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Becoming A Girl Model For Sister - Part 2
🕑 Added 2020-08-19 13:12:53 +0000 UTCUpstairs, Paula was waiting. "About time you got up here," she said, "I was ready to run down to get you!"
"Sorry, Paula, a great masterpiece cannot be rushed," Amy retorted.
Now imagine this: a nearly nineteen-year-old male in the underwear of a girl, approximately twelve or thirteen, surrounded by very pretty females, all in their twenties. My erection must have been obvious!
"Okay, Dave, take off your training bra and lay down on the bed, face-up please," Paula requested, "I’m going to put a more realistic breast form on you."
I did as she asked, and watched as she smeared a tube of a clear, jellylike substance on my chest. When there was a coating across the whole chest, she carefully placed the form on the covering, pressing slightly. Paula then wiped the whole form with a damp cloth, pressing all around the edge, making sure it was smooth. The very slight excess that oozed out was quickly removed.
"Lay quietly for a few minutes while the adhesive sets," were her instructions.
I glanced down at the chest projections that were so life-like they scared me. "Emm, Paula, how long will that stuff hold," I nervously asked.
"Three months, but don’t worry, I have the adhesive remover available at home."
A good place to have it – I’m here; the remover out there, somewhere.
Paula pushed and pulled on the forms slightly, finally pronouncing, "Well, they won’t come off for a while." Producing a tube of some more stuff, she squeezed a bit around the edge of the form, then, using her fingers, she blended the form into the skin.
"Now, the fun part! We dress for you."
Two of the girls helped me first into a sitting position, then up. Paula searched the bags, found a second training bra, and proceeded to put it on me. At least it would be with the right side out!
Next, I had to sit on the bed to put the white knee-hi’s on. I did as Paula instructed, following along with the stockings. The feel of nylon stockings on my legs was a lot different from cotton socks. A pair of white satin pettipants, which had three carefully added rows of floral lace sewn at two-inch intervals around the leg extensions, followed.
"In the olden days, these would be pantalets," Paula informed me, pulling them up around my waist.
Her perfume was intoxicating, and I had a hard time (yes, pun intended) keeping control of myself.
A white lace camisole, then three petticoats with floral lace hems completed the underwear. I could just imagine the effect the lace peeking out under a beautiful dress would have on a man. I ran my hand over the soft garments and felt a shock – static electricity, or was it something more? Before today, even before this moment, I had absolutely no idea how nice it would be to wear such wonderful things.
"Oh God (or should that now be Goddess?), Paula, I feel so different!"
"Great! I’m so very happy for you," Paula said. She walked over and gave "Alice" a big hug. Sisterly or not, Dave fell into the embrace and hung on as if his life depended on it.
"Okay, there’s still more to do, so let’s get cracking," Paula remarked as she broke the bear hug I had, "the dress and pinafore are next."
The dress was sky blue with a Peter Pan collar and came down midway between the knee and ankle, with a half-inch of petticoats showing. The pinafore was slipped on, fastened by Paula, in a big bow in the rear. All that was left was the shoes.
"Now, watch closely," Tina said, demonstrating the way a female sits down. She placed her hands behind her, sliding them down her butt as she sat. When she was seated, knees together, she straightened out the skirting. It looked so easy.
I tried it. Hands behind me, pressing against the dress, I carefully slide my hands down as I sat. Once down, I moved back on the bed and arranged the clothing.
"That’s great! Sure you never did this before?" Amy said, suppressing a giggle.
"Now was it really that funny," I inquired of Amy.
"No, that was so good, I just can’t believe you never did this before," she replied as she removed the hairnet.
Joanne guided me over to the vanity and seated me facing away from the covered mirror. She applied a light foundation, a smidgeon or two of blush, and I could see the coral lipstick, feel it is applied, and taste it on my lips.
Now, I’m a virgin when it comes to girls. They all seem to prefer tall, dark, and muscular. In Junior High, girls turned me down more times than a sheet in a cheap motel. By Senior High, I stopped trying, as it just seemed a waste of time to bother. Now that I was going to be, well I guess the best word is feminized, I was anxious to see what I looked like.
"Please, don’t keep me in suspense, let me see what I look like!"
"Wait just a little longer," was Joanne’s reply. The perfume was next: a dab behind the ears, a dab on the wrist, and a spray-in the bosom.
A bracelet was placed on my wrist, followed by a locket around the neck.
"Okay, you can look," Amy announced as she removed the covering from the mirror.
I was scared! Suppose I looked like a clown, like a boy in an ill-fitting dress, or a creature from some other world. I wanted to look; didn’t want to look. A chill swept over me – was this all wrong? Those doubts were still there, and I just could not shake them! Finally, I had to know.
Turning slowly, I looked in the instrument of my terror. There, standing before me, was a rather attractive sub-teen girl in a pretty blue dress. She looked as pretty as the girls who constantly refused me dates. The blue-eyed blonde wasn’t gorgeous, yet! Given a few years of maturity, she would have boys begging to carry her books.
"Well, like it?"
"I can’t believe it – is that really me?"
The question was, of course, rhetorical. It had to be!
"Open your locket," Jan requested.
I did so, and saw two pictures inside – our mother on the left, and Jan on the right. I started to cry. Now, I felt it was okay; hell, it’s all right to cry. I can express my emotions, no more bottling them up inside. This was the strength of women: to express how they feel, without someone telling them, "boys don’t cry"; to express their softness without being called a sissy; to be gentle without seeming to be weak. Why does it take a dress to allow someone to be soft, loving, nurturing, and caring of others?
"Well, it’s a good thing I didn’t use any mascara. You’d look like a raccoon now!"
The thought of the masked Alice showing up gave me the case of the giggles. Giggles, mind you, not a big laugh of some sort.
"Okay, let’s take a break. A light lunch will be ready in a few minutes in the kitchen," Jan announced to the cheers of the assembled group.
As I went to go down to eat, I noticed Jan gathering up an assortment of her shoes.
Well, the meal consisted of a salad with lo-fat dressing and diet ice tea. It wasn’t bad, and I guess I’d better get used to eating like this. One of the girls draped an apron on me, saying, "We don’t want to ruin a morning’s work, now do we?"
The conversation drifted towards boys: how some can be so dense, and others think their god’s gift to whoever was within hearing distance. I was beginning to feel a part of this group, someone privileged enough that they would dare to share intimate secrets with. My curiosity was aroused, so I asked, "Why did you have half-naked upstairs. Was that some kind of humiliation trial?"
"No, girls often share and try on each other’s things. Dresses, skirts, and underwear are often borrowed. We are used to being in underwear around other girls. Now, with boys, that’s a different story! It’s ‘oh, that’s got cooties,’ or ‘what do you think I am.’ Boys rarely share."
After lunch, I learned an important lesson for the future: cosmetics need repair after meals or drinks. Joanne grabbed me, took me to a mirror, and demonstrated her technique. I successfully followed. I was getting better being a girl. In fact, I was enjoying myself more than I ever had before – the girls were all so kind to me.
I spent some of the afternoon learning how to get around with progressively higher heeled shoes. They started at flats and worked up to four-inch stilettos: sit down, stand up, walk to the left, walk to the right, walk upstairs, walk downstairs. Improvement on one size meant I graduated to the next, and more walking. Oh yes, I learned to curtsy. That only took fifteen minutes, the practice longer. (Ever try to curtsy with three-inch Cuban heels?)
It was curtsy to Amy, "Yes, Ms. Amy," walk upstairs. Curtsy to Joanne, "Yes, Ms. Joanne," go downstairs. Suddenly, it occurred to me that I hadn’t seen my sister.
"Paula," I asked of my present mentor, "Where’s Jan?"
"She left for the meeting to prepare for your entrance."
"Thanks! When are we going?"
A quick look at her watch, and, "We’ll be leaving in twenty minutes. Amy is putting a few things in the car as I speak."
There was a last-minute inspection of the house, making sure everything was in its place. I got the strangest feeling that this might be the last time I saw the house. This was the last place my parents lived in before the accident. I felt a real attachment here.
Now the car – that was another learning experience. Turn around, plant your butt, twist your legs in keeping knees together, and slide over. I did that three or was it four, times. Tina was the driver; Joanne sat next to her. In the back seat, first Amy got in, I followed her, and Paula sat on the right. I was delightfully confined in a car filled with the aroma of several perfumes, powders, and lotions.
Before we started on our journey, Joanne reached down and retrieved a beautiful blue shoulder bag. She turned, handed to me, and said, "This is our gift to you!"
"Thank you very much," I said accepting this gift. Upon opening the bag, I found everything a girl would need for an evening. I was grateful that there were no condoms.
Apparently, Tina knew exactly where we were headed. As we rode along, Amy said, "I want to thank you for being so cooperative. Your sister said that you were too nice to be a boy. I agree!"
"I don’t know how to respond to that, Amy." I didn’t, really. During the ride, I got lost in my thoughts. What was I? Here I am, sitting in a car, riding to some unknown destination, in more ways than one, wearing the clothing of the opposite sex. Is it really the opposite sex? Is it possible that I’m a female in a male body?
Amy broke into my contemplative mood with, "What are you thinking?"
"Oh, nothing really. Just that I don’t know what I am – male or female."
Paula answered, "Okay. Our society sets rules for males and females: how a person acts, dresses, manner of speech, and position in society at large. There are constructs that confine males and females. You are a male who likes to be gentle, soft and that’s not within those constructs – you’re living outside the male-female boundaries. Females today can also live outside, but only so far."
Joanne added: "Look, Dave, forget what everyone has ever taught you about sex differences. You should be able to wear what you like. The real question is: Do You Like What You’re Wearing Now!"
"Yes." The answer came out rather timidly. Not a resounding "YES," but a tiny "yes." I guess my masculine pride was still in evidence and, at this point in the story, I should be yelling, "Stop this car! I want out! I’m not some silly girl," but I wasn’t.
"Dave, I didn’t have Psych. 101, but I have an idea. Did you have many dates when you were going to school?"
"No, I didn’t! I had a lot of lonely Saturdays."
"And you like girls, right?"
"Sure do. I got along swell with Jan’s friends."
"Okay, here’s my theory. You absolutely adore females: you love being around them, smelling their perfume, brushing up against their clothes, and so forth. The girls at school spurned you and kept you from their company. It was like your family, or those closest to you had decided to kick you out. Think of a drug addict needing a fix and having to go cold turkey. This made you unhappy; the school was not kind to you. We have given you what amounts to the ultimate – showing our acceptance by dressing you in female garments. The family took you in again. You are accepted and part of our coterie, and it’s like a drug to you. If anything, you would prefer the company of women to that of men. Just think of yourself as a male lesbian."
After a brief moment of thought, the idea seemed to fit. I was denied the female companionship I craved. It made me a very unhappy person. Here I sit in the most feminine of clothes, in the company of females, and I can’t remember being happier.
Amy added, "Joanne’s right! The idea of you being dressed in a beautiful gown and dancing with a man is repugnant. Even the thought makes you ill. Am I right?"
"Definitely!" I replied vehemently.
"Now substitute a woman for the man, and you would be in heaven."
It all made sense to me. Sure, the school was rough, mostly around girls. But the academics were a no-brainer. I could sit and watch the girls for hours, even some of the well-coiffed, better dressed older ladies. They captivated me; well, not to the point of becoming a slave to one.
"Almost there," announced Tina, pulling off the main highway and onto a two-lane side road, "About five or six miles more."
I was anxious to see where this meeting was taking place, Jan had mentioned that it once was a religious school, and before that, an auto baron’s hunting lodge.
"Look, Dave, over to the left!"
I looked and saw a huge structure. The left side was a three-story building, late Victorian with several crenated turrets; the right appeared to be a church, from the twenties.
Tina started a running commentary: "The left was the original structure consisting of fifteen rooms. The churchlike part was where they had services, gave religious instruction, and had Sunday masses. When the company bought the property, it was in disrepair. After fixing it up, we decided to use the church section for private meetings, parties, and other events. Ms. Steele lives in the house with her visiting married daughters, Caitlyn, and Margo. They are both executives in the company."
Tina turned off the road, drove through a set of gates, and onto a private driveway.
"There used to be a gatehouse there -- about three years ago, someone set fire to it, and there are no plans to rebuild. Up ahead you can see the house."
As they got closer, Dave could see the house a lot better. There was a porch, spanning the whole front of the building, with a wide set of marble steps leading up to it.
"There are approximately three acres of ground that came with the house. One story is that the monks here tried to grow grapes to make sacrificial wine. They didn’t succeed."
Tina neatly parked the car among a large group of cars. There were BMWs, Lexuses, Cadillacs, a Rolls or two, and, looking strangely out of place, two Hummers.
After the group exited the car, Amy took possession of my right arm, while Joanne claimed the left. They tried the Laverne and Shirley walk, shoulder bags swinging to and fro, getting tangled in the process. Tina had a good laugh watching the absurd procession.
"Alice, your dress is too long for that," Joanne remarked.
In time, we arrived at the porch and proceeded up the stairs and the entrance to the right-hand building. I was nervous about meeting these women. Oh, sure, the girls were one thing, but these were powerful business people – the wrong word, and I would be toast!
Upon entering the structure, I was struck by the high vaulted ceilings, the marble columns, and the statuary in this, the entryway. The walls had several magnificent paintings of extraordinarily beautiful women that I would’ve liked to examine closer.
"Great, isn’t it?" whispered Joanne, "Every time I come into this place, I’m struck by its awesomeness."
I had to agree. A maid appeared from the interior, greeted us, and led the group into the Main Hall. The area spread out in front of us. There had to be at least fifty women, in groups of two or three, in various pastel-colored business suits, cocktail dresses, and even a few evening gowns. Dressed as I was, I could not help but feel out of place. All those gorgeous clothes spread out before me, and I’m wearing this old thing! (What a strange thought, I’m even thinking more feminine.)
Amy propelled me into the hall and guided me to where Jan stood conversing with three others. "Wait here for a sec," Amy whispered, as she went over to Jan. I looked around the room; Tina and Paula were engaged in conversation with two other suited women. Joanne was getting a drink at a bar.
