textfiles/sex/EROTICA/M/melissa1.txt

Archive-name: Changes/melissa1.txt
Archive-author: Linda Lafrance   (c) 1989
Archive-title: Melissa
 
 
          "Missy, come into the living room.  We have guests."   
The demure, girlish form standing in the foyer heard the words
coming through the closed doors to the room.  Missy looked at her
image in the mirror on the wall and saw a person she hardly
recognized.  Well, she recognized herself, but the reflection was
not what she was used to seeing by any stretch of the
imagination.  Perhaps if she was lucky, the visitors with her
Aunt on the other side of the door would not recognize her
either.  She raised a well manicured hand to the side of her
head, patted a curl into place, and couldn't help but notice how
natural the feminine motion appeared.  The thought sent a shiver
up her spine. 
          Missy quickly reviewed her appearance in the full
length mirror.  She wore a tea length, white chiffon dress with a
circle skirt that fell in soft folds over her moderately full
petticoat.  Her ankles peeked out below the hem of the dress
through blush pink hose, and she stood on white leather pumps
with four inch heels.  Her hair was worn below the shoulders,
falling in soft curls around her face, with straight bangs across
her forehead, providing a piquant, juvenile look.  Missy was
examining her perfect makeup, which she herself had put on
earlier that day, when the voice of her aunt came through the
door again. 
          "Missy, I said come into the living room, and I meant
it."  Aunt Mary's voice was more urgent and Missy realized she
had delayed too long before the mirror.  She twirled on her
heels, her skirt swirling about her legs, and in the sweet
feminine walk which she had been learned over the past summer,
Missy minced to the door and opened it to join her aunt and the
guests for tea. 
          As she entered the room Missy only saw her Aunt Mary
clearly.  The guests were seated in two wingback chairs facing
the sofa from which Aunt Mary had just risen.  "Missy, when I
call to you I expect you to respond promptly, do you understand,
young lady?"  Missy halted abruptly, concerned that lingering in
the foyer had made her aunt angry.  "Yes ma'am, I'm very sorry. 
It won't happen again," Missy answered demurely, hoping to
appease her aunt's temper.   
          "Well don't just stand there child," continued Aunt
Mary, "We have guests."  Missy took her cue and once again began
to walk towards her aunt and the two wingback chairs.  She
swished around the chairs to join Aunt Mary, turning towards the
guests.  Missy's Stepmother and stepsister rose from the chairs
in unison to greet her, each wearing a smile that would light up
the darkest night.   Missy's blood raced and she could feel a
warm flush spreading over her cheeks as her Stepmother moved
forward to greet her.  "Missy, you look so pretty today.  Are you
glad to see us?" she asked.  The young girl curtsied reflexively
and responded in the affirmative.  Her hands now clasped together
behind her back, Missy bent forward slightly at her tightly
corsetted waist, so as to give her Stepmother a peck on the
cheek.  "Yes Mother, its very nice of you to come visit me,"  she
softly replied.  Missy's stepsister, Amanda, a year younger than
Missy at fifteen, yet appearing several years older at the
moment, chimed in.  "What about me, little sister, don't I get a
kiss too?"  Missy blushed further at this invitation, and slowly
walked forward to lean towards Amanda and kiss her cheek.  Aunt
Mary directed Missy to a straight back chair strategically placed
so that the others all had a clear view of it's occupant.  In a
gracefull manner she grasped her skirts and fluffed them out as
she seated herslf. 
          Her Stepmother spoke again.  "Have you had a pleasant
stay dear?"  "Yes Mother.  Aunt Mary has been very kind to me,"
she responded automatically."  "That's nice," her Mother
continued.  "Well the summer is over and its time to get you back
to school.  We've come to take you home."  At this comment Missy
was noticably startled.  "We. . . I'm going ho. . . home?" she
inquired.  The thought of returning home, with all of its
implications, was something Missy was unprepared to deal with. 
She stared down at the deep red polish on her inch long nails and
thought of an earlier time, three months ago. 
================================================================ 
          Michael opened the kitchen screen door and let is slam
with a bang behind him.  It was the last day of school and his
bounding walk reflected his enthusiasm for the summer aheaad. But
he wasn't very enthusiastic about another part of his life.  His
father had recently remarried, the most immediate consequence of
which was that he had a new Stepmother, and a stepsister, Amanda. 
His Stepmother was an attractive woman, several years younger
than his father.  She was a good deal more of a disciplinarian
than Mike was used to, however.  As for Amanda, he could do
without her entirely.  Mike had known her since he was in grade
school; both Amanda and her mother had lived in his town for
years.  She was always a spoiled bitch, and the fact that puberty
had endowed her with sufficient assets to make her the envy of
every girl in town had only exacerbated it.  The boys in town
predictably fawned over her, and she loved it.  The combination
of all these facts made her truely insufferable.   
          The door slammed and his Stepmother's footsteps could
shortly be heard coming from the living room.  She came into the
kitchen and immediately berated him.  "Michael, how many times do
I have to tell you that doors do not slam in this house!  I am
entertaining guests in the other room and you've embarassed me
before them."  Mike stared at this incomprehensible woman,
thinking her next edict would be no breathing allowed.  "And
those shoes," she added.  "Take them off this instant.  They're
filthy and you'll track mud all over the house."  He kicked the
shoes off into the corner of the entranceway and shrugged his
shoulders as he went to go up to his bedroom.   
          "Where do you think you're going young man?  I'm
speaking to you," his Stepmother demanded.  Mike turned back to
her and muttered, "I'm sorry.  I won't slam the door again," and
quickly turned to go upstairs.  "Stop right there," she ordered. 
"I'm not going to put up with your insolent attitude any longer. 
Stay in you're room until I call for you."  She turned on her
heels and left to regoin her guests.  Michael went upstairs
convinced that his stepmother was mad.  The sounds from her
gathering filtered up to his room.  They seemed to be celebrating
something.  No matter.  He would speak to his father about it and
end this nonsense. 
          But that was part of his problem also.  His father had
been called away on business several months before.  At first the
trip was supposed to be only a few weeks, but it later turned
into an indefinite assignment.  In his father's absence, his
Stepmother had become increasingly autocratic, and Amanda had
become absolutely intolerable.  It got to the point where he
simply avoided them as much as possible.  Whenever Michael was
around his Stepmother she was constantly demeaning him and
criticizing his behavior.  Amanda treated him with scorn, always
taunting him about his small size, saying that any girl who was
interested in him must be a lesbian.  Complaining about Amanda to
her mother was useless; Amanda would always find some way to
twist the facts around and make it appear as if Michael were in
the wrong. 
          The sounds from the party had quieted and his
Stepmother finally appeared to deliver another of her inevitable
lectures.  She had waited until he returned from taking a shower,
and when she entered he was clad only in a towel wrapped around
his waist.  She advised in a firm tone that she was not going to
put up with his rudeness and bad manners any further.  So long as
his father was absent she was responsible for his upbringing, and
his failure to respond to any reasonble guidance measures to date
were going to change immediately.  With that she led him from his
room to the newly decorated guest bedroom. 
          Mike knew the room was being renovated but was unaware
of her exact plans, and was surprised to find it so elaborately
furnished.  The room was done in pastels, predominantly pink, and
seemed to him to be extremely feminine.  Lace curtains, a canopy
bed, and a deep shag rug overwhelmed the room.  She spoke again
he had an opportunity to take in the surroundings.  "You'll be
staying in here for the weekend.  I'm locking your room so that
you will not be tempted to disobey me again."  Mike stared at
her, baffled.  Why should he have to stay here?  And what was he
supposed to wear if he couldn't return to his room? 
          His questions were shortly answered.  "I've had this
room specially remodeled.  It is designed to perform one task: 
to teach you how to live like a civilized human being."  With
that she snatched the towel from around his waist, leaving him
stark naked.  Mike quickly threw his hands over his privates and
dashed behind a chair, desperately seeking some form of modesty. 
"What do you think you're doing?" he demanded.  "Give me my towel
back right now!"  He tried to sound assertive but realized that
his words were having no effect.  His Stepmother just stood there
with his towel, in complete control, and he knew it.  "Please . .
. ?" he offered with a second thought, hoping to placate this
apparantly mad woman. 
          "No," she replied.  "As I said before, you are going to
learn to be a civilized human being, and the lessons start right
now.  You have already amply demonstrated that you are an uncouth
young man, absolutely incapable of proper behavior, especially
towards ladies and girls.  Accordingly, you will begin this
evening to learn a little about what ladies and girls are all
about."  Mike was having a difficult time following her.  The bit
about his conduct towards girls and women was incomprehensible. 
If anything, he was constantly oppressed by them, not the other
way around.  And this "learning" about females was equally
indecipherable.  For the life of him, he could not figure this
woman out. 
          His Stepmother walked to the door and tossed his towel
out into the hall.  She then closed the door and locked it with a
key.  "What are you doing?  I'm standing here naked and you threw
my towel out the door," exclaimed Mike.  "That's right, because
there are already plenty of things in here for you to wear," his
Stepmother replied.  With that she walked over to the large
dresser dominating one wall of the room and began to remove
clothing for Mike from the drawers.  She pulled out a pair of
pink, lace trimmed panties, a matching garter belt and stockings,
and a pink sleeveless undershirt, or vest, trimmed with lace at
the neckline and sleeves.  She spread these garments out on the
bed with great ceremony, and stood back, turning to look at the
astonished boy. 
          "There, now put those on and I'll find the rest of your
clothes for this evening," she stated in a matter of fact tone. 
"What do you mean put those on.  They're girl's clothes.  I'm not
wearing them."  Michael again tried to be firm in his reply but
his voice betrayed his fear that he might indeed have to wear the
feminine articles.  His Stepmother ignored him and walked over to
the large, walk-in closet.  She opened the door and took a switch
from a hook hanging inside.  Turning towards the cowering boy
hiding behind the chair she swung the rod through the air as if
to test it.  "You'll begin to dress immediately or you will
certainly regret it," she threatened.  Forgetting for a moment
his naked state, Michael dashed to the door only to find it
securely locked.  His Stepmother took immediate advantage of his
now defenseless position and moved quickly towards him, slashing
with the birch and catching him squarely on his exposed bottom. 
Michael was caught by surprise and slumped to the floor in a
foetal position, as if to protect himself from her further
assault. 
          "Get over to that bed right now and start getting
dressed or you'll think what you just felt was a love tap!" his
Stepmother commanded.  He immediately jumped to his feet and ran
to the bed in order to avoid any further blows.  "I . . . I don't
know how to put them on," he stammered.   
          "I don't know how to put them on," she mocked.  "Pick
up the garter belt and wrap it around your waist you stupid
twit," she directed.  Michael did as he was told and she fastened
the garter belt securely at this waist.  He stared down at the
lingerie around his body uncomprehendingly.  He started to
protest again and was met with another swat on his still bare
buttocks.  "Shut up.  You're going to learn that properly behaved
young ladies do not speak back to their superiors.  And I AM your
superior.  Now sit down on the bed." 
          In short order, his stepmother drew the pink tinted
hose up his legs and fastened them to the garters.  The vest was
drawn over his head and the panties up over his legs.  Ordered to
stand, he felt the strange sensation of the stockings pulling on
his garters.  Stepmother walked over to the closet and came back
with two more garments that sent chills through Michael's body. 
He wanted to shout out his protests, but knew they would be
futile. 
          His Stepmother approached and draped the pink taffeta
dress over a chair so that she could place the full, white
starched petticoat over his head.  After adjusting the shoulder
straps, she reached for the juvenile party dress and held it out
in front of the cowed and confused boy.  "Isn't this a sweet
dress dear?" she inquired teasingly.  Michael didn't know what to
say.  He knew he would be wearing the frilly, girlish attire
shortly, but was too overwhelmed to know what to say.  And he
definitely did not want to say the wrong thing.  "I asked you if
the dress was SWEET!" she insisted.  "Yes, mother, it is sweet,"
he mumbled.  She smiled, and proceeded to drape the dress over
his shoulders and down his body.  As she buttoned it up the back,
Michael couldn't help but notice how short the skirt seemed, and
how much the petticoat puffed it out about his thighs. 
          In short order his Stepmother placed pink lace trimmed
anklets and black mary janes on his feet, adding to his youthful,
girlish appearance.  Her task was completed as she brushed out
his longish blonde hair and secured a matching pink ribbon bow at
the rear.  He was again directed to sit on the bed and waited as
his Stepmother walked to the vanity and returned with several
items of makeup.  Michael had yet to see a mirror and view his
image, but he had no desire to do so.  He wanted to even less
after she finished applying his makeup, including blusher,
mascara, and lipstick, to his fair features.  She sprayed the
petticoated boy with perfume, and, finally satisfied with his
effeminate appearance, told him to stand, and addressed him
again. 
          "Now, Michael. . . it seems funny calling you that now
that you are dressed so nicely.  I'll have to think of something
else. . . .  Anyway, you're to follow me and remeber to behave
yourself.  You don't speak unless spoken to, and you certainly
don't act like the nasty brat that you've been since I became a
part of this household."  With that she walked out of the room
and left the door open for him to follow.  He hesitated at first,
but then obeyed and walked along behind her, the skirt and
petticoats bobbing and swishing strangely against his stockinged
legs. 
          The house was quiet as he walked slowly behind her down
the stairs, and as they approached the living room, she took firm
hold of his hand.  But the silence was shattered as he followed
her through the door into the room where, he had thought, her
gathering had ended an hour before. 
          The group of ten ladies, his Stepmother's and Amanda's
friends, erupted in a chorus of laughter and teasing comments as
Michael was walked into the center of the room.  At the first
sight of these guests he frantically tried to free himself from
his Stepmother's grasp, but without success.  He finally stopped
struggling and stood, head down, as the women and girls moved
closer and crowded about him.  "She's so adorable!" cried out
Karen, Amanda's best friend.  "And the dress is perfect.  It
really suits her, don't you think?"  "How do you like it, little
girl?" added Amanda in a mocking tone.  "How do you like wearing
a dress?"   
          These and other comments crashed down on Michael's ears
as the girls proceeded to pluck at his dress, fluffing out the
skirt over his stiff petticoat, adjusting the bows at the short,
puffed sleeves, and fingering the lace frills.  Eventually, his
Stepmother restored a degree of decorum to the gathering, and the
guests all took seats about the room, leaving Michael to stand at
the center of their attention.  His Stepmother spoke. 
          "Ladies, I'd like to introduce you to a new member of
my household.  This is Melissa," she gloated, standing to the
side and gesturing towards the feminized boy.  "Melissa darling,
walk over to our guests and greet them."  Michael/Melissa stared
dumbly at his/her Stepmother, and then slowly walked over to the
nearest guest and held out his hand.  "No, no, no.  Melissa,
prettly little ladies don't shake hands.  You should curtesy
gracefully, and say you are pleased to make the guest's
acquaintance.  And kiss each one on the cheek."  Melissa was
horrified at what was happening to him--what had he done to
deserve this??  What was she doing to him??  And the guests. 
They stood there expectantly, with broad smiles on their faces,
waiting their turn to greet the new little lady. 
          The first guest was Karen.  He stood before her, 
fumbled ashamedly with the hem of his skirt, and bobbed down as
he imagined how a girl performed a curtesy.   His Stepmother was
there again to correct him.  "No, Melissa dear.  My, my but you
do have so much to learn.  Take the hem daintily between your
fingertips, drop one foot behind you, and bend your legs slowly. 
And look directly into your guest's eyes while you curtesy.  She
wants to she how pretty you look."  Tears began to form in
Melissa's eyes as she tried again.  He had avoided looking at
anyone directly--his shame was just too humiliating.  Karen was a
tall girl and towered over him in her four inch heels.  He looked
up and saw her standing over him, with a smile that was sexy and
at the same time showed her strong sense of superiority over him. 
He took the lacy hem of the dress in his fingertips and curtesied
as instructed, his gaze locked on her smiling eyes.  Karen leaned
down and presented her cheek for Melissa's kiss.  "Oooh, Melissa,
you smell sooo pretty today," she teased.  By the time he had
finished greeting each of the guests, Melissa thought he could
never feel more mortified.  Melissa was wrong. 
          The party lasted all evening.  Melissa's silence was
not tolerated for long, and she was required to speak in the tone
of a little girl.  The conversation was directed entirely at the
new little girl on the block, and how much she would enjoy her
summer.  "My summer!!", Melissa screamed to herself, and finally
broke down.  But the tears simply brought more teasing comments
about how girlish he now was.  There was no escape.  When Amanda
suggested the nickname "Missy", the tears started again. 
          Melissa's Stepmother explained that Michael's
inexcusable behavior and manners were a disgrace to the family,
and that he would spend the summer learning how to correct them
at her sister's home.  Perhaps at the end of the summer with Aunt
Mary, Missy would be "reformed."  Missy was called upon to model
the pretty party dress, and was devastated further by having to
describe every bit of clothing she was wearing, and how much she
liked each and every one.  Amanda, Karen, and her other friends
were screaching with laughter as Missy carried on about her
"favorite party dress and petticoats."   
          Missy arrived at her aunt's house the next day, wearing
a white lacy sheer blouse, pink skirt, white hose, and pink
heels.  In the ensuing weeks, she learned all there was to learn
about being a teenage girl--everything.  All signs of masculinity
or rebellion on her part were strictly forbidden, and punished
severely.  <CONTINUED>

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