Preface: I found this story about 30 years ago in a small publication
without a notice of copyright or reserved rights. I never saw any
other story by the same author. I believe the story is too good to be
forgotten, so I turned it from printed to electronic form. If the
author objects, she should contact me at RhondWagrm@aol.com and I'll
do my best to remove it from all archives. Hopefully - if she sees it
here - she'll agree with me and take this form of re-issue as a
compliment to her writing skills, which I admire.

To all others: enjoy it.

Rhonda Wagram

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				A Male Turns Female

				By Connie Verbeck


Miss Gloria Chesterham The Ritz Hotel Paris, France
	
January 29, 1901

Dear Gloria:

	It is now exactly a week since our good Queen Victoria passed
away. Papa has now returned from the funeral and told us all about
this sad event.

	With things at home gradually coming back to normal, I want to
write you and thank you for your nice letter and Christmas
greetings. I hope you had a good time also in fabulous Paris. I wish I
could be there, too, in the midst of the social season.

	We had a nice white Christmas with the usual large pinetree in
the ballroom and many guests visiting. And, as usual, we spent one
evening caroling with the servants.

	Since Papa entered the House of Lords, he has been very
busy. He feels that the aristocracy of England should become active in
order to fight the advance of dangerous socialist doctrine, as the new
labour party is making inroads everywhere. Papa has been very active
in politics ever since general Gordon was sacrificed to the dervishes
at Khartoum by Chamberlain.

	You may wonder about my knowledge of such matters, being that
I am a girl. Well, Mama has been very active in politics, too. She has
joined the women's suffragette movement. Although it embarrasses Papa
terribly, she continues to have meetings for the liberty of women, and
some of it has rubbed off on me, I guess. I think it is about time we
women of the world attained equality with men. To do so, we must be
interested in world affairs and politics instead of merely being the
inferiors of males, tending house, and making babies. Do you feel the
same way?

	On New Year's Eve we had a large affair with many important
government people present as well as friends from neighboring
estates. I wish you could have been here to see with your own eyes how
attractive our new maid Anne looked and how nicely she performed her
duties, serving all the guests and doing all the things a ladies' maid
is suppose to do in fashionable homes like ours.

	Although you seemed fascinated by my story of how a mere male
was transformed into a beautiful maid-servant, I read some doubt
between the lines of your last letter.

	Well, I assure you, everything I told you about my former male
step-cousin Armand becoming our maid is true! Fortunately, as you are
not here to see for yourself, I enclose with this letter photographs
taken by me during the past few months with the camera Papa gave me
for my eighteenth birthday.

	I guess the suffragette movement motivated both Mama and
myself to dominate a male when the opportunity presented itself. To
answer all your burning questions, I will tell you the whole story. I
hope you will find it entertaining, and if at times it is a trifle
naughty, please don't be shocked.

	You already know that Armand was the stepson of uncle Richard,
who was a general in the British army. I gather from gossip that the
general's second was with a woman way below his class, and Armand was
the son of this woman by a previous marriage.

	The family strongly disapproved of his second wife, but uncle
Richard was always a wild scoundrel, as Mama told me, and not one to
heed family counsel. Uncle Richard died in a riot in Alexandria during
the trouble with the Arabs, when Armand was still a young boy, and
Armand lived all this time in London with his mother on a small
pension in near-poverty.

	We, of course, never met until Armand came to live with us, as
the family completely ignored them. But his mother died last year and,
there being nobody else, Papa felt that we had to take him in.

	So he arrived ten months ago, a quiet unassuming youth of
sixteen who had only finished grammar school and had then served as an
errand-boy for some merchant to help his mother financially.

	Armand had very few clothes when he arrived on our doorstep,
and he certainly was not very bright. His eyes were wide in wonderment
about the luxurious circumstances in which we lived.

	Nobody paid much attention to him. Papa did not care, and
mother ignored him as an offspring of "uncle Richard's hussy," as she
called her.

	In the beginning I used to take him out riding, but I soon was
bored to death by this poorly educated lad - he had never even heard
of lord Byron! - and I soon treated him as an ordinary lower-class
lad.

	Armand was still in short pants, as many lower-class boys are,
and he seemed to be continually overwhelmed by his surroundings,
frequently making me laugh at his faux pas. But he looked up to me as
if to a princess, and I soon learned I could order him around and make
him do anything I asked.

	He obeyed without question, and i'm sure he was too terrified
of Mama to ever complain.

	I became more and more demanding, and he dutifully obeyed my
every whim, no matter what I asked him to do. And that is how it all
started.

	Several months ago, our old faithful maid Bessie died, and
mother desperately combed the village for other young women she could
train to take Bessie's place. In the meanwhile we were short of help.

	Fancy me, the daughter of Lord Rothmere, having to do her own
laundry and ironing and such things. I am much too fragile for manual
work, so I made Armand do these chores, starting out with simple
duties such as filling my water basin and carafe and tending the fire
in my bedroom. As I watched him doing these things with a mixture of
disdain and amusement, an idea occurred to me. I ran to Mama and asked
her whether we still had some of my old white pinafores I used to wear
until I turned sixteen. Remember them?

	"What in heaven's name do you want them for?" mother inquired.

	Not telling her the real reason, I said I needed them to
protect my lovely dresses as I did maid's work.

	"But they'll be much too short for you?" Mama protested.

	"Well, better them than nothings," Mama got them out for me,
and I held one out in front of me, shaking out its many ruffles and
furbelows. "They will do nicely," I said, grinning, then I returned to
my room.

	Then I called Armand. When he came in, I told him I did not
want him handling my nice things while he wore such grimy clothes. So
I made him put his arms in the armholes and, turning him around, I
buttoned him up the back. It was a perfect fit, as he is small and
petite for a boy his age.  Armand was terribly embarrassed as I made
him twirl about and he felt the lace hems swirling about his bare
knees. I started to take off his tie, which he wore under his Eton
collar, but he protested that everybody would think he was a girl. I
decided to let him keep his tie for the time being. "You will have to
wear this all the time in the house," I told him firmly. I saw he felt
terribly, and I was surprised that he did not dare to argue or
refuse. Apparently, I had more of a held on him than I had realized.

	Cleverly, I sent him on an errand to Mama, I had to laugh at
the way his shoulder ruffles and hem flounce fluttered busily as the
left the room. His short pants peeked out from under the hems and did
not look right, but at that time I did not know what to do about it.

	Miss Johnson, Mama's secretary, told me later what Mama's
reaction was when she saw Armand in his pinafore for the first time,
her eyes became as big as saucers, and her pleasure was obvious, for
the very first time, she smiled a little at him as he gave her my
message, "please, Aunty, Helen asks whether you have any ironing for
me to do."

	"We certainly do," Mama told him on recovering her aplomb. "Go
ask Mary, the cook, to show you where the clothes are in the laundry
room."

	I joined him in the laundry room a few moments later. Mary
seemed to accept his dressing in a pinnie as a sign that he was being
relegated to the servant class. She became very condescending and
familiar, calling him "dearie." I asked Mary to show him how to iron
all those things, and she spent half an hour with him. As he
obediently wrestled with the four big piles of underwear, sheets,
tablecloths, etc., etc., she continued to check on him every now and
then, making him do a piece over if it were not perfect.

	This was Armand's first lesson in domestic service. I must
admit that he did the ironing rather neatly, getting better as he went
along, showing he had a real inclination for this type of work.

	When he was finished, he came to my room, saying that he
wanted to freshen up for dinner and asking me to take off the
pinafore, since he could not reach the buttons in the back."

	Jokingly at first, I said, "no, Armanda, I told you you'll
have to wear it all the time around the house."

	"Even when I'm not helping you?" he stammered, his face a
study in discomfort and disbelief when I nodded.

	"Of course," I pointed out. "We'll never know when I shall
need your help again as the evening progresses, will we, now?"

	Morosely, he turned around and went to his room.

	You should have seen the look on the face of Jim, Papa's
valet, who served in the dining room as a footman, when Armand arrived
for dinner, his hair neatly combed and a fresh tie on, but still
blushingly wearing his cute pinafore.

	Mother and I exchanged looks, and I now knew that I had her
support for whatever I was planning for Armand. It gave me a great
amount of pleasure, this feeling that I was teaching a man what
equality means - and then some, I guess Mama had that same feeling,
being able to get back at a mere male.

	When Mary brought in the food, she told Armand to help Jim
serve and to carry the empty plates and dishes to the kitchen. When
the boy came back from his first trip blushing furiously, I knew that
the rest of the staff - our coachman, stable-boys, gardeners, and all
- had enjoyed seeing him nicely pinafored.

	After dinner, Mama even condescended to speak to the lad. "You
served us very nicely, Armand. You may do it at all meals. Later in
the evening, I made Armand turn the pages for me while I played some
Chopin. I could see that he was impressed by my accomplishments in
music. Then Mama and I did our usual needlework, and I decided to
teach him to embroider, giving him some simple beginners' work. Now he
had something to do also in his idle moments and Mama looked on
approvingly. He must have felt silly, but we made him get used to that
same routine every evening afterward that we did not have guests in.

	After two weeks, everybody in the house had become used to
seeing Armand in his pinafore, and I guess he himself had adjusted to
it as well. He seemed to take his new duties as a maid in stride, so I
decided that he was ready for the next step.

	In the morning when he reported to me I told him that he
slumped too much and that I had something for him to wear which would
help him achieve a better stance and posture.

	You may have guessed already what I had in mind for poor
Armand, Gloria dear.

	Calling in Jim, our footman, I instructed him to take the
corset I gave him and to lace Armand's waist in to the full twenty-two
inches, getting the corset fully closed.

	Jim smiled and then told me a story about a family where he
had been employed before he became Papa's valet years ago. A
disobedient boy in the household had been completely cured of his
recalcitrance by what Jim called petticoat punishment, and he
recounted the feminization of the young man in detail, while Armand
listened in helpless horror.

	Jim now told Armand to remove all of his outer clothes. The
boy was terribly ashamed at being undressed in front of me, especially
to have to ask Jim to undo the buttons of his pinafore. hen the boy
was finally down to undershirt and shorts, Jim managed to get the
boy's waist corseted in to a neat twenty-two inches. So tight were the
corsets that Armand had difficulty pulling on his clothes, being red
in the face and puffing for breath. When he was ready, I fastened on
his pinafore once more.

	While I knew he must have been quite uncomfortable, his
posture was much improved, chest forced forward and fanny protruding
in a remarkable way. Too bad most of his good points were hidden under
the loose pinafore, including a rather formidable tool which had
reared up during his corseting and which I could not help but see the
outline of.

	Surreptitiously, I felt his waist while appearing to
straighten out the skirt of his pinafore. It was a real girlish size
now, and I knew he must be suffering from the compression.

	It was an uncomfortable week for him, and when he complained
finally about the pain some days later; I told him that it was because
of his bulky underclothes. Then, giving him some of my prettiest
chemises and knickers, I ordered him to put them on the next day under
his corset.

	You should have seen him blush as he took the lacy and
beribboned feminine undergarments, but he took them silently. I guess
he would have done anything that promised some relief from the
discomfort.

	The next morning I contrived to be present when Jim corsetted
Armand. The poor boy was terribly embarrassed at being seen in his
lacy pink silk chemise and long, nearly knee-length, knickers. But
from the way his tool stuck out in front of him as Jim pulled in the
laces, I sensed he had become aroused by the soft rustle of silk and
lace against his soft girlish skin.

	It was a real delight to see Armand going about his chores
with traces of lace and ribbon emerging from under the hems of his
pinafore at virtually every movement. Several times that day I saw him
hitch his trousers down because he was aware that his feminine
knickers showed. When I asked him how his chemise fit, his face became
as red as a peonie, and he lowered his eyes, mumbling something about
the corset hurting him less now.

	The next day Armand asked me for permission to go to the
village to have hi hair cut. I had already taken note of the fact that
his curly locks were becoming rather long and unkempt.

	I said it would be all right, but he must do it in the
afternoon after he had attended to his ironing.

	Armand came to me about four o'clock and asked me to unbutton
his pinafore so he could go to the village barber. I shook my
head. "No, Armanda, your pinafore is now your proper outfit. You'll
have to go as you are."

	He blushed and for a moment I thought he was getting
angry. However, I looked him straight in the eye, and he cowered and
looked at his feet, saying, "but Helen, I can't go to the village
looking like this. I'd look silly.

	"Balderdash!" I said, most unladylike.  "As long as you keep
your pinafores spotlessly clean and nicely starched as you have been
doing, it is nice and becoming to you, especially the sweet little
snippets of silken ribbons and lace peeping out below your skirts."

	I turned around then and left him to do as he pleased.
Needless to say, the barbershop was never mentioned again, and his
hair remains uncut, but very nicely waved and coiffed, to this day.
His reluctance to brave the village in pinnies and girlish knickers
fitted in quite well with my plans for him.

	Later, as I saw him disappear into his room, I decided that
his short pants had to be the next to go - and the sooner the better!

	But the next step was a big one. I thought long and hard about
how to get my dear boy cousin into skirts.

	Then, one evening, one of Papa's good friends, a Scotsman
named Lord McCormack, came to dinner.  He wore his kilts with dignity
and style, and suddenly it hit me that kilts were the answer!

	After having had a few whiskeys, our guest from the highlands
was arguing hotly with Mama against the feminist movement. I suppose
that scots, wearing skirts, have to be dominating and superior at all
times to compensate for their lack of trousers, don't you think so,
Gloria?

	You should have seen Lord McCormack's disgusted looks at
Armand, who silently helped serve and clear the table in his pinafore!

	The very next day I went shopping and bought two nice kilts in
red and blue plaid. I bought girl's kilts, figuring Armand would never
know the difference. In the late afternoon, when he returned with my
neatly ironed laundry, I asked him what he thought of Lord McCormack's
kilts.

	"He looks as though he belongs in them, Helen," Armand
replied.

	"Well, so do you!" I said in a very tough tone of voice, and I
handed him the kilts, saying, "Knee-socks won't look good on your
girlish legs, so you'll have to wear these long stockings."

	I gave him a pair or two of ordinary black cotton stockings
and a pair of pink garters to hold them up. I also gave him several
frilly petticoats. "They'll feel much nicer under your kilts. You may
ask Mary how to fasten them," I ordered.

	The naive boy apparently thought it fun to be copying the
clothes of the highly masculine lord McCormack, and he left with the
feminine garments over his arm.

	I stealthily followed him to make sure nothing would go
awry. I was a little surprised when he followed my orders to go ask
Mary's help, rather than Jim's. He was dumber than even I thought!
Mary and Armand went to his room, and Mary left the door an inch or
two open to preserve her propriety, just enough so I could peek in
without being seen.

	I was surprised at how sweet the boy looked in his lacy pink
silk chemise, with lovely frills about the neckline and waist, and the
matching pink silk lace knickers.

	And I could not help but notice how enticingly his manly
weapon stood out and pressed tent-like against the front of his
drawers. Mary appeared to pay not a bit of attention to his state of
excitement.

	Mary dutifully installed the petticoats and stockings and
garters, then she put the feminine kilt about his waist. I withdrew,
lest they come out and discover me peeking, but I felt a certain odd
sensation and dampness in the crotch of my own knickers. Heavens, was
I becoming attracted to this boy in skirts?

	When Armand reported to me in my room, strutting in what he
must have thought was a manly fashion, never realizing that he now was
in feminine clothes from the skin out. The faint outline of his pink
chemise showed through his boy's blouse, with which he still wore a
tie, and I wished I had thought to buy him more girlish blouses. I
wanted that accursed tie off very badly, but he kept on insisting that
this would make him look like a girl. So, grinning inwardly, I let him
retain his symbol of masculinity for a while longer.

	By now, Mama and Mary were aware of what I was trying to
do. Both thoroughly approved of my plan. As it permitted them to take
advantage of the situation and let Armand fill the position of maid.

	So they gave the transformation I had embarked on another
push. I guess Mama was unconsciously punishing Armand for his mother's
sins, as she now began treating the boy completely as a servant.

	"I don't want you to call me Aunt Elizabeth any more," she
said. "You are too old for such childishness now. You must refer to my
husband and myself as Lord and Lady Rothmere from now on."

	I could see that Armand was ashamed and confused by this, as
he blushed furiously, his face clouded with doubt. Nevertheless, he
said nicely, "Yes, Lady Rothmere."

	Mama frequently had guests for tea, many of them ardent
feminists like herself. She began insisting that Armand learn to serve
tea properly, and she began to teach him all the tricks of the
tea-serving trade. You know how meticulous Mama is about her formal
teas.

	After much trial and error, Armand finally was able to do it
to her satisfaction. Mary, the cook, then suggested that kilts were
not formal enough attire for tea-serving and poor dumb Armand replied,
"But my trousers would be even less satisfactory." he was walking into
our trap very nicely.

	"How right you are, Armanda," Mama said, smilingly. Turning to
Mary, she said, "we still have those uniforms that the young maid Lisa
used to wear before she left our service. They ought to fit our new
young maid very nicely."

	"Yes, madame," Mary replied, then turned to Armand. "Come
dearie, go up to your room. I'll be along directly."

	Within a few minutes, Mary came back carrying several dark
blue cotton uniforms over her arm. She proceeded to his room and I
sneaked after her and, when the door was closed, I listened at the
keyhole.

	There was some sort of an argument, as he apparently was
resisting the idea of putting on what was uncompromisingly a girl's
dress. I heard Mary slap his face several times. "Do as you are told,
dearie," I could hear her saying. then she ordered him to get needle
and thread from the sewing room.

	I hurriedly dashed to the music room to prevent him seeing me
spying on him. he soon came back and closed the door to his room, and
I returned to my listening post.

	All I could hear was the sound of cloth rustling and work of
sewing being done. Finally, there was a sigh of satisfaction from
Mary. "There now, that's much better. Now go show yourself nicely to
Miss Helen." I ran as fast as I could to get back to my room. I picked
up a book and was nonchalantly reading it, when he knocked on the
door. He entered, and I could not help but smile at his proper
feminine appearance. He was every inch the proper maidservant:

	There he was in a perfectly fitting maid's uniform under his
pinafore. The skirts came to just below his knees and showed smooth
stocking which were now gartered tightly to his corset.

	I felt warm with triumph and pleasure, and I felt a little
trickle of randy excitement in the crotch of my knickers. I knew I
would not stop with his feminization now, for he looked exactly like
that saucy little scullery maid, Lisa, with whom I had had a nice warm
after-hours relationship before she ran off with one of Mama's
suffragette friends. You remember my telling you all the shocking
details of our lovemaking, only the love which you and I shared while
roommates at finishing school could equal the passion I felt for
Lisa. But now I had another Lisa, and this time she had a certain
piece of fascinating equipment which would eliminate the need for a
dildo.

	I was determined not to rest until Armand was completely made
over into a well-dressed, proper maid with long skirts, a bosom, and
everything. Well, not everything, but almost everything.

	I complimented the boy on his new outfit. "It's really nice
and proper for you," I commented.

	Armand just looked embarrassed, being so terribly confused
about the rapid events that his dull mind had still not comprehended
what was happening to him.

	The only flaw in his appearance was that silly tie which he
wore at the throat of the blouse, tucked into the jumper top of his
uniform. I wanted to rip off that stupid rag and tear it to shreds,
but I controlled myself.

	It was, after all, the last straw of his masculinity, to which
he clung to with all his might. I thought that if he ever had any male
instincts, there was now left very little to be noticed.

	The next morning, I added some nice white cuffs to his uniform
and made him pose for me again, demanding that he show his pretty
scalloped petticoats by putting his foot on a chair-rung. When I
complimented him on their daintiness, the poor fool actually seemed
pleased, and I noticed a bit of a bulge in the front of his skirt.

	It seemed certain that he was finding a kind of allure in his
dainty lingerie.

	That afternoon, Mama had some socially important friends and
acquaintances in for tea, all of them feminists.

	As Armand served us luncheon, Mama looked at him, his hair
still a bit too snort, his boy's shoes, his silly tie. "He'll have to
do, I suppose," she said.

	Later on, when the guests began to arrive, Mama insisted on
his removing the necktie. I was astounded that he obeyed her without
protest of any kind. He must have been really terrified of her!

	Armand managed to serve the tea that day silently and
properly, not ever spilling a drop.

	Mama would have died if anybody had found out that this
servant was in any remote way related to us, no matter how tenuous the
connection was.

	But everybody apparently thought that he was a young girl
being trained as maid and waitress, and they were too polite to
comment about the bulky shoes or funny hairdo.

	When the guests had left, Mama was so glad it all had gone
well that she gave Armand one of her few words of praise: "You served
like a proper waitress." Later on, he came to my room as I was resting
in my negligee prior to dressing for dinner and inquired as to whether
I needed him for anything. He still looked proud and smug at Mama's
less than sensational compliment, just as if he had won the battle of
Waterloo.

	I was tempted to have him help me with my bath and dressing,
but I decided it was still a little early in his transformation for
such intimacy as that!

	That evening, Mama had another important dinner party
planned. She told Armand that he would have to eat in the kitchen with
the servants, but that he was permitted to help serve in the
diningroom.

	I think Armand finally began to experience some feeling of
humiliation then. He began to say something, but Mama looked coldly at
him and he began to stutter and finally blushed and lowered his eyes.

	"Yes, L-Lady Rothmere," he replied.

	Mary had overheard Mama's remarks, and she said, "We'll be
glad to have you with us, dearie."

	That "dearie" business was working on my nerves even. I wonder
how Armand felt!

	Mama could not help sinking in another knife into Armand's
floundering spirit. She told him that from now on he would be expected
to curtsey whenever any of the family or guests spoke to him. Mother
entrusted me with the task of instructing him how to curtsey properly,
and I spent several hours on this project up in my rooms before he was
able to curtsey respectfully and elegantly like a real serving girl.

	I decided to twist the knife a little more. In a very snooty
voice, I said, "From now on, I expect you to address me as Miss Helen,
understood?"

	I saw hesitation in his hurt expression, so I added, "If you
forget just once, I shall send you to the village in your girl's
clothes on an errand."

	Armand blanched as he saw in my eyes that I meant what I
said. And he knew that he could not expect any mercy from me. I must
admit that I had no family feelings left for this sissy maid. I got
out my camera and took picture after picture of him curtseying to me
showing off his pretty frills and laces.

	When I finally dismissed him, Armand remembered to curtsey,
saying, "Very good, Miss Helen." It had been quite a disheartening day
for him.

	The family soon got used to the services of our new maid and
took them for the most part for granted.

	Armand now had to take all his meals with the servants, who
were now on quite familiar terms with him.

	Mary had now taken him in hand. She had plucked his eyebrows,
taught him to powder and rouge his face, told him off whenever he made
some untoward masculine movement, and chided him constantly about any
ungirlish behavior.

	Soon he was behaving so femininely that not even she could
find fault with him. She also began to supervise all his spare time
activities, putting him to work in the sewing room repairing clothes,
and he was kept busy from early morning to late night like all the
other servants.

	I convinced mother that he should be given more girlish shoes,
and she promptly sent Mary down to the village to buy two pairs with
medium heels.

	I asked Mary if she could do anything with his hair, but she
replied, "It's not quite long enough, Miss Helen, but Lisa's caps
should be able to hide it until it is."

	From that day on, Armand was obliged to wear a large white
maid's cap to cover most of his head and hide his hair, except for
some curly locks which Mary arranged so as to show in front and on the
side.

	Mama also had remarked to Mary one day that while Armand
walked nicely now in his girl's shoes, perhaps a tighter corset would
also help improve his appearance.

	He had gotten completely used to his twenty-two-inch corsets,
so she ordered Mary to ask the local corsetiere to come to the house
and measure him for a new corset.

	"We ought to get him down to an eighteen-inch waist," Mama
said. "That would look very nice."

	"Yes, Mama," I said with a giggle, "and it should be a longer
corset that will also cover his bosom." I blushed a little to be using
such a naughty word to Mama.

	But Mama thought it was also funny, and she instructed Mary to
make sure that the new corset had some padding in the right
places. Mary, too, was pleased at the idea.

	When the lady came to take his measurements the next day,
Armand knew that he was in for some tighter lacing. However, by now,
he had become so browbeaten and subservient and used to his position
in the household that he did not even protest.

	Not that we would have paid any attention to his protests. As
far as we were concerned, he was now a poor insignificant illiterate
working girl.