay as he heard the click of a key

turning in the lock. Obviously, he was at the mercy of three

designing females.

As from afar, her heard Madame exclaim, in an authoritative tone,

"Young man, please start removing your clothing!"

"Do what?" he screamed at her. "Are you out of your mind? I'll

do nothing of the kind! The very idea...!"

Madame sighed, "Very well, then. Mary, you know what to do..."

Before Leslie was quite aware of her intentions, Mary had seized the

collar of his jacket and pulled it down to pinion his arms tightly.

In a flash, Madame reached out and unbuckled his belt and trouser

fastenings.

As his trousers slithered down to his ankles, Leslie's voice took

on a new note of hysteria. "No, no! Please don't do this shameful

thing to me," he cried, but to no avail, for his underpants followed

the path his trousers had taken. In short order, Madame and Mary had

reduced him to a state of crimson nudity.

Madame surveyed his mortified person in the manner of one with

vast experience in such matters. "He really does have a very suitable

figure, Mrs. Smythe. A nicely fitted corset will simply do wonders

for it!"

"A corset!" Leslie exclaimed in disbelief.

His expression sent peals of laughter reverberating through the

room. smiling, his aunt retorted, "Corsets will be quite essential to

your new life, Leslie dear, for I've every intention of transforming

you in my demure little niece!" Her words were like a bombshell to

Leslie. He sank to his knees before her pleading that she not do this

to him. "Not another word!" she replied. "Get to your feet this

instant!"

Leslie stood up, his shoulder slumped in hopelessness, as Madame

bade Mary to "fetch the things I gathered together for our Miss

Leslie." Mary left in a flutter of skirts.

After a gentle knock, the door opened and Mary came in, her arms

laden with an array of lavish frilled silken lingerie, which she

placed on a chair. One garment in particular sent chills down

Leslie's spine - a wasp-waisted pink satin corset elegantly adorned

with delicate lace and pert baby-blue ribbon bows. Mary handed it to

Madame, who drew it about Leslie's waist and began the process of

lacing him down to the last breathless inch, much to his discomfort.

"Oh, no... no! You can't do this awful thing to me... Say it's only

a joke!" His tormentors found his protests quite amusing and burst

into fresh peals of hilarity. He knew now that he could expect no

mercy from them and more or less resigned himself to the indignities

to come.

At a signal from Madame, Mary selected a pair of elaborately

lace-and-ribbon frilled panties of finest pink silk and held them out

for Leslie to step into. As the clinging silk caressed his limbs, he

was aware of a tingling sensation throughout his body. "They're

certainly becoming to him, aren't they?" Madame commented with a

knowing smile, and Mary and his aunt nodded their approval.

"They are not! I don't want to wear them!" Leslie exclaimed. "I

want my own trousers back!"

In feigned surprise, his aunt retorted, "But Leslie darling, all

little girls adore their pretty panties." Leslie's protests that he

wasn't a little girl and didn't want to be one were to no avail.

Mary gathered up three sweetly frilled petticoats that were

attached to a common waistband. The outer layer was of stiff,

rustling taffeta, its hem deeply frilled with lavish lace; the next

layer was of flounced net; and beneath it was more rustling taffeta.

How excitingly the petticoats frou-froued as Mary settled them down

over Leslie's head and shoulders. She took many more pains than

necessary in adjusting them around his waist, creating a loudly

sibilant swishing.

"How perfectly sweet!" his aunt remarked. "Leslie will just adore

wearing them, won't you, dear?"

Leslie said nothing, knowing it would do no good to protest. He

averted his eyes as Mary enveloped him in the folds of a dainty pink

chiffon dress that she tugged down in place and buttoned up the back.

The skirt flared prettily out over the petticoats and Mary made them

swish from side to side. Long stockings were decided upon, and as

Mary knelt to draw their gossamer beauty up his shapely legs, her

hands seemed more intimate than necessary. Madame had taken his aunt

out into the salon to select an appropriate hairpiece, and he had been

told that he would be marched out in front of the clerks and customers

in the salon if he made any fuss while alone with Mary.

As Mary affixed a pair of frilled garters to his stocking tops,

she smiled up at him. "You do make a beautiful girl, Miss Leslie. I

just love dressing up young boys, and it's a special pleasure when

they're as cute as you are." Somehow, Mary seemed to be trying to

comfort him in a friendly way. But whatever solace she gave him

disappeared when his aunt and Madame returned. "Darling, look what a

lovely hairpiece I've found for you!" his aunt cried, fitting it to

his head. "I declare, it completely changes your appearance." Leslie

looked in the mirror and realized that the beautiful girl looking back

was him! The change was positively staggering. Madame made a few

adjustments, and he was led toward the door.

"Oh, Aunty, please don't make me go out there. Everybody will laugh

at me, and I'll die of shame. I know I will."

His aunt adjusted his skirts and patted his hand. "Nonsense,

dear, no one will have the slightest suspicion that you are not a

smartly dressed girl." She propelled him rustlingly out the door, his

cheeks crimson and his eyes cast down. In the salon, they passed a

customer, who remarked on what a sweet little girl he was. They moved

over to a long rack on which smartly styled coats were hanging, and

after several trials, a lovely pink cashmere was selected, its fitted

waist clinging to Leslie's nipped-in waistline and its flare skirt

flowing out over his rustling skirts. A matching hat, wide-brimmed

with a ribbon dangling at the rear, in schoolgirl style completed

Leslie's street outfit, and they started for the door, Madame

accompanying them part way...

"You have made a very wise decision," Madame said to his aunt.

"It would be a waste of his natural loveliness to allow him to wear

horrid, coarse trousers." His aunt beamed her approval, while Leslie

anxiously awaited their departure from the scene of his

demoralization.

Once they joined the stream of pedestrians, Leslie had the dread

sensation that all eyes were directed toward him in the certainty that

he was a petticoated boy. Tugging at his aunt's hand, he pleaded,

"Can't we go home now, Aunty?"

"Why Leslie," his aunt reproached him, "You wouldn't want to

deprive all these nice people of looking at such a daintily dressed

little girl as you, now, would you?"

In fact, a number of people did stop to compliment his aunt on how

lovely her young companion was, so prettily dressed that way. Leslie

prayed that the earth itself would open up and swallow him, and he

implored his aunt to take him home and out of public view.

"Why, Leslie darling, you should be quite flattered to have people

say such nice, nice things about you. I'm really at a loss to

understand your attitude. But we're not going home, and that's

final!" The finality in her tone left no doubt in his mind, and the

sibilant rustling that accompanied his every step amplified tenfold

his nervous state and was a constant reminder of his new status. He

tried taking mincing steps, but the rustling still remained. Moments

later, he glanced furtively from half-lidded eyes and his aunt

remarked, "Isn't that Mrs. Jones and little Alice coming our way? How

nice!"

Panic seized Leslie anew. Alice was a young lady of whom he was

particularly fond and what would she think to see him dressed in these

ridiculous girl's clothes? "Oh, please, Aunty, don't let her see me

like this! I could never face her again!"

"Nonsense, Leslie, and do stop tugging at my hand!" Each moment

was a lifetime of horror for him as Alice and her mother approached.

As the two women met and began making small talk, Leslie kept her head

lowered, then, taking a quick glance at Alice, saw that she was

studying him with a quizzical expression. Perhaps... just perhaps...

she would not recognize him! When Mrs. Jones inquired as to who "this

lovely little person" was, his aunt said, "This is my new niece,

Leslie."

A perplexed expression came to Mrs. J's face and, Leslie's aunt

hastened to explain. "Beginning this very morning, I decided it would

be much more delightful to have a daintily frocked niece fluttering

about than a nephew who has been such a trial to me." Leslie's heart

pounded as this denouement and he could feel Alice's eyes probing him.

"Oh, Mommy, it's really Leslie dressed up as a girl. Oh, he's

cute, isn't he?" This was more than Leslie's flesh could bear. "You

shut up," he said, angrily. He was sorely tempted to belt her a good

one. "That will be quite enough!" his aunt exclaimed. "One more word

and I'll lift your skirts and give you a spanking right here in

public!" Alice giggled; Mrs. Jones smiled in approval; and Leslie

shrank back, knowing full well that his aunt was capable of carrying

out her threat.

Mrs. Jones relieved the tension somewhat by remarking, "Alice and

I were shopping for a new dress for her birthday party. Would you

like to join us? Perhaps Leslie would enjoy helping Alice make a

selection."

His aunt nodded, and Alice exclaimed, "Oh, good, I'm sure Leslie

will be lots of help in choosing my new dress." She took his hand in

hers and propelled him along at her side. Each step produced the

telltale rustling of taffeta against silk, and Alice couldn't help but

hear it. "Mommy, Leslie is wearing silk and taffeta undies. Isn't

that lovely? I'd just love to see them!"

"Alice, don't tease me," Leslie begged, tears in his eyes.

Her mood softening, Alice squeezed his hand affectionately,

whispering, "I'm sorry I teased you, Leslie. I can imagine how you

must feel." He flashed a wan smile at her for this small consolation.

"Try to make the best of it, Leslie. If it's any help, let me say

that I like you better this way and that you are very lovely." Coming

from Alice, this somehow made him a little more comfortable than

before.

As they entered a fashionable shop for girls, Alice let go of

Leslie's hand to go over to a rack from which hung a gay assortment of

party dresses from satin hangers. "Oh, Leslie, aren't they perfectly

darling?" she exclaimed; Leslie nodded and stood sheepishly by as

Alice examined the dresses, unable to make up her mind. Finally,

several were selected, and the clerk led them into the fitting room so

that Alice might try them on. Once inside the cubicle, Alice quickly

removed her hat and coat and Mrs. Jones helped her out of her dress.

In turn, his aunt insisted that he remove his coat, although he

professed to be quite comfortable. "Oh, Leslie, what a pretty dress

you are wearing," Alice cried in genuine delight. In spite of

himself, Leslie felt flattered and was almost enjoying the new

intimacy he was sharing with Alice, who was now clad in a cute bra and

sheet half-slip, her frilly panties showing through.

"Leslie's dress is so becoming to her, " Mrs. Jones said,

emphasizing the feminine pronoun. "Perhaps Leslie would like to try

on some of these dresses. They're nearly the same size, aren't they?"

His aunt nodded her approval.

"Then we could almost be sisters!" Alice exclaimed. The clerk

glanced at Leslie, a quizzical expression on her face. Has she

guessed that he was a petticoated boy? His mind was in a turmoil as

his aunt started to unbutton his dress. Alice's eyes opened wide when

she spied his little corset, which forced his flesh upward to create a

convincing little bosom, half-hidden in a froth of dainty lace.

"How delightful!" Mrs. Jones exclaimed, "I've been trying to

convince Alice that she should wear a corset to improve her figure."

The clerk was busy fitting a dress to Alice, as Leslie's aunt reached

out and lifted his little petticoats to expose his frilled panties.

"How sweet!" commented Mrs. Jones, as Leslie frantically tried to

press his skirts down, creating an exciting frou-frou.

"Why, darling," his aunt admonished, "It is not immodest for a

girl to show off her pretty undies to ladies."

A few moments later, Alice suggested that Leslie attend her

birthday party. His aunt accepted the invitation for him and, sensing

his reluctance, said, "Don't be shy, darling. Of course you'll go and

we can buy you a pretty new dress to wear for the occasion."

"Oh, Leslie," Alice cried, "we'll have a wonderful time!" But

Leslie's expression hinted that he believed otherwise. As the clerk

assisted Alice in trying on the dresses, his aunt also arrayed Leslie

in several of them. Soon more were brought in, and his aunt selected

several to take home.

Leslie and Alice were left alone briefly in the room while Mrs.

Jones and his aunt went out into the salon with the clerk to sign for

their purchases. Alice took this opportunity to hug Leslie to her.

"Don't be mad at me, Leslie for inviting you to my party. It's just

that it would be wonderful to have you there, dressed so prettily, so

we can be sisters." With her warm, scantily clad body pressed to his,

his feelings toward her were far more than sisterly. But he agreed to

try and enjoy her party, although he had grave doubts about such a mad

venture. Anyway, his aunt wouldn't expect him to remain in petticoats

for very long... or would she?

"Goodbyes" were said at the front door of the shop, Mrs. Jones and

Alice going one way, Leslie and his aunt, the other.

"Now, can't we go home?" Leslie asked, plaintively.

"Not yet, dear. We have one more purchase to make this afternoon.

Can you guess what it is?"

"No, Aunty," he answered, but he had an idea it wouldn't be baseball

equipment.

"It's a dear, sweet little nightie for you to wear to bed

tonight!" Leslie opened his mouth to say something, but he was

silenced by a wave of her hand. Once again, her felt all eyes upon

him as they traipsed along the sidewalk.

They entered another girl's shop, moving directly to a glass

showcase in which were displayed several dainty items of lingerie.

The pretty clerk behind the counter smiled and asked politely if she

could be of any assistance to them. "I'd like to see something

special in lingerie for my niece." She smiled down at Leslie.

"Of course, Madame! Such a very lovely little girl does deserve

something specially frilly." Leslie imagined that there was a trace

of sarcasm, directed at him, in her voice. "What size does she wear,

Madame?" On being told size 14, the clerk turned to box-lined shelves

behind her, glanced over the labels, then took a box from the shelf,

placing it on the counter. From rustling folds of white tissue, she

extracted an extravagantly frilled, transparent, pink chiffon nightie

and held it up, remarking that it was a recent import from Paris.

"It's very nice, but I'd like to see several others before I make

my choice," his aunt replied. The contents of several more

exotic-looking boxes were displayed, and his aunt purchased three

dainty bits of feminine finery. "Don't you just adore this, Leslie

dear?" she cried as she held a matching peignoir-and-gown set up

before him.

"I guess so," he answered meekly. Then, as his aunt instructed

the clerk to wrap the packages while they "browsed around," Leslie

again begged her to take him home. His feet were unused to the

restriction of girl's shoes and he felt a growing urge to answer a

call of nature.

"Please do stop your fussing, Leslie. We shall return home when I

am good and ready to do so!" she exclaimed. "You'll need a few other

items of lingerie as well as pairs of stockings and gloves, so we must

make a few more purchases before we leave."

They wandered around the establishment, Leslie growing more

physically uncomfortable and becoming more certain that the clerks

were on to him and were whispering among themselves. His aunt made

more purchases, and finally Leslie could wait no longer to tell her of

his dire condition; "Aunty, I... I... have to go to the bathroom."

"Can't you wait till we get home?" He shook his head vigorously.

"Very well, then, come along with me!" She marched Leslie to the door

of the powder room.

"But, Aunty, this is the ladies' room!"

"Of course it is, you silly goose. Where else did you expect me to

take you?"

A moment later he found himself in the scented privacy of the

powder room. Leslie cast furtive eyes around and crimsoned as he

spied a pretty girl his own age, petticoats drawn up around her waist,

adjusting her panties. Good heavens! What if she were to suspect the

truth? He could already hear her screams ringing in his ears.

However, she nonchalantly dropped her skirts, pressed them down, took

a quick glance into the vanity mirror, patted a stray hair back into

place, smiled at him then left the room. Leslie sighed audibly with

relief.

His respite was short-lived, for the mechanics of the problem at

hand were much more complex than in his previous experience. His

overcoat was removed and hung up, and his aunt bade him raise his

petticoats.

"Oh, please, Aunty, not out here. Can't we go in there, into one

of the cubicles?" he pleaded.

"No, Leslie, please do as I ask this minute!" Crimson-faced once

more, he started to raise his skirts, the taffeta rustling throughout

the small room, when a small girl and her mother entered.

"Oh, Mama, look at the pretty panties that girl is wearing!" "Shush,

dear! It's bad manners to make remarks like that." She smiled at

Leslie as if in apology.

Leslie nearly fainted as he hurriedly sought refuge in one of the

cubicles, his aunt close behind him. His panties were hurriedly drawn

down, and she instructed him to use the toilet as a girl. "You may

drop your skirts now, Leslie," she instructed as they emerged from the

cubicle. They fluttered down around his knees with a sibilant swish.

"Shake them out, my dear, so there'll be no wrinkles." There was a

delightful frou-frou as he carried out her request. Was there to be

no end to the indignities that would be heaped upon him?

Before they took their departure from the powder room, his aunt

insisted that he stop before the floor-length mirror to view himself.

"Now, dear, don't you agree that your dresses and frillies are much

more becoming to you than those horrid coarse trousers?"

"Oh, please, don't say such awful things, Aunty," he pleaded. But

secretly, deep down in his subconscious, a small part of him was

beginning to agree with her. Somehow, he was bearing up better, now,

under the yoke of femininity.

"You'll change your mind about your life as a girl before I've

finished with you. Of that you can be certain." His shoulders

slumped in hopelessness as she helped him into his coat. They stopped

by the wrapping desk to retrieve their packages, and then they took

their departure. Much to Leslie's relief, they headed for home. At

the front door of his aunt's mansion, Marie, her personal maid,

admitted them, her features registering amazement and approval over

Leslie's transformation.

"Isn't she sweet, Marie?" his aunt asked brightly, emphasizing the

feminine pronoun.

"Oh, indeed, Madam. I presume it'll be 'Miss Leslie' from now on?"

"Quite so, Marie! Please help Miss Leslie with her coat and hat." As

Marie removed his coat, she exclaimed, "My, what a pretty little dress

you're wearing, Miss Leslie!" There was a teasing lilt in her voice.

"Please don't let her call me that," he pleaded. But his aunt

told him that he had better get used to being addressed properly, as

she kissed him affectionately on his blushing cheek. It was more than

Leslie could endure. He made a dash toward the staircase, his

rustling skirts fluttering about him, only to be halted in his tracks

by his aunt's firmest voice commanding him to "Come back this very

instant! The very idea, Leslie, running off like that! You will

please remember - proper young ladies do not run!" Leslie turned

about to face his tormentors: "I hate you! I hate you!"

"Leslie! I shall not tolerate another outburst of this kind! The

next time you choose to be so ill-mannered, you'll receive a sound

spanking!"

"I don't care! I don't care! I'm not a girl! You can't make me be a

girl!"

A shocked expression crossed Marie's face and a dark cloud settled

over his aunt's. She exclaimed, grimly, "Very well, young lady, since

you persevere in this kind of conduct, you must be taught a lesson.

Marie, please march Miss Leslie up to her room.

"At once, Madame!" Marie replied with an obvious pleasure, for

she had suffered many times at Leslie's hands. As she approached him,

he took a step backward and tripped on the bottom stair, falling in a

flutter of swishing skirts. Marie promptly took advantage of his

helplessness, gripping his arm firmly and jerking him to his feet.

What courage he had left abandoned him then, and he allowed himself to

be marched up to his room, tears trickling down his cheeks. Marie

removed his hairpiece, carefully arranging it on a head form that had

mysteriously appeared in his room during his absence. Then she

unbuttoned his dress and drew it up over his head, placing it on a

satin covered hanger in the closet. His petticoats were unfastened

and allowed to slither down around his ankles. Marie gathered them up

as he stepped out of them and hung them neatly on a special hanger in

the closet.

When Marie began to tug at the waistband of his frilly panties,

Leslie hastily pleaded, "Oh, please, don't take off my... my...

panties!" He had to force the word out of his mouth, it was so

distasteful to him.

"Nonsense, Miss Leslie!" Marie retorted, tugging the panties down

about his ankles to let him step out of them. She picked up the

silken garment and placed it on the lingerie rack along with his

petticoats. Marie knelt before him to unfasten his garters and take

his stockings down.

"Now, now, Miss Leslie," Marie chided. "You need not be modest

with me, especially after all those times you've pinched me in the

past!" She took a painful grip on his earlobe and marched him across

the room on tip-toe, as he begged her to release him. She forced him

to lie face down on the bed, as his aunt entered the room. She smiled

appreciatively at what she found.

"Let me up! Please let me up!" he cried, but his pleas were

ignored.

Marie released Leslie, who leaped to his feet. His aunt took

Marie aside and whispered earnestly in her ear. Marie nodded and

smiled knowingly. "I understand perfectly, Madam." His aunt turned

on her heel and left the room without a second glance. Marie ordered

him to sit on the edge of the bed, and he obeyed meekly. She went to

him, knelt down, and reached around him to loosen the laces of his

corset, but only a little. She explained that he must wear them while

sleeping in order to keep up his figure training. The proximity of

her lovely body produced a predictable masculine response in him, and

she smiled teasingly, "Naughty, Naughty, Leslie!"

Marie then went to the bureau on which were placed the boxes

containing his aunt's purchases. She selected a frilled pink chiffon

nightie from one of the cartons and brought it to him. She bade him

raise his arms and then let the nightie slip over his head. He was

most grateful for its protection of his nudity, even though it was

nearly transparent.

She ordered him to lie down on his back, and he knew better than

to disobey, though he wondered why she did not turn the coverlet down

first. When she advanced upon him with a strange gleam in her eye and

lifted the skirt of his nightie, all became clear to him. "Oh, no,

Marie... not that...!" Soon after Marie left the room, Leslie cried

himself to sleep. Every afternoon following the day of the shopping

excursion, Leslie was obliged to wear a dress and undies and remain

all dressed up until bedtime. He protested bitterly when he was not

allowed to join his pals in their after-school games, but his protest

fell on deaf ears.

"Leslie, the sooner you understand that you have more important

things to do, the happier you will be!" his aunt explained. "Things"

meant subjecting himself to being laced into corsets, arrayed in

frilled panties, decked out in rustling petticoats, and frocked

prettily. On such occasions he was also required to wear his

hairpiece and be made up carefully by Marie, who had a talent for

eliminating all traces of masculinity from his physiognomy. When she

had finished her ministrations, Marie would march him down to the

drawing room for his aunt's inspection. How he detested such moments!

On entering her presence, he had to perform a deep curtsy, then wait

for her order to mince forward daintily.

"Leslie, you simply must learn to take shorter steps," she might

say.

"Yes, Aunty, I'll try!" he'd reply, rustling over to where she was

seated, he'd demurely wait her instructions. When she would tell him

to come closer, she would invariably gather his skirts in her fingers

and swish them from side to side, remarking that she knew he secretly

adored the "pretty frou-frou of your skirts." While Leslie wanted to

shout his denial from the housetops, he knew better than that and

meekly acceded to her suggestion.

"You may now raise your skirts, dear, and show me the adorable

little panties you've selected for today," she'd say then. "You know

they are really so much more becoming that those horrid trousers!" A

crimson-faced Leslie would gather his skirts up around his waist while

his aunt toyed with the lace ruffles or fussed with the pert little

bows that adorned them. It was an ordeal for him, and what followed

next was even more crushing to his masculine ego.

She would gesture toward an uncomfortable straight-backed armchair

and he was expected to carefully arrange his skirts before lowering

himself onto the seat. No matter how hard he tried, she'd find some

fault and insist on his repeating the act. Then he had to sit stiffly

erect for what seemed like hours, his knees pressed together modestly

and his heels together, too. It was a position, which maintained any

length of time, would make him wild with fatigue.

If it were necessary for him to speak, his aunt expected him to

raise his voice to a feminine pitch with soft modulations and no

masculine timber to it. It always worried him that he might

unconsciously use this new voice when speaking to his chums. Perhaps

the things that irritated him the most were those that he did not

understand, such as his aunt's insisting he learn the antiquated

"language of the fan." What he did not realize, in this case, was

that she wanted him to develop more feminine wrist movements.

The morning of Alice's birthday party, his aunt phoned the

principal of his school, informing him that Leslie would be absent

that day. Marie took special pains to dress him in his corset, sheer

nylons, snug-fitting silken panties, a lightly padded brassiere, and a

sweater and a skirt. To his surprise, she did very little in the way

of makeup and did not fit the hairpiece to his head. As she kneeled

down to put his low-heeled patent leather shoes on, she announced that

he was to go shopping with his aunt that morning.

"But without my wig, Marie? Everyone will stare at me!" Leslie

cried.

"Nonsense, Miss Leslie," Marie chided. "Your own hair is growing

out now and it can be fluffed out enough so nobody'll suspect a

thing." Leslie knew that his hair had been permitted to grow, but not

enough so it would pass as a girl's. Leslie shuddered as he

anticipated the effect he'd have on passers-by and salesclerks with

his hair so short. His fears were lessened only a little when Marie

affixed a scarf to cover most of his hair. Inwardly, he steeled

himself to the ordeal that lay ahead.

Before they departed, his aunt forced him to endure an especially

painstaking "lingerie inspection." As she sat in her usual chair, he

had to raise his skirts and turn slowly around as she plucked at him

and adjusted his panties and stockings, commenting on how well his

corsets were training his figure.

When they arrived downtown, Leslie was surprised when she guided

him through the entrance of a highly fashionable beauty salon. As

they waited to be served, she reached over and plucked his scarf off

and he was painfully aware of the indignant eyes of other customers

when they saw that he, a male, had dared to invade their feminine

sanctuary. To make things worse, his aunt asked the receptionist to

"have one of the girls attend to my nephew." A beautician was

summoned and led them into one of the cubicles. "My Leslie is

attending a little party this afternoon, for which he will be daintily

frocked and petticoated. I'm hoping that you can pretty his features

to go with his costume." Leslie prayed that the world would come to

an end and spare him the ensuing ordeal.

"I'd be delighted to do so," the young girl smiled down on Leslie

who slumped listlessly in the adjustable chair. "Perhaps we should

remove his outer clothing so as to be sure not to soil it with

makeup." His aunt agreed eagerly.

"I'll bring in a few things that I will need," the young woman

said. Over Leslie's half-hearted protests, his aunt unfastened the

waistband of his pleated skirt and it slid to the floor. Then she

helped him out of the pullover sweater. To his horror, he suddenly

realized that Marie had neglected to put on his usual petticoats,

which would have given him some protection from prying eyes during the

ordeal to come.

The young beautician returned, carrying a tray full of bottles and

jars and various implements which Leslie regarded as torture devices

that the Spanish Inquisition would have been proud of. When she spied

Leslie standing in near nudity in his pink lingerie, she very nearly

dropped the tray. But her professional aplomb took over and she led

him to the chair, seated him, and fixed a nearly transparent

beautician's sheet, which gave him scant privacy, around his trembling

form. Her eyes gleamed with excitement, and her hands were more

caressing than necessary as she adjusted the protective covering.

First, she applied a white cream that seemed to harden his face so

that he could not move a muscle in it, then took a pair of tweezers

and painfully fashioned his eyebrows into thin, graceful lines. The

thought of what his schoolmates would say the next day was agonizing

to him. The white cream was then removed and a sweet-scented

foundation cream was massaged into his skin. Her deft fingers dusted

his features with a soft powder. She then turned her attention to his

eyes, using an eyebrow pencil to augment his eyebrows and just a

little eyeliner on each lid, followed by a touch of mascara and

lash-lengthener. A faint sheen of rouge on each cheek was deftly

applied, and his lips were then carmined into a flattering shape. His

aunt was delighted.

"Oh, my dear, what a delightful change you have created!" she

chirped. "Leslie, darling, just wait until you see your pretty new

face!" Both women laughed at his pained expression, and when the

covering was removed, and Leslie was led to the mirror, he could not

believe his eyes, unable for a moment to comprehend that the pretty

girl's face staring back at him was his own. While Leslie struggled

into his clothes, his aunt handed the girl a generous tip. Shortly

thereafter, he was lead from the cubicle, holding his head down as the

wave of chattering feminine voices washed through his head. He was

obviously creating quite a stir in the salon. A taxi waited at the

curb and he slumped down in the back seat, trying to look as

inconspicuous as possible. That afternoon, Marie took special pains

with his toilette. After she had carefully bathed him in warm,

scented water, she buffed him with a coarse terrycloth towel until his

flesh shone pink, then dusted him thoroughly with a fragrant body

talc. She somehow managed top do all this without disturbing the

morning's makeup job.

Her tender ministrations went on for what seemed longer than

necessary, and Leslie was unable to suppress completely a rather

masculine response to her touch. "Tut, tut! Miss Leslie," Marie

smiled, "That's most unladylike." He felt a blush spreading from his

toes to his hairline.

Marie laughed gaily as she sprayed some heady perfume in just the

right places. Then she helped him into a pink nylon negligee and led

him back into his bedroom. He was hard put to suppress his tears.

"Now, none of that silly weeping, Miss Leslie," Marie warned.

"You'll ruin your mascara, and you want to look your best for Miss

Alice's nice party!"

She was right about that, at least. If he had to go to a silly

girl's party in an outfit such as this, he wanted to be able to look

as much a girl as possible, otherwise he'd be the object of ridicule

among his friends. In any event, he knew he was in for a terrible

evening.

A clinging silk vest, the bodice frilled with delicate lace, was

drawn over his head and its narrow satin ribbon straps adjusted on his

shoulders. As Marie arranged a pair of lace and ribbon frilled pink

silk panties for him to step into, he was hoping that just for once he

would not be forced to wear those horrible corsets. He became more

confident of this as he reached out his arms to allow Marie to envelop

him in layers of crisp taffeta petticoats, which slithered down into

place and were adjusted carefully in place around his waist.

"Miss Leslie, please mince daintily across the room and back. I

want to make certain that your petticoats have the proper sway and

swish!" Then she added, hastily, "And don't forget to move your hips

gracefully as I have instructed you."

Cheeks flaming once more, Leslie presented a pretty picture as he

minced slowly to the other side of the room, turned, and came to the

dressing table again, every step creating a fearsome rustling of the

petticoats. Marie insisted upon his repeating the trip twice more

before she was satisfied. Her next words blasted his hopes for any

kind of a comfortable evening. "Now we can lace you into your corset,

Miss Leslie!"

"But I thought..."

"You fancied that you would not be wearing one, is that it?" He

nodded. "Silly girl," she chided. "You know perfectly well that you

must have a neat girlish figure!"

He stood in utter dejection as Marie removed the cover of a long

white box, pushing aside crisp white tissue, to remove a short heavily

boned pink satin corset, actually more like a waist cincher, and in

moments she had arranged it around his unresisting waist, loosening

his petticoats to allow the six long ribboncovered suspenders to

dangle inside.

"Please raise your hands over your head and stand on tiptoe, Miss

Leslie," Marie commanded. As the backs of the corset came closer to

one another, he began to feel the squeeze increase until he was almost

fainting from the compression. Finally the laces were knotted

securely and he was allowed to stand normally. He saw that inches had

been taken off his waistline, giving him a slim figure which any girl

would envy.

Marie knelt down in front of him, reached up under the skirts of

his petticoats, and tugged at the waistband of his panties in order to

let the silk ruffled suspenders down through the frilled leg openings.

And then she adjusted the waistband.

"You may sit down here," Marie said, and pointed to the vanity bench.

"And please do not forget to arrange your petticoats properly. Your

aunt would be furious if there was any evidence of wrinkling."

Leslie cried out as the corset bit into his sides when he lowered

himself onto the seat. Marie ignored his discomfort as she knelt

again to draw on a pair of gossamer-sheer, flesh-colored nylons over

his legs. He winced as she smiled knowingly at the cute little

panties and carefully secured the suspenders to his stocking tops.

With the aid of a shoehorn, she then compressed his feet into a pair

of baby-blue satin dancing slippers with two-inch heels. "Oh, I can

never walk in these," Leslie protested, but in vain. Marie ran her

long slim fingers teasingly over his nyloned limbs, commenting, "You

really do have very pretty legs, Leslie, my dear. And your heels will

make your legs even prettier." She laughed as he flushed with shame.

She never would let him forget that he was merely was a petticoated

boy.

Pulling him to his feet, she watched in amusement as he wobbled

along, desperately trying to balance himself on the heels, but soon he

had gotten somewhat accustomed to them and she felt moved to

compliment him on his rapid progress. Taking him by the hand, Marie

led him back to the vanity seat and watched him approval as he

arranged his skirts under him and lowered himself gracefully onto the

pink tufted satin cushion. She found it difficult to believe that

this dainty person had once been a boisterous, ill-mannered youth and

that just a few weeks of training had made such an amazing

transformation. Leslie remained stiffly erect - the corset gave him

little choice in the matter - his hands folded demurely in his lap and

waiting her ministrations. So thorough had been the operator at the

beauty salon that only a trace of makeup was required to ready his

features. A dusting of face powder, a touch of a pencil to his

eyebrows, a replenishing of his lipstick, and a bit more

lash-lengthener completed the job. "Miss Leslie, won't you show me

how prettily you can flutter your long lashes?" she teased.

"Marie, please!" he begged.

Marie then did his fingernails in a shade which exactly matched

his lipstick. While the polish was drying, she fastened a pair of

earrings to his earlobes, and a tiny gold chain with a single pearl

set exquisitely at his throat was added. Marie stared thoughtfully at

the fitted bodice of his silken vest and decided something more was

needed. She reached into a drawer and came up with a small pair of

bust pads made of satin covered foam. Shaped to resemble budded

breasts. These she tucked in the appropriate places. Overcome with

delight at the new improvement this made, she hugged Leslie to her and

caressed his new breasts, making him blush anew. But he couldn't tell

himself that the small display of affection was unwelcome. Maybe

Marie was beginning to think more kindly of him, and he was truly

sorry that he had given her such a rough time in the past. He smiled

at her reflection in the mirror.

Entering his walk-in closet, Marie came out holding his dress for

the afternoon - pink satin, shaped bodice, a jeweled neckline

delicately frilled with eyelet lace in which baby blue satin ribboning

was inserted, puffed sleeves edged with lace to match the collar, and

a flaring lace-edged skirt. "Isn't it sweet, Miss Leslie?" she cried,

waving it back and forth before him on its quilted satin hanger.

In spite of herself, Marie felt a wave of tenderness sweep over

her. "Because your aunt knows what is best for you, Miss Leslie. As

a boy, you were a terribly ill-mannered brat, and she prefers to have

you be a sweet, demure young lady."

"Was I really that bad?" Leslie asked. Marie nodded, and then

she decided to let him in on a small secret. "Your aunt has always

wanted a little daughter to pamper and fuss over. If you were to let

her have that pleasure, your life in this house would be much more

pleasant. Why not try to stop making such a fuss about being dressed

up and learn to enjoy your pretty clothes? They can't be all that

unpleasant, now, can they?" Leslie looked dubious but interested in

what she had to say. It was the first time she had ever given him

friendly advice. "Girl's clothes are so much prettier and softer and

more comfortable that boy's trousers and shirts. I'm sure if you

viewed yourself in the mirror without prejudices, you'd see how pretty

a girl you can be."

Leslie thought about this as Marie fitted the delicately coiffed

hairpiece to his head. When he looked in the mirror, he was stunned

at how beautiful his image was, and something very subtle began deep

within his psyche - perhaps the beginning of some kind of acceptance.

He resolved to behave as his aunt wished him to this afternoon, just

to see what would happen.

Marie helped him into his party dress, now, and was a little

surprised to see him smile faintly at his reflection. "It's all

right, Leslie. You needn't be ashamed to enjoy your pretty little

frills. Give them a chance!" His smile grew a little broader as she

tied the blue satin ribbon sash around his waist and added a matching

ribbon to his hairpiece. Elbow-length gloves were smoothed into

place, along with a tiny gold charm bracelet. Marie stepped back to

admire her handiwork. "You really are quite stunning, Miss Leslie!"

"Thank you, Marie," he said in a voice that was suddenly quite

feminine. He resolved to be more careful with his voice, especially

when in the presence of his school chums, for he knew the kind of

jeering and ridicule they were capable of.

Before she took him downstairs for his aunt's inspection, she led

him over to the full-length mirror. "Now you may see what personable

young lady you really are, Miss Leslie."

A wave of doubt swept over him momentarily as he still found it

difficult to believe that the slim-waisted, daintily attired Miss who

peered coyly back at him from the depths of the mirror could be

himself. In spite of his resolve to behave himself in the manner his

aunt desired, he had a fleeting impulse to smash the mirror and rip

the dainty frills from his boy's body. But another impulse took over

and he picked up his lacy skirts and swished them from side to side,

admiring his sleek legs. Marie smiled a knowing smile.

Downstairs, his aunt was waiting for him in the drawing room. He

curtseyed deeply to her as he entered, marveling at the touch of his

silken petticoats rustling against his nylons. To his aunt's

amazement, he flashed a pleasant smile at her and did a perfect

pirouette before her, in spite of his heels.

"My, don't we look sweet this afternoon! I declare, you'll be the

prettiest young lady at Alice's party!" Leslie blushed prettily at

the compliment, dropping his lashes.

"Thank you, Aunty!" he said, as though he meant it.

"And aren't you glad now that Aunty is dressing you so much in

keeping with your natural loveliness?" She was clearly testing this

amazing change in his attitude.

"I'm glad... if it pleases you," he replied. He was a little

confused at how easy it was to say this to someone he had regarded as

his tormentor.

"That's wonderful, dear," his aunt said. "Now remember, if you

act in a perfectly ladylike manner at Alice's party, no one will ever

know you are not a girl. Alice and Mrs. Jones have promised not to

reveal your true identity." He gave a slight sigh of relief at that

bit of news. As usual, he was obliged to gather his skirts about his

waist, so his aunt could inspect his lingerie. For once, everything

was to her satisfaction, and she motioned for Marie to bring Leslie's

coat and hat.

Marie buttoned the light powder-blue coat around him and tied a

scarf of pink tulle veiling over his hair. "Have a lovely afternoon,

dear," she said to him as he left with Marie. At their destination,

Mrs. Jones herself let them in the front door and suggested to Marie

that she return at seven-thirty to pick him up. As Marie returned to

the waiting taxicab, Leslie felt like he was losing both a friend and

protector. Mrs. Jones helped him out of his coat and hung it in the

closet. Turning to him, she exclaimed: "What an adorable dress you

are wearing, Leslie! You are certainly a pretty girl." Her words

somehow cheered him up momentarily. "Thank you, Mrs. Jones," he said,

dropping a perfect curtsey.

"How utterly charming!" she commented, fascinated at the change in his

manners. She took his hand in hers with an affectionate squeeze and

led him down the corridor toward the party room. He was a little

panicky as the chattering of girls' voices drifted down the hall

toward him. As they entered the spacious drawing room, he saw a

coterie of smartly dressed girls chatting and giggling. The obvious

contrast between their smart teen-age dresses and his more childish

attire bothered him a little, but it was too late to back out of

things now.

Alice spotted him immediately and broke away from the group to

greet him, slipping her arm around his waist. "Oh, Leslie, you are a

perfect doll!" she exclaimed, kissing him on the lips sweetly. "Come

and meet the other girls."

Taking him over to them she explained: "Darlings, this is my very

best... friend!" For a split-second it seemed to Leslie that she was

going to say "boy-friend," but he was spared that horror. Leslie was

presented in turn to each of the girls, shaking hands politely. But

he couldn't help hearing some of the comments about his attire: "What

a quaint way to dress!"... "Fancy wearing taffeta petticoats!"...

"Why they went out of style ages ago!"... "She must be quite young

for her age or she would not be dressed as a child."... "But she's

certainly very cute!"

Fortunately, Alice had the presence of mind to offer an

explanation. "You girls should know that Leslie's aunt misunderstood

the invitation and thought that this was to be an old-fashioned

costume party!" This seemed to satisfy his critics and the girls

accepted him completely them.

Leslie mingled with a crowd of girls for a while, now more secure

that his secret was safe. He even took part in a few games and

allowed one girl a closer look at his petticoats when she expressed

interest in the intricate sewing and embroidery. One girl kept

staring at him throughout the afternoon and finally approached him.

"Hello, Leslie! My name's Nancy. You must be new in the

neighborhood. I don't remember ever seeing you before."

"Oh, I only recently came to stay with my aunt," he explained

glibly.

"I'd love to have you come to some of my parties some time," she

said. "You really are so pretty! You must be a knockout in more

up-to-date clothes." Leslie accepted the compliment as modestly as

possible.

She took his arm in his. "Then let's be friends. Would you like

to come with me to the powder room to freshen up a bit?" Leslie's

immediate impulse to say no died on his lips as he realize that she

might get suspicious if he refused.

Arm in arm, they went down the hall to the powder room, Leslie

carefully controlling the panic within him. He decided to play it as

safely as possible while inside that feminine sanctum.

Seated at the mirror with Nancy, he carefully daubed at his nose

with the puff from the compact Marie had put in his little

clutch-purse. With extreme care, he used a dab or two of lipstick,

trying not to disturb the general outline created earlier. As they

rose from the table, Nancy startled him by asking to see his pretty

undies. He realized he could not refuse without making possible

trouble for himself, so he quickly lifted his dress while she oohed

and aahed over his petticoats. Then she lifted them up to view his

panties underneath, plucking at the frills. As she dropped his

skirts, she raised her own to show him her undies, which were quite

modern and up-to-date and brief. He was a bit embarrassed but not

totally unpleased at the sight. When they left the powder room and

returned to the party, Alice greeted him with a smile and took him

aside. "What was that all about?" she asked. He told exactly what

happened, and she complimented him on his poise under fire. "You

certainly have become a cool one in the last few weeks!"

"I just did the only thing I could do, under the circumstances,"

Leslie explained. Alice agreed with him and squeezed his hand in

hers.

When the party was finally breaking up, Alice seemed reluctant to

let him go home. She went to her mother and whispered in her ear for

a minute. Her mother nodded and went out of the room. Alice came

back and explained that she had persuaded her mother to call his aunt

and ask if he might stay overnight with them. Leslie was too stunned

to speak for a moment. Surely his aunt would never agree to such a

thing.

Soon, Mrs. Jones came back into the room, smiling broadly. "Your

aunt was delighted with the idea!" she cried. "She'll send Marie over

to pick you up in the morning."

"Oh, Leslie dear," Alice sighed. "We'll have such fun. You can

borrow one of my new nighties and share my big bed with me." "But..."

Leslie tried to say, only to be interrupted by Mrs. Jones' delighted

approval and Alice's gleeful plans. Had everyone in the world gone

mad? This was unheard of, a boy in dresses spending a night with a

young girl in her own bed! What kind of insanity was this?

"But, Mrs. Jones... Alice..." Again he was thwarted in his

attempt to protest against these lunatic plans. Alice hugged him to

her. "I've always wanted to have a girlfriend spend the night with

me. Oh, what fun we'll have together!" she exclaimed kissing his

cheek.

"But it's not right!" he managed to blurt out, and they finally looked

at him for an explanation of such an absurd statement.

"Why not?" Mrs. Jones finally asked.

"I... I'm a boy! I'm not a girl!" Mrs. Jones looked puzzled at

this strange protest, then brightened and said: "That's all right,

Leslie darling... Nobody's perfect!" Trembling, Leslie allowed Alice

to take his hand and lead him upstairs. His head was reeling with the

excitement of the party his first party where he attended in girl's

clothes and was accepted as a girl - and the rustling of his taffeta

petticoats about his knees, a sensation which was beginning to exert a

powerful hold on him.

Upstairs, in Alice's ultra-femininely appointed boudoir, they

found the family 's French maid Suzanne waiting for them. She greeted

Leslie with a sweet smile, not yet aware that he was a boy in

petticoats and not the lovely young girl he appeared to be.

Alice broke the conversational ice and said, "Suzanne, this is

Miss Leslie. She will appreciate it if you will help her get ready

for bed. She's staying the night."

"Bon soir, Mademoiselle Leslie," Suzanne said. "It is always a

pleasure to assist a lovely young lady like yourself."

"But... but... I don't think..." stammered Leslie before Alice

interrupted him with reassurances that it would be perfectly all

right.

Suzanne helped Leslie and Alice out of their party dresses and

petticoats, and Leslie nearly forgot his peril when he saw his hostess

standing there in the sheerest of nylon panties, bra, and

flesh-colored stockings. He sighed with relief at being freed from

the imprisoning corset.

So realistic were the bra inserts that his own that Marie had

given him earlier that day that Suzanne did not notice that his

breasts were not real.

But she evidently noticed something because she stepped back and

cried out in amazement. "Oooohhh! We have here an impostor!

Mademoiselle is a monsieur!"

"That's all right, Suzanne," Alice reassured her. "I know all

about it, and so does Mother."

"But Mademoiselle is a boy!"

"Well, after all, Suzanne," Alice replied, "Nobody's perfect! We

can hardly discriminate against poor Leslie because of the unfortunate

circumstances of his birth."

Suzanne shrugged her shoulders and went on with her work, removing

Leslie's bra and panties and attiring him in the sheer baby doll

nightie, all pink and ruffly, that Alice had picked out for him.

"Oh, Leslie," Alice cried out, her eyes glistening. "You do look

so cute! I don't know why you'd ever want to wear boy's clothes!"

She ran over and hugged him to her scantily clad body. Suzanne stood

by, her puzzlement at this strange situation giving way to amusement.

She caught Leslie's eye with a knowing look. Leslie blushed to the

roots of his hair.

Then it was Leslie's turn to stand by and watch Suzanne finish

undressing Alice and help her into a sheer, waltz-length pink lace

gown which matched in color and texture Leslie's. Leslie's mind was

in a whirl. Never in his wildest imagination did he dream of anything

like this happening to him. Was it some sort of trap? He decided to

play it very cool and find out. "Am I to assume that Mademoiselle

Leslie is wearing a hairpiece?" Suzanne inquired delicately.

Leslie nodded, and Suzanne came to him and lifted it from his

hair. Then she arranged his longish hair in a more feminine style.

What with the restraint of the corset removed, Leslie felt true

freedom in feminine clothes for the first time since his aunt had

subjected him to them. It was delicious. Every nerve-ending in his

body tingled with the soft delight of his nightie, and he very nearly

cried out with joy.

But it would never do to reveal to his hostess and her servant how

much he was enjoying himself. They might tell his aunt and she would

then want to keep him in his frills and petticoats forever, a prisoner

in lace, as it were.

After Suzanne had tucked Alice and Leslie between the silken

sheets of her bed, a large four-poster with a chiffon canopy, Alice's

mother came to kiss them goodnight. "Sweet dreams, girls!" she

chirped, apparently unperturbed by the fact that her daughter was

sharing her bed with a boy.

Leslie tried very hard to figure this situation out, to determine

why Alice's mother was so permissive in her attitude. Finally, after

the women had turned the lights off and left the room, he put the

question to Alice.

"Oh, Mother's very modern, you know," Alice replied. "And there's

no danger at all of anything... permanent... happening. The pill you

know..."

Leslie had to admit that Alice's mother was modern, all right.

Modern was the word for it. The very word. But how modern was Alice

herself? Leslie decided she must be almost as modern as her mother to

allow herself to be put in bed with a boy. But he resolved to let any

developments originate with her.

Suzanne had left Leslie's brassiere on under the nightie to give

him a proper form, and he suddenly became aware that a small delicate

hand was shyly cupping one of his ersatz breasts underneath the silken

coverlet.

He wondered if he should reciprocate in like fashion but finally

decided to let his hostess be the initiator of anything that might

ensue. But when Alice ran her hands underneath the ruffles of his

baby doll panties, there was very little doubt left of what she

wanted. The two of them snuggled together passionately, caressing

each other through the silken material of their nighties, until

finally nature took its inevitable course.

The next morning, Leslie was driven to his aunt's home, his head

still a daze from the delights of the previous night. When his aunt

inquired as to how he'd enjoyed his outing, he blushed and looked at

the floor sheepishly.

His aunt and Marie exchanged knowing glances. Their plan, which

had been aided and abetted by Alice and her mother, was progressing

perfectly. The idea was simply to associate dressing in girl's

clothing in Leslie's mind with such pleasant sensations that he would

never want to dress as a boy again. The next step would be enroll him

in a girl's school so that he would not have to change into boy's

clothes again.

When this plan was announced to Leslie, he pleaded with his aunt

not do this to him. While he had grown to enjoy his frills and lace,

he wasn't prepared to sacrifice everything masculine for them - his

school chums, his sports activities, and everything like that. But

Leslie's fate was sealed, and the fateful Monday came all too suddenly

- the day he was to enter Miss Staylace's academy for girls.

Marie woke him early in the morning and sent him to bathe in a

warm, scented tub. When he emerged, she toweled him and dusted his

body with fragrant body talc, then dressed him in the school uniform.

As the dark blue sweater and matching pleated skirt were being

pulled on over his chemise, drawers, and petticoats, he was lost in

agonized thought.

How could he ever face his new classmates? Surely they would

quickly discern that he was really a boy in petticoats! He had been

told that were a few other boys like himself there, and he wondered if

he would be able to recognize them. And if he did, would they at

least become friends and sympathize with one another?

After taking special pains with Leslie's coiffure and makeup,

Marie marched him downstairs for his aunt's inspection. A pleased

smile lit her face as she surveyed his form and noted the perfect

illusion which had been created. She asked him to walk up and down

before her as she studied his movements and suggested improvements in

his posture and gait. Then, as usual, she ordered him to raise his

skirts so that she might inspect his lingerie and check to see if any

tell-tale signs of masculinity were there.

Finally, she was satisfied and sent him on his way with Marie.

The cab driver gave him an expressionless glance, then turned away.

Leslie was heartened by the fact that he had passed this inspection,

and he sank back on the cushions of the back seat to try to summon up

sufficient courage to meet the ordeal he was certain lay in wait for

him.

As he and Marie climbed the steps to the school and entered its

forbidding portals, his heart was pounding furiously. She led him

down a long corridor past groups of chattering girls, all dressed in a

similar fashion to him. They nodded to him, welcomed him with a

casual "Hello" or "hi," then returned to their conversation. At the

end of the corridor, he was ushered into the headmistress' private

office. There Marie left him and departed. Taking a deep breath,

Leslie curtsied to her as his aunt had taught him to do. Miss

Staylace was charmed and greeted him with a smile. "I am very pleased

to have you in my academy, Leslie!" she said, motioning him to a

chair. "Do sit down." Then she read the rules of the academy to him:

"Good marks in your lessons are of prime importance, and any failures

will be punished by caning... You will conduct yourself in a proper

ladylike fashion at all times... No loud talking, running or jumping

will be tolerated... During recess period, you will join the other

girls on the playground..." On and on she went, until Leslie was

ready to scream.

Finally, she concluded her dissertation, rose from her chair and

said, "Come along now, Leslie, and I'll show you to your classroom and

introduce you to Miss Natalie, your teacher."

Stunned and on the verge of panicking and running, Leslie followed

Miss Staylace down the corridor. The shrill tones of girls' voices

were audible through the panels of the close doors as they passed them

by. She finally stopped before one of the rooms and opened the door.

There was a sound of rustling petticoats as the pupils inside hastily

rose to their feet. He could feel their eyes surveying him

quizzically. How he dearly wished to turn about and flee from their

presence! A pretty young woman rose to her feet behind a large desk

at the front of the room. There was a smile of welcome on her face

that eased his frayed nerves a little. "This is your new pupil,

Leslie, Miss Natalie!" said Miss Staylace.

"You are most welcome in my class, Miss Leslie," the young teacher

said. A wave of suppressed giggles drifted through the room as Leslie

dutifully curtsied to Miss Natalie. A stern glance from Miss Staylace

was sufficient to quiet the girls. "You are very well-mannered, Miss

Leslie, but it will not be necessary for you to curtsey," Miss Natalie

remarked.

Tears of chagrin began to form in his eyes. Already he had made a

fool of himself in front of his new classmates. When Miss Staylace

flounced out of the room, he wanted to follow her and remove himself

from the scene of his embarrassment, but he suppressed this impulse

and stood his ground, waiting for instructions from Miss Natalie.

"Let me see," she mused, glancing around the room. "Ah yes,

there's an empty seat next to Miss Janie." She turned toward the

person she referred to, who quickly rose to her feet for Leslie's

benefit. "That will be your seat. Please take it now!"

Leslie kept his eyes to the floor as he walked to the seat

designated and sat down, all eyes upon him. Miss Natalie returned to

the lesson.

"Hi, Leslie!" Janie whispered, reaching out to touch his hand. "Hi,"

he whispered back in acknowledgement but without enthusiasm.

Miss Natalie spoke up sharply: "Miss Janie, you know that we do

not allow any whispering during class. Please refrain from it!"

"I'm sorry, Miss Natalie," Janie replied meekly.

"Very well, see that you remember it, or I shall have to report you to

Miss Staylace for disciplining."

Leslie's thoughts were far removed from the content of the lesson,

and he sat demurely silent throughout the remainder of the class

period. At long last, a bell sounded and instantly the girls started

chattering. He found himself surrounded by girls inquiring as to

where he lived, whether or not he was boarding pupil, and did he have

a boy-friend. This last brought a crimson flush to his cheeks and

caused the girls to giggle at his confusion. He gave his replies in a

light, low voice, which elicited comments such as "Isn't she shy,

though?" "Well, it's her first day, and I was shy my first day here

too!" This last was from Janie who was defending him in a show of

friendship. He gave her hand an affectionate squeeze in

acknowledgment.

Conversation was finally hushed by the sounding of another bell,

and lessons began anew.

During the recess period, he stayed close to his newfound friend

Janie. As they wandered about the playground, he was delighted to see

that the other girls paid little or no attention to him. Some stood

in small groups, chatting, while others paired off as he and Janie had

done. His ears were assailed by such comments as "My new dress is

just too sweet for words. Just wait until I appear in it Saturday

night. Will I be the popular one!" Other girls discussed the boys

who came to the Saturday night socials. Apparently these socials were

the happiest occasions in the school week, for they provided

considerable grist for the girls' conversational mill. Janie looked

at Leslie with a smile and asked him if he would be coming to the

socials, even though he was a day pupil. "I don't know," Leslie

answered, "but I suppose I will if my aunt insists upon it."

Janie gave him an odd little glance, her forehead wrinkling

slightly in puzzlement. Then she brightened and said, "I'll introduce

you to all the really nice boys." The end-of-recess interrupted his

negative reaction to Janie's offer, and she did not press the point as

they walked hand in hand to the dining room for lunch. They sat next

to each other at the fourth-form table, where they had a substantial

meal. Leslie surreptitiously glanced around the room to see if he

could discover which of his schoolmates were petticoated boys like

himself. All the students appeared to have quite feminine features

and mannerisms, although the arms and wrists of one or two of them

seemed maybe a trifle too thick for real girls.

If only he dared ask Janie! He quickly banished the thought from

his mind, for any inquiry of that nature would rouse her suspicions of

him. He did think he detected a gleam come to the eyes of some of the

suspects' cheeks as they seemed to avert their eyes. Well, anyway, he

could ask Janie when they became better friends.

Luncheon over, Janie left him alone so that she could do an

errand. Leslie wandered around the grounds disconsolately, waiting

for his next class to begin. One of the girls he'd suspected was a

boy edged over to him and whispered, "I saw you staring at me at

lunch. Why?"

"I really didn't mean to be rude," Leslie replied hastily. "I'm

sorry." She leaned closer and whispered in his ear: "They say there

are four boys here at school masquerading as girls!" She watched

Leslie intently to gauge his reaction.

"You're teasing me!" he said in mock incredulousness.

"Oh no I'm not! There really are boy-girls here!"

"But... but... I" Leslie stammered in confusion, wondering if he

had done something to make her think he was one of the "boygirls."

The thought was unnerving. The girl's next words stunned him: "I

think you're one of them." "Don't be silly!" Leslie hastened to

retort. "Of course, I'm not!" He hoped his outrage sounded

convincing.

"I still think so, so there!" the girl declared, moving away from him.

Leslie followed her with his eyes, his heart pounding out a dread

beat. Why had she picked him out to make this accusation? he

wondered. To add to his consternation, he saw the girl in earnest

conversation with a chum - another of those he suspected - and the way

they kept glancing at him and snickering struck terror in his heart.

He sighed with relief as the warning bell rang and hurried off to his

classroom.

The lesson was barely under way when a girl came in and handed a

note to Miss Natalie. She read it and then sent the girl on her way.

"Miss Leslie, please come to my desk!" she ordered. Nerves

jangling, Leslie walked up the aisle to her desk.

"Miss Staylace wishes to see you in her office immediately!" she

announced, adding: "You are excused... and please do not loiter along

the way!"

Leslie had to check himself to keep from dropping a foolish

curtsey on his way out of the room. His heart was pounding as he

rapped gently on Miss Staylace's door.

"Come in!"

"You wished to see me, Miss Staylace?" he whispered meekly,

keeping his head lowered. All sorts of dire premonitions were moving

through his mind.

"Yes, Leslie, please come over here!" She gestured with her hand

to a spot next to her desk.

"Have you enjoyed your first day here, Leslie?" she inquired, watching

his face closely.

"Yes, Miss Staylace!" he stammered.

"I am pleased to hear it. I think that you will agree that your aunt

made a very wise decision. I understand that she also took certain

precautions to ensure that your masquerade is effective."

"Yes, ma'am, I suppose so," he said.

"I'd very much like to see for myself," she said. "Please raise your

skirts."

"Oh, please, must I?" he whispered in pure shame.

"This instant!" her tone was such that his hands flew to the hem

of his skirt.

As he drew the soft pleated skirt up to expose the layers of

petticoats, she gestured impatiently and he untied the drawstring and

allowed the pettiskirts to float lacily to the floor. Once this was

accomplished, Miss Staylace reached out and slipped her thumbs under

the waistband of his pink panties and tugged them down to his ankles.

"Well, I do declare. How clever! One would never guess!" she

exclaimed drawing him closer to her. For a few moments Miss Staylace

seemed in a world of her own, for she hugged him to her warm body,

caressing his breasts with one hand and never letting go of her

captive with the other. Leslie was almost fainting with ecstasy.

Finally, she let go of him and rearranged his clothing. "We'll

let this be our little secret, won't we, dear?" she asked in a tone

which left no doubt that it would be.

"Yes, Ma'am!"

"I presume you have been wondering who the other boy-girls in our

midst are?" she inquired.

"Yes, Miss Staylace, I was!" he replied with flaming cheeks.

"Well, I doubt that you can detect them on your own, so I will tell

you. Let me see... there's Frances, Mildred, Janie and Judy."

"Janie!" Leslie blurted without thinking.

"Why, yes. Have you become acquainted with her already, Leslie?"

Leslie hesitated and then replied in a demure tone of voice:

"Yes, Miss Staylace, she has the seat next to mine in the

classroom." He thought better of mentioning how nice Janie had been

to him that morning.

After Miss Staylace dismissed him, he returned to class, lost in

thought. So Janie was a boy like himself. He would never have

dreamed that it was possible. Perhaps she had suspected him from the

beginning and that was why she was so nice to him. Oh, well. It was

nice to have at least one sympathetic friend at the school.

Later that evening, as Marie was undressing him for bed, she

queried him on the events of the day. He told her all that had

happened except the episode with Miss Staylace. Marie was fascinated

by the fact that the school held regular Saturday night socials for

its students.

"Surely, you are looking forward to attending the next party,"

Marie suggested. Seeing his look of distaste for the idea, she went

on: "I'm certain your aunt will insist that you go. In fact, she has

already decided that you shall."

That night, Leslie lay awake pondering his fate, wishing that he'd

never heard of Miss Staylace and her horrible school. And when he

finally fell into a fitful sleep, he dreamed he was out in the

woodshed behind his aunt's house tearing the horrible girl's clothes

from his back and ripping them into tiny shreds. The afternoon before

the night of the party Leslie was sent to bed for a nap so that he

would be "fresh and lovely" for the evening's festivities. At five,

he was awakened by Marie who announced that it was time for him to

dress for the evening. Sliding off the bed, Leslie thrust his feet

into his satin mules and draped a filmy chiffon negligee about his

shoulder. Then he listlessly followed Marie's rustling skirts to the

bathroom. There she helped him out of his negligee, removed his

concealing garment, and ordered him into the warm scented waters of

the bath. In spite of himself, he experienced a sense of exquisite

luxury, reclining dreamily in the bath while Marie scrubbed him with

delicately scented soap, missing not a nook or cranny of his body.

After the bath, Marie toweled him dry and dusted him with body

talc. Then she replaced his negligee about his shoulders and led him

back to his boudoir to be dressed.

After corsetting him tighter than he'd ever been before, she

prepared a pair of gossamer-sheer, flesh-colored nylons, caressing

them over his limbs slowly and teasingly, all the while remarking on

how beautiful and shapely his legs were. As an added flair, she slid

a pair of lace and ribbon frilled garters up his legs to just above

the knees, after first securing his stockings to the corset's

suspenders. "Perhaps one of your admirers this evening will retrieve

one of the garters as a keepsake," Marie teased. Leslie shuddered.

"Marie, please... how can you make such a horrid insinuation?" He

winced as his glance dropped to the lace frill at the top of his

corsets, for the unusual tightness had pushed his flesh up into a

realistic cleavage, which Marie further augmented by inserting two

realistic nipple-tipped falsies, the edges of which were treated with

a special adhesive to secure them to his chest. Marie dusted powder

around the edges so that the faint line of demarcation would

disappear. When she was done, the ersatz breasts nestled in the

half-cups of the corset top and were undetectable from real ones.

"I... I'm going to have a bra to wear, aren't I, Marie?"

"Of course not, silly! Girls don't wear bras with strapless

gowns. It just isn't done."

Picking up a pair of lavishly lace-frilled pink satin panties, she

held them up to his waist teasingly, swishing them back and forth.

Marie arranged the filmy panties and he obediently stepped into

them. After she fastened them into place, she teasingly ran her

fingers up and down the inside of his thighs.

Then she knelt and forced his feet into a pair of pink satin

ballroom slippers and bade him walk around the room until he got used

to them. After he managed to walk a little more steadily in them, she

had him sit at the vanity table so that she might apply his makeup.

Marie took special pains that afternoon. Scented foundation cream for

his face, bleaching cream for his neck and shoulders, and face powder

dusted on with a soft brush. Eyebrow pencil created thin, arched

lines, and a pair of long, curled false eyelashes enhanced his eyes.

A touch of eye shadow, a trace of rouge, and finally a carefully

applied layer of lipstick to match the shocking pink fingernail polish

she'd applied the night before after his manicure. Then she bade him

look in the mirror while she fitted a soft blonde wig to his head and

combed it out into an attractive coiffure.

"Can it really be me?" he whispered in awe.

"Of course it is, Miss Leslie!" retorted Marie with a gay laugh.

"You are tres jolie ce soir."

Marie gathered up his multi-layered petticoat and called him to

come to her, so she could envelope him in its scented folds. In

moment his arms and shoulders were smothered in the layers of net,

satin, lace and frills that slowly slithered down into place to brush

the floor at his feet.

"Oh, Miss Leslie, isn't it just too lovely for words?" Marie

cried in genuine delight, reaching down to shake out the folds and

give them a more voluminous look.

"I suppose so," he replied meekly, desperately trying to hide the

fact that he was genuinely thrilled with his attire. She glanced up

at him with a little puzzled expression, for his tone had been one of

obvious rapture. A smile played about Marie's lips as she held out

the gleaming pink chiffon evening gown for Leslie to step into. After

adjusting it about his hips, she zippered it up in the back and then

arranged the bodice around and under his realistic looking breasts.

"Oh, Miss Leslie, you look ravishing!" Marie exclaimed, as she

affixed diamond-studded earrings to the lobes of his ears, a matching

necklace at his throat and a matching bracelet on his left wing.

"Do you really and truly think so?" he asked shyly.

"Of course," Marie said sincerely.

She drew a pair of white gloves over his hands, sprayed a little

perfume behind each ear and between his breast, and led him downstairs

to where his aunt was waiting for him.

"Darling, you look perfectly exquisite!" his aunt exclaimed,

hurrying forward to slip her arms around his waspish waist and give

him an affectionate peck on the cheek. "You will never know how happy

you have made your aunty this evening, darling! As your reward, you

may wear my mink stole."

Leslie's face was radiant when the elegant fur was being arranged

about his shoulders. Passing a hall mirror on the way to the front

door, where a cab was waiting, he couldn't help but pause a moment to

study his reflection in it, while strange thoughts flitted through his

mind. He actually did appear to be charming demoiselle, and the

caress of his encumbering skirts brought delightful sensations and

tension on his nether regions. Also, it was kind of fun to be able to

fool people as to what his gender was. Not that he was in any doubt

about it himself. Not much doubt, anyway.

As he and his aunty rode toward the academy grounds he wondered if

any of the guests at the social would dream that he wan not a genuine

girl. Would his friend Janie help him avoid making any mistakes?

Perhaps she would, for she was so nice and thoughtful. What would the

other boy-girls wear? Would their deception be as clever as his own?

Would he be able to handle himself in a proper manner if one of the

boy guests asked him to dance? Miss Staylace met them at the door of

the main hall of the academy.

"My, my, how ravishing you look, Miss Leslie! I am sure you will

be the one most sought after by the young gentlemen here tonight!"

The two women smiled knowingly as Leslie hastily lidded his eyes,

cheeks flushing crimson.

"My, what a lovely party you have, my dear!" his aunt said to Miss

Staylace. "I feel certain my precious Leslie will enjoy herself to no

end with all these attractive young gentlemen to choose from!"

"Aunty, please!" Leslie whispered in confusion.

At that point, Janie spied Leslie and came swishing over in a

lovely white satin creation. "Oh, Leslie, you look good enough to

eat!" she declared, giving him a light kiss on the cheek. "Come with

me and meet Charles and Jimmy, my two new boy friends."

His aunt nodded her permission, and he allowed Janie to lead him

away in the direction of the two young men he'd seen her chatting

with. "Oh, Janie," he said, "I'm so scared!"

"Don't be silly, Leslie. Nobody will ever guess the truth about you,"

Janie admonished. Then she presented him to her two friends, whose

eyes brightened with approval.

Some of his courage returned to him. He had passed this test

successfully, and he began to find himself enjoying the evening in

spite of his fears. As he chatted with his new friends, his eyes

sought out the other boy-girls he knew to be present. In their pretty

gowns, there was little to differentiate them from the genuine girls.

The strains of a fox trot now filled the room and Leslie found himself

being guided around the dance floor by Jimmy.

After a few moments, Leslie almost stumbled over his own feet when

Jimmy declared in amazement, "Gee! I didn't know that girls still

wear corsets!" With a valiant effort, Leslie recovered his aplomb and

replied, "Oh, some of us still do!" He felt Jimmy's arms close more

tightly about him and decided he'd said the wrong thing. When the

music stopped, Jimmy suggested that they go outside for a breath of

fresh air. Without thinking, Leslie agreed, since the dance's

environs were stuffily warm. He let himself be led out on the

terrace, where other couples were scattered about. When they reached

the far corner of the shrubbery-studded garden, nobody was visible,

but from the subdued sound of giggling and light protest they knew

they were quite alone. Suddenly, Jimmy slipped his arms around

Leslie's waist, drew him close and planted a kiss on his unwilling

lips. "Please, you mustn't!" Leslie cried out in alarm, struggling

to free himself. Jimmy's hand was beginning to get terribly familiar

and finally Leslie had no choice but give his escort a blow to the

side of the face. Unfortunately, he forgot to extend his fingers and

his hard fist knocked Jimmy backwards over a low shrub.

Jimmy got to his feet, muttering: "All right, all right! So

you're a virgin!" Then he marched back to the ballroom leaving Leslie

standing alone in chagrin and fury. He had no desire to return to the

dance when Miss Staylace came out to find him. When she asked him

what the matte was, he broke down and told her the whole story. She

hugged him sympathetically, and after a while he felt better.

"You mustn't blame Jimmy too much," she said, "After all, he

didn't know that you were anything but a very lovely girl. And you

are lovely, you know." So saying, she hugged him closer to her and

had him sit with her on the marble bench.

Miss Staylace was a very attractive woman and her proximity was

having a profound effect on Leslie. Realizing this, she let his head

rest on her shoulder as she caressed him provocatively with her free

hand. Soon her hand found its way under the voluminous hem of his

skirts and traveled slowly up his nylon limbs, send thrill after

thrill coursing through his body. The hand paused momentarily to toy

with the lacy rosette on his garter, then foraged upward to his

stocking tops, and came to rest on the lacy hem of his panties. He

sighed with pleasure as it finally found its way under the silken

material and came to rest on his flesh.

By this time, Leslie was half-reclining across her lap, and she

leaned down to press her red lips on his own, her tongue intruding

between his teeth, and her hand doing wonderful things to him.

Suddenly, Leslie decided he might learn to like his new life - and his

new school - after all. When Leslie arrived home on Sunday evening,

escorted by Marie, the hour was very late and Leslie was thoroughly

worn out. He managed a wan smile when his aunt greeted him at the

front door, and she and Marie exchanged knowing looks which, had

Leslie watched them at all closely, would have looked more like satis-

fied smirks.

Their plan for Leslie was succeeding beautifully. What they were

trying to achieve was the permanent association in Leslie's fevered

mind of the most exquisite pleasures with the donning of frilly

feminine attire. If they had their way, by the time Leslie was

twenty-one years old, there wouldn't be a thrill left in his entire

body.

Marie accompanied Leslie as he slowly dragged himself up the

ornate stairway of his aunt's mansion. Once in his bedroom, he meekly

submitted to having his afternoon dress - now a bit worse for the wear

- taken off by Marie. Then came layer after layer of taffeta

petticoats which Marie slipped down over his gossamersheer silk

stockings to form a tantalizing puddle of frills and lace on the rich

carpeting.

Ordinarily, the rustling of the sibilant taffeta against his

stockinged legs would rouse Leslie's masculine passions to a frenzied

pitch, but he simply was too far spent after an all-day session with

Marie and Miss Staylace.

As Marie knelt down to detach his stockings from the beribboned

suspenders that held them in place, she couldn't help but notice the

low ebb to which Leslie's energies had sunk.

Marie turned him around and began loosening the laces of his tight

corset. Soon the pink satin and lace garment was on the floor with

the taffeta petticoats and Leslie was being led into the bathroom by

Marie.

Leslie stood on the fluffy rug by the sunken bathtub while Marie

filled the tub with warm water, shook some delicately scented bath oil

beads into the water, and added bubble bath powder. She dipped her

fingers into the water to make sure it was the right temperature, then

turned to Leslie and bade him step into the delightful bath she'd

prepared for him.

The warm, scented water felt heavenly to Leslie's aching and weary

limbs. Soon he was feeling much, much better, having soaked in the

warmth of the water, and Marie went to fetch a huge pink towel and

negligee for him to wear after his bath.

On her return, she knelt down on the soft rug and began soaping

Leslie's inert body with a fragrant pink cleansing cream that was

designed to soften his skin and maintain its peach-like complexion as

well as to clean it. Marie was most diligent in her efforts. Nary a

crevice or fold of his body escaped her attentions, and she seemed to

delight in dallying over the more sensitive areas of his anatomy. By

the time she was finished with her ministrations, a tiny spark of

passion was kindled in spite of his weariness.

Opening the drain to allow the water to escape from the sunken

tub, Marie took a bandeau from a drawer in the bathroom vanity shelf

and tied back Leslie's golden curls in a sort of pony tail in

preparation for the next step in his bath ritual. A hose with a spray

nozzle on the end was pulled from its recess at the end of the tub,

and soon she was rinsing Leslie's pink body with warm clear water.

Finally, she helped Leslie out of the tub and into the huge pink

towel she had brought him and busily engaged herself in drying him off

until his flesh glowed in the muted light of the bathroom. Again and

again he felt the soft touch of the towel against his symbol and it

began to respond, feebly at first, to the touch. Now Marie was

dusting his body with a fragrant powder, not missing a single mound or

crevice, then she sprayed some heady perfume in just the right places.

Enveloped in the lace and ribbon-frilled pink chiffon negligee,

Leslie allowed himself to be led back to his room. Marie placed a

chair before his floor-to-ceiling mirror, sat down in it and bade him

come to her.

Marie turned him so that he was facing the mirror. Doubts coursed

through his mind at this new tactic, and he wondered what she had in

mind for him now. Slipping her arms about his waist, Marie drew him

close to her and took his flaccid symbol in her soft, warm fingers.

"Oh, please, Marie," Leslie protested, "not that, please. I don't

think I can go through it again. Not tonight."

"Hush, Miss Leslie," Marie replied, "Marie will do all the work.

You must simply relax and look at your pretty negligee in the mirror

and think about what a lovely young lady you are becoming under my

guidance. All I am doing is relieving you of your troublesome

masculine tensions so that you may put them out of your mind."

The sight of his own male body clad in the diaphanous negligee, as

always, exerted a powerful effect upon Leslie, and in spite of his

many exertions that took place earlier in the day, he managed to

climax twice under Marie's expert guidance. By the time she had

dressed him in a frilly nightie and led him to bed, his knees were

shaking with an accumulation of exhaustion.

Later on in the evening while Leslie was sleeping, the sleep of

profound weariness, his aunt and Marie were having a conversation that

would prove to have a profound effect on his future. Had Leslie been

aware of what they were discussing, his sleep would not have been

nearly so peaceful. Very likely he would have wakened up screaming.

"I think it is about time to implement phase two of our master plan

for Leslie," his aunt said. "Now that he is beginning to really enjoy

his feminine clothes and the thrills that go with them, I think the

time is right to give him a new plateau of femininity to aspire to."

"Yes, Madame," Marie nodded, "and Dr. Jane can be of great help to

us at this stage of the experiment. She is really a fine plastic

surgeon, and I have seen many marvelous examples of her work."

"But I'm afraid Leslie will resist her efforts," his aunt pointed

out, "and then get into the habit of resisting anyone who tries to

guide him into the life of happiness we've planned for him." "Dr.

Jane has ways of ensuring cooperation, from her subjects," Marie said.

"And we can help prepare him for the ordeal by cracking down harder on

him and making him desirous of pleasing us in order to lighten the

pressure we'll be bringing to bear on him. I have not a single doubt

that he'll be cooperative."

"I'm sure you are right, Marie," Leslie's aunt replied. "Tomorrow

we'll begin the new phase of our experiment. The minute Leslie is

awake in the morning, you start working on him; meanwhile, I'll

contact Dr. Jane and make the necessary arrangements."

"Poor Leslie," Marie said, ruefully.

"Poor Leslie indeed," his aunt said, "but he'll thank us for it

later when he sees what Dr. Jane has done for him." The next morning,

Leslie woke up in a refreshed state, almost looking forward to the

pleasure of being dressed in dainty garments and caressed by Marie as

she attended to his various wants. It wasn't so bad, this living as a

girl, and if it made his aunt happy, why shouldn't he humor her and go

along with whatever she wanted. After all, Leslie thought, it

wouldn't be forever. A few months at the most until she wearied of

the little game.

So when Marie came in to greet him and help him dress, he smiled

at her and gave her pert little bottom a pat. That proved to be a

mistake.

"See here, young lady," Marie said in a flash of anger. "We will

have none of that kind of behavior! The very idea! How dare you?"

"But, Marie," Leslie said, his cheeks aflame with embarrassment,

"what did I do that was so terrible? After all we did yesterday

afternoon..."

"Whatever happened yesterday afternoon - or any other time - has

nothing whatever to do with today!" Marie stated emphatically. "Such

male arrogance from a mere boy in skirts! You think just because a

girl is tender to you one day you can take liberties with her from

that moment forward?"

"No... of course not," Leslie replied, his face flushed with

embarrassment. "I didn't mean anything of the kind." "Nonetheless,

you put your hands on my person without permission," Marie said. "And

that bit of arrogance has to be stamped out immediately."

"Just as you say, Marie," Leslie agreed. He knew she meant to

continue treating him like a little child in punishment for his

outrage against her. He wondered what form this punishment would

take.

Marie led him over to the vanity table tied his golden hair back

out of the way, and began rubbing a cool scented cream into his face.

At least, the cream felt cool at first, but in a few moments the

ointment began to sting something fierce.

"Oh, please, Marie!" Leslie cried in anguish. "Please do

something! My face feels as thought it's on fire! What have you done

to me?"

"Nonsense, Miss Leslie," said Marie. "The cream is only to remove

every last trace of boyish fuzz from your cheeks. It's an ointment

that your aunt had a leading cosmetician make up for her, and it will

remove any beginning traces of beard before they get a chance to

really start growing."

"But it stings dreadfully," Leslie complained, trying to rub the

ointment off with a tissue. However, the cream was already at work

deep in his pores destroying hair follicles.

"It will stop in a moment," Marie said, "and after just a few more

daily treatments you'll never have to worry about a nasty, ugly beard

growing at any time in the remainder of your life" After a few more

minutes, which seemed like several eternities to the suffering Leslie,

Marie wiped on another type of cream. This time the effect was quite

soothing.

"That is the neutralizer," Marie pointed out. "It keeps the

depilatory ointment from doing permanent damage to your lovely skin."

Feeling a little better now, Leslie stared at his face while Marie

wiped the second batch of cream away. She was right, he decided.

There wasn't a speck of hair or fuzz left anywhere the cream had been.

Then he realized that he might have to go through his entire life

without a beard. How could he ever grow up to be a real man if he

were denied the right to grow a beard? The thought was crushing to

him, and he began to weep. "What's the matter, Miss Leslie," Marie

inquired. "Does your face still sting?"

"No, Marie," cried Leslie between sobs. "It's not that. I... I

jut now realize that my aunt doesn't ever want me to be a boy again."

Marie's musical little laugh tinkled throughout the elegant

bedroom. Leslie thought he detected a cynical edge to her merriment,

and it gave him a bit of a chill.

"Why would a sweet flower of feminine beauty like yourself ever

want to be a boy again, Miss Leslie?" Marie inquired. "You should be

happy at what your aunt is doing for you - and what she's going to do

for you in the very near future."

"What do you mean?" Leslie asked. He thought her statement held

a veiled threat of some kind.

"You will see," Marie said, "in due time. All will be revealed to

you when your aunt takes you to town today." At hearing this,

Leslie's alarm was not at all pacified. In fact, it grew by leaps and

bounds. "What is she going to do to me, Marie?" he asked.

"Well," Marie answered after a moment of reflection, "I can't

really tell you. I can only give you a little hint."

"Please, Marie," Leslie pleaded.

Marie reached over and loosened the lace-frilled shoulder straps

of his nightie and let the wispy garment fall to his waist. Then she

cupped his boyish breasts in her hands and pushed the soft flesh

upwards until they almost resembled a girl's bosom. Leslie got the

idea immediately.

"Oh, no," he cried, "not that! I'll be marked for life."

"Nonsense, Leslie," Marie retorted, a smile playing with her red lips.

"It will simply make you into a better looking girl, and that's what

we all want, isn't it?"

Tears welled up in Leslie's eyes. He never felt so humiliated in

all his life. Breasts like a real girl's! He wished he could find a

deep hole and bury himself in it. How could his aunt even think of

doing such a mean thing to him?

After Marie finished putting on his makeup and brushing his hair

until each shining curl was in place, she led him over to the lacing

bar, where she proceeded to lace him into a tight corset that seemed

to be constructed from white embroidery and lace, but it contained

sturdier materials as well, for it clasped poor Leslie's sides with a

grip of iron.

While he was still suspended from the lacing bar, Marie smoothed

some smoky sheer nylons over his legs and attached them to the six

ribbon-filled suspenders that dangled from the white lace corset.

After a while, Marie began to dress him in earnest, selecting an

entirely new ensemble. Little did he realize that she was preparing

him for a visit to Dr. Jane.

Over the tightly laced white corset came a pair of elaborately

frilled white panties, the hemlines dripping with row upon row of

white lace. Then a silken white vest with similar lace trimmings was

pulled into place over his head and tucked into the waistband of

Leslie's panties. Then came a frilly white lace blouse that buttoned

up to back of his neck. Glancing down, he noted that Marie had not

bothered to put a bra and falsies on him, and wondered why. But he

knew better than to ask.

Marie then put a green plaid skirt, which was really a girl's

kilt, around his waist, the pleated hem coming to a few inches above

his knees. She looked at the hang of the skirt for a moment, then

decided it needed more flounce and pulled several starched white

petticoats, quite short in length on under the skirt.

With the addition of the petticoats, the proper effect was

achieved, and Leslie soon discovered that the stiff underskirts

swished sibilantly at every step.

Marie finished off his ensemble with a pair of black patent

leather pumps with silver buckles that flashed prettily with each

movement. He liked the shoes, for they tended to make his feet look

smaller than they actually were.

But when Leslie looked at himself in the mirror, he received a bit

of a shock. The severe cut of his blouse, the kilt, and lack of a

bosom made him look more like a sissified boy than a girl. This

filled him with consternation, for he did not want to be seen in

public as a half-and-half version of femininity: half girl and half

sissy boy.

What would people say when they saw him? In his mind's eye he

could see the amused stares and he imagined he could hear their

cutting remarks. And he knew his aunt had plans to take him out this

morning. However, when the time came to go, his aunt decided to go

directly to their destination in an auto - that was a source of relief

to Leslie, who desired as little public exposure as possible.

His relief was short-lived. When he and his aunt walked into the

lobby of the ultra-modern medical building in the heart of the city,

she asked the receptionist for directions to Dr. Jane's office, and

the various passers-by stared and gawked at him until he wanted to die

right there. He was sure that they were speculating as to which of

the various sexes he belonged. When he mentioned this to his aunt on

the elevator, she smiled and assured him that he was being stared at

because he was so prettily dressed, and she added the assurance that

she was proud to be seen with him in public.

"After all, I want everybody to see what a beautiful little daughter I

have reared," she pointed out.

Leslie had the chilly feeling that she really meant to rear him as

her daughter, and the interview with Dr. Jane did nothing to dispel

that belief. On the contrary, it confirmed his suspicions in the most

positive manner, and he wished he had the courage to bolt from the

room.

Dr. Jane was a pretty young woman in a white clinical coat, and

her manner was most efficient. She struck Leslie as a woman who would

brook no nonsense from anyone, especially him. She peered at him

closely, running her eyes over his trembling figure in a speculative

manner.

"So this is Leslie!" she remarked, after a long moment.

"Yes, doctor, this is he."

"From the narrowness of his waist, I can see that you have already

started him on tight-lacing. Under the circumstances, it is a very

wise procedure. I was going to suggest it as a first step if you had

not already done so. Proper lacing eliminates any unbecoming boyish

slump!" She turned to Leslie again and, in a firm voice, said: "You

may start disrobing now, Leslie."

Leslie cast a pleading glance at his aunt. She ignored it

completely, and began unbuttoning his blouse. He knew it would be

utter folly to resist these two determined women, so he submitted to

them weakly.

Dr. Jane looked on approvingly as his corset came into view, the

frilled silken vest being pulled off to reveal it. Soon his skirt and

petticoats slipped to the floor in a swirl of lace and were hung up on

the coat tree in the corner. At last, only his white lace panties

remained and he was loathe to have them slipped down. But his aunt

was adamant and reached out, grasped the waistband, and tugged it

down.

"Please get up on the examination table, Leslie," Dr. Jane

commanded.

"Aunty, please, must I?" he pleaded.

"This very instant! You heard what Dr. Jane said! You are to

follow her orders just as precisely as I expect you to follow mine."

With a great many misgivings, Leslie climbed up on the metal

examining table and allowed Dr. Jane to arrange him on his back. What

in the world was she planning to do to him, he wondered. He knew that

whatever it was, he wasn't going to like it.

A cry of alarm escaped his lips when she reached out a tweaked

each nipple. Then she caressed his bosom with her soft hands and

noted that his nipples became erect, very much like a girl's. "We are

very fortunate, Mrs. Smythe," Dr. Jane said. "Leslie's nipples show

genuine promise. From what I can see, they should develop quite

nicely with the proper attention." Now Dr. Jane was drawing up the

flesh of his bosom and cupping it with her hands. "Yes," she said

after a moment of cupping and kneading, "there is sufficient flesh

here for two very attractive girlish breasts."

This was more than Leslie could endure - he knew that his aunt

intended that he have a girlish bosom, but the imminence of such an

atrocity was too horrible for him to remain silent. "Oh, no, Aunty,

please! Why I would be marked for life!"

"What nonsense, Leslie," his aunt replied. "Living as a girl,

you'd look pretty silly with a flat boy's chest, now, wouldn't you?

So be a good girl and stop all this fuss. Just let Dr. Jane perform

her miracle and we'll all be a lot happier."

"Of course," Dr. Jane said, "it will be necessary for Leslie to

remain here in my clinic for a few days."

"Don't leave me here, Aunty, please!" Leslie sobbed. "Please

don't!"

"Hush, Leslie. Do stop your nonsense!" Dr. Jane now turned her

attention to Leslie's symbol "There are various methods of taking care

of this," she said, taking the limp flesh between her fingers. "It

can be tucked between his legs and tied down with medical tape or we

could just remove it entirely." At hearing that, Leslie fainted dead

away.

The next thing he knew, was the acrid smell of smelling salts

being held under his nose. He coughed and sputtered and opened his

eyes, conscious once more. "Don't be alarmed, Mrs. Smythe," Dr. Jane

said. "The boys usually faint at this stage - all except the ones who

really want to become girls. I was just making my little joke."

Some joke, Leslie said to himself, marveling at her ghastly sense

of humor. What kind of maniac has my aunt put me in the hands of, he

asked himself.

"If you wish to leave Leslie with me now, I'll have the nurse

prepare him for surgery immediately. If all goes well, he should be

ready to return home the day after tomorrow."

"Oh, I'm grateful to you, Doctor," his aunt cried. "I do think

that the sooner the job is done, the better and happier my little

Leslie will be."

"Don't leave me here!" Leslie wept. "Please stop and think what

you are doing to me. Don't leave me in this horrible place! Please

take me home with you, Aunty dear."

"Now, now, Leslie," his aunt replied. "Aunty knows what's best

for you. In a few short weeks when your breasts are all healed and

beautiful and bouncy, you'll thank your aunty for being so kind and

generous."

Dr. Jane opened a door at the rear of the examination room and

called out to an assistant: "Miss Ingrid, will you come in here,

please?"

Leslie flinched as a heavy-set, stern faced blonde woman in a

stiffly starched nurse's uniform rustled into the room. "This is

Leslie, Miss Ingrid," Dr. Jane said. The nurse gave Leslie a glance

that chilled the very marrow of his bones. "Please take him directly

to surgery and prepare him for the breast improvement operation." As

the burly nurse approached the naked Leslie, he jumped off the table

and cowered in a corner of the room. Miss Ingrid sniffed in contempt

as she stepped to where Leslie crouched, reached down to take a

painful grip on his shoulders, yanked him to his feet as though he

were entirely weightless, then marched him from the room still

pleading and sobbing as if his heart would break. "Stop your

nonsense, child!" she insisted in a husky voice. "It will do you not

one shred of good, so you may as well make up your mind to cooperate

with us right now. It's not as if we were actually going to hurt you.

This is a modern surgical clinic, not a butcher shop."

Leslie cast an apprehensive eye over the room, shuddering as his

eyes fell on the padded white operating table in the center, the white

cabinets filled with sterile instruments, the heady odor of antiseptic

making his nostrils twitch. Nurse Ingrid deposited him

unceremoniously on the table and switched on the huge quartz reflector

lamp over head.

Miss Ingrid went over to a white cabinet with glass doors and

selected a mean-looking syringe, filled it from a glass vial, ejected

a few drops to make sure no air was trapped in the solution, and

approached Leslie. "This will make certain that you remain perfectly

quiet throughout the entire procedure."

"What is it?" Leslie cried. "What are you going to inject me

with?"

"It's just a tranquilizer, you little coward," she chided. "If

you don't hold still, the needle will break off in your flesh, and

then you'll know what misery is."

Leslie held still as she expertly injected the solution in his

forearm. After a moment or two, he stopped caring what they did to

him. The powerful drug coursed through his circulatory system,

washing all his cares away. He finally fell asleep, smiling for the

first time since entering Dr. Jane's abattoir.

A long, long time passed, or at least it seemed to be a long time.

He had completely lost track of the ephemeral flow of time, actually,

and he had no way of knowing what day it was, and what year, for that

matter. What he was aware of, however, was a certain fullness in the

chest that he had never noticed before. Opening his down upon his

newfound bosom for the first time. At first, he thought Marie had put

one of his foam-rubber-padded brassieres on him and that the nipples

which were outlined under the fragile satin of his nightie were ersatz

ones, as they always had been before.

Then, to his horror, he noted that there was no constriction about

his chest such as that caused by a bra, and when he touched the firm,

full mounds he winced at the slight pain the pressure caused. A very

bearable pain, actually, since his senses were still dulled with

chemicals.

Timidly, Leslie raised up in bed a little so that he could slip

the lacy shoulder straps of the nightie over his shoulders and pull

the garment down. His sense of horror increased briefly as he

contemplated his new breasts and noted that they were the equal of any

girl his own age, then it gave way to awe at the skill with which Dr.

Jane had created his new bosom. He had to admit that they were real,

in spite of the surgical tape that protected the incisions that had

been made at the base of each breast. When he tentatively touched

each nipple, it hardened and became erect.

This turn of events was too much for Leslie to grasp all at once,

and he lay back on the pillow and dozed off into a fitful sleep. His

next awareness was Dr. Jane's voice calling to him: "Wake up, Leslie,

and see what I've brought you."

Leslie opened his eyes and looked at Dr. Jane. She was dangling a

fancy white brassiere from her fingers, and Leslie noted that it had

surgical cotton in the lower part of each cup. She explained that he

should wear it when he first got up and moved around, so as to

minimize the strain on the hairline incisions she'd made when building

up his breasts.

Leslie was a little less dazed by his experiences now, and he

asked her what day it was. She told him he had slept the clock around

twice and that he was scheduled to go home the next day, which was

Wednesday.

"And next Monday, if you continue to heal properly, you can return

to Miss Staylace's school," Dr. Jane pointed out. "You'll have a

wonderful time showing all the other girls your new figure."

Leslie doubted that. He felt terribly embarrassed by his new

bosom on the one hand, but on the other he was sure they would be an

asset to his dressing and living as a girl.

His aunt visited him later on that afternoon. At first, he was

surly and refused to even look at her, but she was so outgoing and

charming to him that he soon forgot his anger. She had brought him a

brand new nightie and bed jacket for his remaining twenty-four hours

in the clinic and insisted that he try it on while she was there.

"Marie is looking forward to seeing your new beauties, Leslie,"

his aunt said. "She wants you to get well quick and continue to be

her 'Miss Leslie' for a long time to come."

I'll bet she does, Leslie thought to himself. But on reflection,

he felt as though she probably was sincere. Now that the foul deed

was done, he couldn't very well spend his life blaming her for her

part in it.

After his aunt left to return home, Leslie swung his legs over the

side of the bed and walked over to the full-length mirror on one wall

of the room. His legs were still a little shaky from the effects of

the drugs he'd been given, but he was able to stand for a few moments

and look at his reflection. He lowered the shoulder bands of his new

nightie and stared at his news breasts. He was surprised to note how

natural they seemed. Then it occurred to him that what surgery gave

him, surgery could take away, and that when he was ready to assume his

male role again, he could get rid of them. If he wanted to.