Story - Leslie

From alt.sex.stories.tg Sun Jun 2 23:59:00 1996 Path: mordred.cc.jyu.fi!news.csc.fi!news.eunet.fi!EU.net!Germany.EU.net!howland.reston.ans.net!newsfeed.internetmci.com!in2.uu.net!news.i-link.net!usenet ~~Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.tg ~~Organization: I-Link ~Lines: 2137 Message-ID: lFfrxY5faJEV090yn@i-link.net ~Reply-To: LabRat@i-link.net (Karen Mitchell) NNTP-Posting-Host: austin-2-2.i-link.net Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=ISO-8859-1 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit

I did not write this and you must be 18 or over to read it as it may contain a great deal of adult explicit sexuality. If this is offensive do not read - delete file. For those of us who enjoy .... enjoy! Please do not ask for files by e-mail - I can barely keep up with what I have now.

***From FEMINET

Petticoated Male

By Nan Gilbert

A wave of consternation swept over Leslie as his aunt steered him toward the ornate entrance of one of the many exclusive shops that lined the most fashionable thoroughfare in town. Leslie's consternation resulted from the fact that it was a shop for misses and girls. When he hesitated at the entrance, his aunt took a firm grip on his arm, saying, "Come along, Leslie!"

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

"Come now, Leslie. No fussing, please." A bewildered Leslie found himself being propelled abruptly into this delicately scented haven of femininity. As a smartly dressed lady hurried forward to meet them, he felt that all eyes were gazing on him in disapproval of his intrusion. Had he not been in the firm grip of his aunt, he would have fled.

"Ah, good morning, Mrs. Smythe," the woman said to his aunt. "I presume this is the young person you spoke to me about." Her eyes coursed over his body, giving him the feeling that he was completely nude. "He appears to be a most suitable subject. I believe you'll be pleased with the result." She indicated the rear of the store. "This way, please."

"Why are we going back there?" Leslie inquired as Madame led the way. "Shush! You will soon learn," his aunt said. "Just come along, and no nonsense!" Obviously his aunt meant business.

On the way they passed a pretty young clerk who smiled curiously at Leslie. Madame said, over her shoulder, "You will please join us, Mary." The clerk fell in behind them. They arrived at a small corridor with closed doors on either side. Madame opened one and bade them enter.

"Please, Aunty, why do I have to go in there?" She merely shoved him inside, and he found himself in the delicately scented atmosphere of a fitting room. He turned in dismay as he heard the click of a key turning in the lock. Obviously, he was at the mercy of three designing females.

As from afar, her heard Madame exclaim, in an authoritative tone, "Young man, please start removing your clothing!"

"Do what?" he screamed at her. "Are you out of your mind? I'll do nothing of the kind! The very idea...!"

Madame sighed, "Very well, then. Mary, you know what to do..." Before Leslie was quite aware of her intentions, Mary had seized the collar of his jacket and pulled it down to pinion his arms tightly. In a flash, Madame reached out and unbuckled his belt and trouser fastenings.

As his trousers slithered down to his ankles, Leslie's voice took on a new note of hysteria. "No, no! Please don't do this shameful thing to me," he cried, but to no avail, for his underpants followed the path his trousers had taken. In short order, Madame and Mary had reduced him to a state of crimson nudity.

Madame surveyed his mortified person in the manner of one with vast experience in such matters. "He really does have a very suitable figure, Mrs. Smythe. A nicely fitted corset will simply do wonders for it!"

"A corset!" Leslie exclaimed in disbelief.

His expression sent peals of laughter reverberating through the room. smiling, his aunt retorted, "Corsets will be quite essential to your new life, Leslie dear, for I've every intention of transforming you in my demure little niece!" Her words were like a bombshell to Leslie. He sank to his knees before her pleading that she not do this to him. "Not another word!" she replied. "Get to your feet this instant!"

Leslie stood up, his shoulder slumped in hopelessness, as Madame bade Mary to "fetch the things I gathered together for our Miss Leslie." Mary left in a flutter of skirts.

After a gentle knock, the door opened and Mary came in, her arms laden with an array of lavish frilled silken lingerie, which she placed on a chair. One garment in particular sent chills down Leslie's spine - a wasp-waisted pink satin corset elegantly adorned with delicate lace and pert baby-blue ribbon bows. Mary handed it to Madame, who drew it about Leslie's waist and began the process of lacing him down to the last breathless inch, much to his discomfort. "Oh, no... no! You can't do this awful thing to me... Say it's only a joke!" His tormentors found his protests quite amusing and burst into fresh peals of hilarity. He knew now that he could expect no mercy from them and more or less resigned himself to the indignities to come.

At a signal from Madame, Mary selected a pair of elaborately lace-and-ribbon frilled panties of finest pink silk and held them out for Leslie to step into. As the clinging silk caressed his limbs, he was aware of a tingling sensation throughout his body. "They're certainly becoming to him, aren't they?" Madame commented with a knowing smile, and Mary and his aunt nodded their approval.

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

In feigned surprise, his aunt retorted, "But Leslie darling, all little girls adore their pretty panties." Leslie's protests that he wasn't a little girl and didn't want to be one were to no avail.

Mary gathered up three sweetly frilled petticoats that were attached to a common waistband. The outer layer was of stiff, rustling taffeta, its hem deeply frilled with lavish lace; the next layer was of flounced net; and beneath it was more rustling taffeta. How excitingly the petticoats frou-froued as Mary settled them down over Leslie's head and shoulders. She took many more pains than necessary in adjusting them around his waist, creating a loudly sibilant swishing.

"How perfectly sweet!" his aunt remarked. "Leslie will just adore wearing them, won't you, dear?"

Leslie said nothing, knowing it would do no good to protest. He averted his eyes as Mary enveloped him in the folds of a dainty pink chiffon dress that she tugged down in place and buttoned up the back. The skirt flared prettily out over the petticoats and Mary made them swish from side to side. Long stockings were decided upon, and as Mary knelt to draw their gossamer beauty up his shapely legs, her hands seemed more intimate than necessary. Madame had taken his aunt out into the salon to select an appropriate hairpiece, and he had been told that he would be marched out in front of the clerks and customers in the salon if he made any fuss while alone with Mary.

As Mary affixed a pair of frilled garters to his stocking tops, she smiled up at him. "You do make a beautiful girl, Miss Leslie. I just love dressing up young boys, and it's a special pleasure when they're as cute as you are." Somehow, Mary seemed to be trying to comfort him in a friendly way. But whatever solace she gave him disappeared when his aunt and Madame returned. "Darling, look what a lovely hairpiece I've found for you!" his aunt cried, fitting it to his head. "I declare, it completely changes your appearance." Leslie looked in the mirror and realized that the beautiful girl looking back was him! The change was positively staggering. Madame made a few adjustments, and he was led toward the door.

"Oh, Aunty, please don't make me go out there. Everybody will laugh at me, and I'll die of shame. I know I will."

His aunt adjusted his skirts and patted his hand. "Nonsense, dear, no one will have the slightest suspicion that you are not a smartly dressed girl." She propelled him rustlingly out the door, his cheeks crimson and his eyes cast down. In the salon, they passed a customer, who remarked on what a sweet little girl he was. They moved over to a long rack on which smartly styled coats were hanging, and after several trials, a lovely pink cashmere was selected, its fitted waist clinging to Leslie's nipped-in waistline and its flare skirt flowing out over his rustling skirts. A matching hat, wide-brimmed with a ribbon dangling at the rear, in schoolgirl style completed Leslie's street outfit, and they started for the door, Madame accompanying them part way...

"You have made a very wise decision," Madame said to his aunt. "It would be a waste of his natural loveliness to allow him to wear horrid, coarse trousers." His aunt beamed her approval, while Leslie anxiously awaited their departure from the scene of his demoralization.

Once they joined the stream of pedestrians, Leslie had the dread sensation that all eyes were directed toward him in the certainty that he was a petticoated boy. Tugging at his aunt's hand, he pleaded, "Can't we go home now, Aunty?"

"Why Leslie," his aunt reproached him, "You wouldn't want to deprive all these nice people of looking at such a daintily dressed little girl as you, now, would you?"

In fact, a number of people did stop to compliment his aunt on how lovely her young companion was, so prettily dressed that way. Leslie prayed that the earth itself would open up and swallow him, and he implored his aunt to take him home and out of public view.

"Why, Leslie darling, you should be quite flattered to have people say such nice, nice things about you. I'm really at a loss to understand your attitude. But we're not going home, and that's final!" The finality in her tone left no doubt in his mind, and the sibilant rustling that accompanied his every step amplified tenfold his nervous state and was a constant reminder of his new status. He tried taking mincing steps, but the rustling still remained. Moments later, he glanced furtively from half-lidded eyes and his aunt remarked, "Isn't that Mrs. Jones and little Alice coming our way? How nice!"

Panic seized Leslie anew. Alice was a young lady of whom he was particularly fond and what would she think to see him dressed in these ridiculous girl's clothes? "Oh, please, Aunty, don't let her see me like this! I could never face her again!"

"Nonsense, Leslie, and do stop tugging at my hand!" Each moment was a lifetime of horror for him as Alice and her mother approached. As the two women met and began making small talk, Leslie kept her head lowered, then, taking a quick glance at Alice, saw that she was studying him with a quizzical expression. Perhaps... just perhaps... she would not recognize him! When Mrs. Jones inquired as to who "this lovely little person" was, his aunt said, "This is my new niece, Leslie."

A perplexed expression came to Mrs. J's face and, Leslie's aunt hastened to explain. "Beginning this very morning, I decided it would be much more delightful to have a daintily frocked niece fluttering about than a nephew who has been such a trial to me." Leslie's heart pounded as this denouement and he could feel Alice's eyes probing him.

"Oh, Mommy, it's really Leslie dressed up as a girl. Oh, he's cute, isn't he?" This was more than Leslie's flesh could bear. "You shut up," he said, angrily. He was sorely tempted to belt her a good one. "That will be quite enough!" his aunt exclaimed. "One more word and I'll lift your skirts and give you a spanking right here in public!" Alice giggled; Mrs. Jones smiled in approval; and Leslie shrank back, knowing full well that his aunt was capable of carrying out her threat.

Mrs. Jones relieved the tension somewhat by remarking, "Alice and I were shopping for a new dress for her birthday party. Would you like to join us? Perhaps Leslie would enjoy helping Alice make a selection."

His aunt nodded, and Alice exclaimed, "Oh, good, I'm sure Leslie will be lots of help in choosing my new dress." She took his hand in hers and propelled him along at her side. Each step produced the telltale rustling of taffeta against silk, and Alice couldn't help but hear it. "Mommy, Leslie is wearing silk and taffeta undies. Isn't that lovely? I'd just love to see them!"

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

Her mood softening, Alice squeezed his hand affectionately, whispering, "I'm sorry I teased you, Leslie. I can imagine how you must feel." He flashed a wan smile at her for this small consolation. "Try to make the best of it, Leslie. If it's any help, let me say that I like you better this way and that you are very lovely." Coming from Alice, this somehow made him a little more comfortable than before.

As they entered a fashionable shop for girls, Alice let go of Leslie's hand to go over to a rack from which hung a gay assortment of party dresses from satin hangers. "Oh, Leslie, aren't they perfectly darling?" she exclaimed; Leslie nodded and stood sheepishly by as Alice examined the dresses, unable to make up her mind. Finally, several were selected, and the clerk led them into the fitting room so that Alice might try them on. Once inside the cubicle, Alice quickly removed her hat and coat and Mrs. Jones helped her out of her dress. In turn, his aunt insisted that he remove his coat, although he professed to be quite comfortable. "Oh, Leslie, what a pretty dress you are wearing," Alice cried in genuine delight. In spite of himself, Leslie felt flattered and was almost enjoying the new intimacy he was sharing with Alice, who was now clad in a cute bra and sheet half-slip, her frilly panties showing through.

"Leslie's dress is so becoming to her, " Mrs. Jones said, emphasizing the feminine pronoun. "Perhaps Leslie would like to try on some of these dresses. They're nearly the same size, aren't they?" His aunt nodded her approval.

"Then we could almost be sisters!" Alice exclaimed. The clerk glanced at Leslie, a quizzical expression on her face. Has she guessed that he was a petticoated boy? His mind was in a turmoil as his aunt started to unbutton his dress. Alice's eyes opened wide when she spied his little corset, which forced his flesh upward to create a convincing little bosom, half-hidden in a froth of dainty lace.

"How delightful!" Mrs. Jones exclaimed, "I've been trying to convince Alice that she should wear a corset to improve her figure." The clerk was busy fitting a dress to Alice, as Leslie's aunt reached out and lifted his little petticoats to expose his frilled panties. "How sweet!" commented Mrs. Jones, as Leslie frantically tried to press his skirts down, creating an exciting frou-frou.

"Why, darling," his aunt admonished, "It is not immodest for a girl to show off her pretty undies to ladies."

A few moments later, Alice suggested that Leslie attend her birthday party. His aunt accepted the invitation for him and, sensing his reluctance, said, "Don't be shy, darling. Of course you'll go and we can buy you a pretty new dress to wear for the occasion."

"Oh, Leslie," Alice cried, "we'll have a wonderful time!" But Leslie's expression hinted that he believed otherwise. As the clerk assisted Alice in trying on the dresses, his aunt also arrayed Leslie in several of them. Soon more were brought in, and his aunt selected several to take home.

Leslie and Alice were left alone briefly in the room while Mrs. Jones and his aunt went out into the salon with the clerk to sign for their purchases. Alice took this opportunity to hug Leslie to her. "Don't be mad at me, Leslie for inviting you to my party. It's just that it would be wonderful to have you there, dressed so prettily, so we can be sisters." With her warm, scantily clad body pressed to his, his feelings toward her were far more than sisterly. But he agreed to try and enjoy her party, although he had grave doubts about such a mad venture. Anyway, his aunt wouldn't expect him to remain in petticoats for very long... or would she?

"Goodbyes" were said at the front door of the shop, Mrs. Jones and Alice going one way, Leslie and his aunt, the other.

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

"Not yet, dear. We have one more purchase to make this afternoon. Can you guess what it is?"

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

"It's a dear, sweet little nightie for you to wear to bed tonight!" Leslie opened his mouth to say something, but he was silenced by a wave of her hand. Once again, her felt all eyes upon him as they traipsed along the sidewalk.

They entered another girl's shop, moving directly to a glass showcase in which were displayed several dainty items of lingerie. The pretty clerk behind the counter smiled and asked politely if she could be of any assistance to them. "I'd like to see something special in lingerie for my niece." She smiled down at Leslie.

"Of course, Madame! Such a very lovely little girl does deserve something specially frilly." Leslie imagined that there was a trace of sarcasm, directed at him, in her voice. "What size does she wear, Madame?" On being told size 14, the clerk turned to box-lined shelves behind her, glanced over the labels, then took a box from the shelf, placing it on the counter. From rustling folds of white tissue, she extracted an extravagantly frilled, transparent, pink chiffon nightie and held it up, remarking that it was a recent import from Paris.

"It's very nice, but I'd like to see several others before I make my choice," his aunt replied. The contents of several more exotic-looking boxes were displayed, and his aunt purchased three dainty bits of feminine finery. "Don't you just adore this, Leslie dear?" she cried as she held a matching peignoir-and-gown set up before him.

"I guess so," he answered meekly. Then, as his aunt instructed the clerk to wrap the packages while they "browsed around," Leslie again begged her to take him home. His feet were unused to the restriction of girl's shoes and he felt a growing urge to answer a call of nature.

"Please do stop your fussing, Leslie. We shall return home when I am good and ready to do so!" she exclaimed. "You'll need a few other items of lingerie as well as pairs of stockings and gloves, so we must make a few more purchases before we leave."

They wandered around the establishment, Leslie growing more physically uncomfortable and becoming more certain that the clerks were on to him and were whispering among themselves. His aunt made more purchases, and finally Leslie could wait no longer to tell her of his dire condition; "Aunty, I... I... have to go to the bathroom."

"Can't you wait till we get home?" He shook his head vigorously. "Very well, then, come along with me!" She marched Leslie to the door of the powder room.

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

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

A moment later he found himself in the scented privacy of the powder room. Leslie cast furtive eyes around and crimsoned as he spied a pretty girl his own age, petticoats drawn up around her waist, adjusting her panties. Good heavens! What if she were to suspect the truth? He could already hear her screams ringing in his ears. However, she nonchalantly dropped her skirts, pressed them down, took a quick glance into the vanity mirror, patted a stray hair back into place, smiled at him then left the room. Leslie sighed audibly with relief.

His respite was short-lived, for the mechanics of the problem at hand were much more complex than in his previous experience. His overcoat was removed and hung up, and his aunt bade him raise his petticoats.

"Oh, please, Aunty, not out here. Can't we go in there, into one of the cubicles?" he pleaded.

"No, Leslie, please do as I ask this minute!" Crimson-faced once more, he started to raise his skirts, the taffeta rustling throughout the small room, when a small girl and her mother entered.

"Oh, Mama, look at the pretty panties that girl is wearing!" "Shush, dear! It's bad manners to make remarks like that." She smiled at Leslie as if in apology.

Leslie nearly fainted as he hurriedly sought refuge in one of the cubicles, his aunt close behind him. His panties were hurriedly drawn down, and she instructed him to use the toilet as a girl. "You may drop your skirts now, Leslie," she instructed as they emerged from the cubicle. They fluttered down around his knees with a sibilant swish. "Shake them out, my dear, so there'll be no wrinkles." There was a delightful frou-frou as he carried out her request. Was there to be no end to the indignities that would be heaped upon him?

Before they took their departure from the powder room, his aunt insisted that he stop before the floor-length mirror to view himself. "Now, dear, don't you agree that your dresses and frillies are much more becoming to you than those horrid coarse trousers?"

"Oh, please, don't say such awful things, Aunty," he pleaded. But secretly, deep down in his subconscious, a small part of him was beginning to agree with her. Somehow, he was bearing up better, now, under the yoke of femininity.

"You'll change your mind about your life as a girl before I've finished with you. Of that you can be certain." His shoulders slumped in hopelessness as she helped him into his coat. They stopped by the wrapping desk to retrieve their packages, and then they took their departure. Much to Leslie's relief, they headed for home. At the front door of his aunt's mansion, Marie, her personal maid, admitted them, her features registering amazement and approval over Leslie's transformation.

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

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

"Quite so, Marie! Please help Miss Leslie with her coat and hat." As Marie removed his coat, she exclaimed, "My, what a pretty little dress you're wearing, Miss Leslie!" There was a teasing lilt in her voice.

"Please don't let her call me that," he pleaded. But his aunt told him that he had better get used to being addressed properly, as she kissed him affectionately on his blushing cheek. It was more than Leslie could endure. He made a dash toward the staircase, his rustling skirts fluttering about him, only to be halted in his tracks by his aunt's firmest voice commanding him to "Come back this very instant! The very idea, Leslie, running off like that! You will please remember - proper young ladies do not run!" Leslie turned about to face his tormentors: "I hate you! I hate you!"

"Leslie! I shall not tolerate another outburst of this kind! The next time you choose to be so ill-mannered, you'll receive a sound spanking!"

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

A shocked expression crossed Marie's face and a dark cloud settled over his aunt's. She exclaimed, grimly, "Very well, young lady, since you persevere in this kind of conduct, you must be taught a lesson. Marie, please march Miss Leslie up to her room.

"At once, Madame!" Marie replied with an obvious pleasure, for she had suffered many times at Leslie's hands. As she approached him, he took a step backward and tripped on the bottom stair, falling in a flutter of swishing skirts. Marie promptly took advantage of his helplessness, gripping his arm firmly and jerking him to his feet. What courage he had left abandoned him then, and he allowed himself to be marched up to his room, tears trickling down his cheeks. Marie removed his hairpiece, carefully arranging it on a head form that had mysteriously appeared in his room during his absence. Then she unbuttoned his dress and drew it up over his head, placing it on a satin covered hanger in the closet. His petticoats were unfastened and allowed to slither down around his ankles. Marie gathered them up as he stepped out of them and hung them neatly on a special hanger in the closet.

When Marie began to tug at the waistband of his frilly panties, Leslie hastily pleaded, "Oh, please, don't take off my... my... panties!" He had to force the word out of his mouth, it was so distasteful to him.

"Nonsense, Miss Leslie!" Marie retorted, tugging the panties down about his ankles to let him step out of them. She picked up the silken garment and placed it on the lingerie rack along with his petticoats. Marie knelt before him to unfasten his garters and take his stockings down.

"Now, now, Miss Leslie," Marie chided. "You need not be modest with me, especially after all those times you've pinched me in the past!" She took a painful grip on his earlobe and marched him across the room on tip-toe, as he begged her to release him. She forced him to lie face down on the bed, as his aunt entered the room. She smiled appreciatively at what she found.

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

Marie released Leslie, who leaped to his feet. His aunt took Marie aside and whispered earnestly in her ear. Marie nodded and smiled knowingly. "I understand perfectly, Madam." His aunt turned on her heel and left the room without a second glance. Marie ordered him to sit on the edge of the bed, and he obeyed meekly. She went to him, knelt down, and reached around him to loosen the laces of his corset, but only a little. She explained that he must wear them while sleeping in order to keep up his figure training. The proximity of her lovely body produced a predictable masculine response in him, and she smiled teasingly, "Naughty, Naughty, Leslie!"

Marie then went to the bureau on which were placed the boxes containing his aunt's purchases. She selected a frilled pink chiffon nightie from one of the cartons and brought it to him. She bade him raise his arms and then let the nightie slip over his head. He was most grateful for its protection of his nudity, even though it was nearly transparent.

She ordered him to lie down on his back, and he knew better than to disobey, though he wondered why she did not turn the coverlet down first. When she advanced upon him with a strange gleam in her eye and lifted the skirt of his nightie, all became clear to him. "Oh, no, Marie... not that...!" Soon after Marie left the room, Leslie cried himself to sleep. Every afternoon following the day of the shopping excursion, Leslie was obliged to wear a dress and undies and remain all dressed up until bedtime. He protested bitterly when he was not allowed to join his pals in their after-school games, but his protest fell on deaf ears.

"Leslie, the sooner you understand that you have more important things to do, the happier you will be!" his aunt explained. "Things" meant subjecting himself to being laced into corsets, arrayed in frilled panties, decked out in rustling petticoats, and frocked prettily. On such occasions he was also required to wear his hairpiece and be made up carefully by Marie, who had a talent for eliminating all traces of masculinity from his physiognomy. When she had finished her ministrations, Marie would march him down to the drawing room for his aunt's inspection. How he detested such moments! On entering her presence, he had to perform a deep curtsy, then wait for her order to mince forward daintily.

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

"Yes, Aunty, I'll try!" he'd reply, rustling over to where she was seated, he'd demurely wait her instructions. When she would tell him to come closer, she would invariably gather his skirts in her fingers and swish them from side to side, remarking that she knew he secretly adored the "pretty frou-frou of your skirts." While Leslie wanted to shout his denial from the housetops, he knew better than that and meekly acceded to her suggestion.

"You may now raise your skirts, dear, and show me the adorable little panties you've selected for today," she'd say then. "You know they are really so much more becoming that those horrid trousers!" A crimson-faced Leslie would gather his skirts up around his waist while his aunt toyed with the lace ruffles or fussed with the pert little bows that adorned them. It was an ordeal for him, and what followed next was even more crushing to his masculine ego.

She would gesture toward an uncomfortable straight-backed armchair and he was expected to carefully arrange his skirts before lowering himself onto the seat. No matter how hard he tried, she'd find some fault and insist on his repeating the act. Then he had to sit stiffly erect for what seemed like hours, his knees pressed together modestly and his heels together, too. It was a position, which maintained any length of time, would make him wild with fatigue.

If it were necessary for him to speak, his aunt expected him to raise his voice to a feminine pitch with soft modulations and no masculine timber to it. It always worried him that he might unconsciously use this new voice when speaking to his chums. Perhaps the things that irritated him the most were those that he did not understand, such as his aunt's insisting he learn the antiquated "language of the fan." What he did not realize, in this case, was that she wanted him to develop more feminine wrist movements.

The morning of Alice's birthday party, his aunt phoned the principal of his school, informing him that Leslie would be absent that day. Marie took special pains to dress him in his corset, sheer nylons, snug-fitting silken panties, a lightly padded brassiere, and a sweater and a skirt. To his surprise, she did very little in the way of makeup and did not fit the hairpiece to his head. As she kneeled down to put his low-heeled patent leather shoes on, she announced that he was to go shopping with his aunt that morning.

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

"Nonsense, Miss Leslie," Marie chided. "Your own hair is growing out now and it can be fluffed out enough so nobody'll suspect a thing." Leslie knew that his hair had been permitted to grow, but not enough so it would pass as a girl's. Leslie shuddered as he anticipated the effect he'd have on passers-by and salesclerks with his hair so short. His fears were lessened only a little when Marie affixed a scarf to cover most of his hair. Inwardly, he steeled himself to the ordeal that lay ahead.

Before they departed, his aunt forced him to endure an especially painstaking "lingerie inspection." As she sat in her usual chair, he had to raise his skirts and turn slowly around as she plucked at him and adjusted his panties and stockings, commenting on how well his corsets were training his figure.

When they arrived downtown, Leslie was surprised when she guided him through the entrance of a highly fashionable beauty salon. As they waited to be served, she reached over and plucked his scarf off and he was painfully aware of the indignant eyes of other customers when they saw that he, a male, had dared to invade their feminine sanctuary. To make things worse, his aunt asked the receptionist to "have one of the girls attend to my nephew." A beautician was summoned and led them into one of the cubicles. "My Leslie is attending a little party this afternoon, for which he will be daintily frocked and petticoated. I'm hoping that you can pretty his features to go with his costume." Leslie prayed that the world would come to an end and spare him the ensuing ordeal.

"I'd be delighted to do so," the young girl smiled down on Leslie who slumped listlessly in the adjustable chair. "Perhaps we should remove his outer clothing so as to be sure not to soil it with makeup." His aunt agreed eagerly.

"I'll bring in a few things that I will need," the young woman said. Over Leslie's half-hearted protests, his aunt unfastened the waistband of his pleated skirt and it slid to the floor. Then she helped him out of the pullover sweater. To his horror, he suddenly realized that Marie had neglected to put on his usual petticoats, which would have given him some protection from prying eyes during the ordeal to come.

The young beautician returned, carrying a tray full of bottles and jars and various implements which Leslie regarded as torture devices that the Spanish Inquisition would have been proud of. When she spied Leslie standing in near nudity in his pink lingerie, she very nearly dropped the tray. But her professional aplomb took over and she led him to the chair, seated him, and fixed a nearly transparent beautician's sheet, which gave him scant privacy, around his trembling form. Her eyes gleamed with excitement, and her hands were more caressing than necessary as she adjusted the protective covering.

First, she applied a white cream that seemed to harden his face so that he could not move a muscle in it, then took a pair of tweezers and painfully fashioned his eyebrows into thin, graceful lines. The thought of what his schoolmates would say the next day was agonizing to him. The white cream was then removed and a sweet-scented foundation cream was massaged into his skin. Her deft fingers dusted his features with a soft powder. She then turned her attention to his eyes, using an eyebrow pencil to augment his eyebrows and just a little eyeliner on each lid, followed by a touch of mascara and lash-lengthener. A faint sheen of rouge on each cheek was deftly applied, and his lips were then carmined into a flattering shape. His aunt was delighted.

"Oh, my dear, what a delightful change you have created!" she chirped. "Leslie, darling, just wait until you see your pretty new face!" Both women laughed at his pained expression, and when the covering was removed, and Leslie was led to the mirror, he could not believe his eyes, unable for a moment to comprehend that the pretty girl's face staring back at him was his own. While Leslie struggled into his clothes, his aunt handed the girl a generous tip. Shortly thereafter, he was lead from the cubicle, holding his head down as the wave of chattering feminine voices washed through his head. He was obviously creating quite a stir in the salon. A taxi waited at the curb and he slumped down in the back seat, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. That afternoon, Marie took special pains with his toilette. After she had carefully bathed him in warm, scented water, she buffed him with a coarse terrycloth towel until his flesh shone pink, then dusted him thoroughly with a fragrant body talc. She somehow managed top do all this without disturbing the morning's makeup job.

Her tender ministrations went on for what seemed longer than necessary, and Leslie was unable to suppress completely a rather masculine response to her touch. "Tut, tut! Miss Leslie," Marie smiled, "That's most unladylike." He felt a blush spreading from his toes to his hairline.

Marie laughed gaily as she sprayed some heady perfume in just the right places. Then she helped him into a pink nylon negligee and led him back into his bedroom. He was hard put to suppress his tears.

"Now, none of that silly weeping, Miss Leslie," Marie warned. "You'll ruin your mascara, and you want to look your best for Miss Alice's nice party!"

She was right about that, at least. If he had to go to a silly girl's party in an outfit such as this, he wanted to be able to look as much a girl as possible, otherwise he'd be the object of ridicule among his friends. In any event, he knew he was in for a terrible evening.

A clinging silk vest, the bodice frilled with delicate lace, was drawn over his head and its narrow satin ribbon straps adjusted on his shoulders. As Marie arranged a pair of lace and ribbon frilled pink silk panties for him to step into, he was hoping that just for once he would not be forced to wear those horrible corsets. He became more confident of this as he reached out his arms to allow Marie to envelop him in layers of crisp taffeta petticoats, which slithered down into place and were adjusted carefully in place around his waist.

"Miss Leslie, please mince daintily across the room and back. I want to make certain that your petticoats have the proper sway and swish!" Then she added, hastily, "And don't forget to move your hips gracefully as I have instructed you."

Cheeks flaming once more, Leslie presented a pretty picture as he minced slowly to the other side of the room, turned, and came to the dressing table again, every step creating a fearsome rustling of the petticoats. Marie insisted upon his repeating the trip twice more before she was satisfied. Her next words blasted his hopes for any kind of a comfortable evening. "Now we can lace you into your corset, Miss Leslie!"

"But I thought..."

"You fancied that you would not be wearing one, is that it?" He nodded. "Silly girl," she chided. "You know perfectly well that you must have a neat girlish figure!"

He stood in utter dejection as Marie removed the cover of a long white box, pushing aside crisp white tissue, to remove a short heavily boned pink satin corset, actually more like a waist cincher, and in moments she had arranged it around his unresisting waist, loosening his petticoats to allow the six long ribboncovered suspenders to dangle inside.

"Please raise your hands over your head and stand on tiptoe, Miss Leslie," Marie commanded. As the backs of the corset came closer to one another, he began to feel the squeeze increase until he was almost fainting from the compression. Finally the laces were knotted securely and he was allowed to stand normally. He saw that inches had been taken off his waistline, giving him a slim figure which any girl would envy.

Marie knelt down in front of him, reached up under the skirts of his petticoats, and tugged at the waistband of his panties in order to let the silk ruffled suspenders down through the frilled leg openings. And then she adjusted the waistband.

"You may sit down here," Marie said, and pointed to the vanity bench. "And please do not forget to arrange your petticoats properly. Your aunt would be furious if there was any evidence of wrinkling."

Leslie cried out as the corset bit into his sides when he lowered himself onto the seat. Marie ignored his discomfort as she knelt again to draw on a pair of gossamer-sheer, flesh-colored nylons over his legs. He winced as she smiled knowingly at the cute little panties and carefully secured the suspenders to his stocking tops. With the aid of a shoehorn, she then compressed his feet into a pair of baby-blue satin dancing slippers with two-inch heels. "Oh, I can never walk in these," Leslie protested, but in vain. Marie ran her long slim fingers teasingly over his nyloned limbs, commenting, "You really do have very pretty legs, Leslie, my dear. And your heels will make your legs even prettier." She laughed as he flushed with shame. She never would let him forget that he was merely was a petticoated boy.

Pulling him to his feet, she watched in amusement as he wobbled along, desperately trying to balance himself on the heels, but soon he had gotten somewhat accustomed to them and she felt moved to compliment him on his rapid progress. Taking him by the hand, Marie led him back to the vanity seat and watched him approval as he arranged his skirts under him and lowered himself gracefully onto the pink tufted satin cushion. She found it difficult to believe that this dainty person had once been a boisterous, ill-mannered youth and that just a few weeks of training had made such an amazing transformation. Leslie remained stiffly erect - the corset gave him little choice in the matter - his hands folded demurely in his lap and waiting her ministrations. So thorough had been the operator at the beauty salon that only a trace of makeup was required to ready his features. A dusting of face powder, a touch of a pencil to his eyebrows, a replenishing of his lipstick, and a bit more lash-lengthener completed the job. "Miss Leslie, won't you show me how prettily you can flutter your long lashes?" she teased.

"Marie, please!" he begged.

Marie then did his fingernails in a shade which exactly matched his lipstick. While the polish was drying, she fastened a pair of earrings to his earlobes, and a tiny gold chain with a single pearl set exquisitely at his throat was added. Marie stared thoughtfully at the fitted bodice of his silken vest and decided something more was needed. She reached into a drawer and came up with a small pair of bust pads made of satin covered foam. Shaped to resemble budded breasts. These she tucked in the appropriate places. Overcome with delight at the new improvement this made, she hugged Leslie to her and caressed his new breasts, making him blush anew. But he couldn't tell himself that the small display of affection was unwelcome. Maybe Marie was beginning to think more kindly of him, and he was truly sorry that he had given her such a rough time in the past. He smiled at her reflection in the mirror.

Entering his walk-in closet, Marie came out holding his dress for the afternoon - pink satin, shaped bodice, a jeweled neckline delicately frilled with eyelet lace in which baby blue satin ribboning was inserted, puffed sleeves edged with lace to match the collar, and a flaring lace-edged skirt. "Isn't it sweet, Miss Leslie?" she cried, waving it back and forth before him on its quilted satin hanger.

In spite of herself, Marie felt a wave of tenderness sweep over her. "Because your aunt knows what is best for you, Miss Leslie. As a boy, you were a terribly ill-mannered brat, and she prefers to have you be a sweet, demure young lady."

"Was I really that bad?" Leslie asked. Marie nodded, and then she decided to let him in on a small secret. "Your aunt has always wanted a little daughter to pamper and fuss over. If you were to let her have that pleasure, your life in this house would be much more pleasant. Why not try to stop making such a fuss about being dressed up and learn to enjoy your pretty clothes? They can't be all that unpleasant, now, can they?" Leslie looked dubious but interested in what she had to say. It was the first time she had ever given him friendly advice. "Girl's clothes are so much prettier and softer and more comfortable that boy's trousers and shirts. I'm sure if you viewed yourself in the mirror without prejudices, you'd see how pretty a girl you can be."

Leslie thought about this as Marie fitted the delicately coiffed hairpiece to his head. When he looked in the mirror, he was stunned at how beautiful his image was, and something very subtle began deep within his psyche - perhaps the beginning of some kind of acceptance. He resolved to behave as his aunt wished him to this afternoon, just to see what would happen.

Marie helped him into his party dress, now, and was a little surprised to see him smile faintly at his reflection. "It's all right, Leslie. You needn't be ashamed to enjoy your pretty little frills. Give them a chance!" His smile grew a little broader as she tied the blue satin ribbon sash around his waist and added a matching ribbon to his hairpiece. Elbow-length gloves were smoothed into place, along with a tiny gold charm bracelet. Marie stepped back to admire her handiwork. "You really are quite stunning, Miss Leslie!"

"Thank you, Marie," he said in a voice that was suddenly quite feminine. He resolved to be more careful with his voice, especially when in the presence of his school chums, for he knew the kind of jeering and ridicule they were capable of.

Before she took him downstairs for his aunt's inspection, she led him over to the full-length mirror. "Now you may see what personable young lady you really are, Miss Leslie."

A wave of doubt swept over him momentarily as he still found it difficult to believe that the slim-waisted, daintily attired Miss who peered coyly back at him from the depths of the mirror could be himself. In spite of his resolve to behave himself in the manner his aunt desired, he had a fleeting impulse to smash the mirror and rip the dainty frills from his boy's body. But another impulse took over and he picked up his lacy skirts and swished them from side to side, admiring his sleek legs. Marie smiled a knowing smile.

Downstairs, his aunt was waiting for him in the drawing room. He curtseyed deeply to her as he entered, marveling at the touch of his silken petticoats rustling against his nylons. To his aunt's amazement, he flashed a pleasant smile at her and did a perfect pirouette before her, in spite of his heels.

"My, don't we look sweet this afternoon! I declare, you'll be the prettiest young lady at Alice's party!" Leslie blushed prettily at the compliment, dropping his lashes.

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

"And aren't you glad now that Aunty is dressing you so much in keeping with your natural loveliness?" She was clearly testing this amazing change in his attitude.

"I'm glad... if it pleases you," he replied. He was a little confused at how easy it was to say this to someone he had regarded as his tormentor.

"That's wonderful, dear," his aunt said. "Now remember, if you act in a perfectly ladylike manner at Alice's party, no one will ever know you are not a girl. Alice and Mrs. Jones have promised not to reveal your true identity." He gave a slight sigh of relief at that bit of news. As usual, he was obliged to gather his skirts about his waist, so his aunt could inspect his lingerie. For once, everything was to her satisfaction, and she motioned for Marie to bring Leslie's coat and hat.

Marie buttoned the light powder-blue coat around him and tied a scarf of pink tulle veiling over his hair. "Have a lovely afternoon, dear," she said to him as he left with Marie. At their destination, Mrs. Jones herself let them in the front door and suggested to Marie that she return at seven-thirty to pick him up. As Marie returned to the waiting taxicab, Leslie felt like he was losing both a friend and protector. Mrs. Jones helped him out of his coat and hung it in the closet. Turning to him, she exclaimed: "What an adorable dress you are wearing, Leslie! You are certainly a pretty girl." Her words somehow cheered him up momentarily. "Thank you, Mrs. Jones," he said, dropping a perfect curtsey.

"How utterly charming!" she commented, fascinated at the change in his manners. She took his hand in hers with an affectionate squeeze and led him down the corridor toward the party room. He was a little panicky as the chattering of girls' voices drifted down the hall toward him. As they entered the spacious drawing room, he saw a coterie of smartly dressed girls chatting and giggling. The obvious contrast between their smart teen-age dresses and his more childish attire bothered him a little, but it was too late to back out of things now.

Alice spotted him immediately and broke away from the group to greet him, slipping her arm around his waist. "Oh, Leslie, you are a perfect doll!" she exclaimed, kissing him on the lips sweetly. "Come and meet the other girls."

Taking him over to them she explained: "Darlings, this is my very best... friend!" For a split-second it seemed to Leslie that she was going to say "boy-friend," but he was spared that horror. Leslie was presented in turn to each of the girls, shaking hands politely. But he couldn't help hearing some of the comments about his attire: "What a quaint way to dress!"... "Fancy wearing taffeta petticoats!"... "Why they went out of style ages ago!"... "She must be quite young for her age or she would not be dressed as a child."... "But she's certainly very cute!"

Fortunately, Alice had the presence of mind to offer an explanation. "You girls should know that Leslie's aunt misunderstood the invitation and thought that this was to be an old-fashioned costume party!" This seemed to satisfy his critics and the girls accepted him completely them.

Leslie mingled with a crowd of girls for a while, now more secure that his secret was safe. He even took part in a few games and allowed one girl a closer look at his petticoats when she expressed interest in the intricate sewing and embroidery. One girl kept staring at him throughout the afternoon and finally approached him. "Hello, Leslie! My name's Nancy. You must be new in the neighborhood. I don't remember ever seeing you before."

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

"I'd love to have you come to some of my parties some time," she said. "You really are so pretty! You must be a knockout in more up-to-date clothes." Leslie accepted the compliment as modestly as possible.

She took his arm in his. "Then let's be friends. Would you like to come with me to the powder room to freshen up a bit?" Leslie's immediate impulse to say no died on his lips as he realize that she might get suspicious if he refused.

Arm in arm, they went down the hall to the powder room, Leslie carefully controlling the panic within him. He decided to play it as safely as possible while inside that feminine sanctum.

Seated at the mirror with Nancy, he carefully daubed at his nose with the puff from the compact Marie had put in his little clutch-purse. With extreme care, he used a dab or two of lipstick, trying not to disturb the general outline created earlier. As they rose from the table, Nancy startled him by asking to see his pretty undies. He realized he could not refuse without making possible trouble for himself, so he quickly lifted his dress while she oohed and aahed over his petticoats. Then she lifted them up to view his panties underneath, plucking at the frills. As she dropped his skirts, she raised her own to show him her undies, which were quite modern and up-to-date and brief. He was a bit embarrassed but not totally unpleased at the sight. When they left the powder room and returned to the party, Alice greeted him with a smile and took him aside. "What was that all about?" she asked. He told exactly what happened, and she complimented him on his poise under fire. "You certainly have become a cool one in the last few weeks!"

"I just did the only thing I could do, under the circumstances," Leslie explained. Alice agreed with him and squeezed his hand in hers.

When the party was finally breaking up, Alice seemed reluctant to let him go home. She went to her mother and whispered in her ear for a minute. Her mother nodded and went out of the room. Alice came back and explained that she had persuaded her mother to call his aunt and ask if he might stay overnight with them. Leslie was too stunned to speak for a moment. Surely his aunt would never agree to such a thing.

Soon, Mrs. Jones came back into the room, smiling broadly. "Your aunt was delighted with the idea!" she cried. "She'll send Marie over to pick you up in the morning."

"Oh, Leslie dear," Alice sighed. "We'll have such fun. You can borrow one of my new nighties and share my big bed with me." "But..." Leslie tried to say, only to be interrupted by Mrs. Jones' delighted approval and Alice's gleeful plans. Had everyone in the world gone mad? This was unheard of, a boy in dresses spending a night with a young girl in her own bed! What kind of insanity was this?

"But, Mrs. Jones... Alice..." Again he was thwarted in his attempt to protest against these lunatic plans. Alice hugged him to her. "I've always wanted to have a girlfriend spend the night with me. Oh, what fun we'll have together!" she exclaimed kissing his cheek.

"But it's not right!" he managed to blurt out, and they finally looked at him for an explanation of such an absurd statement.

"Why not?" Mrs. Jones finally asked.

"I... I'm a boy! I'm not a girl!" Mrs. Jones looked puzzled at this strange protest, then brightened and said: "That's all right, Leslie darling... Nobody's perfect!" Trembling, Leslie allowed Alice to take his hand and lead him upstairs. His head was reeling with the excitement of the party his first party where he attended in girl's clothes and was accepted as a girl - and the rustling of his taffeta petticoats about his knees, a sensation which was beginning to exert a powerful hold on him.

Upstairs, in Alice's ultra-femininely appointed boudoir, they found the family 's French maid Suzanne waiting for them. She greeted Leslie with a sweet smile, not yet aware that he was a boy in petticoats and not the lovely young girl he appeared to be.

Alice broke the conversational ice and said, "Suzanne, this is Miss Leslie. She will appreciate it if you will help her get ready for bed. She's staying the night."

"Bon soir, Mademoiselle Leslie," Suzanne said. "It is always a pleasure to assist a lovely young lady like yourself."

"But... but... I don't think..." stammered Leslie before Alice interrupted him with reassurances that it would be perfectly all right.

Suzanne helped Leslie and Alice out of their party dresses and petticoats, and Leslie nearly forgot his peril when he saw his hostess standing there in the sheerest of nylon panties, bra, and flesh-colored stockings. He sighed with relief at being freed from the imprisoning corset.

So realistic were the bra inserts that his own that Marie had given him earlier that day that Suzanne did not notice that his breasts were not real.

But she evidently noticed something because she stepped back and cried out in amazement. "Oooohhh! We have here an impostor! Mademoiselle is a monsieur!"

"That's all right, Suzanne," Alice reassured her. "I know all about it, and so does Mother."

"But Mademoiselle is a boy!"

"Well, after all, Suzanne," Alice replied, "Nobody's perfect! We can hardly discriminate against poor Leslie because of the unfortunate circumstances of his birth."

Suzanne shrugged her shoulders and went on with her work, removing Leslie's bra and panties and attiring him in the sheer baby doll nightie, all pink and ruffly, that Alice had picked out for him.

"Oh, Leslie," Alice cried out, her eyes glistening. "You do look so cute! I don't know why you'd ever want to wear boy's clothes!" She ran over and hugged him to her scantily clad body. Suzanne stood by, her puzzlement at this strange situation giving way to amusement. She caught Leslie's eye with a knowing look. Leslie blushed to the roots of his hair.

Then it was Leslie's turn to stand by and watch Suzanne finish undressing Alice and help her into a sheer, waltz-length pink lace gown which matched in color and texture Leslie's. Leslie's mind was in a whirl. Never in his wildest imagination did he dream of anything like this happening to him. Was it some sort of trap? He decided to play it very cool and find out. "Am I to assume that Mademoiselle Leslie is wearing a hairpiece?" Suzanne inquired delicately.

Leslie nodded, and Suzanne came to him and lifted it from his hair. Then she arranged his longish hair in a more feminine style.

What with the restraint of the corset removed, Leslie felt true freedom in feminine clothes for the first time since his aunt had subjected him to them. It was delicious. Every nerve-ending in his body tingled with the soft delight of his nightie, and he very nearly cried out with joy.

But it would never do to reveal to his hostess and her servant how much he was enjoying himself. They might tell his aunt and she would then want to keep him in his frills and petticoats forever, a prisoner in lace, as it were.

After Suzanne had tucked Alice and Leslie between the silken sheets of her bed, a large four-poster with a chiffon canopy, Alice's mother came to kiss them goodnight. "Sweet dreams, girls!" she chirped, apparently unperturbed by the fact that her daughter was sharing her bed with a boy.

Leslie tried very hard to figure this situation out, to determine why Alice's mother was so permissive in her attitude. Finally, after the women had turned the lights off and left the room, he put the question to Alice.

"Oh, Mother's very modern, you know," Alice replied. "And there's no danger at all of anything... permanent... happening. The pill you know..."

Leslie had to admit that Alice's mother was modern, all right. Modern was the word for it. The very word. But how modern was Alice herself? Leslie decided she must be almost as modern as her mother to allow herself to be put in bed with a boy. But he resolved to let any developments originate with her.

Suzanne had left Leslie's brassiere on under the nightie to give him a proper form, and he suddenly became aware that a small delicate hand was shyly cupping one of his ersatz breasts underneath the silken coverlet.

He wondered if he should reciprocate in like fashion but finally decided to let his hostess be the initiator of anything that might ensue. But when Alice ran her hands underneath the ruffles of his baby doll panties, there was very little doubt left of what she wanted. The two of them snuggled together passionately, caressing each other through the silken material of their nighties, until finally nature took its inevitable course.

The next morning, Leslie was driven to his aunt's home, his head still a daze from the delights of the previous night. When his aunt inquired as to how he'd enjoyed his outing, he blushed and looked at the floor sheepishly.

His aunt and Marie exchanged knowing glances. Their plan, which had been aided and abetted by Alice and her mother, was progressing perfectly. The idea was simply to associate dressing in girl's clothing in Leslie's mind with such pleasant sensations that he would never want to dress as a boy again. The next step would be enroll him in a girl's school so that he would not have to change into boy's clothes again.

When this plan was announced to Leslie, he pleaded with his aunt not do this to him. While he had grown to enjoy his frills and lace, he wasn't prepared to sacrifice everything masculine for them - his school chums, his sports activities, and everything like that. But Leslie's fate was sealed, and the fateful Monday came all too suddenly - the day he was to enter Miss Staylace's academy for girls.

Marie woke him early in the morning and sent him to bathe in a warm, scented tub. When he emerged, she toweled him and dusted his body with fragrant body talc, then dressed him in the school uniform.

As the dark blue sweater and matching pleated skirt were being pulled on over his chemise, drawers, and petticoats, he was lost in agonized thought.

How could he ever face his new classmates? Surely they would quickly discern that he was really a boy in petticoats! He had been told that were a few other boys like himself there, and he wondered if he would be able to recognize them. And if he did, would they at least become friends and sympathize with one another?

After taking special pains with Leslie's coiffure and makeup, Marie marched him downstairs for his aunt's inspection. A pleased smile lit her face as she surveyed his form and noted the perfect illusion which had been created. She asked him to walk up and down before her as she studied his movements and suggested improvements in his posture and gait. Then, as usual, she ordered him to raise his skirts so that she might inspect his lingerie and check to see if any tell-tale signs of masculinity were there.

Finally, she was satisfied and sent him on his way with Marie. The cab driver gave him an expressionless glance, then turned away. Leslie was heartened by the fact that he had passed this inspection, and he sank back on the cushions of the back seat to try to summon up sufficient courage to meet the ordeal he was certain lay in wait for him.

As he and Marie climbed the steps to the school and entered its forbidding portals, his heart was pounding furiously. She led him down a long corridor past groups of chattering girls, all dressed in a similar fashion to him. They nodded to him, welcomed him with a casual "Hello" or "hi," then returned to their conversation. At the end of the corridor, he was ushered into the headmistress' private office. There Marie left him and departed. Taking a deep breath, Leslie curtsied to her as his aunt had taught him to do. Miss Staylace was charmed and greeted him with a smile. "I am very pleased to have you in my academy, Leslie!" she said, motioning him to a chair. "Do sit down." Then she read the rules of the academy to him: "Good marks in your lessons are of prime importance, and any failures will be punished by caning... You will conduct yourself in a proper ladylike fashion at all times... No loud talking, running or jumping will be tolerated... During recess period, you will join the other girls on the playground..." On and on she went, until Leslie was ready to scream.

Finally, she concluded her dissertation, rose from her chair and said, "Come along now, Leslie, and I'll show you to your classroom and introduce you to Miss Natalie, your teacher."

Stunned and on the verge of panicking and running, Leslie followed Miss Staylace down the corridor. The shrill tones of girls' voices were audible through the panels of the close doors as they passed them by. She finally stopped before one of the rooms and opened the door. There was a sound of rustling petticoats as the pupils inside hastily rose to their feet. He could feel their eyes surveying him quizzically. How he dearly wished to turn about and flee from their presence! A pretty young woman rose to her feet behind a large desk at the front of the room. There was a smile of welcome on her face that eased his frayed nerves a little. "This is your new pupil, Leslie, Miss Natalie!" said Miss Staylace.

"You are most welcome in my class, Miss Leslie," the young teacher said. A wave of suppressed giggles drifted through the room as Leslie dutifully curtsied to Miss Natalie. A stern glance from Miss Staylace was sufficient to quiet the girls. "You are very well-mannered, Miss Leslie, but it will not be necessary for you to curtsey," Miss Natalie remarked.

Tears of chagrin began to form in his eyes. Already he had made a fool of himself in front of his new classmates. When Miss Staylace flounced out of the room, he wanted to follow her and remove himself from the scene of his embarrassment, but he suppressed this impulse and stood his ground, waiting for instructions from Miss Natalie.

"Let me see," she mused, glancing around the room. "Ah yes, there's an empty seat next to Miss Janie." She turned toward the person she referred to, who quickly rose to her feet for Leslie's benefit. "That will be your seat. Please take it now!"

Leslie kept his eyes to the floor as he walked to the seat designated and sat down, all eyes upon him. Miss Natalie returned to the lesson.

"Hi, Leslie!" Janie whispered, reaching out to touch his hand. "Hi," he whispered back in acknowledgement but without enthusiasm.

Miss Natalie spoke up sharply: "Miss Janie, you know that we do not allow any whispering during class. Please refrain from it!"

"I'm sorry, Miss Natalie," Janie replied meekly.

"Very well, see that you remember it, or I shall have to report you to Miss Staylace for disciplining."

Leslie's thoughts were far removed from the content of the lesson, and he sat demurely silent throughout the remainder of the class period. At long last, a bell sounded and instantly the girls started chattering. He found himself surrounded by girls inquiring as to where he lived, whether or not he was boarding pupil, and did he have a boy-friend. This last brought a crimson flush to his cheeks and caused the girls to giggle at his confusion. He gave his replies in a light, low voice, which elicited comments such as "Isn't she shy, though?" "Well, it's her first day, and I was shy my first day here too!" This last was from Janie who was defending him in a show of friendship. He gave her hand an affectionate squeeze in acknowledgment.

Conversation was finally hushed by the sounding of another bell, and lessons began anew.

During the recess period, he stayed close to his newfound friend Janie. As they wandered about the playground, he was delighted to see that the other girls paid little or no attention to him. Some stood in small groups, chatting, while others paired off as he and Janie had done. His ears were assailed by such comments as "My new dress is just too sweet for words. Just wait until I appear in it Saturday night. Will I be the popular one!" Other girls discussed the boys who came to the Saturday night socials. Apparently these socials were the happiest occasions in the school week, for they provided considerable grist for the girls' conversational mill. Janie looked at Leslie with a smile and asked him if he would be coming to the socials, even though he was a day pupil. "I don't know," Leslie answered, "but I suppose I will if my aunt insists upon it."

Janie gave him an odd little glance, her forehead wrinkling slightly in puzzlement. Then she brightened and said, "I'll introduce you to all the really nice boys." The end-of-recess interrupted his negative reaction to Janie's offer, and she did not press the point as they walked hand in hand to the dining room for lunch. They sat next to each other at the fourth-form table, where they had a substantial meal. Leslie surreptitiously glanced around the room to see if he could discover which of his schoolmates were petticoated boys like himself. All the students appeared to have quite feminine features and mannerisms, although the arms and wrists of one or two of them seemed maybe a trifle too thick for real girls.

If only he dared ask Janie! He quickly banished the thought from his mind, for any inquiry of that nature would rouse her suspicions of him. He did think he detected a gleam come to the eyes of some of the suspects' cheeks as they seemed to avert their eyes. Well, anyway, he could ask Janie when they became better friends.

Luncheon over, Janie left him alone so that she could do an errand. Leslie wandered around the grounds disconsolately, waiting for his next class to begin. One of the girls he'd suspected was a boy edged over to him and whispered, "I saw you staring at me at lunch. Why?"

"I really didn't mean to be rude," Leslie replied hastily. "I'm sorry." She leaned closer and whispered in his ear: "They say there are four boys here at school masquerading as girls!" She watched Leslie intently to gauge his reaction.

"You're teasing me!" he said in mock incredulousness.

"Oh no I'm not! There really are boy-girls here!"

"But... but... I" Leslie stammered in confusion, wondering if he had done something to make her think he was one of the "boygirls." The thought was unnerving. The girl's next words stunned him: "I think you're one of them." "Don't be silly!" Leslie hastened to retort. "Of course, I'm not!" He hoped his outrage sounded convincing.

"I still think so, so there!" the girl declared, moving away from him. Leslie followed her with his eyes, his heart pounding out a dread beat. Why had she picked him out to make this accusation? he wondered. To add to his consternation, he saw the girl in earnest conversation with a chum - another of those he suspected - and the way they kept glancing at him and snickering struck terror in his heart. He sighed with relief as the warning bell rang and hurried off to his classroom.

The lesson was barely under way when a girl came in and handed a note to Miss Natalie. She read it and then sent the girl on her way.

"Miss Leslie, please come to my desk!" she ordered. Nerves jangling, Leslie walked up the aisle to her desk.

"Miss Staylace wishes to see you in her office immediately!" she announced, adding: "You are excused... and please do not loiter along the way!"

Leslie had to check himself to keep from dropping a foolish curtsey on his way out of the room. His heart was pounding as he rapped gently on Miss Staylace's door.

"Come in!"

"You wished to see me, Miss Staylace?" he whispered meekly, keeping his head lowered. All sorts of dire premonitions were moving through his mind.

"Yes, Leslie, please come over here!" She gestured with her hand to a spot next to her desk.

"Have you enjoyed your first day here, Leslie?" she inquired, watching his face closely.

"Yes, Miss Staylace!" he stammered.

"I am pleased to hear it. I think that you will agree that your aunt made a very wise decision. I understand that she also took certain precautions to ensure that your masquerade is effective."

"Yes, ma'am, I suppose so," he said.

"I'd very much like to see for myself," she said. "Please raise your skirts."

"Oh, please, must I?" he whispered in pure shame.

"This instant!" her tone was such that his hands flew to the hem of his skirt.

As he drew the soft pleated skirt up to expose the layers of petticoats, she gestured impatiently and he untied the drawstring and allowed the pettiskirts to float lacily to the floor. Once this was accomplished, Miss Staylace reached out and slipped her thumbs under the waistband of his pink panties and tugged them down to his ankles. "Well, I do declare. How clever! One would never guess!" she exclaimed drawing him closer to her. For a few moments Miss Staylace seemed in a world of her own, for she hugged him to her warm body, caressing his breasts with one hand and never letting go of her captive with the other. Leslie was almost fainting with ecstasy.

Finally, she let go of him and rearranged his clothing. "We'll let this be our little secret, won't we, dear?" she asked in a tone which left no doubt that it would be.

"Yes, Ma'am!"

"I presume you have been wondering who the other boy-girls in our midst are?" she inquired.

"Yes, Miss Staylace, I was!" he replied with flaming cheeks. "Well, I doubt that you can detect them on your own, so I will tell you. Let me see... there's Frances, Mildred, Janie and Judy."

"Janie!" Leslie blurted without thinking.

"Why, yes. Have you become acquainted with her already, Leslie?" Leslie hesitated and then replied in a demure tone of voice:

"Yes, Miss Staylace, she has the seat next to mine in the classroom." He thought better of mentioning how nice Janie had been to him that morning.

After Miss Staylace dismissed him, he returned to class, lost in thought. So Janie was a boy like himself. He would never have dreamed that it was possible. Perhaps she had suspected him from the beginning and that was why she was so nice to him. Oh, well. It was nice to have at least one sympathetic friend at the school.

Later that evening, as Marie was undressing him for bed, she queried him on the events of the day. He told her all that had happened except the episode with Miss Staylace. Marie was fascinated by the fact that the school held regular Saturday night socials for its students.

"Surely, you are looking forward to attending the next party," Marie suggested. Seeing his look of distaste for the idea, she went on: "I'm certain your aunt will insist that you go. In fact, she has already decided that you shall."

That night, Leslie lay awake pondering his fate, wishing that he'd never heard of Miss Staylace and her horrible school. And when he finally fell into a fitful sleep, he dreamed he was out in the woodshed behind his aunt's house tearing the horrible girl's clothes from his back and ripping them into tiny shreds. The afternoon before the night of the party Leslie was sent to bed for a nap so that he would be "fresh and lovely" for the evening's festivities. At five, he was awakened by Marie who announced that it was time for him to dress for the evening. Sliding off the bed, Leslie thrust his feet into his satin mules and draped a filmy chiffon negligee about his shoulder. Then he listlessly followed Marie's rustling skirts to the bathroom. There she helped him out of his negligee, removed his concealing garment, and ordered him into the warm scented waters of the bath. In spite of himself, he experienced a sense of exquisite luxury, reclining dreamily in the bath while Marie scrubbed him with delicately scented soap, missing not a nook or cranny of his body.

After the bath, Marie toweled him dry and dusted him with body talc. Then she replaced his negligee about his shoulders and led him back to his boudoir to be dressed.

After corsetting him tighter than he'd ever been before, she prepared a pair of gossamer-sheer, flesh-colored nylons, caressing them over his limbs slowly and teasingly, all the while remarking on how beautiful and shapely his legs were. As an added flair, she slid a pair of lace and ribbon frilled garters up his legs to just above the knees, after first securing his stockings to the corset's suspenders. "Perhaps one of your admirers this evening will retrieve one of the garters as a keepsake," Marie teased. Leslie shuddered. "Marie, please... how can you make such a horrid insinuation?" He winced as his glance dropped to the lace frill at the top of his corsets, for the unusual tightness had pushed his flesh up into a realistic cleavage, which Marie further augmented by inserting two realistic nipple-tipped falsies, the edges of which were treated with a special adhesive to secure them to his chest. Marie dusted powder around the edges so that the faint line of demarcation would disappear. When she was done, the ersatz breasts nestled in the half-cups of the corset top and were undetectable from real ones. "I... I'm going to have a bra to wear, aren't I, Marie?"

"Of course not, silly! Girls don't wear bras with strapless gowns. It just isn't done."

Picking up a pair of lavishly lace-frilled pink satin panties, she held them up to his waist teasingly, swishing them back and forth.

Marie arranged the filmy panties and he obediently stepped into them. After she fastened them into place, she teasingly ran her fingers up and down the inside of his thighs.

Then she knelt and forced his feet into a pair of pink satin ballroom slippers and bade him walk around the room until he got used to them. After he managed to walk a little more steadily in them, she had him sit at the vanity table so that she might apply his makeup. Marie took special pains that afternoon. Scented foundation cream for his face, bleaching cream for his neck and shoulders, and face powder dusted on with a soft brush. Eyebrow pencil created thin, arched lines, and a pair of long, curled false eyelashes enhanced his eyes. A touch of eye shadow, a trace of rouge, and finally a carefully applied layer of lipstick to match the shocking pink fingernail polish she'd applied the night before after his manicure. Then she bade him look in the mirror while she fitted a soft blonde wig to his head and combed it out into an attractive coiffure.

"Can it really be me?" he whispered in awe.

"Of course it is, Miss Leslie!" retorted Marie with a gay laugh. "You are tres jolie ce soir."

Marie gathered up his multi-layered petticoat and called him to come to her, so she could envelope him in its scented folds. In moment his arms and shoulders were smothered in the layers of net, satin, lace and frills that slowly slithered down into place to brush the floor at his feet.

"Oh, Miss Leslie, isn't it just too lovely for words?" Marie cried in genuine delight, reaching down to shake out the folds and give them a more voluminous look.

"I suppose so," he replied meekly, desperately trying to hide the fact that he was genuinely thrilled with his attire. She glanced up at him with a little puzzled expression, for his tone had been one of obvious rapture. A smile played about Marie's lips as she held out the gleaming pink chiffon evening gown for Leslie to step into. After adjusting it about his hips, she zippered it up in the back and then arranged the bodice around and under his realistic looking breasts.

"Oh, Miss Leslie, you look ravishing!" Marie exclaimed, as she affixed diamond-studded earrings to the lobes of his ears, a matching necklace at his throat and a matching bracelet on his left wing.

"Do you really and truly think so?" he asked shyly.

"Of course," Marie said sincerely.

She drew a pair of white gloves over his hands, sprayed a little perfume behind each ear and between his breast, and led him downstairs to where his aunt was waiting for him.

"Darling, you look perfectly exquisite!" his aunt exclaimed, hurrying forward to slip her arms around his waspish waist and give him an affectionate peck on the cheek. "You will never know how happy you have made your aunty this evening, darling! As your reward, you may wear my mink stole."

Leslie's face was radiant when the elegant fur was being arranged about his shoulders. Passing a hall mirror on the way to the front door, where a cab was waiting, he couldn't help but pause a moment to study his reflection in it, while strange thoughts flitted through his mind. He actually did appear to be charming demoiselle, and the caress of his encumbering skirts brought delightful sensations and tension on his nether regions. Also, it was kind of fun to be able to fool people as to what his gender was. Not that he was in any doubt about it himself. Not much doubt, anyway.

As he and his aunty rode toward the academy grounds he wondered if any of the guests at the social would dream that he wan not a genuine girl. Would his friend Janie help him avoid making any mistakes? Perhaps she would, for she was so nice and thoughtful. What would the other boy-girls wear? Would their deception be as clever as his own? Would he be able to handle himself in a proper manner if one of the boy guests asked him to dance? Miss Staylace met them at the door of the main hall of the academy.

"My, my, how ravishing you look, Miss Leslie! I am sure you will be the one most sought after by the young gentlemen here tonight!" The two women smiled knowingly as Leslie hastily lidded his eyes, cheeks flushing crimson.

"My, what a lovely party you have, my dear!" his aunt said to Miss Staylace. "I feel certain my precious Leslie will enjoy herself to no end with all these attractive young gentlemen to choose from!"

"Aunty, please!" Leslie whispered in confusion.

At that point, Janie spied Leslie and came swishing over in a lovely white satin creation. "Oh, Leslie, you look good enough to eat!" she declared, giving him a light kiss on the cheek. "Come with me and meet Charles and Jimmy, my two new boy friends."

His aunt nodded her permission, and he allowed Janie to lead him away in the direction of the two young men he'd seen her chatting with. "Oh, Janie," he said, "I'm so scared!"

"Don't be silly, Leslie. Nobody will ever guess the truth about you," Janie admonished. Then she presented him to her two friends, whose eyes brightened with approval.

Some of his courage returned to him. He had passed this test successfully, and he began to find himself enjoying the evening in spite of his fears. As he chatted with his new friends, his eyes sought out the other boy-girls he knew to be present. In their pretty gowns, there was little to differentiate them from the genuine girls. The strains of a fox trot now filled the room and Leslie found himself being guided around the dance floor by Jimmy.

After a few moments, Leslie almost stumbled over his own feet when Jimmy declared in amazement, "Gee! I didn't know that girls still wear corsets!" With a valiant effort, Leslie recovered his aplomb and replied, "Oh, some of us still do!" He felt Jimmy's arms close more tightly about him and decided he'd said the wrong thing. When the music stopped, Jimmy suggested that they go outside for a breath of fresh air. Without thinking, Leslie agreed, since the dance's environs were stuffily warm. He let himself be led out on the terrace, where other couples were scattered about. When they reached the far corner of the shrubbery-studded garden, nobody was visible, but from the subdued sound of giggling and light protest they knew they were quite alone. Suddenly, Jimmy slipped his arms around Leslie's waist, drew him close and planted a kiss on his unwilling lips. "Please, you mustn't!" Leslie cried out in alarm, struggling to free himself. Jimmy's hand was beginning to get terribly familiar and finally Leslie had no choice but give his escort a blow to the side of the face. Unfortunately, he forgot to extend his fingers and his hard fist knocked Jimmy backwards over a low shrub.

Jimmy got to his feet, muttering: "All right, all right! So you're a virgin!" Then he marched back to the ballroom leaving Leslie standing alone in chagrin and fury. He had no desire to return to the dance when Miss Staylace came out to find him. When she asked him what the matte was, he broke down and told her the whole story. She hugged him sympathetically, and after a while he felt better.

"You mustn't blame Jimmy too much," she said, "After all, he didn't know that you were anything but a very lovely girl. And you are lovely, you know." So saying, she hugged him closer to her and had him sit with her on the marble bench.

Miss Staylace was a very attractive woman and her proximity was having a profound effect on Leslie. Realizing this, she let his head rest on her shoulder as she caressed him provocatively with her free hand. Soon her hand found its way under the voluminous hem of his skirts and traveled slowly up his nylon limbs, send thrill after thrill coursing through his body. The hand paused momentarily to toy with the lacy rosette on his garter, then foraged upward to his stocking tops, and came to rest on the lacy hem of his panties. He sighed with pleasure as it finally found its way under the silken material and came to rest on his flesh.

By this time, Leslie was half-reclining across her lap, and she leaned down to press her red lips on his own, her tongue intruding between his teeth, and her hand doing wonderful things to him. Suddenly, Leslie decided he might learn to like his new life - and his new school - after all. When Leslie arrived home on Sunday evening, escorted by Marie, the hour was very late and Leslie was thoroughly worn out. He managed a wan smile when his aunt greeted him at the front door, and she and Marie exchanged knowing looks which, had Leslie watched them at all closely, would have looked more like satis- fied smirks.

Their plan for Leslie was succeeding beautifully. What they were trying to achieve was the permanent association in Leslie's fevered mind of the most exquisite pleasures with the donning of frilly feminine attire. If they had their way, by the time Leslie was twenty-one years old, there wouldn't be a thrill left in his entire body.

Marie accompanied Leslie as he slowly dragged himself up the ornate stairway of his aunt's mansion. Once in his bedroom, he meekly submitted to having his afternoon dress - now a bit worse for the wear - taken off by Marie. Then came layer after layer of taffeta petticoats which Marie slipped down over his gossamersheer silk stockings to form a tantalizing puddle of frills and lace on the rich carpeting.

Ordinarily, the rustling of the sibilant taffeta against his stockinged legs would rouse Leslie's masculine passions to a frenzied pitch, but he simply was too far spent after an all-day session with Marie and Miss Staylace.

As Marie knelt down to detach his stockings from the beribboned suspenders that held them in place, she couldn't help but notice the low ebb to which Leslie's energies had sunk.

Marie turned him around and began loosening the laces of his tight corset. Soon the pink satin and lace garment was on the floor with the taffeta petticoats and Leslie was being led into the bathroom by Marie.

Leslie stood on the fluffy rug by the sunken bathtub while Marie filled the tub with warm water, shook some delicately scented bath oil beads into the water, and added bubble bath powder. She dipped her fingers into the water to make sure it was the right temperature, then turned to Leslie and bade him step into the delightful bath she'd prepared for him.

The warm, scented water felt heavenly to Leslie's aching and weary limbs. Soon he was feeling much, much better, having soaked in the warmth of the water, and Marie went to fetch a huge pink towel and negligee for him to wear after his bath.

On her return, she knelt down on the soft rug and began soaping Leslie's inert body with a fragrant pink cleansing cream that was designed to soften his skin and maintain its peach-like complexion as well as to clean it. Marie was most diligent in her efforts. Nary a crevice or fold of his body escaped her attentions, and she seemed to delight in dallying over the more sensitive areas of his anatomy. By the time she was finished with her ministrations, a tiny spark of passion was kindled in spite of his weariness.

Opening the drain to allow the water to escape from the sunken tub, Marie took a bandeau from a drawer in the bathroom vanity shelf and tied back Leslie's golden curls in a sort of pony tail in preparation for the next step in his bath ritual. A hose with a spray nozzle on the end was pulled from its recess at the end of the tub, and soon she was rinsing Leslie's pink body with warm clear water.

Finally, she helped Leslie out of the tub and into the huge pink towel she had brought him and busily engaged herself in drying him off until his flesh glowed in the muted light of the bathroom. Again and again he felt the soft touch of the towel against his symbol and it began to respond, feebly at first, to the touch. Now Marie was dusting his body with a fragrant powder, not missing a single mound or crevice, then she sprayed some heady perfume in just the right places.

Enveloped in the lace and ribbon-frilled pink chiffon negligee, Leslie allowed himself to be led back to his room. Marie placed a chair before his floor-to-ceiling mirror, sat down in it and bade him come to her.

Marie turned him so that he was facing the mirror. Doubts coursed through his mind at this new tactic, and he wondered what she had in mind for him now. Slipping her arms about his waist, Marie drew him close to her and took his flaccid symbol in her soft, warm fingers.

"Oh, please, Marie," Leslie protested, "not that, please. I don't think I can go through it again. Not tonight."

"Hush, Miss Leslie," Marie replied, "Marie will do all the work. You must simply relax and look at your pretty negligee in the mirror and think about what a lovely young lady you are becoming under my guidance. All I am doing is relieving you of your troublesome masculine tensions so that you may put them out of your mind."

The sight of his own male body clad in the diaphanous negligee, as always, exerted a powerful effect upon Leslie, and in spite of his many exertions that took place earlier in the day, he managed to climax twice under Marie's expert guidance. By the time she had dressed him in a frilly nightie and led him to bed, his knees were shaking with an accumulation of exhaustion.

Later on in the evening while Leslie was sleeping, the sleep of profound weariness, his aunt and Marie were having a conversation that would prove to have a profound effect on his future. Had Leslie been aware of what they were discussing, his sleep would not have been nearly so peaceful. Very likely he would have wakened up screaming. "I think it is about time to implement phase two of our master plan for Leslie," his aunt said. "Now that he is beginning to really enjoy his feminine clothes and the thrills that go with them, I think the time is right to give him a new plateau of femininity to aspire to."

"Yes, Madame," Marie nodded, "and Dr. Jane can be of great help to us at this stage of the experiment. She is really a fine plastic surgeon, and I have seen many marvelous examples of her work."

"But I'm afraid Leslie will resist her efforts," his aunt pointed out, "and then get into the habit of resisting anyone who tries to guide him into the life of happiness we've planned for him." "Dr. Jane has ways of ensuring cooperation, from her subjects," Marie said. "And we can help prepare him for the ordeal by cracking down harder on him and making him desirous of pleasing us in order to lighten the pressure we'll be bringing to bear on him. I have not a single doubt that he'll be cooperative."

"I'm sure you are right, Marie," Leslie's aunt replied. "Tomorrow we'll begin the new phase of our experiment. The minute Leslie is awake in the morning, you start working on him; meanwhile, I'll contact Dr. Jane and make the necessary arrangements."

"Poor Leslie," Marie said, ruefully.

"Poor Leslie indeed," his aunt said, "but he'll thank us for it later when he sees what Dr. Jane has done for him." The next morning, Leslie woke up in a refreshed state, almost looking forward to the pleasure of being dressed in dainty garments and caressed by Marie as she attended to his various wants. It wasn't so bad, this living as a girl, and if it made his aunt happy, why shouldn't he humor her and go along with whatever she wanted. After all, Leslie thought, it wouldn't be forever. A few months at the most until she wearied of the little game.

So when Marie came in to greet him and help him dress, he smiled at her and gave her pert little bottom a pat. That proved to be a mistake.

"See here, young lady," Marie said in a flash of anger. "We will have none of that kind of behavior! The very idea! How dare you?"

"But, Marie," Leslie said, his cheeks aflame with embarrassment, "what did I do that was so terrible? After all we did yesterday afternoon..."

"Whatever happened yesterday afternoon - or any other time - has nothing whatever to do with today!" Marie stated emphatically. "Such male arrogance from a mere boy in skirts! You think just because a girl is tender to you one day you can take liberties with her from that moment forward?"

"No... of course not," Leslie replied, his face flushed with embarrassment. "I didn't mean anything of the kind." "Nonetheless, you put your hands on my person without permission," Marie said. "And that bit of arrogance has to be stamped out immediately."

"Just as you say, Marie," Leslie agreed. He knew she meant to continue treating him like a little child in punishment for his outrage against her. He wondered what form this punishment would take.

Marie led him over to the vanity table tied his golden hair back out of the way, and began rubbing a cool scented cream into his face. At least, the cream felt cool at first, but in a few moments the ointment began to sting something fierce.

"Oh, please, Marie!" Leslie cried in anguish. "Please do something! My face feels as thought it's on fire! What have you done to me?"

"Nonsense, Miss Leslie," said Marie. "The cream is only to remove every last trace of boyish fuzz from your cheeks. It's an ointment that your aunt had a leading cosmetician make up for her, and it will remove any beginning traces of beard before they get a chance to really start growing."

"But it stings dreadfully," Leslie complained, trying to rub the ointment off with a tissue. However, the cream was already at work deep in his pores destroying hair follicles.

"It will stop in a moment," Marie said, "and after just a few more daily treatments you'll never have to worry about a nasty, ugly beard growing at any time in the remainder of your life" After a few more minutes, which seemed like several eternities to the suffering Leslie, Marie wiped on another type of cream. This time the effect was quite soothing.

"That is the neutralizer," Marie pointed out. "It keeps the depilatory ointment from doing permanent damage to your lovely skin."

Feeling a little better now, Leslie stared at his face while Marie wiped the second batch of cream away. She was right, he decided. There wasn't a speck of hair or fuzz left anywhere the cream had been. Then he realized that he might have to go through his entire life without a beard. How could he ever grow up to be a real man if he were denied the right to grow a beard? The thought was crushing to him, and he began to weep. "What's the matter, Miss Leslie," Marie inquired. "Does your face still sting?"

"No, Marie," cried Leslie between sobs. "It's not that. I... I jut now realize that my aunt doesn't ever want me to be a boy again."

Marie's musical little laugh tinkled throughout the elegant bedroom. Leslie thought he detected a cynical edge to her merriment, and it gave him a bit of a chill.

"Why would a sweet flower of feminine beauty like yourself ever want to be a boy again, Miss Leslie?" Marie inquired. "You should be happy at what your aunt is doing for you - and what she's going to do for you in the very near future."

"What do you mean?" Leslie asked. He thought her statement held a veiled threat of some kind.

"You will see," Marie said, "in due time. All will be revealed to you when your aunt takes you to town today." At hearing this, Leslie's alarm was not at all pacified. In fact, it grew by leaps and bounds. "What is she going to do to me, Marie?" he asked.

"Well," Marie answered after a moment of reflection, "I can't really tell you. I can only give you a little hint."

"Please, Marie," Leslie pleaded.

Marie reached over and loosened the lace-frilled shoulder straps of his nightie and let the wispy garment fall to his waist. Then she cupped his boyish breasts in her hands and pushed the soft flesh upwards until they almost resembled a girl's bosom. Leslie got the idea immediately.

"Oh, no," he cried, "not that! I'll be marked for life." "Nonsense, Leslie," Marie retorted, a smile playing with her red lips. "It will simply make you into a better looking girl, and that's what we all want, isn't it?"

Tears welled up in Leslie's eyes. He never felt so humiliated in all his life. Breasts like a real girl's! He wished he could find a deep hole and bury himself in it. How could his aunt even think of doing such a mean thing to him?

After Marie finished putting on his makeup and brushing his hair until each shining curl was in place, she led him over to the lacing bar, where she proceeded to lace him into a tight corset that seemed to be constructed from white embroidery and lace, but it contained sturdier materials as well, for it clasped poor Leslie's sides with a grip of iron.

While he was still suspended from the lacing bar, Marie smoothed some smoky sheer nylons over his legs and attached them to the six ribbon-filled suspenders that dangled from the white lace corset.

After a while, Marie began to dress him in earnest, selecting an entirely new ensemble. Little did he realize that she was preparing him for a visit to Dr. Jane.

Over the tightly laced white corset came a pair of elaborately frilled white panties, the hemlines dripping with row upon row of white lace. Then a silken white vest with similar lace trimmings was pulled into place over his head and tucked into the waistband of Leslie's panties. Then came a frilly white lace blouse that buttoned up to back of his neck. Glancing down, he noted that Marie had not bothered to put a bra and falsies on him, and wondered why. But he knew better than to ask.

Marie then put a green plaid skirt, which was really a girl's kilt, around his waist, the pleated hem coming to a few inches above his knees. She looked at the hang of the skirt for a moment, then decided it needed more flounce and pulled several starched white petticoats, quite short in length on under the skirt.

With the addition of the petticoats, the proper effect was achieved, and Leslie soon discovered that the stiff underskirts swished sibilantly at every step.

Marie finished off his ensemble with a pair of black patent leather pumps with silver buckles that flashed prettily with each movement. He liked the shoes, for they tended to make his feet look smaller than they actually were.

But when Leslie looked at himself in the mirror, he received a bit of a shock. The severe cut of his blouse, the kilt, and lack of a bosom made him look more like a sissified boy than a girl. This filled him with consternation, for he did not want to be seen in public as a half-and-half version of femininity: half girl and half sissy boy.

What would people say when they saw him? In his mind's eye he could see the amused stares and he imagined he could hear their cutting remarks. And he knew his aunt had plans to take him out this morning. However, when the time came to go, his aunt decided to go directly to their destination in an auto - that was a source of relief to Leslie, who desired as little public exposure as possible.

His relief was short-lived. When he and his aunt walked into the lobby of the ultra-modern medical building in the heart of the city, she asked the receptionist for directions to Dr. Jane's office, and the various passers-by stared and gawked at him until he wanted to die right there. He was sure that they were speculating as to which of the various sexes he belonged. When he mentioned this to his aunt on the elevator, she smiled and assured him that he was being stared at because he was so prettily dressed, and she added the assurance that she was proud to be seen with him in public.

"After all, I want everybody to see what a beautiful little daughter I have reared," she pointed out.

Leslie had the chilly feeling that she really meant to rear him as her daughter, and the interview with Dr. Jane did nothing to dispel that belief. On the contrary, it confirmed his suspicions in the most positive manner, and he wished he had the courage to bolt from the room.

Dr. Jane was a pretty young woman in a white clinical coat, and her manner was most efficient. She struck Leslie as a woman who would brook no nonsense from anyone, especially him. She peered at him closely, running her eyes over his trembling figure in a speculative manner.

"So this is Leslie!" she remarked, after a long moment.

"Yes, doctor, this is he."

"From the narrowness of his waist, I can see that you have already started him on tight-lacing. Under the circumstances, it is a very wise procedure. I was going to suggest it as a first step if you had not already done so. Proper lacing eliminates any unbecoming boyish slump!" She turned to Leslie again and, in a firm voice, said: "You may start disrobing now, Leslie."

Leslie cast a pleading glance at his aunt. She ignored it completely, and began unbuttoning his blouse. He knew it would be utter folly to resist these two determined women, so he submitted to them weakly.

Dr. Jane looked on approvingly as his corset came into view, the frilled silken vest being pulled off to reveal it. Soon his skirt and petticoats slipped to the floor in a swirl of lace and were hung up on the coat tree in the corner. At last, only his white lace panties remained and he was loathe to have them slipped down. But his aunt was adamant and reached out, grasped the waistband, and tugged it down.

"Please get up on the examination table, Leslie," Dr. Jane commanded.

"Aunty, please, must I?" he pleaded.

"This very instant! You heard what Dr. Jane said! You are to follow her orders just as precisely as I expect you to follow mine."

With a great many misgivings, Leslie climbed up on the metal examining table and allowed Dr. Jane to arrange him on his back. What in the world was she planning to do to him, he wondered. He knew that whatever it was, he wasn't going to like it.

A cry of alarm escaped his lips when she reached out a tweaked each nipple. Then she caressed his bosom with her soft hands and noted that his nipples became erect, very much like a girl's. "We are very fortunate, Mrs. Smythe," Dr. Jane said. "Leslie's nipples show genuine promise. From what I can see, they should develop quite nicely with the proper attention." Now Dr. Jane was drawing up the flesh of his bosom and cupping it with her hands. "Yes," she said after a moment of cupping and kneading, "there is sufficient flesh here for two very attractive girlish breasts."

This was more than Leslie could endure - he knew that his aunt intended that he have a girlish bosom, but the imminence of such an atrocity was too horrible for him to remain silent. "Oh, no, Aunty, please! Why I would be marked for life!"

"What nonsense, Leslie," his aunt replied. "Living as a girl, you'd look pretty silly with a flat boy's chest, now, wouldn't you? So be a good girl and stop all this fuss. Just let Dr. Jane perform her miracle and we'll all be a lot happier."

"Of course," Dr. Jane said, "it will be necessary for Leslie to remain here in my clinic for a few days."

"Don't leave me here, Aunty, please!" Leslie sobbed. "Please don't!"

"Hush, Leslie. Do stop your nonsense!" Dr. Jane now turned her attention to Leslie's symbol "There are various methods of taking care of this," she said, taking the limp flesh between her fingers. "It can be tucked between his legs and tied down with medical tape or we could just remove it entirely." At hearing that, Leslie fainted dead away.

The next thing he knew, was the acrid smell of smelling salts being held under his nose. He coughed and sputtered and opened his eyes, conscious once more. "Don't be alarmed, Mrs. Smythe," Dr. Jane said. "The boys usually faint at this stage - all except the ones who really want to become girls. I was just making my little joke."

Some joke, Leslie said to himself, marveling at her ghastly sense of humor. What kind of maniac has my aunt put me in the hands of, he asked himself.

"If you wish to leave Leslie with me now, I'll have the nurse prepare him for surgery immediately. If all goes well, he should be ready to return home the day after tomorrow."

"Oh, I'm grateful to you, Doctor," his aunt cried. "I do think that the sooner the job is done, the better and happier my little Leslie will be."

"Don't leave me here!" Leslie wept. "Please stop and think what you are doing to me. Don't leave me in this horrible place! Please take me home with you, Aunty dear."

"Now, now, Leslie," his aunt replied. "Aunty knows what's best for you. In a few short weeks when your breasts are all healed and beautiful and bouncy, you'll thank your aunty for being so kind and generous."

Dr. Jane opened a door at the rear of the examination room and called out to an assistant: "Miss Ingrid, will you come in here, please?"

Leslie flinched as a heavy-set, stern faced blonde woman in a stiffly starched nurse's uniform rustled into the room. "This is Leslie, Miss Ingrid," Dr. Jane said. The nurse gave Leslie a glance that chilled the very marrow of his bones. "Please take him directly to surgery and prepare him for the breast improvement operation." As the burly nurse approached the naked Leslie, he jumped off the table and cowered in a corner of the room. Miss Ingrid sniffed in contempt as she stepped to where Leslie crouched, reached down to take a painful grip on his shoulders, yanked him to his feet as though he were entirely weightless, then marched him from the room still pleading and sobbing as if his heart would break. "Stop your nonsense, child!" she insisted in a husky voice. "It will do you not one shred of good, so you may as well make up your mind to cooperate with us right now. It's not as if we were actually going to hurt you. This is a modern surgical clinic, not a butcher shop."

Leslie cast an apprehensive eye over the room, shuddering as his eyes fell on the padded white operating table in the center, the white cabinets filled with sterile instruments, the heady odor of antiseptic making his nostrils twitch. Nurse Ingrid deposited him unceremoniously on the table and switched on the huge quartz reflector lamp over head.

Miss Ingrid went over to a white cabinet with glass doors and selected a mean-looking syringe, filled it from a glass vial, ejected a few drops to make sure no air was trapped in the solution, and approached Leslie. "This will make certain that you remain perfectly quiet throughout the entire procedure."

"What is it?" Leslie cried. "What are you going to inject me with?"

"It's just a tranquilizer, you little coward," she chided. "If you don't hold still, the needle will break off in your flesh, and then you'll know what misery is."

Leslie held still as she expertly injected the solution in his forearm. After a moment or two, he stopped caring what they did to him. The powerful drug coursed through his circulatory system, washing all his cares away. He finally fell asleep, smiling for the first time since entering Dr. Jane's abattoir.

A long, long time passed, or at least it seemed to be a long time. He had completely lost track of the ephemeral flow of time, actually, and he had no way of knowing what day it was, and what year, for that matter. What he was aware of, however, was a certain fullness in the chest that he had never noticed before. Opening his down upon his newfound bosom for the first time. At first, he thought Marie had put one of his foam-rubber-padded brassieres on him and that the nipples which were outlined under the fragile satin of his nightie were ersatz ones, as they always had been before.

Then, to his horror, he noted that there was no constriction about his chest such as that caused by a bra, and when he touched the firm, full mounds he winced at the slight pain the pressure caused. A very bearable pain, actually, since his senses were still dulled with chemicals.

Timidly, Leslie raised up in bed a little so that he could slip the lacy shoulder straps of the nightie over his shoulders and pull the garment down. His sense of horror increased briefly as he contemplated his new breasts and noted that they were the equal of any girl his own age, then it gave way to awe at the skill with which Dr. Jane had created his new bosom. He had to admit that they were real, in spite of the surgical tape that protected the incisions that had been made at the base of each breast. When he tentatively touched each nipple, it hardened and became erect.

This turn of events was too much for Leslie to grasp all at once, and he lay back on the pillow and dozed off into a fitful sleep. His next awareness was Dr. Jane's voice calling to him: "Wake up, Leslie, and see what I've brought you."

Leslie opened his eyes and looked at Dr. Jane. She was dangling a fancy white brassiere from her fingers, and Leslie noted that it had surgical cotton in the lower part of each cup. She explained that he should wear it when he first got up and moved around, so as to minimize the strain on the hairline incisions she'd made when building up his breasts.

Leslie was a little less dazed by his experiences now, and he asked her what day it was. She told him he had slept the clock around twice and that he was scheduled to go home the next day, which was Wednesday.

"And next Monday, if you continue to heal properly, you can return to Miss Staylace's school," Dr. Jane pointed out. "You'll have a wonderful time showing all the other girls your new figure."

Leslie doubted that. He felt terribly embarrassed by his new bosom on the one hand, but on the other he was sure they would be an asset to his dressing and living as a girl.

His aunt visited him later on that afternoon. At first, he was surly and refused to even look at her, but she was so outgoing and charming to him that he soon forgot his anger. She had brought him a brand new nightie and bed jacket for his remaining twenty-four hours in the clinic and insisted that he try it on while she was there.

"Marie is looking forward to seeing your new beauties, Leslie," his aunt said. "She wants you to get well quick and continue to be her 'Miss Leslie' for a long time to come."

I'll bet she does, Leslie thought to himself. But on reflection, he felt as though she probably was sincere. Now that the foul deed was done, he couldn't very well spend his life blaming her for her part in it.

After his aunt left to return home, Leslie swung his legs over the side of the bed and walked over to the full-length mirror on one wall of the room. His legs were still a little shaky from the effects of the drugs he'd been given, but he was able to stand for a few moments and look at his reflection. He lowered the shoulder bands of his new nightie and stared at his news breasts. He was surprised to note how natural they seemed. Then it occurred to him that what surgery gave him, surgery could take away, and that when he was ready to assume his male role again, he could get rid of them. If he wanted to.