The TV Summer Camp
by Chrissie LaFemme
The story of Alan Slocum
01:25 hours Christmas Day
Hannah Slocum was lying in bed; she was restless. Her husband was
asleep beside her; she could hear his deep breathing even with the
heavy rain beating against the window.
Her mind turned to that fateful day, September 15 to be exact, when the
specialist had told her the results of her tests. I'm sorry, Mrs.
Slocum, he had started. What he had to say had confirmed her worst
fears: she would not be able to have any more children. Her yearning
for a daughter (in her dreams the baby was always a girl) was cruelly
shattered.
The news had devastated her. She had sought solace and comfort from
her husband but he was too pre-occupied with his new job. His
unfeeling attitude and lack of sympathy had rankled. Deeply.
Then in October came the second and equally devastating blow: the
arrival of an anonymously posted pinked-hued envelope containing
crystal clear photographs of her husband's affair with his secretary.
Today would see her getting her revenge.
07:55 hours
They were roused by the noise of their only son, Alan, holding a
Christmas stocking.
"Look what Santa left at the end of my bed!" the boy exclaimed
excitedly.
"Happy Christmas, darling," his mother said, giving him a warm hug.
"Happy Christmas, son," Marty Slocum said, patting his head
affectionately.
"Let's see what Santa has left under the tree!" Hannah Slocum suggested
to her son. Throwing on her dressing-gown, she took the boy by the
hand and went down to the large living-room.
The boy was delighted with the presents he received from Santa. His
mother told him that she had a special present for him which she would
give him later; in the meanwhile he would have to promise to be very
good.
The six year old's excitement subsided as he remembered why she was
asking for this special favour: "Aw, Mom, do I really have to go
through with this?" he pleaded.
Hannah Slocum nodded her head firmly and added: "We'll have breakfast
now. Then we'll give you a shower and fix your hair," she said
crisply. "Cassie is coming to collect you after nine."
10:00 hours
The church was full of happy, chattering children and smiling parents.
Traditionally the children of the parish performed a Nativity play at
this Mass and there was a buzz of excitement among the congregation.
Hannah Slocum was straining to catch a glimpse of her son.
"What part is Alan playing?" her husband whispered.
"Sssshhh," she returned. "They're going to start now."
As they watched the start of the play, Hannah Slocum idly speculated if
her husband would even recognise their son's appearance.
The boy and girl playing Joseph and Mary appeared and were soon
followed by the Shepherds and by the Three Wise Men.
They were followed by six angels. They were identically dressed in
white full-length dresses (which the women watching in the audience
knew were First Communion dresses), white panty-hose and white ballet
slippers. Each angel wore gold tinsel in a halo around their heads; in
the case of five of the six angels the tinsel was attached to a hair
band. In the case of the sixth the tinsel had been pinned directly
onto the child's hair.
As with the Shepherds and Three Wise Men before them the angels sang a
carol and then took their place at the back.
Hannah Slocum could feel her husband tugging at her elbow.
"That can't be Alan!" he whispered hoarsely. "What's he doing as an
angel?"
She did not reply but smiled inwardly.
"What's my boy doing as an angel?" her husband demanded furiously.
"I'm going to be a laughing stock in the office: wait till some one
from the company hears that my son was wearing a dress! I'll be
ruined!"
"You were the one that wanted him to take part in the first place," she
reminded him sweetly. "And all the other parts were taken so there was
only this angel part left."
Her husband fell silent momentarily.
"Whose dress is it any way?" he muttered.
"It's Helen's," Hannah replied. She smiled to herself: could lying be
this easy? It had never belonged to her niece, Helen, who was two
years older than Alan. She knew that Marty would never find out.
"As soon as we get home it's coming off!" Marty Slocum said fiercely.
10:50 hours
After the Mass Hannah Slocum gave her son a loving hug. Inwardly, she
experienced a delicious thrill as her fingers felt the silky material
of his dress. If he had longer hair, she thought to herself, he could
easily pass for a girl.
"You're a real angel now," she said happily, giving him a kiss on the
cheeks.
"Aw, Mom," he replied, his cheeks reddening in embarrassment. "Can we
go now?"
"Of course, we can, Angel," she replied. "Let's go and find your
father."
Just then Cassie sidled up.
"Alan was just super," she gushed.
"You did a super job organising the play," Hannah Slocum congratulated
her.
Cassie glowed with pleasure.
"It was nothing. I was so lucky the children were so cooperative," she
said modestly. "Alan made an adorable angel and he didn't even
complain once."
Hannah Slocum nodded her understanding of the hidden meaning of
Cassie's remarks.
"I was admiring his dress -- I mean his outfit; where did you get it?
The smocking detail is very pretty," Cassie asked.
Hannah Slocum quickly looked around and seeing her husband talking to a
neighbor in the distance she replied: "Florentyns."
"You bought it!" Cassie noted in surprise. "I thought you might have
borrowed it from one of your nieces."
"Yes, I asked my sisters but they had nothing that fitted Alan so I
figured the best thing was to buy him one," Hannah Slocum replied.
Then, she added in a whisper: "Cassie, I see Alan's friends, Bruce and
Charlie, over there and I know he wants to meet them. Will you excuse
us? Happy Christmas!"
Hannah took Alan by the wrist and pretended to lead him in the
direction of where Marty was talking to a neighbor, Mrs. Matteo.
"Wait a minute, Angel, I've forgotten your purse!" she exclaimed,
stopping suddenly.
"Purse? Mom, I don't need a purse!" her son protested.
"You need a purse with that outfit!" she said firmly, taking a white
silk purse from her bag she tied it by its silk drawstrings to his
wrist.
"Aw, Mom, must I?" her son groaned. "Why?"
"Because I promised Mrs. Matteo to see you in your full outfit,"
Hannah declared. Then, she added with a smile. "If you're good Mrs.
Matteo might put something in it."
"Uh, OK, Mom," her son replied. "There's something in it already --
what's in it?"
"You'll see in a minute, darling," she replied.
"Hey, Mom, why are we going this way? Dad and Mrs. Matteo are over
there!" Alan protested as Hannah taking hold of his wrist pulled him in
a direction to where two of his friends were chatting. As they
approached the boys Alan tried to escape her grip but she held tight.
"Happy Christmas, boys!" she said cheerfully. "Alan wants to wish you
a Happy Christmas, don't you darling?"
Alan squirmed with embarrassment and humiliation; the two boys said
nothing but gazed at him solemnly.
"Come on, Alan, say Happy Christmas!" Hannah prompted. Then she said
with a laugh to the boys: "My angel is very shy today, boys, but
hopefully not too shy to give you your presents!"
Alan looked at her in dumbfounded amazement.
"The presents are in your purse, darling," Hannah prompted in a honeyed
voice. "Go on ... give them to Bruce and Charlie!"
Alan made no move to comply with her request; he stood rooted to the
spot unable to look at his two friends.
"Don't be difficult, Angel!" she scolded him, her voice suddenly taking
on a harder edge. "If you don't give Bruce and Charlie their presents
your Christmas will end right now!"
Fumbling at the silk draw-cords her crest-fallen son opened the purse
and pulled out what looked like a miniature purse.
"Angel, don't be silly! That's not it -- don't you recognize your own
make-up kit?!?" Hannah admonished him. She gave the two waiting boys a
resigned, exasperated smile. "Angel is still learning, boys ... he
forgets every now and then where he puts his lipstick and blusher!
Angel darling, you don't want to give your favorite cosmetics to Bruce
and Charlie -- they certainly don't need it -- but you do! You know as
well as I do that your make-up won't last all day!"
His face contorted in shame her son dug his hand into the purse again.
He sullenly produced two identically wrapped gifts which he handed to
his still-silent friends. They looked at each other and ran off.
Hannah smiled inwardly. Within hours Bruce and Charlie would be
circulating the story to all their friends how they had met Alan
wearing a girl's dress and how he had carried a purse! He even had a
special purse for his make- up! They would then relate how he had
given them sissy presents of scented soap! Alan would be ostracized at
school and his grades would plummet. Then she would persuade Marty to
let her hire a governess until they found an alternative school.
Hannah had already located -- with great difficulty -- a suitable
teacher. She knew Ms. Imeldez was an illegal immigrant but also that
she was highly educated and desperate for work. Ms. Imeldez had
readily agreed to the idea of Alan wearing uniform and when Hannah had
hinted that the uniform would be similar to what the local high- school
girls wore (a white blouse worn teamed with a black and red check
skirt) she had just shrugged her shoulders. 'No problem,' she had
said. 'You are his mother, you know best.'
Hannah took the purse from her son and despite his protests retied it
to his wrist. Then she led him to join her husband and Mrs. Matteo.
"Did you see me, Dad? Was I good?" Alan inquired excitedly, relieved
to see his father again.
"Yes, son, I saw you; you were fine," his father said coolly. Hannah
Slocum was glad that her husband was not outwardly hostile to their
son.
"Alan! You look real cute in that outfit!" Mrs. Matteo smiled. "I
wish I had my camera with me! Maybe you'll come over and model it for
me when you come back from your holidays?"
"He'd love to!" Hannah broke in quickly before Alan and Marty could say
no. Marty glared at her.
"That's settled! I could invite my niece and they could play
together!" Mrs. Matteo enthused. She added with a laugh: "You'll
have to play quietly, Alan: you won't be able to climb my trees in
that lovely dress!"
Hannah laughed heartily and though her husband smiled at their elderly
neighbor's witticism she saw that there was no mirth in his eyes.
As if on cue, Mrs. Matteo took a small gift-wrapped package out of her
pocket and slipped it into the boy's purse.
"Promise me you won't open this until you get to your grandma's house"
she said.
The boy promised and Mrs. Matteo took her leave.
"You'll have to carry him out to the car," Hannah smugly told her
husband, "His slippers will get soaked."
Marty Slocum glanced down at the delicate white ballet shoes on his
son's feet. He picked up his son and carried him out to the car. His
distaste of his son's feminine costume was evident in his eyes.
11.15 hours
"He's not to wear that ridiculous dress a minute longer!" Marty Slocum
hissed to his wife when they were alone in their bedroom.
"I promised Mother to let her see Alan in his costume. Then he can
change," his wife replied soothingly. Then, changing the subject she
issued a stream of instructions: "Marty, you'll have the collect
Elaine now for the Delaney's party. Then you'll come back here and
collect me and pack the car -- don't forget the blue case. All the
presents for my family are under the tree. I'll kill you if you forget
the large parcel with the silver wrapping -- that's for mother. You'll
have to check the doors and windows before setting the alarm."
Her husband nodded his understanding of what she had said. Hannah
Slocum knew, however, that with his limited attention span he was
certain to forget something.
She would repeat the instructions to him again but would omit reference
to the blue case.
11:25 hours
"Where's Marty?" Hannah's sister Katie asked on her arrival.
"He's collecting his slut of a secretary, Elaine, so we can all go to
his boss's party together," Hannah replied with a sneer. "I bet
they're in bed right now. I tell you, Katie, she's welcome to him!
And when I'm finished with him in court with all the evidence I have
he's going to lose everything -- including custody of Alan!"
"And where's Alan?" Katie asked.
"Angel? He's up playing in the guest room: I had to keep him as far
away from Marty as I could; Marty was threatening to blow a fuse!"
Hannah laughed. "Come on up and see him for yourself!"
The two women made their way up the stairs.
"Have you finished decorating his bedroom, Hannah?" Katie asked.
"Nearly -- I'll give you a peek!" Hannah answered. She produced a key
from her pocket: "I've been keeping it locked because naturally I
don't want Marty nosing around. Alan is sleeping in the guest room
these days. He's dying to move back but he's going to be in for a
surprise!"
"What do you mean?" Katie replied.
"Have a look!" Hannah exclaimed, swinging the door open. The room
smelled of fresh paint and all the furniture had been draped with old
sheets.
Katie stepped into the room and looked around.
"I don't see that much change, Hannah. The color of the walls is
different though ..." she said.
"It's white with a hint of pink!" Hannah giggled. "But I'll gradually
change that ... to pink with a hint of white!!"
Katie laughed and at her sister's prompting lifted off the sheet
covering the bed.
"Woweeee, I see he has a new quilt cover and matching pillow-cases!"
she gasped in surprize. "I hope Alan won't miss his Batman cover too
much!"
Hannah smiled.
"When I'm through with him he's just going to adore the pretty rosebud
pattern of his quilt and --" she started to reply.
"And the pretty frills?" Katie interrupted with raised eye- brows.
"And the pretty frills," Hannah confirmed in a determined voice.
Kate sighed and changed the subject.
"I didn't think Alan was still into teddies, Hannah," she observed,
pointing to a small teddy beside the pillow.
"It's a very special teddy, Kate. Take a closer look at it," Hannah
invited her.
Her sister lifted the teddy up.
"It's not much of a teddy: just a head, arms and a soft, lumpy body.
It's got no legs," she pointed out.
"Maybe teddy is hiding something inside!" Hannah hinted.
Kate turned the teddy over and opened a small zip at back. She put her
hand in and pulled out a neatly folded garment.
"Hannah! This is unreal!" she cried in amazement. "Marty won't allow
this ..."
"Marty won't know anything about it!" Hannah replied quickly. "Alan
will only wear it when Marty's away and for the rest of the time it'll
be a secret between Alan and myself -- and teddy."
"What about Alan? How are you going to make him wear this?" Kate
asked.
"When you'll see shortly what I've managed to persuade him to wear,
getting him into a night-gown will be a snap!" Hannah declared.
Kate looked dubious; Hannah went over to the closet and threw open the
doors.
"Come over here, Kate," she urged, adding with a touch of irony:
"You're simply going to love what's inside!"
Kate replaced the teddy beside the pillow and joined her sister in
front of the opened closet.
"Alan's got a new wardrobe?" she whispered.
Hannah nodded excitedly.
"I know what you're thinking, Kate: you're thinking that this is all
going to happen too fast for Alan to take, right?"
"Yes, kind of--" Kate started to reply.
"I've been planing this for weeks so I'm not going to do anything
hasty, I promise you!" Hannah assured her. "I'm going to bring Alan
gently along with it."
"But how, Hannah?"
"Well, you know I've arranged a governess to start teaching him here in
a few weeks? Let me show you the uniform I've put together for him --"
"But, Hannah, I recognize those colors: that's what the girls in
Newville High wear!" Kate cut in sharply. "You can't take him out of
school as a boy one day and the next day put him into a girl's uniform
simply because he's going to be taught at home -- that's crazy!"
"It's not going to start that way!" Hannah insisted.
Kate said nothing.
"I said it's going to be gradual -- I've worked it all out. Yes, these
are the Newville High colors, but I'm not going to overwhelm him with a
skirt from day one," Hannah continued. "Let me start with the top.
First, it's going to be a shirt. Then, the buttons get moved over and
then it becomes a blouse. The material becomes softer and looser and
gets more details. The trousers start with the black and red check.
Then, the zip moves to the side and it becomes a pair of slacks. Then
the legs become wider and shorter. Pretty soon it becomes culottes.
The legs continue to widen and eventually they merge. Then, hey
presto, we have a skirt! It's that simple, Kate!"
Kate took a deep breath.
"Hannah, are you sure you know what you're doing?"
"Yes," Hannah replied firmly. "Let's go to Alan now. I'll wager his
outfit will blow you away!"
11:30 hours
"Alan!" Katie exclaimed in delight. "What a pretty dress! Did you
wear that for the Nativity play?"
"Yes, Aunt Katie," the boy murmured bashfully.
"Do a twirl for Aunt Katie, Angel, so she can see your dress properly,"
his mother urged him. As the boy did a clumsy circle for them she
mouthed the word 'Angel' to her sister.
"You make a very pretty angel," his aunt told him. "I love your
matching panty-hose and ballet shoes, Angel."
"And Angel is wearing some very pretty things under his dress, aren't
you, Angel?" his mother prompted mischievously.
"But, Mom, you said that was our secret ..." the boy gulped in dismay.
"No, Angel, when I said secret I meant that you don't talk about or
show your underthings to BOYS but when you're with Aunt Katie and I
it's perfectly permissible!" his mother replied sweetly. Then, she
added with a smile: "After all, we already know what it's like to wear
pretty underthings!"
The boy looked set to cry with humiliation so Hannah said it was time
to go.
Downstairs Hannah and Katie put a soft white angora wool cardigan on
the boy who tried to protest. Then before he could say or do anything,
the women quickly fastened a white velvet cape on him.
Then without a word they quickly bundled him into Katie's car and
hoisted him into a child's car seat in the back. The boy protested at
the indignity of the seat and even more vehemently as he was strapped
in. He saw that they were using a different harness to the ones he was
used to when he was younger. The two women quickly worked the buckles
shut and the boy found himself a in a harness from which he could not
escape.
"Let me go!" he cried, tears filling his eyes.
"When you get to Grandma's house Auntie Katie will let you out," his
mother assured him. "Her car is smaller than ours and we don't want
you falling out!"
"I don't want to go to Grandma's!" the boy wailed.
"Go as fast as you can," Hannah said to her sister under her breath.
Then she bent down to give her son a kiss. Her sister saw her give her
son several sprays from a small atomiser.
She closed the car door quickly before the neighbors could hear her
son's cries.
"What were you doing Hannah?" Katie asked.
"I just spritzed him with my perfume," her sister replied
matter-of-factly.
Katie looked at her with a puzzled expression on her face.
"I want him to smell like a girl for a few hours -- just enough for him
to want avoid meeting any boys," her sister explained with a grin.
12:45 hours
Hannah hated office parties -- nearly as much as she detested being in
the same room as her husband's mistress.
A woman whom Hannah did not recognize came up to introduce herself.
She said she was Alice Black, a manager in the Human Resources
Department.
"I thought I saw you at church this morning," she said.
"Oh, I see. Yes, we were there this morning," Hannah replied, hoping
that the woman would not pursue the subject further.
As if she could read Hannah's mind the woman changed the subject.
Later the conversation changed to children.
"You have a boy, don't you?" Alice asked.
"Yes, that's right: Alan. He's six," Hannah replied proudly.
"Marty's always talking about him and shows his photograph to everyone
who comes into his office," Alice commented.
Hannah smiled.
"Marty told me a few weeks ago that he was going to be in the Nativity
play this morning," Alice continued. "I don't recall seeing him
though. He wasn't sick or anything like that?"
Hannah felt her stomach muscles tighten. Marty would hit the roof if
word got out around the company about Alan's part in the play.
"Alan? Oh, he just had a small part in the play," she replied
evasively.
"What as?" Alice queried quickly before Hannah could change the
subject.
"He was ... ah ... one of the angels," she replied.
Alice's face brightened up with the memory.
"So it WAS him!" she cried happily. "He looked great."
"Thank you," Hannah said, dreading what was going to come next.
"I just adored his dress. You're so lucky with him; I teach drama and
I know how hard it is to get boys to wear some costumes!" Alice
laughed.
"He certainly took some persuading!" Hannah replied, relaxing a little.
"I know -- they all do! But he looked so pretty! I hope you don't
mind me telling you this: I could hardy tell him apart from the
girls!" Alice smiled.
"I tried my best to get him looking the part," Hannah replied and then
added in a low voice: "My husband would be furious if he heard us
talking like this!"
"Oh, he's only a man!" Alice said dismissively. "Men are so afraid of
being anything less than macho! They should be encouraged to do and
wear whatever they feel like. After all, women wear trousers!"
"I agree with you that they're conservative -- especially when it comes
to clothes. They seem to balk at anything that's not traditional,"
Hannah said, glad to talk to a kindred spirit.
"I agree. That's why I was so surprized -- and delighted -- to see
Alan as an angel. I think you're so brave not to push him into
traditional male role!" Alice declared.
Hannah glowed with pleasure.
"You mentioned that you teach drama," she remarked.
"Yes, and dance too. Mostly I teach children under ten," Alice
replied. "Maybe you'd like to send Alan? It's on Saturday morning.
I'd love to have him: we've no boys in the class at the moment."
"I'd love too," Hannah responded quickly. "Have you any productions
coming up?"
Alice laughed.
"We're putting on a show on February. It's a musical based in a girls'
orphanage so I hope you don't mind if Alan ..."
"Has to dress as a girl," Hannah finished with a smile. "I'm sure I
can persuade him."
"I can give him a small role so he ..." Alice started.
"Don't worry, he'll be able to handle any part!" Hannah quickly cut
across her. "By the end of this evening Alan is going to be starring
in an all-girl line-up!"
"Tell me more!" Alice invited. "This sounds real interesting ..."
13:00 hours
Katie drove her car into the garage underneath the house. Alan was
still a sleep in the back -- he had slept for most of the journey. She
saw the door leading from the kitchen open and her mother hurry over to
her.
"Happy Christmas, darling," her mother said, kissing her on both
cheeks.
"You too, Mom," replied Katie, happily. "Happy Christmas! You look
great in that dress!"
"You like it? I got it three weeks ago and I've been dying to wear
it!" said her mother, pleased. "I was just admiring your outfit --
it's sensational!"
"There's someone in the back whose outfit you'll admire even more!"
grinned Katie, unable to contain herself.
"Alan? Hannah said I was to expect an angel!" her mother smiled. She
peered through the side windows. Her mouth fell open in surprize.
"Oh my! He looks so pretty! He really is an angel!" she whispered
excitedly to Katie.
"That's only his cape! You should see his dress, Mom! It's a
knock-out! It's full length in a beautiful white silk with gorgeous
smocking detail!" Katie enthused. "Look, he's waking up!"
She opened the car door and unbuckled the straps securing the boy in
the chair.
"We've arrived, Angel, and here's Grandma to give you a kiss!" she said
softly.
Still dazed with sleep the boy allowed his grandmother to half smother
him in her embrace. Then the women took him by the hand and led him
into a secluded room off the kitchen where they took off his white cape
and cardigan. The boy burst into tears as he realized his continued
feminine state.
When they had stilled his tears with cookies and candies, Katie and her
mother promised him that he wouldn't have to stay a minute longer in
his dress when his FATHER arrived with his clothes (Hannah had stressed
to them the importance of clearly identifying Marty with the
responsibility for bringing his clothes).
"Will Dad be coming soon with my clothes?" the cross- dressed boy asked
anxiously.
"As soon as his office party is over and not a minute longer," Katie
assured him, winking at her mother.
This appeared to mollify the boy a little and he allowed them to bring
him upstairs to join the rest of his cousins in a bedroom that had been
converted into a playroom.
They were greeted by Alan's eldest cousin, Barbara, who was sixteen.
She was supervising her younger sister, Helen (aged eight) and her twin
cousins, Sharon and Becky (aged seven). The three younger girls were
playing a board game.
Though all the girls were dressed in their Christmas finery, Katie was
pleased to note that none of them wore a dress remotely as pretty as
Alan's. The girls crowded around the bashful new arrival to admire his
outfit.
At her grandmother's signal Barbara made her sister and cousins restart
their board game with Alan as a new player. The two women quietly
slipped out of the room.
"Are Bryan and Ted coming?" Katie asked her mother. She was thinking
of her only brother's sons who were noted for their wild behavior.
"No, thank heavens. I didn't encourage Jim to come this year," her
mother replied. "Anyway, it would be much more awkward for Alan to
cope with the boys making fun of his appearance!" she added with a
chuckle.
"He seems to be settling in well with the girls," Katie said, nodding
in the direction of the playroom.
"Yes, Barbara's been marvellous. She's been coaching them all morning
not to appear too surprized," her mother commented. "She's going to
give them their dinner in there and then get them practising for the
little Christmas show they're going to give the guests this evening!"
"To everyone, Mom?" asked Katie in surprize.
"No, just the ladies. I'm going to get the men to go into the library
for a drink after dinner -- they won't be interested anyway!" her
mother replied with a smile. "We better go down and get ready for the
guests."
15:30 hours
Hannah was glad to arrive at her mother's house. She had driven as
Marty had taken too much drink at the party.
Her mother and sisters rushed out to greet them. They hugged and
kissed as Marty unloaded the luggage.
Hannah's mother took Marty by the arm and told him she had an important
guest to meet. Marty was mystified but followed his mother-in-law
inside.
"Marty, I'd like you to meet Mr. van Zandt, who is a friend of mine
and a very prominent businessman," she said. "Mr. van Zandt is a
director of --"
"Mondial Industries Inc.," Marty finished for her, a large smile
creasing his face. "Mr. van Zandt, I'm Marty Slocum and I'm the
Communications Manager at the plant at Newville."
"Delighted to meet you, Marty," the elderly man replied. "I've heard a
lot about you from your mother-in-law."
"Marty, why don't you fix Mr. van Zandt with a drink before dinner?"
his mother-in-law prompted.
Marty took the hint and led Mr. van Zandt into the sitting room.
Hannah gave her mother an affectionate hug.
"Mom! You're wonderful! How did you organize that? Marty will be so
pre-occupied talking to a director of Mondial that he won't have time
to think about Alan," she said delightedly.
Her mother beamed happily.
"Alan looks so gorgeous in his angel's outfit, Hannah!" she said. "I
just peeped into the room upstairs and I heard Becky tell him that he
was so pretty that he deserved to be in a dress!"
Hannah and her sisters burst into laughter.
"Not to be outdone Sharon told him that wearing a dress made him seem
prettier -- and he should continue wearing them!" her mother added with
a chuckle.
Fresh laughter followed from her daughters.
"Oh, Mom! That's so funny!" Hannah exclaimed, wiping the tears from
her eyes. "I'd love to be a fly on the wall to hear what they're
saying to him!"
"You can, Hannah! I have the baby listening device you sent me plugged
into the room and the receiver is in my bedroom," her mother replied.
"But maybe we should get the dinner served first!"
16:00 hours
Hannah looked down the dinner table to her husband. He was listening
attentively to Mr. van Zandt describing a recent business acquisition.
Mr. van Zandt didn't know anyone else at the table and Marty was the
type of person who could talk company, company and nothing else but
company all day long.
Her mother came over to her and whispered in her ear.
"Angel is getting restless: he wants to know when he can change," she
said.
"I'll go up and talk to him," Hannah replied and excused herself from
the table.
She went up to the room where the children were playing.
Alan was looking out the window; his cousins were watching the end of a
movie on the VCR. When he saw her he rushed over to embrace her.
"Mom! When can I change? I don't want to wear this dress any more!"
he complained.
"Why, Angel, you look very pretty in your dress, doesn't he, girls?"
Hannah cooed.
His cousins gathered around and chorused their agreement.
"Dad will be coming up shortly with your clothes," she told the
relieved boy.
"When?" her son asked impatiently.
"Very soon, Angel," she smiled down at him. Then taking his hand she
led him over to the VCR where the girls were just about to watch
another tape.
"Be careful not to crease your dress, Angel. That's right, Helen, you
show him how to sit down properly. You girls have to teach Angel how
to look after his clothes!" she said.
Hannah waited until the movie had started before slipping unnoticed out
of the room.
16:45 hours
"Excuse me for a minute, Mr. van Zandt. Marty, may I have a word with
you outside?" Hannah asked sweetly.
Marty followed her out to the hall; he wasn't pleased to be
interrupted. In his eyes Mr. van Zandt was a Very Important Person.
"What is it, Hannah?" he asked brusquely.
"It's Alan," she said. "He wants to change."
"Oh my God!" her husband breathed in horror. "Don't tell me he's still
in that ridiculous costume!"
"Yes, he's waiting for you up in my old bedroom," she informed him.
"His clothes are in the blue case."
"Can't you bring it up to him?" her husband grumbled. "I've got to go
back to Mr. van Zandt and ..."
"Marty!" Hannah returned sharply. "I couldn't lift that case upstairs
-- it weighs a ton! Anyway, you haven't done a thing with him all
day!"
"OK, OK," her husband said wearily. "Where is it?"
"Where is what?" Hannah responded blankly.
"The blue case," he replied.
"I don't know, darling, wherever you left it," she said.
It was Marty's turn to look blank.
"I don't remember packing any blue case ..." he said slowly.
"I told you this morning to pack the blue case in the car," Hannah
replied curtly. "Don't you remember?"
"Yeah, I remember you saying that," he replied irritably. "But I don't
remember packing it ..."
"Oh, Marty, don't tell me you left it behind?" she said with as much
horror as she could muster. "Look in the car, quickly!"
He returned a few minutes later with a woebegone expression on his
face.
"I can't find the f***ing case anywhere!" he cursed.
"I've searched around here and up in our room and I haven't seen it.
Oh, Marty, what are we going to do?" she wailed.
Marty looked defeated. He looked at his watch.
"We haven't enough time to go home ... and Mr. van Zandt is going to
tell me about a new business venture the company is planning ..." he
said.
"Marty! What are we going to do!" Hannah demanded again.
"He'll ... he'll ... have to stay in that costume ..." he started.
Then he realized the full implications of the missing case. "F***ing
case! Were all his clothes were in it?"
Hannah nodded. She gave the impression of thinking.
"It may not be so disastrous ..." she said slowly. "As you know he's
staying with Becky and Sharon for the next five days while we're
skiing. I'm sure Susan will be able to find him something suitable to
wear ..."
Hannah tried to visualize Alan in the clothes her sister had promised
to borrow from her twin daughters. It would start tonight with a
pretty night-dress (which Hannah herself had bought) and Alan would
find himself firmly ensconced in a dress again in the morning. Susan
had got Becky and Sharon to remove all of their jeans from their
wardrobes and they both had agreed to wear dresses while Alan stayed
with them.
Marty wasn't listening, he was looking inside the dinning room. Hannah
could see Mr. van Zandt was getting restless.
"Oh, well, there's nothing we can do for the moment," he replied,
distractedly.
"Oh yes, there sure is, Marty!" Hannah retorted angrily. "You'll have
to go up to Alan and explain that you left the case behind!"
17:15 hours
Hannah sat beside the receiver in her mother's bedroom. She had set
the volume as low as possible so no one passing outside could hear.
Marty was talking to Alan in her old bedroom.
"Dad! I'm sure glad to see you!" she heard her son exclaim.
"Hi Alan!" her husband replied.
"Dad, can I get out of this silly dress now?" the boy asked. "Mom said
you have my clothes!"
Hannah grinned to herself.
"Well, Alan, it's like this ..." she heard her husband reply slowly.
She waited to hear her husband admit to his son the blame for leaving
the case at home; she didn't think he would. The corporate culture in
Mondial Industries was to cover up mistakes as much as possible ...
"Yes, Dad?" Alan asked expectantly.
"Well, Alan ... " Marty began again. Hannah smiled gleefully: he was
lost trying to explain this one!
"Yes, Dad?" Alan repeated.
"Alan, I kinda think your costume is fine!" Marty burst out quickly.
"Dad!" Hannah could hear her son protest vehemently. "But it's a
dress, Dad ... only girls wear dresses ..."
"It looks fine on you, Alan, believe me!" Hannah heard her husband
assure the boy. She hugged herself with joy. 'Dig yourself deeper
into the hole, Marty!' she said to herself.
"It's no harm to wear a dress, Alan -- and you look better than most
girls!" Marty added a few seconds later. Hannah punched the air with
joy.
"But, Dad, I don't want to wear it any more; when can I change it?" the
boy pleaded.
"Just hang on to it for a little while longer, Alan," Marty told him.
"When, Dad?" the boy asked. Hannah could hear the desperation in his
voice.
"I think your Aunt Susan has something for you to change into later
on," Marty replied vaguely. Then, seizing on an idea to change the
subject: "Alan, I want you to play a game in Aunt Susan's house -- "
"Game, Dad, what game?" his son interrupted.
"I want you to ... eh ... pretend you're a girl ..." Marty replied
falteringly.
"Pretend I'm a girl!" Alan repeated incredulously.
"Yes, that's it, pretend you're a girl ... fool everybody into
thinking you're a girl ... people will think you're really very clever
for fooling them!" Marty said.
"Will people think I'm clever if I fool them?" his son asked, half
interested but not convinced.
"Of course, they will, son!" Marty asserted.
"Are you sure, Dad? Won't people think I'm a cissy to wear a dress!"
Alan protested.
"Son, remember two things. Number one, you and I know you're not a
cissy -- that's important. So, no matter what you're wearing,
underneath you're a man like me. Number two, when you play the game
you gotta to look convincing!" Marty counseled.
"Do I look convincing now, Dad?" the boy asked wide-eyed.
"You sure do. If I didn't know you were a man underneath, Alan, I'd
have sworn you were a pretty girl!" Marty avered. "Let me tell you a
secret: you've fooled most of Grandma's friends downstairs -- they all
think you're a girl. So, be a big man and play the game in Aunt
Susan's house! If you do, when I come back from the skiing I'll bring
you something special to make it worthwhile!"
Hannah could hardly contain herself: 'Marty, you were wonderful! If I
had told you what to say you couldn't have done it better!' she said
to herself.
"OK, Dad," the boy reluctantly promised.
"Alan, I have to run," Marty said hastily. "Why don't you go back and
join the girls?"
18:00 hours
"Aunt Martha, you want me to take my dress off?"
"Yes, Alan, I want you to slip it off for a little while. But leave
your petticoat on," Hannah's sister instructed.
She opened the buttons of his dress at back, untied the sash and lifted
the silky gown off over his head.
"Now slip your arms into this," she ordered, holding open a nylon cape.
"What's this for?" the boy asked, doing as he was told.
"I want to wash your hair, Angel, and I don't want your lovely
underwear to get splashed," his aunt replied, tying the cape at back.
She led her nephew into the en-suite bathroom where she washed his
hair. She wrapped his wet hair in a soft fluffy towel and sat him in a
chair facing her mother's vanity suite.
She explained the need for the combs, barrettes and ribbons on the
Christmas skit he and his cousins were going to present later. He
squirmed and writhed to avoid the hairclips going in his hair; her
threat to bring him downstairs in his filly underwear for every one to
see succeeded in quelling his resistance.
18:50 hours
Hannah headed upstairs and slipped quietly in her mother's bedroom.
Martha and Katie were putting the final touches to Alan's new
appearance.
His hair looked beautiful: Martha had swept it in a girlish style.
The combs and barrettes had accentuated the feminine look.
Katie was adding rouge to his face; his lips had already been coated
with lipstick.
"Mom!" the prettified boy cried out, seeing Hannah's reflection in the
mirror.
"Angel! You look very pretty!" she said and kissing him softly on the
forehead.
At her signal Martha and Katie withdrew.
"Mom! Look what they've done to me!" the boy cried; Hannah noticed he
was close to tears.
"But, Angel, if you're going to be in the Christmas Show in that dress
it might be better if you were a girl," Hannah suggested.
"But I don't want to wear a dress; I don't want to have these things in
my hair; I don't want make-up!" the boy protested.
Hannah could see that her son was getting tired.
"But, Alan, I mean Angel, what did Dad say to you when you were in the
other bedroom?" she asked. "Did he say it was wrong for you to wear
dress?"
The boy thought for a moment.
"He said ... it was ... it was OK to wear a dress," the boy responded
slowly as if he didn't bring himself to believe what he was saying.
"See? If Dad says it's OK to wear a dress, you don't have to worry
about it, do you?" Hannah said.
The boy said nothing.
"Did he say he liked your dress?" Hannah persevered.
The boy slowly nodded his head.
"Let me ask you again: if Dad says it's OK to wear a dress -- and he
likes you wearing one -- it must be OK, don't you agree?" she prompted.
Her son nodded his head again.
Hannah gave him an affectionate hug.
"Will I help you put your dress back on?" she asked in a friendly
voice. "Everybody keeps telling me how pretty it looks on you!"
The boy sighed and nodded.
Hannah kissed him on the cheek.
"I'm very proud of you, angel! You're going to be one of us for the
rest of the day!" she told him.
19:25 hours
Hannah's mother had ushered the men into the library. She had left
plenty of drink for them and as she watched them settle into the
comfortable armchairs she didn't think they would be coming out for a
long time.
The women, who out-numbered the men by four to one, had gathered in the
spacious sitting room at the other side of the house. Shortly after
seven-thirty more of Hannah's mother's female friends and neighbors
arrived to join the party.
Hannah's sister, Susan, was sitting at the piano near the window. She
stood up and clapped her hands.
"Ladies!" she called. "Let's have silence for the girls' Christmas
Show!"
At her words the lights dimmed and the audience saw five prettily
dressed carol singers entered from the kitchen. The singers gathered
around Susan at the piano and sang a selection of Christmas carols.
When they had finished the women watching gave them a tumultuous round
of applause and the children's mothers ran up to congratulate them.
"Angel, you were adorable!" Hannah enthused, rewarding her son with a
kiss. "I was very proud of you!"
"Did any one know it was me ...?" the boy whispered shyly.
"No, not a soul!" Hannah assured him. "But maybe you better pretend
you're a girl when I take you to meet some of Grandma's friends, OK?"
The boy nodded and Hannah took him by the hand to introduce him to the
ladies present.
"Mrs. Cole, I'd like you to meet my Angel!" Hannah said to an elderly
silver-haired lady sitting near the fire.
"Angel! Aren't you the prettiest girl I've seen in a long while!" Mrs.
Cole cooed. "Come closer to me, dear, while I admire the smocking
detail on your dress!"
Alan moved closer to the cologne-scented woman.
"It's very pretty," she declared. Then, giving Hannah a wink, she said
to him: "You're a very lucky girl to have such lovely clothes, aren't
you?"
Alan nodded.
"Do you have something nice for Angel?" Hannah prompted her.
"Oh yes," Mrs. Cole replied, reaching down for her purse. She took
out a small parcel. "This is for you, Angel."
"Say thank you Mrs. Cole, Angel," Hannah urged him.
"Thank you Mrs. Cole," Alan repeated.
"Go on, Angel, open it," the woman invited him.
Alan cautiously tore away the silver wrapping to reveal bars of candy
and two pairs of white panty-hose.
"Isn't Mrs. Cole so kind, Angel? They go perfectly with your dress!"
Hannah exclaimed happily.
Moving on Hannah introduced her feminized son to the other ladies in
the room. Each woman in turn admired his dress, his hair and his
pretty features. Where he was introduced to a few women at a time they
would reinforce each other's comments:
ohow pretty he was;
ohow pretty his dress was;
ohow they loved his hair style;
ohow they'd love to see him again in a pretty outfit;
ohow they had a grand-daughter/grand-niece like him, etc.
Each woman had a small gift for him: an item of clothing, jewelery or
cosmetics. Hannah wondered if he would notice that none of his cousins
were being so favored.
"Angel, I bet you never thought being a girl was such fun!" she
whispered to him. "You see, everybody loves a pretty girl like you!"
20:25 hours
Seeing that he was dazed by all the attention and praise, Hannah sat
the boy on a chair while she went to the kitchen to fetch him a drink.
The house was filling up again with guests -- this time with friends of
Hannah and her sisters. The new arrivals congregated in the kitchen
while the older generation of women stayed chatting in the sitting
room.
It was some time before Hannah extracted herself from greeting her
friends in the kitchen to making her way back to Alan.
Her heart skipped a beat when she saw that the chair where she had left
him was empty. She looked around the room in desperation: he wasn't
there.
Cold fear clutched her heart as she thought that he might have wandered
into the library. She quickly stuck her head around the door but was
relieved when she didn't see him there.
She was about to alert her mother and sisters when she saw an elegantly
dressed woman leading him down the stairs by the hand.
She rushed over to them.
"Alan! Where were you? I was so worried about you ... !" she
exclaimed.
The woman who she didn't recognize smiled apologetically.
"This pretty little angel wanted to go to the bathroom so I took him
upstairs," she said, swinging the boy's wrist.
Hannah noted uneasily that the woman who was about her age continued to
maintain her grip on Alan's wrist; he looked strangely subdued ...
"I'm sorry, I don't know your name ..." she said.
"I'm Thelma Vitner," the woman responded. "I'm a friend of your
sister."
"Nice to meet you, Thelma. I'm Hannah Slocum," Hannah replied.
"I am glad to meet you, Hannah, I've heard so much about you," the
visitor remarked. "And I've also heard a lot too about the Christmas
Angel, haven't I, sweetie?" She playfully swung the boy's wrist again.
"Come along, Alan, we must be going," Hannah said, holding out her
hand. "It's getting late."
Before he could join her Mrs. Vitner bent down and drew him closer to
her; he tried to break free but she held firm.
"Angel, I hope we meet up again soon -- you know, I had a boy just like
you. He was a little older than you but I never got to make him as
cute as you are," she told the cross-dressed boy; with her free hand
she straightened the hem of his dress.
Hannah looked at the woman uneasily.
"Hannah, may I give you a call some time?" the woman asked, rising to
her feet and finally releasing the boy. "I'd like to talk to you about
a summer camp I'm organizing -- I think Angel would be a very suitable
student!"
Relieved to have Alan back, Hannah gave the woman her address and
telephone number. She ushered the boy into the kitchen to introduce
him to her friends.
21:00 hours
Hannah could see Alan wilting with exhaustion and she gave a signal to
Katie and Martha. They took the boy into a quiet room and helped him
into his white cardigan and cape.
"Angel, you'll find your SPECIAL Christmas present under your pillow
when you get to Aunt Susan's house," Hannah said. "And -- Angel --
don't forget: Dad said it's OK!"
The sleepy boy nodded his understanding and allowed himself to be led
to the garage.
Then he was securely strapped into the car seat in the back of Katie's
car; he was nearly asleep by the time Katie drove off.
"I wish I could go with him -- I'd love to put him to bed! And be
there to dress him in the morning!" Hannah said wistfully.
"I'd love to see him in a nightie too," Martha admitted. "But it would
be too risky for him to stay here with Marty around."
Hannah nodded.
"Marty would hit the roof if he saw what I got for Alan!" she said with
a smile. "I don't think there was a prettier night-gown in the store!"
23:55 hours
Tired but happy, Hannah Slocum lay in bed; she could hear the men
roaring with laughter down below in the library. It would be the small
hours in the morning before Marty would come up. He would have just a
few hours of sleep before getting the plane to take them skiing.
Through a gap in the curtains she saw the rain clouds lift and the
stars appear.
"Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight, I wish I may, I
wish I might, the wish I wish tonight," she whispered softly the old
nursery rhyme she used to lull Alan to sleep with when he was a
toddler.
"I wish my Christmas Angel for ever."
------------------------------------
The Story of Kenny
Part One: Mrs. Richards takes her son in hand ...
Mrs. Richards put down her book with a sigh: she had hardly been out
in the sun for 30 minutes and already the children were fighting. Was
the rest of the summer going to be like this she asked herself with a
groan.
"Mother! Kenny kicked sand on my book!"
It was her only daughter, Sharon, who made the accusation. She was
dragging her brother by the hairs of his nape. The boy who was four
years her junior was almost bent double under her grip. He was
struggling furiously to escape.
"Sharon! Let go of Kenny immediately!" Mrs. Richards exclaimed.
Sharon reluctantly let go of the boy who gingerly rubbed the back of
his neck.
"Kenny, Sharon says that you kicked sand on her book: is that true?"
Mrs. Richards asked sternly.
"Mother! She scratched my arm!" the boy protested.
"Be quiet, Kenny!" Mrs. Richards snapped. "That was a stupid thing to
do. Is this some kind of silly boyish game you're playing?"
Her son said nothing but sulkily stubbed his shoe in the sand.
"There you go again!" his mother exclaimed angrily. "I said stop --"
His mother watched in disbelief as her son kicked his foot into the
sand again. It was an action he was to regret.
Enraged, she grabbed him by the arm and frog-marched him into the
house.
------------------------------------
The afternoon was still warm though the sun was beginning its long
descent to the west. Mrs. Richards had enjoyed her day reading in the
sun. She looked at her watch: it was nearly dinner time.
"Sharon, what is Kenny doing?" she asked.
"He's reading a magazine," her daughter replied, looking up from
painting her nails.
Mrs. Richards continued to lie on her comfortable chaise. Kenny
wouldn't be running away today as he used to threaten when he was
smaller. The thought amused her and she laughed out aloud.
"What's funny, Mother?" Sharon asked.
"Do you remember how when I punished Kenny when he was smaller, he
would always threaten to run away. I certainly don't think he'll be
running away today!" Mrs. Richards said.
"Why can't he be like this every day?" Sharon asked.
I wish he would, Mrs. Richards said to herself. Kenny had never
helped clear the dishes after lunch but today he did. He had never
bothered himself with cleaning the house but today he tidied the
television room. He had even fixed them drinks in the afternoon
without even having to be prompted.
Her daughter repeated her question.
"I wish he could, darling," her mother replied wistfully. "But his
father might not approve ..."
"But Father is hardly ever at home -- even at weekends," Sharon
interrupted.
Her daughter was right. Her husband who held a demanding job was
rarely at home. His work would often take him away for weeks on end.
He might protest but then he didn't have to look after his son twenty
four hours a day, seven days a week. She was conscious deep down of a
searing anger at her husband's lack of participation in the rearing of
their family and how the burden had fallen exclusively on her. She
knew from his latest telephone call that it would be another ten days
before he could come up to join them in their holiday home.
"Kenny!" she called. "I want you to help me with the dinner."
The boy stood up.
"Mother?"
"Kenny! Just look at your dress! Grass everywhere! Go and shake it
off," she said sternly.
Flustered, the boy shook his skirts.
"Where's your sun hat?" his mother demanded.
"Here it is, Mother," her red-faced son replied, pointing to the
ground.
"Who said you could take it off? Put it on and keep it on when you're
outside," Mrs. Richards snapped. She watched with detached amusement
as the boy placed the wide brimmed hat on his head and tied the silk
ribbons with a bow under his chin.
Her son looked expectantly at her: "Mother, am I finished now?"
She knew what he meant.
"No, you are not finished," she said firmly. "I want you to come
inside and help me prepare dinner."
Mrs. Richards followed her crest-fallen son into the house. A thought
struck her: the long flowing sun dress combined with the white
stockings and neat T-bar shoes he wore created a very girlish
impression. It was his face and hair which gave the game away, she
reflected.
She made him hang up his sun hat and then directed him into the
kitchen. She could see him visibly quake as she reached for Sharon's
apron. She tied the apron strings at back with a vehemence that even
startled her. The boy winced with discomfort as she tied a double knot
and then a second.
"There," she said, pleased with her efforts, "that should keep your
dress clean. You start with vegetables and then lay the table."
She busied herself with the dinner keeping a watchful eye on him. She
debated how long she should keep the punishment up. It surprized her
when she decided to continue with it for another few hours. I'll enjoy
the situation a little while longer, she thought to herself. She
wondered how long the mother, whose letter in a magazine had triggered
off the idea for Kenny's punishment, had kept her son in girls'
clothes.
Mrs. Richards and Sharon chatted at dinner while Kenny kept silent.
Mrs. Richards kept him busy with a stream of chores which he did
without a murmur.
Sharon and Kenny washed up after dinner (a first for him) and then as
their custom watched television. The choice of television channels was
often a flash point between the two children. Today, however, Mrs.
Richards selected a girls' soap which Sharon wanted to see. Kenny
gritted his teeth but watched all the same. Mrs. Richards was amused
to see how involved Kenny became in the story. As a consolation she
took off his apron.
She went upstairs and almost idly rummaged through the closets and
drawers in Sharon's bedroom. It never failed to amaze her how little
of Sharon's old clothes she had given away. Still, they had come in
handy today ...
She went down the corridor to the guest room. After her own bedroom it
was her favorite room; it had fine views of their private beach.
The centre-piece of the room was a magnificent four poster bed with a
canopy. The bedspread, pillows, shams, canopy and canopy curtains were
co-ordinated in delicate lavender- colored flowers set on a white
background. Delicate lace trimming added to the room's feminine
appeal. Satin ribbon tie-backs were used to hold back the canopy
curtains and the lace-trimmed valances on the window.
She opened the windows to air the room. Then she fetched sheets from
the airing cupboard and made the bed.
She gathered a few items Kenny would need for the night.
Downstairs she could hear Sharon and Kenny laughing.
Mrs. Richards went to the bathroom and removed all of his wash things.
She placed them into a small travel bag and unlocking Kenny's bedroom
she put them in a drawer. She locked the door behind her and put the
key in the pocket of her skirt.
She had locked his bedroom after the sand kicking incident. During the
day any items of his clothing she found lying around the house --
coats, jackets, shoes -- she locked into the room.
------------------------------------
Mrs. Richards went to the top of the stairs and called her son.
Kenny appeared in the hallway.
"Mother, we're just watching ... " His voice trailed off as he caught
sight of his mother's stern face. With a sigh he started to ascend the
stairs but almost tripped on the unfamiliar skirts.
"Kenny!" his mother cried severely. "You'll tear your dress. Go down
again and I'll teach you the correct way to climb stairs."
Shame-faced, the boy retreated down again. He was joined in the
hallway by Sharon who came to see what the commotion was.
"Take a hold of the railings with your left hand," Mrs. Richards
instructed. "With your right hand lift your skirt so that the hem is
raised off the ground. No, not like that! Sharon, you show him.
That's it. Now, up you come, Kenny. Good!"
She smiled as the humiliated boy reached the top. She told Sharon to
go back to her television.
Mrs. Richards ushered the boy into the guest room. He looked around
the room in bewilderment.
"Mother?"
"This is where you are going to sleep until you learn some manners,"
she told him. "Now get undressed, your night clothes are under the
pillow."
The boy went over to the bed and cautiously lifted the pillow.
"Moootheeerrr!" he wailed. "I can't wear this!"
"Yes, you will, Kenny," she flashed angrily. "I will give you to the
count of ten. One, two, three, four, ..."
The boy hurriedly undid the buttons at the bodice of his dress and
lifted it off over his head. This was followed by his slip. He
quickly unbuckled his shoes and peeled off his stockings. His mother
motioned him to leave his panties on. Then after a slight hesitation
he lifted the pink night- dress over his head.
"Seven, eight -- do the buttons and then tie the lace ribbons at the
top -- nine," his mother counted. "TEN."
The boy stood panting and consumed with shame.
"Very nice, very pretty," his mother cooed. "Who said they couldn't
wear it?"
The boy blushed heavily but said nothing.
"There's one of Sharon's dressing gowns hanging on the door and you'll
find a pair of her slippers under the bed. Put them on," she commanded
resuming her stern voice. She wondered how long she could keep up this
harsh, unforgiving mother act.
Her son did as he was told and then followed her to the bathroom.
He was told to use Sharon's soap as he washed his face and hands. Mrs.
Richards used his sister's brush to tidy his hair. When he queried the
whereabouts of his own toilet belongings she told curtly him that he
would be getting new things.
"Do you want to have a pee?" she asked as if he was a very small child.
He nodded and went over to the bowl.
"Kenny?"
He turned around. "What?"
"Sit down when you pee," she said in a voice that brooked no argument.
Scarlet-faced, the boy hitched the skirts of his night- dress up over
his hips and sat on the bowl.
When he had finished she gave him a wad of toilet paper.
"Now wipe your front," she instructed.
Mrs. Richards waited until he had washed his hands and donned his
dressing gown before leading him down the stairs.
Kenny had to endure his sister's taunts.
"Can Kenny wear curlers in his hair?" she asked her mother.
Mrs. Richards smiled. "Not yet," she replied.
Her own answer astonished her: she had said 'not yet'. She must want
his punishment to continue ...
She allowed them to continue watching television and then called them
in for their drink of milk in the kitchen.
"Mother, I don't really like Kenny wearing my clothes," Sharon said,
sipping her glass.
Mrs. Richards was momentarily taken back.
"Sharon? What ... what do you mean?"
"Why can't Kenny get his own dresses and nighties instead of wearing
mine all the time?" her daughter demanded.
Mrs. Richards was relieved. "We just might do that," she replied
slowly.
Kenny stamped his foot. "Nnnnooooo, Mother!"
"Look at you: stamping your feet! Just like a girl!" Sharon jeered.
"Hush, Sharon," Mrs. Richards exclaimed. Seeing that her son was
about to burst into tears she told him it was time for bed.
She followed him up the stairs and noted with quiet satisfaction how he
held up his skirts in the way she had instructed him. He's learning
fast, she said to herself. He's climbing the stairs ... just like a
girl.
He clambered into bed and she gave him a good-night kiss.
"Mother, when can I finish with this? Please, Mother, I won't do it
again, I promise," he whimpered. "When can I go back to wearing my
clothes?"
"We'll see," was her vague answer.
He was crying into his pillow as she shut the door. She felt a pang of
guilt but the transformation in his behaviour had been so remarkable
she was prepared to ignore his tears.
------------------------------------
Sharon was sitting in front of the mirror in her bedroom when her
mother entered. She had just finished braiding her hair into a French
plait.
"Do you like it?" she asked her mother.
Mrs. Richards smiled: experimenting with new hair styles was a
passion for both of them.
"It's very pretty, Sharon," she complimented her daughter. "It's sure
to turn every boy's head."
"Mother! You know there isn't a person -- let alone a boy -- within
fifteen miles of here," her daughter replied scornfully.
Mrs. Richards knew that while Sharon loved their holiday home beside
the sea she often wished it wasn't so far from the nearest town.
"You have Kenny," she responded lamely.
Sharon said nothing but Mrs. Richards could see her look of
exasperation in the mirror. Mrs. Richards sighed: it was a pity that
she and Kenny fought so much. It would have been much easier if Kenny
had been a girl; sisters got on better together. She had got on very
well with both of her sisters.
"Mother?"
"Yes, Sharon?"
"Will Kenny be wearing a dress tomorrow?" Sharon asked casually.
"Would you like him too?" Mrs. Richards smiled.
"Ohhh, yeeessssss, Mother," Sharon breathed, her face brightening up
with delight. "Wasn't it amazing how nice he became? Boys are useless
company but with a 'younger sister' I could have lots of fun."
"Hmmmm, we'll see," Mrs. Richards replied non-commitedly. She wasn't
even sure of her own intentions. She wondered if she was doing the
right thing.
Sharon jumped up from her chair and scrutinized her closet.
"Hmmmm, what will I wear tomorrow?" she said imitating her mother.
"I'll go for this sun dress."
Mrs. Richards laughed. She was very fond of Sharon: they enjoyed a
very close relationship together.
"That's a nice choice, darling; that color suits you," she told Sharon.
Sharon gave her mother a sideways glance: "Shall I pick something
pretty for Kenny?"
Mrs. Richards was momentarily stuck for an answer: her head said no
but her heart said yes. She decided to let her emotions guide her; she
nodded her head.
Sharon grinned happily as she picked out a selection of summery dresses
and pinafores. She laid them on her bed.
"That green one is too big, darling," her mother commented. She was
beginning to regret her decision to let her daughter get involved in
Kenny's punishment but she saw that Sharon was really excited about the
whole thing. She could feel her daughter's excitement starting to rub
off on her ...
"OK, Mother," Sharon replied, returning the dress to the closet.
"The stripped dress is really a party dress, so that goes back too,"
Sharon commented. "That leaves these two sun dresses and the navy
pinafore."
Mother and daughter studied the feminine garments on the bed. Sharon
spoke first.
"That navy pinafore would look adorable on Kenny," she enthused.
"Kenny should like it too -- blue is a boy's color!"
"It is nice," Mrs. Richards reluctantly agreed. She wondered again if
they were going too far.
Sharon was pulling a white blouse out of the closet. "What about this
to go with it, Mother?"
"It might be too frilly for Kenny's liking, darling," her mother mused.
"I don't care, Mother," Sharon declared firmly. "As long as he's
wearing my clothes he's going to wear what I -- I mean -- what we tell
him."
Mrs. Richards smiled: Sharon had a forthright, go-ahead attitude that
everybody admired.
"And it might make him even better behaved," Sharon added
mischievously.
She pulled open her drawers. "Panties, slips and pantyhose: one for
me and one for Kenny," she chanted. She handed one bundle to her
mother.
"Will you give this to my darling little sissy of a brother," she asked
in a syrupy little girl voice.
"Not now, Sharon, he's not asleep yet," her mother replied trying not
to smile.
She kissed her daughter good-night and closed the door behind her.
------------------------------------
Mrs. Richards went downstairs to watch television. She picked up her
sewing kit to mend her apron.
An hour later the telephone rang. It was her husband.
"Oh hi, darling," she greeted him. She wanted to tell him about the
day's events but found quickly that he was more interested in giving
her a blow-by-blow account of how he had won a major new contract.
While she was listening she idly picked up the navy pinafore and
noticed that the hem was loose. If Kenny is going to wear Sharon's
clothes I will be damned if he's going to wear a dress with a loose hem
she said to herself.
"That's fantastic news about the new work, darling," she told her
husband while threading a needle.
She worked the needle and thread through the fabric. Then she recoiled
in horror: what would her husband say if he found out what she was
doing? She pushed the pinafore away in revulsion.
"Yes, darling, I'm still here," she reassured her husband.
It suddenly dawned on her that her husband was working up to tell her
something.
"Where is this new contract, darling? Oh. Mexico."
The voice at the other end of the line sounded defensive.
"Yes, I know it will help us to maintain our life-style, darling," she
replied. "But how long will you be away?"
The reply when it came was brief.
"Three months! Three whole months!" she cried, appalled. "Darling,
you can't expect me to look after the children all on my own up here
for three months. You can't. Kenny is next to impossible to control
these days. He's always fighting Sharon."
Her husband said nothing.
"Darling," she said quickly and firmly. "I want you to promise me that
what ever action I take to keep Kenny in control you will agree with.
No matter how drastic it seems. Is that OK with you? That's fine,
darling. Thank you. I just wanted your approval. Tell me more about
the contract, darling, it sounds very exciting ..."
They talked for another few minutes and then her husband rang off.
Mrs. Richards felt more relaxed then at any other time during the day.
She kicked off her shoes and snuggled deeper into the comfortable sofa.
Her thoughts turned to the boy sleeping in the guest room above her.
She and Sharon would enjoy transforming Kenny. She knew that Kenny
would initially resist their feminization of him but he would soon
realize that without any masculine clothes he was their prisoner -- his
only hope would be to escape dressed as a girl! He would gradually
succumb to their ambitions for him and she was confident he would enjoy
his new-found gender.
Then she visualized the things that they would do together as a family.
Shopping for clothes, visits to the hairdresser, make-up sessions,
picnics on the beach, cycles through the mountain forests: the list
excited her and she had a warm feeling that this was going to be a
special summer.
Humming happily to herself she picked up the navy pinafore and resumed
her mending.
Part Two: Sharon's story
It was warm on the beach and Sharon Richards and her mother were lying
on their comfortable sun-beds.
Sharon was lying on her front and she had unclasped her bikini top at
back so that no white strap marks would show on her tan.
Her mother was reading a magazine -- it sometimes seemed to Sharon that
she was always reading. A few days previously her mother had shown her
a letter in a woman's magazine written by a mother who had punished her
son by making him wear girls' clothes. The woman had been amazed by
the transformation in her son's behavior and had -- almost jokingly, it
seemed to Sharon -- recommended it to other mothers with unruly sons.
Sharon had read the letter but never dreamed that her mother would use
such an unusual punishment. But she had, and for her brother it was
now day six of a totally new regime.
"Mother, he's coming!" she whispered excitedly, glimpsing a figure
walking slowly down the path to the beach.
"I knew Kenny would crack eventually," Mrs. Richards said jubilantly.
"It was only a matter of time before he would get bored staying inside
the house all the time."
"I bet he's really missed the beach; imagine going five days without a
swim in this weather!" Sharon exclaimed.
"It is hard to believe, Sharon," murmured her mother in agreement.
"But after waiting for all this time I'm dying to know what the best
dressed boy is wearing today!"
Mother and daughter lapsed into silence as they waited for the boy to
join them.
"Hi Kenny!" Mrs. Richards called out. "Do you want to join us? I've
brought out a sun-bed for you."
"I can hardly walk in these shoes," the boy complained, ignoring her
invitation. "Can I take them off now?"
"If you're going to lie on the sun-bed, of course you can, darling,"
his mother said, winking at Sharon. Sharon could scarcely suppress a
smile; her mother's scheme was going according to plan.
Her brother's relief as he stepped out of his peep-toe sandals was
palpable.
Sharon could see that Kenny was uncomfortable at being the centre of
their attention. His fingers moved awkwardly first to his right side
and then -- realizing his mistake -- to his left to undo the ribbon
ties of his beach wrap. He eased his arms out of the sleeves and the
silky garment fell in an untidy heap at his feet.
Sharon saw her mother frown momentarily but she recovered quickly.
"That's a lovely swim-suit, Kenny! You've real taste," Mrs. Richards
said approvingly. "Hasn't he, Sharon?"
Kenny blushed heavily; Sharon knew he wanted to complain but somehow
her mother's praise seemed to have thrown him off-balance.
He struggled to find words to reply: "It ... it was all I could
find."
Sharon recognized the one-piece her brother was wearing. It had been
one of her favorites three summers ago. It was a full skirted style
swim-suit in a pretty rose floral design. Now it was his.
Now it was his. The words echoed in her head. How could her brother
look so good in her swim-suit? Scrutinizing him closely she realized
her mother had padded the pre-formed cups to give him a feminine
outline. As a swim-suit it was an inspired choice for Kenny: the
short little skirt helped to hide his masculine 'bulge'.
A week ago Sharon couldn't even have imagined her brother in her
clothes or looking like a girl. But now ...
"Kenny, if you'll like I'll put some sun-tan lotion on your back," Mrs.
Richards offered.
The shame-faced boy nodded and sat on the sun-bed with his back to her.
Sharon watched as her mother liberally rubbed the lotion over his back.
Her mother smiled at her and nodded at Kenny's shoulders.
Sharon grinned back: both of them knew that within a few hours Kenny's
tan would follow the contours of his swim- suit with its scoop-neck
front and stylish low back. He'll have a job explaining that, she
chuckled to herself.
"Here's the lotion, Kenny; you can do your front and legs. You know,
you've such lovely soft skin -- you should really take better care of
it," their mother commented.
The boy said nothing.
"Kenny, be a darling and pick up your beach wrap. I hate clothes lying
untidily around," their mother said.
Grumbling to himself, the boy picked up the beach wrap and hung it at
the back of his sun-bed. Oh-oh, I wouldn't display that attitude to
Mother if I were you Kenny, Sharon said to herself.
"Darling, did you bring your sun-hat with you?" their mother asked him.
Sharon noted the sudden sharp edge in her mother's voice.
"No, Mother, ... I didn't ... I didn't think I would need it," Kenny
replied haltingly, turning to face his mother.
Mrs. Richards shook her head in disapproval.
"Please, Mother, I really don't want to ..." the boy beseeched her.
"You have to protect your hair from the sun -- I told you that from the
very beginning," she rebuked him sternly.
She fished a gaily colored head scarf from her beach bag. "This will
do for the time being. Kenny, sit down over here please."
Sharon waited to see what her brother would do. Would there be another
scene? Would he be dragged, crying and screaming, back to the house to
be locked in his bedroom? She was sure that he had had his fill of
punishment over the last few days.
She watched Kenny's shoulders sag in dejection as he sat down on his
mother's sun-bed. She watched as her mother deftly folded the silk
scarf into a large triangle and tied it peasant-style over his hair.
Sharon could see that her mother was deliberately taking her time,
fussing over every last wisp of hair.
She sensed her mother was savoring a key victory: she had worn down
his resistance. From this on it would be easier for her to get Kenny
to wear or do what ever she wanted him to.
Mrs. Richards stood back to survey her work. "Now, Kenny darling,
you're properly dressed for the beach," she beamed.
------------------------------------
As she lay in the warm morning sun Sharon reflected on the past week's
tumultuous events.
It had started off with Kenny being punished by their mother for a
trifling offence by dressing him in her clothes. Even her mother
admitted candidly to her it was an unusual punishment and she would
have never considered it but for reading about it in a magazine.
Unfortunately for Kenny, Sharon said to herself, a number of factors
combined to make her mother decide to continue with the punishment.
The first was the astonishing and almost immediate transformation in
his normally unruly behavior. Secondly, their mother learnt that her
husband was going to be abroad in Mexico for the whole summer. Sharon
knew her mother resented her father's lack of participation in family
duties which she believed contributed to Kenny's undisciplined
behavior. She wondered if her mother had punished Kenny in this way as
a silent snub to her father. She suspected this might have been a
factor.
Three days ago her mother had told her that in a telephone conversation
with her eldest sister she had mentioned Kenny's punishment and had
sought her advice. Sharon had been surprized to learn that her Aunt
Connie who was single and had no children of her own had endorsed her
mother's action. But then, Sharon reasoned, Aunt Connie was a strict
no-nonsense woman who had never tolerated Kenny's boisterous behavior.
Sharon recalled that on that fateful first day Kenny had been made to
wear one of her cast-off dresses; the next day, it was a navy pinafore
(which she had selected) worn over a white blouse.
The following day their mother had given Kenny two options: he could
stay inside the house wearing nothing more than his night-dress and
dressing gown or, fully dressed: dress, skirt, swim-suit (the choice
was his), he could go outside.
For three days Kenny had elected to stay indoors. Their mother had
kept him busy with household chores: cleaning, dusting, polishing,
washing and ironing (Sharon secretly sympathized with her brother's
plight but she was delighted that he was doing her ironing).
Today, for the first time, he had picked something from the closets in
his new bedroom she and her mother had filled with clothes and hence
their excitement at his arrival on the beach.
Her mother's decision two days ago to give him new hair style had made
such a difference too, she said to herself. Kenny had pleaded with
their mother -- in the end, tearfully -- but it made no difference.
She had helped her mother insert the curlers. Kenny's hair had been
average length for a boy but they had used very small curlers and had
wrapped each strand of hair tightly around the curler.
When they were finished Kenny's hair was a mass of tiny curls with the
exception of his tendrils that her mother had teased into softer,
bouncier curls with a curling iron. The effect was astonishing:
Kenny's hair took on a softer, unisex look aided by the discrete use of
hair color. He had burst into tears and running to his bedroom had
sulked there for the rest of the day.
Poor Kenny! Sharon chuckled to herself. He was trapped no matter
which way he turned. All of his boys clothes were locked in his old
bedroom and their mother kept the key with her all the time. She had
laughingly pointed out to Sharon that the only way Kenny could escape
was dressed as a girl. And, she reasoned, to pass successfully as a
girl he would need their help ...
------------------------------------
"Kenny! It's time for lunch," Mrs. Richards said. "I want your help
inside."
Kenny looked up from the magazine Sharon had leant him. With a sigh he
got up and reached for his beach wrap.
"I think you've had enough sun for today, Kenny," his mother commented.
"I want you to come inside with me and change into something else --
you'll burn if you stay in that swim-suit much longer."
"I don't want to -- I've only just put it on!" he flashed angrily.
"That's enough, Kenny!" his mother retorted sharply. "You'll do as I
say -- or would you like to spend more time counting the flowers on
your bedroom wall?"
Sharon knew their mother was referring to the guest room which was now
his new bedroom (she called it the "Lavender Room" because of its
purple-colored floral print decor). Sharon could see her brother's
anger rapidly subsiding at the thought of another lonely afternoon
locked in his bedroom.
"What do you want me to do?" he asked sullenly.
"We'll go up to your bedroom and we'll see if we can find a skirt and a
nice blouse to go with it. Then you're free to go back outside after
lunch," their mother said soothingly. "Would you like that?"
Defeated, Kenny nodded his head.
"I'm so glad, darling," their mother said breezily, tying his beach
wrap at the side. Then, linking arms with him, she said over her
shoulder as they headed up to the house: "Sharon, give us ten minutes
before you come in."
Sharon saw Kenny squirm at their mother's physical contact; he tried to
withdraw his arm but their mother maintained her grip. Sharon noted
too that even with the wedge heel of his sandals his mother had a
couple of inches over him.
Just as they reached the steps leading up to the house their mother
stopped and turned around: "Sharon, make that thirty minutes: we
might want to try on a couple of outfits!"
Poor Kenny, Sharon giggled to herself, now he's really going to get the
full treatment from Mother.
------------------------------------
A little while later Sharon wandered back to the house. She was
feeling peckish but her curiosity at what Kenny might be wearing got
the better of her hunger pangs.
Through the half-opened door of the kitchen she glimpsed her brother
preparing a salad.
Hearing her mother in her bedroom above she ran up the stairs.
"Mother! He looks really pretty!" she burst out excitedly.
Her mother looked pleased: "Yes, it's a nice outfit on Kenny."
"Did he protest at all?" Sharon asked. She was curious at his sudden
passivity.
"Oh, sure he did. But it wasn't what I expected," her mother replied.
"He seems to have resigned himself to his situation. I think though he
resents having to wear your clothes."
"Wow!" Sharon exclaimed in surprise. "That's an unbelievable
transformation in less than a week!"
"Yes, it is," her mother allowed. "But look at it from his point of
view: he doesn't have a choice. He can't go anywhere and he can't
contact anyone."
"You mean about his boys' clothes and the telephone?" Sharon inquired
(her mother had locked away his clothes and the telephone could only be
used by keying in a special code)
Her mother nodded.
"But if he resents wearing my clothes," Sharon continued, "that means
we'll have to bring him shopping. I don't know, Mother, whether he's
ready yet for a public airing."
Mrs. Richards smiled: "You're right, of course, Sharon. He's still
looks and walks like a boy. But he's getting there."
"I hope he does soon," Sharon replied, "I'm getting bored staying
around the house."
"I appreciate that, Sharon," her mother said, "but it may take another
few days. Then we can take him shopping and really enjoy ourselves."
"Aren't you worried that anyone, say a sales assistant, will find him
out?" Sharon asked.
"That's always a risk," her mother admitted. "I'm confident though
that if we make him up properly no one will find out. Anyway, if a
mother wants to buy a dress for her son it's not going to concern the
sales assistant -- all they're interested in is making a sale!"
"If the sales assistants around here are as pushy as the ones back
home, they'll even fit him for a bra!" Sharon giggled.
Her mother chuckled: "Talking about bras, just wait until he has to
pick one for himself: the sales assistants will swamp him with choices
of sizes, styles, colors -- then he'll really know what it's like to be
a girl!"
------------------------------------
It was pleasant sitting on the grassy knoll of the hill overlooking
their summer house and the beach below. It had taken them forty-five
minutes of continuous climbing to reach this spot and they were glad of
the refreshing breeze to cool them down.
The walk had been her mother's suggestion while she drove the fifteen
miles to the nearest town to buy groceries. She and Sharon had made
out a shopping list in the living-room while Kenny washed the lunch
dishes in the kitchen. Then, with much giggling and laughter they had
continued the list they had started compiling the night before of the
traits they wanted to correct in Kenny's behavior.
Kenny was sitting on a rock looking down on the panoramic view.
"It's lovely up here," Sharon said conversationally.
Kenny nodded but said nothing.
"I was admiring your skirt on the way up," she continued. "Long skirts
are fashionable again. It looks great on you, Kenny."
Her brother continued to look away in silence into the distance.
Sharon decided to wait for a few minutes before trying again. Kenny
was wearing the outfit their mother had selected for him before lunch:
calf-length floral print skirt matched with an elegant white blouse.
He was still wearing the wedge heel sandals from the morning though a
wide-brimmed hat had replaced his mother's head scarf.
She marvelled at her mother's choice of accessories that added an
indefinably feminine touch to his appearance. Kenny's pride and joy,
his watch (a present from his father), had been confiscated and had
been replaced by a slim gold bracelet. A matching gold neck-lace could
be glimpsed inside the neck opening of his blouse. Sharon figured it
would only be a matter of time before her mother would have his ears
pierced.
There were times though when Kenny looked so incongruous, she thought:
the increasingly feminine appearance she and her mother were creating
was still liable to be undermined by his masculine gait and posture (he
was sitting with his feet as wide apart as his skirt would allow).
"How long is this going to last?"
Sharon was surprized: it was Kenny who broke the silence. He was
still looking away out to sea but she could see his lower lip was
trembling.
She decided to have some fun: "How long is what going to last?" she
replied innocently.
"Me being dressed up like this," he snapped.
"Now, Kenny darling, don't use that tone of voice with me," Sharon
responded severely. "Mother has given me full authority to discipline
you if I have to."
"You wouldn't be able!" he challenged.
It took Sharon just two short minutes to assert her supremacy over her
younger brother.
"Now do you believe me?" she panted, releasing him.
Kenny nodded miserably, gingerly rubbing his sore wrists.
"Here's a little test to see that you do," she said curtly. "Raise
your skirt."
Her brother looked up at her in astonishment. "What?" was all he could
whimper.
"You heard me. Raise your skirt," Sharon replied.
Kenny's hands reached down to grasp the folds of his skirt and slowly
pulled them up.
"Higher. Pull your skirt up higher," Sharon commanded. "Hitch it up
as high as it can go. I want to see the color of your panties. That's
good. Now hold it there."
Kenny looked sheepish holding up his skirts standing on this bluff
overlooking the sea, the wind playing on his bare legs; she guessed
that he was hoping no one could see him.
"Why are you making me do this?" he asked with trepidation.
"Two reasons. Firstly, like I've said, I'm just letting you know who's
in charge here," she replied curtly. "Secondly, Mother and I were
discussing after lunch your shortcomings as a girl. We both agreed
that you don't walk like a girl should -- so we've thought of a
solution."
As she spoke Sharon opened her shoulder bag and pulled out a folded
length of shiny, nylon-like, ivory colored material. She opened it out
and held it up for Kenny to see.
"Know what this is, Kenny?" she asked sweetly.
"It's ... it's a slip," he replied, mystified.
"Nearly correct -- it's a half slip; you remember you wore a full slip
a few days ago under your pinafore," she purred. "This one though is
designed to be worn under a tight fitting pencil skirt like you've seen
Mother and I wearing. They're great skirts for showing off your figure
but you just can't play tennis in them!"
She smiled noticing how increasingly uncomfortable her brother was
looking.
"Since we don't have a narrow skirt in your size, Kenny, maybe you'd
like to try this on instead?" she asked. Without waiting for a reply
Sharon bent down and held the slip open for him to step into.
Her brother reluctantly put one foot into the waist opening and then
the other.
"Good, I'll just pull it up over your hips," Sharon cooed. "My! It's
a tight fit, isn't it, Kenny?"
Sharon stood back and then adjusted the slip to make it sit higher on
her brother's waist.
"How does that feel, Kenny?" she asked affecting an air of sisterly
concern.
"It's so tight my legs feel as if they're squashed together," her
brother gasped.
Sharon ignored his remark.
"You can drop your skirt now, Kenny," she said. "Perfect -- it's just
the right length! No one would even know you have a slip on
underneath."
She picked up her shoulder bag.
"Come on, Kenny, let's go home," she said.
"Wait, Sharon, wait! Please let me take it off!" he pleaded. "I can
barely walk!"
"That's the whole idea, Kenny! You walked up here like some
quarter-back in drag at a Halloween party! Get real, Kenny!" Sharon
snapped. "Mother and I are serious about dressing you as a girl -- and
we're sure going to make you walk like one!"
Then she gave him a friendly slap on his derriere before adding with a
smirk: "Come on, sis! It's easy: take smaller steps, roll those
hips! Pretend you're a Marilyn Monroe wannabe -- mince your way home!"
------------------------------------
"What about a drive, Mother?"
Her mother looked up from her newspaper.
"What do you have in mind, Sharon?" she asked.
Sharon wiped the excess nail varnish from the brush before replying.
"We could go to a take-away and then go for a drive along the Sky Road
-- it's lovely and quiet at this time in the evening," she suggested.
"Hmmmm," her mother mused. "That's an idea. But when will you be
finished?"
"Finished this?" Sharon asked, carefully applying a coat of pink color
to another nail.
"Yes."
"Another five minutes to finish painting them and another five minutes
for them to dry completely. Ten minutes max.," Sharon replied.
"OK, we'll go. I'd enjoy a break from cooking," her mother decided.
"I'll go and change my skirt."
"What about me? I don't want to go!" Kenny objected petulantly.
"What about you?" was their mother's quick challenge.
"Uh-uh? I can't go dressed like this ... people would laugh at me,"
Kenny gulped.
"You have made me curious, Kenny, why would they laugh at you?" she
queried.
"Because they'd know that I'm really a boy," he countered.
"Who would know?"
"People ... people would know ... " Kenny faltered.
"Name someone around here who knows you as a boy," his mother
challenged him.
"There's Al at the gas station," Kenny replied after a while.
"Al? You mean Al who is so short-sighted he can't see further than his
nose?" scoffed his mother.
"There's others ... I just can't think of their names right now ..."
Kenny replied in a small voice.
There was a silence. Sharon saw her mother fix Kenny with a withering
look.
"Kenny, the facts of life are that no one around here knows you. You
live fifteen miles away from the nearest town. You have little or no
contact with the locals. You certainly have no contact with boys of
your own age group. In addition, your father will not be back from
abroad for another three months. There is only Sharon and I. We have
both decided that it would be better for your personal development to
put you in touch with the feminine side of your personality," she said.
Kenny digested this in silence.
"You're probably worried about your personal appearance -- prompted, no
doubt, by some misplaced masculine pride," their mother continued.
"You should have no fear on that score. Sharon and I are not going to
risk having you uncovered at this stage of your development. Later on
I promise you it won't be an issue because with our help you will pass
so easily as a girl. We will go for a drive in a few minutes as Sharon
has suggested. I give you a scarf to wear over your hair and Sharon
will lend you a pair of her sun-glasses."
Sharon imagined that Kenny would have liked to have buried his face in
his hands but he had been warned not to move them. Kenny knew by now
not to disobey Mother -- he had just spent two hours locked in his
bedroom for taking off his sandals after their walk without her
permission.
"Do I need to put on more make-up, Mother?" Sharon prompted teasingly.
Mrs. Richards laughed.
"Lipstick would be a nice touch, Sharon," she smiled. "Nothing too
strong. Pink ... ?"
Sharon chuckled as she screwed the nail varnish brush back in its
bottle. She took a lipstick from her cosmetics case and unscrewed the
top.
"Come on, Kenny, pout your lips like this. Let's make them as pink as
I've painted your nails," she cooed.
------------------------------------
That night Sharon went over the evening's events in her mind as she lay
in bed.
The drive in the car to Sky Road had been a success beyond either her
or her mother's wildest dreams.
For most of the journey to the beauty spot Kenny had scrunched down in
the back seat trying to avoid being seen. He had been petrified
whenever they stopped at traffic lights (he would immediately bend down
to tie an imaginary shoe lace). She and her mother had laughingly
pointed out that his odd behavior was more likely to attract attention
than if he just sat normally.
Gradually he had become to realize that nobody was taking notice of him
-- he was just another young girl out for a drive with her mother and
older sister along a scenic route. He had even relaxed slightly as
they ate their seafood take-away in a quiet lay-by.
They had been careful though to ensure that his disguise was perfect at
all times. Sharon had refreshed his make-up when they had finished
eating. When she had finished she had shown Kenny his reflection in
her compact mirror. She noted that the image he saw seemed to calm his
anxiety.
She and her mother had chatted as they sat watching the evening sun go
down. At first it was just aimless chatter and then they began to talk
about clothes with the aim of drawing Kenny into their conversation.
For a while it seemed their strategy wasn't going to work. Then during
a lull in the conversation Kenny had made an observation (she couldn't
recall his exact words) of how naked he felt. He hadn't elaborated and
Sharon at the time was surprized their mother hadn't pursued it. She
had just winked conspiratorially at Sharon. They both knew he was
talking about his feminine clothes.
Kenny had almost choked when their mother then suggested a stroll. But
faced with a choice of staying in the car by himself or accompanying
them he had little hesitation in deciding to go with them. Sharon
smiled at the memory of her mother's clever ploy -- it had the effect
of accentuating her femininely-clad brother's sense of vulnerability.
Kenny and their mother had walked ahead while Sharon deliberately
trailed behind them. She could hear her mother giving tips to Kenny on
how to appear lady-like. This had been the aim of their plan: to make
Kenny realize how much he needed them to avoid being detected as a boy
in girls' clothes. Once Kenny became dependent on them to hide his
masculine identity his resistance to what they were doing to him would
melt away. Then they would entice him further and further into a
feminine role until it became second nature to him.
Later that evening when Kenny had been put to bed in his ultra feminine
night-dress she and her mother had selected his clothes (a flowery
sun-dress) for the following day. Discussing the day's events, they
both had been thrilled with Kenny's progress and had decided to start
him on a skin-care routine the next day (they would emphasize how
important it was for his disguise ... ).
Smiling happily to herself, Sharon visualized sitting Kenny in front of
her vanity unit and instructing him in the womanly art of make-up as
she drifted into a deep and contented sleep.
------------------------------------
Part Three: Aunt Connie suggests a finishing school for Kenny...
Connie Devereau followed the coast road out of Velvetstown; she knew
there was only another fifteen miles to go before she reached her
younger sister's summer house.
She had been travelling for over five hours but unlike previous
occasions she had hardly noticed the time passing. She had been
planning a visit for the past two weeks and a gap in her busy schedule
had allowed her to make the trip.
The car was full of luggage; every last space was filled with cases or
bags. She had collected items from her wide range of friends and
particularly an old friend who worked in the local university.
The road narrowed considerably as it wound its way along by the sea.
Despite her natural caution she was tempted to push harder on the pedal
to go faster; she was pent-up with excitement and expectation of what
she was to see.
After a while she could see her sister's house in the distance. It was
the first and only dwelling since she had left Velvetstown.
With mounting excitement she made her way up the drive and parked in
front of the house. Her sister Sarah came down the steps to greet her.
"Oh Connie, it's so good to see you again," her sister exclaimed,
giving her an affectionate hug.
"You too, Sarah," Connie smiled, kissing her on the cheeks.
"Did you have a good journey?" her sister asked.
"It's never been shorter. That's the honest truth, Sarah -- I've been
dying to come up here ever since you told me about Kenny," Connie
replied.
Her sister beamed.
"I'm glad you could come, Connie. You are in for a treat. Sharon and
I have been 'coaching' Kenny for the last two weeks and you'll be
amazed with his transformation," she said.
"Speaking of Kenny and Sharon, where are they?" Connie asked.
"They're up in Sharon's room. Sharon has been getting him ready for
you since early morning!" her sister replied with a smile. "Come on,
let's go inside! We can come back for your luggage in a while. My
goodness, Connie! You've bought a mountain of stuff with you!"
"It's not all for me but I'll tell you about it later," Connie said as
she followed her sister inside.
"Sharon! Kenny! Aunt Connie is here!" her sister called up the
stairways.
Connie heard her niece shout: "Coming, Mother!"
"Let's go into the drawing-room and await them there," her sister
suggested.
The two women made themselves comfortable and shortly they heard steps
on the stairs.
"Brace yourself for a real surprize," her sister whispered gleefully.
Connie felt her mouth dropping when sister's children made their
entrance.
"Told you!" her sister said triumphantly.
"Oh my! Kenny! ... is that really you ... ?" Connie breathed.
"This is the 'new' Kenny, Aunt Connie," corrected Sharon, the eldest of
her sister's two children. Taking her brother by the arm, she ushered
him to the middle of the room. "Isn't he just adorable?"
"I think he's ... I mean ... !" Connie found herself floundering for
words. She couldn't take her eyes off her nephew.
Sharon and her mother exchanged amused looks.
"The new Kenny is wearing a navy pinafore dress worn over a white
blouse," intoned Sharon in a mock fashion parade voice-over, "with
matching high heeled navy sandals and sheer nylon tights!"
Her mother laughed giddily; Connie was still in a state of disbelief.
"Sarah! I can't believe what I'm seeing!" she said, shaking her head
in disbelief. "Do a twirl, Kenny, while I take a good look at you!"
The boy, red-faced with embarrassment and humiliation, shuffled in a
circle. Connie noticed a redness around his eyes that even his
immaculate make-up was unable to mask. She suspected that the ordeal
of knowing he was going to be paraded in girls' clothes in front of
another woman -- even a member of the family -- had been too much for
him.
"Kenny, I think you look fabulous! I really do! You look even better
than your mother described on the phone," she informed the
cross-dressed boy. She patted the seat on the sofa beside her. "Sit
down, darling, and tell Aunt Connie about the new Kenny."
The boy sat down beside her. As he did Sharon made a warning noise in
her throat. The boy looked up at his sister and with a sigh stood up
again. Then he ran his hand over his dress at back as he sat down
again.
"Good, Kenny, very lady-like!" Sharon laughed, sitting down beside her
mother. "You won't crease your dress that way!"
"Aunt Connie, tell them that I'm a boy!" Kenny suddenly blurted out.
The women laughed.
"Of course you're a boy, Kenny --" Connie began with a smile,
recovering her composure.
"But then I shouldn't be made to wear girls' clothes," he interrupted.
"I'm not a girl. I don't have breasts. I don't have a vagina. I
don't have periods. I don't ..."
"I know all of that, Kenny," Connie said, cutting him short. "But from
what your mother has told me there has been a very positive change in
your behavior. Gone is the unruly, self-centered behavior that we
associated with you. Your mother tells me that this has been replaced
by a more obedient, personable demeanor. I am delighted with this
transformation and I know from my job that this kind of change is the
hardest to achieve."
"But I don't have to be dressed up like this to be good," her nephew
protested.
"Personally, I think your mother made a very wise decision two weeks
ago, Kenny," Connie pointedly replied. "However distasteful it might
be for you -- and I suspect you will even come to enjoy it -- learning
to live as a girl for a few months could be the best thing that ever
happened to you!"
"But why, Aunt Connie? I've promised a million times to be on my best
behavior for the rest of the summer!" Kenny cried in exasperation.
"Your promises are never enough, Kenny!" Connie replied sharply. "How
many times have you made promises in the past? I know only too well
even from the brief visits you have made to me that your promises never
last more than a few hours."
Kenny was about to protest again but fell silent realizing that he
pursuing a lost cause.
"You're probably embarrassed because you think I'll laugh at you
wearing girls' clothes," Connie continued. "But I haven't laughed at
you -- and I won't. I think you look fabulous, Kenny: the way you
look, the way you move. You still have some way to go but that's why I
am here: to help you develop your confidence in your new persona."
"I don't want a new persona or whatever it is you want," Kenny muttered
defiantly.
Connie exchanged knowing glances with her sister and niece.
"All right, Kenny, there's a hard way and an easy way. We don't mind
which option you take," she said icily. "I can promise you the final
outcome will be the same."
------------------------------------
A few hours later Connie was showing her sister the clothes she had
brought with her.
"Connie, are they really necessary?" her sister asked.
"I believe so," Connie answered. "It could be all too easy for Kenny
to forget that he's wearing a dress and to slip back into old habits."
"Is that really possible, Connie?" her sister queried. "I mean, a
dress on a boy is so totally different!"
"Yes, I know, Sarah," Connie responded. "But today's dresses are so
light that after a few weeks that Kenny could easily forget he's
wearing one. Remember, he's been wearing dresses for what -- two weeks
now? -- and his body language is still a give-away."
"We've tried everything, Connie, but nothing has worked for very long.
His posture and gait are still frustratingly masculine," her sister
admitted. "But you think what you've brought with you will change
that?"
Connie nodded.
"These outfits will remind him every waking minute that he's wearing a
dress," she replied with conviction. "Every movement, every gesture he
makes -- walking, sitting down, standing up, climbing stairs -- will
remind him of what he's wearing and, better still, compel him to change
habits of a lifetime!"
"It would be marvellous if it works but I'm afraid I'm not totally
convinced," her sister confessed. "Give me an example."
"OK. Did you ever wonder why women gesticulate so much with their hands
compared to men?" Connie asked. "Historians say it was because the
heavy sleeves of their dresses that women wore centuries ago only
allowed free movement at the wrist!"
"OK! OK! You've convinced me!" her sister laughed. "So tomorrow we
turn back the fashion clock for Kenny!"
------------------------------------
It took Connie, her sister and her niece two hours to dress Kenny the
next morning. The outfit had come with plenty of instructions -- which
was just as well since they had no experience of wearing anything
similar. It was such an exquisitely feminine outfit that they had
secretly wished they were trying it themselves (Connie's sister later
said it reminded her of her wedding day). Each layer of the outfit was
greeted with exclamations of delight and ecstasy.
Kenny had endured the ordeal in humiliated silence. He had struggled
to escape at the beginning but the three of them had easily kept him
under control. At one stage, Connie had threatened to tie his hands to
the metal clothes rail in his closet if he didn't keep still while they
were lacing his corset.
"Look at me! I'm going to sweat like a pig in this heat," he moaned
when they were nearly finished.
"Sweat?" Connie exclaimed in mock horror to the giggles of her sister
and niece. "Ladies don't perspire, Kenny, they glow!"
Tying the sash of his dress in a bow at the back, she added: "In any
case, we'll give you a parasol to keep the sun off. Sharon, could you
fix his hair while I have a word with your mother."
In a whispered aside to her sister she said: "Can you imagine him
walking at his normal pace in that dress?"
"The more I see of him in it the more I warm to your idea," her sister
chuckled. "You can't even see his shoes! And that train must be at
least four feet long!"
"The train? It's actually closer to five," Connie remarked. "The
spread of the rest of the dress is about three feet all round. We
could've made an even wider spread if we'd used a crinoline. I figured
by just using stiffened petticoats to fill out the skirt we could
achieve so much more."
"It'll be much more awkward for Kenny to walk in," replied her sister.
"Yes, and Kenny will also have the constant sensation of petticoats
brushing against his legs," Connie pointed out.
"I counted fifteen layers of underskirts," her sister said with a
smile. "He'll certainly feel the weight of them too!"
"There's a lot of other nice touches about his outfit, Sarah," Connie
said. "For a start, it's got no pockets -- it will be interesting to
see what Kenny does with his hands! Secondly, it's designed to flatter
the figure and, particularly in Kenny's case, his nipped-in waist --"
"You certainly know how to lace a corset, Connie!" her sister
interjected. "I thought Kenny would pass out when you put your knee
into his back!"
Connie acknowledged her sister's remarks with a smile. "Maybe it will
make him more calorie-conscious!" she joked.
Then she turned to her hapless nephew. "Kenny! Walk over here
please," she called. Throughout the morning it was apparent to
everybody in the room that she had taken charge.
Kenny looked at her in bewilderment.
"How am I supposed to walk -- let alone move -- in this?" he wailed.
"Women have done it, Kenny, and so can you if you learn a couple of
techniques," Connie replied crisply. "The most important is to take
hold of your skirt -- in both hands -- and lift the hem at the front of
your dress off the ground."
"But I can't!" the boy protested. "I'm wearing so many skirts!"
"You've only got one skirt, Kenny," Connie corrected him. "That's the
one on top; the rest are your petticoats."
The sight of Kenny frantically clutching his skirt and the voluminous
underskirts underneath was enough to send the three women into
paroxysms of laughter.
"Come on, Kenny," chortled Connie. "You can do better than that!"
------------------------------------
Two weekends later Connie made a note of the improvements she had
observed in Kenny:
[+] Gait and posture
Kenny now walks at a slower pace. The sheer number and size of
his petticoats and the extra long train of his dress have seen to
that!
Kenny has adopted a very feminine way of sitting down and standing
up.
[+] Dress consciousness
He has become very conscious of the confines of his dress. It
will soon be an automatic reaction to raise the hem of his skirts
at front to walk.
He is more conscious of wearing a dress; before when he was
dressed up in Sharon's clothes, if someone spotted that he was a
boy, he could say that he was messing in his sister's clothes and
that it was just a joke. He knows now he that no one would
swallow that excuse -- no boy would subject himself to wearing
such an elaborate dress.
His heavy skirt and petticoats tire him considerably so he is more
content to stay in one place.
[+] Mannerisms
He makes greater use of his hands to express himself (the padding
of the sleeves of his dress with its extra heavy material has seen
to that!).
[+] Appearance consciousness
Because getting dressed takes so long and is so humiliating to him
Kenny is more conscious of the need to avoid getting his dress wet
or dirty.
Since he is effectively imprisoned in his dress he has become more
interested in the appearance and color of his clothes. He takes a
greater interest in the selection of his clothes for the following
day.
Kenny repeatedly expresses his wish to resume wearing modern
dresses and skirts though he knows we will not be allowing him to
wear ordinary clothes for some time!
[+] Figure control
The tightness of his corset serves as a constant reminder to keep
his food consumption in check!
[+] Feminine activities
He is more willing to take up sedate activities that do not
require him to move e.g. embroidery, reading.
[+] Socialization
Since he is less mobile he yearns for company and is participating
more in the conversation at meal-times.
[+] Feminine perspective
Kenny has become more conscious of his vulnerability to attack by
strangers.
He has become an avid reader of the fashion glossies and is more
aware of the importance of clothes to women.
[+] Discipline
He has become easier to control (our threat to add extra layers of
petticoats under his dress has proved very effective!).
Kenny has finally recognized the futility of even thinking about
trying to escape!
------------------------------------
It was the end of Kenny's third week of wearing what Sharon termed his
"Gone with the Wind" dresses. Connie and her sister were sipping iced
tea while they watched Sharon walk her crossed-dressed brother across
the lawn.
"Doesn't he look so cute!" his mother chortled. "So demure, so
lady-like -- look at the way he's holding onto Sharon's arm!"
Connie smiled.
"I heard him pleading with Sharon this morning not to put on his
corset. He said it was hurting him!" her sister continued.
"What did Sharon say?" Connie asked.
"She said: 'Frankly, my dear, I don't care a damn'!" her sister
replied with a laugh.
"I hope she laced him tighter!" Connie chuckled. "And -- knowing
Sharon -- I am sure she did!"
Her sister nodded.
"She did. Sharon loves reminding him that now he's dressed as a girl
he has to keep his figure in control!" she grinned.
"I didn't think Sharon would be interested in keeping Kenny in girl's
clothes for so long," Connie commented.
"It surprized me too," her sister admitted. "But then she's always
wanted a sister and nothing gives her greater pleasure than having a
'younger sister' that she can boss around!"
"You know, Sarah, I've heard of a summer school where they have boys
like Kenny," Connie said.
"I don't believe you, Connie!" her sister exclaimed in amazement.
"No, it's true. This school teaches boys to behave like proper young
ladies," Connie replied.
"I don't believe you!" her sister repeated. "Connie, you're pulling my
leg!"
"No, I'm not," Connie insisted. "You've kept Kenny in a dress for over
five weeks now and you've seen the benefits for yourself!"
"Well, he has become easier to control ..." Sarah said thoughtfully.
"Just think, Sara, what he'd be like after an intensive summer camp,
Sarah!" Connie quickly resumed. "Suppose your son is also trained to
do all the things that you've expect Sharon to do? Imagine the
scenario where all you'd have to do was to point at a pile of clothes
and he'd have them perfectly ironed without a murmur of protest!"
"Really, Connie! That's too wild --" her sister started to say.
"No, it's not wild!" Connie interjected. "Imagine too a Kenny who has
been taught to look after and appreciate pretty clothes! Imagine a
Kenny where disaster is a ladder in his panty-hose!"
"Connie! This is just a fantasy: this school doesn't exist!" her
sister exclaimed incredulously.
Connie solemnly shook her head.
"It does exist," her sister said slowly.
Connie nodded her head.
Her sister sucked in her breath. "So there is such a summer camp," she
said quietly. "What's it called?"
Connie took a card out of her purse and handed it to her.
"Thelma Vitner's Summer Camp," she read aloud.
Connie laughed: "Guess what the full name is?"
Her sister shook her head.
"Thelma Vitner's Summer Camp for Sissies!"
------------------------------------
The story of Gene Seymour
The boy sitting across the desk from Thelma Vitner looked frightened
and miserable.
She took a number of photographs from a large pink envelope and passed
them to him one by one. With trembling hands the boy scrutinized each
photograph carefully. She had already sent him a copy of one of the
photographs in the letter 'inviting' him to her house.
"Where ... where did you get these?" the boy asked, his voice choking
with emotion.
Thelma looked at him steadily.
"I'll ask the questions around here," she said sharply.
She switched on the tape-recorder and pointed the microphone in his
direction.
"Tell me about the 'boy' I see in the photographs," she sneered.
------------------------------------
Gene Seymour's story started out in a trickle and then ended in a
torrent.
Thelma already knew much of his background. He was the second son of
Bobby and Alice Seymour who lived in a quiet middle-income
neighborhood. His father ran a small business and while his mother had
worked for a time after her marriage she now was a full-time housewife.
His elder brother Bill was talented footballer and also shared his
father's love of outdoor pursuits. Gene, on the other hand, had a
slight frame and enjoyed non-contact sports such as swimming and
tennis. His only claim to fame in sport, however, was that he was
Bill's younger brother.
>From what she gleaned Thelma surmized that after Gene's birth his
mother had been unable to have any more children.
He went to the local high school and Thelma made a mental note of his
interest in art and drama.
His family life appeared normal on the surface though Thelma was
interested that his mother, not his father, continually picked on him.
She harped on his appearance, criticized him for never volunteering to
help her with household chores, disapproved of his friends, etc. Bill,
by contrast, was doted on by both parents.
It was clear to Thelma that Gene's mother was an unhappy and frustrated
woman.
Prompted by Thelma's questioning Gene tried to explain why he wore
women's clothes. He related how his mother and grandmother had once
dressed him as a girl for a Halloween party. They had gone to great
lengths to disguize him completely as a girl -- he remembered trying to
resist their efforts to make him wear lipstick.
His disguise had been so successful, however, that no one at the party
recognized him.
This was the one and only incident where he remembered his mother
dressing him in feminine clothing. From other incidents Gene related
Thelma suspected that, on occasion, his mother may have sub-consciously
wished that he was a girl.
Thelma was intrigued that Gene's mother often drew a link between him,
her mother and herself; for example, she regularly pointed they had the
same slight build (his brother Bill had a stocky build like his
father). Thelma could understand how this constant association with
his mother and maternal grandmother at times undermined the boy's sense
of masculine identity.
There were other clues: in the division of household chores Bill got
to help his father with the outdoor or traditional 'male' tasks, while
his mother reserved Gene for indoor and, by implication, 'female'
chores.
Though she was not an expert Thelma believed that by dressing up the
boy was trying to be the daughter his mother never had. Gene believed
that by wearing the clothes he imagined his mother wanted him to wear,
she would come to appreciate him. But Gene was consumed by guilt
because boys were not supposed to wear girls' clothes.
Thelma suspected that his mother was equally constrained by this social
convention and she also might have experienced guilt in even secretly
wishing that her son was a girl. She believed Alice Seymour may also
have feared causing homosexual tendencies in her son. From what she
had heard Thelma didn't think Gene was gay.
Gene was visibly embarrassed when he came to explain the photographs
Thelma had given to him at the beginning of their meeting: the sharp,
crystal-clear photos of him dressed in his mother's clothes. He
admitted to Thelma an overwhelming compulsion to wear his mother's
clothes which he couldn't control. He dressed in her clothes whenever
he had the house to himself which wasn't often.
The most damning photographs Thelma kept until last: they showed Gene,
wearing nothing apart from his mother's black silk slip, masturbating
on his bed.
Thelma used two sides of the 90 minute tape and at the end of the
second side she switched off the recorder.
"I'm going downstairs to prepare a statement which I want you to sign,"
she told him.
------------------------------------
Gene signed the confession she had prepared admitting to wearing female
clothing. She told him that she had made extra copies of the
photographs and had deposited them with her bank and lawyer; if
anything happened to her they would be opened. She knew -- and he knew
-- that if the photographs were ever made public in the conservative,
close-knit community where they lived he and his family would be
ruined.
She spoke to him for ten minutes and ended by telling him that she
would contact him later.
It was a very chastened boy who left her house nearly two hours after
he had entered it.
------------------------------------
Thelma had timed her arrival perfectly. She was chatting to Alice
Seymour when Gene arrived home from school.
When he saw Thelma his face turned white.
"Gene? Come in here and say hello to Mrs. Vitner," his mother called.
Alice Seymour had her back to the door and didn't realize that Gene
could see Thelma. He tried to mouth something to her but she just
smiled serenely back at him.
"Gene! Don't be shy! Come in and say hello!" his mother repeated
sharply.
Gene shuffled into the room.
"Hello," he said in a small voice.
"Mrs. Vitner and I have just been talking about you," his mother
began. "Mrs. Vitner is thinking of setting up a special summer
project to help young people develop skills to get good jobs and to be
able to look after themselves when they do. She's going to pilot it
first and your school recommended you!"
"Oh yes?" Gene replied in a distant, disinterested voice.
"I've agreed with Mrs. Vitner that you will take part in the pilot.
That means you'll be with her for most weekends during school term and
then all of the summer holidays," Alice Seymour continued.
"Does that mean I won't be going on summer camp with Bill?" Gene asked
in dismay.
"Yes, it does, Gene. Anyway, Bill is not going to summer camp after
all: he's going to work on Uncle Joe's farm this summer," his mother
replied. "Your father'll be out of town a lot as well and he'd prefer
if you were around."
"Dad's going away this summer?" Gene asked in a puzzled voice.
"Yes, he's going to be very busy: a new client has asked him to
investigate a new market on the east coast," his mother replied. "He
could be away for weeks at a time."
Thelma smiled to herself: if only they knew she was the new client
Alice Seymour's husband was talking about. It would take a bit of
money to take Bobby Seymour off the scene for a few weeks but she was
sure it would be worth every cent.
"Oh," said Gene, looking disappointed.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Vitner, we're forgetting you," Gene's mother turned
to Thelma. "I'm thrilled with the program you've developed for your
summer camp and I am sure Gene'll like it too."
"Program? What program?" Gene asked in dismay.
Alice Seymour handed him six sheets of neatly printed text. Thelma
watched as he quickly scanned through it. She wondered how he would
react to some of the items such as cooking and household management
skills. She smiled as he stopped a couple of times, obviously not
liking what he read.
"Well, Gene, what do you think?" Alice Seymour asked after a few
minutes.
"I ... I don't know ..." Gene said falteringly.
"Gene!" his mother cried in dismay. "What's the matter with the
program?"
Thelma's hand reached inside her purse and allowed Gene to see the top
corner of a black and white photograph.
"It's ... ah ... a fine program, Mom," Gene replied in a low voice.
"Good! That's settled, Mrs. Vitner. When does he start?" Alice
Seymour turned to Thelma.
"Gene will start on Saturday week," Thelma responded with a smile,
closing her purse.
"Mrs. Vitner has very kindly agreed to pay you a weekly allowance,"
Alice Seymour told her son. "You're also going to provide a uniform,
isn't that right, Mrs. Vitner?"
"Yes, that's right. Let me have his measurements on the form I gave
you as soon as you can so I can have it ready for the day he starts,"
Thelma replied.
"I'll take his measurements and I'll drop them around to you this
evening," his mother promised.
"Well, I must be going," Thelma said, rising to her feet. She held out
her hand to Gene and looking straight into his eyes she said: "I'm
looking forward to working with you, Gene; I've heard so much about
you."
Gene could only mumble a reply of thanks.
------------------------------------
The first Saturday Gene went to Thelma Vitner's house she spent two
hours with him explaining what she wanted to achieve at her 'summer
camp'.
"This is no ordinary summer camp, Gene," she told the mystified boy.
"You're the first and only pupil so far at Thelma Vitner's Summer Camp
(I was going to shorten it to the TV Summer Camp!) but later on
there'll be more. You see, Gene, this is a camp for boys who are
effeminate and who like dressing in girls' clothes. You could call it
a summer camp for sissies! Yes, I can see you don't like me using the
term sissy; but, let's face it, Gene, that's what you are!"
The boy in front of her flinched at her words.
"What I want to do with you on this summer camp is to teach you
feminine skills that will help you to be the girl your mother always
wanted," Thelma declared.
"Over the next few months you'll learn everything that a girl learns
from her mother. You'll learn to dress like a girl; how to choose
clothes; how to look after your appearance like a girl; how to develop
girlish mannerisms; how to speak like a girl; you'll even learn the
basic skills of using your feminine wiles to get your way like girls
do!" Thelma continued. "Any questions so far?"
Bewildered, the boy shook his head.
"You're probably wondering to yourself what the purpose of all of this
is," Thelma said. "I've told you the aim is to make you into the
daughter your mother never had. You may not believe this, but by the
end of the summer your mother will be buying dresses for you!"
Gene's mouth opened.
"Yes, it's hard to believe, Gene! Shopping with your mother for a
pretty summer outfit for you! Believe me it will happen!" Thelma
asserted. "You may not realize it but your mother, sub-consciously,
would like you to metamorphose into a girl and on this summer camp
we're going to do that for her!"
"How are you going to that?" Gene replied, astounded. "And why on
earth do you want to?"
"I'll answer the second question first," Thelma said. "My son was just
like you; he loved to fool around with my clothes. I let him do it
when he was small. Then, when he was a bit older I put my foot down
and demanded that he stop. To cut a long story short, he died in a
road accident. I remember seeing him in the hospital morgue: he was
wearing this red dress. He gone to a cheap motel to dress up and was
killed in a hit-and-run accident. I was devastated by his death and
later I wondered why I had stopped him dressing up. It had resulted in
him having a secret life -- a secret life which he had to keep hidden
from me -- which led ultimately to his death. I said to myself what a
waste of a life: people should be allowed to wear whatever they want.
My husband died two years ago and with the money that came my way I was
determined to help boys like my son to live the lives they wanted to.
That's why I set up the Thelma Vitner Summer Camp. You may not like
the way I enroled you but I can assure you that by the end of the
summer you can be the person you dream of being and your mother can
have the daughter she's always desired!"
Gene looked nonplussed.
"The answer to your first question, how I'm going to do that, is partly
set down in the program that I gave your mother," she continued. "Of
course, I couldn't show her the entire program -- that would have
raised her suspicions. The program concentrates on developing and
building your feminine skills, habits and attributes. You will get
tuition from me and from guest teachers on specific subjects -- I'll
even get your mother involved! But that's enough talking for now,
let's begin."
------------------------------------
Thelma set Gene doing household chores around her sixteen room mansion:
cleaning, polishing, dusting, vacuuming, ironing, washing, etc.
She knew that Gene was relieved to find that his uniform consisted
merely of a white shirt, navy trousers and black patent leather slip-on
shoes. She guessed he had suspected something sissish.
Each Saturday she prepared a full program of household chores to be
completed before he left. At Thelma's insistence he went home and did
many of the same chores as he could. If he ironed clothes at the
'camp' he did the same at home.
Thelma put as many breaks in Gene's program as she could and made him
talk to her on any subject for five minutes. At first, Gene hated this
but gradually he came to enjoy it. Then Thelma made him talk taking
the other person's point of view. It was difficult for Gene at first
but he persevered and he developed a skill for empathy which Thelma
explained was often second nature to females. She also made him
analyze his feelings and encouraged him to articulate them to her and
then gradually to his mother.
With her encouragement Gene would go home and tell his mother all he
had done during the day. His mother was not accustomed to Gene
chatting with her but in time she began to look forward to hearing
about his day.
Thelma also worked on his listening skills which were very poor. She
taught him listening techniques and how to interpret the body language.
In particular, she trained him to recognize every nuance in his
mother's behavior and how to use that knowledge to his advantage.
Thelma ordered him to spend more time during the week in his mother's
company. At Thelma's insistence Gene helped with the dishes, went
shopping with her and fixed her a drink last thing at night.
An unwilling and reluctant student at first, Gene was forced to develop
an aptitude for cooking, sewing and dress-making. Thelma honed his
skills in these subjects at the camp and gradually obliged him to
demonstrate his proficiency in first cooking and then sewing at home to
his mother.
He was taught the basics of fashion and covered topics on dress
lengths, color coordination, fabrics, etc. He also learnt the basics
of make-up and hair care.
Every week Gene had to write a number of essays for Thelma. They
ranged in subject matter but they all forced him to do one thing: look
at the subject from a woman's point of view. Each Monday, for example,
he was required to review and analyze the fashion supplements in the
weekend papers. The staff in the local library soon got accustomed to
dealing with his unusual requests ("Women's dress in the eighteenth
century: that's the topic for today!" chuckled one librarian to her
colleague. "What'll it be tomorrow: feminism in Hollywood films!").
The essays and the chores he did at home served another purpose: it
left Gene with little free time at the weekends. His friends gradually
stopped calling; Alice Seymour, who had never encouraged them to call
by, was not too disappointed to see the last of them.
Thelma taught Gene how to compliment his mother on her clothes and
appearance. His behavior took his mother by surprize but as Gene
increasingly went shopping with her, Alice Seymour looked to Gene for
comments at first and then, increasingly, for advice on new clothes.
------------------------------------
Thelma knew that Gene could not fathom why she was getting him to do
all these things for her or his mother. In time he would see the
results of her program; but for the time being he would have to be
patient and follow her instructions.
The school holidays had arrived and Gene came to her on a daily basis.
When she knew that Gene's father and elder brother were going to be
away out of town, she decided it was time to step Gene's program up
another gear.
------------------------------------
"I was just admiring your hair, Mom," Gene said. "It sure looks real
pretty."
"Do you like it?" Alice Seymour replied, delighted. "I got it done in
the salon this morning. Do you like it this way or the way I used to
wear it?"
"The new style is SO much better, Mom; and that dress is lovely on you
-- it makes you look much younger," Gene responded.
Alice Seymour beamed.
"You're so charming, Gene!" she said.
"Mom, would you like me to do the dishes?" Gene asked.
"Thanks, Gene, that would be wonderful -- I'm really bushed from all
the shopping," his mother replied gratefully.
"Uh-oh! I've got my uniform on. Mrs. Vitner won't be very pleased if
I get a splash on it and I don't think I'll have time to change before
I go," Gene told her.
Alice Seymour thought for a minute.
"I could lend you my apron ..." she started doubtfully.
"I gotta go soon, Mom," Gene reminded her.
A few minutes later Gene was washing the dishes wearing his mother's
apron.
Thelma was delighted that her little ruse had worked. She instructed
him to wear his mother's apron around the house as much as possible.
Later, by manipulating Gene's closer relationship with his mother she
was able to get Gene to persuade his mother to buy an apron for him
('not one of those awful plastic ones,' he begged her).
The sight of Gene wearing an apron around the house soon became
unremarkable to his mother.
------------------------------------
Thelma's next goal was just as easily accomplished.
Gene was helping his mother prepare a salad.
"Oh! My legs are killing me!" he said suddenly.
"Gene, are your legs sore?" Alice Seymour asked.
"They're not too bad, Mom. It's just all the standing I do," Gene
replied. "At times it feels like my legs are going to burst!"
Alice Seymour clucked sympathetically.
"I used to have the same problem, Gene, after I had you two," she
replied.
"What problem, Mom?" Gene asked.
"Varicose veins, honey," his mother replied. "Which leg is it?"
"Both legs, Mom, it seems to go right from my ankle up to my thigh,"
Gene responded, gingerly rubbing the insides of both legs.
"I had them in both legs too -- and so did my mother: welcome to the
club, Gene!" his mother said.
"Is there anything I can do to relieve the problem?" was Gene's
anguished follow-up question. "They're not that bad or anything like
that. But if I could just get some relief ..."
"Leave it with me, Gene, and I'll see what I can do," his mother
replied.
The next day Gene was wearing his first pair of support tights.
------------------------------------
"Mom, I can't thank you enough for the panty-hose: they sure saved my
life!" Gene said.
"Don't be so dramatic, Gene!" his mother replied with a smile as she
watched him iron his shirts. "But I'm glad you found them helpful."
"They're super, Mom; women are so lucky that they can wear them all
time!" Gene responded.
Alice Seymour did not respond. She picked up her sewing.
"Mom?"
"Yes, Gene: what is it?"
"Is there anything I can do to stop my tights bunching up around my
hips? It's a bit uncomfortable," Gene complained.
"What's the problem, Gene?" his mother asked, looking up from her
sewing.
Gene unzipped his fly and gestured to his Y-fronts.
"They're so big and heavy: they keep bunching up inside my tights and
it really get on my nerves, Mom," he said.
Alice Seymour pursued her lips.
"Gene, they're not designed to be worn over Y-fronts -- you know that,"
she replied.
"I know that, Mom," Gene said sadly.
There was a silence.
"I'll iron your blouses if you can do something for me," Gene promised.
Two days later Gene was thrilled to find several pairs of white panties
in his drawer.
------------------------------------
Thelma had coached Gene to such an extent that Alice Seymour loved when
he accompanied her shopping for clothes. Lately, to Alice Seymour's
amazement -- and delight -- he seemed to have developed a keen sense of
what suited her and what didn't.
They were browsing through the racks of Alice Seymour's favorite
department store. She held a blouse up against her.
"What do you think, Gene?" she asked wistfully.
"It's nice, Mom, but I don't think it suits your coloring," Gene
replied.
"You're right, I guess, Gene," his mother said, returning the garment
to its place.
"Mom, here's one that'd suit you!" Gene cried excitedly.
"It's my size all right," she said, holding it up against her.
"Mom! It's gorgeous on you!" Gene complimented her. He followed her
over to a mirror. "If I were you ... I'd buy it ..."
"It sure is pretty, Gene. OK! I'll buy it!" Alice Seymour decided with
a smile a few minutes later.
"It'll look lovely with that new skirt we got you last week," Gene
commented as they waited for the cashier to take their payment. Then,
he added with a smile: "You owe me a favor, Mom."
She blew him a kiss which he returned.
Later that evening Gene came into his mother's bedroom to hang up some
freshly-ironed blouses in her closet. Alice Seymour was trying on her
new blouse in front of the mirror.
"I'm really thrilled with it, honey," she said. "I know, I know, I owe
you a favor. No, I owe you two favors for doing the ironing. You're a
pet, Gene."
"You're welcome, Mom," Gene replied. "You know, Mom, you should really
make more space in your closet by getting rid of some clothes."
Alice Seymour nodded her agreement. She continued to model her new
purchase: it had been expensive but she assured herself quality paid
for itself in the end. She felt slightly guilty about all the clothes
she had bought for herself recently.
"Mom, you haven't worn this one in a long while," Gene noted, taking a
blouse from the closet.
"Hmmmm? That one? It's too small for me," Alice Seymour replied,
distracted by her reflection in the mirror. She couldn't decide
whether the collar should be worn up or down.
"I could do with a change," Gene responded.
Alice Seymour saw Gene holding the blouse against him in front of the
other mirror. He obviously liked what he saw.
"Gene! You can't wear that!" she demurred.
"Why not, Mom? It's more like a shirt than a blouse," Gene replied in
a hurt tone.
Alice Seymour pursed her lips. Gene was right: it was a woman's
equivalent of a man's classic white shirt -- it wasn't that feminine
...
"Mom, just let me try it on. If it doesn't suit me I'll take it off,"
Gene pleaded. "After all, you owe me a favor ..."
"OK, Gene," Alice Seymour reluctantly relented; she wondered if she was
doing the right thing.
"Thanks, Mom!" Gene called over his shoulder as he dashed out of the
room.
A few minutes later he re-appeared.
"How do I look?" he asked.
Alice Seymour turned around.
"It's nice, honey," she admitted. Gene was wearing the blouse with the
tails out over his navy trousers. She just couldn't put her finger on
the reason why but its casual elegance seemed to suit him.
"So I can have it? Thanks, Mom!" he said before she had a chance to
say no.
"Gene!" Alice Seymour protested half-heartedly and then broke into a
chuckle. "OK, but it's strictly just for around the house!"
"Mom, you're the best in the world!" Gene said, hugging her happily.
"It'll be our little secret."
------------------------------------
Make-up session #1
Getting Alice Seymour to use cosmetics on Gene was one of Thelma's key
goals; it took some careful planning. She decided to implement her
plan in stages.
Gene and his mother were sitting watching her favorite TV sitcom. Gene
had never been a fan of soaps but now under Thelma's instructions he
became an avid follower.
"He's smarmy: I think she was right to leave him," Gene commented
during the middle of the program (Thelma had tutored him to take a
women's point of view).
"She deserves some one better," Alice Seymour agreed. She liked having
Gene for company: they often would talk for hours discussing the
characters and plot.
"I sure wish she'd wear something better than that awful polka dot
dress," Gene remarked. "It makes her look bigger than she really is!"
"Even her mother dresses better than that!" Alice Seymour laughed.
"Look, Mom! He's trying to get in the rear window!" Gene exclaimed
excitedly.
"GENE!" his mother cried.
"What?" Gene asked, surprized.
"You're biting your nails again -- I don't understand why you've
suddenly picked up this disgusting habit," Alice Seymour reprimanded
him.
She took his hand in hers.
"Look at those nails: they look dreadful with those bite marks," she
told him.
"I'm sorry, Mom, it's the plot -- I just got carried away," Gene said
apologetically.
"Sit up here and I'll see if I can file them," Alice Seymour said,
patting the space beside her on the sofa.
Gene watched the rest of the program while his mother used an emery
board to file down his nails. Without intending to she filed his nails
to an oval shape that delighted Thelma the next day.
Alice Seymour wasn't pleased when she spotted the tell-tale teeth marks
again the next evening. Once more she filed his nails, warning him
that the next time she would have to take drastic action.
The next episode of the sitcom was as tense as the last and Gene was
again caught biting his nails. Alice Seymour said nothing but during
the commercials she disappeared up to her bedroom.
When she returned she had a small bottle of colorless liquid.
"You may not like this, Gene, but it's the only way to stop you biting
your nails," she said. "This stuff tastes nauseating but it'll cure
your habit in no time at all."
Thelma had advised Gene to protest but to relent in the end.
The next day Gene showed Thelma his gleaming nails.
"Very good: now we'll work towards regular manicure sessions with your
mother and an 'accidental' application of colored varnish," she told
him.
At Gene's prompting Alice Seymour showed him how to look after his
nails and after a few false starts taught him how to apply the
colorless varnish himself.
Then he graduated to filing and varnishing his mother's nails every
evening while they watched television.
------------------------------------
Make-up session #2
Thelma gave Gene a blue tablet to take every morning.
"Don't worry if it makes your face feel a bit tender or puffy, it's
only temporary," she told the bewildered boy. "Don't tell your mother
you're taking them."
A few days later Gene went into his mother's bedroom to look for the
hair-dryer. Alice Seymour was sitting in front of her vanity unit
getting ready for bed.
She blew him a kiss.
"I missed you this evening, Gene. Did the camp finish late?" she
asked.
"I missed you too, Mom. Yes, Mrs. Vitner wanted me to stay behind to
do some extra reading," Gene replied with an apologetic smile, sitting
down on the bed near her and brushing his still wet hair.
"Tell me about your day, honey," his mother invited eagerly.
Gene related all the things he had done that day.
"... and I did a lot of heavy household chores too -- you know,
cleaning and cooking, Mom," he finished.
Alice Seymour smiled.
"Mom? Does your face ever feel grimy?" Gene asked suddenly before she
could say anything.
"No, Gene, why?" his mother replied, surprized. "Do you have a
problem?"
"It's not... I just feel ..." he started.
"Feel what, Gene?" his mother prompted.
"I don't know, Mom, I feel like my face is soaking up dirt ... does
that make sense?" Gene replied. "When I wake up in the morning my face
is dry and flaky but by evening time it feels greasy -- even when I've
had a shower!"
"Maybe you need to clean your face with something else," Alice Seymour
commented. She took a jar from her vanity table and poured some white
lotion on a cotton ball. She gently swabbed his face.
"Oh my goodness, Gene!" she exclaimed in dismay.
"What's the matter, Mom?" Gene asked.
"This," his mother replied, showing him the soiled cotton ball. "Soap
and water is obviously not getting out all of this grime."
"What is this stuff?" Gene asked, picking up the jar.
"It's a deep cleanser, Gene," his mother said. "I really think you
should you should use it."
"How often should I use it, Mom?" Gene asked, suddenly interested.
"First thing in the morning and last thing at night, honey," his mother
advised.
"But, Mom, what about this dry skin feeling I get in the morning?" Gene
asked.
"You've probably got dry skin like me -- it's a family failing on my
side," his mother replied with an apologetic smile.
"It's so unpleasant, isn't it? What do you do about it?" Gene
returned.
"I use a moisturizer -- it helps replace the moisture in the skin that
everyday living takes away," his mother responded.
"Do you think it could help me?" Gene prompted.
"There's no harm in trying. Let me show you how to use it, honey," his
mother replied.
Thelma was the first to congratulate Gene the next morning.
"Welcome to the wonderful world of make-up!" she smiled. "It'll take a
few days to get your mother used to the idea of you starting a morning
and night skin-care routine. But -- BANG -- once you've started and
she can see the benefits, as a woman she'll be the first to realize
that you can't stop!"
She gave him another blue tablet.
"Take this today; from tomorrow I'll gradually reduce the dosage until
your mother has proof that your skin-care routine is working," she
said.
------------------------------------
Make-up session #3
Alice Seymour saw Gene looking in the vanity mirror of the car.
"What's the matter, Gene?" she started to say. Then she saw the
problem herself. "Uh-oh, Gene, your lips are cracking."
Gene ran his tongue over his lips.
"I know Mom -- they're quite sore!" he complained.
"You stay here, Gene, I'll be back in a minute," Alice Seymour told
him.
She pulled the car into a parking space and disappeared into a drug
store.
"I've got you something that will cure your problem," she told him on
her return. "I'll show it to you when we get home."
"Can't you show it to me now, Mom?" Gene grumbled.
Alice Seymour looked around and seeing that the street was empty took a
small capsule from her bag.
"What's that, Mom?" Gene asked.
"It's a special cream you put on your lips to prevent the sun drying
them out," his mother told him.
"How do you put it on -- with your finger?" Gene asked.
"No, Gene, you put it on like lipstick," Alice Seymour said in a matter
of fact voice.
Gene took the capsule from her, pulled off the cap and twisted holder
to make the colorless waxy stick appear. He turned the rear-view
mirror to face him and applied the stick to his lips.
"Rub your lips together to spread it all over them," his mother
advised. She looked around and was relieved that the street was still
empty.
"Ohhhh! That feels so good!" Gene breathed in relief. "Can I keep
this? Thanks Mom."
A few weeks later they were out for a drive.
Much to Alice Seymour's exasperation Gene was rummaging in the glove
compartment.
"Gene! What are you doing? You're distracting me!" she exclaimed in
annoyance.
"I'm sorry, Mom, I'm just looking for my lipstick," Gene replied.
"Your what? Oh, your lip cream!" Alice Seymour said. She pulled the
car over to the side of the road and cut the engine. "Let me look.
No, I don't see it, Gene, you most have left it at home."
"My lips are real sore, Mom," Gene cried. "Can't we go home and get
it?"
"But we're miles from home, Gene," his mother pointed out. "And there
isn't a shop around here for miles."
"I want to go home -- NOW!" Gene pouted. "My lips are hurting!"
"But Gene we're nearly there: the Ashley waterfall is only another 27
miles and then we can go home," Alice Seymour said.
"I know that, Mom, but my lips are sore now," Gene declared.
Alice Seymour was dismayed: she had been planning this trip for days.
Her friends had sung the praises of this beautiful waterfall located in
a remote mountain forest. It seemed a waste to have traveled this far
and not go the whole way. With a bit of luck they would be the only
people there to enjoy it.
Then she had an idea.
"Gene, if I give you something for your lips will you change your mind
about going home?" she asked.
"Sure, Mom," Gene replied.
Alice Seymour took out her make-up kit from her purse.
"What are you going to do?" Gene asked.
"Since you don't have your LIPSTICK, you can use MINE," she told him.
"Purse your lips together like this, Gene."
Gene reluctantly pressed his lips together as she had demonstrated.
His mother deftly coated his lips with a light pink colored lipstick.
"How does that feel?" she asked with an embarrassed smile.
"It feels OK, Mom," he replied hesitantly. "Will this do the same
thing as mine?"
His mother laughed.
"Mine's actually better for you, Gene! Not only does it protect your
lips from the sun it also moisturizes them," she said.
Gene looked at his reflection in the mirror. "But will anyone --"
"See you?" she finished with a smile. "No, honey, I expect we'll have
the place to ourselves."
She started the car again and they resumed their journey. Alice
Seymour was right: they had the waterfall to themselves.
After lunch Gene surprized his mother with his request for a loan of
her compact. He scrutinized his face in the mirror.
"It really looks neat," he told her. "And it taste neat, too!"
Alice Seymour laughed.
"It could do with touching up -- I saw tell-tale lipstick marks on your
cup!" she teased.
"Will you show me how to put it on properly?" Gene beseeched her with
imploring eyes.
After a slight hesitation Alice Seymour agreed; she felt relaxed
knowing there was no one around.
She took the lipstick from her purse and with the aid of the mirror
showed her son how to apply it without slipping or smudging.
"Is it really better than my lip cream, Mom?" he asked innocently,
admiring his glossy pink coated lips in her compact mirror.
Alice Seymour nodded her head.
"Yes, Gene, all Vanderbelle lipsticks have in-built moisturizers and
protective ingredients which help protect your lips," she commented.
"Mrs. Vitner uses Vanderbelle too," Gene offered.
His mother smiled: she secretly enjoyed being compared to Mrs.
Vitner. Knowing that she used the same brand of lipstick as Mrs.
Vitner was an ringing endorsement of her good taste.
Alice Seymour would have preferred that Gene hadn't worn her lipstick
on the way home but she said nothing.
A few days later when she and Gene were shopping in Florentyns, her
favorite store, they passed the cosmetics department on their way out.
"Look, Mom! There's the Vanderbelle counter!" Gene said excitedly.
Mrs. Seymour glanced in the direction Gene was pointing.
"Yes, Gene, I know, but I don't need anything right now," she
commented.
"But, Mom, Mrs. Vitner said they've launched a new range of Silk Gloss
lipsticks which are all the fashion now!" Gene declared.
"Uh -- OK, let's have a look!" Alice Seymour responded, suddenly
interested.
They went over to the counter where the sales girl demonstrated the new
range of lipsticks. At Gene's urging and the sales girl's prompting,
she purchased one of the new lipsticks in a slightly deeper red color
than she normally wore.
"It's a lot more expensive than my normal lipstick," she commented to
the sales girl as she handed over her credit card.
"Mom, don't worry about the price -- just think how fantastic you
look!" Gene replied, winking at the sales girl who smiled back in
return.
"I swear you two are conspiring together!" Alice Seymour said,
laughingly. "What's that you're looking at, Gene?"
"It's a colorless lipstick, Mom!" Gene replied, reading the label aloud
in an amused voice. Then he turned to the sales girl: "Colorless
lipstick?"
The sales girl gave him a condescending smile.
"It's great for sore lips. A lot of women wear it on its own or under
cheaper brands of lipstick which don't have the same amount of
moisturizers or protective ingredients that Vanderbelle lipsticks
have," she said. "It's far superior to those so-called lip creams!"
Gene looked at his mother imploringly.
"I'll think about it," she replied non-committedly.
"Your sore lips will be a thing of the past," the sales girl promised
her.
"It's not for me," Alice Seymour replied pointedly. "He's the one with
the sore lips."
Startled, the sales girl looked at Gene who ran his tongue over his
lips.
"Nobody would ever notice it on him," she said, recovering quickly.
Then she added: "It's definitively better than those lip creams you
get in drug stores."
Mrs. Seymour looked unconvinced.
"But Mom! Even you told me the other day at the waterfall that they
were better!" Gene protested. "Don't you remember ...?"
The sales girl winked at Gene.
"I'll give you a 25 per cent discount," she offered to Mrs. Seymour.
Gene looked pleadingly at his mother.
"OK, let's give it a try," Alice Seymour sighed, opening her purse and
taking out her credit card again. Seeing Gene and the sales girl
exchange happy grins she added with a wry smile: "You two would make a
great sales team!"
------------------------------------
It was Saturday morning and Alice Seymour and Gene were sipping a
celebratory cup of coffee in the in-store cafe of her favorite
department store. Large shopping bags at their feet testified to a
successful shopping expedition.
"Mom, I'm so glad you got that dress. You really deserve something as
nice as that!" Gene observed.
"Honey, you're too kind. I simply adore it when you come shopping with
me," Alice Seymour beamed. "You have a 'woman's eye' when it comes to
choosing an outfit!"
"A 'woman's eye'?" What does that mean, Mom?" Gene said, blushing
heavily.
Alice Seymour smiled and reached over to touch his hand.
"It means, honey, that you can pick fabrics, colors and patterns like a
woman -- and better than most!" she laughed.
"Does it really, Mom?" Gene responded. Then, he added in a shy voice:
"Does that mean I can get something NICE for myself?"
"It depends, Gene. What do you have in mind?" his mother asked.
"Mom, you know the blouse you lent me last week. Well, I wore it to
the summer camp --" Gene started.
"Gene! You didn't!" Alice Seymour cut across sharply. "I told you
explicitly that it was just for wearing around the house!"
"I know, Mom. I didn't really intend to but it seemed to help my rash
--" Gene said.
"Gene! What rash?" Alice Seymour interrupted sharply. "You never told
me about any rash."
"The last few days I've had a rash across my front, back and arms.
Mrs. Vitner said it was probably caused by my shirts. She told me to
tell you to use a softer fabric on account of my skin irritation; but I
didn't want to burden you with my problems," Gene explained.
"Gene! That's silly -- I'm your mother!" Alice Seymour protested,
mortified that her son had confided first with Mrs. Vitner and not
her. "Show it to me: is it sore today?"
"It's a little tender, Mom," Gene admitted, rolling up the sleeves of
his shirt and showing her a series of small blotches on his skin.
"And did the blouse make that much difference?" his mother asked
skeptically.
"It was such a relief!" exclaimed Gene with feeling. Then, after a
pause he added: "That's why I was going to I ask if ..."
"Why don't we look at the blouses downstairs," his mother cut in
hastily. She was relieved that it was his suggestion rather than one
of Mrs. Vitner's.
"Thanks, Mom, I knew I could talk to you," Gene said gratefully,
blowing her a kiss.
Later that evening while his mother was having a shower Gene telephoned
Thelma to tell her that he was the proud possessor of two new blouses
and two camisole tops.
------------------------------------
Whenever Alice Seymour conceded on an item of female clothing, Thelma
made Gene use his weekly allowance to gradually buy additional
supplies. Having granted Gene permission to wear panties, Alice
Seymour found herself suppressing comments on the increasing array of
panties in different styles, colors, fabrics, trimmings, she found in
his dresser.
The panty-hose that Gene wore, she noted too, were not all of the
support variety. Some were very sheer -- the types she used for
special occasions. It was lucky, she reflected, that nobody could see
them under Gene's clothes ...
------------------------------------
Thelma's next target was to get Gene wearing feminine night-wear at
home with his mother's active encouragement.
"You look a sight, Gene!" Alice Seymour told him one morning.
"I could hardly sleep a wink I was so hot and uncomfortable in bed,"
Gene told her.
"Try opening more windows and taking off more sheets," Alice Seymour
advised him.
"I'll try anything, Mom. Mrs. Vitner is getting angry with me because
I can't concentrate," Gene replied.
Each morning for the next week his mother commented on his dishevelled
appearance.
"Gene, I'm getting concerned about you," his mother said finally on
Saturday. "You can't go on like this. Have you tried changing your
PJs?"
"All of them: I think they're the problem -- I feel so sweaty in
them!" he replied.
"Try the lightest pair you can find tonight, OK?" Alice Seymour advised
sympathetically.
"OK, Mom, I will," Gene said. Then, changing the subject: "Any ideas
for your birthday tomorrow?"
"A surprize," his mother smiled, pleased that for once he had
remembered.
When his mother woke up the next day Gene was standing beside the bed
waiting to serve her breakfast in bed.
"Breakfast treat for the birthday girl!" he exclaimed. "Here's your
present, Mom, with all my love!"
"Oh, Gene! You shouldn't have -- I'm all excited. It's beautifully
wrapped. OH GENE! It's beautiful! A lovely night-gown! It feels so
deliciously light and silky -- perfect for staying cool these warm
nights!" his mother cried, reaching up to give him a kiss.
"I picked it myself," Gene said proudly.
"No mother could ask for a nicer present, honey," Alice Seymour assured
him. Then, with a look of concern, she asked: "Gene, you look tired
again: did you have another bad night?"
"I guess so," Gene replied, trying to pass it off. "Oh, I nearly
forgot! Here's a birthday card from Mrs. Vitner."
"That's very sweet of her," Alice Seymour said, opening the pink
envelope. As she took out the card a folded letter fell out. She read
the card and then opened out the letter to read it.
"That's odd, she didn't tell me about a letter," Gene remarked. "What
does it say?"
"Just a minute, honey, ..." Alice Seymour started. Her face flushed
red as she read the letter.
"What's the matter, Mom?" Gene asked.
"It's nothing, Gene, ... Mrs. Vitner is just concerned about your
lack of sleep, that's all, and she wants me to do something about it,"
Alice Seymour replied hastily. "If your performance continues to
suffer she may not be able to keep you on at the summer camp!"
"What are we going to do about it?" Gene said, worried.
"Don't worry, honey. Let me have a think about it over breakfast,
honey," his mother said reassuringly, putting the letter down on top of
Gene's present.
When Gene had left the room Alice Seymour picked up the night-dress he
had given her. She smiled to herself at the vision of Gene --
red-faced, no doubt! -- searching through the lingerie department.
But she was thrilled with her present: Gene had got her size right and
gone for the lightest, airiest, coolest night-gown he could find. She
almost wished it was night-time and she was going to bed ...
Seized by a sudden impulse she sprang out of bed and opened her chest
of drawers. She rummaged through the contents, pulling out every
drawer in turn. Then, she gave a sigh of relief having found what she
was looking for.
The next morning Alice Seymour prepared breakfast in the kitchen. When
there was no sign of Gene coming down at his usual time, she decided to
return the treat by giving him breakfast in bed.
She knocked softy on his bedroom door but there was no answer. Pushing
open the door she saw he was sleep.
As she moved closer to his bed she saw he was in a deep, contented and
blissful sleep; her heart swelled with maternal joy. She could see the
top of the silk pajamas she had lent him; the rest of his body was
hidden by the sheet.
She set the breakfast tray down and gently opened the curtains.
Gene gradually awoke from his slumber.
"Wakey, wakey!" his mother teased him, bending down to give him a kiss.
Gene quickly reached up and pulled her down towards him, momentarily
throwing her off balance. He gave her a heart- felt kiss and hug.
"Gene! Let me up!" his mother protested with an embarrassed laugh.
"Mom, I just wanted to show you how grateful I am!" he exclaimed. "My
first full nights sleep in days -- I felt I was floating in heaven last
night -- it was that good! I love these pajamas; they're so light and
cool!"
"You do over-exaggerate at times, Gene! But I'm glad they helped you
to sleep; you really looked dreadful last week!" Alice Seymour
responded, with a pleased expression on her face. The sight of Gene in
her rose-colored pajamas with its lace trimmed collar and cuffs was not
as out of place as she had anticipated.
As Gene sat up in the bed to have his breakfast Alice Seymour was
startled to find that he had replaced the bottom half of the pajamas
with a pair of white panties. The sight of his manhood bulging through
the soft fabric of his panties, clearly visible under the shirt, jarred
her feminine sensibilities.
She said nothing but that night she tried to persuade him to wear the
trousers rather than panties but Gene resisted her efforts. It
irritated her when she encountered Gene in this combination going to
the bathroom last thing at night or first thing in the morning. She
searched her wardrobes for a pajamas top in a longer length which would
hide the offending panties. She didn't succeed; the nearest she could
find were short night-gowns.
It was desperation that made her lend Gene one of these.
A few days later Thelma called Gene into her office. On her desk was
the familiar large pink envelope. Thelma opened it and took out a
color photograph.
"Tell me about this nightie your mother lent you last night," she
invited with a smile. "This has a special significance for her,
right?"
Gene looked at the photograph and blushed heavily.
"It's the night-gown she wore on her wedding night!" he offered shyly.
Thelma smiled.
"You must be a very SPECIAL BOY for your mother to lend you that!" she
cooed. "Did it make you feel very romantic and feminine?"
The boy nodded.
"It looks very pretty on you, Gene! I'm going to put this photograph
up on my notice-board," Thelma commented. Dismissing him, she quipped:
"You're going to be my pin-up sissy for the week!"
Over the following weeks Thelma was able to get Gene to subtly suggest
to his mother that he would prefer to have his own night-gowns. Alice
Seymour took the hint buying him several in his size and more suited to
a younger person's taste.
------------------------------------
Thelma knew from past experience that a cursory examination of Gene's
drawers and closets could give Alice Seymour potential ground for
concern. Thelma had learnt that there was a critical point when a
mother, seeing her son's drawers crammed with lingerie and his closets
filled with blouses, could suddenly cry halt to her son's cross-
dressing which up to then she had tolerated, if not encouraged.
Alice Seymour had already told Gene to stop wearing panty- hose. She
relented two days later, however, when Gene complained of renewed
discomfort in his legs.
Thelma decided it was time for Gene to get a girlfriend.
Alice Seymour was thrilled when Gene announced he had met a girl though
the summer camp and that he was going to invite her to dinner on
Saturday.
Gloria proved a big hit with Alice Seymour. Gloria appeared very fond
of Gene and enjoyed being in his company. She was extremely pretty and
had a tall slender figure which other girls would have killed for.
She became a regular visitor to the house and never forgot to bring
Gene's mother gifts of flowers or chocolates.
Alice Seymour complimented Gene on his luck in meeting Gloria. She
never found out Gloria's age but she knew Gloria was definitively older
than Gene. She had a job (something to do with Human Resources
Development and Training ...), her own apartment and car.
Alice Seymour wished Gloria was a little shorter because she had a two
inch height advantage over Gene. She was relieved that Gloria mostly
wore flats rather than heels!
During idle moments during the day Alice Seymour would speculate what
Gloria found in Gene that she didn't find in other boys. Gloria didn't
seem to mind that Gene wore blouses from time to time; she certainly
knew that he wore panty-hose.
Alice Seymour was horrified when Gloria called early one morning to
find Gene still in his night-gown. Gloria appeared unfazed as if a
night-gown was the most natural thing for a boy to wear and even joked
about inviting him to a slumber party.
Alice Seymour took an opportunity to broach Gloria on Gene's attire
when she called one day when he was out.
"It doesn't worry me at all, Mrs. Seymour," Gloria replied, as they
sipped iced tea on the patio. "As far as I am concerned, Gene is the
nicest boy I've ever met: he's good company, he's charming and he
knows how to treat a girl right!"
Alice Seymour smiled.
"Gene has often said how lucky he was to meet you," she responded.
"No -- I'm one the lucky one," Gloria asserted.
"Gloria, ... ahem ... are you sure you don't mind Gene dressing ...
a ... a little bit differently from other boys?" Alice Seymour
inquired again a few minutes later. She hated herself for asking the
question a second time but she wanted to be reassured.
"No, I don't, Mrs. Seymour," Gloria replied in a firm voice. "I like
Gene for what he IS, not for what he WEARS."
Satisfied, Alice Seymour changed the subject.
A little while later Gloria was able to subtly turn the tables on her
host. Alice Seymour was showing her the family photograph album.
"Mrs. Seymour, Gene mentioned going to a Halloween party when he was
five: do you have a snap of that?" Gloria inquired.
"When Gene was five? I believe I do, let me look for it. Yes, here it
is ..." Alice Seymour's voice trailed off in embarrassment.
"He looks kinda cute, doesn't he?" Gloria told her.
"It was my mother's idea really," Alice Seymour explained quickly.
"Did she buy the dress?" Gloria asked casually.
"No, ... I believe I ... I may have bought it ... I think it was one
of those off-season lines ... you know, going cheap," Alice Seymour
admitted. "Would you like more tea, Gloria?"
Gloria wasn't easily deflected.
"It looks anything but cheap, Mrs. Seymour! It looks very pretty -- I
simply adore those little girl features: lace- trimmed collar, puff
sleeves, sash and the tiers of beautiful lace!" she enthused. "Did you
buy the dress shoes as well?"
"Yes, I think I did," Alice Seymour reluctantly allowed.
"It sure looks like Gene's wearing lipstick!" Gloria exclaimed
excitedly, making her statement sound like a question.
"The photo's a bit faded of course, but I think you're probably
correct, Gloria," Alice Seymour replied, pretending to peer hard.
"He's very convincing," Gloria said, admiringly. "I mean he really
looks like a girl. You certainly did a swell job disguising him. Gene
told me that nobody at the party recognized him, is that right, Mrs.
Seymour?"
"I believe so, Gloria," Alice Seymour acknowledged, not knowing whether
to be pleased or embarrassed. She was glad when Gloria finally changed
the subject.
As she got up to go Gloria assured Alice Seymour that she was very fond
of Gene and she was very happy to be his girlfriend.
------------------------------------
Thelma knew that careful handling of Gene was required when his father
came back from his out of town trips. She excused Gene from the summer
camp and instead made him work as a full time assistant to his mother.
Gene helped his mother to launder his father's clothes, iron his shirts
and pack his case when he got ready to travel east again. Alice
Seymour was very appreciative of Gene's support.
Mr. Seymour was too preoccupied with the extra workload in his
business to notice any difference in Gene's appearance or clothing --
in any case Thelma had recommended to Gene to scale down wearing
overtly feminine blouses when his father was around.
Mr. Seymour did, however, remark caustically one morning at breakfast
on the length of Gene's hair. He told Gene he would talk to him again
when he arrived home from the office in the evening.
Gene was worried that his lengthening locks would be shorn on his
father's orders; his mother had never criticized his hair because she
knew he took good care of it (without realizing it she compared the
care he gave his hair to the care a girl would give hers).
Remembering Thelma's instructions from the previous day, Gene asked his
father if he had any typing that he could do. Mr. Seymour looked at
Gene as if he had two heads. Gene then explained that he had learnt
Dictaphone typing at the summer camp and he would be glad to help his
father. Mr. Seymour reluctantly gave him three Dictaphone tapes and
he was astounded when Gene handed him thirty five perfectly typed pages
at dinner time. Mr. Seymour promptly disappeared into his study to
read them.
Alice Seymour dropped by Gene's bedroom later that night; he was
reading one of her magazines in bed.
"Gene, I want you to know how grateful Dad and I are for all the work
you've done over the last two days," she said.
"He's a funny way of showing his gratitude!" Gene remarked bitterly.
"Gene, your father has been working very hard these last few weeks and
he's doing a lot of travelling which is very tiring; but he's genuinely
grateful for the typing you did today," she replied.
Gene nodded his understanding but Alice Seymour could see that he was
not mollified.
"Gene, what IS the matter?" she asked.
"I worked all day on the computer trying to decipher his jumbled tapes
-- and he takes my typing without a word of thanks," Gene replied
tartly. "To cap it all, I've got my rash back again!"
"You've got your rash back again? Oh! Gene, I'm sorry ..." his mother
responded lamely. She had forgotten that Gene had reverted back to
wearing shirts for the last two days.
"Gene, you know that at least I appreciated your contribution ... ?"
Alice Seymour asked.
Gene said nothing and pointedly resumed his reading.
Alice Seymour sighed and left the room.
Ten minutes later Gene heard a soft knock on the door. His mother
entered holding three blouses.
"Gene, I hope you don't mind if I leave these in here -- I'm running
out of space in mine," she said hurriedly as she hung the garments
inside his closet.
"Sure, Mom," Gene replied.
Alice Seymour paused as she left the room.
"Let me know if they suit you, Gene," she said in a soft voice tinged
with embarrassment. "I can give them away to charity if they don't."
Gene, his eyes shining bright with delight, blew her a kiss.
When Mr. Seymour made his increasingly rare visits home that summer he
never mentioned Gene's hair again.
------------------------------------
They were sitting in their favorite coffee shop having spent a pleasant
hour of what was Alice Seymour and Gene's favorite occupation, browsing
for clothes, when Gene spotted Gloria.
When she saw them she came over and kissed them both.
"Mrs. Seymour, do you mind if I borrow Gene for a minute?" she asked,
taking Gene by the wrist. "I've been meaning to treat him to something
special!"
Alice Seymour laughed and shook her head.
"We'll be back in a couple of minutes," Gloria said over her shoulder.
Alice Seymour read her magazine while she waited for them to return.
Eventually, they came back chatting excitedly. Alice Seymour noticed
that Gene's eyes never left Gloria. 'He's really madly in love with
her,' she said to herself happily, recalling her own first teenage
crush on the boy next door.
"Mom, look what Gloria bought me!" Gene cried ecstatically, opening a
package.
He pulled out a pair of light gray trousers and held them out for her
to see.
Alice Seymour was just about to make an admiring comment when she
noticed the side opening and the elasticated waist at back. What she
had initially seen at the front, she realized, was a fake fly. These
were not a pair of trousers Gene was holding but a pair of girl's
slacks.
She did a mental flip-flop but before she could say anything, Gloria
told her how bored she was with his navy trousers.
Alice Seymour had regularly tried to persuade Gene to wear something
else apart from his summer camp uniform trousers which he persisted
wearing at home as well as at the camp. She, like Gloria, was tired of
them -- but a pair of slacks? That was too much.
It was a curious gift, she thought, to put it mildly, for a girl to
give to her boy-friend. And to think she had worried a few weeks ago
how Gloria might have reacted negatively to Gene's less than masculine
clothes! Now Gloria was adding to his feminine wardrobe!
Alice Seymour looked at her son. Gene was so smitten by Gloria, so
captivated by her, so much in love with her she feared that if she said
anything remotely critical of Gloria's gift he would be very hurt.
Gene, she thought, after all the things he had done for her recently,
didn't deserve that. Yet, she had a strange premonition (which she
tried to resist because she felt it couldn't possibly be true) that she
had been forced into this situation ...
"I think they'll be very nice on you, honey," she smiled.
------------------------------------
It was Alice Seymour who first mentioned the fancy dress party.
They had just finished Sunday dinner and were relaxing on easy chairs
on the patio watching the sun go down.
"Who is organizing the party, Mrs. Seymour?" Gloria inquired.
"A group of local women including an old school friend of mine are
organizing it to raise funds for a girl who needs special treatment in
Boston," Alice Seymour replied.
"Sounds like a good cause; when is it on?" Gloria asked.
"Saturday week, Gloria. I'd love if we could support it -- it's a very
worthy cause; I was going to suggest that you and Gene go," Alice
Seymour replied.
"Yes, we'd love to go," Gloria responded.
This was not the first time that Alice Seymour had noted Gloria making
the decisions for both of them.
"Will you go too, Mom?" Gene asked.
"No, honey, I gather it's for young people only," Alice Seymour
replied.
"I've got my costume already," Gloria announced with a smile.
"Have you, Gloria? What is it?" Alice Seymour asked.
"It's a Chicago gangster outfit: you know, the heavy pin- striped
suit, the natty tie, the spats, the hat -- even a fake sub-machine
gun!" Gloria chuckled. "I got it for a fancy dress party last year and
it was a real hit!"
"Sounds great, Gloria. What are you going to go as, honey?" Alice
Seymour turned to her son.
"Oh, me? I haven't decided yet," Gene replied.
The following Wednesday Alice Seymour asked him again and his answer
was the same.
"You'd better hurry, Gene, because I got the tickets today and you'll
have to book your costume shortly," his mother advised him.
"Gene, could you fix me a sandwich and a glass of milk please?" Gloria
asked sweetly.
While he went out to the kitchen, Gloria told Alice Seymour about the
gangster movie she and Gene had seen on television the night before.
"Gene's a natural mimic," she told Alice Seymour. "And the drama
classes at the summer camp have really developed his acting talents."
"Gene has always been good at drama," Alice Seymour remarked with
pride.
Glancing around to ensure they couldn't be overhead, Gloria leaned
closer to her.
"You should hear Gene's impersonation of Mae West! It's a scream!" she
whispered. Then, in a louder voice, she called to him in the kitchen:
"Gene, darling, I'd love you to do that gangster moll sketch again.
You know, the one you did for me last night."
"No, I don't want to," they heard him call from the kitchen.
"Oh, please, Gene!" Gloria entreated. "Don't be shy!"
"Yes, Gene, don't be shy," his mother chimed in. "Otherwise there's no
point in continuing with your drama classes ..."
A few minutes later Gene appeared in the door way. He had one hand on
his hip and the other was holding an imaginary cigarette holder; his
eyes appeared heavy lidded and his lips were made into a classic pout.
"What is it, Big Boy? Is that your gun in your pants or are you just
glad to see me!" he purred in a husky voice, batting his eye lashes at
them.
The two women burst into laughter; pretending to sulk, Gene took a
limp-wristed pull from his cigarette which sent them into renewed
laughter.
"Oh, Gene, that gets better every time I see it!" Gloria said, wiping
the tears from her eyes.
"Honey, I didn't know you had it in you: you're the perfect gangster
moll!" his mother cried, convulsed with laughter.
Pleased, Gene disappeared back into the kitchen.
"Mrs. Seymour, about that fancy dress party: you know what I'm
thinking ... ?" Gloria whispered to her.
Alice Seymour looked at her blankly and shook her head.
"You know I'm going as Mr. Big Shot Gangster ..." Gloria prompted her.
Mystified, Alice Seymour shook her head again.
"No self-respecting gangster boss goes anywhere without his moll ..."
Gloria continued, leaving her suggestion hang in the air.
Alice Seymour slowly nodded her understanding; she was about to suggest
that Gene go as the gangster and Gloria as the moll when she realized
this would be unworkable because Gloria was taller than Gene. She
looked back at the door way: Gene had been the definitive 'tough
broad'; he had imitated the mannerisms, the voice, the posture to
perfection. 'If he has the talent,' she thought to herself, 'why hide
it?' But she was unsure whether Gene would go along with the plan ...
Gloria seeing that Alice Seymour was undecided quickly produced more
arguments which finally persuaded her. Knowing that Gene would return
any minute, Gloria quickly outlined the strategy they would adopt which
would leave Gene with no excuse for backing out.
When Gene returned Gloria, supported by his mother, told him of their
decision. He protested indignantly but to no avail: the women stood
firm.
The next day Alice Seymour contacted the costume hire supplier Gloria
had recommended.
Armed with Gene's measurements, she and Gloria visited had the shop.
They laughed when they found out that they both had gone for the same
outfit: a long fitted dress in black velvet.
They took Gene with them the next time. Alice Seymour was surprized at
his good humor as he endured their fitting the dress on him and giving
instructions to the seamstress to make alterations. At the shop
manageress's suggestion they teamed the dress with two inch pumps with
a high vamp. Gloria picked a platinum blonde wig and ordered other
accessories (a hat, boa, purse and long sleeved gloves).
Gloria called around the afternoon of the party to assist with the
preparations. Alice Seymour led her up to her bedroom where she found
Gene. He had been fitted with a long-line bra, panties and a
waist-cinching corset. Alice Seymour finished attaching his seamed
black nylon stockings to the suspenders hanging from the corset.
The full length ballet slip was next; Alice Seymour adjusted the
shoulder straps to ensure the bodice fitted properly over her son's
newly-developed bust.
She laced him into his pumps; she and Gloria greeted his first
tentative steps with hilarity.
Gloria, meanwhile, was unpacking her cosmetics case in preparation for
Gene's make-over.
Alice Seymour then watched as Gloria quickly obliterated her son's
scant masculine features and gradually transformed him into a
gangster's moll. She could see that Gloria was obviously enjoying
herself and they all laughed at her witty comments and double-entendre
jokes.
Alice Seymour was disconcerted, however, to find that while she had
gone downstairs to make coffee Gloria had plucked Gene's eye brows; she
wondered why Gloria had seen the need to do that. Gene would have to
suffer the embarrassment of delicately arched brows for the next couple
of weeks; perhaps Gloria hadn't been thinking ...
If they found his cosmetic make-over amusing the next stage of Gene's
transformation, the fitting of his dress, was hilarious. First, Gloria
would make a smart remark dripping with innuendo and then Gene,
assuming his tough broad character, would make an equally witty
riposte. At one point, Alice Seymour, overcome with fits of laughter,
had to sit down on a chair to compose herself.
Gloria quickly finished Gene off: the wig was fitted carefully on his
head; then the accessories: boa, gloves and cigarette holder. She
borrowed a string of pearls from Gene's mother and lent him some
bracelets and rings of her own. The finishing touch was a pair of
clip-on earrings.
When Gloria returned later that evening to collect Gene Alice Seymour
noticed that she still managed to be taller than him even in his two
inch pumps.
When Gene arrived back from the fancy dress party at three the
following morning, Alice Seymour was waiting up for him. She had never
seen him so excited, so bubbling over with good humor -- he looked like
he could party all night.
Alice Seymour sensed herself being touched to the core by Gene's
excited account of the party. She felt an overpowering feeling of
empathy for him when he confided to being nervous at the start ("I was
nervous too arriving at my Senior Prom!" she told him. "I know what
it's like, Gene, to feel all those eyes scrutinizing your dress!").
Her heart lifted with joy hearing the admiring comments the girls at
the party had passed on his dress.
"Nobody guessed who I was, Mom! I was thrilled! I was sure someone
would find out!" he said ecstatically, glancing every now and then to
admire his feminized reflection in the mirror. Alice Seymour smiled
happily; watching as his fingers played with his pearl necklace she
suddenly recalled how her mother had pointed out this trait in her too
...
She laughed and laughed until her sides hurt as Gene demonstrated how
Gloria as the lead partner had swirled him around on the dance floor.
"What didn't you like about your costume, Gene?" she asked later,
inwardly concerned that he viewed his attire in a very positive light.
"Clip-on earrings! I can definitively do without these clip-on
earrings!" he laughed, pulling them off. "I don't know how women stand
them!"
Alice smiled but said nothing. She didn't want to point out that most
women had their ears pierced because she was sure he would want to get
his done.
It was nearly sun-rise before he reluctantly allowed her to unzip him
from the dress and head for bed.
When Gene reported to Thelma at the camp the following Monday, on her
desk he saw not one but two bulging pink envelopes ...
------------------------------------
"She wouldn't even hear of it."
Thelma Vitner leaned back in her chair and looked at Gene sitting at
the other side of the desk.
"What did you ask her?" she queried.
"When she asked me what I wanted for my birthday I said I wanted the
pink dressing gown we'd seen last Saturday," the boy replied.
"Did she know the one you were talking about?" Thelma asked.
"Yes, I even described it for her. She knew it all right," the boy
answered dejectedly.
"What reason did she give?" Thelma queried.
"She didn't give any," he replied. "She just said it wasn't suitable."
Thelma glared at him.
"It's just as well I'm training you to be a girl because you're too
spineless to be a man!" she sneered.
The boy flinched but said nothing.
"We're going to have to change our tactics," Thelma continued, slowly
recovering her poise. "Now that I have positioned you as your mother's
substitute daughter I am going to make you use psychological tactics to
make your mother to buy the clothes I want you to wear."
"I don't understand you," the boy said hesitantly.
"Until you're fully a girl you won't," Thelma replied caustically.
"Let me explain: men use bullying and brute force to get their way;
women, on the other hand, use more subtle means of achieving their
ambition. Through the training I've given you are now your mother's
best friend: you go shopping together, you talk on the telephone to
each other several times a day, you watch the soaps on TV together, you
discuss clothes and make-up, you do household chores together, you're
even dieting together. You've been able to fill the void caused by
your father being away and some -- you're so close to being the
daughter she never had that it's not true."
"But she still won't buy me a girls dressing gown," the boy pointed
out.
Thelma held up her hand.
"You will have your dressing gown for your birthday and your mother is
going to buy it for you," she smiled. "Today is Wednesday and your
birthday is on Tuesday: that gives us a bit of time. This is how we
are going to do it ..."
Gene raised the subject of the dressing gown at breakfast time on
Friday. When Alice Seymour again demurred, Gene flung down his napkin
and stormed out of the room. Several minutes later his mother heard
him slam the front door behind him.
"He's gone too far this time," Alice Seymour said to herself. 'Who
ever heard of a boy getting a girls dressing gown for his birthday!
What would his father say? Or Bill? Well, that's it as far as I'm
concerned! I'm going to put my foot down and insist that he wears more
ordinary clothes around the house!'
She looked at the clock: he normally rang her at 10:30 when he had his
coffee break. She would let him know then who was in charge.
Alice Seymour waited for Gene to ring but the morning passed slowly
without a call from her son. She aimlessly did her morning chores and
then had lunch. Her mood had changed: she no longer sought to have
her son stop wearing his new clothes, instead she would try to explain
her position to him and reason with him over the birthday present.
The afternoon passed equally slowly and still there was no phone call
from Gene. She was tempted to call the camp but she was reluctant
because knew it wasn't encouraged.
She had dinner on her own in the kitchen. An hour later the phone
rang. She jumped to reach it.
"Gene, is that you?" she said with relief.
She could hardly hear her son; it was evident he was speaking from a
phone booth near a busy motorway. He explained he was going upstate
with Gloria for the weekend to a cabin that her family owned near the
Ox Mountains.
"But what about clothes?" she asked.
"Don't worry, Mom, Gloria has lent me a few things to get me over the
weekend. Anyway, we're only going for two nights; I'll be back on
Sunday evening," Gene replied.
"Gene, about this morning ..." Alice Seymour started to say but Gene
interrupted to say that he had to go. Before hanging up he promised to
ring again the next evening.
She replaced the handset; her mind was racing. She knew he was going
away for the weekend with Gloria for one thing and one thing only: her
refusal to buy him the dressing gown. 'But,' she assured herself,
'he's in the wrong; I'm in the right ...'
She switched on the television; their favorite soap was on. Normally,
the two of them would be eagerly discussing the story-line; when it was
over Gene would do her nails and they would plan where they would go
shopping the next day.
Half-way through the soap she switched it off; somehow it didn't seem
all that interesting tonight. She went to bed early but slept
uneasily.
Saturday morning passed slowly, very slowly for Alice Seymour. She
drove to the shopping mall but drifted aimlessly through the shops.
She had made a mental promise to herself not to look at the dressing
gown Gene had wanted her to buy but she found herself drawn to it like
a magnet. 'It is PRETTY and it matches most of his night-gowns,' she
admitted to herself. It was the kind of dressing gown she would have
liked if she was a teenager. She felt the garment's soft, silky
texture: 'Who wouldn't like to be wearing that next to their skin?'
she said to herself absent-mindedly.
'He's not going to have it -- he is just going to have to think again,'
she thought to herself with renewed determination. She gave the pink
dressing gown a last, lingering look before she moved on.
She looked at boys clothes but couldn't decide on anything (they seemed
so drab and badly cut compared with his current wardrobe).
That afternoon Alice Seymour felt lonely and depressed; she had nothing
to do and nobody to talk to. In desperation, she rang her husband's
hotel several thousand miles away but he was out.
Gripped with a fit of dark emotion she blamed Gloria for her situation;
Gloria, with her ice-cool personality, was driving a wedge between Gene
and her. Then when she calmed down she realized she was just jealous
that Gloria and Gene were off having a good time and she wasn't. But
they had never gone off for a weekend before; she worried that it might
become a pattern and she would be left on her own at weekends ...
When Gene telephoned later that night Alice could barely hear him
against the loud noise of a juke-box in the background. He assured her
everything was OK and they were having a great time. Alice tried to
keep him on the line for as long as she could but Gene ended the call
after a short while. He promised to be home for dinner before 8:00 PM
the following night.
Sunday could not pass quick enough for Alice Seymour. She realized how
badly she missed Gene; they had never been this close before and his
absence brought this realization home to her.
She spent the afternoon preparing his favorite dinner, and when the
door bell rang at 7:30 she ran to embrace her son.
"Oh, Gene! I'm so glad to see you again!" she gushed happily. They
both waved good-bye to Gloria as she drove off.
"You look great, Gene! All that fresh air -- your complexion looks
fantastic!" Alice thrilled. His tanned face and arms contrasted with
his all-white outfit of ramie and cotton short-sleeved sweater, cotton
twill pants and cotton canvas oxfords.
"You look great too, Mom, I love that outfit," Gene responded.
"Oh, do you like it?" Alice responded, pleased. "I thought tonight
we'd have a special dinner together."
"Sounds great!" Gene cried. "Will I have time to shower and to
change?"
"Of course, darling," his mother replied. "By the way, they're not
your clothes are they?"
"No, Mom, Gloria lent me some of her clothes to get me by. Luckily
they fit me OK. White is this season's color -- they're nice, aren't
they?" he replied.
"Nice, Gene? They look dazzling -- I'll need sun-glasses just to look
at you!" Alice joked. Then she added admiringly: "You've such a slim
figure, Gene."
Gene blushed and said he would be down in a few minutes.
When he re-appeared in the kitchen he was just wearing a multi-colored
floral print night-gown.
"Gene, it's a bit cool tonight -- don't you need something warmer?"
Alice asked anxiously.
"No, Mom, I'm fine," he replied, lighting the candle on the table.
Alice said nothing: she knew he was cold -- she could see the
goose-bumps on his arms.
As the meal progressed she could gradually feel the tension between
them melting and by the time coffee was served it was as if nothing had
happened.
"Gene, let's sit inside," she suggested. Then she added: "Gene, I'd
be happier if you were wearing something warmer."
Gene looked at her.
"I'm not cold, thank you, Mom," he said quietly and firmly.
Alice said nothing; he was making the point that he didn't want to wear
his dressing gown. With a sigh she followed him into the sitting-room.
They sat side by side on the comfy sofa as Gene showed her the snaps of
the weekend.
"This is my favorite one," he said, passing her one of the photographs.
"This is me cooking the dinner yesterday -- you know the chicken recipe
with lemon and herbs I did for us a few days ago."
"I remember it, Gene, it was delicious: did Gloria enjoy it?" Alice
asked.
"She loved it!" Gene confirmed with a smile. "Then we just relaxed in
front of the log fire afterwards; we just talked and talked -- it was
heavenly!"
"This snap was taken then, right?"
"Yes, Mom, Gloria brought two lovely matching silk kimonos," Gene
replied happily. "Hers was white with a pink design and this
photograph here shows me with the pink one with a white design; we
joked that we were sisters!"
Alice smiled but deep down she had an uneasy feeling. The snaps were
Gene's way of telling her: if you don't give me the dressing gown I
want, I'll go where I CAN wear them. She felt if she was not careful
she would lose Gene to Gloria every weekend -- and it galled her
intensely -- over a trifling matter.
She touched him on the arm.
"Gene, you are COLD -- you need something over that nightie," she said.
Then she added hurriedly: "Listen, darling, I've an old robe upstairs
that you can have until your birthday on Tuesday."
"Oh Mom!" Gene whispered, his voice heavy with emotion. "I couldn't
have asked for a more understanding mother."
------------------------------------
Monday was cleaning evening in the Seymour household. Gene and his
mother made an efficient team, chatting as they made their way from
room to room.
Gene had slowly but imperceptibly advanced from simply wearing an apron
over his clothes to what he jokingly termed his 'maids' uniform which
consisted of one of her old nylon house-coats teamed with a pair of
slacks.
Alice Seymour was so glad to have his company that she didn't comment
on his choice of clothes. Nor did she object when he purchased his own
house-coat -- this time in a longer length -- using his weekly
allowance from Mrs. Vitner. She couldn't help wondering though why he
had gone for such a long length.
Gene then took to wearing a belt; Alice Seymour even admired the way
Gene could mix and match clothes. At first, Gene wore the belt in a
loose, decorative way, then he started wearing it tighter.
Alice Seymour had often compared Gene's slim build to her own; now it
seemed he had got even slimmer -- particularly his waist (all the more
pity that he had allowed himself to gain weight on his hips, she
thought). The belt was so tightly pulled that it served to emphasize
his narrower waist. The nylon fabric of the house-coat was drawn in at
the waist but flared slightly outwards over his hips. It almost
appeared at times to Alice Seymour that he was wearing a dress ...
One Monday Gloria called unexpectedly. She joined them as they dusted
the shelves in Mr. Seymour's study.
"Gene!" she cried in a horrified, shocked voice. "Just look at the
dust in your hair! It's filthy: didn't you think of covering it
before you started?"
Alice Seymour looked at Gene: Gloria was right. His hair was dusty
and so too probably was hers. Gloria's superior tone of voice made her
feel like a tramp.
"We should be really cover our hair, I suppose ..." Gene's mother
conceded.
"I sure think so too, Mrs. Seymour," Gloria curtly agreed.
Alice Seymour flinched at Gloria's cutting tone: she guessed Gloria
was blaming her not Gene.
"I'll go and get something," she offered contritely. She went into the
kitchen and rummaged among the drawers. She found a cotton head-square
she wore for really dirty house- work. She searched for a cap for Gene
but to her surprize she didn't find any.
She returned to study holding the scarf; Gloria was on her own.
"I haven't found anything for Gene ..." she started apologetically.
"It's OK, Mrs. Seymour, I've lent Gene something of mine that fixes
the problem," Gloria commented smoothly.
Alice Seymour looked surprized but said nothing.
When Gene returned she saw that his hair was covered by a silk scarf
held in place by hair-clips.
She was about to protest when Gloria wagged an admonishing finger at
the blushing boy.
"In future, Gene, don't let me catch you cleaning without it -- or you
can get yourself another girlfriend!" Gloria threatened.
------------------------------------
Alice Seymour finished setting the table.
"Gene! Breakfast is ready!" she called.
"Coming, Mom," Gene replied from upstairs.
A few minutes later he appeared in the kitchen. Alice Seymour found
herself in her usual dilemma of not knowing whether make a comment,
disproving or otherwise, on his appearance. Deep down, she tried to
discount a nagging thought that he might be gay ('He has a girlfriend
after all!' she said to herself, 'And that's more than Bill has!').
She often wished he didn't present such an effeminate image but
partially blamed herself for allowing that image to develop.
This morning she opted to say nothing; she was eager to hear about the
fashion show he and Gloria had gone to the night before.
Today he was wearing the pink dressing gown she had bought him for his
birthday last week. He was thrilled with it and though she still
harbored misgivings she had come around to accepting it. A fluffy pink
towel was wrapped turban-style over his wet hair. He wore the pink
wedge-heeled slippers Gloria had given him for his birthday.
"Morning, Mom," he greeted her with a kiss. "Mmmm, do I smell fresh
croissants?"
"Good morning, honey. Yes, how many would you like?" Alice Seymour
replied in a subdued voice.
"Just one for me thanks, Mom," Gene responded cheerfully, sipping his
orange juice. "Have to watch my figure!"
Alice Seymour wanted to shout: 'Why do you have to watch your figure?
You're a boy; boys don't have to watch their figures!' but instead she
bit her lip and said nothing. Deep down another voice, a more intense
voice, wanted to scream: 'Why do you insist on wearing those clothes?'
"What's wrong, Mom?" Gene asked with a concerned look on his face.
Alice looked at her son.
"It's nothing, Gene, I didn't sleep very well," she replied.
Gene gave her a hug.
"Mom, I really felt for you last night," he said. "I really missed you
at the show and to say how much I missed you, I got you this."
He took a small gift-wrapped package from his pocket.
"This is for you, Mom," he said softly.
Surprized, she unwrapped the package. Inside she found a bottle of
expensive french perfume, Essence Of A Woman.
"Is this ... is this for me?" she gasped.
Gene nodded happily.
"But ... why ... why me?" she gulped, unable to comprehend what was
happening.
"Because you're my mother!" Gene replied affectionately. He took the
bottle from her and taking each of her wrists in turn sprayed them with
the luxurious scent.
As if on automatic pilot, she lifted her wrist to her nose and inhaled
the sweet and beguiling fragrance.
"Hmmm, you smell divine!" Gene exclaimed, giving her a hug and kiss.
"But I don't deserve this, Gene! It must have cost you a fortune!" she
cried. Tears were welling in her eyes; she was touched by his
thoughtfulness -- she never got presents from Bobby or Bill except on
her birthday or at Christmas. And Essence Of A Woman was her favorite
scent (trust Gene to know that!).
"Mom, I just wanted to give you something for missing the show. I know
how much you wanted to go -- unfortunately Gloria could only get two
tickets," Gene explained.
"Gene, I'm touched -- really touched, thank you!" she sniffed happily.
Then, she said with a smile: "What did I miss: tell me about last
night's fashion show!"
Gene's face lit with joy at the memory.
"Oh, Mom, I really wished you could have been there; you would have
loved the clothes!" he started excitedly. For the next fifteen minutes
while they had breakfast he gave Alice an entertaining,
outfit-by-outfit account of the charity fashion show he and Gloria had
attended.
Alice found her initial worries and concern dissipating as she listened
to Gene describe the clothes and the models. His description was so
vivid that she almost imagined she had been there too. She found
herself thinking: 'If I didn't have Gene I don't know what I'd do for
company.' She was intrigued though where he got the idea to give her
perfume.
It transpired that the organizers had given out free bottles of Calypso
perfume and this had given him the idea to get her the scent on the way
home.
"But, Gene, Calypso is a nice perfume -- I would have been happy with
that!" Alice protested. "I think --"
"You mean you don't like Essence Of A Woman?" Gene interrupted with a
disappointed look on his face.
"No, no, I love it, I promise you, Gene!" she replied hastily.
"I'm so glad you like it, Mom," Gene quickly replied, taking a
miniature perfume atomizer from his dressing gown pocket. "You see,
this is really a young person's fragrance and it only hits a few of the
notes that yours does. Let me show you." He made to spray her wrists
and then realizing she was already wearing a perfume, sprayed his left
wrist. He held it up to her nose.
"Be honest: which one do you prefer?" he asked.
"My one," she admitted.
"I prefer mine," Gene responded, adding dreamily: "Mmmmh -- it reminds
me of Gloria -- she's a big fan of Calypso."
Alice felt her heart skip a beat: he had alluded to 'my' perfume --
and he had even put it on in her presence. She wanted to voice her
disapproval but felt that it would cause her son ill-feeling after
having spent so much money on her gift. She would say nothing now but
she would, she resolved to herself, broach him on this at another time
...
------------------------------------
Alice Seymour observed a subtle shift in Gene's relationship with
Gloria. Slowly but surely Gloria was becoming the dominant partner; he
left all major decisions to her. She frequently answered questions
directed at him and sometimes she would talk as if he were not present.
Gloria would occasionally treat him like a small child. Alice Seymour
had seen her brush his hair before they went out. The previous evening
when the color of his knee-highs had not been to her liking she sent
him up to his room to change into a darker shade.
Gloria was dressing differently these days; the soft, flowing dresses
had given way to sharper business suit combinations of blouse, jacket
and ultra short mini-skirts. Sheer black nylon hose and high
stiletto-heeled pumps emphasized her long elegant legs (and her height
advantage over Gene; these days she appeared to tower over him).
She became openly critical of his appearance -- so much so that Gene
would spend hours getting ready to go out. He had started using a
range of creams and lotions to cover facial blemishes that might draw a
scathing comment from Gloria.
Alice Seymour was not unduly concerned at these developments; she
realized that Gloria was older and more experienced than Gene and
therefore more confident in her relationships. Her worry though was
that if this pattern continued Gene would become overly passive and
lose his appeal to Gloria.
She found herself though being drawn into Gene's desire to present the
perfect appearance to Gloria. She passed him tips and short-cuts that
she had learnt and seldom visited a cosmetics counter without looking
for something that might interest him.
One evening Gene came home from a visit to the theater with Gloria
visibly agitated. He had slammed the front door and had raced
upstairs; after a few minutes she heard him bang his bedroom door shut.
Alice Seymour knocked on his door. He didn't reply so she went in.
He was standing in his night-gown in front of his full length mirror.
His feet were shod in a pair of her high heels.
"Gene! Why on earth are you wearing my shoes?" she asked, astounded.
The sight of Gene in her heels sent a cold chill through her.
Gene said nothing.
"Gene, is there something wrong?" she asked severely.
He shook his head; he continued to look at his reflection in the
mirror.
"Gene, I can tell you're upset. Is there something wrong?" she
repeated in a softer voice.
Still he shook his head.
Then he hid his face in his hands and his body shook gently with his
sobs. Alice Seymour hugged him and sat him down on the seat in front
of his vanity unit.
She perched herself on the corner of the seat and ran her arm around
his waist.
"Tell me about it ..." she invited gently.
Gene's story came out in fits: he and Gloria had gone to the theater
and had enjoyed themselves. Later, they had gone for a drink and then
for no reason at all they were quarrelling.
They had continued to bicker on the way home. Gloria had called him
some hurtful names; she had called him shorty, pint-size and midget.
They had particularly upset Gene who was sensitive to Gloria's height
advantage over him.
It was not clear from Gene's account whether Gloria had split from him
or was threatening to.
Alice Seymour stayed with Gene until, exhausted, he had clambered into
bed and had fallen asleep. She put his clothes away and, after a few
moments reflection, she took the pair of high heels back to her
bedroom.
As she got ready for bed she felt a great wave of sympathy for her son;
she realized it must be a psychological handicap for a boy to date a
girl taller than him. She guessed he had wanted to try on her heels to
see if they could make a difference.
She knew Gene desperately wanted -- as she did too -- to continue his
relationship with Gloria.
The next day Alice Seymour rang some of her friends for advice but none
had any experience of the problem Gene faced.
She explained Gene's situation to several men's shoe shops she visited
in the shopping mall; the condescending and unhelpful attitude of some
of the retailers she encountered to her son's lack of inches vexed her
greatly.
At a loss at what to do Alice Seymour decided to take a break and to
look for a pair of sandals for herself.
The shoe store was quiet and the sales girl was both attentive and
helpful. While she tried on several models she explained Gene's
problem to the sales girl.
"It must be hard on your son," the sales girl said sympathetically.
"It must be terrible for him to know he lost a girl friend because he
was the shorter of the two."
"It's a pity Gloria isn't more tolerant," Alice Seymour remarked
pointedly.
"Well, look at it from her point of view: from what you told me she's
a very fashion-conscious girl -- yet every time she wants to go out
with your son she has to wear flats!" the sales girl replied.
Alice Seymour fell silent.
"Usually it's the other way around," the sales girl continued. "A lot
of girls buy heels so they can be closer in height to their guys. It
seems to me that your son has to add a couple of inches to his shoes!"
Alice Seymour related her experience with the men's shoe shops.
"They just didn't want to know!" she finished bitterly.
The sales girl thought for a minute.
"What shoe size is your son?" she asked.
When Alice Seymour told her Gene's size she went over to the cashier's
desk and consulted a chart. Then she disappeared into the stores area.
"He's probably the equivalent of a 7D," she told Alice Seymour on her
return. "What do you think of these?"
Alice Seymour looked at the shoes in the box the sales assistant had
opened. They were a pair of lace-up ankle boots.
"The heels are two inch," the sales girl informed her. "But they're
covered heels, and if you look at the shoe from the front they don't
seem that high."
"What's the difference between them and a man's pair of shoes?" Alice
Seymour asked; she didn't want to offend the girl by rejecting her idea
out-right.
"There's not that much difference," the girl replied. "Basically,
they're a girl's shoe with a masculine style. See the lace-ups and
high vamp? They're features you'd more commonly find in a man's shoe."
"But they're made from a softer leather, right?" Alice Seymour asked,
squeezing the shoes at the side.
"Yes, they are softer and more supple," the sales assistant agreed. "I
bet my bottom dollar your son would find them much more comfortable
than any pair he has at the moment."
Alice Seymour continued to examine the shoes.
The sales girl looked around and lowered her voice: "You won't believe
this but I've sold two pairs in this style to men in the last four
weeks who have the same problem as your son!"
Alice Seymour looked at the sales girl in surprize and saw that she was
sincere.
"When is a quiet time for him to come in and try them on?" she asked.
A few days later Gene sat in Thelma's office and watched as she
examined the latest set of photographs.
"Pity your mother didn't like you wearing her high heels -- they looked
good on you," she mused, replacing the photographs back in the pink
envelope. "Still, she gotten you a pair of ankle boots; it's a start,
I suppose. I think it's time we started locking in what we've gained
so far ..."
------------------------------------
Later that day Thelma scrutinized the latest set of photographs. What
she saw pleased her: Gene had graduated to completely wearing feminine
clothes at home.
She itemized the changes: night-dresses had replaced PJs; panties had
replaced Y-fronts; panty-hose had replaced socks; blouses had replaced
shirts and tops; slacks had replaced trousers; ankle boots had replaced
shoes; all of these Gene could wear with his mother's tacit approval.
There had been other signs of progress: Gene's hair had become longer
and fuller. It had been styled in a semi-page boy style. He had also
graduated to using deep cleansers, toners and moisturizers; it would
only be a matter of time before he could wear foundation. Alice
Seymour pretended not to notice his latest choice of lipstick which
gave a hint of color and gloss to his lips. Elegantly manicured and
gleaming nails testified too to a new life-style.
Thelma recognized that these were significant changes in a space of a
couple of weeks; but still she was not satisfied. She suspected that
further gains would be harder to achieve. Though all of his clothes
were feminine Gene's style of clothing was too androgynous for her
liking -- she wanted him to be more explicitly feminine.
She was impatient too with the speed of Gene's progress towards
constant femininity. She would have preferred if things had moved
faster and wondered how this could be achieved.
------------------------------------
Thelma Vitner's case study of good practice #1
"Alice, that was a truly wonderful lunch!" Mrs. Schrawb said as she
got up to go.
Alice Seymour beamed with pride; Mrs. Schrawb was the chairwoman of
the Ladies Club and was looked up to by the members of the club as
having indisputable class and taste.
"Those seafood dips were superb! I've never tasted anything so
delicious; you must give me the recipe," Mrs. Schrawb continued.
"Yes, Alice, they were mouth-watering!" Carmel Fox and Imelda Wiest
chorused.
"Congratulations, Alice, on providing such a memorable lunch!" Mina
Seward added.
"Thank you, you're all so kind," Alice Seymour replied happily, feeling
light-headed with all the praise. "I'm so glad you enjoyed yourself!"
When the last guest had departed Alice Seymour collapsed on a sofa,
exhausted but exhilarated. It had been her first time to host the Club
for lunch and she had been very nervous beforehand.
The food had been superb as Mrs. Schrawb and all the other guests had
pointed out; she had Gene to thank for that. He had worked late the
night before and had been up early that morning preparing salads,
sandwiches and the seafood dips they had all praised so lavishly.
Gene's newly-acquired cooking skills had been the key factor in the
success of the lunch.
"Thank you, Mrs. Vitner! I can't thank you enough for what your
summer camp has done to my Gene!" she breathed aloud.
Just then the telephone rang. It was Rita Fullmacker ringing to
congratulate her on the lunch.
"I couldn't get over your nails, Alice, they're beautiful; where did
you get them done?" was her final admiring comment.
Alice Seymour blushed with pleasure; make-up was not one of her better
skills and it was nice to get praise like that from Rita who seemed to
spend her life in beauty salons. She looked at her gleaming, perfectly
manicured and polished nails. Gene had learnt this 4-stroke technique
for applying varnish -- where he had learnt this technique she never
found out -- but the results were stunning.
He definitively deserved something in return: but what? Then, she
remembered they had seen a pair of black and white print leggings which
he had admired in the new clothes shop in the mall. She would get them
on the condition that he would, of course, only wear them around the
house ...
------------------------------------
Thelma Vitner's case study of good practice #2
"Gene, are you nearly finished?" Alice Seymour asked after a while.
She looked at her watch: there was only another three hours to get
ready for dinner with the Schrawbs!
"Hmmmpfffh!"
"I'm sorry, Gene, I forgot you had pins in your mouth!" Alice Seymour
giggled. She watched as her son circled her on his knees pinning the
hem of her skirt.
"There, Mom!" he finally replied. "I've taken it up two inches all
around."
"Are you sure it's the right length for me, Gene?" Alice Seymour asked
anxiously.
"Relax, Mom, it's perfect!" Gene reassured her. "Now why don't you
step out of it and I'll get working."
"Thanks, Gene! I couldn't have done this without you -- I mean that!"
Alice Seymour replied gratefully, taking off her skirt.
Alice Seymour saw Gene's blush of pleasure being quickly replaced a
look of vexation on his face.
"Oh Mom! Your slip is torn!" he groaned.
Alice Seymour looked down and saw that the lace hem of her slip was
ripped in two places.
"Take it off, Mom, I'll have time to fix it after I've done the skirt.
I'm want you go to the dinner looking like a million dollars!" he told
her. "Oh, by the way, I've ironed your blouse already -- it's hanging
up in the airing closet."
"Gene, you're an angel!" Alice Seymour said in a husky voice, peeling
off her slip and handing it to him.
When Gene had gone downstairs Alice Seymour found herself struggling to
contain overwhelming emotions of gratitude and love for her son. She
knew he would do a great job on the skirt; he could sew a hem better
than she could!
"I'm so lucky he's going to Thelma Vitner's Summer Camp!" she said
aloud, wiping a tear from her eye.
She started to do her make-up and remembered that Gene was out of
moisturizer; she made a mental note to buy him that expensive french
brand she had seen advertized recently. It would be worth every
dollar, his skin had improved beyond recognition since he had started
using moisturizers ...
------------------------------------
Thelma Vitner's case study of good practice #3
They were sitting out on the deck at the back of the house enjoying the
sun's last moments. The deck was one of their favorite places because
it wasn't overlooked.
Gene was flicking through a glossy fashion magazine and Alice Seymour
was sipping a cool drink. She glanced at her watch: in another hour
Gloria would be calling to collect Gene to go to the movies.
Gene was already dressed for going out; he looked quite smart she
thought. He was wearing a pair of pull-on light gray slacks teamed
with a white georgette blouse. He wore a pair of barely black tights
and lace-up ankle boots.
She tried not to let his blouse worry her. It was very feminine
looking with its scalloped edge collar and pintucks to front bodice.
Gene had promized to wear a sweater over it, adding that it was
Gloria's favorite and she liked him to wear it. Alice Seymour was glad
they were going to a drive-in movie where it wouldn't be noticed so
much.
"I'm sorry, Mom, I'm not very polite company," Gene said after a while,
putting the magazine on the table.
Alice Seymour smiled and squeezed his hand.
"See anything interesting, honey?" she asked.
"Not much really. Oh, hem lines are going back up in the fall," he
said.
"So I've heard," Alice Seymour acknowledged. "Did you see the feature
on that japanese designer, Okazi?"
"Yes, I saw it," Gene admitted.
"What do you think of his skirts?" Alice Seymour asked; she loved
talking about fashion.
"I loved the material and I love long skirts, Mom, but the designs were
so impractical! Who wants to go around with a train of heavy velvet
dragging behind you!" Gene laughed.
"Especially in this heat!" Alice Seymour agreed with a smile.
"Talking about clothes, I saw an outfit in Florentyns that would look
adorable on you, Mom!" Gene said.
"Oh? Tell more, Gene!" Alice Seymour replied, interested; Florentyns
was her favorite clothing store.
Gene adeptly described the outfit he had seen: a two-piece dress and
jacket combination. Alice Seymour's eyes grew wide with delight. She
needed an outfit for a niece's wedding later in the summer. The outfit
Gene was describing sounded sensational.
"The prettiest thing about the outfit was the calf length skirt -- I
think long skirts are sexy! It'll look VERY sexy on you, Mom!" he
finished.
Alice Seymour glowed with pleasure.
"Where did you learn to charm me like that?" she laughed.
Gene playfully mouthed the answer back to her.
"What are you saying to me, honey?" Alice Seymour asked. Then, it
dawned on her: "Of course! The TV Summer Camp!"
There was a silence.
"Well, Gene, I'm waiting!" Alice Seymour smiled expectantly.
"Waiting for what?" Gene replied, pretending not to know what she
meant.
"I owe you a favor ...!?!" Alice Seymour teased.
"Mom! How could you!" Gene protested indignantly. Then he broke into
an broad grin: "You know how much I'd adore a pair of sandals; I was
window-shopping in the mall this afternoon and I saw this gorgeous ..."
------------------------------------
"Gene, wake up! Gloria's here for breakfast!"
Alice shook her the prone form of her son in the bed.
"C'mon, Gene!" she said excitedly. "You can't keep Gloria waiting!"
Her son groggily responded: "Uhhhh, what is it, Mom?"
"G-l-o-r-i-a!" she whispered in his ear. "She's downstairs!"
He shot up immediately and then looking at his refection in the mirror
groaned out loud. "I can't let her see me like this!" he cried.
"But, Gene, Gloria has seen you hundreds of times in a nightie! And
that one looks cute on you, darling," Alice replied encouragingly.
Gene's night-gown really did look pretty: ballet-length in white
adorned with eyelet trim, lace and satin beading.
"No, Mom, I don't mean that!" Gene replied hastily, getting out of bed
and going over to his vanity unit. "I mean, just look at my face and
my hair -- I can't face Gloria looking like this!" he wailed.
"You'll have to, Gene! Gloria can only stay for a quick breakfast,"
Alice responded impatiently.
"I can do something about my face, Mom," he said, quickly opening a jar
of day cream. "But what about my hair?"
Gene's face looked pale though with a little bit of color it could look
presentable; but even Alice had to admit his hair was in a mess. "How
did it get that way, Gene? When you went out last night it was
perfect," she pointed out.
Gene stopped applying cream to his face and groaned: "I went out with
one of Gloria's former acquaintances, Roxy, and we were experimenting
with a new hair treatment ... and ... and -- well just look at my
hair now! It's a disaster area!"
"But Gloria'll understand, Gene," Alice replied.
"No, she won't, Mom," Gene countered. "She'll kill me if I tell her I
let Roxy at my hair -- she's warned me to stay away from her so many
times!"
"Well, you'll have to do something," Alice responded severely. "Gloria
is waiting."
"But what, Mom?" Gene pleaded. "I just can't think right now!"
"You could wear a towel over your head --" Alice suggested.
"Mom! Get real! Gloria would hear if I had a shower!" Gene snapped.
Alice pursed her lips in silence.
"Gene, you could wear the scarf you wore cleaning the house on Monday!"
she said excitedly.
"Great idea, Mom!" he replied with relief. Then, he groaned: "No, I
can't, it's downstairs in the kitchen ..."
Alice was conscious of the time ticking away and Gloria waiting
downstairs. "Listen, Gene, I'll have a look in my room, I might be
able to find something."
"Thanks, Mom, you're a darling," Gene breathed.
In her nite-stand, Alice found a pink chiffon scarf which she used for
wrapping over her curlers. She hurried back to Gene's bedroom with it;
he was still applying cream to his face.
"I've found something, Gene," she said, showing him the scarf.
"Perfect!" he said. "Could you put it on? I'm nearly finished this."
Alice was exasperated at Gene's request but she complied nevertheless.
She folded it in a triangle and tied it gypsy-style over his hair.
Then she gasped: "Gene! Are you wearing scent?"
Gene's face crumbled in horror.
"Roxy uses this hideous perfume and she insisted on spraying me!" he
groaned. "Can you smell it still? I tried to wash it off last night!"
Alice nodded, wrinkling her noise in disgust.
Gene rummaged in a drawer and pulled out a small atomizer. He sprayed
his neck, wrists and the front of his night- dress. Alice recognized
bottle of Calypso that he had got at the fashion show a few weeks ago.
"What gives, Gene?" Alice said, startled. "Why are you doing that?"
"Just trust me, Mom, I know what I'm doing," Gene pleaded. Then, he
unscrewed a white jar.
"Gene!" Alice cried again. "I don't believe what I'm seeing! Surely
you're not going to use that!?"
"Mom!" her son cried, exasperated. "You want me to hurry up; if I use
this I'll be finished quickly -- or I do it the long way! So which is
it?"
"My son using liquid foundation ... what next? Oh, go on, Gene! Just
hurry up, for goodness sake!" Alice urged, her impatience close
breaking point.
"I'm done now, Mom!" he cried a few minutes later. He stood up and put
on his pink dressing gown and slippers. "How do I look?"
"You look fine, Gene," Alice reassured him.
"Thanks for your help, Mom," Gene replied gratefully. "Now tell me why
Gloria is here."
Alice's face broke into a smile.
"She's here to tell you about Karen's party!" she said, smiling
effusively.
"Karen's party?" Gene asked wonderingly as he followed her downstairs.
Alice Seymour wasn't listening.
"I'm sorry we kept you waiting, Gloria. I was starting to tell Gene
about Karen's party. I haven't been to a shower party in years; I'd
love to go to one again -- they're super fun!" she said. "I wish I was
young again and I could go," she added wistfully.
Gloria gave her a sympathetic look.
"But you can go, Gene! Gloria's got you an invite!" Alice Seymour
continued delightedly.
"Morning, Gene!" Gloria gave him a kiss on the cheeks. "MMMMmmmmm --
you smell nice!"
"I know you like Calypso so I'd thought I'd wear it to please you,"
Gene replied, giving Alice a secret wink.
"I am pleased. You look very fetching today, darling, that's a very
pretty scarf," Gloria continued. "Did you buy that?"
"No, it's Mom's," Gene replied.
Gloria turned to give Alice an admiring look; Alice blushed with
pleasure. "Gene, if you ask your mom politely she might give it to
you," Gloria cooed.
Gene looked at Alice with imploring eyes.
Alice gave a flustered laugh: "Of course ... of course, you can have
it, Gene."
"Thanks, Mom, you're a darling!" Gene replied, delighted. "Gloria,
what's this about a party?"
"Oh, I nearly forgot! Karen asked me to give this to you!" Gloria
grinned, passing him a pink envelope.
Stunned, Gene opened the envelope and took out a gilt-edged invitation.
"Karen Buzzaldi invites ... Ms. Jean Seymour ... to her Shower Party
on Tuesday, July 15 at 9:30 PM! RSVP!" he read out loud.
Alice and Gloria burst out laughing.
"Ms. Jean Seymour! Hey, this can't be me!" Gene wailed.
His outburst sent the two women into fresh peals of laughter.
"Hey, you girls set me up!" he protested, realizing he had been duped.
Tears of laughter streaming from her eyes, Alice Seymour could only nod
her head in reply.
"Mom! I'll have to go as a girl -- no wait! I'm not going -- you can
send my regrets," Gene responded indignantly. "You can say I've got a
headache -- it's that time of the month!"
"No can do, Gene! I've already accepted on your behalf!" Gloria
rebuked him in a mock schoolmarm manner. Then she laughed: "And if
it's your period next Tuesday, you'll just have to wear a Kotex!"
Just then Gloria's mobile rang. She stepped outside to take the call
on the deck.
"Mom! What are you thinking of?" Gene hissed. "I'm going to have to
dress up again!"
"So what's the problem if you have to dress up again? You did it for
the fancy dress party -- and you loved it!" Alice Seymour pointed out.
"Mom! That was different -- everybody was dressed up!" Gene replied.
Alice Seymour had her mind made up.
"Gloria has given me a wig for you and all you need is a skirt," she
said as Gloria returned with a serious look on her face.
"I've got to go immediately: that was my boss calling from Boston.
He's working on a take-over possibility and he wants me to be there.
I've got to get the next flight to join him. It seems I'm going to be
working this weekend so I won't be able to go shopping with you, Gene,"
Gloria said ruefully. Then she turned to Alice Seymour: "Maybe you
might help him find something ..."
Alice Seymour took the hint.
"Don't worry, Gloria, leave it to me," she assured the girl.
When Gloria was gone, Gene turned to his mother.
"Mom! Do you know what you've let me in for?" he demanded. "If Karen
finds out who I am how are you going to explain what I'm doing at a
shower party? Dressed as a girl?"
"Relax, Gene! You'll be fine!" Alice Seymour replied in a confident
voice. Inwardly, she was flustered: she hadn't expected to be given
the task of finding him a dress -- she had assumed Gloria would lend
Gene one of hers.
Later that day Gene telephoned to say that he had heard from Gloria:
she confirmed that she was going to be in Boston for the weekend but
would be back in time for Karen's party.
"Mom, Gloria suggested earrings. I'm not going to wear clip-ons like I
did at the fancy dress party, I want my ears pierced, OK?" he demanded.
"Yes, dear," Alice agreed contritely. She wished she had never allowed
Gloria to talk her into this. What would Bobby say if he heard his
youngest son was going to a shower party dressed as a girl ...
Six days later a tired Gene was sitting across the desk from Thelma in
her office.
"Did you enjoy the party last night?" Thelma asked breezily.
"It was OK," he replied defensively.
"Another first for the TV Summer Camp: boy, disguised as girl, is
guest at shower party!" Thelma grinned.
Gene blushed but said nothing.
Thelma took a bundle of photographs from the first of four pink
envelopes.
"I see your mother had quite a time deciding what you should wear --
and this is only for going out shopping -- not for the party!" she
teased, scanning the photographs on her desk. "I see five different
outfits here!"
Gene tried to identify the photographs from his position.
"That's a very pretty blouse in that picture," Thelma commented. Then
she pointed a perfectly manicured finger to another photograph: "I
don't recognize these heels you're wearing; they're hers, right?"
Gene nodded his head.
"Of course, you both take nearly the same size in shoes," Thelma went
on. "You remember before, Gene, she didn't like you wearing her shoes;
but when it goes to the wire she has no problem!"
Gene said nothing.
"It's a pity we have to go through this -- but it will be over in a few
days," Thelma remarked cryptically. Then, quickly changing the
subject: "Ah yeeeessssss! This is one of my favorite snaps! She's
fastening a bra on you -- your very own bra! You must have being dying
in ecstasy, Gene! All sissies long for their mothers to do that!"
Gene, blushing heavily, squirmed in his chair.
"She did the works on you, Gene!" Thelma purred with satisfaction,
flicking through the photographs one by one. "Camisole, blouse,
slacks, heels -- even a little purse for you to carry!"
She reached for the second envelope.
"These are from the shopping expedition," she noted, taking out another
bundle of prints. She laid them out on her desk.
"What a charming couple you make: mother and daughter shopping for a
skirt!" she cooed. "I think you were in heaven, Gene! Look at all
those racks of skirts -- and your mother ENCOURAGING you to try them
on!"
Gene was about to say something but changed his mind.
"I count six different skirts you tried on, Gene! There's something
very feminine about that!" she purred. "Any boy in your predicament
would've gone for the first one he saw! But not you, Gene, you wanted
to get the right length, the right style, the right color, the right
feel, the right look ... !!"
Gene blushed again.
'And you ended up with a very stylish choice: a slim pencil skirt with
kick pleats!" Thelma complimented him. "I can see from this photo here
that even that your mother was impressed!"
"It just seemed right," Gene answered softly.
"After that, your mother couldn't refuse you a slip and a pair of court
shoes, could she?" Thelma continued. "And to top it off she buys you a
new blouse! And you get to have your ears pierced! Aren't you a lucky
BOY!
She picked up the third bundle of photographs.
"Well, maybe it's not all fun being a girl ..." she said slowly. "She
wouldn't let you have your usual cream cake with your coffee -- why
not, Gene?"
"She said I had to watch my figure -- or else I wouldn't be able to fit
into my skirt!" Gene whispered shyly.
Thelma smiled.
"I can see here that Gloria did her usual professional transformation
job on your face. Were you pleased with the results?" she asked.
Gene nodded: "Nobody guessed who I was."
"Of course they didn't, Gene; you look every inch a girl!" Thelma said
authoritatively. "The photos of the shower party tell me that it took
you a little while to get into the swing of things but then you relaxed
and enjoyed yourself!"
Gene smiled at the memory.
"And the last photograph in this bundle tells me that a proud mother
stayed up waiting for her DAUGHTER to come home and tell her all the
details!" Thelma grinned. "But I've kept the best for last ..."
She opened the fourth and last pink envelope.
"What happened next I bet was the highlight of the night, right?" she
asked with a wry smile.
Gene, his face suffused with a mixture of embarrassment and ecstasy,
nodded.
"You handled her brilliantly -- you obviously took in all we taught
you!" Thelma noted with satisfaction.
She continued:
"First, the story of the party; then, you quickly moved on to tell her
how Karen gave you a sneak preview of her wedding dress and how
beautiful it was. You were pushing all the right buttons with your
detailed and knowledgeable description of the dress -- your mother was
lapping it up!!! You stroked her up nicely by first saying how
romantic wedding dresses were and so it was only natural for you to ask
her to show you hers! She hesitated for a minute -- (but only for a
minute!) -- and then she led you into her bedroom. When she took it
out of the wrapper you entered your 'swoon' mode and you collapsed on
the bed saying how exquisite it was and how pretty she must have looked
in it! You begged her -- no, pleaded with her -- to try it on!!!"
"This photo tells me how much she wanted to try it on," Thelma went on.
"But I knew -- and you knew -- it was too small for her! At this stage
your mother was past caring about social conventions so she suggested
you model it! You've been so well trained by us, Gene, that you
started -- as all polite girls do -- to decline but you changed your
mind in mid-sentence! I've never seen a skirt come off so fast -- even
on a girl! And you practically wrenched your blouse off without
undoing the buttons! It's just as well that Gloria gave you a girdle
to wear before you went home, Gene, because our sensors show that your
member was straining to a full erection! The last thing you wanted,
Gene, as your mother lowered the dress over your head was for your
stiff member to snag her precious material! And the sanitary towel
came handy -- especially when we had a little explosion in our panties,
didn't we, Gene? We must have been very excited!"
Gene, coloring heavily, nodded his head.
"The dress just about fit, right?" Thelma continued. "A little tight
around the waist and a little loose at the bodice; but otherwise, Gene,
you looked the radiant bride! Your mother certainly thought so!
Otherwise, she wouldn't have gone to the trouble of getting you the
matching head veil!"
Thelma picked up one of the photographs: "I see we weren't the only
ones taking photographs!" she said gleefully. "I bet though her snaps
won't feature in the family album!"
------------------------------------
'He must find it a very uncomfortable position; yet he's smiling and
laughing.'
Alice Seymour's thoughts had temporarily drifted from the conversation.
Gene and Gloria were reminiscing happily about Karen's party.
Gene was sitting in the middle; his legs were entwined twice over with
his left foot hooked in a locking position around the back of his right
leg. Alice observed too how he kept his arms pinned close to his
sides: 'He looks so compact: he hardly seems to take up hardly any
space on the seat,' she thought to herself. She tried to envisage what
it would be like if it was Bill that was sitting in Gene's place: he
would look so big and ungainly. 'Sprawling' was the word that came
immediately to mind. Her mind wandered further: Bill was such a
careless and sloppy dresser compared to Gene.
But then, she reflected with an slight quiver of discomfiture, Bill
would not be seen dead in a light gray jogging suit with white and pink
stripes at the side that Gene wore.
On the other hand, Bill and his friends would certainly not had invited
her shopping like Gene and Gloria had. They had spent the previous two
hours buying a skirt for Gloria. The memory of the fun they'd had in
the mall brought a smile to her face.
"Mom!" Gene laughed, touching her hand. "You were day dreaming!"
"I'm sorry," Alice apologized. "My mind just wandered ..."
Gene squeezed her hand. "I hope you like it here, Mom," he said.
"I love it!" Alice responded enthusiastically. She had been delighted
when Gene and Gloria had asked her to join them for a drink in their
favorite bar. "It's very comfortable here!"
"It's our favorite spot: we can have privacy but still see everything
that's happening," Gloria remarked. "The light here is a bit dim but
we don't mind."
Just then an elderly barman arrived with a pad.
"Well, ladies, wanna give me your order?" he asked.
Alice tittered in nervous amusement; she waited for Gene to correct
him. But Gene was preoccupied studying the menu. Gloria was looking
at a large chalkboard in the distance. "I'll have today's special,"
she told the barman.
"You've got to be over 18, Miss, to drink that!" the barman joked in a
dead-pan voice.
"Andy! You're such a charmer!" Gloria laughed, a blush appearing on
her pretty face.
"My usual please, Andy," Gene ordered. "By the way, Andy, have you met
my mother?"
"Glad to meet you, Mrs. Seymour," the barman said. "Can I fix you
with a drink?"
"I'll have a glass of white wine, thank you," Alice responded, looking
at Gene.
The barman repeated their orders and then returned to the bar.
"Andy's our favorite barman, Mom, he loves playing jokes!" Gene
giggled.
Alice gave him a stiff smile.
"Gene, didn't you notice that he addressed us as 'Ladies'? I waited
for you to correct him but you didn't say anything! Why didn't you?"
she demanded in an icy tone of voice.
Gene looked stunned at her outburst.
"Mom! It's just a game Gloria and I are playing! Ever since we first
came here Andy has always mistaken us for girls," Gene responded,
aggrieved. "Mom, you see, Andy's very short-sighted --"
"He's too vain to wear glasses!" Gloria interrupted.
"It's just a trick we're playing on him! He loves playing practical
jokes on us!" Gene said. Then, seeing the elderly barman return with
their order, whispered: "He's going to get a terrible shock when he
finds out the truth!"
Alice Seymour nodded; she wanted to believe them but was undecided.
"Who ordered the chocolate-flavored tequila with pink- colored ice?"
Gene and Gloria shrieked with laughter; Alice Seymour smiled.
"Me, Andy, me, me, me!" Gloria chanted gleefully.
When the barman had served their drinks, Gene turned to his mother:
"See, Mom, he loves fooling around and we love fooling him!"
"That's OK, Gene," Alice responded quietly. "If it's only a joke ..."
Gloria quickly changed the conversation to talk about a beauty salon
she had frequented.
Just then Alice noticed a girl walk into the bar on her own. Gene and
Gloria noticed her as well.
"Look, Gene! There's Roxy -- look, she's wearing a skirt like the one
you wore to Karen's party!" Gloria whispered.
"Who is she?" Alice asked.
"Her name is Roxy. She runs a small hair-dressing salon on the other
side of town. I went there once but never again! She nearly destroyed
my hair!" Gloria said in a voice dripping with venom.
Gloria's tone sent a cold chill through Alice who had often wondered
what would happen if she got on the wrong side of her son's girlfriend.
The girl, unaware of their presence, sat down at a table near the dance
floor to the side and lit a cigarette.
"It's the same skirt as yours, Gene," Gloria confirmed. "Am I right,
Mrs. Seymour?"
Alice looked over at the girl and nodded her head.
"At least it shows Roxy has some taste in clothes!" Gloria sneered.
"But take a look at her blouse and shoes: they make her look like a
street-walker!"
Alice nodded in agreement. Everything about the girl clashed: her
clothes, her hair and her make-up.
"Do you know what I wish, Gene?" Gloria asked suddenly.
"No, what?"
"I wish you were wearing the outfit you wore to Karen's party right now
-- then you could show that hussy a thing or two about elegance in
clothes and color coordination!" Gloria replied wistfully.
"I wish I could -- I'd love to wear it again," Gene answered shyly.
"But I owe everything to Mom: the outfit was really her choice!"
"Darling, that's not true!" Alice chided him gently. "The skirt was
your choice and so was the blouse!"
"The court shoes were your suggestion, Mom!" Gene pointed out. "And
you picked the hose for me!"
"Which of you picked the purse? Everybody at the party was admiring
it!" Gloria asked.
Alice and Gene replied: "Gene did!" and "Mom did!" at the same time
and they both broke out giggling.
"Come on, Mom, tell the truth! You saw it first!" Gene claimed with a
smile. "I was going for the crocodile leather purse but you pointed
out it wouldn't go with my shoes!"
"Alright, maybe I did!" Alice allowed. "But then I have more
experience buying purses then you have ..."
In the silence that followed Alice wished she had expressed herself
more diplomatically.
Eventually, in a voice husky with emotion, Gene broke the silence.
"Mom, I just want you to know how much I appreciated having you with me
shopping to give me advice and support. It's a tribute to you that
nobody took me for anything but a girl at Karen's party! Then later
that night I was so privileged to share precious memory of your wedding
day with you ... I'll always treasure that experience!"
Alice nodded. "Gene, you're welcome," she replied quietly. Then, she
said: "Is it my turn to order?"
------------------------------------
Thelma clutched her fist with joy. Her latest ruse had worked. Alice
Seymour had fallen for it, line, hook and sinker. She summoned Gene up
from the kitchen to her office.
"You know that blouse that I made you buy last week with your weekly
allowance?" she asked.
Gene looked puzzled.
"The purple one? The one that's almost two sizes too big for me?" he
responded. "It makes me feel like I'm wearing a tent!"
Thelma smiled.
"I never intended you to wear it, sweetie! Who takes two sizes bigger
than you in your family?" she said.
"Why, Mom does ..." the boy answered slowly.
"Exactly," Thelma replied gleefully, "and that's who the blouse was
really for."
"Why her? She has plenty of blouses of her own," Gene said.
"True," Thelma allowed, "but not in that color. You see, it's a
perfect match for the new skirt she bought two weeks ago."
"So?" Gene replied, perplexed.
"Gene, I've good news for you -- your mother has just borrowed it for
her trip to the theater with the Schrawbs!" Thelma told him. "We're
going to exploit this to the full. Here's what you're going to do ..."
It was nearly 11:30 when Alice Seymour drove home that night. The
evening to the theater had been a fabulous success. Her head was still
spinning from the compliments Mrs. Schrawb ("call me Betty") had
passed on her outfit.
As she approached the house she could see lights on and she knew that
Gene was still up and waiting for her. She wondered how she would
explain the fact that she had borrowed his blouse and what 'favors' he
would extract from her.
"Gene, I'm home!" she called as she made her way into the hall.
"Hi, Mom, I'm in here," Gene called from the utility room. "Did you
have a good time?"
Alice walked into the kitchen. She could tell instantly that the floor
had been washed. She felt a spasm of guilt -- she had meant to clean
the floor before she went out but had run out of time.
"Darling!" she said reprovingly, "you shouldn't have!"
She walked into the utility room where she found Gene curled up on the
sofa with the patchwork quilt they had started two weeks ago. He was
still dressed in his day clothes and folded neatly beside him was his
house-coat and the silk scarf Gloria had lent him to cover his hair.
She looked past him to see the large pile of freshly ironed and pressed
clothes.
"Gene!" she groaned. "You shouldn't have done all this work!"
"Hi, Mom!" he replied, reaching up to give her a kiss. "Did you enjoy
the evening?" Patting the sofa beside him, he eagerly invited her to
sit down and tell him everything that had happened.
Alice sat down gratefully but a little apprehensively beside him.
"Gene," she started slowly, "I needed something to go with my new skirt
... I hope you don't mind my borrowing your shirt ..."
Gene waved his hand dismissively. "It's not my size, Mom, I just got
it on impulse simply because I liked the coloring ... I want you to
keep it! It looks gorgeous on you, Mom! Did Mrs. Schrawb like it?"
"She loved it -- she kept asking me where I got it!" Alice laughed.
She deliberately moved the subject on to describe the play and how the
Schrawbs had arranged to meet the cast afterwards. She was relieved he
had not sought one of his 'favors'. Picking up a needle and thread,
she started working at her end of the quilt.
As they sewed they chatted and gossiped.
"It'll be Bill's birthday in a few weeks -- maybe we should give it to
him!" Gene suggested in a mischievous voice.
"Give him what, Gene?"
"The quilt!?!" her son replied with a giggle.
Alice chuckled but said nothing. She could just imagine her eldest
son's reaction -- he'd probably throw up all over it.
"Mom, another few nights and we'll be finished. I'm dying to show it
to Mrs. Vitner: it looks so pretty!" Gene exclaimed. "I'm going
upstairs for a minute but I'll be right back!"
"Darling, don't you think you should go to bed now: it's nearly
midnight!" Alice demurred.
"Pleeeasssssssseeeee, Mom, please!?! Just a few minutes longer?" Gene
pleaded in a wheedling voice.
"OK, another fifteen minutes," Alice allowed.
When Gene came back she saw that he had changed into his night wear.
"Mom, I was in the mall this afternoon and I saw this lovely nightie,"
he began with a dreamy smile on his face. "But then I remembered that
Dad and Bill would be home in a few weeks ..."
Alice gave a sigh of relief.
"Gene, I was going to talk to you ..." she started to say.
"... and then I said to myself: Why should I care what they think?
So I went ahead and bought it!" Gene continued. He opened the ties of
his robe to show her the night-gown underneath.
Alice frowned: it was a nice nightie as nighties went, a little plain
perhaps compared to his previous purchases but no different from what
she or most women would have bought for themselves.
"Gene, I know you've probably got used to them ... it's my fault
really ... but Dad won't tolerate you wearing a night-gown," she said.
"Or anything else like that ..."
Gene sat down and picked up his end of the quilt.
"Then you won't be interested in what I got you," he pouted.
"You bought me something?" Alice asked in surprize.
Gene nodded.
"I thought you'd appreciate it," he said. "As a token of how close
we've become."
"Why wouldn't I be interested in it, Gene?" Alice asked, perplexed. "I
love getting your presents: you're so thoughtful and considerate!"
"Well, you've said it was 'your fault' -- like it was something you did
wrong," Gene replied in a voice quivering with emotion.
Alice looked across the quilt to her son: he was close to tears.
"Gene, I don't understand what you're trying to say. In fact, I'm at a
total loss: could you please give me what you're going to give me and
then maybe I'll understand?" she asked.
Wordlessly, Gene got up and picked up a package from behind him. He
handed to her and then gave her a quick kiss.
"I love you, Mom," he breathed, tears rolling down his face.
"I love you too, darling," she said, feeling a lump in her throat.
She unwrapped the pink tissue paper. Inside, she found a beautiful
silver gilt-edged photograph frame. Two oval- shaped color photographs
had been placed side by side. The first photograph was one of her
favorite snaps from her wedding album: it showed her in her wedding
dress with its ten foot train of lace and tulle.
The second photograph was Gene in the same wedding dress. She
recognized it as one of the photographs she had taken the night after
he had returned from Karen's shower party.
She looked at the first photograph again and then quickly back at the
second. 'We look so alike,' she thought. But what really struck her
was the sense of inner happiness that radiated from both photographs.
Her wedding day had been one of the happiest days of her life because
she was marrying the man she had loved from her school-days. She
looked at the second photograph again and the thought struck her: why
was Gene so happy?
She looked up to see Gene scrutinizing her face for clues.
"Do you like it?" he asked hesitantly.
Alice took a deep breath.
"It's very thoughtful of you, Gene, ..." she began uncertainly. "It's
a beautiful frame ... and the photographs are so ... well, so ... so
happy looking!"
Her son smiled.
"Y'know what the girl in the shop said?" he asked. "She said you could
put it into a dark room and like a ray of sunlight it would brighten
even the darkest corner!"
Alice smiled; she couldn't take her eyes off the two photographs.
Then, with a sigh, she remembered what she had just been saying to
Gene.
"Gene, oh my! I wish ... this is so difficult for me, Gene ... I
don't know what to say ..." she started. She looked at him and
stopped.
"Mom, I can guess what you're going to say! Why is it a 'fault' to
wear whatever clothes makes us feel good or happy?" Gene burst out.
"Look at the photo of us, Mom! You looked absolutely divine and I just
felt so privileged sharing one of your happiest memories! ..."
"It's not as simple as that, Gene, ..." Alice interjected.
"Look at you now, Mom! That's my blouse you're wearing!" her son
continued "But I don't see any 'fault' if we swop clothes -- in fact,
I'm thrilled that you liked something of mine to wear for a night out
and that Mrs. Schrawb admired it!"
Alice Seymour wished she had not been tempted into wearing his blouse
... it totally undermined what she had been meaning to say to him
about his feminine wardrobe. Bobby would be coming home soon and he
would freak out if he saw Gene prancing around in a night-dress. Then
she looked at the photograph frame in her hand. The snap of Gene
wearing her wedding dress -- reminding her that it had been her idea,
not his -- further invalidated the reasons she would have advanced to
prohibit his wearing girl's clothes ...
"Gene, I'm sure we can work something out about this ..." she responded
lamely.
"It's Dad and Bill, isn't it, Mom?" her son said quietly.
"Yes, it is ... that's just it, Gene ..." Alice replied.
There was silence before Gene spoke.
"If they didn't see what I'm wearing now ..." he suggested.
"Uh-uh," Alice nodded uncommitedly.
"What I wear in the privacy of my bedroom ... or when we're alone in
the house together ... that might be OK?" Gene prompted.
"Yes ... that might be ... OK," Alice replied uneasily. She would
have preferred if he stopped wearing girl's clothes all together. But
this seemed like an acceptable compromise ...
Gene threw his arms around her neck and gave her a heart- felt kiss.
"Mom, you're wonderful!" he exclaimed with a happy sigh. "I've always
loved you but this summer I feel that we've grown even closer together!
I'm thrilled it's going to stay that way!"
------------------------------------
Even with his newly-developed sensitivity to his mother's moods and
emotions her face told Gene that something was horribly wrong.
"What's the matter, Mom?" he asked anxiously. "Is it something do to
with Dad?"
Alice Seymour shook her head wearily.
"I've just come off the phone an hour ago from Mrs. Buzzaldi," she
said curtly.
"Mrs. Buzzaldi?" Gene queried. "Who is she?"
"Oh, Gene, don't be so stupid!" Alice Seymour exploded. "She's Karen
Buzzaldi's mother!"
"What did she want, Mom? Did she find out ...?" Gene asked; an
apprehensive look crossing his face.
Alice Seymour took a deep breath.
"No, Gene, she didn't find out," she replied.
"Well, what is it?" Gene asked, perplexed.
"We've been invited to the wedding," Alice Seymour replied in a
strained voice.
"The what -- the wedding!" Gene breathed in horror.
"Oh, I feel so sick, Gene! I shouldn't have let Gloria talk me into
letting you go to the shower party!" Alice Seymour lamented. "We're
trapped!"
"Can't you say that we're sick or we're going away ..." Gene suggested
feebly.
Alice Seymour shook her head.
"No, I can't," she replied shortly. "She started by asking me what we
were doing on Saturday week -- I thought it was a funny way to start a
conversation with someone you don't know -- and I said we had an empty
diary. Then she sprang the invitation on me!"
"But why? Why did she invite us, Mom?" Gene asked.
"Oh, I don't know ... it seems you made a big impression on Karen at
the shower party," Alice Seymour said slowly. "I just don't know what
we're going to do, Gene!"
"Gloria might have some ideas," Gene volunteered.
When Gloria called that evening she listened carefully to what Alice
Seymour and Gene had to say. She offered sympathy and advice but
avoided making a decision. She didn't stay long saying that she had to
prepare for a business trip which would take her out of town for a few
days but she would be back just in time for the wedding.
As Alice Seymour agonized over the following days what they should do,
it became clearer that there was only one real option: Gene would have
to go as a girl. When she had decided on that the next issue was what
he should wear. She knew a blouse and skirt combination wouldn't be
suitable -- it would draw too much attention to him for a start. It
had to be a dress, she decided.
In the days leading up to the wedding they scoured the shops looking
for a suitable outfit. He wore the skirt he wore to the shower party
when they went shopping. They shopped so often it almost became
commonplace for Alice Seymour to see him in a skirt.
Alice Seymour was impressed by the calm approach Gene adopted to the
situation. He had read all the fashion magazines he could lay his
hands on and had developed a clear idea of the dress he would like to
buy.
They visited all the women's clothing stores and boutiques in the area,
frequently trying on outfits. Alice Seymour was worried initially that
the sales assistants would 'uncover' Gene but his disguize and make-up
were so good that nobody guessed he was a boy.
Eventually after going to five different shops one afternoon they found
an outfit that was perfect for Gene. By the time he had tried it on
for size and they had paid for it, it was nearly closing time.
Alice Seymour was relieved that they had found an outfit at last; the
dress looked delectable on Gene -- it really made him look very
feminine. She wasn't pleased though when back out in the shopping mall
he whispered an urgent need to go to the rest rooms.
"Gene!" she groaned. "Can't you wait ... ?"
One look at her son's face told her that was not possible.
"Come on then," she said with a frown, leading the way to the women's
rest room. "We'll have to go in here."
She was relieved to find it was empty and ten minutes later they were
back in the car.
Gloria called around the day of the wedding to assist with Gene's
make-up. She admired Gene's dress, commenting how pretty it was.
The church ceremony was simple and relaxed; later back at the house all
the guests posed for photographs. To Alice Seymour's surprize there
appeared to be two photographers; she and Gene were singled out by one
of them for a couple of shots with Karen and Gloria and then for some
on their own. Alice, Gene and Gloria were seated at the same table for
the meal though they each were separated by a male guest. While coffee
was being served a maid came with a note for Gene; he excused himself
saying he had to powder his nose.
Alice Seymour felt a tinge of uneasiness; but Gloria and her friends
didn't allow her to dwell on Gene's absence keeping her engrossed in
conversation -- so much so that she didn't notice the time passing.
When she looked at her watch again she noted with horror that Gene had
been gone for over 30 minutes. She looked around wildly but didn't see
him.
Then she saw him in the distance. He was sandwiched between two large
women; she couldn't figure it out -- it almost looked like if they were
somehow restraining him ...
Worried, she alerted Gloria to the situation. Gloria looked up and
telling Alice Seymour to stay where she was, headed in Gene's
direction. Soon she was lost in the crowds.
Alice Seymour looked around her: all the people at her table had
slipped away leaving her on her own ...
------------------------------------
Thelma held open the door of her car. The two 'heavies' as she called
them, Ellen and Charlotta, ushered Gene into the back seat and sat on
either side of him. For the last 45 minutes they had 'minded' him,
mostly by keeping him locked in a closet in an upstairs bedroom. That
had given just enough time for the print shop to do its work ...
Thelma gave the signal and the car glided off.
She made her way into the marquee.
"Alice!" she called. "How nice to see you! May I join you?"
"Oh! Mrs. Vitner, I am so glad to see you!" Alice Seymour exclaimed
with relief. "It's Gene -- he's missing and ..."
Thelma touched her arm comfortingly and sat down beside her.
"Gene's all right, I can assure you," she said soothingly, placing a
large pink envelope on the table. "Alice, can we have a little private
woman-to-woman chat? I've something here which I think you should see
..."
------------------------------------
The Finale ...
Alice Seymour sat across the desk from Thelma Vitner. Gene's mother
was still in the dress she had worn to the wedding a few short hours
ago.
"You can't do this to us!" Alice Seymour cried defiantly.
"Can't I?" Thelma Vitner queried softly.
"No, you can't!" Alice Seymour retorted.
Thelma smiled.
"They say that a camera never lies, Alice," she mused.
Alice Seymour's face shook with shock and anger.
"These photos are ... all lies ... it's a joke," she spluttered.
Thelma laughed.
"OK, I'll send them to Mrs. Schrawb -- I'm sure she'll appreciate the
joke!" she said, smiling as Alice Seymour stiffened at the mention of
the president of her Ladies Club.
"Thelma, I mean, Mrs. Vitner, ..." Alice Seymour began weakly.
"Save your breath!" Thelma snapped.
Alice Seymour lapsed into silence.
"I have enough evidence here to have your friends in the Ladies Club
run you out of this city before you can say 'boo'," Thelma sneered.
She picked up a photograph from the large number on her desk.
"What about this one, Alice Seymour?" she said. "Your darling sissy
son getting fitted for a dress? Or this one: your darling sissy son,
Jean Seymour, disguised as a female guest at a wedding?"
Alice Seymour flinched and shifted uncomfortably in her chair.
"This is my favorite, Alice," Thelma continued. "Alice Seymour and her
sissy son visiting the women's rest room in the shopping mall -- try
explaining that to Mrs. Schrawb!"
Alice Seymour gasped in horror: Thelma knew she had forgotten about
that episode.
"That could be a civil offence, couldn't it Alice? Maybe it's a
criminal offence!" Thelma teased (she didn't know whether it was or not
but she was sure Alice Seymour wouldn't know either). "Picture the
news headlines: Woman Brings Sissy Son Into Ladies Rest Room To Powder
His Nose!"
The silence from the other side of her desk was complete.
"I could pretend I've never seen these photographs ..." Thelma
suggested airily.
Alice Seymour looked at her.
"Supposing nobody else but me knew about them and I promised not to
tell anyone about them: that would be helpful, wouldn't it Alice?" she
prompted.
Alice Seymour, defeated, nodded slowly.
"Yes or no, Alice?" Thelma asked nonchalantly.
Mystified, Alice Seymour nodded her head again.
"I can't hear you, Alice," Thelma told her severely.
"Yes," Alice Seymour whispered.
"Yes, what, Alice?" Thelma snapped.
"Yes, Mrs. Vitner," the woman replied.
"That's better," Thelma smiled serenely.
She paused for a minute before continuing: "Of course, you might have
to promise me something in return ..."
Alice Seymour bit her lip and nodded her understanding.
"I want you to make a very simple promise. You've partly being doing
it up until now so it won't be a big effort," Thelma said breezily.
Alice Seymour nodded cautiously.
"I want you to promise me from now on that you will treat Gene as your
new-found daughter," Thelma said.
Alice Seymour looked at her in disbelief.
"Gene ... my daughter ... this can't ..." the boy's mother stuttered.
"He fooled all the guests at the wedding and at the shower party, and
the sales assistants in the shops you visited," Thelma reminded her.
"But ... my husband and my son ... Bill ... what ... ?" Alice
Seymour started.
"You're worried what your husband and son would say, right?" Thelma
finished for her.
Alice Seymour nodded.
"Look on the bright side: your husband will have a daughter and your
son will have a sister!" Thelma laughed. "Take it from me: you won't
have to worry about them!"
Alice Seymour could only gape back at her.
"Let's say they haven't been very good boys while they were away from
home," Thelma commented cryptically.
"You mean they have been un--" Alice Seymour started to say in horror.
Thelma put a finger to her lips.
"Let's not get into that now," she said.
"But how am I going to get them to accept Gene in girl's clothes?"
Alice Seymour protested.
"It's very simple, Alice," Thelma responded with a smile. "This is how
it will happen: Gene gets a scholarship to go East before your husband
and son return home. Then, with the growth in your husband's business,
he'll find he needs a secretary -- and on my recommendation he finds
one -- who happens to be called Jean! After a while, you get friendly
with Jean and you ask 'her' to dinner so you can get to know her
better. You repeat the invitation so that atfer a while gets to become
a regular visitor. When she casually mentions that she is looking for
new accomodation, you suggest to your husband that she could use Gene's
room. He isn't all that enthusiastic but you persuade him saying that
you would love to have some female company around the house. Of
course, Gene's room isn't suitable for a girl and this gives you the
excuse to have it done up in a feminine design. Jean moves in and the
two of you hit off first time! In fact, like mother and daughter!"
Alice Seymour gaped back at her.
"But what about Gene? Won't they be expecting him back?" she gasped.
Thelma giggled.
"No, not really. They'll be too busy ogling at Jean. And, little by
little, Jean will drop coy hints as to her real identity! But, more
importantly, she'll also drop enough hints to let them know that she
has the dirt on their summer misbehavior!" she said. "That, Alice,
will stop them asking any further questions about Gene!"
"Was my husband un ..." Alice Seymour started to ask.
Thelma put a finger to her lips.
"Let's not get into that now," she said. "Do we -- I mean you and I --
have a promise?"
There was silence.
"This is impossible!" Alice Seymour screamed.
"Alice! I'm disappointed in you," Thelma chided her sweetly. "I'll
ring Mrs. Schrawb to arrange a meeting!"
"NO!" Alice Seymour cried in anguish. "You have a promise!"
Thelma smiled.
"Just so that everybody is clear: what do you promise?" she asked.
"I promise to ... treat Gene ... as my daughter!" Alice Seymour
gulped.
Thelma clapped her hands in delight.
"I'm so happy for you both!" she said.
------------------------------------
"Your mother has just left, Gene darling," Thelma said.
The boy said nothing.
"I told her that I would be holding on to you for a couple of weeks,"
Thelma told him. "We need to do some intensive training with you."
Gene continued to stare away in silence.
"I think it's time Ellen and Charlotta got you ready for bed," Thelma
continued.
The two women who had been standing on either side of him pulled the
boy to his feet. Thelma watched as Charlotta undid the buttons of his
dress at the back. With consummate ease they lifted the gown over his
head and Ellen hung it on an embroidered hanger.
"You'll have plenty of opportunities to wear it again, Gene," Thelma
purred.
Charlotta made the boy step out of his high heels and rolled his tights
down his legs. Ellen then unclipped his bra being careful not to let
his falsies fall out of the cups.
Charlotta took an ivory-colored night-gown from the bed and lifted it
down over the boy's head. She buttoned the front opening and tied the
little lace bow.
"You know what to do with him," Thelma nodded to the two women as she
left, closing the door behind her.
------------------------------------
Thelma's next set of visitors arrived exactly an hour after Alice
Seymour had left.
Mrs. Richards was a pleasant-faced woman in her early forties. Her
daughter, Sharon, was a pretty, vivacious, confident girl in her late
teens. Thelma took a liking to Sharon the instant she saw her.
In between them sat what Thelma guessed would be her next pupil. Kenny
was dressed in a floral print pinafore worn over a white blouse. He
wore light tan tights and a pair of sling-back sandals. His hair had
been set in curls and his face had been lightly made-up.
Mrs. Richards explained the background to their visit. She described
how Kenny had been punished at the start of the summer holidays by
being dressed in his sister's clothes. The transformation in his
behavior had been remarkable that she had decided to keep Kenny in
feminine clothing for the rest of the summer. Her sister Connie had
told her about the summer camp and she wanted to enrol Kenny.
Thelma outlined her aims and objectives in establishing the Thelma
Vitner Summer Camp for effeminate boys. She gave them a brief
description of the programme and told them of the progress to-date that
her first pupil, Gene Seymour, had made.
Thelma told Mrs. Richards that by the end of the summer Kenny would
have lost his undesirable male traits and he would be as pretty as his
sister.
Mrs. Richards and Sharon laughed; Kenny continued to stare sullenly at
the floor.
"That clinches it, Mrs. Vitner!" Mrs. Richards enthused. "I'm happy
to have Kenny enroled here."
"Good," Thelma smiled. "I promise you that when you return Kenny will
be transformed!"
"Sharon and I will be looking forward to that!" Mrs. Richards smiled.
"Perhaps Sharon would like to come and help with the boys for a few
days?" Thelma asked.
"I'd be thrilled to, Mrs. Vitner!" Sharon replied eagerly.
"I know a young boy called Alan Slocum who I met at Christmas; I hope
to persuade his mother to send him here for a few weeks training,"
Thelma said. "Maybe you'd like to look after him?"
"I'd love to! When is he coming?" Sharon replied excitedly.
"He'll be here at the end of the month -- as soon as his mother's
divorce comes through," Thelma noted. Then she added sympathetically:
"I'm sorry to hear that your own marriage didn't work out, Mrs.
Richards."
Mrs. Richards nodded.
"My husband was really married to his job and now that he's in a
relationship with his personal assistant there is no point in
continuing to pretend that we're married," she said. "It's better for
the children and it gives me more freedom to deal with Kenny: so out
of bad something good has resulted!"
Thelma smiled.
"I'll show you out," she said. "Kenny, you stay where you are."
His mother and sister gave him a farewell kiss which he did not
acknowledge.
Thelma led Mrs. Richards and Sharon to the front door and watched as
they drove off. She returned to her office.
"Welcome to Thelma Vitner's Summer Camp, Kenny!" she said brightly.
The cross-dressed boy said nothing.
"I'm sure you're tired -- I'll show you to your room. Follow me,
Kenny," Thelma told him.
The boy remained seated.
"Kenny, let's not start your stay here on the wrong note!" Thelma said
warningly.
Kenny didn't move.
"OK, Kenny, you want to be difficult; I am going to have to discipline
you," Thelma said icily. She picked up the telephone: "Gloria, could
you come to my office, please?"
A minute later a tall woman in her early twenties entered the room.
"Gloria, this is Kenny Richards, our newest recruit. Kenny, however,
is reluctant to go to his room. Could you show him the way -- forcibly
if you have to," Thelma said.
Gloria went over to where the boy was sitting.
"Come with me, Kenny," she told him.
Kenny shook his head.
Five minutes later Thelma led the way upstairs to the bedroom quarters.
"This is your room, Kenny. I'm sure you will like it -- it's been
decorated to suit the tastes of a girl of your age," Thelma smiled.
Gloria ushered Kenny into the room. Using a length of cord she secured
the already bound and gagged boy to a chair. She rolled up the sleeves
of his blouse and taking a syringe from a tray beside the bed, plunged
the needle into his arm.
"Don't be alarmed, Kenny," Thelma reassured him. "All of our new
recruits have to get this injection. It helps to calm them down."
Gloria laughed.
"You better get used to injections, pretty boy, you're going to get
them every day from now on!" she told him.
"You'll be very comfortable here, Kenny," Thelma said. "This bedroom
has every thing a girl would wish for: lace trimmed comforter and
pillows, pretty lace curtains and closets and dressers filled with
pretty clothes!"
"I think our latest recruit is getting sleepy already," Gloria
observed.
"Get him into a night-dress and strap him to the bed," Thelma told her.
"I have to make a phone call."
------------------------------------
Back in her office Thelma made her telephone call. She looked at the
clock: it was exactly 17:15. The phone rang a few times and then she
heard a female voice.
"Hello, Hannah Slocum speaking."
"Hannah, Thelma Vitner. You remember we met at Christmas."
"Oh ... I remember now ... hello ... Mrs. Vitner. How are you?"
"I'm fine, Hannah, thank you. How is my pretty Angel?"
"Alan? ... He's fine ... yes, he's fine, thank you."
"I haven't seen him for a few months. I bet he's as pretty as ever?"
"Oh ... em ... he's ... he's the apple of my eye."
"He made such a sweet Angel!"
"Yes ... yes, he was an angel that time at Christmas. It was just for
the day really ..."
"Of course it was an ACCIDENT that his case was left at home and he had
to wear girls clothes for the rest of the Christmas holidays, wasn't
it?"
"Er, yessss, ... that's right, Mrs. Vitner, my husband ... em ...
overlooked the case with Gene's clothes."
"Angel didn't mind?"
"No ... no ... no, he didn't seem to ... mind -- at least I don't
think so."
"I'd love to see him again in the dress he wore on Christmas day: do
you still have it?"
"The dress? I think ... I do ... yes, I do have it."
"He hasn't worn it since?"
"No ... I don't think so ... no, I don't believe he has, Mrs.
Vitner. It was just for that play on Christmas day."
"Are you sure about that, Hannah?"
"I think so ..."
"Are you certain?"
"What are you leading to, Mrs. Vitner?"
"Now, Hannah, don't get uppity with me. Just answer my question: has
he wore it since?"
"Yes! He wore it in a play!"
"When?"
"It was around February or March."
"It was March 6 to be precise, Hannah. And the location was the
Whiterock Memorial Hall."
"How come ... how come you know so much about it?"
"I was there, Hannah, and I have some nice pictures of Angel."
"What pictures? You took pictures? Why?"
"I like taking pictures; I have lots of pictures of Angel dressed up in
pretty clothes."
"You have what ... pictures of Alan?"
"No, Hannah: not pictures of Alan, pictures of Angel."
"I ... I ... don't understand, Mrs. Vitner, ..."
"I'll give you an example, Hannah: do you remember Angel's birthday
and you took him to see your mother?"
"I ... I ... can't quite recall ..."
"Tsk, tsk, Hannah, what a poor memory you have! The pink and white
dress ... ?"
"I ..."
"I sympathize with you, Hannah. I really do. I have the advantage of
the color photograph here in front of me and I can admire his dress in
all its finery. Tell you something? Can you hear someone at the door?
I bet it's an express delivery company -- am I right? ... Yes, of
course, I'll hold on, Hannah!"
"Hannah, have you opened the parcel yet? Do you see the pink envelope
inside?"
"There should be eight photographs altogether, Hannah? Are they all
there?"
"YOU BITCH! Where ... where ... where did you get these from?"
"Hannah! Don't raise your voice at me! I thought you'd be glad to see
pictures of Angel!"
"What do you want? Why don't you leave me alone!"
"Why? Because, Hannah, I want to see Angel again!"
"He's not Angel, he's ALAN! Can't you understand that!"
"Tsk! Tsk! Hannah! You must be under dreadful emotional strain with
your divorce case going through against Marty!"
"That's none of your business, you bitch!"
"That's not very lady-like talk, Hannah, I hope Angel isn't listening!
I might have to take Angel away from you."
"You WHAT?"
"You heard me, Hannah! I'd like to take Angel under my wing for a few
months ..."
"No way. Period."
"I might be able to persuade you, Hannah."
"Never! I won't allow it, Mrs. Vitner!"
"Hannah?"
"What?"
"Suppose Marty was to get a copy of the photographs too ... how would
that affect the custody of Angel?"
"You bitch! Vitner, you're a bitch! Why are you doing this to me? I
should put the ****ing phone down on you!"
"You're getting hysterical, Hannah. You want to keep Angel? Or do you
want Marty to have him?"
"I want him!"
"Good, then bring Angel to me at 14:00 hours two weeks from today: my
address is on the back of the photographs. I will be keeping him for a
couple of months and when he's trained I'll give Angel back to you!"
"How long are you going to keep him? What training?"
"I explain all that to you in two weeks time, Hannah."
"Is that ... is that all you're going to tell me now?"
"No, there's one more thing I want to tell you: Angel is to wear the
white dress he wore at Christmas -- and you don't have to bring any
other clothes with him!"
Thelma rang off. She clenched her fist in triumph.
"Three sissies down and so many left to go!" she exclaimed gleefully.
"Calling all the pretty boys in the world: Thelma Vitner is looking
for you!"