In retrospect, the biggest mistake I made was underestimating my younger sister, Margaret; underestimating her cunning, her spite, and her ingenuity. It started with the custody battle during my parents' divorce. After my Dad left my Mom to marry Angie, his secretary, I begged him to let me live with him. The idea of living without Dad in a house with Margaret was more than I could take. I loved Mom and all that, and she really loved me, but Dad and I were best buds. We did everything together; ball games, fishing, backpacking, the works. I wanted to be just like him when I got older. I told both my parents that as a guy, I really needed to have the guidance of a live-in male authority figure.
I never figured my Mom would care so much about having custody of me. She told me it was because she loved me too much to have me turn out like my father. She was very proud of her "little man," and she bragged about me all the time. Maybe she bragged too much, because sometimes I caught Mom's friends and our neighbors rolling their eyes as Mom went on and on about what a perfect son I was and what a great man I was destined to be.
Mom was concerned enough that she even hired this bitchy woman lawyer, Ms. Proctor, to represent her in the custody dispute. I think the lawyer knew I didn't like her, because she didn't even pretend to be friendly to me. On the other hand, she and Margaret seemed to be instant friends. She was always telling Margaret how clever she was and went on and on about how much Margaret reminded her of herself when she was that age. Lots of times, Margaret and the lawyer would whisper and giggle, even when Mom wasn't around. Whatever!
That summer, before the custody trial, Margaret got way out of hand. Without Dad around to put her place, she became unbearable. She went out of her way to annoy me, acting like I was her personal slave or something. She even talked Mom into making me start doing some of her chores; stuff like delivering and picking up Mom's dresses and skirts at the dry cleaners. I felt like an idiot handing over that girly stuff to be cleaned. The ladies at the cleaners thought it was hilarious to say stuff like, "When do you need your dresses, dear?" "Oh, I bet you look just darling in this one." "Don't you think this dress is a little sophisticated for a boy your age?" "I bet your boyfriend just loves you in this!" Ha-ha, very funny. I tried to ignore the teasing, but it really embarrassed me. Worse, I always turned beet red, which just invited more teasing.
When Dad was around, he never let Margaret get away with her crap. Now that he was gone, she really stepped it up. Mom didn't seem to notice; I guess she was too busy with the divorce and stuff. I knew it was useless to complain; Mom would only tell me to stop being a wuss. Oh, well, at least school was out for the summer.
A couple of days later, I was playing a video game in my room when Margaret and her collection of bratty friends burst into my room. To my amazement, she marched over and actually yanked the power cord from the socket.
"Hey! What in hell do think you're doing?"
"For your information, dweeb, my friends and I are trying to listen to music. Your stupid game is bothering us."
Margaret's friends giggled nervously, waiting for my reaction. "Screw you!" I snapped back.
Margaret just smiled. She continued in a childish voice: "Now Priscilla. Is that any way for a young lady to talk?" Her friends' giggles turned to raucous laughter. Years ago, Dad was out of town on business, and I was complaining to Mom about something Margaret had done. Without thinking, Mom told me to stop acting like a little girl. Margaret quickly noticed how embarrassed I was by that remark, and started calling me "little girl" whenever she wanted to make me mad. She even came up with a shameful nickname for me - "Priscilla." She knew it really pissed me off to be called that stupid name.
To my chagrin, I could feel my face turn beet red. "Shut up, Margaret!"
"Now Prissy, don't be mad. I'll tell you what. I'll go get my old Barbies so that you can play dollies. Playing dollies always makes you feel better, doesn't it?" Margaret's friends laughed louder, and if possible, my face got redder. Finally, it was more than I could take. I had been in enough playground scuffles to know what to do. I easily grabbed my sister's arm and twisted it behind her. She winced in pain.
I couldn't resist rubbing it in a little. "Who's the girl now? Huh? Speak up, I can't hear you."
Margaret just glared at me with a hateful scowl. I could tell she was furious, and I've got to admit, the look on her face scared me a little bit. She couldn't stand that I was showing her up in front of her stupid friends. Still twisting her arm, I marched her over to the door and shoved her into hallway where her friends were already waiting. I felt kind of bad for being so rough with her, but she had it coming. Anyway, I guess it worked; Margaret and her friends left me alone for the rest of the day.
After that, something wasn't quite right. Margaret always tattled on me, even if I just looked at her wrong. But this time she never said anything about it. I didn't see much of her over the next couple of days; she was obviously busy with something. When I did see her, like at mealtimes, she just glared at me. It made me nervous. Eventually, she did start talking to me, but it was strange. She was acting really sweet toward me. It was sickening.
"Brother, dear, can I give you anything? How about another cookie? Peter, the ball game's on TV. Can I turn it on for you?"
I knew she was up to something, I just didn't know what. I didn't have time to worry because I came down with some kind of awful flu bug. I woke up in the middle of the night with terrible stomach cramps and a splitting headache. At breakfast, I complained to my mom.
"Mom, I feel awful. I've got stomach cramps, my muscles ache all over, and I've got no energy."
She felt my forehead. "You feel fine to me. You don't seem to have a fever. Take some aspirin and rest for a couple of days. I'm sure it's nothing," she said sweetly.
Margaret piped up: " I know what it is. Priscilla's getting her period. Isn't that precious?" At least Margaret was back to normal.
Leaving Mom and Margaret giggling in the kitchen, I retreated to my bedroom and stayed in bed the next few of days. I was absolutely miserable. It got so bad I could hardly move. Every day, Margaret stopped by my room and looked in, an evil grin on her face. It was starting to freak me out. Eventually, Mom began to be worried, but the same day Mom was going call the doctor, I started to feel a lot better; the headache and cramps went away, and I finally had more energy. My muscles also stopped hurting, but I still felt really weak. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but something just felt - wrong.
That afternoon, I went to the neighborhood park to shoot some hoops with my friends. It was great to finally be out of the house away from Margaret. But the minute my best buddy, Jeff, threw me the ball, things started to go bad.
"Hey Jeff, where did you get this ball. It feels like it's made of lead."
"What you talking about? It's the same ball we always play with."
I tried to take a jump shot, but I felt like I was shooting a bowling ball instead of a basketball. The ball fell three feet short of the basket. "You guys are crazy. There's something wrong with that ball."
I listened as all my buddies assured me that there was nothing wrong with the ball. I couldn't figure it out. As we started our regular pickup game, a bunch of the neighborhood girls came over and sat in the adjacent bleachers. I waved to Suzy Johnson, a girl in my class at school. She was really hot, and I had heard through the grapevine that she had a thing for me. This would be a great opportunity to dazzle her with my athletic talent.
Thirty minutes later, the game was over. My team had gotten clobbered, and I was single-handedly at fault. None of my shots even came close to the basket, and on defense, the guys pushed me around like I wasn't even there. I could tell my teammates were starting to get frustrated. Then the guys on the other team started to mock me. "Great shot, Peter. Maybe in a couple of years you'll be a big boy and actually get the ball to the rim." One of the girls in the bleachers said snidely: "Gee Peter, I'm a girl and I play better than that."
The guys all thought that was hilarious, and they actually had Becky, the girl who had spoken up, substitute for the guy I was guarding. To the delight of the other girls, who were now all cheering for Becky, she made a fool of me. She blocked my shots, easily shoved me out of the way to get rebounds, and scored as if I wasn't even there. Worse, she kept up a steady stream of taunts.
"Golly, Peter, maybe you should go over and play hopscotch with my little sister and some of her friends. That seems more your speed. But don't let them push you around. Sometimes they can play really rough," she mocked. As everyone laughed, I wanted to crawl under rock. Even Suzy was laughing. As I walked off the court, she had a look of disappointment on her face.
The next day, Margaret's friends were over, making a racket as usual. Apparently, they were planning an afternoon out at our backyard pool. The dÈtente with Margaret was obviously over because she barged into my room, her giggling groupies behind her.
"Prissy, dear, we're planning a girl's afternoon by the pool. Naturally, our first thought was to invite you," she smirked.
"Bite me!" I growled. "Get out of my room." I was in no mood for her crap.
"Do you think you're man enough to make me? I don't think so," she challenged. She stood in the middle of my room, her feet spread, arms crossed; her mouth was in a sneer. After the embarrassing events at the park, I was not anxious to have a showdown with Margaret until I figured out what was wrong with me, but she didn't leave me any choice. I grabbed for her arm, planning to repeat my victory of a couple of weeks before, but as I reached for her, Margaret spun me around, grabbed my arm, and easily twisted it behind my back. It hurt like crazy. I was helpless. "Stop, Margaret! That hurts." My face was contorted with pain.
"Of course it hurts, Prissy. Remember? You did it to me, only I didn't cry like a little girl when you did it."
"I'm not crying... oww!" I squealed. Margaret twisted and pulled my arm higher on my back. It was excruciating. "Stop, please!" I was on my tiptoes trying to ease the pain. It hurt so bad, I was dismayed to find myself begging Margaret to let me go. I didn't care that I was humiliating myself in front of Margaret and her friends; the pain was too much.
As her friends clapped and giggled at my plight, Margaret spoke up. "Promise to be a good girl for the rest of the afternoon," she said sweetly. She gave my arm a wicked twist.
"I promise," I managed to squeak.
"Say all of it," she ordered.
"I-I promise to be a good ... girl the rest of the afternoon." I could hardly say the humiliating words. Mercifully, she released her grip on my arm.
"Isn't it a relief to admit the truth?" she mocked. "You're nothing but a ridiculous little sissy," she spat with a smug look on her face.
As Margaret's friends pointed and laughed, I began to get angrier and angrier. Rage overcoming my pain, I rushed at her again, but Margaret grabbed me and threw me to the floor like a rag doll. She then yanked me up and put me in a painful full nelson. It was almost as if she had become ten times stronger overnight. I got so frustrated, I could feel a tear forming in my eye. "What's wrong with me?" I wondered aloud.
As her friends giggled harder, Margaret shoved me onto my bed and placed her forefinger on her cheek in a mock thought. "Gee, I wonder. It's hard to say, but it might have something to do with the "Dainty and Delicate" pills I've been dissolving in your drinks for the last couple of weeks." The girls roared with laughter at my puzzled look. Obviously, they were in on some sort of inside secret.
"What are you talking about?"
"Dainty and Delicate. It's what you've become, thanks to me. Heather, read him the label on the bottle."
With mock ceremony, Heather pulled out a large bottle from behind her back and began reading in a television announcer's voice: "Even your budding football star will become a dainty and delicate darling with our new muscle loss formula. Dominating your sissy will be a cinch when he has a fraction of his former strength. Imagine the hours of enjoyment you'll have as you watch your sissy's muscles melt away and he's reduced to having the strength of a girl half his age. In no time, your former jock will be a frail little flower subject to your every whim. Force him to take all thirty capsules and your sissy will be Dainty and Delicate... for life!" As Heather finished reading, the girls guffawed loudly.
My mind reeled and I couldn't believe my ears. "What the... you're lying. That stuff's not real! Who would sell something like that?"
Margaret said airily: "Well, Priscilla, lucky for you, it's a charming little place downtown. It's called the Sissy Mister. It's one stop shopping for turning boys into sissy girlies. Ms. Proctor suggested it to me." She fixed me with a glare. "Actually, this is just the start," she said smugly. "With Dad out of the way, I'm going to turn you into Priscilla - for good. And the best part is, you can't do anything to stop me," she smirked as she harshly pinched my cheek.
I was too shocked to say anything. This was ridiculous! It couldn't be real. She had to be pulling my leg.
"Don't believe it, huh?" she said as if she was reading my mind. "I think a little demonstration is in order. Remember how you always beat me at arm wrestling?"
Of course I did. I always enjoyed the crushed look on her face when Margaret realized that she would never be my physical match. I didn't care how weird I was feeling, I knew I'd kill her in arm wrestling. Showing her up in front of her friends would put her in her place. I cleared a tabletop, gritted my teeth, and stuck my right hand in the air. I was going to make my snotty sister sorry. "Bring it," I said angrily.
"This should be fun!" Margaret giggled.
Within minutes, I was lying on my bed, whimpering and rubbing my shoulder. Margaret had beaten me - without even really trying. Then all the other girls took a turn at "beating the sissy." They loved toying with me, letting me think I was winning, and then slamming my fist to the table with ease. Heather was merciless with her teasing. "Gee, Priscilla, I've got a five year-old sister who's stronger than that. C'mon, at least try," she taunted. I gritted my teeth and tried even harder, but it was no use. "I'm afraid you're going to need a man around the house, honey," Heather mocked.
What was happening to me? It was like I had no muscle tone at all. I felt so weak and helpless. Fear gripped me as I realized Margaret and all of her friends were now stronger than me. A bunch of stupid girls! I was completely at Margaret's mercy! For the first time in my life, I felt real fear.
The girls all cheered my utter defeat. It wasn't often they got to physically control a boy - much less an older one. It was clear that they enjoyed the experience.
Heather spoke up excitedly: "You're going to keep him like this, right? I mean, permanently?"
"What do you think, silly? Of course I am. I'm afraid Mommy's and Daddy's little man is going to disappear forever," she smirked. "There are only a few capsules left in the bottle. Now that he knows, there's no need to hide it in his food. Hand me one of the pills, Heather." She held out her hand without taking her eyes off me.
I backed away like she was holding a snake. Permanent? Dainty and Delicate? "Margaret! You can't be serious. I'm a boy! My life will be ruined. I won't be able to play sports anymore. You can't do this. It's against the law! Wait till I tell Mom and Dad! You're going to be in so much trouble." I panicked. This couldn't be happening. I had to get away.
I tried to run from the room, but the laughing girls grabbed me and easily held me tight. A smiling Margaret motioned for me to open my mouth, but I clinched my jaw tight. Chuckling, she simply held my nostrils until I gasped for air. Then she popped the pill down my throat with a laugh. I swallowed it to keep from choking. The girls cheered their approval and laughed at my futile efforts to spit up the pill.
I was completely defeated. I had no idea if Margaret was telling the truth, but there was no question that I was weak and frail. I didn't have time to think as the girls decided I needed a few changes to fit in with the "rest of the girls." First Pam and Janey made me get undressed - all the way. I pleaded with them, but it was no use. Of course, the girls all had a big laugh at the size of my unit. I had always been really self-conscious about it, but now my sister and all her friends knew.
"No wonder you call him Priscilla. The poor dear is really more girl than boy."
"I didn't know they could be that small."
"What would any girl do with that?"
They used some hair remover from that sissy store to remove all my body hair from my underarms and legs. Heather even used some to shape my pubes like a girl's. After I had rinsed off that stuff, I was smooth all over. It was so degrading.
A horrible girl's bathing suit came next; a two-piece monstrosity from that sissy store again. It was black with little white bows all around the waistband. Margaret made me stuff my package between my legs. When they pulled the bottom of the suit up, I wanted to cry; my front looked flat, just like a girl's! The top came next. It had two large cups with a big sissy white bow between them. When I stupidly asked why the top was so big, they all guffawed. Betty pulled out two enormous fake boobs, which she crammed into the cups of the top. I now looked like I had a couple of giant feminine torpedoes jutting from my chest. They were heavy, and they jiggled and swayed in the monstrous cups whenever I moved.
"Oh, Priscilla! What a big girl you are!" Margaret laughed, hefting the fake breasts in her hands.
A stupid sheer cover-up with matching bow motif and high-heeled sandals completed my humiliation. Then the girls started pulling me downstairs. They actually intended to make me go outside like that! I began to panic as the thought of being outside in the humiliating get- up. "Margaret! I can't go outside! What if someone sees me? The neighbors can all see the pool. You can't be serious! St-top! Please!"
"Don't be such a drama queen, Pris. You might as well get used to people admiring you in your darling sissy outfits."
She and Heather grabbed me by the arms and despite my desperate struggles, easily dragged me outside to the pool.
The rest of the afternoon was an unmitigated horror. I worried constantly that one of our neighbors would see me. I thought for sure I heard someone in the Cravitz's yard, but when I looked, I didn't see anything. The girls laughed uproariously as they recounted my humiliating morning again and again. Then the pictures started. They must have known what was going to happen because they were all armed with digital cameras. They took turns posing with me, always making me pose in some humiliating way. When Margaret insisted that I smile "like a good little girl" I refused. No way was I going to give her the satisfaction. That earned me another demonstration of her control as she held me with one hand and repeatedly whacked my crotch with a rolled-up magazine until I saw stars. My balls felt like someone had kicked them. As a result, all the pictures showed me with a stupid simpering smile. Whenever my smile started to wane, I got more punishment. I thought about running, but I was so weak, I knew I wouldn't get very far. Besides, where would I go in that sissy get up? I'd die if anyone else saw me like that.
Finally, the girls slathered me with some sun tan lotion and made me bake in the sun for the rest of the afternoon in one of our lounge chairs. At least they left me alone. I desperately tried to think of a way out of my predicament, but I didn't have any luck. I could only hope that it was all a joke or something and after the girls had their fun, Margaret would tell me the truth. As the girls laughed hilariously at my appearance, I was overwhelmed with feelings of helplessness. It was more than I could take. When I began to sob, the girls laughed even louder.
"Aww, poor little girl. Don't cry; we're going to make sure you're the biggest sissy ever."
After sun tanning, the girls kept me busy getting them stuff from the kitchen. They thought it was hilarious to boss me around and watch me try to walk in those damned high-heeled sandals. Every step caused "my" boobs to bounce and sway, and the high heels forced me to take dainty little steps to keep from falling. I was just coming out of the kitchen with another tray of drinks, concentrating on balancing on those stupid heels when I ran smack dab into Mom! Her mouth agape, she slowly took in my appearance from head to toe. I was relieved to see her until I remembered how I was dressed. I was utterly humiliated to have her see me in that awful get up. It took a while for either of us to find our voice.
"Peter? What is the meaning of this?" she asked in dismay. She stared me with wide eyes, disappointment and disgust etched on her face. "I leave the house for a couple of hours to go shopping, and when I return, I find you all dolled up like a... a... sissy pool bunny. And quite a large busted one at that," she sputtered, pointing at my bust. "How long have you been dressing like a... girl?" she said, her voice choking with emotion.
Shit! She thought I did this on my own; that I was some kind of fag. "Mom, I can explain!" I stuttered. "Margaret did this to me! She put this stuff in my food, and... and... it made me really weak. Then while you were out, Margaret and her stupid friends made me dress like this!"
Mom looked inquisitively at the assembled girls, who wore well- practiced looks of pure innocence. Margaret had obviously prepared them on what to say. Heather spoke up angrily: "Gosh, Peter. At least tell your Mom the truth: You dressed yourself up in that girly bathing suit so you could pretend to be 'one of the girls,' and threatened us unless we kept it a secret. Don't blame us for your perverted little secrets!" The other girls angrily voiced similar sentiments. Crap! Margaret had planned this whole thing out!
Mom looked at me, her face a mixture of incredulity and revulsion. She fingered the collar of the sissy cover up, taking in my appearance carefully from head to toe. Eventually, she cleared her throat, wiped her eyes, and tried to regain her composure: "I think you'd better go in the house and change out of your pretty swim suit, Peter."
I gladly ran to my room, although I hated to leave Mom alone with Margaret and her friends. At least I was away from Margaret and out of that stupid swimsuit. The humiliation wasn't over, though. When I ripped off that humiliating suit, I saw that I now had obvious tan lines from the suit. The outline of that girly two-piece suit was etched into my skin! I was marked as a sissy!
After Margaret's friends left, I heard Mom on the phone with Grandma telling her what had happened and asking her what to do. Apparently Grandma made a big deal about it, because Mom called her lawyer. Mom said that Ms. Proctor was going to get an order from the judge to have me undergo some kind of independent psychological exam by a specialist.
When Dad got the news, he called me on my cell phone. Finally, a sympathetic voice! I blurted out everything: Margaret, Ms. Proctor, the Dainty and Delicate pills, the girl's swimsuit - everything. He seemed really confused and incredulous, but assured me that the specialist would take care of everything. I breathed a huge sigh of relief. Dad asked to speak to Mom, and I handed her the phone.
"Charles, what a pleasant surprise," she said with a hint of sarcasm. "I see. Oh did he? Did he also mention that I came home from shopping to find him all dolled up in an adorable ladies' swimsuit? Your son was wearing the most darling high heel sandals and just the sweetest little chiffon cover-up. He told me that Margaret made him. Really! What a pathetic excuse. You know as well as I do that Margaret's not capable of 'forcing' him to do anything. This is most certainly no trick on my part! My lawyer called and said the judge has already scheduled an appointment with a specialist - an expert in the field of girlish boys. Apparently, her credentials are impeccable. She's agreed to evaluate Peter and report to the judge. I guess I'll see you in court."
While I was sulking in my room, Mom walked in. She was smiling, but I could tell it was forced. I felt terrible.
"Mom, you've got to ..." Before I could finish explaining, she interrupted me like she didn't hear me.
She sighed exasperatedly. "Dear, what have I told you about throwing your things on the floor." To my horror, she reached down and retrieved the swimsuit and cover-up where I had thrown them on the floor. She held the chiffon cover-up and swimsuit at arm's length and she gulped hard, and forced another smile. "These things are really too delicate to machine wash. You should know how to hand wash them in the sink."
My skin crawled as I washed the swimsuit and cover-up in my bathroom sink and hung them to dry on my shower rod. I couldn't believe what I was doing. As I returned to my room, I saw my Mom holding the two giant breast forms in her hands. With a disgusted sigh, she placed them in my dresser.
Over the next few days, I tried to act as normally as possible. I could tell that Mom was trying to act normally as well, but the way she looked at me, I could tell that things weren't the same. Lot of times I caught her staring at me, a bewildered and hurt look on her face. Whenever Margaret wasn't around, I tried to explain what had really happened. Mom look never let me finish, explaining matter-of- factly that the specialist would take care of everything. I guess I couldn't blame her.
A couple of days later, Mom had errands to run, leaving Margaret and me alone in the house. It was the first time I had been alone with Margaret since the "pool party". I prayed and that Mom would be home quickly as I retreated to my room. It didn't do any good, and I jumped as my bedroom door swung open and Margaret strode into my room, with what appeared to be a pink riding crop in her hand.
"What's the matter, sissy? Are you hiding from me because you're afraid? Well, you should be. From now on, whenever we're alone in the house, you come find me and ask if there's anything I want. Got it?" she barked.
My first reaction was to tell her to eat shit. Then I remembered my pathetic attempt to do even one pushup that morning. Formerly, I could knock out fifty at a time. I heard myself say, "Sure, Margaret. Whenever you say. But haven't you had your fun? Please. I think Mom's actually starting to believe I'm a sissy. You heard her talking to Grandma on the phone. She sounded really upset."
"Of course she's upset, silly. She's discovering that her macho son is all girl at heart. How disgusting is that? Now for being such a bad girl and trying to hide from me, you've got to be punished. Pull down your pants and bend over. Now!" she smirked.
"Aw, come on, Margaret. You can't be serious."
"Oh, I'm serious all right. Now do it!" For emphasis, Margaret smacked the riding crop against her leg.
In stunned disbelief, I slowly undid my belt buckle and pulled down my jeans. With a smirk, Margaret motioned me to remove my boxers as well. My face burned as I complied.
"Isn't this a fun game, brother dear? By the way, if you say anything to Mom about our little sister to sissy time together, I'll make you pay. Understand?
I nodded forlornly.
"Good. Now be a good little girl, and bend over. That's it, grab your ankles. Perfect. I love to hear you whimper." Whapp! "Oww, did that hurt? It did? Good!"
By the time Margaret finished, my bottom was on fire, and I was sobbing uncontrollably. I was only able to regain my composure after Margaret threatened me with more if I didn't stop crying. I sniffled and rubbed my eyes.
"That's better. Now come with me. I know you're dying to get all prettied up in Mom's things. You're going to be just darling." She flipped her wrist with a chortle.
It took a few more strokes of the crop before I could bring myself to do as my younger sister ordered. What followed was even more humiliating than the afternoon at the pool. When we were finally done, I was exhausted from the humiliation. I fell on my bed and tried to keep from sobbing.
In a few days, we arrived at the well-appointed offices of Dr. Alice Poole; that's who we were seeing. I was determined to convince her that this was all a big mistake, and that Margaret had set me up. Margaret's little game was about to come to an end.
Dr. Poole's waiting room was really girly and made me instantly uncomfortable. It was like being in a woman's bathroom with all her make-up and pantyhose and stuff all around. After an interminable wait, the doctor came out. I was relieved to see that she was a pretty, middle-aged woman. I guess I figured she'd be old, with glasses or something. She seemed really nice. She asked to speak with Mom and Margaret first to "get some background."
Margaret pulled out this big envelope and was wearing a huge grin. As they walked down the hall, Margaret turned and gave me a wink. That made me really nervous.
Mom and Margaret were in there a long time, and I was bored out of my skull. I picked up a magazine from the table. To my amazement, it was something called Teen Sissy. At first glance, it looked like any one of Mom and Margaret's stupid fashion magazines. The topics were certainly the same: make-up, fashions, and relationships with men - the usual. But when I looked closer, I could tell that the magazine was not at all like the magazines Mom and Margaret usually read: it was for boys! Sissies! On the cover was a svelte teen boy, encased in a chic evening gown, his hair in a sophisticated hair-do; his heavy make-up flawless. He was surrounded by a group of muscular men in tuxes, obvious lust on their faces. The name of the article was "Gowns for Girlies." Horrified, I flipped through pages and pages of boys dressed as girls and doing typical girl stuff; cheerleading, housework, sewing... the works. I couldn't believe my eyes! I was so grossed out that I didn't notice that the doctor had returned with my mother and sister. I jumped when I heard Dr. Poole speak right behind me.
"I see you're enjoying the latest issue of Teen Sissy. What's that article you're so engrossed in? Oooohh, I see; 'The Prettiest Bras for Boys.' Interesting."
"I-I wasn't reading it! Really. I mean..." I quickly tossed the magazine down on the table and glanced at Mom. She had that disappointed and disgusted look again. Crap!
I walked into the doctor's office, noticing the feminine touches everywhere. After we sat, she smiled and carefully placed an enlarged photograph on the table between us. "Do you recognize this?" she asked sweetly.
I cringed when I saw it. "Where did you get this?" I asked nervously. It was a Halloween picture from a couple of years before.
"Your sister was kind enough to share it with me. She's really concerned about you, you know."
"Yeah, right," I thought.
"I understand it was your idea to dress up as the First Lady for Halloween, wasn't it?
"Yeah, I guess so."
"So you picked that smart little suit and hat all by yourself. What exquisite taste you have. Pink suits you."
"Th-thanks," I said, not wanting to be rude. "I just tried to match a picture I saw in a magazine. But the only reason I dressed that way because I heard that some boy had done it the year before and gotten twice as much candy as everyone else. All my friends dared me to do it when I told them about the candy. I didn't have any choice! Really."
Dr. Poole nodded sympathetically. "Of course, dear, that makes perfect sense." She arranged some additional enlargements on the table. Damn it! I made sure I had thrown out all those pictures. That little brat, Margaret, must have stolen and kept a set! The pictures were of me in the school play in the sixth grade. My face turned beet red as I remembered the embarrassment of playing Little Bo Beep.
"I understand you begged your teacher to give you the girl's part in this play. Is that true?"
"Yes, ma'am," I said quietly. I was still stunned. The pictures were horrible! I looked so girly in that get-up with those pantaloons and bonnet. The drama teacher was upset that a boy was playing a girl's part, and had made me wear gobs of make-up. What a nightmare that was! The kids teased me for months. "I-I didn't want to do it, but the only other roles - the boy ones - had tons of lines, and I had terrible stage fright."
"Of course," she said. "Regardless, you certainly look pretty in your darling costume. How girlish you must have felt in your frilly pantaloons and that dainty bonnet. But it looks like that wasn't the last time you wore girls' clothes."
Shit! Dr. Poole put down enlargements of all the pictures - one by one - that the girls had taken the day that Margaret and her friends had dressed me up. I quickly explained that it wasn't my fault. When she asked what I meant, I calmly explained to her that my sister had physically forced me, and that she was determined to make people believe that I was some kind of damn sissy. I told her everything. I was ecstatic when I saw her shaking her head. It was obvious that she couldn't believe what Margaret had done. Finally!
After about an hour, Dr. Poole stopped taking notes, gave me a sympathetic smile, and told me she'd heard enough. As we drove home, I was starting to plan how I was going to get back at Margaret for what she put me through.
The custody trial finally started the following week, and Dr. Poole was the first witness. I could hardly wait. Mom's bitch of a lawyer told the judge that both sides had stipulated to Dr. Poole's qualifications. After some preliminaries, Ms. Proctor got right to it. "Dr. Poole, have you formed a professional opinion as to whether Peter Watson is suffering from any form of gender identity disorder?" I squirmed as everyone turned to stare at me.
"Yes," she smiled brightly. "Based on my careful examination and a thorough family history - I grinned as she paused to give me a kindly glance - Peter has what we refer to as 'Sissy Boy Syndrome'. There are different levels of the disorder, and there's no doubt that Peter is a Class III case, the most severe form."
What? I couldn't believe my ears. I had to be dreaming! I desperately looked at my Mom, who burst into tears. Dad looked sick; he wouldn't even look at me. I tried to speak up, but the judge silenced me with her gavel. I slunk down in my seat as Dr. Poole's testimony continued. I wanted to crawl into a hole as she flashed the pictures of me dressed like a girl on a huge screen at the front of the courtroom and commented on each one. Everyone was snickering. Even the judge was struggling to keep from laughing.
I anxiously listened to Dr. Poole. No! She was all wrong! I didn't have a "long history of self-initiated cross-dressing." And it sure as hell wasn't "selfish masculine arrogance" that prevented me from admitting I was a sissy! I didn't understand when she said that boys like me took great satisfaction in deceiving everyone and that although we loved to appear and act girlishly in private "we" were extremely careful to keep our "sissy side" a secret. When she said that my sissy behavior was really an expression of contempt and ridicule of real women, I saw my Mom's face turn really angry! Shit. Then she said that my "bald-faced lie" about my sister trying to sissify me was merely part of my deception and "a last ditch effort to preserve the prerogatives of being male." What crap!
I listened as Mom's lawyer asked Dr. Poole whether she had any doubt about her diagnosis. Dr. Poole laughed softly. "Good heavens, no." She fixed me with her gaze. "And even if I did, it would have been completely eliminated by this."
Dr. Poole started a video clip. It took me a while to recognize Mom's bedroom. Then I saw myself on the screen. My heart froze. Oh, no! No! Not that! Involuntarily I blurted out: "Stop! This is all a setup! You've got to believe me."
My head was spinning as I heard the judge bang her gavel and threatened to have me removed if there were any more outbursts.
Somehow Margaret had secretly videotaped my performance in Mom's bedroom! No wonder she had given me such detailed instructions and had made me "perform" over and over. Any mistakes had earned me strokes with the crop. I had wondered why Margaret had stayed in the doorway the entire time; now I realized that she was staying off- screen. Margaret had filmed the entire horrible episode. I knew what was coming, and I wanted to die.
I shut my eyes, trying to lock out the humiliation, but I knew that the screen would show me taking my mother's most feminine nightgown out of her lingerie drawer and holding against my body as I smiled sweetly at my image in the mirror. Under Margaret's supervision off screen, I had "excitedly" stripped and donned the horrible nightgown, matching robe, and slippers. I could clearly hear my voice in the affected falsetto that Margaret had insisted on. In the mirror, I addressed my pretend husband: "Hello darling, I'm so glad you're home. This nightgown? Isn't it pretty? I bought it today in the cutest little lingerie store downtown. I got it in black because and know how much that turns you on. <Giggle. I've been thinking of you ever since I bought it. I'm so lucky to be married to such a handsome man. What? You're going to take me to bed and make me feel like a woman? <Giggle. Well, that's exactly what I was hoping for when I bought this nightgown."
By this time, the entire court room was enveloped in laughter. I recalled vividly how Margaret had made me sway my hips coyly and generally act like a woman in heat. At the end of my little play, Margaret had ordered me to pose, preen, and admire myself in the mirror. My face burned as I heard the snide comments: "What a fairy! Imagine, wearing his mother's lingerie. If I ever caught my son in my things, I'd disown him."
As bad as it was, I dreaded the next part even more. On the screen, I retrieved a pair of Mom's casual khakis and held them up to my body as I looked in the mirror. "Mom's such an butch cow, it's no wonder she can't keep a man."
The entire courtroom gasped. I stole a look at Mom, and she was glaring daggers at me. I could only imagine what she must think.
I started to tremble as Ms. Proctor elicited more and more horrible testimony: "In your expert opinion, Dr. Poole, do sissies like Priscilla ever change?"
"Heavens no! There's no 'cure' for Sissy Syndrome, and it's an absolute certainty that the boys will deny their girlish fantasies with their last breath. However, their behavior speaks volumes: secretly dressing in feminine clothes at every opportunity - their mother's, sister's, girlfriend's; constantly fantasizing about and secretly dressing and acting like girls as much as possible; but always keeping up their public masculine charade."
"I see. And what is the prognosis for someone like Peter?"
"Well, it's quite sad and pathetic. Boys like Peter continue with their little farce, going to school, getting high-paying jobs that women are traditionally excluded from, and marrying some poor unsuspecting woman. Inevitably the wife comes home unexpectedly and finds her so-called husband all dressed up in her most feminine nightgown or her prettiest cocktail dress. Imagine her feelings of betrayal and disappointment. Divorce follows, and the pattern repeats itself until the sissy has ruined any number of lives with his deceit."
At that point the laughter turned to angry murmurs, and several women looked at me like I embodied all male evil. Even the court reporter glared at me hatefully. I tried to slink down further in my seat.
Ms. Proctor looked over at me with a smirk. "Is gender reassignment surgery appropriate for someone like Peter?"
My heart was in my throat until I heard Dr. Pole's answer: "Heavens no!" she laughed. "Peter is not a transsexual; he's a male sissy. In other words, he most definitely wants to keep his male parts. He doesn't want to be a girl, he just adores secretly dressing and acting like one."
"In light of that awful prognosis, what do you recommend for Peter?"
"Since there's no treatment for the condition, punishment is the only answer. The sissy will never be honest with anyone about his true persona, so we as treating professionals have to force them to 'come out,' so to speak. According to my exhaustive studies, there's only one responsible protocol: take the sissy's fantasies to the extreme and make them come true. My recommendation for Peter is strictly enforced feminization until Priscilla's social identification as an excessively feminine sissy-boy is complete. We owe it to society to make it impossible for him to continue his 'faux' male persona."
Dr. Poole paused to allow her words to sink in. "Take this picture for example." To my shame, Dr. Poole referred to one of the worst pictures from my pool side nightmare. "Peter obviously likes to pretend in secret that he has feminine breasts - as you can see, generous ones at that. But when Peter's had his fun and tires of his shameful little make-believe games, he can simply remove the breast forms, put on a football jersey, and resume his male facade. To the outside world, he appears to be a normal boy. From a societal point of view, this is wholly unacceptable. The only fair thing for society is to make Peter's girlish fantasies an inescapable reality. Since Peter loves to pretend he has womanly breasts, then by all means, he should have them. Real breasts, though, that he can't conveniently remove when he's done with his secret dress-up games. And not just breasts - he should have breasts even larger than in his fantasies."
The blood drained from my face as the snickering began anew. "Ms. Proctor waited for the laughter to die down before continuing. "How do sissies react to this punishment?"
Dr. Poole chuckled lightly. "Oh the little darlings just hate it. They're so desperate to maintain their male pretense. I'm afraid it's extremely embarrassing for them when they are revealed to all their friends and family as sissies. It's one thing to pretend that you dressed up in a chic little skirt suit because your friends dared you; it's quite another story when your friends realize it's your secret sissy dream come true. But in light of the sissy boy's life of deception, I believe that they should endure as much humiliation as possible. I'm convinced that the humiliation is helpful for the sissy to become self-integrated. I think of it as emotional shock therapy."
"So that's your professional recommendation for Peter?"
"Absolutely," Dr. Poole said with a confident smile. "In lay terms, Peter should be completely feminized - forcibly. At a minimum, his feminization must include immediate hormonal intervention to give Peter obvious womanly curves that are impossible to conceal; feminine grooming, deportment and social skills training; and immediate and complete elimination of masculine detritus to hasten his differentiation from normal boys."
As I collapsed against the seat, I saw Margaret out of the corner of my eye; she was pointing at me and laughing. Then again, most people in the courtroom were! Then Dad whispered something to his attorney, who stood up and announced that Dad was withdrawing his request for custody. I wanted the earth to open and swallow me whole! This couldn't be happening!
The judge banged her gavel and then issued her order awarding Mom full custody, except for every other weekend and one week each summer. Then she addressed me and ordered me to stand. The judge peered over her glasses and began to lecture: "You should be ashamed of yourself. I'm sure you think you've been very clever keeping your sissy side secret from your parents, your friends, and your neighbors. If you had admitted the truth about yourself, this proceeding wouldn't have been necessary. You've wasted the court's time and your parents' money! You, missy, owe everyone an apology."
To my horror, she stared at me; she was actually waiting for an apology for not telling everyone I was a sissy. That was too much.
"Your honor, I can explain. Dr. Poole is wrong! It's not like she said... "
She interrupted me with an angry slam of her gavel. "You are testing my patience, Miss. I've been on the bench for thirty years, and Dr. Poole's testimony was as clear and convincing as any I've ever heard. Now turn to both of your parents, and apologize for deceiving them and hiding the fact that you're a sissy," she growled.
I looked at my parents. My throat was completely dry and my heart pounded: "I-I'm sorry... for not telling you that I'm a ... sissy," I whispered. This couldn't be happening. It was a bad dream. It had to be.
The judge looked slightly less angry, but she wasn't done. "I see a lot of troubled teenagers in my courtroom, and almost all of their problemsólegal and otherwise-- stem from a failure to accept responsibility for their actions. You're no different, trying to blame your condition on your sister. I won't tolerate it!"
To my sister's utter delight, the judge then made me apologize to her! Unbelievable! The judge continued. "That's a start! Your diagnosis as an excessively feminine sissy is now a matter of public record. I'm personally going to retain jurisdiction in this case and monitor your case file. The award of custody to your mother is conditioned on her following Dr. Poole's recommended punishment - to the letter. And if I hear that you've been denying your sissy nature - to anyone - I won't hesitate to give you some time to think about it... in the juvenile facility."
To my utter embarrassment, I started to cry... like a sissy!
The judge then consoled my mother like they were long lost friends. She told Mom that she was well aware of the difficulties in raising a "problem" child like me. "I know it will be difficult, but as Peter's custodial parent, I'm ordering you to follow Dr. Poole's forced feminization. Your son's sick little charade has gone on long enough; it's time he got what's coming to him."
My head was spinning! After the judge left the courtroom, I sat limply in disbelief. Dad was white as a sheet. Mom looked at me like I was dirt. I know I shouldn't have, but I couldn't let them believe I was a sissy: "Mom, Dad, this is all a big mistake! Please! You can't believe that stuff. I'm not a Class III anything! Margaret, tell them the truth, damn it. This is serious!"
I didn't even notice the bailiff standing nearby, and before I knew it, I was on a bus headed for juvenile hall. To add insult to injury, the judge remanded me to the girl's facility: She said that's where I belonged. The week I spent there was... well, the worst week of my life, even though they kept me segregated from everyone else. The girls there weren't like any I knew. They were tough; tough and mean. When the girls heard my story, they were horrible. They harassed me all week, calling me terrible names and threatening to "make me a real woman." Yolanda, a large girl, kept threatening that if she got a chance, she was going to make me her "bitch." I cried out of sheer relief when the week was finally over and Mom came to pick me up.
After the week I'd had, I collapsed during the ride home. I trembled when Margaret asked with a giggle whether I'd made any new friends.
Mom chimed in sternly: "Well, for your sake, I hope you learned your lesson! The judge was absolutely right; no more denial. I've had all week to think, and I'm absolutely furious with you about deceiving me - your own mother! - all these years. What an idiot I was! All that time I bragged about what a perfect son you were. Little did I know that you were playing your disgusting little dress-up games whenever I wasn't around. You're a complete disgrace. You made a fool out of me, Priscilla, and believe me, I'm not going to forget it."
"Wh-what did you call me?"
"Priscilla. It's your new name. It seems Margaret's the only one in the family who had some idea of the truth about you. My lawyer took care of the name change petition: I guess we can forget all about Peter," she said sadly. "Anyway, I used this week to get a crash course in Sissy Syndrome and forced feminization from Dr. Poole. No one knows more about feminizing sissy boys like you than she does. No more lies and pretense for you, missy!"
I felt sick. Change my name to Priscilla? Forced feminization? I could see Margaret laughing her ass off behind her hand. I wanted to scream.
When we got home, Margaret wasted no time in calling all her friends. Soon they were all gathered in my room as Margaret held court. The girls took turns reading horrible excerpts from the court transcript, repeating the most humiliating parts. The girls thought it was the most hilarious thing they'd ever heard. The each mockingly agreed to help make "my fantasies" come true. Sandra, whom I'd always liked, came over and pulled the front of my t-shirt out into twin points. Her meaning was obvious. "Priscillla, aren't you excited? Just think, you're going to get your very own boobs. The boys are going to love you," she laughed.
"No way! Please, Sandra, you've got to help me," I pleaded.
"Of course I'll help you. I'll help you pick out some darling bras, and even teach you how to do a breast self-exam."
At dinner, Margaret and Mom were chatting amiably. Mom had cooked steaks, and they smelled great. Food in the juvie jail had been inedible. And thanks to Margaret and her friends, I hadn't eaten lunch. I was starved. Mom placed two juicy steaks at her place and Margaret's. "Hey! What about me?" I asked.
"I'm afraid you have a different menu, Priscilla," Mom smirked, her eyes twinkling. "If you insist on mincing about in your ladies' swim suit, you simply must have a more ladylike figure. I don't want to be cruel, sweetie, but you've really let yourself go."
Margaret giggled. "You're officially on a diet, sissy-boy. But don't worry; Mom put me in charge. I'll have you down to a size one in no time."
"No way! You know how much I eat. I'll starve. Please! I don't want to go on any stupid diet."
"Well, you are, and that's final," Margaret laughed tweaking my nipple-hard - through my t-shirt. Still giggling, she made her way to the kitchen and returned with a big bowl of pink mush.
"Wh-what's that," I asked worriedly. It looked disgusting.
"It's your favorite - non-fat cottage cheese. The pink food coloring was my idea."
I groaned. Margaret knew I despised cottage cheese. I sat sullenly as the two females ate a few bites of their steak and pushed their plates aside.
Mom spoke up. "Pris, darling, what's wrong? You haven't touched your dinner. I know you're anxious to lose weight, but there'll be no starvation diets in this house. Margaret, why don't you help your brother?"
Grinning, Margaret pulled a chair next to mine. She took a spoon and shoveled up a huge bite of cottage cheese. "Open wide, dearie."
I opened my mouth, and Margaret shoved the spoonful in. It was disgusting! I swallowed it, hoping that she'd leave me alone. She did, but only after she'd emptied the entire bowl. I felt sick.
When she was done, Mom said sternly, "If I catch you cheating on your diet - and believe me, I'll find out - your diet will include things a lot more revolting than cottage cheese. Understand?"
I nodded morosely. My day was going from bad to worse. I got up, anxious to retreat to my room, but Mom had other ideas.
"Where do you think you're going?" she demanded, her hands on her hips.
I shrugged and motioned toward my room.
She grabbed my ear and roughly led me back into the kitchen.
"Owww! Mom stop!"
Mom ignored my cries. "You're going to get the rare opportunity to live out your girlish fantasies. Isn't that exciting? No? Well, I'm afraid you don't have any choice. You think dressing and acting like a female is a big joke, a funny game of pretend? Well, let's just see if you're still laughing when I'm done with you!"
Mom removed something from a drawer. It was a silly sheer pink apron, covered with ruffles. "A boy as pretty as you simply must be the wife of a hunky man some day. So you'd better start learning how to be a housewife," she mocked. Mom carefully arrayed me in the apron and pinned a matching cap in my hair. She even insisted that I wear these stupid pink rubber gloves. I felt - and looked - ridiculous.
"There!" Mom exclaimed with a satisfied smirk. "Much better."
"Mom," I moaned. "Please. Don't make me do this. I look..."
"Girly? Prissy? Ridiculous? Well, that's the whole point, isn't it, Priscilla? What's the matter? Isn't your apron feminine enough for you?"
It was no use; Mom didn't care about anything I had to say. What was she talking about? Housewife? Was she crazy?
Mom made me clear the table and do the evening dishes, something Mom and Margaret had always done. Margaret kept up a steady stream of taunts as I worked.
When I was finally finished, I started to rip off that stupid apron, when Mom cleared her throat. "Okay for a first time, dearie. But next time, I want to see a big sissy smile. This is forced feminization, and you're going to live it! No more pretend. Now, curtsey and ask to be excused. Remember to smile!" she insisted.
I tried to comply, but how the hell did I know how to curtsey?
"No, no, dear! Like this." Mom demonstrated a feminine curtsey that was completely girly. I half-heartedly tried to imitate her, hoping she would be appeased. Unhappy with my pathetic attempts, she ordered: "You march right up to my bedroom and practice for one hour. And leave the door open so I can see you. Use my full-length mirror, and don't forget to smile. If you forget, you'll practice for another hour."
"Mom, please. I'm really tired. You can't even imagine what I went through in that jail. It was horrible," I pleaded.
Mom was unmoved. "Of course it was awful. It was supposed to be. And if you don't want to earn another trip there, you'll do what I say, when I say it!" Mom grabbed me by my arm and gave me a swat on my bottom like I was a misbehaving child.
I was trying to do what Mom ordered when Margaret plopped herself on Mom's bed. Making sure that Mom wasn't within earshot, I hissed, "You little bitch! I could have been killed in that juvenile facility! Diet? Housewife? This has gone on too far. You've got to tell the Mom the truth!" I tried to be threatening but it was hard in that frilly apron and cap.
"Oh, Priscilla. You silly little sissy!" Margaret continued in her sing-song voice. "You just don't get it, do you? You're now my sissy playtoy, to do with whatever I please."
"Please, Margaret. This is wrong! I'm not going to let you turn me into a girl!"
She walked over to me and started fussing with ruffles on my apron, a huge grin on her face. "Not a girl, Prissy; a sissy. A silly, ridiculous little sissy. Mom's lawyer, Ms. Proctor gave me the idea. All it took was those Dainty and Delicate pills from the Sissy Mister and the rest was history. I never believed it would turn out so great! Dr. Poole recommended that Mom attend her "Forced Feminization" seminar the entire week you were playing jailhouse queen. Mom was really disappointed and shocked at first; I've never seen her cry so much. She's just furious that you didn't tell her the 'truth.' Plus, Dr. Poole went on and on about how you sissies are really mocking real women... especially their mothers. By the end of the week, she was getting ... shall we say... really enthusiastic about feminizing you." Margaret giggled, "Mom's going to make you pay."
Shit! What a mess I was in! My shoulders slumped in defeat at Margaret's response.
She giggled. "Your darling little curtsey is improving, but it lacks a little... something. I know," she said excitedly. "When you curtsey, I want you to smile and say, "I just adore being a sissy!"
By this time I was exhausted, frustrated, and totally pissed off. I certainly wasn't going to give Margaret the satisfaction of doing what she wanted. I was a boy, dammit! And boys sure as hell didn't curtsey! "Shove it up your ass, Margaret!" I snapped.
"Mo-om! Priscilla's misbehaving," Margaret yelled with a giggle. To my chagrin, Mom quickly appeared.
"Is there a problem?" she asked sternly, looking at me.
For what seemed like the thousandth time, I curtseyed as enthusiastically as I could, smiling through my tears at my humiliating reflection in the mirror. "I just adore being a sissy!" I enthused. I didn't dare stop. Mom had actually whipped me with the pink riding crop that Margaret had produced. It hurt like hell. She didn't stop until I was bawling and agreeing to be "good girl." To my shame, she even let Margaret take several strokes. It seemed like hours as they made me practice while they critiqued my performance. When they finally allowed me to stop, I collapsed into bed, emotionally and physically exhausted. How could I make Mom understand the truth?
"Rise and shine, 'Cilla!" Margaret waltzed into my room like she owned it. Without thinking, I cursed her under my breath.
This time, she didn't bother to call Mom. "I heard that, girly. Don't you move!" she ordered. She left and quickly returned with that crop.
My butt twitched with remembered pain from the night before. I panicked: "Okay! Okay! I'm sorry. I was just kidding, Margaret. Sheesh," I said nervously, trying to appease her. "Don't take everything so seriously."
"Not good enough, Priscilla. Bend over!"
Putting my pride aside, I pleaded with Margaret, to no avail. She made me grab my ankles and then rained down blows on my aching bottom until I was crying like a child. Grinning triumphantly, she gave me directions in a saccharine sweet voice and left me wiping my tears away.
After regaining my composure, I got dressed. Over the top of my jeans and t-shirt, I put on that humiliating apron. It took me several tries to get the sash in a perfect "girly bow" like Margaret had ordered. Next came the stupid matching cap, which I pinned to my hair with the bobby pins that Margaret had happily provided. Looking in the mirror, I cringed at my effeminate appearance. I slowly made my way to the kitchen where Mom and Margaret were waiting for me. I took a big gulp, and dropped into a demure curtsey. "Good morning Mother; good morning Ms. Margaret."
Mom giggled. "Well good morning to you, too, Priscilla. What a darling little curtsey. A few more weeks of practice, and I'm sure it will be just perfect. I must say, I like it when you call me Mother; it sounds so prim and girlish. I'm assuming 'Ms. Margaret' was your sister's idea. I think it's perfect under the circumstances."
By that time, Margaret was waiting with my "breakfast": some kind of runny baby cereal, colored pink, of course. She and Mom laughed as I wrinkled my nose. It looked awful. To spare myself the indignity of being spoon-fed, I forced myself to eat it. It tasted like crap! Worse, even after I was finished, I was still starving. Mom and Margaret giggled when they heard my stomach growl.
"Poor sissy," Mom mocked. She smiled mischievously: "Would you like something else to eat?"
After I nodded eagerly, she went into the kitchen are turned with a pink colored box. "I picked up these Sub-Missy Snack Bars up at the Sissy Mister. They have virtually no calories, but I understand they're quite delicious. They're loaded with vitamins and minerals to keep you boys on strict diets healthy. But that's not all," she smiled. "They have special additives to make boys more... submissive. But the thing that I really like is that there's another additive that heightens feelings of embarrassment and humiliation. If you thought curtseying to your mother and sister in a frilly apron last night was embarrassing, wait until you've had a few of these bars. Maybe you'll understand the embarrassment I felt in court when the whole world learned that the son I've been so proud of is a closeted sissy boy."
Mom slowly opened the box, and took out a gaily wrapped bar. On the wrapper was a picture of a boy curtseying to a girl, her hands sternly on her hips. "Here, try one," she grinned.
Was she kidding? I sure as hell didn't want to feel more submissive and embarrassed. Shit! I politely but firmly told her, "No thank you."
She shoved the bar under my nose, and spoke calmly: "You seem confused, dear. Let me explain. Boys and girls have minds of their own and get to make choices. Sissy boys - like you - do what Mommy and sister tell them to do. Understand?" she hissed.
"Yes, ma'am," I whispered.
"And when Mommy tells you to do something, you'll do it enthusiastically and without question. And guess what? When you don't make Mommy happy, there are consequences. So now you get two bars." She held out another one of the horrible snack bars!
Mom glared at me, daring me to disobey her. Margaret was giggling up a storm.
Slowly I ate the drug-laced confections. They were sickeningly sweet. I tried not to think about what they were. Mom made me ask for them "nicely," "like a good little sissy." Mom and Margaret watched with huge grins as I forced myself to choke down the horrible things.
I spent the rest of the morning learning how to keep house. I never knew how much there was to clean! Vacuuming, dusting, laundry, even ironing. It was like I was Cinderella and Mom was the evil stepmother; I did all the work while Mom and Margaret did nothing.
After "lunch", Mom even made me clean Margaret's room. Crap!
Needless to say, Margaret delighted in supervising my efforts.
"Don't forget to vacuum and my bathroom needs cleaning. While you're at it, scrub the bathroom floor, Priscilla. On your hands and knees." As I worked, Margaret laughed and snapped picture after picture. She even used her cell phone to take some pictures and send them to her friends. When I finally finished, her room looked cleaner than it ever had.
"Very good, sissy! You deserve a treat," she teased.
To my horror, Margaret had several boxes of those horrible Sub-Missy Snack Bars.
"Margaret, no more! Please. Mom already made me eat two of those things."
"So what?" she said peevishly. "Mom's being way too easy on you. So let's just hurry things along, shall we? Or should I get the crop?"
Margaret giggled and clapped as I obeyed her. "This is so much fun! And let's not forget your Dainty and Delicate pill."
The rest of the week followed the same pattern. My meals - if you can call them that - consisted of some cottage cheese or some other mush. Mom - and especially Margaret - made me eat lots of those Sub- Missy Snack Bars. By the end of the end of the week, I had eaten three boxes of those stupid bars. I tried to ignore the signs that the bars were having any effect on me, but I was only kidding myself.
On Friday, Mom said I deserved a little time off because I had been "working so hard." No kidding. "Finally," I said with a sigh. I couldn't wait to go for a bike ride or something and try to think of a way to convince Mom that Margaret had set me up. Unfortunately, Mom had other ideas.
"Why don't you slip into your pretty bathing suit?"
"Um, that's okay. I'll find something else to do."
Mom quickly grabbed me by the arm and dragged me upstairs to my room. "I see you've already forgotten our little talk from the other morning. Now strip."
Immediately, I felt my face redden and get hot. "M-Mo--om, I don't... "
"I said, strip," she insisted in a steely voice.
I was actually trembling as I removed my clothes. I was utterly humiliated at the idea of wearing the swimsuit, but I felt powerless to disobey Mom. That Sub-Missy stuff was working! Finally, I stood naked in front of her and Margaret, cowering in shame. Mom led me to the full-length mirror and positioned me so that I stood facing it, Mom and Margaret grinning right behind me.
"Ohh, Priscilla," Mom mocked. "Your diet is really working. Look how thin you're getting. Your arms and legs are just soo delicate."
I winced. I had avoided looking in the mirror and what I saw was horrifying. I hardly had any muscle left! Except for the lack of breasts, my body already looked like a young girl's.
Margaret caught my dejected look and giggled.
"Priscilla, I think you owe your sister a big thank you for supervising your diet!" Mom said sternly.
My face got redder. I wanted to scream at the top my lungs, but I couldn't seem to muster the willpower to disobey Mom. She seemed so imposing and scary!
"Th-thank you, Ms. Margaret," I said meekly.
"You're welcome, Pris. But we've got a long way to go. You do want to be model thin, don't you?"
I cringed as Mom answered for me: "It doesn't matter if he does or not. If your brother wants to play girly dress up games, then I insist that he look dainty and girly in his dresses."
Mom strode over to my dresser. I could see her walking up behind me in the mirror twirling "my" swimsuit on her fingers. "With your new figure, you'll look even prettier in your two-piece. Here." She held it in front of me.
The idea of wearing that shameful thing in front of Mom was too humiliating. A wave of embarrassment crashed down on me and I took a huge gulp of air. I couldn't wear it. It was so girly!
"Your sister told me that you bought this at a place called the Sissy Mister. I had a hard time believing that you'd actually buy such a femmy little suit, but I checked, and Ms. Gladstone, the owner, had a vivid recollection of when you bought it. She described you to a tee; even that little scar on your stomach. She said you were like a kid in the candy store with all the sissy clothes they had. When I told her about your diagnosis and treatment, she suggested the Sub-Missy bars."
It was a set up! Margaret must have told her all that stuff.
"What's the matter? You bought this for your sickening secret little sissy fantasies. You even wore it for Margaret and her friends after you swore them to secrecy. Well, now I want to wear it for me. Now put it on!" she growled.
I flinched at Mom's order. I took the bottom from her and slowly pulled it up my legs. Every sissy detail screamed at me as I pulled it into place. With a smirk, Mom shoved the top in my hands. When I pulled the top on, Mom handed me the breast forms. They felt like they weighed a ton. I wished the earth would swallow me as I placed them into the cups. When Mom reached around me to adjust them in the cups of the top, I thought I would explode with shame. I could see the look of smug satisfaction on my Mom's face.
It took me a few seconds to realize that she wanted me to put on the rest of the outfit. I went to my closet, and found the high-heeled mules. Slipping them on my feet, I struggled to the dresser and after trying a couple of drawers, found the chiffon cover up. Just touching it was embarrassing. I thought I would faint as I struggled to fasten the large buttons.
"Much better. No one will confuse you with a normal boy in this get up. And look, we have a little surprise for you."
Margaret laughed as she handed me the matching beach bag, scarf, sun hat, and sunglasses. There was even a stupid matching parasol!
"Ms. Gladstone said these go with your outfit. If you want to prance around dressed like a girl, you've got to learn that the details make an outfit." My face burned as she and Margaret happily arrayed me in the accessories.
When they were done, I looked like the world's biggest fairy; a boy all dressed up in a sophisticated ladies' two-piece swimsuit.
"Mom, doesn't he look perfect?"
"Yes, dear. But this is just a start. Your femmy brother still has a long way to go. Thanks to Dr. Poole and Ms. Gladstone, I've got lots of ideas for Priscilla. But you two better hurry, you don't want to be late."
Mom's words snapped me out of my trance. "Wh-hat?"
"Heather invited us to her house for a pool party. Won't that be fun? We can walk, it's only a few blocks."
I panicked. "No! Please! Not that! I'll die if anyone sees me dressed like this. Please Mom! No." I thought my heart would stop at the idea of people seeing me in that get up. I even started to well up with tears.
"Don't be so melodramatic, dear. I want everyone to see what a girly little boy my precious son is. Besides, the girls have already seen the real you, remember?"
In no time, Margaret was dragging me to Heather's house, which was a few blocks over. "Keep up or I'll punish you right here," she threatened. "I put the crop in your bag. Remember what Mom said!"
I took a deep breath and tried to compose myself. I did remember what Mom said. The things she threatened were horrible. I plastered a smile on my red face and tried to match Margaret's pace. Those stupid high-heeled sandals made it difficult.
At Heather's house, I prayed that the earth would swallow me as we waited at the door. I was horrified when Ms. Johnson, Heather's mom, answered Margaret's knock.
"Hi, girls. Come on in. Heather and the other girls are out by the pool." By this time, Ms. Johnson had taken a closer look at me. "Oh - my - gawd! Aren't we pretty," she smirked. "Isn't it a little bit early for Halloween?"
"Ms. Johnson, this is my brother, Priscilla. It turns out he's been secretly dressing and acting like a girl for ages. Mom says that it's time for him to come out of the closet," she smiled.
"Is that true, Priscilla?"
"Yes, ma'am," I murmured.
She laughed, and flipped her wrist: "Well, then, love your outfit, fairy," she said cattily.
Margaret glared at me. Mom had given me clear instructions on what to do whenever I received a compliment, whether real or sarcastic. "Thank you, I just adore it. I bought it myself," I lied.
Ms. Jones didn't hide her look of disgust as she invited us in. I was glad to get away from Heather's mother, but the shrieks of the girls brought me back to reality. "Look who's here; it's Priscilla, the pantywaist! How darling you look, Prissy. Look! He's carrying a sissy parasol."
Just when I thought things couldn't get any worse, I heard something that sent chills down my spine: "What on earth is going on down here? Heather, could you and your girlfriends keep it down a little?" As she finished speaking, the assembled girls parted, and my nightmare was confirmed: It was Suzy Johnson! I'd completely forgotten that Heather must be her younger sister! I tried to back away, but the giggling girls blocked my escape.
She stared at me disbelievingly. "Peter? Peter Parker? Is that you? Why are you dressed up like a..."
"A big fairy?" Heather chirped. Because that's what he is; just ask him," she teased.
Suzy looked at me questioningly, hurt and confusion in her eyes.
I stammered as I tried to think of some excuse for being in her house dressed like a fruit. My heart was pounding and my throat tightened as I began to speak. "Suzy, it's kind of complicated," I said, trying to stall. Margaret poked me hard from behind. Mom had threatened that if I were less than "forthright" with anyone, she would see that the judge knew about it and sent me back to the juvenile facility. Taking a deep breath, I tried to pretend it was all a dream: " Suzy, I'm... I guess what I'm trying to say is, well, I'm a ... sissy."
The girls erupted at my answer, and as Margaret and her friends quickly dragged me to the pool, Suzie was left standing mutely, a horrified look on her face.
It hardly mattered that the girls spent the rest of the afternoon teasing and taunting me. All I could think about was Suzy, and what she must think of me. Just a few weeks ago, we had been on the verge of romance. I knew she really liked me. Maybe she would see that this was all set up. After all, she had known me for years. I began to think that coming to the Johnson home that afternoon could be just the breakthrough I was looking for to get me out of this mess.
As I thought about what to say to Suzie, I could see her mother inside the house, sipping a glass of wine and staring at me with that Cheshire grin. When she caught me looking, she flipped her wrist and blew me a kiss. Crap!
As Heather, Margaret, and the girls busied themselves with drinks and snacks in the kitchen, Suzy finally made her way out to the lounge chair where I had been instructed to remain. Although she had a tight smile on her face, her eyes were red, and it looked like she had been crying earlier. I felt just awful. Unlike her younger sister, Suzie was sweet and kind, and I hated to see her upset.
"Suzy, please let me explain."
"I feel so stupid!" she interrupted, self-deprecatingly. "It's so obvious to me now. I thought it was strange when you volunteered to play Little Bo-Peep back in the 6th grade. I really wanted that part. And to think, I've been dying for you to ask me out for weeks. I guess my friends will think I'm some sort of lesbian or something." She wiped away a tear. She sighed deeply to regain her composure. "I'm sorry. Just listen to me, only thinking of myself. I can only imagine what it will be like for you, now that your secret is out."
"Suzy, you've got to listen to me. This is all a big mistake. Margaret set me up at, and..."
"I think you better stop right there, Peter... Priscilla," she said firmly. "Even though my dreams of us being a couple are finished, I still want to be your friend. After all, I think you're going to need a friend in light of all that's happened," she said gesturing to my outfit. "It's really too bad that boys... like you can't come out of the closet on your own, but I guess that's part of the problem. I called your mother, and..."
"You did what?" I exclaimed.
"It isn't polite to interrupt, Priscilla," she warned seriously. "As I was saying, I talked your mother. She told me that all she wants to do is help make your fantasies come true. Why are you whimpering? I think that sounds wonderful. Who wouldn't want their fantasies to come true? Your mom told me about the class she went to and offered to tell me exactly what to do to help you through this. Isn't that great?"
"Suzy, please. You don't understand."
"Don't worry, Priscilla. Your mom told me all about how you love being feminized, teased, embarrassed and humiliated. I've got to admit, I think that's just disgusting, but I'm going to set my own feelings aside... for you. If that's what turns you on, who am I to judge. To think, I always assumed you liked girls."
I stared at Suzy through my tears filled eyes. This couldn't be happening. "Noo, Suzy. It's a lie. None of that awful stuff is true."
"Your mother warned me that you'd deny it. It's all right sweetie; you just let it out. I told her that if that's what you wanted, I'd do everything I could help." She sounded so pleased. "You know, you're really lucky to have an accept ing and caring family like your mother and Margaret."
Just then, the girls returned with their drinks. Heather chirped, "Suzy, are you and Prissy enjoying a little girl talk?"
"As a matter of fact, we are," she said cheerily. As I dried my tears, Suzy looked at me with a wry smile. "Priscilla, your mother mentioned that you've been working on something at home for Margaret and her. Why don't you give Heather and the other girls a demonstration," she said, looking at me impishly.
I knew exactly what she was talking about, but I couldn't bring myself to do it.
At my hesitation, Margaret reached into the beach bag and handed Suzy the crop. "Here, Mom says that we should always use this when Priscilla won't obey." Suzy giggled nervously and took a few tentative practice swings with the crop
"I like to make him bend over," Margaret said helpfully.
"I just adore being a sissy," I exclaimed between sobs for what seemed to be the hundredth time. By this time, Ms. Johnson had joined the crowd, simply adding to my humiliation. When Suzy had showed her the crop, she had given me a couple of really hard swats. In no time, Suzie was giggling and raining blows on my helpless bottom. She hesitated slightly when I started crying, but picked up the pace when I was unable to stop after she insisted I do so. Ms. Johnson caught all of it on her digital camera. I couldn't wait to get home.
At the door, Suzy took me aside and fussed with my outfit. "Priscilla, at first I was shocked and hurt when I found out about your shameful secret. But now that I know the truth ... well, thank goodness I found out before we actually started dating. It gives me the creeps when I think about going out with a boy who secretly loves to wear panties, bras, and dresses. Yuck! How revolting is that! Anyway, I know you really loved it when I whipped you and made you do all those curtsies, even though you pretended not to. If I hadn't talked to your mom, you really would have had me fooled. Ta-ta! See you soon, sweetie."
At home, Mom smirked as Margaret fed me my meager dinner. "Did you have a good time this afternoon, Bathing Beauty? I had the most entertaining conversation with your friend, Suzy. You should have heard the shock in her voice when I told her about the real you. Poor little thing; she actually wanted to go out with you. Isn't that hilarious? Imagine, a pansy like you with a girl. Anyway, when I told her about your little performance in my nightgown, I actually thought she was going to throw up. Of course, I lied a little and told her you love all this. She's such a goody-goody, she'd never do anything to hurt you. By the time we were finished, she really wanted to help you be happy and make all your girlish dreams come true. Isn't that sweet? I directed her to Dr. Poole's sissification materials online. I just know that she'll get lots of ideas that will make you wish you'd never fooled her into thinking you were a normal boy."
The next morning after breakfast, I found myself jammed into Mom's car, surrounded by Margaret and her jabbering girlfriends. She eventually pulled the car into a parking space in the "exclusive" part of town in front of a store I didn't recognize. My heart fell as I read the stylized script on the pink and white awning: "The Sissy Mister." "Since you obviously enjoy shopping here, fairy boy, I think you simply must wear their fashions... all the time! And you better behave... or else."
I struggled uselessly as the girls easily hurried me along, ignoring my feeble efforts to flee. As we got closer, I could se that the girlishly posed boy mannequins in the window were attired in dresses! They were so prissy and girly! I involuntarily gasped in horror.
"This is going to be so much fun," Heather whispered in my ear.
As we entered the store, I was nearly apoplectic with fear. The store was a girly-girl's pink fantasy-come-true! It was decorated with an explosion of pink ribbons and bows, accentuated with feminine floral prints. The store made that famous lingerie place in the mall look like a men's locker room!
If anything, the merchandise was even more feminine than the dÈcor. Other than on television and maybe at weddings, I had never laid eyes on such excessively feminine clothes. While the girls were gleefully examining the boy mannequins dressed in stupid party dresses, this mannish-looking woman approached us. Her hair was in a severe bun, and she wore a pinstriped man-tailored suit. She was freaky.
"Peter! How wonderful to see you again." The woman gave me ladylike hug and a kiss like we were old friends. I had never seen her before in my life. "I hope you can forgive me, sweetie, but I told your mother all about your shopping spree for your swim suit. You're a very naughty little girl, telling me your family knew all about the real you. Shame on you!"
She turned to Mom and the girls. "Hello ladies. We're going to have so much fun today." The woman's fancy name tag identified her as "Doris Gladstone, Owner."
Mom smiled, "Doris, I've been looking forward to this. I can't wait to see how much my little closet sissy likes it when he's dressing like an effeminate sissy all the time. I want there to be no mistake about the fact that my son is a silly little girly-boy."
Ms. Gladstone gave me a feral smile. "You needn't worry. Our team of designers and chemists works incessantly to develop the perfect sissification program for every boy. Tell me what you have in mind for Prissy?"
"Well, Doris, since Priscilla thinks it's so funny to mock women - me, in particular - with his little dress-up games, I want him to know exactly how it feels to be the object of ridicule." Mom came over and lifted my chin so that our eyes met. "From now on, I'm going to make sure that my son's appearance is as outrageously effeminate as possible."
My mouth went bone dry as I stared into Mom's cold, angry eyes. My eyes plead with her to relent, but her only response was to pinch me on the cheek. Margaret and her friends thought my dejected look was hilarious. Ms. Gladstone's grin returned. "I know just the image for your son. Let's start with some wicked foundation garments and lingerie; something to remind your son of his new status in life. And of course, he simply must be in dresses and skirts all the time. Our Fem Fairy collection is our most excessively feminine line; it should be just perfect for Prissy. Just perfect for making his inner girl public." The girls laughed uproariously as I turned beet red.
Ms. Gladstone wasn't finished. "Since Priscilla is such a femmy little girly-boy, he really should appear as prim and ladylike as possible. So we'll give him an exaggerated fifties look; a sissy sophisticate, but absurdly effeminate," she laughed.
"With a really nipped in waist?" Heather giggled.
Janey added: "And wide circle skirts with lots of petticoats? And some of those really tight pencil skirts?"
Sandra piped up with a smirk, "And some darling, tight little sweaters to show off sissy boy's budding assets?" The girls roared. They thought this was the funniest thing ever.
"Excellent choices, girls. What marvelous taste you have!"
I started to tremble. They couldn't be serious. "Stop it! Stop laughing! I'm not going to wear any of that crap. You can't do this to me. It's wrong! I'm a boy!"
"Had enough?" the pretty clerk asked. I nodded tearfully; I thought she would never stop after Ms. Gladstone had asked her to "correct my attitude." It stung like hell, and in no time I was sobbing from a mixture of pain and humiliation. The clerk led me back to where Ms. Gladstone and my tormentors were waiting.
"Priscilla, there you are. We've got to hurry; Madge is expecting you in the salon."
Ms. Gladstone roughly grabbed my arm and propelled me past the racks of dresses to a different part of the store. In a few seconds, we were standing in front of a reception desk to what appeared to be an old-fashioned, very feminine beauty salon. The place had a sickeningly sweet smell of hair spray and junk. Looking past the reception area, I could see operators attired in pink smocks working on their clients. Looking more closely, I could see that the clients in girlish pink capes getting their hair cut, curled, styled and sprayed were boys... like me. Sisters, mothers, and aunts were all watching gleefully, mocking the guys getting their hair done... like ladies. If I hadn't been so terrified, I would have felt sorry for them. I was so upset by what I saw, I didn't notice the arrival of Madge, the manager of the salon. She was older, and had a hard look about her. Her thin lips were set in a smirk as she looked me up and down.
"Well hello, girls. Let me guess. You must be Mrs. Parker."
"Yes, hello, Madge. So nice to meet you. I just love your salon."
Madge beamed. "And who is this pretty little girl?" she asked, talking to me as if I were a baby.
"This is my son, Prissy. His sister, Margaret, and I want to watch him get a full feminine make over; pretty make-up, divine hairstyle, glamorous nails... the works. He's been dishonest with his family and friends about his sissy fantasies, so I want them to be obvious to everyone who sees him."
Madge giggled cruelly. "Prissy, darling. Did you hear that? We're going to have ever so much fun.
She brought over a large style book of sissy hairstyles. They were horrid! All of them were absurdly prissy. My face burned in embarrassment as I considered having my hair styled like the pictures. My knees went weak. How could I ever face my friends? How could I ever show myself in public? The humiliation was awful.
Madge purred evilly: "I think I know the perfect style. It's prissy and pretty - just precious. But it's a nightmare to style; curlers, styling gel, and tons of hair spray. You'll need a standing weekly appointment for a wash and set. Of course, real girls never have their hair styled this way - at least not since the Fifties. It's truly a sissy's 'do.' With a flourish, she pointed to a repulsive picture of a boy with a girlish teased bouffant, thick bangs covering his forehead. A silly bow was affixed right above his bangs.
I gasped as I saw the revolting image.
"Of course, this 'do' looks even more girlish with platinum blonde hair, Madge chuckled.
Mom and the girls loved Madge's recommendation, and in no time, I found myself in a salon chair like the other guys. A silly lace trimmed cape was affixed around my neck. As I scanned the salon nervously, I thought I would throw up; the other boys looked like complete fags. I knew I was looking at my own fate.
Madge roughly went to work, ignoring my whimpers as she tugged and yanked my hair. She coated my hair with this foul smelling paste. After she rinsed that out, Madge happily shampooed me, trimmed my hair, and started putting curlers in using lots of this thick setting gel and these small prickly curlers. Damn! Did she have to roll them so tight? I felt like she was pulling all my hair out.
Margaret talked to Madge as she worked. "Wow, that looks like a lot of work. Will he have to do this every day?"
"Absolutely, right before bedtime. I'll let you pick out lots of pretty chiffon sleep bonnets to cover his curlers. In the morning, he'll need to take his curlers out, tease his hair, pin it up, and spray it into place. But he'll look sooo girlish... I'm just know he'll love it."
"Hear that, Priscilla? You're going to be a curler queen!" Mom laughed. "As you roll your hair each night, it will be a reminder of what a little fairy you are."
When my head was completely covered in neat rows of small pink curlers, Madge put me under a hair dryer, pulled down the large bullet-shaped hood, and shoved a Sissy Teen magazine in my hand. The roar of the hair dryer kept me from hearing anything, but I could see Mom and the girls laughing and pointing at me. Of course, the girls all had cameras. I shut my eyes to block out the humiliation. I knew what I must look like; the perfect little sissy boy getting his hair done nice and pretty. I sat under the dryer until I thought my head would catch on fire.
Finally, as the girls giggled their approval, Madge led me back to her chair, and began to take out those ridiculous curlers. I was happy to get those stupid curlers out of my hair, but what they did to my hair was horrifying. My head was a mass of stiff, platinum blonde curls!
"Now watch how I do this, sugar, because you'll need to learn this yourself."
Sugar my ass. Madge took a comb and started combing my hair, but she started combing it up! She did it really fast, and it yanked my head all over the place. Then she started using bobby pins on the side to pin my hair up on the sides. When she was done, except for those stupid bangs, my hair was arranged on top of my head like a cotton candy from the fair! Crap. Then she sprayed the whole thing with this can of awful smelling hair spray. When the fog lifted, I looked in the mirror. Oh my gosh! I looked like someone's idea of a cartoon sissy! It was horrible.
Margaret and the girls jumped and clapped their hands with amusement. "Priscilla, look at you! Aren't you darling in your sissy bouffant? But it needs a little something, don't you think? Still laughing, Margaret pinned a big pink satin bow at the front of my hair, just above my bangs. If my hair looked bad now, it really looked ridiculous then. I covered my face with my hands as I sobbed in shame.
I sobbed harder as I heard Mom tell Madge that we would need curlers, extra-hold setting gel, lots and lots of hair spray, and "oodles" of pretty hair accessories and pretty bows.
Madge grinned as she fussed with the bow in my hair. "I'll make appointments for Priscilla for every other weekend." Seeing Mom's puzzled look, she continued. "I thought it might be fun for Priscilla to have his hair shampooed and set at your own salon once a month. That way all your friends and the mothers of Prissy's friends can see firsthand what a fairy he is."
Mom laughed, "What a great idea! I'll have Beth, my regular stylist, really give him the works. What about the other weekend?"
"Well, you might find it amusing to find a old-fashioned salon; one where men are... unwelcome. Some place where Priscilla can learn about real ridicule and humiliation."
"Madge! You're a genius! I know just the place; Bertha's Beauty Barn. It's a pink collar kind of place; a real old fashioned beauty parlor. Imagine how they'll react to a sissy boy getting his hair set in curlers. Won't that be fun, Priscilla? You can get your hair done with the other girls."
I knew the place Mom was talking about; it was a tired-looking place that time had passed by. The idea of setting foot in the place sent chills up my spine.
Before I could recover from my horror, Madge roughly led me to a make-up counter, like at a fancy department store. The pretty make-up girl laughed as she took in my new hair-do. "Love your do, dearie. We can go lots of different ways with your make-up. Most sissies like to wear just a hint of make-up; maybe a little clear lip gloss, a touch of foundation. Enough to feel pretty, but hardly noticeable unless you're looking for it. One level up, we have a prettier, girlier look; foundation, powder, lipstick, mascara, and a little eyeliner. This look is for boys who want to be a little more obvious in their femininity."
"Option three is our feminine coup de gras. The look is one of excessive femininity; girlishness taken to new extremes. There's nothing at all natural about this look. The whole world will know you're wearing make-up to look feminine and pretty, and a lot of it at that. It's also very high maintenance. You'll have to check and fix your make-up constantly throughout the day. Your compact mirror will be your new best friend."
"He'll take option three. Doesn't that sound exciting, Prissy? You enjoy pretending to be a girl so much; you simply must wear lots and lots of make-up. I can't wait to make you freshen your make-up in front of all your friends."
Mary joined her giggle. "Let's start with eyebrows. I'll need to shape them...
"Shape them? What do you mean? I thought you were doing make-up."
"Why, I need to pluck them, dearie. For your 'ultra-femme' look, you simply must have thin, arched eyebrows." Mary started plucking my eyebrows, causing me to yelp in pain. When she was done, I was horrified. I looked like a complete fag! Even if I didn't wear any make-up, I'd look like a sissy. I prayed they grow back in a day or so. To make matters worse, Margaret and Heather were doubled over in laughter.
Next, Mary took out a bottle and started applying a thick liquid to my face with a sponge. She said it was foundation. After my face was covered in the stuff, my face felt like it weighed a ton. Before I could say anything, Mary started applying this sweet-smelling powder to my face with a large powder sponge. It tickled a little bit.
When I opened my eyes, I was appalled. I looked like I was made of porcelain or something, I was so pale. But I couldn't complain because Mary was busy lining my lips and applying lipstick.
Priscilla, don't you just adore this color? This sophisticated red makes your lips so kissable. Plus, it's our own special formula. It makes your lips much fuller and gives you the prettiest little pout."
She worked on my eyes next.
Mom giggled, "Are those false eyelashes?"
"Of course. They're a sissy's best friend. Look how amazing they look."
"Oh my gosh!" Janie exclaimed.
Mary kept up her prattle. "Let's make those girly eyebrows pop with some this dark pencil. Darling! This liquid eyeliner will take some practice, Priscilla. Watch carefully. Some pretty color on the lids. And of course, lots and lots of mascara. Now the cheekbones. Don't you love this blush? It gives you boys that embarrassed look - not that you need it. And finally, a final coat of 'fixer'."
She spritzed some sweet smelling stuff all over my face. "It makes the make-up completely water proof. In fact, you have to use our specially formulated cold cream to remove it."
When she finished and moved out of the way, I could finally see myself in the mirror again. I watched as my mouth dropped. I looked like a sissy doll. My face was pale, almost white. My lips were a large cupid's bow of red. My blush did give me a look of embarrassment, although it was completely unnecessary. I thought about the ridiculous, overdone ladies who sold make-up in those crisp white smocks at the department store. I had on lots more make-up than any of them. I struggled not to cry. I took short gasps of air. I had to get my composure back. I tried to think of basketball, anything.
Mom came up behind me and I could see her place her head next to mine and looked into the mirror. "What's the matter, Priscilla? Worried about what all your friends are going to say when you show off your pretty new make-up? It goes perfectly with your sissy hair- do. Just think - we're making all your disgusting little fantasies come true. Mary, we'll need everything Priscilla's wearing, and by all means Prissy must have one of your signature make-up bags for his purse."
It was too much. I couldn't let people see me like that. I'd be teased and taunted by everyone. I'd be a laughingstock. "Mom, please," I sobbed. "I can't go out in public like this."
Mom, gave me a sympathetic look as she patted a stiff, sticky curl into place. "You're right," she sighed. "I don't know what I've been thinking. You must think I've lost my mind! Imagine! Going out in public in that silly hair-do and all of that ridiculous make-up. I wouldn't dream of it."
"Thank gosh," I exclaimed. "You really had me scared, and... "
"I wouldn't dream of letting you go out in public without having your ears pierced and your nails done," she smirked.
Laughing, Mary took my arm and led me to a manicure station and introduced me to the operator. I soon sported half-inch nail extensions painted a gleaming red to match my lipstick. My toes soon followed. When she was done, the operator happily pierced my ears to the cheers and jeers of Margaret and her friends.
The clerk had happily herded me to a large dressing room where we now stood. She sharply ordered me to strip and don a pair of feminine yellow panties, the frilliest and laciest I had ever seen. They had a sissy bow right in the middle of the waistband. I tried to comply, but couldn't do it. Girl's panties! It was just too humiliating. When I hesitated, the clerk undid my belt and before I knew it, my pants and underwear were at my ankles. She started hitting me all over. Once I had the stupid panties on, she gave me a pair of high-heeled mules to wear. She pointed to some ruffled pink curtains and ordered me to walk through them. Hesitantly, fearing another beating, I held my breath and walked out onto an elevated dressing platform surrounded by mirrors.
I was horrified when I saw Margaret and her friends arranged comfortably in chairs below at the front of the platform. It was as if I was putting on a private sissy fashion show. I was utterly humiliated as the girls pointed and laughed.
Margaret laughed gleefully at the effeminate image I presented. Her friends shared her delight, and Heather quickly climbed some stairs and joined me on the platform. "Priscilla, those precious panties are so you."
"Priscilla, what do you say to Heather?" Ms. Gladstone teased.
"Please! I want to go home and get out of this horrible place!"
I couldn't believe it as Heather bent me double and began raining blows on my pantied bottom.
"Stop. Please!" My bottom was on fire.
"Priscilla, dear. Good little sissies speak only when spoken to. Isn't that right?" Ms. Gladstone asked sweetly.
"Yes ma'am." My butt was still throbbing with pain. I didn't dare contradict the crazy bitch.
"There! That's better. Now sissies-especially big sissies like you - are always excited to get pretty new panties. Why don't you do a girlish little twirl and ask Margaret and your mother to replace all your male underwear with exquisitely feminine panties like these in every color of the rainbow. Even black for when you're feeling naughty!"
I thought I was going to throw up, but I quickly complied, tears streaming down my face.
Margaret clapped her hands in glee. "This is such fun! Of course, Priscilla. I wouldn't dream of depriving my pretty, girly brother. You were born for panties. In fact, I'm going to personally see that you never wear boy's underwear ever again!"
After I had modeled and 'selected' dozens of outlandishly girlish panties, Mom turned to Ms. Gladstone. "Ms. Gladstone, don't forget. I want my fairy son in some awful little foundation garments. You know, something to give him that Fifties shape. I just know he's just dying to feel more womanly," she snickered.
"But of course. I think you'll be more than satisfied with what we have for Priscilla. Amy, be a dear and dress our pantywaist in something from our Fifties Femme line.
Amy giggled her delight and led me back to the dressing area. If I thought panties were bad, things were about to get a lot worse. The clerk made me put on this heavily paneled girdle that had stupid lace appliquÈs and satin bows strategically placed at the legs and in the center of the waistband. I had to wiggle my butt like crazy to get the damn thing on. The bra was just as bad. It was made of this heavy satin and matched the high-waisted girdle. It wasn't like any bra I had ever seen. It had these cone-shaped cups that came to a sharp point in the front. The only good thing was that the cups were smaller than on the bathing suit I had to wear earlier in the week. As if that wasn't enough the salesgirl started putting something around my waist.
"Wh-what's this thing?"
"This 'thing' is your darling new corset. You'll need it to whittle your waist down to a wasp-like size. Now hold still!"
She was working with some laces at the back and I couldn't see what she was doing. Eventually, though, she started tugging the laces, like she was tying a shoe. Fortunately, she stopped before it got too tight.
In no time, I was posing for Margaret and her friends. I wanted to curl up and die. I looked like some sissy freak!
This time it was Janey who came up on stage.
"Girls, look! Priscilla's boy thing has disappeared. He looks just like a girl down there." She rubbed the front of the girdle where my manhood would ordinarily be.
"Of course," Ms. Gladstone contributed. Sissy boys like Margaret's brother love to pretend like they don't have boy parts. Besides, I understand his little thing was hardly noticeable any way."
I tried to ignore her, but the discomfort in my groin and my waist began to increase. "Something ... something's not right. This stuff is getting tighter!" I yelled.
"I imagine it might feel a little snug, particularly in the waist. It's a special fabric we developed. The girdle and corset might feel slightly uncomfortable when you first put it on, but as your body heat warms the garments, they constrict even more, squeezing you and molding you even more so that you have that unmistakable womanly figure you always dreamed of."
"Make it stop! It's cutting me in half!" I gasped at the pressure.
"Make it stop. It's cutting me in half," Margaret mocked in a singsong voice. "You're starting to sound like a sissy already." Then she pointed. "Girls, look at his waist! It's positively tiny!"
As they all pointed and laughed, Ms. Gladstone piped up, "Just wait! With dieting and constant corseting, his waist should take a permanent feminine shape in no time."
The pain was unbearable. I could hardly breathe in the evil corset I was wearing, and the girdle was literally crushing my manhood. To my dismay, the shopping expedition in sissy hell continued for another couple of hours. Every time I thought Mom and the girls were finished, there was some new humiliation or embarrassment to add to the list. Finally, Mom announced that she and Ms. Gladstone had some final business to attend to leaving me with the salesgirl to get dressed. I couldn't wait to get out of that damn corset!
"Say! Where are my jeans? And my sneakers and stuff? I left them right here!"
"Don't be ridiculous. Do you really think those boyish things are appropriate for a girl like you?"
"Please?" I begged.
"But dearie, you look so pretty in this pink taffeta dress. And the petticoats make the tea length skirt pouf out just so. And what's more chic than high heeled pumps with a pointed toe."
I slumped as much as I could in that damn corset. Morosely, I turned to the full-length mirror. I looked like a complete pansy; like a boy playing the ultimate game of sissy dress-up. There was no mistaking what I was - a boy in a fussy, feminine dress. But the salesgirl wasn't done. She came over and added some humiliating accessories.
"A proper little lady like you should never be without her gloves when she's out inpublic," she giggled, threading wrist length white gloves onto my hands. "Now for your pretty purse." She handed me a large pink handbag that matched my shoes. "Of course, a sweet little angora sweater to keep those delicate shoulders warm." She placed this dainty white sweater around my shoulders and buttoned the top button, leaving my arms free. "And finally, some pretty pearls to finish your look. There! The perfect sissy socialite enjoying a day of shopping with his mommy and sister."
My face burned with embarrassment as I saw my reflection in the mirror. I sat on the bed in my room, it was literally filled with large shopping bags, boxes, and packages... all bearing the now despised logo of The Sissy Mister: a silhouette of a boy twirling happily in a sophisticated dress. I never saw so much stuff in my life. Mom practically bought out he entire store.
At dinner, I had to listen as Mom and Margaret gleefully recounted the day's adventure. "Oh, Mom. I've never had so much fun in my life! The girls were laughing so hard, some of them actually peed in their pants. It was hilarious. Doesn't Prissy look just dreamy?"
To my chagrin, Mom remarked coldly, "He certainly does. Who would have imagined that your brother would look so pretty in a dress? He's just so precious! At least now he won't need to sneak into our things. When I put on my panties and bra this morning, I couldn't help but think that Priscilla had almost certainly worn them before." She shuddered.
"Did you arrange the classes?"
My ears perked up. I hadn't heard anything about any classes.
Mom looked at me with an evil twinkle in her eye. "He's all set! He's enrolled in the entire Forever Femme series. In the morning, we start with Sissy Deportment and Grooming. That's followed by Girl's Ballet for Boys. I just can't wait. Priscilla has to wear a tutu and tights and everything. What a pretty little ballerina boy you'll be," she laughed, pinching my cheeks. "To top it off, we finish with 'Sissy Missy Homemaker.' Priscilla will learn everything she needs to know about being a prissy little housewife. Looks like as long as we have Prissy, we'll never have to cook or clean again. Maybe having a pansy son won't be so bad after all!" Mom muttered.
And at night after 'dinner', if you can call it that, I learned what all the talk was about high maintenance. After a hot shower that didn't last long enough, Mom wrapped my hair in a fluffy pink towel turban. She wrapped another one across my chest like a girl, and then dusted me all over with this yucky smelling bath powder. To my dismay, the shower hadn't budged that crap on my face, so Mom took a big glob of the cold cream and slapped it on my face. She showed me how to work it in with my fingers and then wipe it off with tissues. What a relief. I looked like my old self! All except for those faggy eyebrows.
I didn't see my face for long, because Mom started slapping on more cream, a 'sissy night mask.' Then, she started with my hair.
"Priscilla, watch very carefully, because tomorrow night, you're going to be doing this yourself. First, we section the hair and apply lots of this gooey setting gel - it looks like jello doesn't? Then we take a curler and start rolling, nice and tight. "
"Ouch," I snapped.
Mom just ignored me. "Then we pin it into place. See how easy that is? But look how I'm putting the curlers in neat little rows. When you do it, I better not see a loose curler or hair out of place." It took forever, but eventually my head was covered by awful pink curlers.
"Now for a lovely chiffon sleep bonnet covered with pretty ruffles to cover every thing up and leave you looking lovely. "There! You look just like a Fifties housewife getting ready to join her husband in bed. Speaking of husband, you wait right here."
I sat on my bed, dressed in the stupid nighty Margaret had insisted on. It was short, just covering the matching ruffled panties. Margaret called it a babydoll or something. Mom and Margaret strode in, and Margaret had something behind her back.
Mom started talking in her 'serious' tone: "Priscilla, it's simply unforgivable the way that you mislead me and tricked me into believing you were just an ordinary boy. Imagine the embarrassment of having to hear the truth about your own son in a courtroom full of strangers."
I wanted to scream that I was the one who was embarrassed, but I had finally learned to keep my mouth shut.
"I just can't erase the image of you in that bathing suit with the cups padded out to... here!" she sputtered, holding her hands at arms length in front of her chest. "Well, let's see how much you like it when you've got large, feminine breasts of your own! Won't that be fun? I can't wait until you start to blossom," she snarled. "I'm going to dress you in tight little sweaters and sheer blouses so that everyone will know that my son has his own boobies. Only these won't be pretend. I wonder what your friends will say when their former buddy has boobs? You like to wear pretty little bras? Well, you're going to need them. And by the way, if you're curious, you're going to be a very busty little sissy! And we mustn't forget plump womanly hips."
As Mom spoke, I thought my knees would buckle in shame as I thought about hat she was saying. I couldn't have breasts! I was a boy! "Mo- om, please. I don't want to have br-breasts! Nooo. I'll do anything you say. Please." I was whimpering like a child at this point.
"Oh, I know you don't want them. You want to keep your little deception going. You'll just hate having everyone see proof positive that you're a disgusting little sissy. Well, it doesn't matter. I'm going to really enjoy turning you into a boy with boobies."
Margaret was beside herself with glee. She squealed and clapped excitedly at what Mom was saying.
By now, tears were rolling down my red-hot cheeks. Mom was completely unmoved.
"Well, let's not waste any more time, shall we? Now climb on the bed and turn around. Here, rest your head on this pillow. No, stay on your knees."
Petrified, I hesitantly did as Mom ordered. It was awkward, and my ruffled butt was sticking straight in the air.
"Now just relax, dearie. You're going to love this." She slowly pulled the waistband of my panties down, leaving my bottom exposed. I figured for sure she was going to spank me, but I heard Margaret giggling and then something pushing against my anus. "What? What are you doing? S... stop!" I cried. I tried to get away, but Mom held me in place with a firm grip. "Keep your head down and don't you move a muscle, Priscilla," Mom ordered sternly.
Margaret stuck whatever it was in my bottom, and I yelped. To my horror, she began moving it in and out.
Mom mocked, "There, there. Doesn't that feel delicious? Just relax and enjoy it. If you want to moan a little, you go right ahead. Margaret and I will certainly understand. "
"Mom, no! Please stop! It hurts!" I just whimpered as Margaret increased her pace with the object. Fortunately, after a while, it felt like it was getting smaller, like it was melting. After several minutes of utter shame, Margaret shoved what was left of the object up my bottom, followed quickly by something else - bigger.
As tears streamed down my face. Mom replaced my panties and allowed me to sit up. The thing in my bottom hurt like hell. "What did you do?" I asked mournfully.
"We just gave you your first daily hormone treatment, darling. Aren't you thrilled? It's a Sissy Mister product, called Ultra-Fem. It's loaded with just oodles of estrogen and anti-testosterones. It's formulated to be especially fast acting, since we're rather anxious for you to be unmistakably womanly. Ms. Gladstone said it will grow tits on a bull," she snickered.
"Why did you put it in my bottom," I sobbed.
"It's a suppository; it's supposed to go there silly," Margaret responded. "You could get a big shot, but this is much more fun. At least, I think it is. You have to move the suppository in and out until it melts, then we just push what's left into your cute little bottom and plug you up so the medicine stays where it belongs." She grinned and gave Mom a look. "Don't you want to see what the suppository looks like?" Not waiting for my answer, she pulled out a canister and reached in. She pulled out something that was the approximate size of a candlestick. No wonder it hurt so much. She brought it closer. "Recognize the shape, brother dear? It should look familiar."
I gagged and tried hard to keep from throwing up.
"Amazingly lifelike, isn't it? And each day they get a little bigger, until they're very impressive. I guess you could say we're making you a woman in more ways than one." She cackled at her own joke, before Mom turned out the light and left me to sob quietly. Finally it was Saturday morning. I had slept fitfully. I kept having nightmares of having boobs. In my dreams, no matter how I tried to hide them, they were obvious. Everywhere I went, people laughed and pointed. It was awful! A month ago, I would have slept in, had a stack of pancakes for breakfast, and spent the afternoon playing basketball at the park and flirting with the girls. Now, I was sitting at the breakfast table wearing an "exquisite" woman's nightgown and matching robe. The high-heeled satin mules with the marabou puff on the toe completed the horrible image. And I wasn't going to be spending the day at the park. Instead, I was scheduled for a full morning of classes at The Sissy Mister. I was mortified at the idea of learning to sit, walk, and speak like a lady, or prance about in a tutu. The knitting and sewing seemed almost tame in comparison.
"Did you have sweet dreams, darling? With ten times the amount of estrogen that real women have in their system, I bet you dreamed of boys all night. In no time, you'll have something to show off in that darling nighty. I don't know about you, but I can hardly wait."
After breakfast, the doorbell rang. Mercifully, Mom answered it. To my horror, I heard Mom and other female voices headed for the kitchen. I stood up to run, desperate for a way to escape.
"Priscilla, darling. Please don't get up on our account."
I thought I would die as Suzy walked in, followed by Heather and their mother. I couldn't move, frozen with humiliation as the females took in my sissy nightgown and robe.
"Well, aren't we the sissy temptress this morning. Did you have male company last night, dear? I always like to wear something feminine when I'm on the prowl." Ms. Johnson smirked.
I fled to my room, only to find that Margaret, Heather and Suzy followed me. "Don't you ever leave my presence without my permission, girlie," Suzy warned sternly.
"Suzy, please. I thought you were my friend."
"I am your friend, you pathetic girly-boy. Who else would be caught dead with a perverted little sissy like you?" Now take off that sissy nightgown; I have a little surprise for you."
Morosely, I removed the nightgown and was left standing in the matching panties and heels.
"Close your eyes, Pris, and you will get a big surprise," Suzy teased as Heather and Margaret laughed.
Happy to close my eyes against the shame, I felt Suzy force a large jar into my hands.
"You can open them now," Suzy laughed.
I opened my eyes and looked at the large jar Suzy had forced into my hands.
Margaret came over and laughed. "Oh, look, Prissy. It's that Boobsie Boy cream that you've been begging Mom for. What a lucky girl you are," she said with mock enthusiasm.
Suzy came over and unscrewed the top. "This is a special Sissy Mister concoction, Prissy. It will make your little nipples swell to a fat, feminine shape and make your little titties sooo sensitive. Go ahead, reach in and get a big handful. I got you several jars."
I stared at the pink cream. I wanted to throw the horrible crap to the floor, but the Sub-Missy Bars were doing their work. I gulped and reached in and scooped a little of the cream in my hand.
"More!" Suzy barked.
Cringing, I quickly scooped up a large handful.
"Good. Go ahead, you're not a complete ditz. You know what to do."
Swallowing hard, I slathered the perfumed cream on my nipples and "breasts." I jumped as Margaret gave me a sharp stroke with her crop. "Don't forget to smile, sissy." Laughing, the girls forced me to repeat on the other side. By the time I was done, I could feel my nipples tingling. By the time Margaret handed me a pink training bra, I could see that my nipples were already swollen. Suzy gave one of my nipples a wicked little twist, and I gasped at the pain.
"A little sensitive, dearie?" she giggled. "Good. That should help remind you what a bad little sissy you've been and what we're doing to you."
After Margaret and Suzy had laughingly examined my purchases from the day before, we were back at the Sissy Mister. Soon I was learning how to "walk and sit like a little lady" and practicing how to talk with a feminine lilt. Please! The class was punctuated with the laughter and the guffaws of the spectators as they watched me and my other three classmates humiliate ourselves. Suzy was well-prepared with her camera, and out of the corner of my eye, I could see her take picture after picture.
After class, Mom and the rest of the group walked over. "Priscilla, we're going to be doing lots of homework. A big sissy like you should always act in as exaggeratedly feminine way as possible. I won't stop until you don't remember moving or talking any other way. Won't that be fun?" she teased.
Girl's Ballet for Boys was next in the day's line up. I tried desperately not to think about how I looked in the silly pink girl's tutu and white tights that I wore, but a single glimpse at the laughing parents, siblings, and friends who watched the class told me all I needed to know. After recording the class on film, Mom spoke with my ballet instructor, learning for the first time that our class had a number of scheduled performances-in public! She promised to attend, and expressed her hope that I would be able to dance the lead in several of the performances, since I was "obviously the most feminine boy in class." I was crestfallen when my teacher readily agreed and assured her that I would be the featured dancer in every recital. Mom beamed her satisfaction.
I didn't see Mom or anyone else from the group during my Sissy Missy Homemaker Class. I guess it is pretty boring watching a bunch of guys in dresses learning how to cook, clean, sew, and knit. It's a good thing they weren't there, because my lack of attention earned me several blows on my bottom. After class, I saw Ms. Gladstone approaching, Suzy, Heather, Margaret, and Mom. They all looked like they had both heard a good joke.
"There's my sissy girlfriend, now," Suzy said brightly. "Priscilla, did you enjoy your morning?"
"Yeah, sure, " I said, unsuccessfully trying to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.
Suzy's face tightened. "Your mom has gone to a lot of trouble and expense to indulge your twisted fantasies. The least you can do is be grateful! And you better put into practice what you're learning in these wonderful classes Ms. Gladstone is offering. Otherwise, I won't hesitate to pull your skirt up and spank your girdled bottom right here. Now let's try again. How was your morning?"
My bottom was still sore from the night before, and I certainly didn't want to be spanked in front of everyone. I tried to remember how we had practiced talking in class. I took a deep gulp. "Oh, Suzy! I had so much fun! I practiced how to act like a little lady, and I think I'm really getting the hang of it. And I just love ballet class. I feel so pretty when I'm dancing. And in Sissy Missy Homemakers class, I'm learning how to knit. Soon, I can knit myself lots of soft, pretty sweaters."
Suzy turned to Mom and laughed. "I guess Priscilla just needed a little incentive to tell the truth."
At home, Mom did some redecorating. "Ta da! Isn't it darling? I got some old stuff out of storage. This was my furniture when I was a girl your age. Don't you just love it? I always hated it; I thought it was horribly girly, so I figured it'd be perfect for you."
The room was positively disgusting. It just oozed femininity. Everything was dripping with ruffles, bows, and lace. Ornate dolls were everywhere. A sickeningly sweet perfume hung in the air. In the corner of the room, I could see my reflection in the full length mirror; a very unhappy sissified boy.
Suzy gushed about the room and how lucky I was. Apparently, I wasn't being enthusiastic enough. Margaret smirked, "I guess he needs lots more estrogen in his system to really appreciate it."
"Margaret, no!" I begged for all I was worth, but in no time, Suzy was happily poking me with a Femmy Formula suppository. The humiliation of having my former love interest violate me like that while everyone laughed was more than I could bear. When they were done, I noticed Heather had her camera.
"Don't worry, Priscilla. I got lots of pictures to show everyone. You can give some to your friends!"
For "fun", the girls ordered me to put my "pretty suit" on and spend the day sun tanning - alone this time. "Use a lot of lotion, and don't forget your fake boobs or your pretty hat," Margaret snickered.
I hated dressing up in the girly get-up again. The worst of it was that Margaret, Heather and Suzy sat on my bed and watched, and there was nothing I could do about it. Quietly, I made my way out to the pool. Maybe Margaret and Mom would get tired of their game if I did as they said for a couple of days. I lay back on the lounge chair, my new "twins" protruding in the air, and closed my eyes. In the warm sun, I found myself dozing.
"Well, well. Don't we look pretty?"
I jerked out of my daze. Shit! Tad Cravitz! "Tad! What are you doing here?" Desperate to cover myself, I slipped into the cover up.
"How chic! Bows are soooo feminine."
"Very funny, Tad. Look, this is not what you think I can explain..."
"Oh, there's no need to explain, sweetie. If you want to prance around the pool looking like Betty Page, I understand."
I cringed under Tad's lustful gaze. Tad Cravitz wasn't the only gay kid I knew, but he was the only one who was so obnoxious about it. I couldn't stand him - not because he was gay; I didn't care about that. It was because he was an arrogant jerk. "Very funny, Tad. It's, it's not like that."
"I saw you with Margaret and her friends a couple of weeks ago. You looked so pathetic, with them bossing you around an hitting you where it hurts the most."
I knew I had heard someone that day. I looked around conspiratorially. "Margaret's been giving me this stuff that made me really weak. She and her bitchy friends forced me to cooperate."
"Really," Tad chuckled with a smirk. "Really weak?"
Tad's eye gleamed as I began to shuffle nervously.
"So if I did this, you couldn't do anything to stop me?" He grabbed my arm and twisted viciously.
"Oowww! Tad, stop! You're hurting me!"
"My, you are a pathetic little thing, aren't you? Now tell me everything, and don't leave anything out!" He gave my arm an extra twist.
Wincing in pain, I told him everything. When I hesitated or tried to argue with him, he twisted my arm harder. He was even stronger than Margaret, and even more heartless. Finally, as I burst into tears, he let me go with a laugh.
"Don't cry, Priscilla. I've got to give Margaret credit. She's done an amazing job on you. From boy to bathing beauty - I can't wait to spread the news," he said snidely. He looked pensive and started grinning evilly. "You know, the country club dance is next weekend. I think I've found a date."
"A date?" He had to be kidding!
"Yes, darling. But I expect my dates to be enchanting, vivacious ... and pretty."
"But ... but I'm not gay and you know it!"
"I don't care," he shrugged. "I could really care less if you're attracted to me. What counts is what I like, and I must say, the idea of Mr. Straight Laced Goody-Goody all dolled up like a glamour queen is very exciting. I bet Margaret would agree."
I pleaded with him, but he was unmoved. Finally, my face red with embarrassment, and tears of frustration running down my face, I said 'yes.'
"I thought you'd agree."
Before I could react, Tad embraced me and gave me a huge kiss. I struggled to get away, but he was too strong. He turned and let through he gate, but I could still hear him laughing. Instinctively, I saw my mother, Margaret, Suzy and Heather all pointing and laughing at me in the window.
The memories of that summer still haunt me, but it was time to come back to reality. I heard the loud giggling of the Margaret as she adjusted my veil.
"Aren't you excited, Priscilla? Your sissy dreams are all coming true. Just think! After today, you'll be Mrs. Tad Cravitz! I peeked in the church. Tad looks so big and handsome up there. And don't worry! All your former friends, teachers, and coaches are here to see you mince down the aisle. It was sooo sweet of you to have Suzy be your maid of honor, but I guess she is the one, who made sure that you did everything necessary to keep Tad interested in you. You're so lucky Tad's going to let you work as his secretary for a while before he makes you stay at home and keep house. After all, with your womanly hips and double d's, say, I love your hair in this huge bouffant flip. My, you must go through a lot of hair spray. Don't worry, I've packed all your new nighties for your honeymoon. How excited you must be! I thought it was a little much for Mom to ask Tad to film your wedding night, but he was enthusiastic about it. He said it was going to a double feature. You better wipe those tears away right now, Missy. Save them for when you say, "I do!"