Author’s note: As with all my stories, this is a fantasy and should be read and understood as such. I would never encourage or condone the type of behaviour described, even though it is non-violent, and would not like to think that any reader believes otherwise. Some of you may find this story long, as much of my work tends to be. I try to create a believable character, within the constraints of an admittedly unlikely fantasy... that a character can be put through gender changes without suffering real harm. The first part of the story takes a while, so please have patience. I hope that you will find the effort rewarding, although each of us has our own likes and dislikes and not every story works as its author would like. Reviews are eagerly read. As an author in this medium, I find feedback both important and hard to get. I understand why the ‘reader count’ is no more, but (unless one cheated) it did at least let an author know whether his/her story had been read, and presumably enjoyed. Now we are limited to comments, so please feel free to post yours. Only by hearing from you can I adjust my style to better capture your imagination. Which is after all a good part of what an author strives to do.

 

How I Spent My Summer                  by: Aleisha James

 

Synopsis: Johnny’s father was estranged from Johnny’s grandmother. Johnny knew nothing about an old family tradition until tragedy struck and he was sent to spend the summer with the old lady.

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My childhood had been uneventful, but troubled by a coldness, which seemed to originate with my father. He seemed incapable of relaxing, of allowing himself emotional freedom. It was clear that he loved my mother very much, and even loved me, in a reserved manner, but there was always a sense that he was holding back. I never knew why. One summer everything changed. This is the story of that time.

‘Your father has been in an accident. I’m afraid that he has been very badly injured, but he will survive’

The words struck me hard, since I had had no idea why I had been called to the office. I had worried whether one of my minor misdeeds had got me into trouble. Expecting to be met with mild anger or disappointment, I had been greeted instead with solicitude, the reason for which had just come clear.

I felt dizzy and my reaction must have shown in my expression because the school nurse hurried forward to take my arm and guide me to a chair. The headmaster leaned forward across his desk, concern written across his usually impassive face, as his hands played with a fountain pen.

‘Your mother has gone to be with him: she will be on her flight now. So I’m afraid that I must tell you that you won’t be going home this vacation. Your mother tells me that she has made arrangements for you to stay with your grandmother.’

I was still trying to absorb the shock of the news of father’s injury, but I was still aware of my disappointment that my mother would fly off to see my father, leaving me behind. Why hadn’t she taken me? My father had been on a business trip almost on the other side of the world. How could she leave me behind. (I was so selfish at that age, that I hardly thought of my mother’s anguish when she made the decision)

It was all I could do to maintain my composure, but boys don’t cry especially when they’ve already reached the lofty age of sixteen.

The headmaster seemed relieved when the nurse looked up and told him that she would see me back to my room.

She led me back upstairs, telling me in her quiet but assured voice that she what she had heard about father’s injuries. She told me that mother had assured them that he was going to be fine.

‘But I understand that right now he’s in quite a bad way, and will not be fit to travel for many weeks. Your mother will be with him most of the time, and she felt that it wouldn’t be fair to you to have you travel so far, and spend the summer amongst strangers. That’s why your grandmother will be picking you up next week, after term ends’

‘But my grandmother (I was careful not to say granny) is sick herself. She can’t drive’

Nurse looked confused.

‘Well, she called here this morning, and I distinctly heard her say that she would be by. She sounded very healthy!’

A cold suspicion formed in my heart.

‘Was it my mother’s mother or my father’s?’ I asked.

‘I don’t know, dear. I believe that she used your own surname, so I suppose that makes her your paternal grandmother. Does it matter?’

I shrugged the question off, pretending that it didn’t matter at all, but internally I was puzzled. My father and his mother never spoke. Not rarely. Never. I had only seen her once, at a funeral of a great-uncle and I remembered that while my mother had been as outgoing as possible, my father had been cold and distant, pulling us away as soon as was decent, or even earlier. And his always-introverted manner had been even worse than normal for some time afterwards. Grandmother had sent cards and small gifts at Christmas and on birthdays, for which my mother made me, write polite thank-you notes, but we never visited. I knew very little about her.

I knew that the rift was a source of concern for my mother, since I had overheard her pressing father to be more forgiving (although for what I had no idea at the time), but to my knowledge he had never accepted that advice. He had merely repeated that he wanted nothing to do with ‘that woman’ and was adamant that she have no contact with us.

So why was I being consigned to her care for the summer?

The rest of the week passed quickly enough. Word had got out somehow, through the grapevine, and I was the object of a lot of sympathy from the teachers and from my classmates. I pretended to take it all in stride, but I was relieved when my mother called the day after I learned the news. She told me that father was very ill: he had fractured his spine and his skull. He was paralyzed at the moment, but part of that was due to the medication: they wanted to keep him as still as possible while they treated his injuries and waited for the swelling to go down. The doctors were optimistic that he would eventually pull through, but he was going to be in rehab for several months even if things went well. I could hear the strain in her voice so I tried to sound cheerful.

‘You know that you are to stay with Grandma Richards?’

I acknowledged that I had been told so.

‘I know that she’s almost a stranger, Johnny, but she’s not the monster your father thinks she is. They got along fine when he was young, but something happened, I don’t know what, and he’s never gotten over it. Whatever it was, he just can’t bring himself to forgive her. But there’s no need for you to worry: I’ve spoken to her and she will look after you very well. You promise to behave: do whatever she asks you to do, and don’t cause her any problems. Your father and I need to know that you’ll be okay. He needs as little extra stress as possible. So promise to do what she asks?’

‘I promise’ I said.

‘No matter what?’

‘I said I promise, Mum!’

‘You remember your promise, Johnny. I knew her when I was younger and she sometimes does things a little out of the ordinary, but it’ll be for your own good. I’d promise to call, but the time difference is so much that I won’t be able to do so very often. I’ll write as often as I can. You write back, okay?’

‘Okay’

‘It’ll be all right, Johnny. You have a good summer, and remember that your father and I love you’

‘I love you too’ I said, a lump forming in my throat.

The day finally arrived. My grandmother had come to take me to her home, about which I knew almost nothing. I had the vague idea that she was wealthy and that she lived alone in a big house in the country. I was half-dreading and half anticipating the journey to my summer home.

Grandmother surprised me. She was driving a new Jaguar, redolent with wood and leather. She wore a blue-grey business suit, its knee-length skirt revealing surprisingly trim legs. I suppose that I was like any other teenager: it was difficult to see anyone of her generation as anything but old. But she didn’t seem old as she swept me along and ushered me into the quiet luxury of the front seat. I examined her closely as she steered the car down the winding driveway, which led from the school grounds to the nearby highway.

She looked far younger than I remembered or had expected. I knew that she had to be at least sixty, but she seemed much younger even than Ms. Forest, one of our teachers, who had celebrated her fiftieth birthday last month. I had noted that she had seemed to be the same height as me as we had walked to the car, which meant, after factoring in her heels, that she must be about five foot six. There was a real resemblance between her face, with its full mouth and clear blue eyes, and my father. I knew that I looked like my father as well, from old school photographs he had in his den. There was little doubt that this attractive middle-aged woman was related to me. Anyone passing by might have been forgiven for mistaking us for mother and son.

Grandmother was full of cheerful commentary as she drove us towards my new home. The trip lasted several hours, including a detour to a small village where we ate lunch at an expensive restaurant. We sat beneath a large umbrella, shielded from the unseasonably warm sunshine, eating an artfully presented, but to my eyes woefully small, lunch.

Grandmother insisted that I call her Ma’am which, struck me as very old-fashioned and overly formal, but maybe, I reflected, that was appropriate, since we were strangers despite our family relationship.

I was thoroughly bored, and very hungry, by the time we pulled to a stop in front of her house, the tires scrunching on the tightly packed gravel driveway. My initial anxiety had faded, and although I was still troubled by my father’s clear dislike for her, nothing in her manner gave me any hint that the feeling was mutual or that she harbored any resentment towards him. Indeed, she several times reassured me that she was sure that he would be fine, and that she was looking forward to having a ‘young person’ around the house.

She opened the trunk for me and I wrestled my two suitcases out of the car, to carry them into the house.

I paused before mounting the wide stone steps which led to the double doors, one of which opened seemingly of its own accord just as grandmother approached. Looking about, I saw that the wealth revealed by choice of car was reflected as well in her house. The driveway curved away through carefully tended, and very orderly, flowerbeds and shrubs beyond which I could see a manicured lawn. This was a very impressive, although isolated, house.

I lowered my gaze and, grunting with the effort, which I tried to conceal, lugged my suitcases up the shallow steps and into the cool, inviting interior. I managed to conceal my surprise when I saw that a dark-haired young woman in a formal maid’s costume held the door open. The maid closed the door behind us and I took the opportunity to covertly look her over. I was at that age when young males, especially those confined for much of the year to an all-male boarding school, were both aroused and intimidated by attractive young women. The maid appeared to be perhaps in her early twenties, which was quite old as far as I was concerned. Nevertheless, she was very pretty, and the sight of her long, shapely legs, clad in dark nylons and plain low-heeled pumps fascinated me. Her uniform dress came down to mid-thigh and I felt warmth in my groin and a stirring of my organ as she gave an abbreviated curtsey to my grandmother before looking at me expectantly. Even then curtsies where long out of fashion, but for some reason I found the gesture to be very enticing.

‘Marie, this is my grandson, Johnny. Please show him to his room so that he may put away his clothing and then show him around the house. I will be in the study until dinner’

She turned to me.

‘Johnny, please go with Marie. She will help you get settled and show you around the house. Kindly stay inside for now, we will show you the grounds later’

Satisfied that she had provided us with sufficient instruction, grandmother strode away.

‘Please follow me’

Marie’s voice was soft and sultry, and the sound made me even more physically aware of her presence. I lifted my suitcases again, determined to make them seem to be no problem for me. I secretly hoped that she would try to lift one herself, and be awed by how easily I handled the two of them. I was to be disappointed as she turned away and began to climb the wide, wooden-railed staircase which swept up to a hallway from which one could look down upon the entrance hall.

I followed her, with the bags straining my sinews. Her buttocks swiveled captivatingly before my eyes, which were at the same level as her rear as we ascended the stairs. Looking back on it, I am sure that she put an extra effort into her walk, knowing that I would appreciate the view, which almost made up for the pain in my arms as I struggled up the stairs.

By the time she mercifully came to a stop outside the door to what was to be my bedroom, I could have sworn that my arms were a good three inches longer than they had been when I started.

I left one suitcase in the hall while carrying the other into the room. Setting it down I pretended to be inspecting the room before returning for the other, savoring the chance to recover my strength. In truth, the room did bear inspection.

It was easily twice as large as the room I shared at school. A large, mullioned window gave out onto what I gathered was the side of the property. Lawns and shrubs all as carefully tended as those at the front, stretched out of sight. Grandmother’s property was huge.

A queen-sized bed occupied a good portion of the far side of the room, flanked by small nightstands, each supporting an ornate lamp with a pleated shade. Several pictures hung on the cream-colored wallpaper, which was flecked with gold. The pictures were portraits of young girls or women dressed what I thought of as a Victorian style, with long, elaborate dresses and hair piled atop their heads or cascading down their backs.

Directly in front of where I stood were two low chairs set around a glass-topped coffee table, strewn with an assortment of magazines. Most of the covers were hidden beneath other magazines but the ones I could see appeared to be of the kind read by teenage girls.

That struck me as odd. Given that grandmother had at least suggested that I was the first ‘young person’ she had had stay at the house for many years. I suspected that she did not think of staff as really counting, but still the choice of magazines was unusual. Maybe some young girl had recently left.

In fact, the whole room struck me as somehow inappropriate; as a place where I was not sure I would be comfortable. It was too soft, too feminine. Even the drapes were wrong, at least for me. They hung on either side of the window, the heavy white silk caught and held back by sashes of cream fabric, matching the wallpaper, while lace sheers filtered the light.

The pleated lampshades were the same white as the drapes, with pink ribbons threaded around the bottom. The bed itself bore a pink duvet, and the deep carpet on which I stood was a shade of white midway between that of the walls and the white of the drapes.

I made a mental shrug. Clearly grandmother had been out of touch with young men for far too long, but I would be able to get her to make changes or maybe move me to another room. I lifted the suitcase onto the bed and retrieved the other from the hall.

Marie had been standing silent to one side, but now she came forward and offered to assist me unpacking and putting my clothes away.

Her perfume filled my nostrils as she came near and I felt my face burn with a mix of embarrassment and desire. She appeared oblivious to the effect she was having on me, for which I gave a silent prayer of thanks.

Taking a pile of underwear out of the first suitcase (hurriedly since I did not want her to touch my underwear!) I looked for someplace to put it. There were two tall dressers standing side by side just beyond the window and, walking the short distance to them, I placed my load on top of the nearest.

I was just pulling open the top drawer when Marie materialized beside me.

‘Not in the top drawers, Johnny! They are full of other clothes. You should put the ones you brought with you in the bottom two drawers in each dresser’

Her small hand, the oval nails with merely a sheen of pink polish, pressed against the drawer. I drew my hand away and watched as she pushed the drawer shut. It had opened no more than a couple of inches, but I swear that it looked like it was full of girl’s clothing. I had a quick impression of seeing pale silks and satins. A chill struck me for some reason. My impression that something weird was going on came back stronger than ever, but any questioning of Marie died on my lips before I uttered a sound. Something about the calm, confident manner in which she proceeded to help me unpack, as if nothing untoward were going on, silenced me completely.

We finishing unpacking and I zipped the suitcases closed. Marie took one and I the other as she led the way back into the hall. The next room down the hall was a bathroom, equipped with a large, old-fashioned bathtub and a separate shower stall. The toilet was at the far end of the room, and a long vanity ran along the wall to the left, beneath an enormous mirror. I saw plush towels on a rack, and Marie commented that the tiled floor was heated, which I thought was a nice touch.

Back in the hall, Marie led me to the end and up some narrow stairs, which were awkward with the cases. I was thankful that we had not had to use these stairs on the way to the room.

‘These used to be for servants, in the old days’ she said, when I made a comment.

We climbed past a third floor and into what had to be the attic, where she opened a door, which gave onto a dark space huddled beneath the sloping roof. She leaned inside and pulled on a cord and a naked light bulb lit up the room which was crowded with pieces of old furniture, and a number of boxes, trunks and tired looking suitcases. It looked as if no one had been in here for a long, long time.

We placed my bags in the room and, turning off the light made our way down the stairs.

The ensuing tour of the house took about forty minutes, and left me impressed by the sheer size of it.

The third floor contained a rabbit warren of small rooms, which Marie told me were the original servants’ quarters. In the old days, she said, a house such as this would have an inside staff of as many as five people, with at least two full-time gardeners. It reminded me of an old television program I had seen: Upstairs, Downstairs, I think it was. Marie agreed with me, but said that these days she was the only one still ‘living-in’.

‘Your grandmother has a cook who visits every day, usually for lunch and dinner, while the gardener’s work on a contract basis. A Mrs. Evans comes by to do the heavy housework twice a week, but your grandmother rarely entertains and she has few guests, so there’s not too much work to do’

‘What do you do, Marie’ I ventured.

She stopped and looked at me, a smile flirting with her lips.

‘I do whatever your grandmother wants me to do, young Johnny’ she said. She winked, before turning away and leading me on to another part of the house. I was dumbstruck. She had winked at me!

Gathering my emotions, I followed on.

Part of the third floor had been renovated, with walls knocked down and rooms joined together. Thus Marie’s room, which she let me glance into briefly, but which she would not allow me to enter, was the size of two of the other rooms, and she had her own bathroom which was as large and well-equipped as the one I was to use.

Although from the front the house had appeared monolithic, it was apparent from the inside that it was built around a courtyard formed at the back, with the sides of the house extending backwards in two wings. My room was on the left side, as one looked at the house from the front. Grandmother’s rooms were on the opposite side; taking up the entire wing. Marie once more restricted me to a glance into the outer rooms, and did not let me even glimpse her bedroom or her bathroom.

Downstairs was more formal, with a large, somewhat dark dining room with polished furniture and a table big enough to seat sixteen or so. A sitting room stood separate from what Marie described as a living room. Another formally furnished room, with floor to ceiling shelves filled with leather-bound books which may looked as if they may never have been read, was the library.

The entranceway, through which I had come into the house, contained a tall grandfather clock, whose gleaming pendulum swung slowly behind the glass case. Oriental rugs covered the hardwood floor.

The kitchen lay in the wing beneath my bedroom. It was quite a contrast to the dark wood and understated dignity of the rest of the ground floor. The floor was in gleaming, white tile, while most of the walls were hidden behind a formidable array of ranges, sinks, cupboards and counters. Copper-bottomed pots and pans hung from hooks suspended from rectangular racks in several areas. The ranges and cooktops seemed enough to operate a large restaurant, and Marie confirmed that the house used to entertain as many as twenty people for full-scale formal dining.

‘That table you saw in the dining room can be extended to seat even more’ she said, before adding, with a note of regret ‘But those days are over now’

A whitewashed door led to wooden stairs, which descended to the cellar. She led me down, turning on lights by tugging cords as she had in the attic. There was not much to see down there, other than the wine cellar. I had not yet been allowed to drink wine: my experience of alcohol was limited to the couple of times that some of my classmates had got hold of some beer, which we had all drunk, pretending to enjoy the taste and acting as if we were seasoned drinkers.

The wine cellar was full of old racks. I had expected to see rows of dusty bottles, their labels hidden by cobwebs and other signs of age. Instead, I saw row upon row of bottles lying in their racks, with only the faintest layer of dust, and with small cardboard tags dangling from the neck of each of them. Marie showed me that the tacks bore the names of the wine and their vintage. I looked over several racks, but their names meant little to me then. Later I was to realize that the cellar contained a fortune in expensive wines, and I was to learn to appreciate the nuances of bouquet, nose, and body. For now, I merely tried to conceal my ignorance, although I wasn’t fooling anyone.

The tour finished, Marie told me that I was on my own for the next hour or so, until dinner was ready. She suggested I go to the sitting room that had been readied for me. It was close to my bedroom, and was surprisingly well equipped. It had a comfortable sofa and a matching, leather reclining chair. A large, new television sat next to one of those all-in-one mini stereo systems, with small but, as I was to find good speakers. The main problem was the selection of music, which ran to classical and soft rock ballads. Hardly the type of music I was accustomed to. At least I had brought my own cassettes!

There was cablevision for the television (a novelty in those days), so I passed the next hour checking out the channels. She had a greater selection than had been available at school. Dinner came as a relief. I was already wondering whether I would find something to do. Maybe the grounds would offer some outlet, or maybe I could make friends with some kids from the nearby village, but neither was likely until I was allowed outside.

Vaguely aware that grandmother would probably want me to look neat for dinner, I didn’t change from the shirt and kakhi pants I had worn from school, even though I expected to spend most of the summer in blue jeans, or shorts, and tee-shirts. That was perhaps my most misplaced prediction of all time.

Despite what I thought of as my neat appearance, grandmother frowned as I entered the dining room and sat at the place clearly set for me. She sat at one end of the enormous table while I sat perhaps four feet down on one side. The dark wood glowed from what I imagined to be decades of polishing and waxing. The linen was immaculate and the cutlery heavy silver, with no hint of tarnish.

Each place setting had several glasses, of different shapes. Marie served the food, although I was to learn that ‘Cook’ had prepared the food. First came soup: a cold beef consommé, accompanied by a red wine. Grandmother instructed Marie to pour me a small amount of the wine.

Over the course of the meal we were served a salad consisting of a poached pear with some unusual (to me) leaf lettuce, red grapes and a pungent soft cheese. The entree was poached salmon, served with a chilled Chardonnay.

The food was wonderful, and I was excited to be allowed to drink wine, which made me feel very adult. The tastes of the different wines were all novel to me, and not particularly pleasant, at the time. Despite the great food and the thrill of drinking alcohol, the meal was still something of an endurance event for me.

One problem was that the portions of food were tiny. I was a growing boy, even though I was one of the smaller students in my class, and I had a ravenous appetite, which had hardly been assuaged by the small lunch we had eaten hours ago.

Grandmother’s attitude was the other problem. She no longer seemed as cheerful as she had been during our drive. She had frowned as I entered, and then immediately began criticizing my table manners. I ate too quickly, and I made the mistake of resting an elbow on the table. I chewed too noisily, and didn’t use the napkin properly. I even made mistakes choosing which piece of cutlery to use with which dish.

So I was relieved when she finally asked me whether I would ‘like to be excused’.

I said yes and stood, trying hard to act politely.

She called to me, as I was about to leave.

‘Johnny, you should give me a kiss before you depart the dining room’

I stopped in my tracks and turned to face her. She was looking at me with a level gaze, her face impassive.

I walked to her side and she lifted her head, turning her face to offer me a cheek. I leaned forward and gave her a peck on her cheek, before making for the exit, my face burning in embarrassment. She had made me feel like a very young, very immature child.

I spent the rest of the evening watching television until Marie came by at about ten o’clock. She was still wearing her maid’s uniform, but she looked as fresh and pretty as she had on my arrival.

‘Your grandmother insists that everyone retire early, Johnny. You should turn off the television and go to bed’

I wanted to protest, but realized that I was getting tired anyway, so I complied. Having brushed my teeth I returned to my bedroom to change into my pajamas. They were in one of the dressers and while I was pulling open the drawer, I remembered my glimpse into the top drawer, which Marie had closed on me.

Intrigued, I carefully opened the drawer, trying for some reason to do it as silently as possible.

Sure enough, the top dresser was filled with lingerie, in an assortment of colors. I had never seen, and certainly never touched, anything like it.

This drawer was full of panties, all in silk or satin. Some of them were very plain, while others had lace trim, or even ruffles. They came in different styles as well, as I found out when, almost against my will, I took several out and held them up. There were tiny bikini briefs, full-cut panties, and then there were what looked like a feminine version of boxers... which I later learned were French knickers.

I placed the panties back in the drawer, trying to make it look as if they had not been disturbed. I was aware of a subtle perfume emanating from the lingerie.

I opened the next drawer and sure enough it too was full of girl’s clothing. This time I found slips and teddies and camisoles, all in silk and satin and again in a variety of colors and styles, with that same elusive but very pleasant fragrance.

Quickly now I looked through the other drawers. I found a profusion of feminine clothing, including garterbelts, nylons in unopened packages, bras (some of which seemed to have padding) and even a couple of negligees.

It occurred to me that I had not yet looked in the closet. I had had only a couple of jackets to hang up, and Marie had taken care of those. The closet doors opened readily enough.

My two jackets hung at one end of the closet, completely out of place amidst the finery on display.

There were maybe twenty dresses of one kind or another, all seeming brand new. Coats and jackets in cashmere or suede hung from several hangers, amongst an assortment of blouses. The other end of the closet was filled with a floor-to-ceiling set of sloping shelves, with wooden bars laid across the middle of the shelf. Each shelf was filled with several pairs of footwear, all women’s shoes and all the same size. The styles ranged from soft marabou slippers to elegant open-toed stiletto heels.

I was stunned.

All of these expensive looking clothes, all looking brand-new and all apparently for a young girl... what was going on? Was someone else going to be staying here this summer? A girl and I assumed from the clothes I had seen, someone at most a couple of years older than I? Why hadn’t grandmother mentioned it, and why was her stuff in my room? My earlier thought that the magazines were left behind by a now-departed visitor made no sense. No girl I knew would leave such clothes behind.

Well, I thought, that’s not so bad. If she comes, she can have this room.. it does look like a girl’s room anyway. I wonder where I’ll end up? I knew, from my tour with Marie, that there were at least four other bedrooms available, although in each of them I had seen the furniture covered with dust covers and obviously in disuse.

I told myself that I had hit upon the answer to this little mystery. I would find a way to pry confirmation out of either grandmother or Marie tomorrow morning.

Even though this was my first night at the house and even though I was still hungry, I fell asleep without difficulty, waking to the morning light streaming in through the sheers, feeling comfortable and relaxed.

A knock sounded on the door and I realized that it was the second knock; the first was what had awoken me. Struggling to sit up in the soft bed, I called out a welcome.

The door opened and Marie walked in, looking first to see whether I was decent. She was as pretty as I remembered, dressed again in a maid’s uniform, but this one was in grey cotton rather than the black silk she had worn yesterday. The frilly white apron looked the same, although it was so unwrinkled and brilliantly white that maybe it too was new.

She smiled as she carried a breakfast tray across to my bed. The sight of the tray and my realization of my hunger drew my attention away from her charms.

I was disappointed at the meal itself: all I saw was a half-grapefruit in a small bowl, with a tiny silver spoon bearing a serrated edge and a plate with two slices of dry toast. A glass of what looked like orange juice and a small vase containing a carnation completed the presentation.

Marie must have seen my expression.

‘You want more food, don’t you, Johnny?’

I looked up at her.

‘I really appreciate you bringing me breakfast, Marie’ I said. ‘But I’m starving. I could eat three times this much and still be hungry’

‘I know, but this is all there is. Perhaps I can speak to your grandmother for you. Would you like that?’

I nodded. ‘Yes, please’

She left me alone to eat my meager meal. It didn’t take me long to finish. I thought about lying in bed for a while but then I realized that maybe I could explore the nearby village, and maybe use some of my modest stash of money to buy something to last me until lunch. By then, Marie would have explained that a growing teenage boy has a bottomless appetite.

I showered and got dressed, choosing jeans and a short-sleeved casual shirt that my mother had sent for my birthday earlier in the year. I found my favorite runners and made my way downstairs. I had my hand on the front door handle when my grandmother caught up with me.

‘Johnny! Where do you think you are going?’

‘Just outside, grandmother. I thought I’d take a look around. I won’t get lost... we take orienteering at school’

‘I thought I told you that you were not to leave the house without my consent’

I nodded, sheepishly.

‘Besides, you and I have to have a talk. I have been very disappointed in your manners and your behaviour. You and I are going to discuss some ground rules’

She turned her back on me and strode away, clearly expecting me to follow. I lingered for a moment, my hand still on the doorknob. I was beginning to see why my father disliked her so intensely, or so I thought... Then my promise to my mother echoed in my head. I had promised to obey my grandmother, so I had no choice.

I followed her into the sitting room where she sat and motioned me to sit opposite her. I did so, staying erect, sitting on the edge of the cloth-covered chair.

She looked at me for several minutes, an unreadable expression on her face. I fought back the urge to speak first, and was glad I had when she finally stirred and began to speak.

Her voice was quiet, pitched so that I instinctively leaned towards her as she spoke. There was no trace of anger in her tone.

‘Johnny, you and I have never really known each other. Your father harbors resentment against me for scars he believes he bears from his childhood. It no longer matters who was right or who was wrong. I still love him, and you are his child, so naturally I love you. You do believe that, don’t you?’

She looked at me with such sincerity that I had to nod.

‘Our family... your family... has never accepted so called ‘normal’ or conventional values. We have for generations prided ourselves on our ability to be above the common herd, to exemplify manners and courtesy.

Good behaviour seems less and less popular these days, but then every generation believes that the one that follows is more unruly, more crude and degenerate than theirs. I suppose that I am no exception to that mistaken belief, yet when I see how young men, even young men with the advantages which have been afforded to you, misbehave, I sometimes despair’

I sat mute, mentally reviewing my conduct. I could think of nothing I had done wrong.

‘Fortunately, in our family we have developed a method of training our young men to a higher level of behaviour; to an awareness of the importance of good manners and civility. It is a custom best begun before the upset of puberty, but it will work whenever it is applied with proper thoroughness, even at your age. Your mother understands this, even if your father has rejected as much of it as he can.’

I was puzzled, with no idea where this was leading. Mother knew of this? Why hadn’t she said something. What was going on? Still I sat silent, with a growing sense of unease creeping coldly into my stomach.

‘The method is not foolproof; sometimes it results in unintended consequences, such as happened to your uncle. I think sometimes that your father resents your uncle’s happiness, although he has no reason to, given how much he and your mother love each other’

I couldn’t control myself.

‘My uncle?? I have an uncle??’

‘Well, you had one. Now it might be better to say that you have an aunt. You will get to meet her later this summer, when I think the time is right’

Neither of my parents had ever mentioned an uncle or an aunt on this side of the family. And what did she mean by calling him an uncle and then an aunt? Was he some kind of hermaphrodite or something?

Grandmother’s expression made it clear that I was to sit back down. I had not even realized that I had gotten to my feet.

‘Johnny, remember that you promised your mother to do as you are told! You did mean that, didn’t you?’

‘Yes, Ma’am’ I said, seeing her visibly relax at my use of the salutation.

‘Your mother is a wonderful woman who loves you dearly and who needs the peace of mind of knowing that you will keep your word. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, Ma’am’

She reached out to the small table beside her, picking up a gilt-framed photograph. Extending her arm, she handed the portrait to me.

I saw two young girls in very feminine dresses, their long hair tied with ribbons and hanging down their backs. They were standing on either side of a seated woman I recognized as a much younger version of my grandmother. The two girls were facing each other, one hand resting on back of grandmother’s chair and the other holding a bouquet of flowers. Their faces were slightly turned towards the camera, so that their smiling expressions were clearly visible. They seemed poised and confident, but in a non-assertive way. They looked as if they were about fourteen years old.

‘Do you recognize anyone in this picture?’

‘That’s you seated, isn’t it, Ma’am?’

‘Yes, it is, dear. But do you recognize either of the young ladies?’

‘No’

‘Take another look. The girl on the left is your father, while the other girl is your uncle’’

I stared closer. I had never seen any pictures of my father from his childhood, and his appearance was so naturally feminine in this photograph that it took me a real effort to focus on the underlying facial features. But a sinking feeling told me that grandmother was telling me the truth!

I handed the photograph back to her, my eyes widening in fear as I realized what this portended.

Grandmother looked at me levelly, her eye appraising my reaction.

‘Your father and his brother dressed as girls every summer and every vacation until your father left home when he was eighteen. They were schooled to understand and display the proper behaviour expected of young ladies as they grew and matured. During the school year, they lived as boys, since our family’s policy has always been to produce males, males with the manners and courtesies which place them above the common, unruly herd’

‘Your mother knew of this training: her mother, bless her memory, was a good friend of mine and your father and mother spent several summers playing together when they were young. Much of that time was as two young girls, of course, but nevertheless, and as we had hoped, they fell in love as man and woman. I often think that her mother would have liked to use this training technique had she had any sons. So now your mother has suggested that it is time that you experienced your feminine side, since it worked so well in assisting your father to be a loving husband.’

I felt rooted to the floor, all blood drained from my face. I sensed that my mouth was hanging open and I felt very cold and shaky. Part of me wanted to scream and run and another part of me seemed to be standing outside of my body, observing my reaction with a detached interest.

What made the whole scene impossible to comprehend was the calm, matter-of-fact way in which my grandmother had dropped her bombshell. Thoughts skittered across my mind. Instinct told me to protest that my mother would never let her do this, but that reaction ran smack into my mother’s admonitions to me and the confidence with which grandmother told me that my mother had asked her to do this to me.

Grandmother paused for a long while before smiling. She stood, saying ‘Don’t be so afraid, Johnny. None of your friends need ever know. It’s only while you are here, and no one knows that I have my grandson staying with me. You won’t meet anyone until you are quite presentable, and you’ll go back to being a boy before you return to school. Look at it as a holiday from having to be so masculine. Who knows? You might like it!’

The moment in which I might have reacted violently had gone. The immediate shock was receding, leaving me with a feeling of exhaustion.

Grandmother nodded, as if making up her mind.

‘Marie has been rearranging your room, my dear. It’s time you started acting as a young lady. Let’s go upstairs’

She took my unresisting hand in hers and led me from the room and up the stairs to my bedroom.

Marie was waiting inside. I saw her make eye contact with grandmother, who gave her a tiny nod of the head. Marie instantly smiled and greeted me with a hug.

‘Ma cherie!’ she said. ‘We’re going to have so much fun this summer’

Despite my numbed state of mind, I found the warmth of her embrace and the smell of her body very arousing. My penis immediately stiffened and I’m sure that she had to have felt it. But she gave no sign of it, instead releasing me from her arms. Crossing to the closet, she threw open the doors, revealing the rows of feminine attire waiting within. It was clear now: the female clothing I had found in the room was intended for me!

‘I’ll leave you in Marie’s hands, Jennie. You are to be a good girl and to obey Marie as if her instructions came directly from me’

With those parting words, grandmother was gone before I could respond; before I had absorbed her calling me Jennie.

Marie wasted no time.

‘Jennie, you heard your grandmother. You will be a good girl for me, won’t you?’

I couldn’t resist. My nod conveyed my surrender.

She smiled warmly.

‘We shall begin by having you get rid of those boy clothes. You won’t need them again until your summer is over. Get undressed and then we’ll see what we have to work with.’

I sat on the edge of the bed to pull of my shoes and my socks, waiting for Marie to leave so that I could finish undressing. She didn’t move.

I stopped undressing and looked at her, unable to say anything.

‘Come along, Jennie. We have a lot of work to do today, and we can’t start until you get undressed’

‘B...but...’ was all I could manage.

‘Are you embarrassed, Jennie?’

‘Yes... yes, I am. I can’t get undressed with you here’

‘At school, did you have showers in front of other boys?’

‘Yes, but...’

‘Don’t give me any buts, Jennie. You are now a girl, just like me. When you were a boy, you were not shy in front of other boys. Now that you are a girl, you should not be shy in front of other girls! Your body is a little different from that of most young ladies, maybe, but the point is that from this moment until you are allowed to return to being a boy, you are a girl.

Your name is Jennie. My name is Marie. I am a girl, and so are you. So don’t be embarrassed or ashamed of your body. Besides, you have nothing I haven’t seen many times before’

I stood and pulled my tee shirt over my head and then turned to face away from her as I unbuckled my belt and unzipped my jeans. Pushing the jeans and my shorts down my legs, I stepped out of them awkwardly, determined not to let her see my genitals. I noted with alarm that my penis, which had so recently been aroused, was now shrunken as small as I had ever seen it, as if it were trying to hide away of its own accord.

‘Come over here, Jennie’

Flushing bright red, I turned and walked hesitantly towards her, my right hand cupped over my groin and my eyes staring at the carpet.

‘Put this on, Jennie’ She held out a pink housecoat, with embroidered cuffs and lapel. I took it with mixed feelings, glad to have something to cover my naked body but ashamed that I was wearing my first female garment.

Marie led me to the bathroom where she told me to disrobe and hang my housecoat on the back of the door. She was very matter-of-fact, and completely ignored my shyness.

She made me stand still while she rubbed a pungent, thick cream over my legs and even my forearms, which had little hair. She inspected my torso carefully before telling me that she was pleased that I had so little hair.

‘Some boys grow hair everywhere! And we girls can’t look like that, can we, Jennie?’

I said nothing, my head bowed.

‘Can we, Jennie? I asked you a question, dear’

‘No’ I answered, my voice low and hesitant.

‘Now, into the shower with you, young lady’

The warm water sprayed out with surprising force. I don’t know why, but I had always associated old houses with old, deficient plumbing. There was nothing wrong with the water pressure in this place.

I turned under the spray, raising my face and then my arms. Marie reached in and handed me a face cloth and told me to rub wherever the cream had been applied. As I did so I saw my body hair washing away, looking like filings caught in the foamy water as it spiraled down the drain.

Marie beckoned me out of the shower and wrapped me in a huge, fluffy white towel. She made me stand as she rubbed me dry with strong, confident strokes. My penis remained shriveled even when she knelt before me to dry my genitals. However, it stirred as soon as she rubbed it with the towel and I felt my face redden again. I was dreading her saying anything, but at the same time I was disappointed when she rose to dry my back without any acknowledgment at all.

She used a second, somewhat smaller, towel to vigorously dry my hair, commenting that I was lucky that my hair was so full.

‘Most boys have very thin hair, very fine strands. Yours is really nice, much thicker than most. Maybe there’s more girl to you than you thought! When you get used to using a proper conditioner, you will be surprised at how soft and full it feels. And there’s lots of time for it to grow. It’s already long enough that we could do something with it. Having hair that looks nice is a wonderfully feminine feeling and you’ll learn to love it, Jennie’

Then it was back to my bedroom, wearing the housecoat again.

Marie looked at me, her lips pursed.

‘How old are you, Jennie?’

‘Sixteen... almost seventeen’

‘You look a little younger, honey. But that’s probably because you are a slow developer. Don’t worry, I’m sure that you will catch up with the other girls. I think that you are old enough to wear some really pretty things. Would you like that, Jennie’

This was too much for me. My eyes brimmed with tears and before I knew it I was huddled on the bed, crouching in almost a fetal position, with tears streaming down my face.

I sensed Marie coming to sit beside me, feeling the edge of the bed give way as she sat. Her arm was around me and her breath was on the side of my face as she tried to comfort me.

‘Honey, honey... I’m sorry...’

Then she just held me as my body heaved in time with my sobs. Gradually I quieted, the tears drying.

I rubbed my eyes and took the Kleenex she held out to me. Using it to wipe my nose, where I had been sniffling, I looked at her through red-rimmed eyes.

‘Why are you doing this to me?’

‘Your grandmother explained it, didn’t she?’

‘Yes, but it doesn’t make sense. Why are you helping her? Why does my mother want this to happen?’

‘You’ll have to ask her that yourself, honey. All I know is that this will all seem so much better later on. It’s bound to be a shock now. You wouldn’t be normal if you weren’t upset, but I promise you it is all for the best’

‘But I’m a boy. I’m not a girl, and it’s wrong to do this to me’

‘Right now you are certainly a boy, and one day you will probably grow up to be a man. But this summer will help you understand how girls feel, how women feel. That way, any woman you marry will find that she has a truly wonderful husband’

‘You mean that this isn’t an attempt to make me into a girl?’

She sat up and laughed.

‘Oh, Jennie! Where did you get that idea? You grandmother told you that you’d go back to being a boy! Your father is a man, isn’t he?’

I felt much better as I realized that she was telling me the truth.

‘You must think I’m a baby for crying like that’

‘Jennie, it’s all right to cry. I don’t like seeing you unhappy and I’m sorry that you’re so scared, but one of the things you’re going to learn is that it’s okay to express your emotions. Girls do that, you know’

I tried to smile, to show that I was over whatever had possessed me. I was still frightened, but stillness had descended over my heart and I was ready to do as she asked. I felt as if she truly cared for me and would not harm me.

Standing, she took my hand and assisted me to my feet. I followed as she led me towards the dresser.

‘We’re going to start with something, which is always a huge event for a young girl. It is something that for many of us is a sign that we are maturing as feminine creatures’

She pulled from the second drawer something that I did not immediately recognize. It seemed to be made of several intertwined pieces of white lace, but after she straightened it out I saw that it was a garterbelt. Four garters dangled, ending in plastic tabs. Ribbons, formed into small bows, had been attached to the belt just above each garter.

Marie knelt before me once more, and I was acutely aware of her presence and of the touch of her hands on my smooth skin as she fastened the garterbelt around my waist.

Rising to her feet, she reached into the drawer and drew forth a pair of sand colored nylons.

‘Most of us wear pantyhose these days. We save nylons and garterbelts for special occasions; for times when we want to feel especially aware of our femininity. I still remember the first time I got to wear stockings! I felt so pretty, so sexy! I envy you this moment, Jennie’

Her enthusiasm made it impossible for me to protest. She made me sit back on the bed while she showed me how to roll the first stocking up my leg, after pointing my toes as she began to pull the gossamer fabric up my foot, over my ankle and up my calf.

‘You have to be careful, Jennie. It’s easy to snag a toenail, and then you’ll get a run in the nylon!’

I stood and watched attentively as she fastened one of the tabs to the top of the stocking, feeling for the first time the delicious coolness of the fine-meshed nylon against my skin. My whole leg felt as if a cool breeze was caressing it.

Marie made me fasten the second garter and then watched as I pulled on the second nylon and attached both garters.

‘Well done, honey!’

Her praise made me relax a little, although I was still troubled by my nakedness.

She made me walk around the room, my feet pressing into the plush carpet.

‘How does it feel?’

I was tongue-tied. I had never experienced anything like it and despite myself, I found that the sensations were enjoyable. The feeling that my legs were encased in a light, cool breeze was accentuated by the motion of the air against my legs as I moved, and the tug of the garters on either thigh as I walked seemed somehow to be a perfect accompaniment to that sensation.

‘Okay...’ was what I managed to say, but the tentative smile on my face was probably the real answer she had been looking to see.

Next she offered me a pair of panties. These too were in white silk, plain except for some lace trim around the thigh openings. They felt light and cool in my hand as I accepted them from her.

‘We wear our panties over our garterbelt, when we get dressed up like this. Do you know why, Jennie?’

‘No’ I shook my head.

‘Because otherwise we would have to take our garterbelt off whenever we needed to use the toilet. This way, we can simply pull our panties down before sitting on the toilet. You understand that you will always sit down now, even if only to pee?’

I blushed furiously, but finally gave a brief nod.

I stepped carefully into the panties, almost afraid that I might tear the delicate fabric as I pulled them up my legs. I wasn’t sure what to do with my genitals, and then as I snugged the panties about my waist, I became aware of an awful problem.

I was getting aroused!

Sure enough my penis was stiffening and pressing out against the silk, and as it grew, so did the feeling of arousal become more intense.

Marie looked down and I was terrified that she would laugh or scold me, but she simply smiled.

‘I thought that would happen, honey. Don’t be embarrassed! It’s a normal

reaction and nothing we can’t deal with’

I didn’t understand what she was saying, my entire concern being that my body was betraying me.

I was astounded when I felt Marie’s hand caress my penis through the taut silk of the panties. A groan was torn from my lips as more blood rushed in to engorge my cock.

My head was thrown back, so I felt rather than saw her pull my panties down and enfold my turgid member in her fingers.

‘Does that feel good, Jennie?’ she whispered. I could feel her hot breath on the tip of my penis as she squeezed gently, while pumping me slowly.

My moans were the only answer as desire and lust warred with and defeated that small voice telling me that this was wrong.

‘You like being my girl, don’t you Jennie?’

I said nothing, lost in the depths of my internal struggle. She stopped her massaging of my cock and her voice took on an edge.

‘Tell me that you like being my girl, Jennie’

‘I do... oh Marie! I do like being your girl!’

As the words left my lips, I felt her pump me vigorously and I came almost instantly.

Marie flinched to one side as my ejaculate spurted out. She continued to milk me until my penis began to grow flaccid, while still talking to me, telling me what a good girl I was, and how much she looked forward to training me as her girlfriend.

Finally, as warmth swept up my body from my groin to my cheeks, she relinquished her hold on me.

‘Stay right there, Jennie’ she commanded.

I obeyed, as she left the room only to return in a matter of seconds with a warm, damp facecloth with which she wiped me clean. I adjusted my panties, seeing with relief that I no longer reacted physically to the feel of the silk. She told me to push my genitals back between my legs, and when I did so I was astounded at how flat I appeared.

Marie then told me to fetch another one from the bathroom, along with a small towel. She made me clean my sperm from the carpet, commenting that we should not mention this to grandmother.

‘I’ll get the carpet shampooed tomorrow’ was all she said after I finished my task and had returned the facecloth and towel to the bathroom where I had placed them in the laundry hamper.

‘We won’t always use this technique to help you look properly ladylike’

Marie smiled. ‘Later I’ll show you how to use a gaff, which will prevent

you from any displays of immodesty’

Her words meant nothing to me at that moment, my attention being focused on my first bra.

It was clearly a match for my panties and garterbelt, the soft lace trimmed cups shaped by wires I could feel ran along the bottom, and plumped by the padding which added shape where nature had failed.

Marie showed me how to put it on with the cups in the back, so that I could fasten the tiny hooks before turning it around my torso and placing my arms through the straps. It was a snug fit, and it felt odd to see, in the bottom of my peripheral vision, the shape of my new bosom protruding from my chest.

Marie fussed with the shoulder straps and the cups, until she was satisfied that the bra was sitting properly. She made me look in a mirror so that I could learn how it was supposed to fit.

The image was startling.

I had of course often seen girls at the beach or at a swimming pool, wearing almost nothing, and I had shared with my school buddies several ‘adult’ magazines containing photographs, which left nothing to the imagination.

What I saw in the mirror bore little resemblance to those images. Yet at the same time, my reflection shocked and startled me, since the person who stared back was already no longer clearly a boy. I may not have looked like a centerfold, or even like a real girl, but I also did not look much like a boy.

I had always been thin, and I could see the outline of my ribs beneath my flesh and my stomach was flat and lightly muscled. The bra straps seemed very white against my skin, and I saw hollows beneath my collarbones, which I had never really seen before. The bra was obviously padded, and not by real breasts, but what struck me the strongest was the way I appeared from the waist down.

Above that point what I saw was a slender, androgynous figure, while below I saw a girl. Slim-hipped, but otherwise very attractive. I was astonished at how shapely my legs appeared in the nylons, and the way in which the garters tugged at the top of the stockings seemed very erotic to me. My panties fit well, with no hint of my genitals visible to spoil the illusion.

I looked up to see that Marie’s eyes were looking at mine in the reflection.

She smiled.

‘You see, you like the way you look’

Her voice was soft and quiet, until she seemed to shake herself, breaking the spell that had held me staring into the mirror.

‘Wait until we are finished, Jennie. You won’t believe your eyes!’

She selected a short slip for me to wear. I was still enraptured every time I felt a new garment sliding over my body. As with all my lingerie so far, this was in white silk, with a simple lace bodice and a lace-trimmed slit along the right side, extending perhaps eight inches up from the hem, which in turn ended about mid thigh.

My body shivered with delight as my slip slide down my torso. Marie helped me adjust it, showing me how to change the length of the spaghetti straps that laid over my shoulders parallel to my bra straps.

Then came my first blouse, a simple but feminine blouse that looked almost like a shirt.

Almost, but not really. I found that the buttons, many more and smaller than I was used to, were on the ‘wrong side’. The material was lighter, a finer fabric than anything I had ever worn as a boy. The collar was soft and embroidered, while the sleeves puffed out at the shoulder and gathered with more of the tiny buttons at the wrist. And the collar was not something I would have worn as a boy. I was to learn that shades and tones, not to mention fabrics and cuts, were far more complex, and fun to talk about, than I had ever imagined. For now, all I saw was that my blouse was a soft pink color.

Marie told me to leave the top three buttons undone, and looking down, I blushed to see that the top of my slip was just visible, a hint of lace betraying the femininity of my lingerie.

Next came a skirt. Marie chose a short skirt in a deeper shade of pink. It was lightly pleated, and fit tightly around my waist, flaring slightly to its hem a few inches above my knees.

A slender white belt with a gold buckle accented my waist.

Marie stepped back and looked me over, with me feeling suddenly nervous again under her gaze. I had almost forgotten how weird this experience was as she had fussed over me, her comments and attitude never betraying any sense that what we were doing was at all out of the ordinary. I had just about been lulled by her approach, but at any pause, my stomach tightened and my pulse began to race.

Marie turned and opened another closet door, revealing the large selection of footwear I had seen yesterday. She picked up a pair of white open-toed shoes with a three-inch heel.

The shoes had very thin white leather straps with gold buckles, which she fastened around my heels as I sat on the bed again. She stroked my legs sensually before standing back up and telling me to stand.

I staggered as I did so, off balance from the heels and the strain imposed on my calves. She cautioned me to place my weight on the balls of my feet, rather than, as I was used to doing, my heels.

I did so and found that standing wasn’t so difficult after all. Walking was another matter, at least for the first few steps.

‘Keep your weight on the balls of your feet, but don’t lean forward. Hold

your head up, and square your shoulders’

The commands sounded contradictory, but I tried and within a surprisingly short space I was able to walk without feeling as if I were going to fall at any second.

‘Place each foot more or less in front of the other’

That was more difficult, since I had actually widened my stance to compensate for my unfamiliar posture.

It felt strange to be walking like this. I was thankful that the heels were broad, since even so they tended to sink into the carpet, aggravating my problems.

She made me walk around the room several times and then out into the hallway, where the carpet was not quite as plush and my task was a little easier.

I became aware of just how different walking as a girl was from walking as a boy, as I had done all my life so far. The shoes fit in an unusual way, and I felt almost as if I was walking on tiptoes. My leg muscles were moving differently than I was accustomed to. Normally I was completely unaware of how my calf muscles or thigh muscles worked, but now I felt them with every step. The coolness of the nylons added a tiny thrill to every motion, accentuated by the alternating tugs of my garters.

I felt my nylon-clad thighs move against my slip and could hear as well as feel the swish of both my slip and my skirt as I moved.

Despite holding my head up, I could sense in the bottom of my field of vision, the gentle protuberance of my bosom, and feel the unaccustomed weight on my chest and the light but constant presence of my shoulder straps.

Marie made me change even the way I held my arms as I walked, telling me let them hang from the shoulders, turned outwards just a little, with my wrists bent ever so gently back. It made me feel very effeminate and just for a second I wanted to rebel. The look on her face silenced that impulse before it could even appear on my face.

Marie was watching me intensely, her eyes roaming over my body as she monitored how I was obeying her complex instructions. Her eyes seemed to shine as she watched, and I felt as if I was the most important thing in her life. My penis twitched between my legs as a feeling of desire swept over me. Seeing her look at me that way made me want to please her, and I knew that being as pretty as I could be was the best way to do that. With that realization, a subtle change came over me; the way I felt. I was no longer effeminate. I was feminine.

So it was with a new approach, a welcome surrender, that I sat on a stool which Marie had carried into the bathroom. It was time for me to experience the delights of makeup, although Marie warned me that she was only going to give me a few pointers.

‘It’s too easy for a young girl to go overboard when she starts to use makeup. You will have to learn how to choose your makeup according to the time of day and the occasion. Your grandmother believes that young ladies should use very little makeup unless and until they are ready to go out on dates!’

I blushed at the thought, and my confidence faltered. She wasn’t suggesting that I go out with a boy, was she?

She giggled and squeezed my shoulder.

‘Jennie, you should have seen the look on your face! Don’t worry honey. I

want you to be my girl this summer, not some sweaty boy’s’

I laughed uncertainly, feeling as if my throat were constricted. I was glad when she moved on quickly to show me some of the cosmetics she had laid out on the countertop.

She showed me several types of foundation cream, including a very heavy one, which was useful for covering beards. She told me that she was very happy that I had almost no beard at all, just a light fuzz, which had come off when she had applied the cream before my shower.

She made me apply a light covering of one of the creams, rubbing it in so that it was almost absorbed by the skin. I saw how it formed an even surface, a canvas, as she described it, upon which I could apply my artistry with cosmetics.

We spent what seemed like forever on my eyes. She demonstrated on her own, peering close to the mirror, her lips open and her face intent, as she used soft brushes and pencils to apply, smooth and blend several colors on her eyelids. Then it was my turn, and I picked up my first eyeliner pencil, which she had sharpened, it’s soft core seeming rich and luxuriant as I prepared to apply it to my eyes. I found that my hand was trembling, and Marie gently urged me to wait.

‘You’re too excited, honey. Take a deep breath and relax. It’s a good thing that you feel this way, it makes me want to look after you even more. But take your time: you are a natural at this and it’ll come easy for you if you don’t try too hard’

I lowered my hand and closed my eyes, breathing deeply, trying to relax. It wasn’t easy, since even though, or perhaps especially because, I was no longer seeing myself, I was very much aware of how I felt; how my clothing felt. I was poised before another giant step. So far I had been given clothes to wear, told to walk around. I had been a passive recipient, while now I was about to take the initiative. It would be my hand applying makeup to my face!

Making my mind up to get it over with, I opened my eyes and leaned close to the mirror, aware from the corner of my eye of Marie’s close attention.

I brought the eyeliner up to my right eyelid, and using fingers from my left hand to hold my eye closed by pressing on my lashes, I gingerly drew a wavering line just above the lashes.

I let go with my left hand and, opening my eye as wide as I could, I even more gingerly drew another line beneath my lower lashes, extending it out to the right to meet the down swept upper line.

‘Well done, Jennie’

Marie’s praise was welcome, even though I could tell that I had done a poor job, at least compared to the smooth, confident way she had shown me.

Reassured that it wasn’t quite as hopeless as it felt, I repeated the procedure on my other eye, doing, I think, a tiny bit better.

Then it was time to apply eyeshadow. She showed me how to use a light one on the lower lid and to blend it with a richer, darker tone used on the upper lid and in the arch of the eye. I used shades of blue, since she told me that blue was a good color to start with, and a very common way of adding depth and size to a girl’s eyes.

I used way too much, although I didn’t realize that until I was finished and sat back. We had a good chuckle about that, as Marie told me that I was a typical girl.

‘I used to do some awful things, thinking that I was making myself pretty. Moderation is important, Jennie. The idea is to enhance your beauty, not to mask it!’

I washed it all off, using a lotion and some cotton wads before patting with a soapy facecloth and then rinsing and drying. I was careful to obey Marie’s advice to be gentle on my skin.

‘A girl has to watch her complexion. When you have such pretty skin as you do, it’s easy to forget that you will grow older one day, and you will live to regret any damage you do now’

I was so wrapped up in the moment that I paid no attention to the implication that I would be concerned with my looks for years to come.

The second time was perhaps even worse than my first attempt, maybe because I felt that it should be easier and so was less patient. But the third time was much better and Marie pronounced herself satisfied with my progress. She let me try mascara next, and that was surprisingly easy, although I did spray a few spots of black under my left eye. A cue-tip took care of that problem easily enough.

What a difference! My eyes were unrecognizable, huge and somehow adding a vulnerability to my entire face, diminishing the apparent size of my jaw and focusing attention higher in my face.

After all that time spent on my eyes, it was really easy to learn how to apply blush. I learned that a touch of blush applied directly above each eyebrow, and rubbed in to be almost undetectable, added a healthy appearance to my forehead, while slightly more blush along my cheekbones added a hint of drama.

Lipstick was the final touch. I learned that the proper way was not to use a tube, such as I had seen my mother on occasion, but to use a pencil to form the outline, adding to the apparent size of my lips, and then to paint lip color onto the lips themselves. Kissing a Kleenex removed the excess paint, and I was thrilled to se the cupid shape, which my kiss left, imprinted on the tissue.

Marie distracted me before I could fully take in my new face. She told me to face away from the mirror, with my eyes closed. I felt a sharp pain from my left eyebrow and then another. I pulled away instinctively, but she told me to stop.

‘I’m sorry, Jennie, but it’s got to be done. Don’t worry, it’ll soon be over’

The left eyebrow was finally over after she pulled out maybe twenty or thirty hairs. Pulled out by their roots! That hurt! Then did the right one. Tears started to form in my eyes and I squeezed them tight, worried that I might mess up my carefully applied makeup.

I thought that she was through after she had done both brows, but worse was to come. I felt some cool liquid rubbed on my right ear and then a sharp, stabbing pain told me that I had now got a pierced earlobe. The left lobe soon followed, and she pushed something hard into both holes.

At last she finished torturing me and I heard her move away, without leaving the room. I sensed her return and then felt something on my head. I kept my eyes closed but knew that she was fitting a wig on my head. I could feel the pull of the cap as she stretched it over my scalp and the touch of the hair on either side of my face and on the back of my neck.

She cautioned me to still keep my eyes closed as she brushed and combed my new hair.

Finally, she told me to open my eyes and take a look in the mirror.

I blinked in astonishment, my mouth dropping open as I stared, wide eyed at the image before me.

She looked back at me, her amazement and growing delight evident in her expression.

Her generous lips gleamed redly, while her eyes seemed huge and endlessly intriguing. She had narrow, arched brows and perfectly styled hair, which hung low in bangs across her forward and curled elegantly inwards on either side to frame her oval face. I looked her in the eyes and was immediately lost. Her gaze flickered from one of my eyes to the other, in perfect time to the flickering of my own eyes. She even blinked at the same time.

As if in a dream I raised one had to my face, a movement mirrored by this beautiful girl who was I knew, a better more honest version of myself. I was still a boy, caught in a trap of femininity, but a boy nonetheless. Out of the mirror, gazing as deeply into my soul as I was into hers, was a girl.

I never noticed Marie leave the room. I do not know for how long I stared, enraptured, at my reflection. I returned to reality, or what was passing for reality by then, only when I realized that my neck was hurting from staring for too long.

I climbed off the stool and walked back to my room, taking care to practice the tips which Marie had shown me. I felt happy, a feeling of lightness filled me as I minced my way back to the room.

Still in a daze, I was slow to react to what I found awaiting me.

Marie was lying atop my bed, but not the Marie who had helped me change my appearance so dramatically.

She had changed herself. Gone was the maid’s uniform and in its stead she was wearing a short, black silk nightgown. Her painted toes were pointed towards me as she lay on her side, her head supported on one arm while the other slowly caressed her flank.

‘I was wondering when you’d come back here, Jennie’ she purred.

‘I’ve got a treat for my pretty girl’

Something in the way she stretched as she spoke those words awoke my resting masculinity. Without losing the feeling I had of being pretty, of delighting in being pretty, I felt a rush of desire for this woman.

My concentration lapsed and I half-fell off my heels as I stumbled to the side of the bed.

‘Slow down, Jennie. We have lots of time. Your grandmother doesn’t want to see you until you display no signs of being a boy. Meanwhile, right now there are some signs I’d like you to display, sweetie’

I was still a virgin, but despite my unprepossessing build and slow development of secondary sexual characteristics, there was nothing wrong with my hormone level and I was both frantic and terrified as I realized what she was saying.

She sat up to implore me to slow down.

‘Be careful, Jennie. Take your wig off first’

I did, putting it carefully on a dresser.

‘Now your shoes, then your skirt’

I had trouble with the buckles on my heels, because of my mounting desire, but soon they were off and I stepped out of my skirt. My fingers fumbled with the buttons on my blouse but it too yielded. By now my penis had escaped from its imprisonment between my thighs and it was pressing like a rigid one-eyed snake against my panties, threatening to tear the silk.

‘Take your bra and panties off, Jennie, but leave your nylons and garterbelt’

I obeyed, again my fingers, seemingly uncooperative, having trouble with the unfamiliar fastening of the bra. Soon I was naked, or almost naked. Wearing only my garterbelt and nylons, I stood before her, my penis erect and throbbing.

She motioned me to join her on the bed and I did so, my heart in my mouth.

‘You are so pretty, Jennie’ she said, as she stroked my arm. ‘Lie down

beside me’

She rolled over to lie on top of me, her warm, female weight pressing me into the bed. Her fingers traced unseen outlines on my chest, the touch of her nails sending shivers through my body. She lowered her face to mine, our lips touching in a brief kiss. I tried to raise my head to prolong and deepen the kiss, but she shook her head and pressed me down.

‘We’re going to take our time, Jennie’ she said, with a slow smile.

She told me to lie as still as I could, while relaxing as much as possible. ‘Tension’ she said ‘will stop you from enjoying this as much as you should. You are going to learn how to have sex with another girl... and sex is best when there’s no hurry, no pressure. When men have sex with girls, they tend to rush things, always concerned for their own satisfaction.

One of the reasons for you being a girl this summer is for you to learn to make love, rather than have sex’

Her words made little sense to me, but in my aroused condition I would have done anything she asked. She could have told me that the sun would rise in the west tomorrow and I would have agreed with her.

I cannot tell you everything that we did over the course of the next hour. That time has become a collage of sensations, tastes, smells and textures which still to this day makes me shudder with desire when it comes back to me, as it does on occasion. I do not remember many individual moments: what will suddenly overwhelm me and leave me with a dreamy look on my face and a feeling of incredible arousal is a melding of all of my senses.

I do remember the feel of her tongue as she explored all of my body. I remember the smell and taste of her sex as I knelt between her thighs, bringing groans of passion from her lips as she revealed to me the pleasures of cunnilingus. I can recall the warm moistness as she lowered herself onto me. The feel of her erect nipples under my hands as I looked up at her in worship. Her face completely consumed by lust as she neared and finally reached another orgasm, riding me from above. My mind still conjures up the slickness between our sweat-covered bodies. Her nightgown long discarded.

And I remember the sense of completeness I felt as she held me in her arms, both of us sated, her face with that look that comes when all facial muscles are completely relaxed... what I came to recognize as that ‘just fucked’ look. I had had three orgasms, a tribute, she said, to my youth. She had had multiple orgasms herself, and I felt proud that I had been able to please her so well.

Throughout our coupling she had continually told me how pretty I was and what a good girl I was. Looking back, I can recognize that it was then that my subconscious formed the link between having sex with a woman and wanting to be pretty and feminine.

After a while, the sweat began to dry and I began to feel chilly. Marie sat up and stretched, looking down at me with a look of possession, of ownership.

‘Come along, Jennie. We had better shower and then we should get some dinner’

The mention of food made me realize how ravenously hungry I was. A glance at the clock radio, which stood on a nightstand beside the bed, shocked me with how much time had passed. I’d missed lunch entirely and it was almost six o’clock!

I had never showered with a woman before, and it was a sensual experience. My penis was sore and I would have bet that I had lost all capacity to get an erection. Marie proved me wrong, although, thankfully, she did not try to get me to come. We took turns soaping each other’s body, and then washing the suds off, tenderly.

She took charge after we climbed out of the shower, wrapping me once more in a huge towel and rubbing me dry. She wouldn’t let me do the same for her, telling me that I should instead redo my face, from which all the makeup had been washed in the shower.

We had created a lot of steam with our shower, but the bathroom was large, and equipped with a powerful fan, so the mirror was free of condensation. I found that I enjoyed the feeling I got as I made up my face, always aware of Marie’s observation even as she finished toweling herself dry.

‘Not too much, remember, Jennie?’

I paused in applying the foundation to meet her eyes in the images reflected by the mirror, and nodded.

I was far surer of myself this time, and my hand didn’t shake at all. Gone was the intense nervousness I had experienced the first time. I suppose it was because my sexual energy had been so thoroughly, and enjoyably, drained. Now putting on makeup was a simple pleasure, giving me affirmation of my ability to look pretty for Marie.

I put on the same clothes as I had worn before we had gone to bed, except for the nylons which had somehow developed not just one run, but several. Marie laughed, saying that great sex was worth ruining a pair of nylons.

She showed me which drawer my stockings and garterbelts were kept in and I chose another sand-colored pair, holding them out for Marie’s approval.

She stopped me as I went to put on my shoes.

‘I had you wear those so that you could learn to wear heels. But they are for when you go out. In the house you can wear slippers. You’ll find several pairs in your shoe closet’

I confess that I felt disappointed as I returned the heels to the closet and chose a pair of slippers. They were pretty enough, with an open toe and a cute pink silk rose attached to the back, but they lacked almost any heel and didn’t give me the same feeling as the shoes had done.

Marie led me downstairs where the house seemed silent and empty. Marie told me that grandmother had left to visit a friend for a few days and that we were on our own.

‘She wants to wait to see you as Jennie, and not as Johnny trying to be Jennie. She wants it to be special!’

We made ourselves a small salad and Marie made an omelet, which she cut in half and we shared. The food was good, but not enough. I asked Marie if I could have something else to eat.

‘Honey, you’ve got the appetite of a boy, but now that you are going to live as a girl, you have to eat less. Don’t worry, we’ll give you something to control your appetite.’

‘I know I eat a lot, but I’ll burn it off!’

‘You are a little heavy for your height, Jennie. You are small for a boy, and right now you make a very pretty girl. You are on the thin side: your hips and tush could be rounder, and you are flat chested. Later on we may be able to help you with those problems, but if you eat too much now, all that will happen is that you will grow too tall, and your shoulders will get too wide. Do you really want to look butch, Jennie?’

Her smile and tone made it clear what my answer had to be, and I meekly complied.

‘No, Marie. I want to look pretty for you’

She rose, collecting our plates to place in the dishwasher.

‘Not just for me, sweetie... although I thank you for the thought. You have to look pretty for yourself. That’s the essence of being a girl’

I helped Marie clean the minor mess we had made with our meal and then it was time for some lessons on being a girl.

Once more I lost track of time. There was so much ground to cover, what she had taught me so far was the tip of the iceberg.

I learned how to sit! It astounded me, until I thought about it, that boys and girls did such basic activities as sitting, standing, walking and so on so differently. I learned that we subconsciously recognized each other’s gender from these cues. This was why, Marie told me, that most men who liked to dress like women (and I’d only heard of such things as part of the titillating gossip that often passes as gospel amongst adolescent boys) would be ‘read’ almost immediately no matter how real they looked when posing.

‘It’s the way we move that conveys the image, that and the way we speak’

That led to another lesson, on how to speak in a more feminine voice. It wasn’t a simple matter of trying to speak in a falsetto. Phrasing was important and intonation, particularly how I finished a sentence.

‘Boys have a tendency to sound positive, as if they were making a statement. A feminine girl would use words, which sound less forceful, and you should raise the inflection of your voice at the end of your sentence; as if you were asking a question. It suggests doubt and a willingness to accept the other person’s view. Men, in particular, like to hear that in the women they speak to’

I practiced diligently until she told me to take a break.

‘This is the most difficult part to learn’ she said. ‘We’ll keep at it tomorrow’

It was back to the physical aspects. Learning to smooth my skirt beneath me as I sat. Learning to keep my knees together, and to point my toes if I crossed my legs. Learning to keep my skirt down as I did so. We even went into the garage so that I could practice getting into and out of cars in a feminine manner.

All the time, I was getting little pointers on my posture and my walk. At one point she remonstrated with me that I was putting too much wiggle in my hips.

‘You’re not some trollop, you know’ she said.

I was getting tired and my feet were hurting when she finally took pity on me and told me I could go to bed. She followed me to the bathroom and showed me how to cleanse my face and how to use a moisturizing lotion on my skin before going to sleep.

I wore a peach silk nightgown, that felt like it was floating about me as I walked from the dresser to my bed. Lying under the covers with that exquisite feeling was a new thrill for me and there was a smile on my lips as Marie bent to kiss me goodnight.

Despite all the excitement, I fell asleep immediately. I know I dreamed, but the memories of those dreams vanished as soon as I awoke.

I woke slowly, feeling good but disoriented. I was aware that I had an erection, which was not unusual at that age. What was unusual was the feeling of silk around my penis, which I discovered when I idly reached down to touch myself. It was with that touch that the memories of yesterday returned, leaving my head spinning and myself full of doubt.

I flung back the bedcovers and scrambled out of bed, looking down at the peach nightgown in which I had slept. I pulled it off, a feeling of disgust rising in my throat.

The door opened just then, and in came Marie. She was once more dressed in her maid’s uniform, this time in the black dress and white apron in which I had first seen her.

The sight of my lover, my teacher, stopped me in my tracks, my nightgown in my hands.

‘Good morning, Jennie’ she said, walking over to me and kissing my unresisting lips.

‘Good morning, Marie’ I managed to say.

She reached out and took my nightgown from my hands and, folding it carefully, laid it under the pillows at the head of the bed.

‘Well, sweetie, what do you want to wear today?’

A moment ago I would have answered that question with a demand to have my old male clothes back. I would have demanded a stop to this treating me as a girl. But my resistance evaporated in her presence. My morning erection got even firmer as I stood there, naked in front of her. Sex with her had been a revelation, a turning point. It had so surpassed any masturbatory fantasies I had had before coming here, that it was if she had granted me a new life, which I suppose was what she had set out to do. Whatever the reason, I was completely under her spell. I would give up anything, and everything, in order to know that we could do it again.

‘I don’t know, Marie. What do you think I should wear?’

I knew that with those words went any hope I had of escaping the silken trap into which I had fallen. I went willingly, knowing that to do so was the only way in which I could share her love.

Marie helped me select my lingerie for the day. She said I was still in need of strong reinforcement of my new feminine self-image so she let me select another garterbelt. This time in a champagne color, and a pair of white nylons, which held, as I found out when I put them on, a delicate pattern woven into the fabric.

Color was important and I already knew that I had to plan my outfit completely before I started to dress. No wonder my father always complained about how long my mother took to get dressed. On second thought, I smiled to myself, surely he knew first hand what it was like? Maybe he was in denial!

I first chose a matching teddy, which looked (I allowed myself the word) divine, but Marie told me that teddies were appropriate only if I were going to wear pants. Pants were out of the question until I felt completely normal in skirts.

Since I found a darling panty, bra and slip combination in matching champagne silk right next to the teddy, I wasn’t at all unhappy with her advice.

I found that I was thinking as ‘prettily’ as I could. Deliberately using words which, as a boy, I would have found abhorrent. I recalled Marie making me do this as an exercise last night. I had had to look at objects such as flowers in a vase, paintings on the wall, and clothes from fashion magazines and describe them in ever-increasingly flowery, prissy language. I had started by feeling shy, but soon found the experience liberating. Now this morning I was doing the same thing, and the realization made me giggle out loud.

Marie hugged me when I told her what I was thinking, and once more my penis pressed into her in an unmistakable signal that I was still very male in at least one area.

She reached down and held me gently, the touch of her hand causing my whole body to spasm.

‘Honey, we can’t have sex every time you get excited about dressing pretty. You are going to have to learn to control your reaction, to accept that wearing lovely lingerie is normal for you’

‘It’s not the clothes’ I said, unable to keep the huskiness from my throat even as I tried to speak as she had taught me last night. ‘It’s you!’

She kissed me, a quick peck on the lips, with no sexual overtones.

‘That’s very sweet of you, Jennie. But I still mean what I say. You cannot go around with an erection all the time, whether its because you like being a girl or because you want sex with me. Take a cold shower and hurry back. Don’t bother doing your face until we’re finished here’

I cheated a little, running the shower lukewarm rather than cold. I knew that what she wanted was for me to lose the erection, and the combination of taking a pee and having the shower did the trick. I dried myself off, recalling fondly how she had dried me yesterday after both showers. A stir in my groin made me realize that that wasn’t smart of me, so I tried thinking of the last hockey game I’d seen on television. That was a ‘boy’ thought, and while I wasn’t sure that Marie would approve, I knew that it would quell my erection.

I walked back into the bedroom wearing the pink housecoat, which I had donned before leaving for the shower. I saw that the lingerie I had chosen was lying for me on the bed. It looked so pretty, the delicate pattern of the lace trim and the sheen of the silk. I wanted to rush over there and pick them up, just to feel the fabric against my skin and inhale the faint perfume which I had learned came from sachets hidden within my lingerie drawers.

But Marie was waiting and she made me remove my housecoat.

My penis, no longer erect, was still enlarged and it twitched again as her scent reached my nostrils. She ignored this sign of interest and handed me a small, elasticised garment. It looked a bit like a thong.

‘This is a gaff. It’s designed for girls like you or for professional female impersonators. You push your penis back between your legs, and if you can, you push your testicles back up into your body cavity’

I must have looked both puzzled and worried.

‘Your testicles spent the first dozen or so years of your life resting up in your torso, descending when you hit puberty. They will fit back there if you are careful. It won’t hurt as much as you think’

I wondered how she knew that, but my thoughts were interrupted when she told me to turn around, stand with my legs far apart and bend over.

I did so, thinking of how undignified I must look. Then I felt her grasp my balls, gently enough yet still disturbing.

‘Stay still’ she commanded and I did so, terrified that she might hurt me accidentally.

She pushed and poked and it did hurt. Suddenly with a sharp pain, which turned right away into a dull ache, my right testicle popped up into my body. A few seconds later, with me fighting not to squirm and thus expose myself to more pain, she finished with the left one.

‘Okay, Jennie. I’m finished’

I stood up straight and turned to face her, feeling very sore. She must have seen something in my face because she embraced me and whispered in my ear.

‘I’m sorry, Jennie. Next time you do it. Now you know how it’s done. I know it hurts right now, but every girl has to sacrifice to look good’

I fought back tears and nodded my acceptance.

The gaff itself was simple to put on and sure enough it made my genitals disappear completely. I felt constricted for a few minutes, but the feeling had passed by the time I was finished dressing, as had the ache in my balls.

‘The gaff does mean that you are going to have to be careful not to drink too many fluids until you can take it off. Going to the bathroom is more complicated this way’

I could see the truth in that.

‘Do I have to wear it all the time?’

‘Only when you might have to go out in public. Not that you will today, but we have got to get you used to it early’

I found that getting dressed this morning was easier than yesterday. Marie complimented me on my skill in putting on the bra: I even adjusted the straps perfectly.

My lingerie felt as heavenly as I had imagined and I was feeling very feminine as I minced to the closet to select a dress for today. Marie had told me that I could choose my own dress, although she said that she would be happy to help me with advice.

I was grateful for that, because I still felt a trifle weird knowing that I was choosing my very own dress to wear today. What if I chose the wrong color, or the wrong shoes? And how would the color of my dress affect my choice of makeup? Being a girl was no easy task!

I rifled through the closet, pulling out first one choice and then another, each time peeking at Marie to see if anything caught her eye. She smiled at me, plainly aware of what I was doing yet determined to let me make my own choice.

Finally I pulled out a yellow sundress. It was sleeveless, with a square-cut bodice, narrow waist and flared knee-length skirt. A broad white leather belt drew the waist in and I knew that it would go well with the heels I had worn yesterday.

Marie approved and I felt a swell of pleasure at her reaction.

She let me wear the same wig as yesterday, but this time I had to put it on and brush and comb it myself. She wouldn’t let me wear any makeup at all apart from a very pale pink lipstick.

‘It’s too early for makeup, honey. Besides, there’s no-one to impress but me, and I think you are adorable just the way you are’

I glowed with pleasure as we walked downstairs where, I knew, more lessons in femininity were to come.

She made me make breakfast that morning, although there wasn’t much to it. She showed me how to measure and grind the coffee beans and how much water to put into the filter. We had a small bowl of cereal, with skim milk, and an apple, which she made me peel and cut into small pieces. Marie laid four pills by my plate. There were two large capsules and two large pills. When I asked what they were for, she told me that the names wouldn’t mean anything to me but they were intended to control my hunger and give me vitamin supplements to ensure that my complexion stayed good.

‘Girls your age have sometimes have a tendency to break out, and we wouldn’t want that, would we, Jennie?’

Then I did the dishes, with Marie telling me not to bother with the dishwasher for such a small number of plates.

It felt good to be doing this work as Marie sat at the nearby, sun-splashed table, giving me directions in her calm, soothing voice. I wanted to please her and her words of appreciation made me feel good about myself.

That was the start of a long day. We went over all of the lessons she had given me yesterday, and more besides. Some were boring and some were frustrating, but all were aimed at one thing and one thing alone: making me appear as if I had been born and raised as a girl, and a particularly well-brought up, feminine kind of girl.

I remember one lesson where I had to walk across deep carpet in shoes Marie made me wear especially for the exercise, with narrow four-inch heels. Spikes or stilettos I believe.

That would have been bad enough, but she made me do it with a heavy book on my head!

I was almost in tears by the time I managed, finally, to make a complete circuit of the living room without the book falling off.

I had hoped that we would quit then, and move on to something less demanding, but it was another thirty minutes before she took pity on me. By then I was walking with far more ease and balance.

Going back to the three-inch broad heels, and no book on my head, made me feel as if I were walking on air. Marie was quick to compliment me on the improvement in my posture, and the delight I felt from her compliment eased my resentment and frustration at the exercise.

The only breaks we took were for meals, accompanied by the same four pills. Whatever they were seemed to be working because by supper time I found myself feeling stuffed on the modest plate of food.

That began a pattern, which lasted all that day and the next. Evenings were more relaxed. Grandmother’s suite included a sitting room where, overlooked by me on my first and very quick view, she had a large television, the screen concealed behind what had seemed to be an ornate carved panel of some exotic wood. Marie and I spent much of the evenings half-sitting and half lying on the luxurious couch watching television.

I don’t recall what we watched. On both of the first two evenings Marie allowed me to wear an exquisite nightgown and peignoir set. The gown was of ivory silk, with a lace panel descending from my right shoulder, across my bosom and down to my left hip, where it encountered a slit which ran, trimmed and edged in lace, to the ankle-length hem. The peignoir was in a heavier fabric, perhaps satin. The same color, with less ostentatious lace, it felt both light and warm over my gown.

The first evening Marie wore the same black silk in which she had taken my virginity, but initially beneath a matching peignoir of her own.

She had allowed me to choose from a selection of perfumes, which I had tried by spraying on the insides on my wrists and then inhaling. I had also been allowed to go all out with makeup, so that I felt particularly alluring and sexually desirable as I nestled next to my lover. I seemed to fit naturally into the space between her shoulder and her breast. I was thankful for the first time I could remember that I was so small a person. Marie was not much taller than I, perhaps an inch, but there was no question about who was the stronger member of the two of us. I was hers, and I knew and loved that knowledge.

We spent the first evening in front of the television nuzzling and kissing each other. Our beautiful lingerie added to the sensuality of the experience, which became an intoxicating mix of skin on silk, silk on silk, and skin on skin. After one especially intense period of petting, when her nipples were firm and wet with my saliva while my penis, long-freed form the gaff, was rock-hard, Marie pushed me gently away.

My eyes questioned her, but she responded by silently rising to her feet, taking me by one hand as she did so. I allowed myself to be pulled upright and she led me, hand in hand, into my grandmother’s bedroom.

It was a huge room, dominated by an immense bed onto which Marie made me lie.

I began to protest. There was something improper in doing this on my grandmother’s bed.

She silenced my protests with her mouth and within seconds I was lost in a torrent of desire.

We undressed each other with a slowness at odds with our mounting need. She made me lie on my back while she once again explored my body with her tongue. My body convulsed as I felt her tongue caress my inner thighs and then kiss, ever so lightly, the tip of my penis.

She had allowed me to let my testicles descend once more at the same time as I had removed the gaff. So it was that I felt her take each testicle gently into her mouth while she stroked my penis with her hand. Electricity flashed along my nerves, causing sounds I cannot describe to pour out of my mouth. Gasping for air I called out my need for her, my love for her. I said what I knew she wanted to hear what I felt inside my being as she played me as a virtuoso plays her instrument.

‘Marie, I love you, Marie. I’m your girl, Marie. Let me be Jennie for you’

She released me and, twisting around on the bed, she hovered over me. She was on all fours, above my spread-eagled body. She lowered her face until it was almost too close for me to be able to focus on it.

With a quick, lithe motion, she brought her moist slit above my penis.

I saw her eyes widen, and a grunt escaped her lips as she lowered herself onto me. Once more I felt that delicious little resistance and yielding feeling as I entered her.

Her eyes refocused on mine.

‘Do you want to be my girl forever, little Jennie?’

There was a note of urgency in her question, and in other circumstances I might have been alerted by that tone. But as it was, the only thought I had was an intense need to please her, to fuck her and to be fucked by her.

‘Forever, Marie... I’ll be Jennie forever!’

She lowered her mouth to mine and I felt her tongue invade me as she began to ride me to orgasm. My hips bucked as I tried to drive deeper into her as she came down. I almost pulled out at one pint, as she rose above me. With a desperate cry my arms reached around her hips and pulled her down as I strove to raise my hips off the bed.

Then, with screams of passion torn from our lips, we came, climaxing together.

We lay side by side, our sweat-slick bodies relaxing into each other as our breathing steadied. At long last we stirred again.

Or, rather, Marie did. She rolled over and climbed on top of me. It seemed perfectly natural that she would be on top, since I was her girl and we both knew that she was in charge.

She raised herself on her arms, her hands on either side of my head. She looked serious.

‘You know that a promise is a sacred thing, don’t you Jennie?’

I looked up at her, knowing within me what she meant.

‘Yes’ was all I said.

‘And you know what you promised?’

‘Yes’ was all I said.

She looked deeply into my eyes, first one then the other. The moment seemed to last forever.

My penis began to stir.

‘I trust you’ was what she said, before she leaned to one side, to support herself on one arm while the other hand snaked between our bodies to grasp my penis.

‘Now let’s do it again!’ she said with a fierce laugh.

The second night was almost a repeat of the first, although this time she made me pleasure her for a long time before we coupled. I learned more about the art of using one’s tongue, lips and fingers to give pleasure. Her capacity for sex was awesome! And my youthful passion was the perfect tool to complete my enslavement.

By the fourth day of my training, Marie judged that I had absorbed enough from her lessons that I could be introduced to the staff, who had been given several days off so as not to see me as a boy or during my ‘transition’.

Mrs. Evans was a heavy-set woman who bore her age (about fifty would be my guess) poorly. Her hair was cut short, as if she didn’t care much about it, and her plain face was unadorned by any makeup. I realized that I was paying more attention to this kind of thing than I would have done last week. She seemed somewhat dour, but I saw no sign that she thought me to be anything but the granddaughter I was introduced as.

Mrs. Simpson was the cook, and while in some ways there was a physical resemblance to Mrs. Evans, there was no mistaking the two of them for each other. Mrs. Smith (call me Sara) was plumb rather than heavily built, and one taste of her cooking explained why. Without the pills, which I took every meal, I suspect that I would have ballooned immediately. Sara obviously enjoyed her work and her good humor showed in her face.

Marie cautioned me that while it was okay for me to call Mrs. Simpson ‘Sara’ if I was alone with her, I had better not let grandmother hear of this familiarity with a servant.

‘But she calls you by your first name, Marie?’

‘Ah! Well, you have a lot to learn about your grandmother and me, young

lady! Besides, a maid is always called by her first name’

I was intrigued by her hint that there was more to her relationship with grandmother than I had so far seen, but she refused to discuss it any more.

That night I spent alone, much to my disappointment. Marie shushed my protests, claiming that she needed some rest after all our exertions of the three previous nights.

‘Besides, Jennie, even at your age you need to pace yourself’

I had to admit that she had a point. My penis was getting sore from all the unaccustomed attention, but I yearned for her presence. I fell asleep thinking off her, my arms wrapped around a pillow, my mind telling me that I was holding her.

Marie bustled me out of bed early next morning.

‘Today’s the big day, Jennie’ she smiled.

‘Your grandmother will be home by lunchtime, and she’ll want to meet

her new grand-daughter’

I was nervous, and it showed in the difficulty I had in choosing my clothes.

‘You should try to wear something very pretty, Jennie. A girl feels prettier if she knows that she is wearing really pretty clothes’

I already knew that and that was the problem! What to wear?

‘Decisions, decisions’ I joked in mock frustration.

Marie laughed. ‘What’s a girl to do, hey?’

With her help I settled on powder blue silk for my lingerie. Part of me felt that since blue was a traditionally male color, it might be fun for me, still physically male, to choose the prettiest blue lingerie.

I felt like giggling as I savored the feel of the silk against my skin. Pulling my nylons up my legs, freshly depilated for this special day, was as thrilling as the first time I had worn stockings. I chose a pale blue skirt, with a modest, knee-length hem and a simple silk blouse in an even paler shade. Marie removed the studs from my ears. They were plain steel, and she had made me clean them with rubbing alcohol each day. Now she told me that the holes had healed enough that I could wear real earrings. She showed me a present, which she said she had been saving for this moment.

I drew in my breath in surprise and delight as she opened her palm to reveal two sparkling diamond earrings, the small but brilliant stones set in a gold mounting, attached to the hooks by a slender gold chain. I had to hurry to the mirror so that I could see how they looked in my ears. I loved the way they tugged on my lobes!

Marie let me use makeup, even though it was early in the day. I was careful not to use too much; just a touch of eyeshadow, blush and lipstick. I had no trouble anymore with my wig, in fact it felt strange at the end of the day when I had only my too-short hair. I wished the weeks would pass quickly so that it would be long enough to be properly styled.

I was ready hours before grandmother was due home and I spent the intervening time in mental agony, continually asking Marie if I looked okay. I practiced all of the lessons Marie had taught me, but even so I was terrified that I would fail her inspection.

Marie had teased me that if grandmother thought I looked or acted like a boy, then she couldn’t have sex with me again: she only wanted me as girl, as I had promised to be for her. It was that teasing which worried me, since I half suspected that she wasn’t really joking. I was deeply under her spell and the thought of rejection was my worst nightmare.

About half an hour before grandmother was due to arrive I suddenly remembered seeing Marie do a quick curtsey to grandmother as she had entered the home. Marie was delighted to teach me.

‘Your grandmother will be so impressed, honey’

All too soon it was time. I stood off to one side while Marie opened the door.

Grandmother swept into the house, dressed much as she had been when she brought me home.

I watched Marie out of the corner of my eye. She stepped back into the hall as grandmother entered an expectant look on her face.

Marie made her bob, and I followed suit, holding my skirt hem with both hands, placing my right foot behind me and bending my left knee.

Grandmother’s face broke into a huge smile. ‘Who do we have here?’

‘Grandmother, I’m your granddaughter, Jennie’

She gestured for me to approach and she opened her arms to take me into her embrace. She acted far more warmly to me as a girl than she had ever acted when I appeared as a boy.

‘What a pretty girl you are, Jennie’ she exclaimed after we parted and she took a moment to inspect me.

‘She chose her own clothes and did her own makeup’ Marie chimed in.

‘And she did a wonderful job’ grandmother said.

It was astounding how natural everything seemed. I spent the rest of the day almost in a daze. Grandmother told me that she hoped that she would see me at dinner, but explained that she had some correspondence to catch up on. It was a bit of a letdown after all my anxiety.

Dinner was much the same as the first day I had arrived, with the exception that grandmother seemed much more at ease. She complimented me again on my choice of clothes, but the most striking aspect of her manner was how she seems to take it all in stride. It was as if I had always been her granddaughter: she made no reference to my ever having been a boy.

I kissed her dutifully as I was excused from the table.

Marie seemed occupied, and I could hardly expect to spend the evening with her, in grandmother’s rooms. Nevertheless, I hoped that she would find a way to join me in my room, which was far enough away from grandmother’s that we could enjoy ourselves without drawing attention.

Her knock on the door found me waiting eagerly. It was late enough that I did not expect to see grandmother again, so I had removed my gaffe, and the sight of Marie entering my room caused an erection to press against my panties. But my hopes were to be dashed, in a way, which shook me to the core.

Marie quickly stepped into the room and came to sit beside me on my bed, reaching over and kissing me on the lips.

‘Honey, I can’t stay...’

‘Why not?’ I pouted.

She drew back, looking at me with an odd expression of tenderness and concern.

‘Jennie, there’s something you have to know’

‘What?’ I asked, hating the whine, which crept unbidden into my voice.

‘I’m not really a maid. We thought that it would be easier for you, and fun for me, if I pretended to be a servant’

‘That’s wonderful!’

‘But that’s not the main thing I have to tell you’

She paused, her eyes weighing my reaction.

‘The truth is that your grandmother and I are lovers: I’m your grandmother’s girlfriend, and I’m going to spend the night with her’

I was thunderstruck. I stared at her in incomprehension.

‘But she’s so old!’ I blurted out.

‘She’s not as old as all that’ Marie laughed.

‘Besides, she really takes care of herself. She has the body of a forty-year-old. Besides, she as been very good to me’

‘But I thought that you loved me!’ The whine was back, and getting worse.

‘Oh Jennie, I do love you! I love your grandmother as well, but I assure you, I truly love you’

‘Then stay with me’

‘I can’t, sugar. Not tonight’

I was floundering.

‘Marie, I became Jennie for you! I became a girl for you!’

‘And you are a sweet, sexy young lady, Jennie. You are already a great lay, honey, and we are going to fuck our brains out, but not tonight’

I had to turn away, to prevent her seeing my tears. She knew, of course, and put her arms around my shoulders. I tried to shrug her away, but she merely tightened her embrace.

‘It’s okay, Jennie... you can cry if you want to. I have to go now, but please believe that I love you’

I fought back the tears, sniffling as I looked up at her when she rose.

‘Promise you will come tomorrow night?’

‘I’ll be here, honey’

Then she was gone, leaving me to absorb this news.

I sat on my bed for maybe half an hour before changing into my housecoat and going to the bathroom to remove my makeup and brush my teeth. My reflection was red-eyed, from crying.

I took of my housecoat and stared at my reflection. I had left my wig in my bedroom, so once the makeup was off and I was naked I looked like a boy again.

What was I doing? How had I come to this? I was a boy, soon to be a man, and yet I had spent the last few days cheerfully trying to be as pretty and feminine as possible. A feeling of disgust and shame came over me. I turned the shower on, making the water as hot as I could stand. Climbing in, I scrubbed my face as hard as I could, as if by ensuring that all traces of my makeup were removed, I could undo my behaviour of the past few days.

I felt a little better when I climbed out of the shower, although as I dried myself images of Marie toweling me down caused a pang of depression.

I walked back to my room determined to prove that I had not been turned irretrievably into a girl. I would wear my own pajamas tonight and tomorrow I would dress as a boy. There was nothing they could do about it.

The problem with that brave plan was that all of my male clothes were gone. I had not looked in the drawers where I had packed them since this charade had begun. Obviously Marie had removed them. I hunted through the closet, and even under the bed, but to no avail. The only clothes in the room were Jennie’s.

I must confess that my resolve weakened as I went through the closet, which was full of beautiful dresses, skirts, blouses and jackets. I had worn only a few of them, and they were so pretty!

I looked through my lingerie drawers as well, telling myself that I was desperate to find any of my male clothes. An inner voice told me I was lying to myself. I knew since I had been using these drawers every day, that there were none of my old clothes there, and that the real reason I was rummaging through them was so that I could feel, see and smell the lovely garments. The stirring in my groin made that voice louder so I angrily slammed the drawer shut and jumped into bed, pulling the covers over my head and curling into a fetal position. I spent a long time worrying about how I was going to act in the morning before exhaustion prevailed and I fell asleep.

I awoke to see a faint light filling the room. The door was opening and somewhere down the hall a light must have been on. I turned over to watch as a familiar silhouette trod softly into my room as if not to disturb me.

I pretended to be asleep, with my eyes almost closed, yet my pulse was racing as I watched Marie approach.

The bed creaked and I felt the mattress give as she slowly climbed into bed beside me. She was wearing what I knew was the black silk nightgown in which she had first seduced me. Her soft warmth was like a pressure against my skin. She had just showered, although her hair was dry. I could smell her clean scent, unaffected by any perfume.

Her hands reached for me and I could no longer pretend to be asleep.

‘I couldn’t stay away’ she breathed into my ear, as one hand explored my groin.

‘Did you miss me, Jennie?’

I looked at her, her features indistinct in the dim light. My heart felt as if it was tied in a knot within my chest. All of the words I had planned to say; all of the denials that I was ever going to be Jennie again died stillborn.

‘Yes, I missed you like crazy’ was what I said.

Her lips found mine and my eyes closed of their own accord as I lost myself in the sensations that consumed me.

When we had finished our lovemaking we lay side by side, touching each other gently, our hands roaming as if randomly over each other’s bodies.

‘Jennie, we have to talk’

‘I know’

‘You felt betrayed last evening, didn’t you?’

‘Yes... I thought that you didn’t love me; that you were only pretending so that I would go along with grandmother’s plan’

‘I told your grandmother that I would help, but only if I found that I liked you and that you were attractive to me. I don’t like many boys, you know. There are reasons for that and one day, if we are still good friends, I’ll explain.’

‘Anyway’ she continued ‘I liked you right away and the way you looked when I started to help you dress was very arousing. One thing led to another, and before the night was over, I was falling for you’

‘Really?’ My eyes were wide open and even I could hear the need in my voice.

She rolled over and planted a long, lingering kiss on my mouth while squeezing my penis with one hand.

‘Really!’ she said.

Rolling onto her back again, taking my left hand in her right, she resumed her story.

‘Sex with you has been awesome. I find fucking a girl with a cock is the best turn-on I have ever had, and I think a lot of that is you. Not just that you are a girl with a cock, which is how I think of you, but you... with your shyness and your gentle ways. And the way you get off on me sure helps!’

We lay silent for a while, the signs of dawn increasing the pale light in the room. I began to see colors again, a sure sign that night was passing.

‘Jennie, I think that you are one of the lucky few’

‘What do you mean?’ I asked, intrigued.

‘Some people are just naturally sensuous. Most people are either uncomfortable with their sexuality or are confined sexually to narrow areas... like most boys are either straight or gay, most women too. Only a few lucky people have the gift of being able to take on any sexual role, and to be incredibly attractive to whomever they want to bed. I think that you might be one of those people’

I looked at her, her eyes clam and still, gazing at me from where she lay, our shoulders almost touching. She sounded sincere, and, seeing her there a chill ran down my spine.

Perhaps we dozed; we must have since morning was well upon us when I next became aware of the room. We showered together and I found myself reverting to Jennie as if I had never had my episode of rebellion last night. Marie’s presence, and my acceptance that she did love me, made all the difference. Her words about what she had described as my ‘luck’ came back to me when, after dressing, I was doing my face. I shivered as I thought about what she had said. I adjusted my wig, flipping the hair back from my face with what had become a practiced gesture, and smiled at my reflection.

‘Girl, you look cute today!’ I whispered happily to my image. She smiled back before turning to leave, in perfect harmony with my own actions.

Grandmother was in the dining room finishing her breakfast. I walked carefully into the room and kissed her on the cheek.

‘Good morning, young lady’ she said, smiling at me.

‘I trust you had an enjoyable night’

I colored, realizing that she must have known where Marie was going. My blush grew fiercer as I realized that she and Marie were also lovers.

Marie came in at that moment, no longer in a maid’s uniform. She was wearing a plain yellow wool top and off-white skirt, her bare limbs tanned and smooth. She kissed grandmother, on the lips, and then repeated the greeting with me. Her eyes smiled mischievously as she sat at the table. She looked like the cat that had got the cream, and no wonder, I thought. She had called me lucky, but here she was, with her two lovers in the same room, both looking at her with desire in their eyes.

Grandmother had almost finished h