From alt.sex.stories.tg Sun Jun  2 23:59:00 1996
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~From: LabRat@i-link.net (Karen Mitchell)
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~Subject: Story - Leslie.txt (Yes, THAT Leslie Story)
~Date: Thu, 30 May 1996 14:05:09 -0500
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I did not write this and you must be 18 or over to read it as it may
contain a great deal of adult explicit sexuality.  If this is
offensive do not read - delete file.  For those of us who enjoy ....
enjoy!  Please do not ask for files by e-mail - I can barely keep up
with what I have now. 

***From FEMINET

                           Petticoated Male
                            By Nan Gilbert

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

	"A corset!"  Leslie exclaimed in disbelief.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

	"But I thought..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

	"Marie, please!" he begged.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

	"Why not?"  Mrs. Jones finally asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

	"But Mademoiselle is a boy!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

	"Come in!"

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

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

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

	"Yes, Miss Staylace!" he stammered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

	"Yes, Ma'am!"

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

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

	"Janie!"  Leslie blurted without thinking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

	"Of course," Marie said sincerely.

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

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

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

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

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

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

	"Aunty, please!"  Leslie whispered in confusion.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

	"Poor Leslie," Marie said, ruefully.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

	"Please, Marie," Leslie pleaded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

	"Yes, doctor, this is he."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


