The Art of Petticoat Punishment by Carole Jean
Part 22 - Juan In Training
Sofronia Anne Strong
1993 Reluctant Press
New Art by Juan
I could feel Mom's bony fingers against the flesh below my shoulder blades. They felt chilly and raw as she slid the third finger of her left hand beneath the bandeau of my brassiere. The thimble on its tip was hard and cold.
"You are not going to take it off, I will see to that." She tugged and pulled at the elastic of the hooked closure as she slid her needle in and out of the material. 'You are going to wear this until the cast comes off Kenneth's arm, you Godawful ruffian. That will be a minimum of six weeks, I am told, and I am going to have you show the whole world how we deal with our little Barbarian."
NOTE - I have included a few of the pencil drawings I exchanged with Juan,
My notes on this pencil mention A1 . . . which reference photos of bras I had sent him.
You may click on these images to see a larger version.
She snapped the spandex at the back of the satin bandeau against my bare skin and snipped the thread-end off neatly.
"I have told you repeatedly that I will not tolerate physical violence, you bully. This time you have gone too far and you will atone for it properly. Now, put your sweater on and prepare to live with your penance. Hopefully, by the time you are allowed to take off this brassiere, you will have learned how to be nice."
Sis let go of my hands and dangled my white knit V-necked sweater In front of me.
I took it from her disconsolately. 1 couldn't take my eyes off my torso. Upon my upper body I could see the black brassiere covering my chest, black silk-satin except for the lace filigree that made up the upper half of each breast. The satin straps cut into my shoulders. Below my breasts, it encircled me in a wide band that descended to just below my rib cage.
Mom had called it a long-line brassiere. She said it was made by someone called "Maidenform."
My sister began to giggle as she parodied the current series of magazine ads for this company.
"I dreamed I beat up my buddy in my Maidenform Bra." she uttered. These ads always showed a gorgeous fashion model elegantly turned out in some stylish ensemble but naked from the waist up except for a Maidenform brassiere styled to be worn under the missing part of the outfit. They were quite daring at the time; certainly not by current standards. It was a time when women still didn't admit to wearing brassieres and still a couple of decades before they began burning them.
"Oh, Olivia, that's precious," Mom replied. "We should put him in a skirt and pose him m his brassiere and sell it to the Maidenform people. Wouldn't that be a sensation?"
The two of them broke into merry laughter and began hugging each other while I died of embarrassment
I stared in horror and disbelief at the image of myself in the mirror. The image of myself, a sixteen-year-old boy, wearing a black satin, lace encrusted brassiere, appalled me.
I shrank into myself, trying not to feel the terror and shame that infused me. Mom stepped behind me, still chuckling at my sister’s joke although her voice began to take on the hard edge she had used earlier with me.
"Well, it really is a Maidenform, you know. TVs called the 'Full-Rise Model.' Madame Edna at Lane's says it is the new mode for this fall. See how it lifts your breasts up fully and thrusts them out in two clearly defined points. It will look marvelous under your sweater. Everyone will be able to see that you have reached your full development Look. Dear, see how the long fine construction smooths out the area below your lovely breasts and helps them stand out in all their fullness."
I squirmed at these words in the forlorn hope that hunching up my shoulders would somehow make the lace and satin mountains on my chest dissolve and shrivel. They remained firmly in place, of course. There was nothing that was going to make my new female bosom disappear from view.
"How about, I dreamed my Mommy turned me into a girl in my Maidenform falsies?" Olivia was being vile. She cracked me up at her own horrid joke. I could have belted her, but only shouted at her uselessly.
"Shut up, dammit," I blurted. "Do I have to listen to this, Mom?” I blunted it with a question.
Mom never let me get after Sister perfect. Olivia was her pet. The two of them were thicker than bees on nectar.
Mom put her hand under my chin, something that always infuriates me. It was so demeaning. She lifted my head and lowered hers until she was looking directly into my eyes.
"I think you must be prepared to listen to a lot of this kind of thing, Sweetheart. Your sister is probably being gentle by comparison with what you will have to deal with. The neat few weeks will undoubtedly be a series of nightmares; in your Maidenform Bra. You had better not let me hear of your losing your temper over any of it either. If I do, you will find yourself wearing something bigger and more embarrassing than what you have on now."
"A corset, a real lace-up cage, with bones and everything. Oh, gee, Mom, let's do put him into a corset. Wow, I can't wait. How delicious." Olivia jumped up and down, clapping her manicured hands, gleefully anticipating what she had suggested.
"Now there's a thought," Mom mused, releasing my chin. "He's in a C-cup now. I'll tell you what, young savage, the first time I hear of you giving anyone a bad time, you’ll go to a D-cup, and we'll make it a corselette so you can be a girl all the way up and down. Then, if you get smart after that, I'll start listening to Olivia."
"Wow! Lillian Russell We'll truss him up in one of those hourglass jobs. This I gotta see." My sister could be absolutely intolerable.
I could imagine what she was suggesting and it scared me so badly, 1 momentarily forgot about the black satin shaming device that covered my chest already.
“And keep this in mind, my bosomy boy. If I have to change your brassiere, you will go back to square one and start the whole six weeks of your penance over again. Understand?'
I nodded disconsolately. These words took the lire out of me. I was about to belt my sister, and that would, absolutely, have been the end of my manhood, I was sure.
"I think you had better leave him alone, now, Olivia. He will have enough trouble living with this without your tormenting him. Mr. Tuffy here might just lose it and I hate to think what retribution we would have to think up in that contingency."
I didn't want to think about it either.
"Now, put your sweater on, Mr. C-Cup. This isn't a dream, so you get to wear a sweater over your bra."
Slowly, I pulled my white sweater over my head and adjusted the sleeves. The tightness of the brassiere felt strangely cumbersome as I pulled down the bottom of the sweater. My chest fairly sprung up and out as I did so.
"Look, Olivia, it's just as I thought. The black lace on the cups shows through. You can see the shadow of the whole brassiere through the sweater."
I had been taking quiet solace in the idea that once I had at least conceal the brassiere, if not my new effeminate shape. I despaired as I looked in the mirror and saw the delicate tracery of the lace and satin beneath the sweater. The V-neck stopped short of actually showing the brassiere itself, but an embarrassing cleavage was apparent. Worse yet, the tiny black satin bow on the front of the bra, right at the bottom of my cleavage, tended to reveal itself.
Olivia, of course, had to comment. She always had to make a comment.
"Oooh, but the bow is really cute. It’s just precious."
Olivia never missed a chance, not one.
"We'll need more sweaters, I'm sure, but for now, go clean up your room, then we can go downtown to lunch. We can find you a pink angora, perhaps, something with a high collar to hide that cleavage. You will need another brassiere too, one to sleep in so you can wash that one out every evening."
Olivia resumed her little dance of satisfaction at my degradation as Mom turned me around and examined me from every angle. She finally slapped me on the fanny and sent me off to my room to do my Saturday chores.
Kenny Miller absolutely had it coming. He had been bullying me for weeks, trying to goad me into a fight 1 don't think he really thought he could beat me up. He was like any bully. If I called his bluff he would fold, but that would have meant actually confronting him, and that made the possibility of blows pretty high. I knew from long experience that any kind of fighting would land me in big trouble with Mom, so I had tried all through the Fall to avoid getting into it with Kenny. That avoidance only encouraged him, of course, and with each passing week, his taunts and challenges became more outrageous. The whole football team was just waiting for it to happen. His buddies were really egging him on.
Kenny finally snapped at my loins with a wet towel in the locker mom once too often. Calling me a candy-assed brown noser, he caught me across the butt with the wet towel as I spun away to avoid taking the blow in the groin. That's when I lost it.
As he stooped over to get something out of his locker, I planted my foot against his rear and propelled him head first into its recesses. When he recoiled and came up to face me,
I plowed my right into his breadbasket. As he doubled over, I brought a left uppercut squarely into his nose. His head snapped back and I nailed him with a right cross that sent him to la-la-land He staggered back into his locker, sideways. His right arm was broken both above and below the elbow when he smashed it into the hook on the inside of the locker and then cracked the arm on the concrete floor edge of the platform on which the lockers rested.
When he returned to school three days later, he had his whole arm in one of those full casts that rested on a crutch belted around his waist.
I didn't see his return. I was sitting out a one week suspension while the school officials argued about expelling me altogether.
I was grounded, of course. I pretty much kept to my room while Mom and Dad argued about it Mom was all for just "throwing me away," whatever that meant Dad argued that there was an element of self-defense involved, or at least I was provoked. He believed me when I said Kenny had it coming.
Mom said there was never any justification for fighting, ever, period. She was really rigid on this point of view, totally non-negotiable. Even I didn't say he deserved a broken arm, but I did argue that I didn't actually break it, that part was accidental. Mom said I caused the damage, and that was that. The Principal, Mrs. Nevlin, took the view that the fight was unprovoked, which made me the villain. Either she didn't know, or chose to ignore, what had led up to it.
Things finally calmed down as she discovered, after a few days, what had led up to the fight and the matter was closed with the week's suspension.
Mom was still not mollified. I heard her downstairs hollering at Dad for letting me play football. She said that it only encouraged me to be crude and brutish. She kept at him, insisting that he make me quit the team and take some initiative in finding ways to refine my ruffian-like actions.
I guess she finally wore him out I heard him shout at her in exasperation that he didn't see what was so wrong in my attitudes and behavior.
"Boys will be boys," he said, and told her that if she didn't like my rough and ready style, she was free to figure out what to do about it on her own.
He washed his hands of the whole affair. Even after my penance began and I turned to him for help, he told me that it wasn't his affair any longer, that Mom was in charge. He was through with it.
The suspension ended on Friday. Saturday morning, Mom beckoned me into her room.
Olivia was sitting on her bed, wearing a smirk.
"Mom's got a present for you, Mr. Linebacker," she cooed. 'You've got a new set of pads."
This remark went right by me. I told Olivia to shut up. Mom waved her to be quiet and thrust a small box, tied with a pink ribbon, into my hands.
"Some new school uniforms for you," she remarked, dryly. 'You are too dangerous to be let loose in a civilized school without some means of keeping you under control. This is intended to help you change your attitude. Open it!"
Befuddled, but now on my guard, I untied the ribbon, slid the contents out of the end of the plain box and held the black silk garment, still folded, in my hand. I stared at it dumfounded, unsure, at first, of what it was.
Olivia snatched it out of my hand, held it up by its straps and dangled it in front of me.
I stared at it, dumfounded, unable to think of anything to say.
'You will wear this while poor Kenneth wears his cast. It will make your life as awkward for you as you have made his for him. Now put on your brassiere, Honey. The sooner you begin, the sooner you will become accustomed to wearing it."
I was frozen to the spot, transfixed.
Olivia kept dangling the horrid garment in front of my face.
"Lacy, lacy, lord, but its dainty," she sang. "Come on, put it on. Hurry up, I can't wait to see this.
"Off with the shirt, James," Mom commanded. She seized the bottom of my T-shirt at the sides, jerking it upwards.
Instinctively, I bent over, threw my arms over my head and slipped backwards out of the shirt
'You're frigging nuts! What the Hell is this? FORGET IT" I shouted at them, I bolted out the door and into the hall. 1 was running for my life. I had no intention of stopping until I was somewhere else entirely. As I turned the corner in the hall, bounding for the stairs and freedom, the floor went out from under me.
Mom took me off my feet with one swipe of the wet mop that had been standing in its pail just outside the bathroom door.
I hit the floor with a loud thud, swearing. As I struggled to my knees, the mop hit me squarely in the back, flattening me. As I sprawled helplessly on the floor, the mop descended a third time. Water was flying everywhere. The wet mop weighed several pounds and it felt like being hit with a pile driver.
"Flat! Don't move an inch, Mister or I'll break a few bones for you. Not a word! Face down, hands on your head!" Mom put the sole of her shoe on my neck. "You are going to cooperate and do as you are told, or I will take your hide right off of you. Do you want some more?"
I managed to say I didn't want any more of her punishment, rather weakly. I was actually starting to cry. I had never experienced anything like this before. We were not a crude bunch, not with Mom's prohibition against violence. Mom didn't even go in for spanking. The fight just drained out of me.
"On your feet, Mr. Tough-Guy. You need to get dressed, don't you?'
I struggled to my feet and leaned weakly against the bathroom doorjamb.
Mom jerked me by the arm and propelled me back toward her bedroom. She lay the mop on my bare shoulder and jammed the end of the handle into the base of my neck. She marched me back into the room and pushed me up against the wall, face first. I was terrified and unwilling to defend myself as she twisted my left arm behind my back in a break hold. As she handed her mop to Olivia, she put her mouth up to my ear and spoke softly, but with a hard edge to her voice.
"Will you ever defy me again?" It dripped with menace. "No." My answer came out mostly like a squeak.
"Will you ever use that kind of language in front of ladies again?"
Again I squeaked.
Mom turned me to face her. Olivia held the mop aloft, prepared to strike. Obviously, she was just waiting for a chance to get in her licks. Mom picked the dreadful brassiere off the vanity and thrust it in my face.
'Tell me that you are going to wear this brassiere. Ask me nicely for it, and sound like you mean it!"
"Please. . . Mom... uh, can I wear it?"
"Oh, no! I told you to tell me that you want to wear your lovely brassiere. Tell me that you want to put it on. Promise me that you won't take it off either. I want to hear some enthusiasm here."
I squeezed out the terrible words. It was eerie hearing my own voice begging to be allowed to wear the ghastly thing and promising to do so.
Mother was only too quick to grant my wish. She parked me on the stool in front of her skirted vanity and ordered Olivia to fetch a washcloth and towel to dean up the mop debris that covered my shoulders.
As I reluctantly held my arms out in front of myself, Olivia slipped the shiny shoulder straps up my arms and Mom hooked it in back. I was allowed to lay my hands in my lap as Mom slipped a pair of molded breasts forms into the cups of the brassiere. My new bosoms swelled and rose into pointed fullness.
“You are not going to get into any more trouble, now," Mom ordered. "Wearing this for the next six weeks will cause you some problems. That is my intention. Despite your promise to wear it, I don't feel you are to be trusted to keep it on. You don't want to know what I will do to you if you do take it off, so I will remove the temptation."
My heart sank as she put on her thimble and began to stitch the hooks in back. As she did so, she lectured me on the nature of boys, "all roughness and crudeness, snips and snails," she said. She told me that she hoped this trial would remind me to think of being sugar and spice instead. She said she was sorry to have to take such strong measures, but she was convinced that a little dose of femininity would take the edge off my rudeness.
I struggled to hold back the tears. They came anyway, but they were more of rage and helplessness than shame. I was terrified by visions of what the coming weeks would hold for me.
I was packed off to clean up my room, trying to avoid my image in the mirror on the closet door, but I caught a few awful glimpses of myself anyway. I was appalled at the new shape of my torso and of the black, lacy shadows beneath my white sweater. I could avoid looking at myself but I couldn’t escape the tactile sensations, the pressure around my ribs and the touch of the girl's garment on my skin. These sensations kept superimposing themselves on my consciousness with each motion I made.
I was just stuffing the last of my laundry in the hamper when my precious sister stuck her head in the door.
"Come on, Billy-Boobs. It's lunch time. Mom says it's time for your public debut. We’re going to The Rooftop at Dunham s. All us girls do lunch at Dunham's. Then we go shopping."
"Shut up, Bitch! I'll belt you from here to the rooftops." I held my voice down so Mom wouldn't hear me.
“Touch me, and your boobs will swell like Pinocchio’s nose." Then she stuck her tongue out at me. She was forever doing that it was so dumb for a really pretty girl of fourteen. She didn't do it to anyone else anymore. She did it to me because it annoyed me so. She was right, of course. If I laid a hand on her, things would get worse and I knew it. "Mom isn't going to wait. Let's go. You might as well face it."
I slammed down the lid of the hamper and resigned myself to my fate.
I followed Olivia meekly down to the car. I slumped in the backseat filled with dread, convinced that the next hour would begin the process that would utterly destroy me.
In the Dunham's Department Store parking ramp Mom jabbed a knuckle between my shoulder blades and admonished me to stand up straight and not to slouch. She said she expected to see my chest precede me wherever I went. She said that if I didn't present a proud front there were devices available right here in Dunham's Department Store that could be used to guarantee my proper posture.
As we walked through the store and rode up to the Rooftop, 1 was convinced that all and everyone was staring at the boy in the brassiere. They weren't, of course, but it didn't seem that way to me. There were no titters or pointed forgers, but I suspected there to be at any moment. I wanted to be invisible and had the feeling that I was, except for my chest.
The hostess, who seated us quite visibly, raised her eyebrows and concealed a smile on getting sight of me in the doorway of the dining room; but, she said nothing and seated us by the window.
I thoughtlessly slumped in my chair, hunching my shoulders forward and crossing my arms in front of me as though all this would somehow conceal my chest I kept my head toward the window, looking out across the city so as to be unaware of what anyone else in the dining room was doing.
Mom and Olivia chatted over the menu. Mom asked me what I wanted.
I told her I wanted a hamburger, but Mom ordered me a broccoli quiche. They both know how much I hate broccoli.
"Sit up! Shoulders back. I'll buy you a back brace on the way out, if you like. Put your hands in your lap. Now you might as well start presenting them to the world, or I will fix you so that you do. They aren't going to go away and you can't hide them. The more you try to hide your bosom, the bigger I will make it." She spoke calmly and firmly.
With a sigh, I dropped my arms and threw my shoulders back. My bosoms rose proudly before me, the satin and lace of the brassiere rubbing against my sweater with a rustle. Olivia leaned over her shrimp salad and smiled.
Our waitress was visibly amused but gave me a sympathetic look.
"Haven't you heard of Double-D Cups?" The glee in Olivia's voice was maddening.
I could feel myself reddening.
"He blushes so easily too, Mom. Isn't that neat?"
I could kill this girl!
Mother backed her off with a scowl and I finished the meal in misery, being made to choke down every morsel of the broccoli.
My great fear was the shopping that had been planned after lunch. We made a stop at the sweater counter and I had to stand still while Mom held several sweaters up to my torso. Two more V-necked sweaters were selected, both white, one cashmere and the other a fluffy angora number that I really detested.
The saleslady's amusement was too apparent when Olivia told her that I just loved wearing lingerie. Olivia told her that they just couldn't keep me out of it. The saleslady said she understood and then told Mom how nice I looked. Mom was no help as she pawed through piles of sweaters, soliciting Olivia's opinion about them.
As we left the department, Mom jabbed her knuckle into my back again. "Straight and erect, or else."
Olivia started singing a little tune, punctuating it with the non-lyric "Dee-dee dee-dee."
Our next stop was foundations. It was really scary to watch the sales lady hold up ribbed black satin plates with shoulder straps and hear her explain to Mom how they were fitted between the shoulder blades and would force the shoulders back in a locked position to correct poor posture.
Mom bought one and made me carry the package as we walked out of the store.
I kept myself perfectly erect, my chest thrust fully up and out as Olivia sang her little "Dee-dee dee-dee" song.
"If I have to put that brace on you to correct your posture you will wear it the whole six weeks. Slump just once and it's on you. Do I make myself clear?"
I wondered just how long I could keep my chest up and avoid it.
Olivia's little song became her way of reminding me about my posture, but it drove me wild to have her so easily remind me that my chest could grow like Pinocchio’s nose.
Somewhere, somehow, I vowed I would find a way of reckoning things with my perky, brightly attractive little sis.
By the time I sat at the breakfast table on Monday morning, I had schooled myself to maintain the required erect posture without having to think about it all the time. Olivia's singing and the awareness of the device in Mom's drawer had helped me get into the desired habit. Mom had jabbed me in the back a few times as Olivia started up her ditty, but my lacy chest now rose fully without effort. As I worked at my cereal, Mom pronounced the rest of my penance.
"Poor Kenneth can't even carry his own books, you know. He needs, and deserves, your help. How better to make amends than tending to his needs when you are the one who hurt him so badly?" She didn't need to say more, but she did.
“You will want to open doors for him, I should think. As he is unable to write, I think it would be nice if you typed up your class notes and shared them with him. And, of course, you will want to type his class papers for him as well. You will be his good right arm for the next six weeks, won't you?"
As all this sunk in, I went into my dumfounded, or stupid, act. I stared down at the table and shook my head. Unfortunately, as I did so, I let my shoulders slump. That was part of the act. The "Dee-dee" song instantly reminded me to snap them back.
Once home the awful device went into a drawer in Mom's room for safekeeping, she said.
"I have asked Olivia to keep an eye on you, Dear. She will let me know if you have assisted your friend properly. In fact, I have asked her to report everything at school to me."
"I have a thousand eyes, me and all my girlfriends." Olivia was gloating now as the implications of Mom's directives dawned on me.
"Of course, you will maintain your good posture and be as polite and courteous with everyone as is proper for someone whose task is to learn to be sugar and spice. Remember, if I have to correct you further, your six weeks penance will begin all over again. Your brassiere is to remind you that you must not be rude or rough in any way. Olivia will walk you to school now. Wait for her this afternoon. She will walk you home, also. I don't want you disappearing anywhere, not that I think you would try it, looking like that."
I walked to school amidst a growing gaggle of Olivia's tittering friends who couldn't talk about anything but my new figure. As the school day were on, it became the only thing anyone else could talk about
I trailed Kenny from classroom to classroom amidst endless titters, guffaws, jeers and taunts. By mid-morning, I had been called "Boulder Boobs," "Man Mountain Jim," "Jiggles," "Chesty" and other less humorous allusions to my sexual orientation.
Kenny, when I took his books before the first class and held the door to the room open for him, scowled at me and told me that as inconvenient as his huge cast was, he would rather be wearing it than what I was wearing.
I didn't disagree.
"I'm going to enjoy every minute of this. Jiggling Jim," he remarked as we sat down. "Don't expect any help from me. I will enjoy seeing you squirm in that bra every minute. Your sis tells me that if you aren't a perfect sweetheart, that it gets bigger and stiffer. I want to see that I mean. I really do. Believe me, I’ll do my best to make it happen, Pussy-Chest Call me, 'Sir'!!"
"Yes, Sir." I mumbled as the teacher rapped for order. She was a few minutes getting it. There was a kind of constant uproar surrounding me all the time.
About mid-morning, I was summoned to the Office via the classroom intercom. A hushed stir swept through the classroom as my name was announced.
The secretaries and clerks in the Office had trouble hiding their giggles as they whispered to one another behind their hands. In the Principal's Office, I found her with the football coach Mrs. Nevlin sat behind her desk, smiling Coach Bramson wasn't smiling.
'Think you can get your shoulder pads on over those boulders?" he asked, not altogether straight-faced.
I muttered something about wanting to try.
"Sorry," he rejoined, "regulations don't allow anyone to play with more than a Double-A Cup. A full 'C-Cup' disqualifies you. Clean out your locker."
In a way, I was relieved. Thoughts of what could happen on the football field had been bothering me.
The coach stood up and patted me on the head.
"Try the cheer leading squad. I don't know what their regs are, but you should qualify." He left smiling.
The Principal scowled at him disapprovingly. She resumed her soft smile almost immediately and leaned forward at her desk, looking directly at me.
My stomach sank.
"I know this is a terrible ordeal for you, James," she began. "Your Mother's mode of punishment is unorthodox, at the very least I was facing a move by some here to expel you permanently. When your Mother suggested this penance to me and the faculty, we all agreed to it because it seemed to be a way to guarantee your future conduct. It was by this means that we were able to keep you in school. I hope you understand."
"Yes, Mrs. Nevlin. I guess I do."
"I hoped you would. I want to help you get through this, James. I want to make it as easy as I can for you."
It was the first time since Saturday that anyone had said anything conciliatory to me. It made me feel better immediately.
"As difficult as this is for you, I think you must try your best to make a go of it. I will know pretty much what is going on and I will try to keep things from getting too bad. I have asked the faculty to ignore your appearance and not to comment on it or otherwise add to your embarrassment, Mr. Bramson, notwithstanding. Coaches are like that It's part of coaching. If you can ignore the taunts and the ragging, try to get along with Kenneth and help him out, I think you can get through this ordeal. You may even find you have a new perspective, that you have learned something from the experience, if you try. I’ll watch out for you as much as I can, but don't do anything to get yourself in more trouble. If you do, I shan't be able to protect you. Is that OK?'
It really did sound pretty good. I had never thought of the Principal as my friend, but I needed her now. I thanked her and promised to be good.
As we parted she took both my hands in hers.
"I am sure you will do just fine," she reassured me. "You are not the first boy to be put into a girl's garment. Did that ever occur to you?"
It hadn't, and the suggestion was pretty frightening. I couldn't imagine what she was getting at and I didn't want to ask I guess I really didn't want to know, so I let it pass.
"I'm sure you'll stay out of trouble. Now, run along." She put her arm around my shoulder and gave it a squeeze. She was smiling in a most kindly way as she spoke.
Things did settle down a little as time went by. I had to steel myself against a steady onslaught of mean tricks and nasty remarks. I was more scared of Mom's threats than I was of the taunts of my peers.
Olivia contrived to drag me to an interview with the cheerleader's squad.
I didn't dare deny her. I had to pose for the whole squad and was told that my torso was acceptable but my legs were bad.
The girls were much amused.
There was a lot of this sort of thing. Kenny's pals contrived to get my locker open and stuff it with panties and sheer hose, a panty girdle and a couple of dresses.
I ignored it
They told it around as though it was my stuff. Rumors abounded about me.
At home, I was blessedly left: alone for the most part. Mom and sis didn't contrive a lot of pretexts to drag me out in public, just occasionally when Mom was annoyed with me. She would tell Olivia to fetch me so we could go to tea at the RoseTea Room, or drag me along while they went shopping.
I think Dad helped me out on this. I heard him once or twice tell Mom to cool it and give me a break. When Mom was annoyed, however, she still dragged me out and put me on parade. I was getting so that it didn't bother me much
The bra came off every evening and I had to wash it out by hand after Mom had stitched the alternate In place. I looked forward to my showers. I could get braless for up to half an hour. I was terribly focused on my chest. The thing wore me and I couldn't shake a constant awareness of my shameful appearance.
It was about halfway to freedom, three weeks to go until Kenny's cast would come off, and mine too.
The day began poorly.
Mom was annoyed because I hadn't brought my laundry hamper down in time and I had made my bed sloppily. She had already put in the fluffy angora sweater because she knew I really disliked it.
At breakfast, she said the Rose Sisters had asked about me. She said she thought we should go to tea after school. Mom was usually pretty pleasant, but she did expect compliance with her expectations.
I went to school in a foul mood.
Kenny was forever doing his best to coax me into a blunder. He kept threatening to feel up my boobs and making passes at me. It became a regular dodging match as I avoided those harassments in order to stay out of trouble with Mom.
We were entering a classroom when he reached around from behind me and got hold of my left breast. My reaction was reflexive. 1 came back with my right elbow and connected with his stomach. Then I made a mistake. I lost my temper and slammed the classroom door shut. His cast was immediately, caught between the door and the jamb. Kenny let out a howl, louder than was really necessary, and began to shout and curse.
"My arm, you sonofabitch. You've broken my arm again, you asshole." He carried on m this vein until Miss Hoglund, the English teacher, intervened. It seems that I had been leaning against the door, keeping Kenny's arm pinned in the Jamb. Kenny was dispatched to the nurse's office, I to the Principal's.
I was thence sent home with a note explaining the event.
Madame Edna was fiftyish, stylish and imposing. She wore the traditional black dress of the shopkeeper. She and her sister, Mona, had worked for years for their Mother, and upon her demise, had inherited the Lane Corset Shop. They were expert corsetieres. As Madame Edna tugged at the bottom of my long corset, stretching its sides down over my thighs, Madame Mona tugged and pulled at the breast forms she had inserted through the lace cups of the brassiere portion.
"Fitting boys and men is always a challenge, Mrs. O'Dell. Their waists are always in the wrong relation to the rest of them. However, this seems to fit James quite nicely. He actually has quite a decent figure. We have pushed things about a bit, but I think he has a fairly feminine shape now."
The pushing about had been fairly uncomfortable. As Madame Mona hooked the back of the black foundation garment up past my shoulder blades I was told to inhale and then to hold my breath. After the corset had finally been zipped closed, I found I was unable to take a really deep breath anymore. Madame Edna smoothed the satin panels and her sister adjusted the shoulder straps and everyone stood back to take in my new shape.
My waist was nipped in, my hips curved out smoothly, my breasts jutted out monstrously. I was encased from my cleavage to the middle of my thighs.
Madame Mona smiled as she carefully hooked the crotch of the snug corset close. "Just leave the garters there, Edna. Just let them dangle. They will remind him of the possibility of wearing hose."
I shivered at the thought. Without further comment, Mom picked up a needle and thread and stitched the talon on the zipper on the back of the corselette closed.
The Lane Sisters took an amused interest in this procedure. Madame Mona checked the inserts in my cups once more and lifted my new breasts into a higher posture.
"I think you are right, Mrs. O'Dell He does have the shoulders to carry a Double-D development. With the four inch reduction at his waist, the effect is still quite proportional."
Mom smiled with satisfaction.
"I told you so," chirped my bratty sister. "Deer-deer deedee and double D too." she crooned. As she sang, she was holding up an even ghastlier contraption of blue satin and black lace. "Have you ever fitted a boy into one of these?" she asked, smirking.
"Some of the men do buy them," Madame Mona acknowledged. "They can be quite uncomfortable unless they are properly fitted, you know."
"I'll bet!" Olivia was on a roll. She held up the rigid, boned model called, The Victorian Mode, and dangled it m front of me. "Next time! Right, Mom? What a cage. That I gotta see. Tell him it's gonna be one of these next time, Mom."
"Shall I get one for you too, dear?" Mom cooed.
I nearly fainted, but the question was directed at Olivia. My sister's face fell in surprise. She lowered the lace encrusted device and backed off a step. She quickly turned to Madame Edna and deflected Mom's question.
"I mean... did women ever really wear these things, Madame?"
"Oh, yes, Dear. In fact, they were considered obligatory for all young ladies in the last century. Girls such as yourself were laced into them at puberty and thereafter always wore one."
Olivia looked cowed.
The Lane Sisters were clearly amused and now it was Mom who smirked.
I was much relieved, but Mom wasn't going to let me off easily either.
“The Victorian Mode is something we might consider if you get out of line again, James. I think a six week visit to the fin de siecle might be salutary if you give me reason to bring you here again."
As my jaw dropped, Olivia recovered her composure.
Mona Lane smiled at me knowingly as she folded tissue paper over the mate to my corselette.
My white sweaters were stretched even tighter over my enlarged bosom now. Mom didn't seem to care. I didn't get new sweater. My cleavage was even more noticeable now. The black satin bow at the bottom of the V peeked out notice ably. My pants didn't quite set right either. The waistline was too small, and the hips and rear seemed huge like my bosom. The long grip of the corselette on my thighs restricted my gait and I came distressingly close to mincing.
The shameful tracery of my lace cups shimmered through my sweaters glaringly. Each time I dared to take a good look at myself in the mirror, I broke down sobbing and that didn't help me with my struggle to retain my masculine self-image.
We had lunch at the Rooftop again as a sort of inaugural to my new, more feminized image.
As I sat on the front of my chair, properly erect, toying with a tuna salad, I felt like a statue in the park warily eyeing the pigeons. The restaurant was filled with ladies who, It seemed to me, were eyeing me with great curiosity. I suspected that all of them had just come to see the boy in the oversized bra. Too many people now knew what was going on with me, and why. Word of my vicious attack on Kenny s broken arm was all over town and I had lost everyone's sympathy. There was a consensus that whatever I got, I deserved. To confirm this, two of Mom's lady friends stopped by the table to chat
"James is so well developed, Maude. Let me congratulate you on your good taste."
"You have such a lovely figure. Dear. How proud your Mother must be of you. You must be the envy of every girl."
"I imagine your foundation must be uncomfortable, James, but it is a worthwhile inconvenience to put up with for such a fine figure."
Mom made me thank them for each one of these remarks. Mom reminded me that I was fortunate that I hadn't really hurt Kenny's arm to the door jamb. She said that had I done so, she would have confined me to a fate so bizarre that 1 would never live it down.
Olivia took every opportunity to taunt me with the specter of the blue satin corset. As we left the restaurant, she asked me if I were aware that I wouldn't be able to bend over in one of those cages.
I told her that she couldn't either and she should shut her mouth or I would complain to Mom.
"Cut it out, you two," Mom ordered. She jabbed a knuckle into my back to straighten me out, but it was unnecessary. My new foundation didn't allow me to relax my torso very much. My new front preceded me like a pair of trucks. I really was having trouble getting used to these monstrous protuberances. I had always had the feeling that the old brassiere wore me. This new chest utterly defined me. It seemed to be all there was to me now.
Olivia hummed her little tune.
School on Monday was hellish. Kenny grinned at me menacingly.
"Gotcha! I love it! Where did you get them knockers? I'm gonna get ya again, too. Watch! Open this door for me, Chesty. I hear you're starting all over in that rig. In three weeks, my cast is history, but you're in a kind of body cast, I see. That thing goes all the way down, doesn’t it? What do you wear under it, lace panties?"
I opened the door. I didn't give him an answer. The fact was that Mom didn't let me wear anything under the corset I was pretty uncomfortable most of the time. Using the boys' room was a particular ordeal with the hooking and unhooking of the corset crotch.
At the Rose Tea Room after school, the Rose Sisters tittered and fussed as they served us. Mom had told nearly everyone she knew that we would be there for tea. The Tea Room was jammed with ladies come for the spectacle. Not one of them missed the opportunity to comment on my condition.
I had to thank them all.
I learned later that the thing with Olivia is called "sibling rivalry." The trouble with Olivia is that she is so damn bright and so awfully pretty. She really is a doll, but her smart mouth drove me nuts.
I had been in the corselette for about a week. I was lying on my back, reading. My back was the only thing I could lie on comfortably. Double-D boobs really get in your way.
Olivia bounced into my room. She had on a high necked angora sweater and her own "C's" were sticking up perkily. She had on a round felt skirt, petticoats peeking beneath, pink, woolly bobby socks and her ubiquitous saddle shoes. As usual, her long blonde pony tail switched and bounced behind her.
"What do you want, Pain?" I asked.
She flopped in my big, comfy chair and pulled her legs up underneath her. She thrust a bottle of coke at me and grinned, tossing her curls.
"For me? What's up? You bringing me goodies? You must want something. I don't like it when you want something. I get nervous when you play nice to me.'
"Sure, but relax this time. Little C just wants to talk. You wanna, talk to me?"
"Depends. Whadda ya wanna talk about? Don't talk about you-know-what. I don't wanna talk about them."
"Oh well, yeah I Just thought you might want to talk about it. You're having a pretty bad time and I know I haven’t been much help. Golly, I haven't even been very nice, have I?"
This was not the Olivia I knew. I wondered where she was coming from. With my sister, you could get blind sided very quickly.
"I think you ought to talk about it, to somebody, anyway. I'll listen, really I will!"
I still couldn't believe that the Goddess of Good Conscience had bewitched my smarty sister. She did have a point. I didn't get any sympathy anywhere. I was pretty well mired in the shame of my penance. I had to lie down because it took the pressure off my hips and waist and eased the discomfort some. I had been mostly feeling sorry for myself, so I was vulnerable enough to trust my sis, at least a little.
"I don't know what's gotten into you, but I'll chance it. What I'd like to know is why you are so darn mean about all this. You haven't missed a single opportunity to rub it in, or take another opportunity to scare me . . . and the gloating, all your pleasure in my embarrassment. Like that corset thing and dragging me in front of the cheerleader squad. I know we don't like each other much, but I am... or was... your brother. How come you never give me a break?"
Olivia squinched down in the big chair looking like a fluffy doll. She was pensive for a moment as though my accusation had scored. She looked up, at last, and laid her cards on the table.
"You're a great one to talk about brothers and sisters. Brothers are a girl's terror. Why do I rub it in? Why am I getting my jollies off on you? You've a mighty short memory, Jimbo... . oops, sorry, " (Jimbo-Bimbo had become one of the commonest epithets at school.) “You really have forgotten the holy terrors you used to pull on me? You just don't know anymore do you?"
"You mean like the pigtails and stuff? Yeah, I remember. Golly. Sis, that was long ago and far away."
"Oh, no you don't. Far away for you, but not so long ago in my mind. A girl doesn't forget having her braids hacked off by her brother and his buddy. How about the shellac 1n my dancing slippers? Am I supposed to forget that? And the frogs in my bed or the spider in my corsage? Karma, big Brother. No one escapes Karma forever. Haw long did you call me 'Sister-Pister to your pals? I remember 'Olivia Oddball' was pretty popular too. Hex's your memory doing? Refreshed is it?"
"Come on, that was kid stuff. We got past that, I thought."
"I never ever heard you say you were sorry for any of it. You just got by with it all. Even when Mom sent you to your room, you never regretted it. What about all the stuff you pulled and got me blamed for? You laughed all the way when Mom grounded me for your stunts, brother. I can't believe you asked why I was getting back at you. I guess it's just my turn to get my jollies." I turned my back on her, putting up with the pressure of my huge left breast form pushing into me.
"Well, I'm glad you're enjoying it. Remember, what goes around, comes around, for you too, someday. Sis."
"Yeah, I guess. That's why I thought we ought to talk."
'Well, if you really want to help, why don't you try to talk Mom out of this, shorten up the weeks or something? This thing is a drag. . . I mean, it's starting to kill me, physically that is. I can’t do anything in it and it’s really uncomfortable. I'm really discouraged in this thing."
"That's better. See, at least you have someone to complain to. I did talk to Mom, but she's adamant. Besides, she says everyone expects her to make you finish it out now and she'll lose face if she relents. She's gonna keep you sewn in."
"OK, how about if she just lets me go back to the other bra, a compromise, maybe? C-Cups and my jockey shorts would be a relief."
"Unh-unh tried that too. I even tried Dad, but he says he's out of It Mom will really let him have it if he gets his oar into it Sorry, no help, Brother.
I couldn't help it I began to cry a little. I kept my back to Olivia, wishing she would just go away, but not wanting to say so.
"Look," she continued, "I really came in here because Mom got on my case. When I tried to get her to ease off on you, she said I should butt out, and then she said 1 should get off your back. I figure what you're going through is payback for all the crap you pulled on me. So, be nice, and I'll be nice. OK?"
"Fair enough, I suppose. Hey, Mom's downtown. How about you unzip this thing for a while and give me some time off?"
“Why not? You might even get to like your sister." I pulled up my sweater.
Olivia snipped the thread off the talon and unhooked me down to the waist It felt heavenly. By the time Mom got home, I was latched and sewn in again. Mom never suspected, I was sure. I promised not to circulate any more nasty nicknames for Olivia. From time to time, when it was safe, Olivia repeated the favor. I guess sisters aren't all bad.
Kenny was insufferable. I couldn't do anything, so I stayed pretty much at home, bored and inactive, but typing up his papers, going to his house for dictating and such really grated on me. He had been told to leave my boobs alone, but that didn't mean his remarks improved. The trouble was that as the weeks went by, his witticisms became stale as well as nasty.
I gritted my teeth and suffered in silence. If I goofed up again, I was a dead boy.
Mom had assured me of that.
I did tell Kenny off once.
Walking home from school, he had a couple of his buddies ragging me unusually hard. The game was a new one. Kenny would egg his pals on to have one of them pin me down while the others stripped me of my sweater. Then they played keep-away with the sweater and commented on my bouncing boobs as I tried to get it back. It always ended with me in tears, the Kenny crowd in gales of laughter, and Sis dragging me home, my corselette still uncovered from the waist up.
Olivia really did help on those occasions, admonishing me not to do anything I would regret. Sometimes she got the sweater back.
One day, Kenny began to holler that they should take my pants too.
I panicked and kneed Roger Weston in the groin. I made my escape, sweaterless again, of course. I asked Olivia to keep it quiet, which she did, and I thought it was forgotten. I should have known better.
Mom walked into my room while I was reading an English assignment. She dropped a small package on the bed and reached into it. She extracted a tiny packet and dropped it into my lap.
"Here, Bully Boy, if they get your pants next time. I don't want you out on the street bare-legged."
I sat, stunned.
Mom pulled a long pair of black nylon, seamed hose from the packet, straightened them out in front of my wide eyes and ran her hands into each stocking.
“Take off your pants. I'll show you how to roll them on and then I can stitch them to your garters. Did you really think you could start fighting again and not suffer more consequences? I'm going to get you to quit brawling if I have to send you to school in a dress.
I was too stunned to say anything. Her last remark was a new twist. I had the thought that it might be easier to just wear a dress. At least that way I wouldn't just look like a guy in a brassiere anymore.
Mom produced a net wash bag and promised a tutorial on washing out hose as she dropped several more of the hostelry packets in my dresser drawer.
The new hose had a strange, kind of cool feeling on my legs. Strangely, it felt kind of nice. I didn't like that either.
I asked Sis if she had told on me.
She said I was being stupid to think Mom wouldn't find out.
I was stupid enough to think she would let me keep my socks so the nylons wouldn't show. Mother warned me about keeping my seams straight as she left.
"Watch ltd I'll bet she comes up with a pair of heels next," Olivia warned.
"She wouldn't" I sneered.
"Don't count on it." Olivia flounced out of my room as I smoothed out my sheer new leg coverings.
I tried to get my mind back to the English assignment but the silky smooth feeling of the nylon on my legs kept intruding on my consciousness.
Kenny finally got his cast off, but I was still working out my lengthened sentence. He and his pals got my pants soon thereafter. I put up a pretty good fight and got in a few telling punches, but I was outnumbered.
Olivia intervened before it got too nasty. She retrieved my pants for me, but not until I had been seen by the schoolyard crowd in nothing but my corselette and sheer hose.
NOTE - The story continues but this is all I had Juan illustrate. If you want to see the rest you will need to buy the book.