A Submissive Sissy

Here you'll find my favorites Sissy & Femdom stories, the best one I've ever read over the net since many years and believe me, that's a lot ! I'm also a wool fetishist, so you may come accross this type of topic around here too... Hope you'll like it !


Sissy Sally

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Sam Smith fretted anxiously at the kitchen table while he waited for his mother to return from the district attorney's office. How could he have been so stupid? Breaking into the new neighbor's house had been a disastrous idea from the start. Ms. Johnson was an attractive, impeccably dressed older widow who had moved into the house- mansion, really- a few doors down. Billy Cravitz, Sam's nemesis, and the rest of the neighborhood gang had given Sam an ultimatum: break into Ms. Johnson's house or be an outcast for the entire summer. Sam knew it was stupid to go along, but he knew his reputation as a wuss would be sealed if he didn't accept Billy's dare. Sam figured he could do this one thing, impress the gang, and get Billy off his back for good.

After Sam finally agreed to the dare, one of the other guys asked how they would know that he had actually been in Ms. Johnson's house. That's when Billy had the idea for Sam to take something of Ms. Johnson's as proof. After a lot of animated discussion about what to take, Billy got an evil gleam in his eye. When Billy insisted that a pair of Ms. Johnson's panties would be the "perfect proof," the rest of the guys loudly and laughingly agreed. Sam anxiously tried to get them to reconsider, but they wouldn't hear of it.

Sam was actually holding up a pair of lacy, delicate pink panties in the middle of Ms. Johnson's opulent bedroom when the police came to investigate the silent alarm. He thought he would die of shame as the burly policemen and his female partner handcuffed him and took him to the station. In the patrol car, the officers laughed uncontrollably about how the rest of the squad would never believe what they caught Sam doing. By the time they arrived at the station, word had spread like wildfire. Everyone in the station stopped by to see the teenaged boy caught stealing panties from his neighbor's house. As he sat in the holding area, waiting for his mother to arrive, Sam's face burned hot with embarrassment and shame.

The days after his arrest were a complete blur to Sam. Sam tried to explain that it was all a prank, even detailing Billy's role in the break-in. News of Sam's arrest reached Billy and the gang, and by the time the police questioned Billy and the other boys, they all repeated a well-orchestrated story denying any knowledge of Sam's plans. Of course, Susan, Sam's mother, believed him; she knew all about Billy Cravitz and his malicious ways. Her son certainly was not a criminal…or a sissy.

Now Sam was anxiously waiting for his mother to return from a meeting with the lawyers and Ms. Johnson. He jumped involuntarily as he heard his mother's car door slam. To Sam's dismay, his younger brother, Mark, made his way into the kitchen, anxious to hear the latest developments in his brother's embarrassing saga.

Susan put her purse on the counter and poured herself a glass of white wine with a small sigh. Like her son, Susan had prayed she could clear the matter up and get the whole matter behind them.

"Well? What happened?" Sam asked anxiously.

Susan studied the face of her worried son. She had warned him over and over about hanging out with Billy and the other neighborhood bullies, but Sam was desperate to fit in. Now he was left holding the bag. She sighed deeply. "Sam, darling, I'm afraid I have bad news. Ms. Johnson is insisting that the prosecutor treat this like some sort of federal crime or something. She's demanding that the D.A. go forward with the most serious possible charges. Frankly, I think it was the fact that you were in her panty drawer that upset her so. The D.A. was willing to talk about a plea bargain, but Ms. Johnson was adamant that you spend some real time in juvenile hall to 'learn your lesson.'"

Sam's heart sank. "Mom! She can be serious! It was just a stupid prank. I'll never do it again; I promise!"

Susan tried to console her distraught son. It was obvious that he felt terrible enough about what he'd done. Being caught pilfering a pair of frilly women's panties was punishment enough for any boy, she thought. "I know you're sorry, dear. We'll just have to wait until the trial and see what happens. I don't want you to get your hopes up, though; our lawyer was not optimistic. Promise me you'll try not to worry, okay?" She smiled encouragingly at her son.

Sam nodded his head morosely.

Trying to lift the mood, Susan continued: "Actually, Ms. Johnson seems very nice. She's quite eccentric, though. Get this. She said that if you were a sissy and had been stealing the panties to wear them, she'd drop all charges. Apparently, she finds sissy boys quite…how did she put it? Oh, yes, entertaining. Can you imagine?" she chuckled.

Sam was not amused and forlornly made his way into his room, his younger brother tailing close behind. "Boy, Sam, you've really done it now. I bet the guys at the juvenile hall are really tough. Aren't most of them gang members?" He smiled wryly: "I wonder what they'll think of a little rich kid…particularly one caught stealing women's panties?"

Sam shuddered as his brother sniggered. "Shut up, Mark. It's not funny; they'll kill me in there. What am I going to do?" he whined.

"Well," Mark chuckled, " You could always tell Ms. Johnson that you're a big sissy, and the panties were for you …Sissy." Still laughing, Mark wheeled and hurried out of the room before his brother could react.

Sam spent the rest of the afternoon obsessing over his predicament and a possible solution. No matter how he analyzed it, he was screwed. Flopping on his bed, he idly thought about what his brother had said.

At dinner, Susan was happy to see that her troubled son looked more animated. "Well, it looks like someone is in a better mood."

"Mom, I've got the perfect solution. Remember what you said this morning? I'll just tell Ms. Johnson what she wants to hear. You know, that I was stealing the panties because I wanted to wear them. I'll just tell her I'm ---you know—a sissy."

Mark burst out laughing as Susan stopped dead in her tracks. "Sam Smith, don't be ridiculous. You're a lot of things, but a sissy you are not."

"Yeah, but Ms. Johnson doesn't know that. I'll just tell a little white lie, and we can forget about the whole thing. Please, Mom!" Sam whined.

"Absolutely not! Do you hear yourself? You mean to tell me that you would actually have Ms. Johnson believe that you enjoy wearing women's panties? Please!"

Sam looked at his mother pleadingly. "Mom, I'm dead serious. I can't go to juvenile hall. I won't last ten minutes. Ms. Johnson doesn't know me. So she thinks I'm a fairy. I don't care. Please? Will you call her? Please?"

Susan glared at her son. Before her husband had died, he had left them financially very well off. But he had never succeeded in teaching Steve to take responsibility for his actions and to be accountable for his mistakes. To date, Susan hadn't had much luck, either. She could have easily refused Steve's request, but she wanted him to make the right decision on his own. "This is a terrible idea. Lying about wanting to dress in girl's clothes is a very stupid thing to do."

A tear of frustration escaped Sam's eye. "Mom, I'm begging you. I'll never ask for anything again."

Susan's sighed. She relented, but only because she was confident that Steve would eventually come to his senses. "Oh, all right. I'll call Ms. Johnson. Just remember, this was all your idea. I'm not responsible for the consequences."

Sam pumped his fist and exclaimed: "Yes! Thanks Mom! You're the greatest."

"Don't be so fast to thank me, dear. I can't believe that this is going to be as easy as you think."

Sam waited anxiously as his mother called Ms. Johnson. And she returned, he looked at her impatiently.

"She wants to meet with us day after tomorrow at her house." Susan shrugged her shoulders. " Actually, she seemed thrilled at the news."

Susan and her son prepared for the walk down the street to Ms. Johnson's house. "Are you sure you won't reconsider? Let the justice system take its course? Who knows what will happen?" Susan's frustration was obvious in the tone of her voice.

"No way, Mom; I can't take any chances. Besides, you promised!" As Sam and his mother walked the block to Ms. Johnson's front door, Sam started to get nervous. After all, he was about to try and convince someone that he was an effeminate panty-waist; a sissy.

A smartly dressed woman met them at the door to the opulent house and led them into a well-appointed study. And Sam and his mom entered the room, they both stopped dead in their tracks. Susan spoke first: "Gladys, I certainly didn't expect to see you here. How ...delightful," she lied.

Susan's head spun. Gladys Cravitz! Billy's mother. The nosiest, most despicable woman in the entire neighborhood. Susan couldn't tolerate the hateful woman or her malicious ill-behaved son. Her presence could only mean bad things for her son and her.

"Susan, darling. It's been simply ages. And Sam! What a treat!" Gladys smirked.

Ms. Johnson introduced herself affably. She was a well-kept elderly matron, dressed expensively and stylishly. "Susan, so nice to see you again. I hope you don't mind. Gladys has been such a help to me since I moved to Englebrook, and I do so trust her judgment." Gladys all but stuck her tongue out at Susan.

"And this must be our little sissy," Ms. Johnson said, a note of excitement creeping into her voice. Clearing her throat, she took a more businesslike tone. "Sam, you've been a naughty boy. You should never break into someone's home and take their things."

"I'm really sorry, Ms. Johnson. But I only did it because I, uh, like to wear panties. I would have taken some of Mom's, but I was afraid she'd find out...uh. about my being a sissy and stuff."

"Aww, you poor dear. When your mother called and explained that you had broken into my house because you wanted to take my panties to wear, I was more than ready and willing to forget about the whole thing. After all, I may have mentioned to your mother that I find feminine boys—sissies—so charming and delightful," she giggled. "The very idea of a teen aged boy mincing around in panties, a pretty dress and make-up, his hair in a darling lady's hair-do…how funny," she giggled. Anyway, it would be wrong of me not to forgive a boy so desperate to wear panties that he was willing to break into someone's house and steal them. Of course, that's a different matter entirely from a nasty boy who would do that as a horrid prank… or a dare."

Sam gulped hard and squirmed in his seat.

"Anyway, Susan, Gladys actually believes that Sam is claiming to be a sissy just to avoid accepting his punishment. Ridiculous, isn't it?" she laughed.

Susan's face drained of color. "Ridiculous, yes," she squeaked.

"Well, Susan, dearest, if you and Sam would just sign these, we can all get this unpleasant criminal business behind us and discuss more pleasant things. I'm sorry about all this, but Gladys is just so insistent. Gladys?"

Susan sat stunned as Gladys smugly produced a stack of legal documents in front of her and brandished an expensive pen to sign with.

"What's all that?" Susan asked concernedly.

Gladys replied smugly: "Nothing to be concerned about, unless, of course, you and your criminal son are lying to Ms. Johnson about being a sissy. As you can imagine, fraud to avoid prosecution is a very serious criminal offense; even worse than robbery. You know, it's very interesting; I've known Sam all his life, and I've never been aware of his penchant for cross-dressing. Admit it, Sam. You're trying to defraud Ms. Johnson and the court, aren't you?"

"No, ma'am," Sam said defensively.

Susan felt sick but simply returned Gladys' stare.

Gladys' face clouded at their refusal to confess. When Clara had told her about the phone call with Susan, Gladys had been apoplectic. She was thrilled at the prospect of Little Miss Perfect's son going to jail. The fortune Susan's husband had left them couldn't help Sam there! Gladys actually knew her son's role in the prank, and she knew that Sam was as normal as her own son; he was no sissy. It was all a lie to keep Sam out of jail. But Clara wouldn't listen to reason. Gladys had her husband draw up documents to force Susan and her son to tell the truth and get their just desserts. The fact that her plan wasn't working infuriated her. "Well, then, there's nothing for you to worry about, and no reason you and your mother shouldn't sign these papers," she bristled.

Susan hated the way she and her son were being manipulated. She was furious: furious with her son for getting her into such a spot, and furious at Gladys for her meddling. "This all looks awfully serious. Maybe I should take these home and look at them overnight," Susan suggested.

Without missing a beat, Gladys crowed, "I knew it. See Clara? I told you they wouldn't sign the papers. It's all a big lie."

Sam panicked. If Ms. Johnson changed her mind, he'd go to juvenile hall for sure. "Mom, please I'm sure everything is okay. I'm going to sign."

Susan quickly and politely asked to speak with her son privately, and she half-drug Sam into the hallway.

"Mom," he hissed. " What are you doing? We've got to sign those stupid papers before Ms. Johnson changes her mind. You promised you'd let me do this," he said accusingly.

Susan stared at her son, her hands on her hips. "Aren't you even the least bit interested what's in these documents? You understand what you're asking me to do? You're asking me to let you lie under oath that you're an effeminate boy who loves dressing and acting like a girl. Do you understand? Who knows what else is in those papers. Trust me, knowing Gladys, this is a huge mistake. Let's just tell the truth, go home, and call this whole thing off. "

"That's easy for you to say; you're not the one who'll have to go to jail," Sam said bitterly.

Seeing the betrayed look on her son's case, she relented. "Fine," Susan said exasperatedly. "But don't say that I didn't warn you." She watched with apprehension as Sam quickly signed all the papers, and slid them over to her. Susan sighed deeply and slowly signed the papers.

Ms. Johnson clapped her hands excitedly. "You see, Gladys? I told you there was nothing to worry about. You're too suspicious."

Gladys glared at Susan and Sam, a fake smile plastered on her face. "We'll just see about that, Clara."

After they left the house, Sam excitedly ran home as fast as he could. "It worked," he thought with relief. I'm a genius."

Susan finished reading the last of the documents she and Sam had signed, and took another gulp of wine. She didn't know which was worse: the affidavit detailing under oath that her son was an effeminate sissy; the admissions of criminal liability in the event that the affidavit was found to be untrue; or the authorization giving Ms. Johnson the right to "examine" Sam at her discretion to ensure the truthfulness of his affidavit. But the real source of Susan's concern was Gladys. Susan knew from experience that she was vindictive and persistent. As she heard Sam roughhousing with his brother down the hall, she suppressed a shudder.

At another house in the neighborhood, Gladys seethed. As she clattered around the kitchen, she spoke to no one in particular; Billy and his father had long ago learned to tune her out. "That little bitch! She thinks she's so clever. So she claims Sam's a panty-waist. We'll just see about that!" She picked up her well-used cell phone and hit speed dial. "Nina, darling. You know Susan Smith and her son, Sam? Well, you'll never believe…" Gladys closed her phone with a satisfied grin. By end of the day, everyone in the neighborhood would know about the day's developments.

The next morning, Sam plopped down at the breakfast table and relished in the summer sunshine. " Good morning, family," he enthused. " Mom, thanks again for helping me yesterday. I swear, I'll never do anything that stupid again."

Susan replaced her coffee cup and saucer. "I'm glad to hear that, Sam. But those papers you signed … I just don't know." The phone rang interrupting her thoughts.

When his mother returned, Sam happily announced his plan to do nothing but play video games all day long. He watched as his mother shook her head unhappily.

"That was Ms. Johnson on the phone. She's expecting you at her house in an hour. She wants to spend some time with you … how did she put it? … oh yes, "girl to girl."

Mark burst out laughing at his older brothers red face.

" I-I'm not going back there. I signed those stupid papers. What does she want with me?"

"You heard her yesterday, dear. For some reason, she finds girly boys 'entertaining.' And just so you know, one of the forms you insisted that I sign yesterday gives her every right to spend as much time with you as she sees fit to confirm that you're a sissy. If Ms. Johnson wants you to visit for some girl talk, I'm afraid you don't have much choice."

"What? You're kidding, right? That's ridiculous!" Sam grew nervous. "What-what else was in those papers?" he asked hesitantly.

"Well, like I tried to tell you yesterday, if Ms. Johnson determines that you were lying about being a sissy and taking her panties for your own use, you waive your right to trial and agree to be incarcerated until you're twenty-one." Susan paused as Sam's jaw dropped in shock. "I tried to tell you, but you wouldn't listen," she admonished sharply. "You better finish up. Ms. Johnson will be expecting you."

Late that afternoon, Susan was reading by the pool, engrossed in a fashion magazine when she heard the backyard gate open. It had to be Sam, returning from Ms. Johnson's. "Finally! I was beginning to worry …" Susan stopped short when she saw that Sam was closely followed by Gladys Cravitz.

"Susan, darling. Don't get up. I spent the most delightful day with Ms. Johnson and Sally, here. Doesn't he look just lovely? I just wanted to stop by and let you know that you and your son aren't fooling me for a second. Well, two can play at this game. We'll just see how much of the sissy you really are, Sally. I'm going to be watching your every move, and when you slip up, you are going to jail." With that, Gladys threw her chin in the air, spun around indignantly, and strode away.

Only when they heard her Mercedes drive away did Sam break down. "Mom!" he sobbed. " Look at what they did to me!" he held out his hands, revealing long, glamour-length nails, manicured to perfection with a sophisticated, glossy red polish.

Susan covered her mouth as she took it all in. The nails, the thin, femininely arched eyebrows, the expensive-looking drop pearl earrings in Sam's newly pierced ears. The way her son's legs gleamed, she knew instantly that he had a leg waxing. In his hands was a large pink shopping bag emblazoned with the logo, "The Sissy Mister." Underneath was the silhouette of a boy pirouetting in a chic dress and heels. Involuntarily, Susan giggled.

"Mom! It's not funny," Sam whined.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. It's just that you look so … girly. " Despite her best efforts, she laughed. Trying to stifle her mirth an be sympathetic, she said, "Tell me what happened."

He sniffled; "It was awful. Ms. Johnson treated me like I was a Barbie doll or something. She made me wear the, uh, panties I took, and then she made me try on all of her dresses and stuff. Ms. Cravitz said all sissies love fashion shows. She kept teasing me and she even took pictures. She was awful! She kept saying things like, "For a sissy boy, you don't seem to enjoy wearing these darling dresses. What's the matter?" Or "You certainly don't walk in high heels like a sissy." I was getting really nervous. "Then she told Ms. Johnson about the store in town where they sell all this girly stuff … for boys!"

"Let me guess … the Sissy Mister?" Susan giggled, gesturing at the bag.

Sam nodded morosely. "It was horrible," he whispered. "It was like a pink nightmare I couldn't wake up from. Ms. Johnson was in heaven! Now look at me," he sobbed. "I look like some kind of … "

"Fag? Fairy? I tried to reason with you, dear. This is all your doing. But look on the bright side. Your nails are simply fabulous, and your eyebrows are to die for," Susan giggled.

"Very funny, Mom. Ha, ha. " Sam pouted angrily.

Ignoring him, Susan asked, "What's in the bag?"

"Ms. Johnson bought all this stuff for my nails; polish and junk. And hair remover for my legs and underarms. Ms. Cravitz kept saying that no real sissy would ever be seen with hairy legs and pits and without nail polish. Gag me!"

Susan looked at the expensive looking products in the bag and felt a twinge of envy. Idly, she wondered aloud how her nails would look in the same color as Sam's.


As Sam and his family finished their dinner, the doorbell rang.

"Who could that be," Susan wondered aloud. She opened the door to find Nina and Heather, two of Gladys' snooty friends grinning like Cheshire cats. "Ladies, what can I do for you?" Susan said suspiciously.

"Susan, darling, we heard through the grapevine about Sam's trouble at Clara Johnson's. You poor dear! It must be simply horrible to learn that your son's a panty-loving sissy boy!"

Heather added: "I know if I ever caught my son doing something like that, I'd just die. How utterly humiliating, for both of you!"

Susan's blood pressure rose, knowing that Gladys had set this up. "Well, we're doing the best we can."

Nina and Heather clucked sympathetically. "Is Sam, home? We have something for him."

I'm afraid he's…"

Susan was interrupted by Mark, who said, "He's right here, Mom!"

Susan cringed, and called Sam.

When Sam hesitantly appeared at the door, the two women burst into giggles. "Love your nails, Sam! And those pearl earrings, they're so you!"

Sam was absolutely mortified that his "confession" was becoming public knowledge. He hardly noticed when Nina came around and said, "Your nails are even longer than mine! Heather, take a picture! As Heather clicked pictures with her phone camera, Nina had Sam held his hands at arm's length as she did, fingers pointed down in the way that women show off their nails to someone. He felt like a fool. But not as foolish as when Nina stopped giggling and announced with a grin that she had a surprise for Sam

"Darling, since you apparently don't have pretty things of your own to wear, we took up a little collection from all the girls in Junior League. We even voted to adopt you as our special little project for the next year." Each woman produced two large shopping bags. "Our things may not be a pretty as Ms. Johnson's but there are some darling outfits; dresses, skirts, blouses, and of course, your favorite, some lacy little panties."

Heather added snidely, "Bettina was especially generous; she's gotten to be such a cow after her husband left, none of her old things fit anymore." The two women shared a malicious giggle.

"I donated a scrumptious little Chanel number that my first husband bought me. Since I saw that awful Amy Crawford from the club in one like it, I absolutely refuse to wear it anymore. But it'll look darling on you."

Not to be outdone, Heather volunteered. "I contributed the sweetest little off the shoulder sundress that's perfect for the club. I got it from that darling new shop; Girly-Girls Boutique. I simply can't wait to see you all dolled up in it! I'm sure your mother will lend you some adorable shoes and a purse to match. You'll be the perfect little pansy!" The pair erupted into heartless giggles

As he got ready for bed, Sam stared at his awful reflection in the mirror. Earlier in the day, Ms. Cravitz had insisted that every real sissy had a feminine name. Sam had panicked and blurted out the first girl's name that came to mind: Sally. What a ridiculous name, he thought. Thanks to Ms. Johnson and that Sissy Mister place, he already looked more like a Sally now. And thanks to the neighborhood ladies, he even had the beginnings of a wardrobe of feminine clothes. This wasn't going according to plan. No one was supposed to know. As a distraction from his troubles, Steve logged onto his computer and checked his e-mail. Immediately he noticed an unfamiliar address and opened it up. Steve gasped at what he saw and read. The thing that grabbed his attention was the picture. Sam looked in horror at the heavily muscled, tattooed, street tough with the malicious leer. Anxiously, Sam read the attached message.


I heard you're gonna be here at the Harsch Penal Institute for Boys. I can't wait to get a piece of your pantied ass, sissy boy. I've seen the pictures of you, faggot--getting your ears pierced and getting your nails done all pretty like a girl. Since you want to be a girl so bad, you're going to be my new bitch. Let me tell you some of the things I'm gonna do to you…."

Sam trembled as he continued read the horrid e-mail. It closed with a threat not to tell anyone about the e-mail, or he'd be "dead meat." It was signed "Ray Frink." As quickly as he could, Sam closed the e-mail, looking over his shoulder to make sure that no one else had seen it. Sam's heart was pounding. A million questions flooded his mind. How did Ray Frink get the pictures? What about his e-mail address? If he ended up in juvenile hall now, he'd be worse than dead! Steve hardly slept.

The next day, Mark was assigned to rouse his brother from bed. " Rise and shine, Sally. Mom says you need to get up."

Sam groaned. "Leave me alone … and don't ever call me that."

"Whatever you say, Sally. By the way, Mom said Ms. Johnson called. She wants to meet with you and Mom this morning."

As Susan took in the sight of her sissified older son, she grew more and more irritated. Steve's "little" deception had gone far enough. He was dressed in silk shantung Capri pants that zipped in the back, and matching fitted, sleeveless shell. A delicate beaded sweater completed the ensemble. It was one of Bettina's outfits. Susan had seen her in it a number of times. Underneath, Susan knew that Sam was wearing lacy, frilly panties that had formerly belonged to one of the trophy wives of the neighborhood. The very idea turned her stomach. "Sam Smith! You've got to stop this nonsense right now and tell Ms. Johnson the truth. You look ridiculous! Aren't you the least embarrassed about prancing around in panties and pearl earrings and wearing an outfit that belonged to the neighborhood fashion plate? You're a boy for gosh sakes…or at least I thought you were. Or maybe you're really enjoying this. Maybe you'd like to wear one of my bras? And some make-up? Or maybe you'd like to go shopping with Bettina for some of your own?"

"Mom! Cut it out. I just need to convince Ms. Johnson once and for all; then she'll leave me alone. Remember, you promised you wouldn't tell, and you'd let me make my own decisions," he admonished. Sam caught himself before he told his mom about the e-mail.

"I remember," Sally sighed. "I just want you to remember what I said about lies. You're digging your own grave…"

"Susan, Sally! We've been expecting you; do come in." A grinning Gladys led the pair into the formal living room. "You two know Clara, of course. Susan, this is Doris Gladstone, the owner and proprietor of the Sissy Mister. I suppose Sally told you all about our little excursion yesterday."

"He certainly did. He just went on and on about how much fun you girls had and all the wonderful things you bought him. How generous," Susan dead-panned.

"It was nothing, dear." Clara dismissed with a wave and a big smile. "Doesn't Sally look precious in his pink outfit? His new earrings go perfectly! I must admit, Susan, I'm quite smitten with your little sissy. I can't remember when I've had this much fun," she giggled. "He looked so cute all prettied up in my dresses and outfits. There's just something about a boy in a dress."

"I'm sure he feels the same way, Ms. Johnson," Susan lied. She could feel the heat from her son's red face.

Gladys cleared her throat meaningfully.

"Oh, yes." Clara said with a sigh. "Sally, dear, despite our fun yesterday, Gladys remains concerned that you don't seem to be very effeminate or girlish. You seem to be--how should I put it--a regular guy. Anyway, Gladys has convinced herself that this is proof positive that this is all a charade by you to stay out of juvenile hall."

Susan glanced over Gladys, who gave her a deadly smile.

Gladys addressed Sam, who by now was trembling with anxiety.

"Sam, don't you want to put an end to all this nonsense. Go back to being a regular boy?"

"Now, Gladys, stop that. I'm sure that there must be a reasonable explanation. I thought it best that you explained it to us, yourself, dear. Is there a reason you don't act very effeminate?" Ms. Johnson smiled sympathetically at Sam.

"I can probably answer that…" Susan started.

Gladys quickly interrupted: "I think Clara wanted to hear from Sally."

Without his mother to bail him out, Sam desperately tried to think of something plausible. The image of Ray Frink and what he had written caused him to actually tremble with fear. To his dismay, he actually started to tear up at the thought of being sent to juvenile hall. "Well, I guess I don't look or act all that feminine. It's just …" Sam's mind spun, until he had a sudden burst of inspiration. "I knew that if all the kids knew the truth, they'd tease me and make fun of me. I—what's that word?—oh yeah—I repressed my girly side." Sam held his breath and waited anxiously.

Clara clasped her hands and clucked sympathetically: "You poor dear! Take this hanky and dry those tears. You weren't able to express on the outside what you felt on the inside, is that it?"

"Yes, ma'am," Sam said, trying to sound pathetic.

Gladys spoke up exasperatedly. "Puh-lease! Let me get this straight. You're saying that you've always been girly at the core, but yet you've always acted perfectly straight. Is that it?"

"Yes," Sam said hesitantly.

"Well, if you could hide it so easily, you certainly couldn't have been that effeminate. On a scale of one to ten, no more than a …one."

Sam panicked as he saw Ms. Johnson starting to nod her head. "No! I mean no, ma'am. I'd say I was definitely ten!" he lied, desperate to convince Ms. Johnson.

"Did you hear that, Gladys? A ten! Sally, you must be simply the most effeminate boy ever!" Clara giggled.

Susan cringed with panic as he heard her son dug the hole he was in deeper and deeper. She was startled as Ms. Gladstone spoke for the first time. She was an extremely intimidating, mannish looking woman with sharp features. "Any boy as girlish as you must be emotionally exhausted from hiding the real you…your inner girl."

"Yes ma'am," he said eagerly.

"Besides, it's not really fair to fool people and pretend that you're something you're not, is it?"

Ms. Johnson spoke up in his defense. "I'm sure Sally's not the kind of person who want to through life deceiving people."

Sam nodded vigorously.

Gladys chimed in with a smirk: "Then you must be anxious to come out of the closet and stop living your disgusting little lie?"

Before Sam could qualify his answer, Ms. Johnson spoke up: " Gladys, dear, don't be silly. Of course he is. Right, dear?"

Sam trembled, finally sensing where this was heading. But he couldn't back out now. "Yes, ma'am," Sam said meekly.

Gladys smirked menacingly, "Well, then, you're in luck, because Ms. Gladstone does absolute wonders with closet sissies like you who want to 'come out'."

Ms. Johnson gasped excitedly: "Doris, is that true?"

"If I may brag a little, Ms. Johnson, it is one of my absolute specialties. We take boys like Sally-sissies-who tragically have been socialized against their will into conformance with male stereotypes, and help them to express their inner girl that so desperately wants to be in control. We also teach them the essential feminine skills that they've missed out on learning: feminine grooming, domestic skills and feminine social skills. We also arrange for the little darlings to experience some of the girlish 'fun' that they've missed out on."

Gladys sneered as she fixed Sam with her eyes. "Doris? What do sissy boys think about your program?"

"Without exception, they're absolutely thrilled. The little darlings are so relieved to come out of the closet, they just adore our little programs. Of course, for an ordinary boy, I'm afraid any of my programs would be the most humiliating, embarrassing experience possible. But we certainly don't need to worry about that, do we, Sally? After all, you're just the perfect little sissy, aren't you?" she grinned as she caught his eye.

Sam nodded, his eyes closed in shame.

"How exciting! Ms. Johnson squealed.

"Then the only question is which of our programs is perfect for Sally?"

Ms. Johnson spoke up inquiringly: "What you mean, Doris?"

"It's quite simple, Clara. We have different programs for different levels of male femininity. I have programs for boys who are only mildly feminine, as well as those very special boys whose deepest desire to dress and act outrageously feminine, much more so than even the most feminine girly-girl. But I think that Sally answered that question for us, didn't you sweetie?"

"I did?" Sam said hesitantly.

Ms. Johnson made no effort to contain her enthusiasm. "Doris, you're absolutely right! Remember, Sally? You said you were a girly 'ten' at heart. Oh my! Isn't this thrilling!" she exclaimed. Sally simply must be enrolled in your most advanced program, Doris. It would be a crime if she wasn't!"

Gladys interrupted her. "Sally? Is something wrong? You don't seem very excited. Aren't you thrilled to have Doris help you throw open the closet door? Or is there something you want to tell Ms. Johnson?" she urged.

Sam peeked at his mother, who returned her son's gaze. "Unbelievable! Gladys and that Ms. Gladstone had set Sam up!" She spoke up, hoping to prevent her son from making yet another disastrous wrong choice. "Darling, this is a very big step. After all, this program of Ms. Gladstone's sounds very serious. I want you to think long and hard about what you're saying. Remember, I'm here for you," she said meaningfully.

"I'm sorry, I was just thinking. Ms. Johnson, I have something I need to tell you…"

"Yes dear?"

Susan took her son's hand to lend her support. Finally, Sam was coming to his senses! She'd call the lawyer, and try to pick up the pieces, and…

"I can't wait to enroll in Ms. Gladstone's program."

Susan sucked in her breath. What had Sam done?

Clara came over and gave Sam a hug. "Oh, Sally, dearest. Then it's settled! Sally will be the newest member of your most advanced program, Doris," Ms. Johnson giggled. "What's it called?"

"Forever Femme." Doris smirked.

The pair waited until they were safely at home before either of them spoke about the morning's developments. Susan could hardly contain her frustration: "Nicely done," she said in exasperation. "It looks like you've arranged to be spending a lot more time at the Sissy Mister."

"Mom! It's not my fault. What else could I do?" Sam exploded in anguish. I didn't have any choice!"

"Oh, you had a choice—you just chose dresses and make-up over telling the truth."

The commotion attracted Sam's brother like blood attracted a shark. He listened in amused fascination as his mother related the events of the morning and how Sam was now enrolled in Ms. Gladstone's "Forever Femme" program. Sam retreated to his room, his amused brother taunting him every step of the way.

Later that afternoon, Susan answered the door. "What now," she wondered. She found a smirking Ms. Gladstone on her doorstep. In her hand was a large Sissy Mister shopping bag; behind her, she saw a shop assistant unloading boxes of something that looked to be soft drinks.

"Susan…you don't mind if I call you Susan, do you?" she grinned. After all, Sally's going to be part of our Sissy Mister family". Not waiting for an answer, she continued. Susan was aghast as Ms. Gladstone gave detailed instructions and handed over the shopping bag and drinks. Involuntarily, Susan covered her mouth as she listened. Luckily, Sam was out by the pool when Doris and her assistant surveyed his bedroom and took detailed measurements. When they were gone, Susan gulped a large cocktail as she pondered her son's fate.

When the boys came down for dinner, Sam had recovered somewhat from the morning. As he took his seat at the dinner table, he loudly exclaimed to no one in particular: "I hope there's plenty of dinner, I'm starved."

Sam watched in bewilderment as his mother wordlessly placed a pink drink can in front of him. Without thinking, Sam read the femininely scripted label aloud: "Slender Sissy Diet Shake." As his laughing brother grabbed the can to see for himself, Sam whined. "Mom! What's this?"

"Except for special occasions, 'this' is what you're having for breakfast, lunch and dinner for the foreseeable future. Doris Gladstone says that your weight and boyish build are obvious obstacles to expressing your "inner girl" that have to be corrected as soon as possible. Sooooo, she's put you on a little diet. Of course, since you went on and on about being a "ten" on the sissy scale and jumped at the chance to enroll in her Forever Femme program, she has you on her most restrictive diet. Better get used to the sound of your stomach growling, Sally."

"She can't be serious. I'll starve! You know how much I eat."

"Don't be so dramatic, Sally; women diet all the time. A 'Forever Femme' girl like you shouldn't have any problem."

Sam sulked. His mom was still upset that he hadn't told the truth. "She doesn't have to be so mean about it," he thought morosely.

Mark read the label on the can in between fits of laughter. "'You'll have a darling little figure in no time with our new Forever Femme formula. Your boyfriend won't be able to take his eyes—or hands—off you. Combine with our Dainty and Delicate Formula for especially fast-acting, permanent results." Mark laughed so hard he almost fell out of his chair.

"There's no way I'm drinking that stuff!" Sam growled. "I'm going to fix a sandwich," he declared shoving his seat back and heading for the kitchen.

The phone rang just as Sam was unscrewing the peanut butter lid.

"Sally, it's for you," his brother smiled.

"Hello?" Sam said hesitantly. "Oh, hi, Ms. Gladstone. The diet shakes? Oh, yeah, I've got one right here. Yeah, I can't wait. You're right. Yes, ma'am. The Dainty and Delicate Formula? No, ma'am. I see. It sounds … great. Urine tests? But why? I see. Homework?"

Mark watched in fascination as his brother's face got redder and redder. As his brother continued to talk with Ms. Gladstone, he thought, "This sissy thing is a dream come true."

Susan and Mark watched as Sam hung up the phone quietly and return to his seat. Wordlessly, he sat down, his face etched with despair.

"What about your sandwich?" Susan asked sweetly.

"Um, I guess Ms. Gladstone does tests to see if you've been cheating on the diet. I better not," he said mournfully. "She said I have to mix in that Dainty and Delicate formula with the shake." He cringed just saying the word 'dainty.'

Mark laughed, "I saw some out in the garage." He bolted from the table and returned, holding a large canister. He read happily with an affected lisp: "'You'll become a dainty and delicate darling with our new fast-acting muscle loss formula. Imagine your delight as you watch your disgusting male muscles melt away and leave you with the strength of a girl half your age. You'll be a frail and frilly little flower in no time. Caution, results are permanent."

Sam was terrified at what he heard, and started trembling. "M-m-mom, please don't make me take that stuff. I don't want to be… dainty!"

Susan took Sam's chin firmly in her hand and spoke in a steely voice. "Now you just listen to me. No one's making you do anything. All of this is your doing. Anytime you want to tell Ms. Johnson the truth, you just say the word, and we'll deal with it the best we can. You should have done that in the first place. But until you do, I'm not going to pretend that I approve of what you're doing, and I'm certainly not going to be sympathetic to your complaints. And I'm losing patience with your little tantrums. What is it you say to your brother? Oh, yeah; deal with it!"

Sam glumly closed his eyes and imagined that horrible picture of Ray Frink as he slowly prepared and drank the mixture of shake and formula. Finally, when he had choked down the entire glass, he opened his eyes and saw his mother looking at him disapprovingly. Mark was also watching, a big grin on his face "Creep," Sam thought.

His "meal" finished, Sam turned to his mother, who was finishing her plate of pasta. "Mom, can I talk to you after dinner?"

"Go ahead, dear."

Sam nodded his head at Mark and winced.

Susan added impatiently, "You've gotten all of us mixed up in your lies and deception, so go ahead."

Frustrated at his mother's refusal to exclude Mark from the conversation, he blurted it out: "Ms. Gladstone says that as 'homework,' I have to model all your clothes, with accessories, and stuff and take pictures of me in them. I'm supposed to e-mail them to her, Ms. Johnson, and Ms. Cravitz."

"A real sissy fashion show. How fun."

Steve thought the evening would never end. Wearing his mother's dresses, skirts, and blouses was bad enough. But his mother was doing her best to embarrass him as much as possible in the process. After insisting that he wear one of her bras in addition to "his panties." She pitilessly filled the cups with tissues to give Sam a womanly bustline and to make her clothes fit better. Sheer panty hose and a lacy white slip were also added to his ensemble. When his mother started pulling dresses and skirts out of her closet, Sam cringed; there were so many! It was going to be a long evening.

Susan and Mark sat on the living room couch; Susan sipped on a glass of wine. Mark made sure the digital camera was ready to go. "Awww, look, Mark. Doesn't your brother look just darling in my yellow sheath? He'll have a boyfriend in no time. With those legs, he simply must try out for cheerleader. Smile for the camera, dearie."

Steve thought he would scream. Each outfit brought taunts and laughter from his mother and his bother. "That dress always makes me feel sexy. How about you, Sally. Feeling sexy? Mark, get some extra pictures of your bother in that plaid wool skirt and sweater set. He looks so pretty. We'll enlarge the picture and send one to Mother. I know she'll be just delighted to see what a perfect fairy her grandson has become." "Ooooh, with that hat and purse, you look like you're heading out for lunch at the club with the girls. You'd love that, wouldn't you, Sally?" " Show your pretty nails for the camera, hon. A girl always shows off her manicure."

Mark laughingly took picture after picture, thrilled at his older brother's humiliation. As his brother became more and more upset, Mark tentatively ordered his brother to start posing like a female fashion model. Mark thought that Sam was going to blow a gasket, until his mother gave him a firm slap on the cheek and told him that if he wanted his pictures, he'd cooperate or else. Assured that he had his mother's approval, Mark became more and more demanding, relishing in ordering his older brother into one humiliating pose after another.

Sam sniffled and e-mailed the last of the awful pictures. He'd never been so humiliated in his life. His mother was being so mean; why couldn't she just support his decision? He wondered if he should have shown her the e-mail from Ray Frink before he deleted it. There's no way she'd believe me now, anyway" he thought. Steve's thoughts drifted to his younger brother. "That little shit. I'm going to pummel him; then I'm going to kill him," Sam vowed. But first, he was going to force him to delete all the pictures from his computer. He couldn't believe that his mother had let him download them from his camera. His mother was one thing, but Steve certainly wasn't going to be treated like some fag by his brother. As he plotted his revenge, Steve felt a small cramp in his stomach. "Great," he thought. "On top of everything else, I'm coming down with something." He turned out the light and crawled into bed, wishing he could stay there forever.

The next morning, Sam came downstairs looking like something the cat drug in. "Mom, I feel like crap," he moaned. "My stomach's in knots, and I ache all over."

Susan placed her hand on Sam's forehead. Matter of factly, she said: "Ms. Gladstone warned that when the Dainty and Delicate formula started working, you'd probably feel sick. Surely you've had enough of this nonsense now? You're not going to stay on this silly diet? Seeing Steve simply hang his head, she exclaimed in exasperation, "Fine! I'll call Ms. Gladstone and explain. Have your precious shake and then get right back into bed."

Mark quickly volunteered: "You stay there, Mom. I'll get it."

"Thanks, dear. The directions are on the canister."

Alone in the kitchen, Mark poured a can of diet shake in a large glass. He already knew exactly what the directions said; fascinated, he'd read them over and over. They said that exceeding the recommended dosages would lead to faster and more dramatic weight and muscle loss. He quickly added three scoops instead of the recommended one to the glass, and mixed it vigorously. He returned from the kitchen, barely containing his excitement.

Mark watched as his brother emptied the glass. To satisfaction, Sam wrinkled his nose, but didn't notice a thing.

"Sweet dreams, Sally," he whispered as his mother led Sam back to bed.

Sam spent the next few days in bed. He couldn't ever remember feeling so sick. His fitful sleep was tormented with terrible images of the Sissy Mister, Ray Frink, and prancing around in his mother's dresses as she and Mark taunted him. The passage of time was marked only by Mark waking him up to drink those stupid shakes. At least I'm not hungry," he thought morosely.

On Friday, however, whatever malady had struck Sam was gone, because the cramps and muscle aches had dissipated. Gratefully, he got out of bed and took a long, hot shower. As he soaped up, Sam couldn't help but feel that something was still wrong. He dried off and pulled on a pair of briefs, noticing that the elastic must have stretched in the wash; they hardly stayed up. Sam stood in front of his large mirror to brush his hair, and caught sight of his reflection. Sam's hands fell to his side, the brush dropping noisily on the floor. As he stood motionless, fixated on the horrifying image in the mirror, he didn't notice his mother walk in, followed by Mark.

"Looks like someone's feeling better," she chirped. As she took the time to study her older son's form in the mirror, Susan involuntarily gasped: "Oh, my gosh!"

A wide, triumphant grin broke across Mark's face. Between the dieting and the Dainty and Delicate formula, his older brother was a mere shadow of his former self. The muscles that Sam was so proud of were gone, replaced by the smooth, pencil-thin limbs of a young girl. He pointed at his brother and guffawed. "Gee, Sally! You're so delicate and dainty. Your boyfriend's going to love the new you."

"Mom! Look at me," Sam cried plaintively. "I'm dying!"

"Oh, don't be such a drama queen. I guess when they say delicate and dainty, they mean delicate and dainty. Wait here."

Susan quickly returned with a form fitting pink knit suit of hers that Sam had unhappily modeled earlier in the week. Susan recalled that the suit had been a snug fit. "Here, try this on," she said as she handed Sam the suit.

"But, Mom…"

"Don't argue with me," she snapped. "Besides, you look so pretty in pink."

Morosely, Sam pulled on the skirt, remembering that it zipped at the side. When he let it go, it dropped several inches, almost falling off his hips.

Susan stared in wide-eyed wonder. "Now the jacket."

If anything, the jacket fit looser than the skirt. Susan sighed, "Congratulations, dear. By my guess, you've lost five dress sizes. I'd guess you're now a slender size 1."

Mark made no effort to hide his mirth.

"Stop laughing, Mark; it's not funny!" Sam demanded petulantly.

Still laughing, Mark watched as Sam had a flash and bolted to the corner of his room where he kept a couple of light dumbbells. When he saw that Sam could hardly lift one of them with both hands, Mark and laughed even louder.

"Mom!" What have they done to me?" Sam cried bitterly.

"Have you already forgotten our little talk? You've done it to yourself. You wanted to be Forever Femme, Sally? Well, I'd say this is a good start," she taunted. "Since you're feeling better, get dressed, but I'm afraid my things will be too big for you. You'll have to find something else to wear."

As she left, Sam angrily ripped off his mother's suit and grabbed a pair of jeans, tightening an old belt to hold them up. They still threatened to fall off, and the t-shirt fit no better. He looked all the world like a little girl wearing her older brother's clothes.

As he stared at his image in the mirror, he saw Mark behind him grinning maliciously.

"Why are you still here? W-what are you looking at?" Sam said nervously. As Mark closed the bedroom door, and approached him, Sam felt genuine fear for the first time.

"I'm looking at the world's biggest faggot, that's what. Sally! What a perfect name for you, you disgusting fairy. Now I'm going to give you something that you've had coming since we were little kids."

"Mark, no! Please! Don't."

Mark quickly grabbed his older brother and threw him face down on the bed, wrenching his arm behind his back in the process. Sam gasped in pain. Undeterred, Mark began twisting harder until the boy was sobbing like a baby.

"Listen to you; you even cry like a girl. Mark loosened his grip, but didn't let go. "I'm a ten on the sissy scale, I want to be Forever Femme," Mark mocked in falsetto. "Well, I couldn't agree more, pansy. I suggest that from now on, you treat me with a little more respect. Understand?" He gave Sam's arm a final vicious twist.


Just remember; one word from me to Ms. Cravitz, and this whole charade comes to an end." Mark left, but not before leaving his dejected brother some instructions.

After Mark finally left, Sam flung himself on the bed and cried bitter tears. He knew his mother was right, he had done it to himself. Why didn't I just tell Ms. Johnson the truth," he thought. Now look at me. I'll bet all the girls in my class at school are stronger than me! His heart racing, he dropped to the floor and tried to do a pushup. He used to do fifty at a time. Now, he could barely eke out a single one, done badly—and it was girl pushup from his knees. What have I done?" he cried aloud.

Sam rose and studied his reflection in the mirror: thin, girlish limbs; femininely plucked eyebrows; hairless legs; long oval fingernails. Shit! His own bratty little brother had just manhandled him like a rag doll! Steve could just imagine what Ray Frink would do to him. He'd be a dead man. No matter how badly Sam wanted to tell the truth now, he realized that it was too late. Worse, he'd have to keep those crazy women happy-as well as his brother! He sobbed softly. Why didn't he listen to his mother when she had tried to warn him? After he finished crying, Sam dried his eyes. He had to pull himself together. It didn't matter what his mother thought of him now, he had to keep up his "sissy" act for Ms. Johnson's benefit and hope for the best.

Sam finally made his way to the breakfast table, where Mark and his mother waiting for him. Susan saw that Sam was wearing one of the outfits that Nina, well known as the neighborhood bulimic, had donated. The chic skirt and sweater set number only emphasized the extent to which Sam's body had diminished. She didn't know that Mark had "insisted" that his brother wear the outfit.

"Don't we look pretty? After breakfast, we simply must go by Nina's so she can see how darling you are in her hand me downs." As Sam pulled out his chair, she interrupted. Sally, darling, the head of the table is traditionally reserved for the male in the family. I don't think that it's appropriate for you to sit there anymore, do you?" she said icily.

Sam didn't answer, but slowly pulled out a chair closer to the kitchen instead of his normal seat at the head of the table. Mark gleefully plopped in his vacated chair at the head of the table.

"So what will it be for breakfast," Susan asked happily. "Pancakes? Bacon? Eggs?"

"All of the above," Mark laughed, as Susan joined in.

Sam's mouth watered as he listened to his mother. Now that he was feeling better, Sam's appetite had returned and he was starving.

"And what about you, Sissy Sally? Would you like a big omelet … you know, the kind you love?"

Sam glowered at his mother. "Mom, stop it. You know I can't; I have to have one of those stupid shakes."

"Oh, silly me. How could I forget? Disgusting little sissies are so concerned about their darling little figures. I guess it's a Slender Sissy Shake for Sally," his mother laughed. She went into the kitchen and returned with a glass of shake and the Dainty and Delicate canister. "Is this what you want, dearie?" Seeing her son nod angrily, she continued: "Then ask Mommy nicely, like a good little sissy," she said derisively.


"You heard me. Ask me nicely, like a good little girl. And since you're not a real girl, but a laughable little fairy, give us a cute little limp-wristed wave, as well." When her son only stared at her like she was crazy, she quickly gathered up the glass and canister and started for the kitchen.

"Mom, wait."

"Yes? Is there something you want to ask me? Tell me exactly what you want, and don't forget the wave."

Sam gulped. "May I please have a Slender Sissy diet shake, with some Dainty and Delicate formula mixed in?" Cringing, Sam flipped his wrist in effeminate fashion.

"What a fag!" Mark laughed.

Susan smiled. " Of course, Sally. How could I deprive my little girl? You know, while you were getting dressed, Mark and I had a little chat about you. I guess neither one of us fully appreciated how badly you hated your male body. Mark, what you think? Since your brother wants to be girlishly thin so badly, we should help him along, shouldn't we? "

"Absolutely, Mom," Mark laughed.

"You know, the directions on the canister say that increasing the dose will make the weight and muscle loss more dramatic and permanent. What about it, Sally? Wouldn't you like that?"

"Of course not. You and Mark stop teasing me."

"You know, darling, there's a saying: actions speak louder than words. You've seen what the shakes and formula did to you, yet you insist on continuing to use them. It's so obvious. You just adore the new, daintier you. Well, Mark and I certainly want you to be happy. Mark? What you think? The normal dose is one scoop."

"How about … four scoops?" Mark said, knowing firsthand what the increased dosage would do.

Susan covered her mouth in mock amazement. "Four scoops?" She shrugged, "I bet that will delight your sissy brother."

Sam watched in frustration as his mother gleefully measured out four generous scoops of the formula and mixed them into the shake.

"For you, Mademoiselle," she teased.

As Sam tried to take the glass, Susan retained her grip. Susan's voice turned deadly serious. "Sam, enough's enough. You've seen what this stuff does. These women aren't kidding around. That Gladstone woman is evil. And don't even get me started on Gladys! You look like a ridiculous pantywaist already, and you haven't really even started with Ms. Gladstone's program. We both know it's only going to get worse." She put her cell phone and Ms. Johnson's telephone number on the table next to the shake. "Are you a man, or are you a sissy?"

She watched as Sam looked at his brother Mark. Sam bowed his head and picked up the glass and drank the awful concoction.

"Just as I thought," she said disappointedly.

The next morning, Susan drove Sam to the Sissy Mister. When Susan arrived at the address given to her by Ms. Gladstone, she recognized the swank store right away. "Oh my gosh, I always thought this was an exclusive store for old fashioned girls. Unbelievable," she murmured, taking in the exterior of the impressive store. "Look at those exquisite party dresses in the window. Aren't they gorgeous? I always wanted a daughter to dress up, but I never thought my son would be wearing a frilly girl's party dress" she sighed.

As the pair entered the store, Sam cringed. After his first experience there, he had prayed he'd never see the awful place again. His eyes riveted on the boy mannequins with the simpering smiles. They were arrayed in the most obscenely feminine garb imaginable. Even though he had seen them before, he was still hypnotized by the heavily made up, but distinctively boyish faces. Nervously his eyes scanned the store. Right away he noticed the red-faced boy attired in a marabou trimmed chiffon peignoir set, matching slippers on his feet. A couple of women fussed with the sophisticated outfit and taunted him: "You'll be quite a hit at Shelly's slumber part in this pretty little number. And to think she had a crush on you. Now to find a sleep bonnet to cover your curlers." Around the corner, a group of teenaged girls were laughing hilariously as a sobbing boy modeled a black, lace encrusted longline bra with generous cups. "Joan, please! Don't make me wear this under my baseball uniform this afternoon. It'll show!" "Of course it will show, you fairy. After today's game, your coach, your teammates and all the parents on both teams will know that you're nothing but a sissy! And for arguing, I'm going to add a padded panty girdle to your lingerie ensemble." Sam saw the boy break down as the girls erupted in raucous laughter. The sound of a man's voice caught Sam's attention: "Stop your sniveling. I told you you'd be wearing dresses full-time if your step-mother caught you wearing her things again." "But Dad! I've told you, she's lying!" "Sure she is. Let's go; we're meeting her at her favorite restaurant for dinner."

Ms. Johnson greeted them animatedly: "Sally! Susan! Isn't this exciting. I didn't sleep a wink."

Gladys gave the trio a fake smile. "Sally, let me look at you. Oh my, have you lost weight? How wonderfully slender and femmy you look. You must feel so much better about yourself. Susan, darling, you must be so pleased with Sally's new body. No more sports for him!"

Susan glared at the giggling harpy.

Ms. Gladstone joined them and led the group to her well-appointed office. If possible, Ms. Gladstone looked even more mannish and intimidating than the last time Susan had seen her. "Susan, welcome to the Sissy Mister. This will be Sally's home away from home for the foreseeable future."

Susan watched her son's face fall as Ms. Gladstone detailed the Forever Femme program. His day would start with sissy deportment class where he would learn to sit, stand, move, and act in an exaggeratedly feminine manner. That was followed by feminine grooming, where Sam would learn all the hair and makeup skills he needed to make himself "pretty and attractive to boys." Domestic arts and pink collar work skills came next, with feminine dance rounding out the day. For a minute, Susan thought that her son was actually going to throw up. She wished he would; right on that smirking Cravitz woman. Nonetheless, when Ms. Gladstone laughingly asked him if he was ready to fling open the closet doors, he managed a weak smile and nodded.

Gladys cleared her throat, assuring herself that she had everyone's attention. "Susan, you must be so thrilled that little Sally here is finally able to be herself."

Susan gritted her teeth. "Oh, I am, Gladys. And what a big help you've been," she muttered.

"My pleasure," she purred. "But we're just getting started."

Clara giggled loudly as Ms. Gladstone opened a box and took out a rather large, realistic looking phallus, complete with testicles.

Sam stared at the thing, horrified. "What's…what's that?"

"The shape should be familiar. It's the delivery system for your Teen Titty Formula."

Susan bit her lip. "Teen Titty Formula?"

Ms. Gladstone broke in, addressing Susan in a condescending tone: "Well, Susan, one of the most dominant sissy traits is a deep longing to have a feminine body, with wide womanly hips and large, feminine breasts. Of course, real boys would be horrified to feminize their body in that way. Just imagine how humiliating it would be to be a boy with boobs,' she laughed. "Since Sam's told us over and over how girlish he is, I've mixed up this extra-strength formula--- especially for him."

Clara gushed, "I can't wait to see Sally with her own set of pretty D-cup breasts. The boys will just love her!"

Sam's face turned red-hot as he struggled not to cry. Breasts? His life would be over.

Smiling evilly, Doris continued: "It's a very potent blend of estrogen. The Teen Titty Formula will literally bathe Sally's body in many times the amount of estrogen that real girls have in their system at their peak. Real sissies just adore what the hormones do to them." Doris didn't mention the additive to enhance the boy's embarrassment when dressing or acting like a female. It was a drug she had the Sissy Mister chemists design when it was reported that a few of her customers eventually became accustomed to dressing and acting as girls in public. Even though the boys still hated appearing as sissies, Doris was adamant that the chemists come up with a drug that preserved the exquisite humiliation and shame in her customers. After all, that's what made her job so enjoyable. After some trial and error, Doris' team of women chemists had developed an additive that heightened a boys sense embarrassment and humiliation when doing anything remotely feminine and altered the boy's cognitive function so that he was acutely aware of the fact that he was behaving or dressing in a feminine fashion. Doris licked her lips at the prospect of turning another teen boy into a simpering, sissy playtoy, his life an endless treadmill of embarrassment. When she mentioned the additive to Gladys, she had guffawed her approval and even asked Doris to give Sam a larger than usual dose in his formula.

Susan gasped and her head spun as Gladys gave her a feral grin. Sam's face had drained of color, and she saw that he was struggling to keep his composure. Susan exclaimed; "Now wait just a minute. This is too much! You can't be serious!"

Clara came over and consoled Susan. "Oh, you poor dear. I know what a shock this must be for you—your son with feminine, womanly breasts. I felt the same way, but Doris assured me that without exception, sissy boys like Sally find this extremely exciting and satisfying. Doris is the expert. You do want Sally to be happy, don't you? Just think. He'll need to wear a bra!"

Relishing in the expected dismay of her neighbor, Gladys took the dispenser from Doris, and cooed. "Please, allow me. I feel so badly for ever doubting Susan's fairy princess. I want to make it up to him by giving him his very first dose of Titty Teen Formula."

"How thoughtful, Gladys," Clara said.

Gladys inserted a large white cartridge into the device and glared at Sam, taking in the fear and despair in his eyes. "I think it would be best, dearie, if you kneel. That's it. Like he was in a trance, Sam meekly complied as Gladys put her hand on his shoulder and forced him to his knees. She then placed her hand on the back of Sam's head and firmly pulled it toward the device she held in her other hand. She could feel Sam tried to turn his head and resist but he was no match for her. "That's a good girl; open up!" she laughed. "Wrap your lips around it. No need to be shy. To get the device to release the formula, you have use your lips and your tongue."

Sam faltered, struggling as Gladys pushed the horrid thing against his lips, while she roughly gripped the hair on the back of his head to keep him from moving. Finally, Sam was left with no choice but to close his eyes and take the realistic appendage in his mouth.

Sam thought he would literally die of humiliation as he moved his lips up and down the device, fighting the urge to gag. Opening his eyes, he looked up and saw the circle of women staring down at him. Clara wore a huge smile, thoroughly entertained at the show she thought Sam was enjoying. Gladys and Doris glared at him, happily mocking him with their eyes and waiting expectantly for him to object. The look on his mother's face was the most disturbing; her brow was knitted angrily and her disgust with Sam was obvious. Sam withered under her disappointed glare. Instinctively, he knew that his relationship with his mother was forever changed. He closed his eyes rather than face her condemning stare.

When she realized that Sam wasn't going to confess, Doris spoke up impatiently, looking at her watch; "Susan, perhaps you could give Sally a few… pointers. We do have a lot to do."

Susan's face burned red-hot; she knew that Gladys and her ally were relishing in humiliating her and her son. Under her breath, she cursed her son for putting them both through this. "Sam—Sally! You have to do it faster. And for gosh sake, take more of it in your throat. Use your tongue!"

Sam thought he would die with humiliation. Nonetheless, he tried to follow his mother's angry instructions, and shortly he felt the device begin to pulse. At almost the same time he felt a thick fluid splash against the back of his throat.

Gladys smiled triumphantly. "Very good, Sally. Remember to swallow every last drop! If you don't, we'll have to do it again. It's important that you get a full dose of the Titty Teen Formula."

Susan was mortified as Gladys pulled the glistening thing out of her miserable son's mouth. Clara on the other hand was mesmerized by the whole display. "Sally, darling. You do that as well as any real girl! I can't wait until you have a boyfriend!"

"He's so lucky to have a mother with so much experience who can give him advice," Gladys trilled.

As Gladys and Doris shared a mirthful laugh, Susan couldn't stand it anymore. She quickly excused herself, explaining that she had errands to run. The truth was that she simply couldn't stand to witness her son's debasement at the hands of her hated rival anymore.

"Before you go, Susan, let me give you a copy of this. It's a guidebook of sorts." Doris handed Susan a book. To her chagrin, it was entitled, Forever Femme, From Little League to Little Lady.

Susan sipped coffee at home, vivid images of Sam's shameful behavior that morning etched in her mind. As the day wore on, there were constant reminders of the consequences of Sam's decision to deceive Ms. Johnson. A contractor sent by the Sissy Mister arrived early in the morning, followed by furniture delivery vans. Sam's bedroom now sported new pink carpet and paint, as well as excessively feminine furniture and accessories. Everything seemed to be covered in bows, ribbons, and layers of pink tulle and chiffon. Later in the afternoon, a large, pink delivery van pulled up and began unloading box after box and to the garage. The beehive of activity only fueled Susan's resentment of the intrusion on her household caused by her son's refusal to accept responsibility for his actions, and she obsessed about it into the afternoon.

Sam was physically and emotionally exhausted as Doris finally announced the end of his last Forever Femme class. Sam desperately wanted to retreat to the safety of his own home, lick his wounds, and have a respite from the incessant demands of that horrid Gladstone woman and her demented staff of women. Clara had left the store shortly after his mother, and since that time, Gladys and Doris had only escalated their cruelty.

The thought of his mother worried Sam. When she stormed out of the store, he had never seen her so upset. Sam resolved to do whatever it took to placate her and get back on her good side. Propitiously, as soon as Sam walked around the corner, he saw Susan waiting for him. To his chagrin, Mark was with her, a wide grin stretching his face. The two large Sissy Mister shopping bags at her side troubled him. Surely she hadn't bought anything at that disgusting place.

Gladys shoved Sam directly in front of Susan and Mark. "Well? Isn't Sally just darling? He's really starting to look like a sissy, wouldn't you say? No one will mistake him for a normal boy now. Susan, dear, I couldn't help but notice that when he's all dolled up, he bears a striking resemblance to you. You two could be twins…twin sisters," she laughed.

Sam was mortified as Mark and his mother slowly took in his appearance from head to toe. On Sam's feet were four-inch black patent leather heels, feminine bows adorning the pointed toes. His legs were encased in gleaming nude stockings. Tight, high-waisted black satin shorts reminded Susan of something a twenties cigarette girl might wear. The ultra-feminine blouse was the higlight of the outfit. The chiffon confection had enormous puff sleeves that were tightly cuffed high on Sam's now-tiny upper arms. Equally enormous was the flat, black satin bow designed to lie against his " bosom. " Susan blinked as she noticed the large, unmistakable twin projectiles of a well-filled bra underneath the bow. She marveled at the old fashioned, white gloves. In the crook of one arm, Sam held the handle of a large, black purse that matched his shoes perfectly. In his other hand was a lace handkerchief daintily grasped between thumb and forefinger.

Susan approached the shame-faced boy. She began fussing with Sam's blouse; straightening the bow and puffing out the sleeves. "He does look more like a sissy, Gladys. You and Doris have done a wonderful job. Mark and I are just so thrilled that Sally's coming out of the closet and can finally be true to herself."

Sam cringed. The way his mother was looking at him—something wasn't right. Mark interrupted his thoughts.

"What a fag! You really are a sissy," Mark teased. "Look at that hair! And all that make-up!"

The women had dyed Sam's hair a bright platinum blonde; it was "done" in a stiff bouffant of lacquered curls. His face was literally plastered with make-up: an obvious coating of pale foundation, a thick cupid's bow of red lipstick, an unnecessary circle of blush on each cheek, eyes heavy with shadow and mascara, dramatic false eyelashes weighing down each lid. A thick line of liquid eyeliner punctuated the look.

Sam didn't respond to his brother, but instead closed his eyes in an effort to block out the horrible memory of his experience with Hazel and the Sissy Mister beauty parlor that occupied a part of the first floor of the store. He thought he would die of shame and humiliation as Gladys had mocked him throughout the experience of getting his hair dyed, cut, and curled. "Sally, darling, that champagne blond color is just you. And is there any thing that screams sissy like a perfect little bouffant? I can't wait to give these pictures to Biff and his friends. They'll never believe that their former buddy is a curler queen!"

Well-meaning Ms. Johnson only made matters worse. "What a chic little 'do!' she gushed. I can't wait until your hair is longer so that Hazel can give you a real girly-boy hairdo. I have just the thing in mind. It's the style the actresses back in my day used to wear their hair on special occasions. It takes forever to style, but it looks so feminine and chic when it's done. We better buy you lots of hairspray," she giggled.

The rest of the morning had been spent selecting and trying on his new wardrobe. Ms. Gladstone had assembled the most horribly outdated and outrageously feminine outfits, convincing Ms. Johnson that any Forever Femme girl would absolutely adore them. Ms. Johnson had been thrilled, since the every outfit reminded her of a favorite dress she, her sisters or her mother had worn. There was nothing in collection that any real girl would wear. Sam knew that his hair, make-up and clothes all conspired to mark him as an shamefully feminine boy, all done up to a girlish extreme. Worse, as the morning wore on, the embarrassment at being dressed like a sissy pantywaist didn't abate—in fact, it seemed to get worse. The idea of even his mother and brother seeing him dressed like that was hardly bearable. Sam was completely mortified.

The sound of Mark's voice brought him back to the presence. "Hey Sally! Do a girly twirl so we can see your sissy outfit," he laughed.

Sam resisted the urge to tell his brother to shove it. Instead, he replied, "Maybe later." No sooner had he uttered the words than he gasped and clutched his groin.

Doris approached him and spoke sharply through gritted teeth. "Sally, you stupid girl! What was the first rule you learned in your Sissy Essentials class?"

Sam's eyes teared up from a mixture of pain and humiliation. "A sissy is submissive at all times," he answered.


"And he does whatever he's told ….without question or hesitation."

As Sam recovered his composure and dried his eyes with his hanky, Ms. Gladstone addressed Susan and Mark. "I'm sorry for that little display. Sissies like Sally who have "repressed their girly side" so completely need a firm hand to live up to their sissy potential."

"What's that thing?" Mark asked eagerly, pointing to the gold key fob in Ms. Gladstone's hand.

"This is the controller for our Pansy in Pain training system. You've seen electronic collars used to train dogs and eradicate their undesirable behaviors?"

Mark nodded, "You bet."

"Well this operates on the same principle. Instead of a collar, I've implanted a tiny receiver chip at a location where a small shock is very effective. The controller is set on the lowest setting right now, but as time goes by and my expectations of femininity from your brother increase, so will the setting on the controller. I must say, it's very effective in bringing out the girl in boys like your brother."

To Sam's astonishment and dismay, Susan said, "How delightful. I assume I'll get one for home use?"

"Of course," Doris grinned, producing an identical unit.

Sam couldn't believe his eyes as his mother removed the controller from its box, adjusted it and gave it an enthusiastic push. sending spasms of pain through Sam's tortured groin. As he whimpered in pain, Susan said in a saccharine voice, "I thought your brother told you to give us a girly little twirl to show off your pretty new outfit."

Sam didn't wait to dry his tears; he quickly did a clumsy twirl, hoping to appease his mother. Although Mark pointed and laughed, Ms. Gladstone was not amused. "Sally! That was pathetic! A fairy like you should be able to do that in his sleep. You better have that perfected before tomorrow," she warned.

"Y-yes, Ms. Gladstone," Sam said through his tears.

Finally, Susan collected the shopping bags and led her sons from the store, promising to have Sam back bright and early for the next day's classes. As they approached the front door, though, Sam came to a panicked stop.

"Mom, I can't go outside like this. I'm a boy, I'm wearing this girly outfit, my hair is done like a prissy lady, and I'm wearing make-up, just like a woman. I'll be a laughing stock!" Sam's heart pounded at the prospect of anyone seeing him like that.

"Of course people will laugh; you look like a ridiculous sissy. Now come along and stop dawdling," she said airily. She held up the controller so Sam could see it.

Sam reluctantly exited the store, nearly apoplectic with embarrassment.

"Don't slouch, Sally. And don't forget to smile." When they got to the car, Susan chirped loudly, "Mark, don't forget your manners; open the door for Sally. We might as well treat him like a girl; he's certainly no boy!"

As soon as he was in the relative safety of the car, Sam erupted. "Mom! What are you doing? When you push that controller thing feels like someone snapped a big rubber band on my privates. It hurts like heck! I can't wait to get home out of these stupid clothes and wash off this awful make-up. This has been the worst day of my life!" Sam flopped angrily against the back of the car seat, his arm crossed underneath his new bosom.

"Don't be such a silly girl," Susan trilled lightly. "You know, it wasn't until this morning that I realized that you've been telling Ms. Johnson the truth all along. When I saw you sucking on that Titty Teen Formula dispenser like a fifty-cent whore, it all became clear to me. Mark and I really must apologize for not seeing the truth; that you're tired of hiding Sally and you want to give her complete control of your life."

Sam moaned, "Mo-om." Don't say that stuff. It's disgusting. You know it's not true!"

In an instant, Susan's demeanor changed, and she turned to face her son. "I'll tell you what I know! I know that any normal boy would have gladly risked going to jail rather than let those women doll you up like a Fifties Barbie, make you suck you estrogen from a …well, never mind…so that he can grow large, feminine breasts. I know that I had to watch my son, my own pride and joy, suck on that… thing like a teenaged girl in heat while Gladys Cravitz watched and laughed. I'll don't think I can ever forgive you for that," she choked. Susan regained her composure. "As far as I'm concerned, Sam is gone; I don't have two sons anymore, I have a boy and a sissy. From now on, you can expect to be treated like a sissy. You've made your choice, Sally! From now on, you're going to start acting like the sissy you want to be. You're going to gush about your prissy little outfits. You'll tell everyone who'll listen about how thrilled you are about growing your own breasts. You'll happily put into practice everything you learn at the Sissy Mister. You'll beg Clara and Ms. Gladstone to help you become more and more girlish. Understand? You wanted to be Forever Femme? Well, you've got it! And just so you don't forget…" Susan pushed the controller button.

As Susan pulled into the garage, she turned and faced Sam. "Welcome to the rest of your life, Sally."

Sam's pulse quickened as he took a hesitant step. He could feel his mother watching him, waiting for him to slip up and give him a shock. Sam fixed a plastic smile on his face and tried to replicate the walk he'd practiced all morning; short mincing steps, rotating hips, elbows tucked closely at his side, bosom thrust out, hands either on his hips or at his shoulders.

Sam wanted to wipe the smirk off his brother's face as he held the door open and gave him a slight bow. "Ladies first, Sally."

When Sam ignored his brother, he felt the unmistakable pain from the controller. "Oww!" he yelped.

Sally Smith, that's no way for a sissy to behave! What do you say to your brother?"

"T-thank you, Mark."

"Don't mention it, Pansy!" he laughed.

"Go put away your new sissy wardrobe and get ready for dinner. Mark, why don't you help your dainty and delicate brother in case he needs to lift something heavier than his precious little purse."

With each new item that his brother put away in his new feminine boudoir, Mark laughed louder and louder. He could almost feel the heat from his brother's face and knew that Sam was dying to tell him off. He decided to rub his brother's face in it. "Wow, you really had me fooled all these years, Sally. What a charade you kept up. All these years you wanted to dress and act like a girl?"

"Can it, Sam. Look what they've done to me. And now Mom is really mad. I'm so screwed!"

Mark smirked at his brother. "I'll say. Lucky you weren't much of a real boy to begin with. From now on, you'll only refer to yourself as a girl—a female. Understand?" He watched his brother smile weakly while his eyes shot daggers at him.

Sam arrived at dinner to find his mother and brother gathered around his mother's laptop. "Oh hi, dear. We were just reliving some of the highlights from your day."

Sam winced. Gladys had said that she was going to make sure his mother got a daily report of his progress to becoming "the little lady he was meant to be." He had prayed she was kidding.

"Oh look, here you are in the salon. Look at the smile on your face; you just loved having your hair curled and teased didn't you? And here you are learning to knit; putting on your ballet tu-tu; even learning how to apply your lipstick." What a busy day you had," she smirked. "Now dry those pretty eyes and tell your brother and me how much you love your pretty outfit. Or do you need a reminder?"

Sam concentrated on two things; trying to keep a smile on his face and trying not to cry. After dinner, his mother and brother made him put on one of his new dresses, a floral house dress from the fifties with a large lacy white collar and cuffs, sash that tied in a bow in the back, and a large circle skirt with an tulle petticoat giving it body. Sam thought he would throw us as he twirled over and over until his mother was satisified. His body ached: the panty girdle that so delighted Ms. Johnson was crushing him, as was the stiff, heavily boned corset. The heavy breast forms glued to his chest bounced and swayed with every move.

As he got ready for bed, Sam was mortified as he removed his dress and stood before his mother in his heels, stockings, black panty girdle, corset, and bra. Sam's head spun as he looked at his reflection in the mirror. Two weeks ago, he had been a regular boy looking forward to summer vacation and kicking back with his friends. Now, he was standing in a revolting girly bedroom that belonged to him, wearing an array of old-fashioned ladies lingerie.

"Aren't we just so pretty!" she taunted. "Is that a panty girdle? Oooh, it looks so tight. I bet it's really uncomfortable. It sure is pretty, though, with all those bows and lace appliqués." Susan watched fascinated as her son wriggled out of the wicked little girdle, a smile crossing her face without her even realizing it. And look at that darling bra! Those cups are so big! That Teen Titty Formula sure works fast!" she teased.

Sam didn't laugh at his mother's joke. Ms. Gladstone had glued the D-cup breast forms to his chest, giggling about how Sam would soon have no need for them. The breast forms were heavy and pendulous. Already the shoulder straps of the bra were cutting into Sam's shoulders.

The next morning, Mark's raucous laughter announced Sam's arrival at the breakfast table. Sam knew what a sight he was: his mother had set his hair in tight rows of small rollers, encased them in a frilly night cap, applied a thick night mask, and arrayed him and one of his new nightgowns, a glamorous black peignoir that looked like it was straight from a Grace Kelly movie. His pleading had only made his mother angrier. Sam now knew what the second level of the controller felt like; it dropped him to his knees like a hard knee to an unprotected groin. His mother had been in no mood for apologies. Sam had no choice but to act like his mother instructed.

The next couple of weeks were the worst of Sam's life. His mother had organized a "coming out party" where the entire neighborhood was introduced to the new sissy. The men had glared at him like he was a traitor or something, while the women delighted in teasing him about his prissy dress and bouffant hair-do. The classes at the Sissy Mister became more and more humiliating. Ms. Johnson was in ecstasy as Sam's behavior became more and more outrageously feminine. Sam had resisted as much as he could for a week or so, but when the controller level moved to three, the entire focus of his being was to keep Ms. Gladstone and his mother happy. He was rapidly becoming a simpering little sissy, just as he had represented himself to be.

At home, he had become the "house wife," responsible for all of the cleaning and household errands. Thanks to the additive in his Titty Teen Formula, every time he appeared in public brought him new feelings of embarrassment and humiliation. Mark and his mother competed to see who could dream up the most humiliating "adventures" for Sally: getting a shampoo and set at the local salon on a busy Saturday; taking a Pilates class that was full of college girls; joining a knitting circle of young mothers; even walking in a breast cancer fundraiser when his breasts came in.

Eventually, Gladys Cravitz lost interest in Sam. Once Susan had a change of attitude toward her son, her project had lost its appeal. However, she still enjoyed hearing Biff recount the sissy-boy's latest humiliation. And the special meeting where he was introduced at the Junior League was priceless. Nina and Heather could be so mean!

Susan found Sam at his mirror. He was wearing a body-hugging navy sheath with a round white collar and three-quarter length sleeves. Not noticing his mother, he busily primped and preened, patting his "big" hair into place and giving his bouffant a thorough going over with the can of hairspray in his hand. The candy-sweet smell made Susan think of the Sissy Mister beauty shop.

As Sam took out his compact and patted his face with the sponge, Susan interrupted. "Don't dawdle, girlie. Your date will be here any minute for. I think he's got a special night planned. I've put some protection in your purse. "

Sam cringed slightly, but kept a smile planted on his lips. A few weeks earlier, he had celebrated when Ms. Johnson had torn up the documents that forced him to pretend he was an effeminate sissy. But when he excitedly brought up returning to malehood, his mother had laughed in his face. "You've got to be kidding. The way your boobies look in a bullet bra and a pretty angora sweater? And don't you have a ballet recital next month. How thoughtful of Ms. Gladstone to let you dance with a real girls' dance troupe. I hear ticket sales are through the roof. Besides, who would do all the cooking and cleaning?"

When a return to pants was denied, he tried to convince his mother to at least let him wear some modern fashions; after all, even girls wore jeans. But she had insisted that he looked like he stepped off the cover of an early sixties Vogue. He looked like such a fag! And the behavior his mother insisted on was even worse; the way she made him giggle and flip his wrists, the way he had to squeal when he saw a dress that he "liked," the way he was required to constantly primp and fuss over his head and make-up. Susan had simply replied that he wasn't a girl, and wasn't about to let him be confused for one.

Sam was even more upset when Mark revealed that he had sent the e-mail pretending to be Ray Frink, who was a complete fiction. The picture was one he had found on the web. Mark thought it was hilarious that he had been responsible for keeping his brother in skirts.

As he heard Mark greet his date at the door, Sam checked the contents of his little clutch purse and adjusted the veil on his pillbox hat; it was going to be another long night.