51d Lipstick Discipline

The Art of Petticoat Punishment

by Carole Jean

Part 51d - Amber P. and Daphne's Lipstick Discipline

My skimpy shorts and top offered little protection against the later afternoon breeze as I quickly walked the distance home. The awkwardness of the heels and heavy hoops were an additional burden and fought the wave of tears that struggled to overcome me. Was I really looking forward to getting home, going to the bathroom and getting out of this skimpy outfit! When I came through the back door, however, Mom was waiting and she started on me even before I had my sandals off.

"Where did you get the little statue? What happened, sweetie . . . did you win an award or something?" She fingered the top of the trophy I'd won at school. I hadn't noticed before, but it was topped with a likeness of a man being chased by a woman: Sadie Hawkins going after her husband. I remember staring at the ridiculous image before me and thinking, Oh, that's just great! Mom looked from the trophy to me and back again, her face beaming with delight. I felt my blood pressure go up as I realized what was probably going through her mind. “It looks like you had fun today. Come on, have a seat and tell me all about it!"

The questions were fast and furious and for the first time in my life I had to take charge of the situation. "Mom, please! My feet are absolutely killing me," I complained loudly. "They’ve been cramping ever since lunch. Let me get them off and then after I go to the bathroom I’ll tell you about all about everything."

Thank god, she at least let me take off the shoes and go to the toilet. I thought I'd never stop peeing! When I finally came back I stretched out on the couch and removed the heavy hoops, again with the gawky awkwardness that comes from inexperience. Then I started to take down my hair as I recounted the events of the day, from the bullying and teasing all through how I had been asked out on a date for the dance that night by Kathy.

Mom relished every word I said about the day's events, drinking them in with a thirst that made me uncomfortable, especially when it came to hearing about my difficulties. She seemed more interested than concerned when she heard about my encounters with Todd and Joe, for example. After making me tell the story at least twice to make sure I hadn't left anything out, she questioned me forever on the details, holding me by the hand and squeezing it tightly as I searched my memory for the answers she wanted. When I made the mistake of telling her how Joe had tried undoing my shorts, her eyes lit up and she pressed on. "He had his hand down your pants? Good grief, girl, how far? He didn't get them off, did he?"

I couldn't believe she was asking me that. "No, Mom, he didn't get them off!!! Please . . . that's nasty!"

My mother gave me a funny look. "This Todd boy . . . he sounds like he's obsessed with you. He didn't try to kiss you, did he? You didn't let him, did you?"

A guy . . . trying to kiss me! I didn't know what to say to that one. "Eww, Mom!!! Don't be gross! That's sick!" I couldn't believe how she was acting. Sometimes she goes too far, I thought to myself.

"Now you see what girls have to go through? Just because someone dresses nice people think they can be harassed and touched in places they don't like. It's not fun, is it? Some of those boys can really cause you a lot of trouble, sweetie, so you'd best be on your guard. Next time do yourself a favor. Try and find a nice boy you can trust."
I didn't like the sound of that. "What next time?" I wondered. "What nice boy?" To be honest, I was too afraid to ask.

After smiling through my recounting of all the teasing and abuse I suffered, Mom asked me how I felt about the way I was treated. I told her how much I hated it, and I ended up sobbing as I realized none of my friends would ever look at me the same again.

Mom was beside herself with joy when I told her about the awards ceremony and I had to tell that story at least four times! "It's too bad I wasn't there with my camera," she said wistfully. "I'd love to have a picture of you accepting your little trophy. Maybe I'll call the school and see if anyone shot any film."

The trophy ended up on the mantle, of course, where it was eventually joined by a framed snapshot of me onstage with the principal accepting my award; Mom got that from the school paper, which ran the photo three times that year in various issues about school events and activities. Another shot of me posing with one of the other cross-dressed boys — remember the sophomore in the country dress? — was included in our yearbook. I winced at the thought of my photo being in the hands of every high school boy in our county.

Anyway, my mother was also delighted to hear that I'd met a girl and that I had accepted her invitation to attend the school dance. She said she would be happy to drive and pick us up, saying that going to the dance would be the perfect conclusion to such a special day.

"I've got the perfect outfit for ‘Pamela’ to wear, too, sweetie. Your little Kathy is just going to love you when she sees it!"

Sighing helplessly, I called Kathy and told her my mother could drive and got directions. We’d pick her up at 7:30 sharp.

I got out of my shorts and top, but left on my bra and panty girdle as Mom had instructed. She handed me a short white satin robe to wear, which enhanced the female image I projected with my full bust. I creamed off my makeup and went into the family room where I flopped down in front of the TV and then dozed off for a nap.

When I awoke I had slept almost two hours and it was time to help Mom with dinner. At least I didn’t have to don my hated apron as all I had to do was set the table and pour drinks. Those damn nails were still getting in the way as I pulled napkins out and folded them next to the silverware. "God, I can’t wait to be freed from these stupid fingernails," I thought. They were every bit as restrictive as the heels and girdle, in some ways even more so.

When dinner was over, it was time to get ready for the dance. Mom had me shower, again wearing a plastic shower bonnet to keep my hair dry. I got out and went back into my bedroom to find a fresh outfit laid out, this time a red silken mini-dress with a flared, flirty skirt. There was also a fresh padded bra, a shorty panty girdle and a pair of sheer nude stockings waiting for me. I dressed myself as usual, still a little clumsy with the bra hooks and long nails, but left off my shoes until the last minute. Mom insisted that I wear my gaudy red high-heeled sandals, saying that they’d go perfectly with my new dress and hose. I made a case for wearing other shoes, but she wouldn’t hear of it.

The dress was awful snug, except for the flared skirt. I asked Mom if it was a good idea for me to wear something so revealing. My question served mostly to irritate her. "You have something you’d rather be wearing?"

"Yes, ma’am. I mean, no, ma’am. I . . . I just think . . . doesn’t this dress let people see my underthings? It’s so tight." I plucked at the material in an attempt to get it to fluff up a bit and not cling so tightly to my body. "My . . . bra . . . it sticks out too much . . ."

Mom smacked my hands away. "Stop that! See, you silly girl, that’s how it's supposed to work. Girls wear pretty underthings so they can show them off. This dress is perfect for that. It's so thin, so clingy, it really shows off your curves, too. See?" To my horror, she ran her hands over my padded bra, emphasizing the budding breasts beneath.

"Consider yourself lucky. Some girls your age don't have any boobs at all. You look just perfect!"

I did most of my makeup, except for the eyeliner, which I had never painted on myself up to that point. Mom fixed my hair up, this time with dual ponytails out to the sides. My stomach sunk when I saw how childish the little red scrunchies looked with my bangs and I wondered what Kathy would think. My mother then used a brush to accentuate my cheeks with some blush and I was almost ready to go. There was the mandatory perfume which I got to apply myself this time, with reminders to get behind both my ears and on my wrists. I thought I’d perhaps escaped the heavy hoops, but she produced them at the last minute and fastened them to my ears. I also ended up with the bangles decorating my wrists, another burden to bear. She handed me one of her nicer wool sweaters and I got my purse and out the door we went.

Kathy lived about ten minutes away and we were there in no time. Mom stayed in the car as I minced up the walkway to the front door. I rang the bell and Kathy answered, dressed in boy clothes of a t-shirt, denim jeans and Keds. Her hair was slicked back into boyish style and there was a swagger to her step that made me feel funny.

"Hello, ‘Pammy’," she said gleefully. "I love your hair! And that dress . . . wow! Cute figure. You really look cool! Just like a girl!"

She invited me inside and her parents were both waiting in the living room. It flashed through my head about how you never get a second chance to make a first impression. I was thinking, what will they think of me when I come back for a date dressed as a guy, instead of in this prissy costume?

Mr. Wade was a large man in both height and girth. He shook my hand with a "Hello, Greg." and returned to sit where he was reading the paper. Guess he wasn’t in the mood for conversation or maybe he was just at a loss for words.

Mrs. Wade was just the opposite. She smiled as she took my hand and greeted me with affectionate "Oh, Gregory, or is it ‘Pamela’? I swear to goodness, you look even prettier than Kat had described. Oh, look at those cute little pony tails. They’re absolutely adorable! I’m so please you agreed to go to the dance with her." She hadn’t let go of my hand and instead escorted me toward the hallway where a boy younger than me was standing quietly.

"Come here, Stephen," she ordered. It was a definite command and not a request. The boy sheepishly approached as she introduced him as to me, telling me that he was two years younger than Kathy and was in the sixth grade.

I took his hand to shake it and said in a friendly voice, "Hi, Steve. It’s nice to meet you." He looked at my hand and my painted nails, but he never made eye contact with me. He quickly withdrew his hand once I had released it, backing away into the doorway.

"Doesn’t Gregory look nice all dressed up as ‘Pamela'?" Mrs. Wade asked him. She turned to me and explained how Stephen didn’t think that boys could be made to look as pretty as girls. "I’ve told him that with the right clothes and makeup young boys could be made to look exactly like teenage girls, but he wouldn’t believe me."

At this point I was wondering why she would be having this conversation with him in the first place. Had it come up when Kathy had told him about Sadie Hawkins Day, or was something darker smoldering beneath the surface?

"Now do you believe me?" She turned her comments back to the younger brother. "You see how easy it could be done?" The tone more threatening than informational. "I want you to take a long look and remember what we talked about," she continued.

His first and only words were a hushed "Yes, Mom," delivered with his eyes glued to the floor near our feet. At first I thought he might be staring at my heels and painted toenails, but then I realized it was a posture of submission. Yes, there was certainly something unspoken going on and I could only surmise what it was. Maybe I could get Kathy to fill me in once we were alone.

The conversation eventually returned to Kathy and me. "You kids have a good time. Kathy, you’re to be home by midnight even if Greg’s mother is driving," and so on. Kathy picked up a boy’s varsity coat she’d borrowed and we headed out the door to where Mom was waiting.

Before we could get in the car my mom made a big deal out of taking our picture together. "Oh, you two, you look so sweet together . . . a handsome young boy and his beautiful girlfriend . . . I’ve just got to get this on film. Here, I’ve got my camera ready; it’ll take just a second!"

Not feeling dressed appropriately for the occasion, I tried to get out of it. I made up some excuse about being late for the dance; to my surprise, Kathy was as enthusiastic as Mom was, saying it would be fun to have a photo of the two of us on our first date. I felt so stupid as she pulled me over to my mom’s car and put her arm around my waist and pulled me close. All I could do was grin like a fool while the little flash went off over and over again.

Once we were done I opened the front door thinking we could both squeeze in, but Mom suggested that we sit in the back together. Kathy opened the door for me and taking my hand offered to assist me since I was wearing more restrictive clothing than she was. When we were both buckled in, we headed for the school as the dance was going to be held in the gym.

"It was so nice of you to ask Greg to the dance," Mom said, her face beaming with delight as she saw just how pretty my date was behind her boyish disguise.

Kathy beamed right back. "Well, when I saw him get on the bus this morning, I just couldn’t believe how pretty he was. I knew right then that if he’d go, we’d have a great time tonight." She giggled and snuggled closer to me. She’d put her arm around my back the way boys do to girls and gave me a hug. As she talked to my mother about how it was so neat to see boys willing appear feminine, she was working her hand up under the sweater on my back. Then she started to play with my straps through the thin material of my dress and just before we got to the school, she gave the main one a sharp snap.

She pulled my head close to her and whispered in my ear, "So how does it feel to have a girl snap your bra, sweetheart?" and with that she broke out in a little laugh. "I’ve always wanted to do that to a boy whenever one of them did it to me. I love the way you blushed when I did it. You know, I think we could have a lot of fun like this." Her voice was soaking with a mischievous tone while she toyed with the contours beneath my dress.

Kathy was right, I was blushing, and my heart was pounding so loudly my ears hurt; I was surprised that the car windows weren’t steamed up, I was so excited. Needless to say, I was also struggling to deal with a growing erection; being so close to a girl and having her touch me with such familiarity, such possessiveness, well, it was extremely arousing. Just the touch of Kathy’s fingers up and down the small of my back caused me to squirm in my panty girdle. I remember wishing the car ride would end soon, I was so uncomfortable.

Mom dropped us off at the bus turn-around and we walked the distance to the gym, the echo of my heels bouncing off the vacant walls of the hallway while her Keds were mute. When we arrived at the gym, we were both required removed our shoes to keep from scuffing the hardwood floor. An area along the west wall had been set aside for stacking them and we left them there next to each other.

I was overjoyed at getting out of my heels as the pains had returned much quicker this evening. I just wished my stockings did a better job hiding the bright color on my toenails. No matter. Kathy seemed to like them, which was all that mattered, I suppose.

We eventually found a group of Kathy’s friends and joined them next to the dance area. We chatted about the way different people were dressed and her friends were complimentary to me as well. I had a little trouble managing my dress, purse and bangles all at the same time, and Kathy was quick to give me pointers in how to act. I felt kind of silly, posing and posturing like a girl in my feminine disguise, but the more I did it the more my date seemed enamored with me. I finally just took a deep breath, and mentally jumped into my role as the 'girl' of our twosome. What the hell . . . I may as well, I thought as Kathy gave me an affectionate wink and snapped my bra strap for about the hundredth time that evening.

I wasn't the only boy in feminine clothes that evening, thank god, but I was probably the most passable. The sophomore in the cute country style dress hadn't shown up, and I wondered if maybe his mother kept him at home doing housework in dresses on Friday nights. Nah, I ruefully decided, there couldn't be two moms as crazy as mine! Most likely he just didn't know any girls who thought he looked good in gingham.

Most of the other guys in drag were the jocks in their mocking sackcloth dresses and garish makeup. A couple wore jeans and girls' tops as part of their costumes. Their dates wore boys' clothes, jeans, varsity jackets and leather jackets and such. Several girls wore outfits similar to what I'd worn at school. The rest wore outfits similar to what I was wearing at the time. It only hit me right then and there that I was the only boy who was dressed in 'normal' clothes.

Mom had done it to me again . . . and it was up to me to deal with my awkward situation.

I didn't see Todd and Joe until late in the evening. They made the rounds in their crowd and kept away from the little group that I was in. That didn't keep them from spotting me, though. I felt the blood rush to my face as Kathy led me out onto the dance floor for the umpteenth time that night; with those two watching me muddle through my dance routine I was torn between clinging to the girl of my dreams and running for my life!

After a while the two bullies disappeared and I relaxed . . . a little. I was determined not to let my fears ruin the fun time I was having with my new friend, but it was kind of hard considering the vulnerable position I'd found myself in.

All in all I considered the night a definite success. We danced both to upbeat and slower music, and during the slow dances I got to hold her close; well, I should say she got to hold me! To my surprise my date insisted on leading and had me place my hand left on her shoulder which I quickly learned was not a control position. With her arm around the small of my back she was the one who was squeezing us together as well as controlling the direction of the steps I took. I seemed to spend a lot more time moving backwards, which kept me off guard.

With us both in our stocking feet I realized for the first time that Kathy was actually a little taller than me. I had been either wearing my heels or sitting down each of the earlier times we had been together and had mistakenly judged her to be shorter. There wasn’t more than an inch or two difference, but I had to look up when gazing into her eyes. After the third or fourth slow dance, she pulled my head toward her shoulder and had me rest it there. I didn’t realize it at the time, but later I saw the red stains where my lips had come into contact with her white shirt. When I called it to her attention, she just smiled and said not to worry about it as it was one of her brother’s shirts. She said she thought it was kind of cute.

We talked amongst ourselves during the slower dances and it was then that I asked about Stephen and the earlier conversation. It seemed she suspected him of going through her diary and had brought it to their mother’s attention. He had been warned, but she was still finding it placed in a slightly different position in her bureau drawer. One of the threats that her mother had used was to dress him in the clothes from the drawer in question if the mischief didn’t come to an abrupt halt. Kathy had further threatened to report him to their mother without cause when they had gotten into an argument over which TV program they were watching one evening. No, it wasn’t fair, but then little brothers needed to be controlled.

"He’s such a little swish anyway, it’d serve him right to get taken down a few notches," she said with a giggle. "When we were younger he loved pulling my pigtails and when we got older he loved to tease me when I started wearing bras, saying I wasn’t big enough. Well, I might just get to see the tables turned on that little brat. I’d just love to see him trying to put on a bra!"

To hear my date talking like that sent chills through my body. "You’d make your own brother dress up like a girl? Really?"

Kathy gave me a wicked grin. "Oh, in a heartbeat! He knows I can do it, too. All it’ll take is a word to my mom. What’s better, he’s seen just how girlish he could be made to look . . . thanks to you, sweetheart."

As I mentioned, I considered the dance a positive experience in that no one picked on me and most of Kathy’s friends treated me kindly. I liked to dance, the music fit my taste, and I was having fun. Yes, all in all, it was a good night.

With all the excitement going on I forgot myself and drank too many soft drinks. That put me in an awkward predicament; I hated going to the bathroom in girls' clothes out in public as it was always such a complicated process. Between choosing which facilities and then dealing with all the accoutrements under my dress, it just wasn't worth the trouble. In this case, however, I really had to go. And so go I went. Somehow I managed to sneak away unnoticed from the gang and make my way to a deserted part of the school where I slipped into an unused boys' restroom. It wouldn't do for me to be seen in the girls' restroom; the last boy caught sneaking around like that had gotten expelled, and the last thing I needed was more trouble from my mom. The problem was that I didn't want to be seen in one of the boys' bathrooms, either, which was why I went to the darker part of the school!

I was so full of soda pop that I'd thought I'd explode before I got my dress up around my waist and my girdle down about my knees. Nervous and worried that I'd get caught, I managed to do my duty and get somewhat situated without any unwelcome interruptions.

"Thank God!" I thought to myself. "Kathy would have loved following me right into the stall. I could hear her laughing at the sight of me struggling with my girdle and hose. I'm just not ready for that!"

After checking myself out in the mirror and touching up my makeup, I innocently skipped out of the bathroom and back toward the sound of the music and laughter. For once I felt really good about myself; the way the night was going, this was going to be more fun than I could have ever imagined. I remember looking down at my red high heels and grinning because of how silly they looked on my nylon-covered feet.

"I can't believe this is happening to me," I thought. "A boy my age wearing these shoes . . . and hose . . . AND this dumb dress! Dang . . . this is nuts!!! I wonder what Kathy and her friends really think of me?" I paused long enough to pull my dress down around my knees. "They're probably laughing at me right now. Gee, thanks a lot, Mom. How come it's always me?!"

The next thing I knew I was passing by a dark doorway and — WHAM!!! — something hit me solid in the abdomen, knocking me breathless. I wasn't sure what had happened. All I knew was that I couldn't breathe, that I was suffocating, and that I couldn't see. My eyes full of stars, I tried to get away, but a hand shoved against my chest, slamming me back, this time against the steel lockers lining the hallway. It was then that I heard a voice so dreadful that I nearly wet myself.

"Look, Joe, it's our favorite little fairy. Can you believe this? Check out his little dress and that fruity hair. Damn, man, what a total queer!"

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Oh, no . . . not this! Not tonight . . . please, God, not now . . .

Yep, it was true, all right. It was my nemesis, Todd, along with his humongous sidekick, Joe. This wasn't good. Todd was cracking his knuckles while Joe finished up a cigarette. For an instant I thought about how silly they were; I mean, they weren't much older than me and here they were, trying to look so tough. Then I thought about how I probably looked to them. I looked anything but tough. And that scared me. Really, really bad.

"Uh, hey, guys . . ." I looked around for someone — anyone! — to help me. There wasn't a soul in sight. "I, um, better get back to the . . . uh . . . thing . . ."

But I wasn't going anywhere. Pulling me into the doorway, the delinquent pair seemed to know exactly what they were doing, as though they had planned out this little meeting earlier in the day. Todd was playing watchout, his eyes roaming about, on the lookout for witnesses, while Joe held me up against the wall with a single hand, his face mere inches from mine.

"Stupid fag!" Todd spat. "We saw you showing off on stage today. And now you're running around in a dress? Jesus! You don't know when to quit, do you, fairy boy? You know how stupid you look?"

I knew. I knew exactly how stupid I looked during school. I knew exactly how stupid I looked right then. I wanted to tell him I knew I looked stupid, but I was way too scared to say anything.

"I dunno, dude . . . he's lookin' pretty good right now if you ask me," Joe said. "Lookin' better than most of those bitches in the gym. Lookit those cute little tits. And that ass. That's good stuff, man. Looks just like a little pussy. Too bad he's just a little faggot."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Unlike Todd's shouting and bullying, Joe's voice was calm and studied, more curious than mean. I was equally shocked to see the serious look on his face; it was as though he had something on his mind. Something he wanted to say to me. For an instant I wondered what that might be.

"You might be right, man. He looks okay now, I guess . . . for a pussy. Red is my favorite color, you know. Imagine that." I remember seeing a mouthful of teeth flashing just millimeters from my face. "Ain't red your favorite color, Joe?

"It's all right. But . . ." the dark teenager moved in so close I could almost taste his breath. ". . . I wanna see what's really under all this shit . . ."

Imagine my horror as my dress was suddenly pulled up high above my waist, up to my chin almost, exposing everything underneath; my girdle, hose, bra . . . everything!!! I thought I would die! Nobody but me and my mom were supposed to see me like that!!

Being seen in my girlie underwear was the least of my problems. Trapped against the wall, I bit my lip as curious hands started roaming over my body unchecked, poking and pinching and patting me in places only my mother or I had touched.

A pair of leering grins only made things worse. "Shit, man, check this out. Maybe this ain't no guy. Maybe he's a real chick. Check out this pussy." Joe rubbed the palm of his hand over my girdle, right where the decorative satin panel hid my pubic area. He was right . . . I was flat as a girl in front in my girdle, and whenever I'd touched myself in private I'd often wondered if that was what a real girl felt like. Joe apparently found this as fascinating as I did and he felt me up like I was the real thing. I winced when his fingertips pressed against my testicles and made them ache. A second hand joined in, stroking my privates with a practiced rhythm. To my surprise a familiar tingling came to surface and I felt the blood rushing to my cheeks.

"Cool," Todd said with smirk. "Smooth as silk, and flat . . . just like a real pussy. What happened to your balls, fag? Leave them home with mommy?"

"C'mon, guys . . . lay off. Umph!" I tried to say something else — I don't remember exactly what — but Joe covered my mouth with his hand.

"Shut up, bitch," he warned. He then licked his forefinger and — before I could stop him — stuck it so far back in my mouth I gagged. He grinned and said, "Here, practice sucking on this for a while! That'll keep you quiet."

While I dealt with this disgusting development unwelcome hands were all over my body again, assaulting me physically and wearing me down mentally. I banged my head against the wall trying to get away from all the pawing and poking that was going on. Getting choked on that stupid finger in my mouth didn't help matters.

At one point Todd slid his hands under my brassiere and massaged my budding breasts . . . none too gently, I should say. I panicked and tried to squirm away, but all that did was loosen my clothes and cause him to get a firmer grip on my poor boobs. He seemed impressed by what he felt. "Whoa, dude! He sure feels like a chick to me. A pussy . . . these tits . . . what more do you need? Let's party!"

"I like that pretty little mouth." Joe pulled the finger from my mouth, licked it lavishly and pressed it back against my lips. The smell of cigarettes made it stink. He then twisted me around and slapped me so hard on either side of my lycra-covered butt it brought tears to my eyes. "Even better, how 'bout a pretty little ass? Now that's prime!"

Hearing those guys talk about me — or, more precisely, my body! — like that was extremely upsetting. But matters got worse when I gasped for air and ended up with that nasty slimy finger back in my mouth. I tried spitting it out, but Joe shoved the tip to the back of my throat and gave me a warning look.

"Don't you dare bite me, bitch, or I'll punch you out. Just suck on it. Do it!" Another hard slap on my tender butt punctuated his demands and started me crying.

In spite of the tears and the hitting and all the tough talk, I couldn't bring myself to do it. Suck, I mean. I knew what that meant, of course. I'd heard the other guys talking about that kind of stuff — oral sex, I mean — and how girls and fags loved doing it. It had never occurred to me to do it and it made me sick to know that someone would think of me that way. I was too scared to spit it out, but I wasn't about to suck on anything, including some guy's finger. My stubbornness, however, didn't stop Joe from shoving his finger around inside my mouth, smearing his spit all over me, ruining my lipstick and making me gag over and over. Between the drool on my chin and the fiery pain on my butt, I felt my stomach churn. I wondered what would happen if I threw up.

Unfortunately, I didn't. Instead, the molestation went on for who knows how long; it could have been thirty seconds, it might have been thirty minutes, but it seemed like ages. I was so ashamed, so confused and I was nearly hysterical. But my tormentors knew how to deal with that; a slap across the face and I stopped struggling. Instead, I concentrated on keeping my wits . . . and my dignity.

The boys' focus then changed to getting me out of my underpants. I couldn't believe it as they tried clawing at the tight elastic waistband. And don't think they didn't try! What do they think they're doing? They know I'm a guy, so why are they doing this?

"Goddam, man, what's with this thing? How the fuck did you get it on, fairy boy? Is this somethin' your momma made you wear?" Thank goodness the top of my girdle was so tight neither boy could get their hand down inside. Todd's expression was a mixture of bewilderment and frustration. Joe, on the other hand, seemed more amused than anything else.

"S'all right, dude. We can find some other way to have some fun. We can check out that pussy later."

The panic was indescribable when I realized what they had tried to do, matched only by the humiliation I felt as Todd gave up and returned his hand to the front of my girdle and resumed rubbing the flat satin panel. Joe did likewise to my rear end; my eyes almost popped out of my head as his rude hands cupped my bottom and then something hard — his finger, dummy! — pressed against the Lycra covering the crack between my cheeks. Believe me when I say that for the first time in my life I was actually grateful to be wearing a girdle.

Anyway, like I said before, all of this went on for who knows how long. With all the touching going on, I remember bouncing between being aroused and terrified; I couldn't help myself . . . I was getting an erection under my girdle and my face was red and my breathing was becoming difficult. I hated Todd and Joe for making me feel that way. I also remember someone — Joe, I later figured out — taking my hand and pulling it downward. Imagine my surprise when the palm of my hand was rubbed over the front of somebody's pants. At first I didn't know what I was feeling, it was so long and hard and . . .!

My mouth went dry when I realized I'd just touched a penis. Granted, it was underneath a pair of jeans and all, but that didn't make it any less significant. It was some guy's dick! Gag! I couldn't believe what was happening. I mean, talk about being confused . . . It was a lot larger and warmer than mine had ever been . . . a sensation I'd never forget . . . no matter how hard I'd try.

"See there, bitch?" Joe said with a grin. "You can't be no fairy, 'cause you got me all hard. And I ain't no fairy. So you know what that means, dontcha?" I know I must have looked like a fool, shaking my head with his finger still in my mouth. I didn't have any idea what I was expected to say. "It means you're a bitch, that's what. And since you're a bitch, you're going to have to do something 'bout this!"

I didn't know what 'this' meant. At least until my hand was placed on the front of Joe's pants once more. Feeling the heat coming from underneath, I suddenly understood.

"Open it up," the black youth ordered quietly. "Do it, girlfriend, unless you like being slapped around some more."

I shut my eyes. I couldn't believe it. He wants me to jack him off! Maybe if I keep my eyes closed long enough, I thought, and maybe if I prayed hard enough these two freaks would get tired, or bored, and leave me alone. I don't want to jack this guy off! If I do that . . . who knows what'll happen after that! Please, god . . . help!

SLAP!!! A fierce whack on my aching butt woke me up. Todd was saying something about how I might rather practice sucking some more, and Joe's face lit up with a big grin. My fingers traced the outline of his erection, edging toward his zipper when I heard a familiar voice echoing down the hall . . .

There was a long silence, the only sound in the hall my own labored breathing. I waited, half hoping, half terrified, desperate for something to happen and worried about the consequences if it did.

"Greg?" The voice sounded softer, further away. "Pamela . . .?"
At last there was the sound of sneakers squeaking on tile, and I was found.

Kathy's eyes went wide and her mouth dropped open. No wonder. I mean, there I was, standing against the wall, my makeup all smeared, with my dress up around my waist and my girdle prominently on display. I was surprised she didn't burst out laughing right then and there.

Where were the boys, you ask? Gone, of course. The instant Kathy appeared they'd turned tail, disappearing down the hall and leaving me alone and looking like an idiot.

My date looked me up and down and frowned. "What's going on? Who was that? Are you all right?"

I fumbled with my dress, trying to get it down before she got too close. I failed miserably. In fact, Kathy ended up untangling the hem from where it had gotten stuck in the waistband of my girdle. I was too upset to figure it out myself.

"Now how'd that happen?" she asked, her brow furrowed. "Why did you have your dress up like that? You weren't showing off for those jerks were you?"

"Huh? Showing off?" I couldn't believe what I was hearing! "Kathy! I wasn't showing off! Didn't you see what was going on? Those stupid idiots . . . they almost . . . almost . . ." I couldn't think of a word to describe what it was they were doing to me.

That didn't stop me from crying, though. I was both mad and scared, and I ranted and raved for a few minutes, looking like a fool in the process, I'm sure. Occasionally throughout my tirade Kathy would give me a skeptical look, which made everything worse. I'd really wanted her to like me and here those jerks had to go and ruin everything! Why didn't she understand what had happened just then? Couldn't things go my way just once?

"I hated it!" I cried. "I hate them! They touched me . . . all over . . . I was so scared . . . it was the worst thing that ever happened . . ." I was sobbing so hard I got choked and couldn't say anything else.

By the time I was done fussing and crying Kathy was a little more sympathetic. She helped me straighten up and fix my make-up and get my dress back together. Ashamed as I was, I couldn't help feeling more than a little flattered to find myself the focus of so much attention from such a pretty girl. Thinking about it later, I decided that she must have enjoyed seeing me so upset. I mean, she seemed to really care about me, but there was a definite mean streak there.

"Poor thing . . . you were really terrified, weren't you? Well, don't worry . . . I won't let anything else happen to you."

That seemed like a funny thing to hear a girl say, but it actually made me feel kinda good. "I'm better now, I guess. The night started out kinda fun at first, but not anymore." I sighed. "Girls sure have to put up with a lot of crap."

"Oh, it's not always so bad. You like it when you're with me, don't you?" Kathy held my hands in hers and gave me a long look in the eye. As upset as I'd been just a few moments before, I felt like melting right then and there.

It took a while to get me put back together, but we eventually got back and joined in the dancing as though nothing had happened. A couple of her friends asked where we'd been for so long, and when she said "None of your business," they made kissy faces at us. She thought that was pretty funny, but for some reason I felt embarrassed.

I was almost sorry when the lights went back up at eleven and we made our way to find our shoes. Kathy was able to sit down on the floor to put hers on while my short skirt prevented me from assuming such a risqué position. I had to hold onto the side of the rolled-up benches to slip them on, and then keep my back to the wall as I bent forward to fasten the buckles. After all I'd been through, I wasn't about to show my lace-covered butt to anybody else!

We made our way back to the rendezvous point, but Mom had not yet arrived. Kathy turned to me and said that a good night kiss would be awkward on the front porch in view of my mother. Her frankness caught me off guard and I was stunned when she put her arms around my waist and placed her mouth against mine.

"Ummm, your lips are so nice and soft, ‘Pamela’," she seductively cooed. "I've always wanted to kiss a pretty girl like you . . ."

As we kissed I felt her tongue parting my lips and entering my mouth. At long last, my dream was coming true! I instinctively started to gently draw that wonderfully warm, wet thing into my mouth and experienced my first French kiss. I have to admit . . . it wasn't at all like my little practice sessions in front of the dressing mirror. It felt like someone — or something — was attempting to invade my body through my mouth! How fantastic that feeling was to me!

It didn’t end there. My entire soul melted under Kathy's curious probing. She then slid her leg between mine, forcing herself further inward. Pressed up against a guardrail, I made a little cooing sound as I tried to press my knees together. I couldn't help thinking of how I'd been by Todd and Joe, and the shame I felt earlier returned. That didn't stop my date, though; she turned even more aggressive, spreading my legs apart until she was rubbing the front of my panty girdle through my dress. Burdened with my purse and bangles, I held my hands up in the air, open to her advances.

This went on for so long that I developed trouble breathing. Between the kissing and the feeling of her body against mine, I was powerless. This wasn't at all like how Todd and Joe made me feel! My passion soon built to where I felt a shudder between my legs, and I couldn’t help squeezing my legs around Kathy’s in reflex. I opened my eyes in time to see hers open. She gave a little laugh as her hand slid up my leg and pressed against the flat panel on the front of my panty girdle.

"I just love your girdle!" she said, delighted at her discovery. She rubbed the satin panel covering my front and giggled. To be fondled so intimately was shocking, I was so mortified; I thought I was going to die! "I knew it felt like something was missing down there! Ummm . . . you’re so warm right there, just like a girl should be. This is great!"

Funny thing, that. I mean, here Kathy was, saying almost exactly the same stuff about me that those two jerks said a little while before, but coming from her it was like a compliment. Boy, I was really confused, but I didn't have much time to worry about it.

Kathy pressed her lips against mine one more time and I found myself squirming helplessly from top to bottom as her hands slid freely under my dress. I couldn't help but wince when she pinched the tender skin between the tops of my stocking and my girdle.

"You don't know how many times boys have done that to me," she said with a giggle. "Now it's my turn to have some fun."

I made a little 'Ow'! sound as she pinched the vulnerable flesh again, but I didn’t do anything else; I know this sounds weird, but as much as it hurt, I almost wanted her to touch me like that all night long.

It ended as headlights swung around the turnout and my mom’s car pulled up next to us. I don’t know if she had seen us, but I would probably find out later if she had. Knees weak and hands trembling, I struggled to pull my dress into some semblance of order. When my eyes focused on Kathy, I could see the remnants of my lipstick on her mouth. Mom would probably think it was hers . . . I hoped.

It was principally Kathy and Mom talking on the ride back to her place. I was too shaken to trust myself to say anything. Kathy couldn’t have been more complementary about how I danced and acted my part that evening. She even went a little bit overboard when she told my mother that I was too pretty to have been born a boy. Talk about betraying inside information! My mother just glowed with happiness to hear such things being said about me.

When we arrived at her home, I walked her to the door, gave her a quick kiss goodnight and watched as she disappeared through the door. I got back in the car exhausted from the length of the day, and we drove home with hardly a word spoken.

As I undressed, Mom was there to help me take off and hang up my new clothes. The underwear went into the dirty clothes straightaway; I was terrified my mother would see the sticky wet stain in my panties from where Kathy had gotten me all excited.

I made a mental note to do the laundry first thing in the morning, just to make sure she didn't see what I'd done. I then creamed off my makeup for the second time in one day. With my hair finally down and in my own pajamas, I started feeling human again.

As usual, Mom quizzed me pretty thoroughly about my date. She asked me if I danced any and if Kathy and I kissed, you name it. I tried avoiding telling her everything, but the look in her eyes stopped me from lying. I confessed to the dancing and kissing, and when I admitted having a good time as 'Pamela', she responded a nod and an evil smile.

As we chatted Mom eventually asked me about Todd and Joe. That put a chill down my spine, and when I tried brushing off her question, she insisted that I tell her what happened. I couldn't believe it! It was as though she'd been spying on me the entire evening!!! When I confessed that they'd picked on me some, she got a funny look on her face. It appeared as though she was about to burst out laughing. The more she questioned me the more I confessed to her and the more knowledgeable her questions became. Eventually I spilled my guts and told her the entire story about getting caught in the hallway and molested. I had to describe everything, how my dress got pulled up, how Todd slid his hands up my bra, and how both boys rubbed me between the legs. I didn't dare admit that I'd gotten a little bit aroused when the guys touched me like that; nor did I mention how Joe had made me suck his finger. If my mom had known any of that stuff she would have never let me live it down. I'd have rather died than go through all of that! Instead, I just broke down and cried when she asked me what it was like to be touched by another boy. The tears were real enough, that's for sure. And that seemed to make her happy enough.

After my interrogation we shared a few cookies and some warm milk and then I went to bed. I was asleep before my head hit the pillow, and my dreams were as confusing and rousing as those I can ever recall.

The rest of the weekend was anticlimactic. I couldn’t get my mind off Kathy and I called and talked with her Saturday evening. She wanted to know what I was wearing and I lied and told her jeans and my baseball jersey. She said she didn’t believe me and threatened to ask my mom, who was listening in on the extension, thank you very much. I confessed that, well yes, I was still wearing a dress and a bra, too, but not the padded one I had on Friday.

"Well, sometimes Mom has me wear a training bra for reasons only she knows," I fibbed. "Pretty stupid, huh?"

"Oh, maybe a little bit," Kathy said with a giggle. "But that's all right. I like cute boys . . . in cute clothes . . ."

Kathy kept pressing me and I finally also admitted that I was still sporting my long nails, but I told her that Mom had let me change the color to a light pink. My date reassured me that she wouldn’t tattle at school and said something about liking my gentle ways.

When Sunday night came, my nail extensions were trimmed back to a near normal length, my earrings returned to my desk drawer, and my hair washed and almost restored to its former simple style (except for the bangs). By next morning I was back to being Greg.

When I got on the bus there was an empty seat waiting for me next to Kathy and a warm smile on her face. She looked really great and on that day it was she who was wearing a dress and makeup. Things were looking up. I sat down next to her and took in the clean pleasant scent radiating from her. I closed my eyes and could have been in heaven.

The days that followed almost seemed normal. Almost. Most everyone at school acted as though my dressing up for Sadie Hawkins Day wasn't that big a deal. The big problem was those jerks — like Todd and his running buddy, Joe — who wouldn't let up. I learned to endure their bullying and went on as best I could. That didn't make me like it any better. Occasionally they would get physical with me, and the humiliation was always unbearable.

"Hey, faggot, what's the hurry?" I was alone in the bathroom one day — or so I thought — and found myself confronted with the leering faces of my two tormentors. "You're not going to run out on us without saying anything, were you?"

"Um, hi, Todd . . . Joe." I quickly dried my hands and picked up my books. "Well, see you later. I, uh . . . I gotta go."

"What's the matter, fairy boy? We not good enough for you?" Todd gave me a quick punch to the stomach and then shoved me against the wall. "You liked us fine the other night." I remained doubled over for a few minutes, fighting to catch my breath, too terrified to stand up. When I finally did, I was shoved back against the wall. I remember clutching my books close to my chest to protect myself, just like I did when I was dressed as a girl.

Todd grunted. He looked at the way I was standing and laughed. "Cute. Just like a li'l fairy. Where's your lipstick and panties, faggot?"

Joe made a scary giggling sound. "Yeah, man. You looked really good the other day. Just like some pussy or something. You know, I think he is a pussy, that's what I think. Say it, faggot. Say you're a pussy!"

I wanted to say, "No, you're the pussy!" and run off, but I thought better of it. Joe didn't take well to sarcasm and I'm pretty sure he could run faster than me. So far I'd just gotten a punch in the stomach. I didn't want my teeth knocked out, or worse . . .

Impatient with my indecisiveness, Todd punched me again. This time I started crying, which got me a slap across the face, from Joe, I think. I thought for a moment about my mom and how much that felt like one of her slaps. Then I thought about what she'd think if she could see me right then. That's when I really started crying.

"Say it, crybaby. Say, 'I'm a pussy.' Say it or I'll let Joe take another whack at you."

The tall black kid flashed a toothy smile and cracked his knuckles. "I'm gonna slap me some fine fairy ass," he said with a scary laugh.

A chill went through my body. I don't think I was ever so frightened in my entire life as right then and there. "I'm . . . I'm a . . . puh- . . ." I took a deep breath. "I'm a pussy . . ."

I glanced over at Joe and saw a light of amusement in his eyes. "I'm a pussy," I said in my best sing-song voice. I hated saying "that word." It was on my mom's forbidden list — I'd gotten my face slapped severely the one time she heard me say it — and having walked more than a few miles in high heels I understood why it was so distasteful. Right then, unfortunately, was not the time to discuss any of this.

"I'm a pussy," I repeated, my voice girlishly husky and weak. "I'm a pussy . . . I'm a pussy . . . I'm a pussy . . ."

I didn't bother my mom with my troubles at school, since things between us were complicated enough. As agreed upon, I'd still have to change clothes when I got in from school each day, and there was always a list of household chores for me to do. Mom kept the fire for putting me in precarious predicaments, insisting that I wear my dresses around the house, and some lipstick and kept my hair looking nice. Every once in a while she'd take me out for a dinner or movie and the occasional shopping trip, and we'd actually have a little bit of fun, despite the awkwardness of my predicament. The important thing was how happy she was acting, knowing that I wasn't going to run off and get into mischief. I was a different child than the one who graduated from eighth grade, she said. Nothing at all like the little redneck hooligan who used to cause her so much grief.

The one thing that really bothered me, however, was how Mom seemed quite taken with the relationship I'd developed with Kathy. She quizzed me regularly about her, asking me things like did I eat lunch with her, if we were going out again soon, did we hold hands, did we kiss, stuff like that. Of course, I was thrilled to have a regular girlfriend, especially one so beautiful and fun to be around as Kathy, but to have my mother so intimately involved in that relationship was unnerving. It was embarrassing to be asked so many questions, and Mom would never let up until I gave her the answers she wanted. Lying was out of the question — I'd learned to never do that again; believe me, I hated the taste of soap! — and so I ended up telling her all about everything that went on between the two of us, no matter how uncomfortable it made me.

I guess the worst came when I realized that Mom and Kathy were talking regularly on the telephone; there's no telling how many times Kathy would call and talk with my mother as much as she did with me. When I asked either of them what they'd been talking about, all I'd get was something along the lines of "None of your business," followed by a mischievous giggle. Sometimes I felt as though they were conspiring against me. And that made me extremely nervous.

Take, for example, the day I was invited over to study at Kathy's house. Mom was quick to say yes, which wasn't at all like her; usually she let me dangle until the last minute, very often to deny me permission and leaving me to face my friends with some lame made-up excuse. Imagine my surprise when she not only said I could go, but encouraged me to do so. Of course, she couldn't let me out of her sight without fussing at me for something . . .

"I expect you to act like a proper gentlemen while you're there," I was warned. "I'll know if you aren't."

"If you mess up I'll send 'Pamela' over next time. I'm sure your little girlfriend will just love that."

Glad to be free from my mom's grasp for a while, I still wasn't out of the woods yet. I was a little apprehensive about visiting Kathy's folks, especially since the only time they'd ever seen me was in my 'Pamela' clothes. Fortunately, Mr. Wade was still at work when I got there, and Stevie was spending the night with his grandmother. That left me to deal only with Kathy's mom.

"It's so nice to have one of Kat's little boyfriends visit with us," Mrs. Wade said when she saw me sitting at the dining room table. Kathy and I were going over notes for the big science test the next day. "I am a little disappointed, though. I was hoping 'Pamela' would come visit us again."

I sat there and blushed like crazy, which only made things worse. "Um, that was just a costume, Mrs. Wade. I don't wear that stuff anymore."

"Oh, really?" The way she raised that one eyebrow gave me the shivers. It was almost like talking to my mom. "That's too bad. You make a wonderful girl, doesn't he, Kat?"

Kathy nodded. "I love Pamela," she said with a mischievous grin. "Maybe she can come out and play later."

When we were done with our lessons Mrs. Wade invited us into the kitchen for a snack. Munching on (ugh!) carrot sticks and a diet coke, I tried to make myself invisible. Kathy's mom was nice enough, but the way she looked at me really made me nervous.

"Kathy, sweetie, remember, you've got a . . ." — she cleared her throat — "a date tonight. You're supposed to leave in a couple of hours, and you've still got some chores to do."

"Oh, Mom, it's not a real date." Kathy sighed. She seemed to be trying to avoid looking at me. If I didn't know better, I'd have said she was embarrassed. "It's just a dinner for our youth group at church."

"Well, whatever you want to call it, Michael will be here at seven-thirty. That doesn't give you long to get your work done." Mrs. Wade glanced at me and rolled her eyes. "She's such a lazy girl sometimes."

I nodded my head, but my thoughts weren't on Kathy's household chore skills. The idea of my girlfriend going out with another guy (!!!!!), of course, that was what worried me. I'm sure you know what teenaged love is like; it really, really hurts when things don't go your way.

Kathy rolled her eyes. "Oh, he's nobody, just somebody from church. His dad is a friend of my dad. You wouldn't know him . . . he's a junior."

See what I mean? Here I thought I was her boyfriend, her big hero . . . the man of her dreams . . . well, that's how I saw myself, anyhow. Finding out that there was another guy in her life — a high school junior, yet! — I suddenly felt very vulnerable. I mean, I was counting on being around her to make up for all the grief I was getting from my mom, and now . . . well, how could I compete with some other guy . . .? Especially when he was two years older than me? As hard as I tried not to, I wondered what he was like. It was too depressing . . . for some reason I figured he wasn't going to show up for their date wearing lipstick and carrying a purse.

Kathy wasn't too happy right then, either; she was upset with her mom for bringing the whole thing up in front of me and she let her know it. "Mother, please, don't be rude! Gregory's here. I'll do my chores tomorrow."

Mrs. Wade's voice remained soft, but I could hear the tension "No, dear, they need to be done now. You're got laundry that needs to be done and your room is a disaster zone. All I've heard from you is 'I'll do it tomorrow, Mom, I'll do it tomorrow.' You either get on the stick and get it done right now, or you can just forget your little date. Do you understand me?"

There, she said that word again. So it was a date! My stomach felt sour as I tried imagining Kathy out with this guy. I thought I was going to start crying right there on the spot.

Kathy's mom gave her a stern look. "Sweetie, you've been putting this off since the weekend, and if you don't do them now they won't ever get done. And don't fuss at me. If you'd done like you promised you wouldn't be in this mess." Mrs. Wade glanced over at me and smiled. "Maybe you can get Gregory to help you. He's such a gentleman, I imagine he wouldn't mind helping out a little bit. Would you, darling?"

Kathy gave me that pitiful puppy dog look. "Oh, Greg, will you? It'll just take a little while, I promise. I'll be so grateful if you do."
"Well, I, uh . . .," I shuffled my feet. This was really awkward. "I . . . I guess so, if you really need the help."

She smiled. "Fantastic! Here's what we can do. I need to freshen up and change clothes for my date . . . uh, I mean, my thing tonight. Why don't you get Mom to show you how to fix some spaghetti sauce . . ." — I gave her a funny look — "Oh, that's for the church dinner tonight. I was hoping to bring either cokes or chips, but instead I got stuck with having to bring something hot."

Kathy gave me one of those wonderful smiles, the kind that made me tingle all over. "Oh, don't worry, it's real easy, sweetie. You just brown some ground beef in a pan, and mix it up with a jar of sauce and let it simmer for a little while. Nothing to it. Even a boy could do it."

I sighed. "I guess so." I didn't dare say how my mom taught me how to make spaghetti sauce from scratch. I mean, it wasn't exactly the kind of thing I wanted to be known for. I rolled my eyes. This wasn't turning out the way I expected at all.

"Thanks! After you get that started we can work together picking up my room and toss a load or two in the laundry."

A few minutes later I was put to work. A jar of sauce was produced, along with a package of ground beef and a suitable pan. So was a frilly apron. I remember thinking how it looked just like the one hanging on our kitchen door back home. The look on Mrs. Wade's face sent a chill through my soul as she held the demeaning garment out to me.

"Here, sweetie, you might want to put this on. You don't want to get your good clothes messy, do you?"

Mrs. Wade cocked an eyebrow and nodded. "Oh, I know, it's a little girly, I suppose, but that shouldn't bother someone like you."

"I'd really rather not," I said, my voice hoarse with emotion. I made up my mind and I wasn't going to back down. I mean, I was a high school freshman, right? Today I was all boy!

The smiling woman shrugged her shoulders. "Okay, it's up to you, sweetie. I just hate to see that cute outfit get spattered with tomato sauce."

I grinned and nodded. My 'cute outfit' consisted of a blue sport shirt, a pair of white jeans and a pair of matching white sneakers. For obvious reasons I loved those jeans and I adored my sneakers. I wore them every chance I could, even if it meant staying after school on extra projects and stuff. Anything to keep from having to put on those crazy outfits my mom made me wear at home. Having real pockets with real guy stuff in them and a decent zipper in the front and a pair of heavy shoes on my feet was important to me; they made me feel more like the teenage boy I worked so hard to be, a far cry from the simpering 'girl' that did laundry and collected lipsticks under my mother's watchful eye. My confidence away from home had grown such that I'd even started wearing jockeys under my school clothes instead of the regulation girdle, taking a chance on Mom's recent good will.

I looked at the offending apron and cringed. "Thanks anyway, Mrs. Wade. I'll be careful." I took the can and opened it up. "This won't be so bad," I remember thinking.

I was wrong, of course. To this day, more than thirty years later, I'm not sure if it was an accident or not, but I have my suspicions. All I know is that one minute I was fine. I was standing next to Kathy's mom and watching as she lifted the lid from the pot of sauce; suddenly there was a loud "CLANG!" and my pants were soaking wet and my skin was burning.

Mrs. Wade was horrified! She shoved me away from the stove but it was too late. I was in the middle of a disaster!

"Oh, gosh, Greg, sweetie . . .!!! I'm so sorry . . . it just slipped out of my hands. Here, you better get out of those pants . . . that sauce will stain them . . . and your shirt, too. They'll both be ruined. I am so, so sorry . . ."

I didn't quite scream like a girl, but I did holler a lot when the hot grease spattered on me. It took all I had to keep from crying as I tried to figure out what to do next.

I needn't have bothered. I remember fingers tugging at my belt, my clothes being loosened, and then standing in the kitchen in nothing but my jockey briefs and socks. Things happened so quickly I couldn't stop them. It was like being in some horrible dream . . . not unlike the ones I'd been having lately, come to think of it.

Thinking that I'd been burned by the grease and sauce, Mrs. Wade wrapped a wet rag around some ice and applied it to where my legs looked the most red. It turned out that I wasn't at all burned, just a little singed. While she rinsed my shirt and slacks out in the kitchen sink I went to the bathroom to wash my face, arms and legs. Thank goodness Kathy wasn't anywhere to be seen. I felt pretty dumb walking through her house in my underwear like that, but considering the situation, what choice did I have?

I'd just finished and was hanging up my washcloth when Mrs. Wade knocked at the door.

"Greg, dear, I am so sorry. I don't know what happened, but that darned lid just slipped out of my hand. Are you all right? You didn't get any of that hot grease in your eyes did you?"

"No, ma'am, I'm all right." I fidgeted. Kathy's mom was an imposing figure, even more so than my own mom. I had always felt uncomfortable around her, and now, standing before her in my skimpy jockeys made the situation even more awkward.

Her smile was kind of crooked as she put her hand on my naked shoulder. It took me a second to realize that her eyes were locked on my swollen breasts. Glancing down, I realized that they didn't look much like anything a "normal" boy would have, and I crossed my arms in front and shivered like I was freezing. I felt like a fly caught in a spider's web.

Mrs. Wade grinned. "Don't be so self conscious, sweetie. You're no different than anybody else in this family. It's not like I haven't seen a naked boy before, you know. Oh, look, that sauce even soaked through and ruined your undies."

I glanced down. Darn it! She was right. My briefs were tinged with orange stain where the sauce had come through. I blushed as she slipped a finger in behind the elastic waistband, pulled it out quite a ways and gave it a hard snap! The laugh she gave reminded me a lot of her daughter.

"We need to hurry up and put them in to soak, too. Here, come with me. I think I've got something to fit you."

A few minutes later I had to make a strange decision. Mrs. Wade handed me a bundle of clothing. "See if any of these fit. We can't have you running around with your bare bottom hanging out."
I looked around. We were standing in the hallway outside the master bedroom. Kathy's mom made no move to show me to a more private place; worse yet, she didn't act like she was going to leave, either.

"Don't be such a fuddy-duddy. There are two males in our family. Don't you think Kathy and I have seen either one of them in their birthday suits? Trust me, honey; you won't be the first boy who's showed their little butt in this house."

The tone of voice Mrs. Wade used on me was similar to the way she'd talked to her son the first time I met them; I suddenly felt very sorry for myself.

"Well?" The smiling woman waited patiently. It was with a great and unbearable reluctance that I slipped out of my stained jockeys and handed them to the smiling woman. It felt so weird, standing in front of her, completely naked like that; my heart raced and my face burned, I was so ashamed. It was like I was a little child waiting for permission to take a bath or something. I remember trying to decide whether to cover my breasts or my privates with my hands. I failed miserably at doing either.

Mrs. Wade gave me the hand full of clothes and I held up each item, one at a time. I couldn't believe it! There were two pairs of jockey shorts, one a boy's and the other a man's. There was also a pair of plain white girl's panties.

"You can try on Stephen's undies, if you want, along with a pair of his daddy's," Mrs. Wade said, her eyes locked on mine. "But I doubt any of those would fit. That's why I brought some of Kat's" — the smirk on her face made me wince with pain — "just in case."

I couldn't believe my ears or my eyes. "I, uh . . . well . . . I . . .," I stammered. Things were going downhill fast.

Oh, great! What a choice! Stephen's jockeys, all decorated with comic book superheroes, were obviously much too small, and Mr. Wade's, well, his were just huge. That man must have weighed three hundred pounds, and I was supposed to try on his underwear? Even if they weren't so big, they looked just gross; all threadbare and worn, they had a yellowish pallor that made my skin crawl. I shivered to think I might have to wear those ugly things.

That left Kathy's panties. I studied them for a second and realized they'd be a perfect fit. Well, a little snug, but better than the alternatives. Except for the subtle lace panel and the little embroidered flowers in the front. Hey, waita minnit! I glanced at Mrs. Wade, who was watching me like a hawk. That did it! There was no way in heck I was gonna put on my girlfriend's underwear, especially with her mom looking on! I'm not that stupid! I didn't care if I had to wear a barrel around my waist, you know, like they do in the cartoons. Dropping them on the floor, I picked up Stephen's superhero undies and bent over . . .

Well, to make a long story short, after much struggling and cursing, I got them on, barely. It was almost as bad as when my mom made me wear a girdle. No, that's not true. They were worse! Actually, they were about four sizes too small and boy did they show it! The elastic cut into my legs and the waistband kept popping down and showing my crack. They were painful to wear, to say the least, and I know they made me look just ridiculous. But I wouldn't have traded them for million dollars.

Mrs. Wade had me turn around and show her what I looked like. "You're sure you won't try on Kat's panties? I'm sure they'll make a better fit. Goodness gracious, Greg, sweetie, those little shorts are about to pop a seam."

"No thank you." I shifted uncomfortably in my borrowed briefs. "These are fine."

"Don't be silly. At least try these on. And don't give me that look! I mean, it's not like you never wore panties before."

There was also something else I didn't like the sound of. It was the word 'panties'. The way Mrs. Wade kept saying that stupid word, over and over again, made me feel so ashamed. She drew it out like it was the name of a close friend. From that moment on it was 'PANT-TEASE' this, and 'PANT-TEASE' that. Man, I hated the way she said that! I started to say something, I don't know what, but just as I started to open my mouth her eyebrow arched in a threatening manner, sending a fearful shiver through my body.

Well, needless to say, I ended up wearing the white panties. They were like I figured, a bit snug, but a heck of a lot more comfy than a pair of jockey shorts meant for a ten year old. I just wished they weren't so wispy thin and fragile; you could practically see through them and it felt like I wasn't wearing a darned thing! Worse yet, the little lace panel and yellow flowers stuck out in the front, drawing attention to my boyish member. I was mortified!

"That's so much better, don't you think? You won't mind wearing a pair of Kathy's little 'PANT-TEASE' for a little while, will you?" Mrs. Wade asked. Rather than wait for an answer, she snatched up the underwear I'd tossed aside and put them away in one of the bedrooms. She then headed toward the stairwell.

"Gregory, please, be a dear, if you would, and come help me downstairs for a moment before we get you dressed. The floor's still covered with sauce and needs to be cleaned up. I thought you wouldn't mind helping me for a minute."

"But, Mrs. Wade," I looked down at my nearly nude body. "I . . . I c-can't go downstairs . . . not like this!"

"Oh, don't worry. There's nobody down there but me. It'll just take a second, then we'll see if we can find something else for you to wear." She smiled. "We don't want to mess up another set of clothes, do we?"

I could see where Kathy got that little pouty smile from. With a huge sigh I nodded my head. Sure, why not? I thought ruefully. It can't get much worse than it already is . . .

It was just a few minutes later that I was down on all fours scrubbing the kitchen floor with a rag and a sponge and a bucket of water, still in my borrowed underwear, mind you. Talk about humiliating! Mrs. Wade said I was a good helper, but I felt more like the court jester. I mean, crawling around in a stranger's kitchen in nothing but a pair of panties . . . GEEZ! What was I thinking???

The floor was such a gross mess, it took a lot longer than I thought, between the grease, tomatoes and ground beef. I was still at it when Kathy showed up. Fresh from the shower, she was wrapped in a quilted housecoat, her hair up in a towel, looking very grownup. Like an idiot, I tried covering myself with my hands, but with a tomato sauce-soaked sponge in one hand and that nasty rag in the other it was a hopeless cause; I just gave up and kept what I was doing while she looked me over carefully and grinned.

"Is that a pair of my panties you're wearing, Gregory? You silly . . . I didn't know we were the same size. Cute bottom!"

There was that word again. Kathy, of course, pronounced it just like her mother did: PANT-TEASE. It was going to be a long evening.
Mrs. Wade came to my rescue . . . sort of. It was her fault I was in this mess, but I think she was kind of enjoying it. "Now, don't tease the poor thing. He's had hard enough time with me spilling spaghetti sauce on him and all."

"Oh, Mother, I won't tease him. Not too much," my girlfriend said with a giggle. I winced as she playfully snapped my waistband. My face and ears were so hot I'm surprised I hadn't burst into flames.

"Oh, Greg, sweetie, don't mind her," Mrs. Wade said. "I think you're doing great. Don't let her tease you like that. It's not like she hasn't seen boys in their underwear before."

Unfortunately, before I could get an answer, mother and daughter started talking amongst themselves, something about the dress Kathy had in her hand. It was like I wasn't even there. That didn't make me feel much better about myself, but at least for a few minutes I wasn't the center of attention.

"Please, Mother? I've got to wear this tonight, I've just got to. Won't you iron it? It'll just take a couple of minutes. I still have to get my hair and makeup done."

"Absolutely not! You should have put it in the dry cleaning hamper like I told you. With those pleats and creases, it takes forever to do a dress like that. You'll have to wear something else because I have my own chores to do."

"Don't 'mother' me. You could have done that earlier, but you chose not to. You should have thought all this over before inviting company over to visit."

Kathy looked like she was going to cry. I remember kneeling half naked there on the floor and thinking how unfair her mom was being. You would have thought I had enough problems of my own, but it really hurt me to see her like that. I guess that's why I had to go and open up my big mouth.

"Um, K- . . . Kathy? I . . . I know how to iron." I don't know why I said anything. Just chalk it up to being an idiot, I guess.

"You do? Really?" My girlfriend's eyes lit up. I could have told her I'd pitched a no-hitter and she would have been no more impressed. "Could you do my dress?"

"Sure. I guess." I shrugged. "I do my . . . um, my mom's. At home, I mean. All the time."

Kathy looked so happy I thought she would bust. I got to my feet and washed my hands in the sink. When I was done she handed me the wadded up dress and gave me a smile that made me warm all over. For a moment I forgot my ridiculous situation, believe it or not. "You are so sweet, Greg. I really mean it. Most boys can't even spell 'iron.' But you're different. You're the absolute best! I don't know what I'd do without you!"

Standing there like a lump on a log, I blushed like crazy. "Oh, sure. Happy to do it." I looked down at the garment in my hands. I remember thinking how I would have ironed a hundred dresses just like it, if I thought it would have made her just as happy.

I then glanced over and saw Mrs. Wade smiling at me. The gleam in her eyes brought me back down to earth.

It took a little while to get the ironing done, longer than I expected. Well, actually, it felt like an eternity, considering how I STILL DIDN'T HAVE ANY PANTS ON!!! Other than that things were just fine. That stupid dress had a hundred pleats in it, and I had to take extra care to get them done just right. The tricks I learned under my mom's tutelage proved handy, resulting in a professional job so impressive that it got me additional requests from Mrs. Wade; the next thing I knew a basket full of wrinkled clothes was set at my feet, skirts, blouses, dresses and slips. All that, plus a promise of more to come.

"You don't mind, do you, sweetie?" she said. Her words were pleasant enough, but the tone of her voice said "You don't have any choice, sissy-boy!" "You are such a darling! I can't get the children in this house to do anything!"

I was still plugging away when Kathy came downstairs in her shoes and slip and put on the dress I'd just done for her.

"Wow, this looks great, Greg! Where did you learn to do this? It looks better than when the dry cleaners do it."

"Thanks," I mumbled shyly. Kathy looked so grown up, so beautiful in her freshly ironed outfit and high heels. Seeing her like that triggered a need for me to take stock in myself; standing there in my borrowed panties and nothing else, I felt so very vulnerable . . . and so very stupid.

"Did you see this, Mom? Doesn't it look good? Having Greg around is like having my own personal maid," she said with a grin. "You can't get any luckier than that!"

The kitchen echoed with giggles. Being teased like that in front of my girlfriend certainly didn't make me feel any better. I realized that this little game had gone much, much too far, a lot further than I'd thought it ever would have. I looked at the pile of clothes that needed to be ironed and I thought about how long it was going to take to get them all done. I gotta get out of here! I thought desperately.

I started to ask if my clothes were ready when for the umpteenth time Mrs. Wade interrupted.

"Kathy, before you go, did you get your room picked up like I asked? The bed needs changing and that pile of clothes has been on the floor for almost a week now."

Mrs. Wade wasn't pleased. "Sweetie, you heard what I said a little while ago. Either get it done or just plan on staying home."

Kathy sighed. I could tell she was frustrated. Who wasn't? I mean, it wasn't like I didn't have problems of my own. I fidgeted as she glanced at her watch, and then turned toward me. A hole formed in the pit of my stomach.

"It's getting late . . . so I was wondering . . . maybe Greg will help me out. Will you, sweetheart? Won't you? Just this once?"

Shuffling around a bit more under her gaze, I crossed one arm over my bare chest and used my free hand cover the little bump in the front of my panties. My whole body was burning like I had a fever. Couldn't she see what an awful spot I was in? I found myself wishing I hadn't even gotten up that morning. Still, it was awful hard to ignore that pitiful face.

"I . . . I guess . . . I guess I can help . . . a little . . . I guess . . ." I said softly. I'd have rather jumped out the window, but I was too much of a coward to do even that.

Mrs. Wade spoke up, surprisingly. She shook her finger at me, but her words were meant for her daughter. "Don't let her take advantage of you, Gregory. You do this and she'll just treat you like hired help. That girl needs to take responsibility for herself. Don't let her turn you into her little maid."

I didn't like the sound of all that maid talk; it reminded me too much of how my mom treated me. At the same time I tried to act like it wasn't that big a deal. Kathy wanted me to do something for her, and that was important to me. "It's okay. Really, I don't mind. I just wish I had some pants on."

Kathy was so excited to hear me agree that she promptly ignored my request. Instead, she jumped up and down like a big ol' kangaroo, hugged me and gave me a kiss on the cheek.

My girlfriend scampered back upstairs to finish getting ready for her date while I shivered in my borrowed panties and grinned a stupid, helpless grin.

Before I got started on this next batch of chores Mrs. Wade had enough courtesy to try and put an end to my embarrassment. The key word being "try." A pair of Kathy’s jeans was produced and I gratefully pulled them on . . . only to find that they didn't fit. It turned out that while she was slightly taller than me, I had the bigger butt; I couldn't even get the stupid things up over my hips, much less try and zip them up. A pair of shorts proved to be equally useless. We didn't even bother with any of Stephen's or his dad's.

With no other options left to me, I wanted to put on the clothes I'd originally worn but was told that they were "still soaking."

"That nasty old grease and tomato sauce will permanently stain your nice clothes if we don't get it out right away," Mrs. Wade explained. "Don't worry about what you look like, sweetie. Nobody cares if you run around in your undies, do we, Kat?" Her daughter tossed me a coy look and shook her head. I could have sworn I heard a giggle. "See? Just be patient. We'll think of something."

It was beginning to look like I was doomed to spending the rest of the afternoon running around in nothing but my borrowed pant-tease. Thank goodness, though, rather than leave me completely helpless, Mrs. Wade handed me a bundle of white cloth; it turned out to be the same frilly apron I'd refused to wear earlier. I held it up and winced as I saw what I was getting myself — literally! — into.

"This ought to do until your clothes are done," she said with a wink. "Oh, don't give me that pouty face. This isn't so bad. You look very sweet."

"Nonsense. That's the kind of talk that gets you in trouble. I would have thought your mother taught you that already." Her voice sounded like it did when she was fussing at Kathy a few minutes earlier. "Of course, if you'd done as I said and put that on earlier today, you wouldn't be in this mess, would you? You might want to iron it before you put it on, sweetie. No reason for it not to look pressed and neat."

I sighed. This is crazy! Why ME? The funny thing is Mrs. Wade was right. Maybe, just maybe if I'd used my head and put on that dumb apron when she said I wouldn't have lost my pants. None of that made me feel any better, though. All I could do was nod and do as I was told. I mean, what else could I do? I sure couldn't run away!

Spreading the apron out on the ironing table, I could see that it was a rather simple design, made of white cotton with a belt around the waist and decorative ruffles along the edges. Even with a generous dose of spray starch applied, it didn't take a second for me to press. I held the freshly ironed garment up for a second and thought about what I should do next. It didn't seem that I had much choice. As I slipped it on and tied off the bow in the back, I realized this wasn't much different than some of the short sundresses my mom made me wear around the house; a single strap around the back of my neck held up the top, the puffy bodice pretty well covered my nude chest, and a full flared skirt wrapped around the tops of my legs and the back enough to conceal — just barely! — my panty-covered bottom. Imagine a fourteen year old boy wearing a little girl's play dress, that's what I looked like. I felt a familiar twitch under the cotton cloth as I realized what kind of huge sissy Mrs. Wade probably thought I was.

A frightening though suddenly occurred to me. I wonder if she treats Stevie this way? The thought of what he probably went through made my skin crawl. Poor kid.

"Well, hello, Pamela!" Mrs. Wade beamed as I turned around and revealed my new look. Like I said before, she made me kinda uncomfortable, the way she was always looking at me and all, but at least she acted nice. "Nice of you to join us. That apron looks just perfect on you . . . it's almost like a little dress, don't you think?"

I nodded and mumbled something about wishing I had on pants instead. "I feel goofy."

"Well, no wonder. Why don't you slip out of those ugly old boy socks? There, that's better, don't you think?"

"How long am I going to have to wear this?" I plucked at the bodice and crossed my arms over my breasts. This was too much like a dress for me to even think about being comfortable. "Can't I at least have a shirt or something?"

Mrs. Wade gave me one of those winks, you know, like she knew something I didn't know. "Oh, don't be such a baby. What you're wearing now is no different than what you were wearing the first time I saw you."

Well, she was right about that. Not knowing what to say, I just pouted and shrugged. Man, this stinks! I thought to myself.

While Kathy's mom chattered on I reluctantly went back to my ironing. I prayed for a miracle to put me out of my misery, an earthquake, alien invasion, forest fire . . . anything! Half an hour later she was still talking while I put the finishing touches on the last item. If I'd been left alone I probably would have cried, but Mrs. Wade kept me company the entire time as though nothing unusual was going on, and I'd grit my teeth and wish I was somewhere else.

When I was done Kathy's mom looked over my handiwork. "Everything looks just great, sweetie. I ought to have you come over and visit more often." The smiling woman chuckled. "Kathy's upstairs if you want to give her a hand on her room. Be careful, she'll work you like a slave if you let her."

After checking on my school clothes — "They are still soaking. Be patient, silly boy!" — I went up to Kathy's room. I felt a small wave of relief to find that she wasn't there. But man, what a mess! Mrs. Wade was right; I mean, it was it a disaster area! I never knew girls could be such slobs! The bed was unmade, used dishes were on the nightstand and dirty clothes were scattered everywhere. All that, plus there was a layer of dust on the shelves. It was almost as bad as my room used to be . . . before my mom made me change my ways, I mean.

I was in the middle of making up the bed when my sort-of-girlfriend came into the room. Kathy had just finished with her makeup and she looked really gorgeous! I, on the other hand, looked like what I was; a boy doing girl's work. The expression on her face when she saw me making her bed was priceless, and when she realized what I was wearing, well, that was even better . . . or worse, depending on your point of view.

"Hi, cutie! Wow, that old apron looks great on you! I always thought it was too frilly, but it looks just like something 'Pamela' would wear. It kind of makes you look like a real live maid! I love it!" She flipped up the back of the skirt and giggled. "Not every girl has such a cute boy to help out around the house, you know."

"Please, don't make fun . . .," I whimpered softly. Compared to how beautiful she looked in her dress and makeup, I felt like such a little kid. Things just weren't working out right. "I couldn't help it. We couldn't find anything else for me to wear."

"Oh, that's all right, Sweetheart. You don't need anything else. I wish you dressed like that all the time. We could have so much fun together!"

Instead of just standing there like a goof, I finished making the bed and straightening up as best I could, anything to take my mind off my woes. Kathy watched me for the longest time, making the occasional teasing remark and going on incessantly about how great it was to have a housekeeper around to help out with her chores. All along I cussed myself for getting into such a painful situation.

At one point she must have figured out I was really uncomfortable. I remember her touching me on the shoulder and when I turned to see what she wanted, she had the biggest smile on her face.

"You are such a good friend, Greg, you know that? I mean, I just want you to know how much I appreciate everything you're doing for me. Not only are you my best boy friend, but you're the perfect little boy maid, too!" I was kneeling at the foot of her bed gathering up the pile of soiled underthings I found there. With that stupid apron and all that lace and that puffy skirt, I probably looked like a maid; all I needed was one of those stupid lace hats and a feather duster. "If the other girls at school ever find out how good you are at this, they might try and steal you away from me!"

"What about this Mike guy? Is he just a friend?" I tried to sound indignant, but considering the circumstances that was pretty much a waste of time.

Kathy laughed. "Who, Michael? Oh, don't let him bother you, sweetheart. He's just some silly boy from church. He asked me to go to this dinner with him and Mom, well, she likes me to spend time with lots of people, you, know, to make friends? He's nothing special," she said with a sing-song voice. "Not like you."

I remember getting a kiss on the forehead and a pat on the cheek. Great, I lamented. Now I'm not her 'boyfriend', I'm just her 'boy friend'! Oh, and her maid, too! And what if she tells her friends about what I'm doing? I'll never be able to show my face in school again! Stupid, stupid, stupid! Why can't things ever work out my way . . .?

A few minutes later I bumped into Mrs. Wade in the upstairs bathroom. I had a small bundle of dirty clothes in my hand; I wondered what she thought about me doing her daughter's laundry, but she didn't even blink. Instead, she chatted away about what a great job I was doing while I sorted everything out. Out of habit I put the lingerie in the sink to soak while the jeans, shorts and other outerwear were set aside for the machine. The dresses and things made from more delicate material would be put in later in the 'gentle' cycle. It wasn't until I was spot spraying the lingerie that I realized I might have gone too far.

"Such a good boy," Mrs. Wade said. "I wish I had the time to hand wash my panties and bras, but there just aren't enough hours in the day. If I said it once I said it a dozen times, you're going to make someone a wonderful wife some day. Your mother is so very lucky to have a such a thoughtful helper!"

I looked down at the soapy underwear in my hand. Dammit! I'd gotten so carried away, I'd forgotten where I was. This is just great, I thought ruefully. She's talking to me and here I am trying to get the stain out of the crotch of these panties . . . Geez, I think they're Kathy's, too! Man, now Mrs. Wade probably thinks I'm some kind of pervert or something!

"Here, sweetie, put some elbow grease in it." Kathy's mom acted as though this was something we did all the time. She added a bit more spot remover while I scrubbed harder on the offending stain. "Good, that's it. You'll never get them clean if you don't work at it."

As bizarre as all this seemed, I kept at it. What else could I do? Kathy's mom chattered on while I finished up the lingerie without saying a word, my ears and face burning hot with embarrassment. I guess I was hoping things would "be right" if I just kept my mouth shut.

Once the lingerie was done and hanging on the shower rod, I went downstairs and started the first load in the washing machine. I thought I'd get to take a break, but then I found another pile of ironing waiting for me. I started to say something, but when I saw Mrs. Wade holding out a diet coke for me, I just took it and forced myself to smile.

I was at it for an eternity, hating every minute of it. This wasn't at all what I'd planned when I came over to visit. Instead of doing boyfriend/girlfriend things like holding hands and maybe kissing a little bit with Kathy, I was doing her chores for her. Heck, I was doing everybody's chores for them, and looking like a complete fool in the process! Man, it was bad enough that I had to do this stuff at home, but doing it in someone else's house was pure torture. Funny thing . . . Mrs. Wade warned me about Kathy working me hard, but she was the one who kept giving me all this stuff to do, for whatever reason I couldn't imagine. All I knew was that I didn't think I was ever going to get out of there.

I was alone in the kitchen washing dishes when Kathy came in and slipped her arms around my waist, which about gave me a heart attack. She thought that was hilarious. The next thing I knew, she was hugging me from behind, pressing her chest up against my bare back and kissing me along the back of the neck and in my ear. All of this was new to me and I melted under this combined assault on my senses. I also felt a dreadful tingling under my apron as an unwanted erection rose up out of nowhere. With my hands all soapy and stuff, I was pretty much helpless as she gently bit my earlobe and giggled.

"I see my little maid is still hard at work. Maybe you ought to come over more often. I can always find something for you to do, you know."

"Kathy, please, this is bad enough . . .," I whined. My nose itched and my feet were cold and I didn't feel much like playing her silly game. Thank God Mrs. Wade wasn't around to watch . . . at least I didn't think she was.

"Aren't you having fun? I know I am!" I could feel her pulling the bow at the back of my apron loose. "You know what else would be fun? How about if I undid your little dress here so I could admire your pretty PANT-TEASE? What would you say about that?"

"Kathy, no . . ." I pulled my hands from the dishwater and looked around for a towel. I wanted to tie the sash back before anything happened . . . but it was too late!

I could feel her hands slip under the apron and around my waist. I froze as teasing fingers then slid under the elastic band of my panties. Correction, make that her panties!

"Or what if I wanted to see your bare bottom?" My entire body went rigid with fear as the flimsy underpants were pulled down over my hips and below my cheeks. I could feel cool air on my naked butt. Despite my fear, a tingling of pleasure shot through my hardened penis. I could feel it poking out against the front of my apron. I clenched my legs together to stop it, but it was in vain. This wasn't right . . . not right at all!

I shivered as Kathy's warm breath tickled my ear. Imagine my shock as a long, wet tongue slipped inside, sending a surge of delight through my body. "Best yet, 'Pamela' . . . what would you think if my mom saw you like this? Two girls hugging and kissing in the kitchen. What do you think she'd say about that?"

This was my worst nightmare coming true. I didn't know whether to scream, cry, runaway . . . or all three at the same time. I cleared my throat and whispered "Please . . . Kathy, no-o-o-o-o-o . . ."

Kathy's voice suddenly took on a different tone. A deeper, more frightening voice whispered in my ear. "What are you going to do about this, pretty boy? Are you going to cry for me? Want me to call your mommy?"

A sharp SLAP!!! on my bare bottom punctuated the question. I was shocked. I mean, she hit me so hard it actually hurt!

"No, Kathy . . . I want to . . . OUCH!!!" I squirmed as a pair of sharp fingernails poked and then pinched my bare bottom. The next day I'd have a horrible bruise on my left cheek.

The sound of high heels click-clacking coming down the stairwell put an end to my girlfriend's little game. I sighed with relief as she pulled her hands from under my apron and backed away. I quickly tugged my underpants back up, forgetting that my hands were still covered with soap suds.

"See what you made me do," I complained. There's nothing I hate more than wet panties. Yuck!

Kathy giggled. "Relax, girlfriend . . . I'm not going to let anything bad happen to you. I was just having a little fun. You'd don't mind if I have a little fun with you, do you?"

The click-clacking stopped somewhere in the front of the house. Kathy stepped back behind me and pulled the back of my apron back together. I gasped for air as the sash was suddenly snapped so tight it felt like I was being cut in half.

"Oh, don't be such a crybaby." I could feel her tying it off. I tried to reach around and undo it, or at least loosen it a bit, but I got my hands slapped. "Stop that. You'll mess up the bow. Oh, go ahead, but it won't do any good. I tied it in a knot."

I took a deep breath and tried to raise a fuss, but it didn't do much good. Boys in panties don't get taken very seriously, it seems. Kathy smiled as though everything was just fine.

"This isn't funny! How would you like it if somebody pulled on your underwear? What if somebody did this stuff to you?"

"Oh, hush! We were just having a little fun. Besides, you loved it and you know it. Don't lie to me. There's nothing a boy likes more than to have some girl put her hands down his pants.

Yeah, pants, not PANT-TEASE! I thought bitterly. Still, she had a point. It wasn't that bad. I just wished I could have done some touching of my own.

Before I could say or do anything else Kathy put her finger to her lips, warning me to be quiet. The click-clacking started up again, and then stopped. Her mom was in the bathroom down the hall; I could hear her singing and humming away as she did her business. Kathy produced a dish towel out of nowhere and handed it to me.

"Quick," she said, her face beaming with mischief, "Dry yourself off. We need to play a joke on my mom." She then tossed her purse on the kitchen table and giggled. "There's a lipstick and some mascara in there. There should be some eyeliner, too. If you sit down and put that on, I'll do your hair real quick. She'll be here in a few minutes . . . hurry up!"

"Oh, sure it is. It'll be neat. Don't worry about Mom saying anything bad or anything like that. She'll just think you're really creative when she sees just how quickly you turned from 'Greg' to 'Pamela’. Trust me, it'll be fun!" She gave me a quick kiss on the lips. "I wouldn't lie to you, sweetheart . . . not about that . . ."

By the time we were done I looked like a different person. My eyes were just huge and my lips shone brilliant vermilion. Thanks to Kathy my hair was brushed up and then pulled into a little bun tied with an elastic band atop my head; my bangs, of course, were combed out over my eyes, tickling my eyelashes each time I blinked. I could barely take my eyes from the little mirror in my hand — I looked just like I belonged in my little maid's apron, a lot more than I did in my baseball uniform, that's for sure!

"Perfect!" Kathy squealed. "Oh, Greg, you're so cute when you make yourself up like that! I wish you could come with us tonight. Nobody would ever guess who you really were! We could have so much fun!"

Looking down at my lace trimmed apron, I tugged the hem down around my legs and swallowed. "That's probably not a good idea," I whispered hoarsely.

Kathy grinned. "Well, it is a school night. Maybe next time," she said with a wink.

When Mrs. Wade came into the room a few minutes later she noticed the change in my appearance right away. I was mortified as she made the biggest fuss over me. She seemed sincere as she complimented me on what a good job I'd done on my makeup, especially my eyes. While Kathy took credit for my hair, she made sure her mom knew I'd done my mouth and eyes myself, which gave me mixed emotions. I knew I shouldn't have been looking so feminine, every fiber in my body told me that was a mistake, but I couldn't help feel a bit of pride . . . just a little bit. I mean, with Kathy and Mrs. Wade praising me so much, it only seemed natural. I couldn't believe I actually liked being the center of so much positive attention.

"There's just one thing missing," the laughing woman commented. Kicking off her shoes, she motioned for me to slip them on. "We can't have our little maid running around barefoot. It wouldn't be proper."

I hesitated, of course, but Kathy pushed me into going through with it. They were high heels, of course, a hair too big, but close enough. I stepped into them with the expertise of a high school girl, shifted my weight . . . and looked up to see two smiling faces.

If I thought Kathy and her mom liked me before, now they were gushing with compliments and praise as I click-clacked about in my new shoes. Mrs. Wade's enthusiasm was very hard to take as it seemed that I couldn't make a move without her saying something about how 'cute' and 'ladylike' I was. I could have run and hid, I suppose, but I forced myself to give up worrying about looking foolish and to instead accept the fact that I was bringing a little pleasure to some people who genuinely liked me.

"I've never seen a boy with such good looking legs," Mrs. Wade exclaimed. "Such a waste on a boy. If you were my child I'd make sure you showed them off every chance you got."

I sighed. I guess this isn't too bad, I thought to myself. I mean, it's all just for fun, right? Nobody's gonna make a big deal out of this later . . . I hope.

I felt kinda silly when Kathy started pushing me to show off for her mom. "Oh, here, put on another coat of lipstick. Watch, Mother . . . Greg does such a good job at it. He looks like such a girl the way he handles the lipstick tubes and does his lips. Don't you think he looks cute doing that?"

"He's a doll, all right." Mrs. Wade smirked one of those heart-wrenching smirks, the kind that said "Let's see you get out of this one, buddy-boy!"

I was putting on a third coat of lipstick when the doorbell rang. It took me a second to figure out what was going on, and when I did I about had a heart attack! A quick glance at the kitchen clock showed it was seven twenty-five. Dammit! I'd been so worried about being trapped in this mess I'd lost track of the time; it had been three-thirty when I'd arrived . . . I'd been there, what . . . four hours??? Oh, man, what's my mom going to say when I get home? Things weren't looking too good, that was for danged sure.

In the meantime I had more pressing problems. The last thing on earth I wanted was to meet Kathy's date — 'Michael' — face to face, especially in my stupid 'maid' costume. I'm sure he'd be impressed to see another guy, especially a high school freshman, dressed like some sort of prissy fag, and I didn't think my heart could take the abuse that would follow. Following everybody into the living room, I started to dash for the stairs, but Mrs. Wade answered the door before I could make it. The front door opened just as I darted back into the kitchen. I thought I'd be safe there. WRONG! A mixture of male and female voices moved toward me and out of desperation I hid in the laundry room. I pulled the flimsy louvered door closed and moved as far into the closet-sized area as possible, praying desperately that I was out of the line of fire.

Man, how can this be happening? Why is it always me getting in these kinds of situations?

In the kitchen I could hear Kathy and her mom chatting away with someone, most definitely male, from the sound of his voice. To say that I was scared to death was a drastic understatement. I was TERRIFIED!!! At one point I thought they were standing right there at the door to the laundry room and I almost gave away everything by sobbing out loud. Imagine a fourteen year old boy hiding in a closet, dressed in panties and apron and high heels. Not a pretty sight, if you know what I mean. With Kathy and her mom and this "Michael" guy just a few feet away, I didn't dare move an inch for fear of giving myself away, especially with those click-clacking shoes on. I was scared to even breathe.

This went on forever! Each time I thought they were about to leave, either Kathy or Mrs. Wade would start the conversation up again, and I found myself succumbing to the most tedious torture you can imagine. The continual chit-chatting and laughing and lingering went on and on . . . it just about drove me crazy! Caught in the laundry room like a mouse in a cage, I passed the time trying to think what I should say if I happened to be discovered. It didn't do any good; half naked and with my face and hair made up like a prom queen, nothing I could say would be good enough. This was almost as bad as those stupid dreams I was having.

After a while there were some noises that sounded like people were leaving. I remember hearing a deep boy's voice — almost a man's voice, actually — say "Later, Mrs. Wade." Kathy's mom replied with a lilting, "Have fun, children." The front door slammed and then it was over.

It wasn't but a few seconds later that the laundry room door was flung open. Mrs. Wade stood grinning at me.

"You can come out of the closet now, sweetie. They're gone." She nodded to the kitchen window. "If you hurry you can get a look at Kathy's date. I was wondering if you might recognize him from school."

I waited a moment, mulling over her suggestion. I didn't want to do it, but curiosity took hold. I minced over to the window and peeked out between the blinds. I couldn't believe I was doing this. Spying on my girlfriend, I mean. It turned out to be a pretty rotten idea, too, I guess. Kathy stepped off the porch, hand in hand with her date, laughing and chatting away like I didn't even exist. I recognized Michael, having seen him practicing with the high school football team. I couldn't help but cringe. He was huge, big enough to be a senior, a real jock type with a crew cut and a square jaw. My belly felt queasy as when I saw how Kathy's face lit up as he said something to her; in response she stood up on her tiptoes, closed her eyes and gave him a little-too-friendly kiss on the mouth. For an instant I could have sworn she looked right at me as she pulled away from the kiss and got into the car. Needless to say, this was one of the lowest points in my young life.

"Do you know him?" Mrs. Wade woke me from my self pity party. I suddenly felt extremely foolish, peeking through the blinds, still dressed in my frilly housekeeping clothes. Too ashamed to say anything, I nodded. She raised an eyebrow and returned the nod. "Well, are you about done?"

"I . . . I guess so." I didn't feel much like talking right then. "I was just curious, that's all.”

"No, I mean with your chores. The upstairs bedroom looks pretty good, and the ironing is just fine. But it looks to me like you still have some dishes to do."

I glanced at the sink filled with plates. I figured with Kathy gone I didn't have any more chores to do. I guess I was wrong. "Yes, ma'am," I said with a sigh.

It took me a while to get the dishes finished up, mostly 'cause Mrs. Wade kept bugging me. I didn't feel like talking much, but she was pretty talkative, not to mention persistent. She bounced the conversation back and forth, throwing me off guard with the most embarrassing questions. I think it tickled her when I finally admitted that I was jealous of Michael's relationship with Kathy.

"Oh, don't you worry about Kat. She likes you . . . a lot. I happen to know that for a fact. Kat likes boys who . . . well, boys like you." She gave me one of those looks again. "Don't you fret about Michael . . . he's is just part of some passing phase. He's not really her type, but she wants to date around a bit. You know how girls are, as flighty as butterflies."

The interrogation continued and I had to answer more questions, about how I got along with my mom and my dad and how I came to meet Kathy. Mrs. Wade didn't bat an eyelash when I confessed that it wasn't exactly my idea to attend Sadie Hawkins Day as a girl. She kept pressing me so hard I even let it out how my mom occasionally 'encouraged' me to do girlish things around the house. That brought a peculiar smile to her face, along with a quiet "I figured it was something like that."

It was long past dark outside when I was finally finished with my chores. I stood by patiently as Mrs. Wade went over her mental list of things for me to do, and only when she said "Well, I guess you're done," did I feel any relief. A glance at the clock showed that I was probably going to catch hell from my mom.

Looking down at my frilly attire, I realized that I couldn't go home until I changed my clothes. I'd been trying to tell Mrs. Wade all evening that I needed my school clothes back, and they were still nowhere to be seen. At long last I found them, stuck in a washtub on the back porch, soaking in a nasty mixture of soap, water and tomato sauce.

Oh, God, no . . . I can't go home like this! What's Mom going to say? Oh, please, let this be a bad dream . . .

Nearly in tears, I talked Mrs. Wade into calling my mom for me and explaining what happened. I was scared, of course, of what my mom would do when she found out what happened; I knew from experience that I wasn't too old for a whipping or a slap in the face . . . or worse!

It turned out that the two women got along just great, and they chatted for nearly twenty minutes. I remember standing before Kathy's mom for what seemed like forever, impatiently waiting for the inevitable verdict. I didn't know which was worse . . . looking like a fool or to keep having to wait for people to let me do what I needed to do.

At long last it was decided that Mrs. Wade would drive me home, and she sent me to wring out my sodden and stained clothes and put them in a bucket. When I asked her what I was going to wear in the car, to my horror she insisted that I should keep on my improvised 'dress', saying that it didn't look 'that bad'.

"Keep the sash cinched tight like that and it'll stay together in the back, just like a cute skirt. If you're really careful when you get in and out of the car nobody will see your bottom. Oh, wipe that frown off your face! We're just going out to the car and then to your house. Nobody's going to see you, and if they do they won't care. With your face and hair like that you look just like one of Kat's cute little girlfriends. I don't know why you're so worried . . . it's not like you haven't gone out in girly clothes before."

The one concession — if you want to call it that — was that it was so cold out that I got to wear a sweater over my 'dress'. Mrs. Wade got one from Kathy's room — a soft black one with pearl buttons — and when I slipped it on even I had to admit that I looked more like a girl than any boy I knew; actually, combined with my frilly apron, I thought it kind of made me look like a maid, just like in some movie or something. I wasn't going to say anything to my guardian, of course, especially since I felt a familiar tingling down between my legs again; for some reason just thinking about the absurdity of my situation made me warm all over. I could feel my cheeks get burning hot, and I had to think extra hard to keep my erection from poking out and showing through the front of my apron.

The ride home was swift and painless. I sat quietly while Mrs. Wade chattered on like she'd done the entire time I'd been with her, plucking at my borrowed sweater and praying that we didn't get a speeding ticket or have a wreck. In either case I was ready to die, just so I wouldn't have to face any of my friends while dressed like a total idiot.

My mother was waiting for us at the front door when we arrived home. You can imagine the smile on her face as I clip-clopped up the sidewalk and onto the porch. In one hand I held my school books and in the other the little pail with my dirty clothes. I was so ashamed I couldn't even look her in the face.

"Have a little accident, did we?" she said. I held up the bucket and shrugged. "And those are your favorite jeans, too, aren't they? Oh, well, too bad."

I sighed. I'd expected her to say something like that. It didn't make it any easier to hear, of course. At least she was being pleasant about the situation.

The rest of the evening was pure torture. Mrs. Wade was invited inside for a cup of coffee, which, of course, I was told to fetch. Mumbling and grumbling, I did as I was ordered. When I minced back into the living room with a tray bearing two cups and a pot the smiles I faced were as blinding as stage lights. I found myself sitting between the two women while Mrs. Wade recounted the evening's events. I'd wanted to go upstairs and go to bed, but Mom insisted.

"No, sit here with us for a bit. Mrs. Wade is telling some stories on you. You need to hear this."

"Oh, Gregory, don't be such a sour puss," Mrs. Wade said with a laugh. "He's been like that most of the evening, but I caught him smiling more than once. Don't let that ugly frown fool you, Margaret. I think your little sweetie likes playing the girl more than he lets on."

"I know. We went through this all last summer. He puts on a big front, but I know he loves it. You can tell it just by looking at him." I blushed as Mom examined my new costume. "This is definitely a new look for you, sweetie. Maybe we're on to something here. What do you think? We can get you all sorts of jobs as a maid after school. You can even do this next summer, too, and make some extra spending money. In fact," — I braced myself it — "this could be the start of a whole new career for 'Pamela’. Who needs college?"

While my two captors chatted I reflected on the irony of my predicament. In a twisted sort of way it made sense. Mom always treated me like a maid, so it made sense that I become one. I mean, if she had her way, I'd get a job cleaning houses in the neighborhood and probably never leave home. She'd just love that. Not that I'd much like it, of course. I knew from experience that I wasn't expected to like anything she did to me. I just had to endure it . . . no matter how demeaning or confusing it was. And judging from the smile on my mother's face, life was slowly but surely becoming a heck of a lot more complicated. More than I could even begin to imagine.