Mommy Made Me A Sissy

Mommy Made Me A Sissy

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Fiction by
Claudette
© 2004, all rights reserved

CHAPTER TWO

When they finally got home, Beth helped Mommy
carry everything into his room. It took them three trips to get it all.
Afterwards, Betsy told him to watch her sit down on the edge of the bed. She
smoothed her dress behind her as she sat down.

“Now you do it the same way darling,” she instructed him.

He did as she told him and she smiled down at him.

“That’s right sweetheart,” she said. “That way your pretty dresses and
petticoats won’t get all wrinkled. Always remember to do that when you sit down.
And keep your knees and feet together like a nice girl, too. Soon you’ll learn a
lot of girl manners and habits. You want to be a nice girl for Mommy, don’t
you?”

“But Mommy,” he said, “I wanna be a boy. Why do you want me to be a girl?”
“Because girls are nicer and prettier dear,” she replied. “Don’t worry
sweetheart. Soon you’ll be glad Mommy turned you into a girl. It’s for your own
good dear. Mommy knows what’s best for you sweetheart. Do you like wearing a
dress just like Mommy’s?”

“No Mommy, ”he answered. “It makes me feel like a sissy.”

She put her arm around his shoulders, bent her head down and kissed his cheek.
“Well, I like my pretty boy wearing a dress like his mommy’s. After a while you
will too,” said Betsy, smiling at him.

“Mommy,” he asked in a puzzled tone, “am I a sissy?”

“Yes dear,”said Betsy, “but maybe someday Mommy will have a doctor turn you into
a real girl. Would you like that?”

“A real girl Mommy?!!!” he asked, shaken right down to his white strap shoes.

“Yes honey,” replied Betsy. “Then you would grow up into a pretty young lady,
and you’ll become a grown-up lady like Mommy when you get older. Would you like
to grow up and look like Mommy?”

Gosh! He hadn’t realized that Mommy wanted him to dress and act like a
girl forever! He thought it was just for the summer. He thought about that for a
while. He also wondered again why she liked him wearing a dress just like hers.

“No Mommy,” he answered. “You’re very pretty, but I don’t like looking pretty.”

“Honey, let’s go back upstairs for a couple of minutes,” said Betsy.

“Yes Mommy,” he replied, and got up from the couch, wondering why she hadn’t
answered him.

“Beth dear, always remember to shake your dress and petticoat after you’ve been
sitting down. Like this dear.” She shook her dress and petticoats to make them
fluff up nice. He did the same thing and Betsy smiled down at him.
“Oh, I just know my little boy is going to love being Mommy’s pretty little girl
soon!”

She took his hand and they went up the wide staircase together. Inside her
bedroom, one of the big sliding doors on her closet was entirely covered by an
extra wide full-length mirror. She led him over to it and stood a little to the
side and in back of him with her arm around his shoulders.

“See darling? You already are pretty!” said Betsy. “And that’s the way you will
be from now on dear. Don’t we look nice wearing the same dresses!”

“Mommy,” he said, almost crying, “It makes me feel nice in a bad sort of way to
wear a dress, even if it looks like yours.”

“Lift the hem of your dress up to your waist dear,” said Betsy. He did as she
told him.

“See how pretty your poufy slip is darling!” said Betsy. “Now put your dress
down over it again. Doesn’t it make you feel pretty knowing that it’s under your
dress even when you can’t see it?”

A puzzled look came on his face as he thought about it. “Yes it does, but it
makes me feel ashamed to feel pretty Mommy,” he said.

“Maybe it does now dear, but you’ll like it after a while,” said Betsy, as she
bent down a little to hug him from behind and kiss his cheek. “All little girls
like to be pretty.” Then she reached around him and slid the closet door open.

“See all Mommy’s pretty dresses and petticoats dear. Soon your closet will be
filled with just as many as mine. Won’t that be nice? You’ll be wearing lots of
pretty dresses just like all girls and ladies do. And you’ll have some pretty
skirts and blouses, too.”

“Mommy...”he began a little unsure he should say what he was thinking.

“What precious?” she asked.

“Well...”he started, “I don’t want to be a sissy. Feeling pretty makes me feel
bad, too. Why do you want me to be a sissy?”

“Oh sweetheart, Mommy loves her pretty girl,” said Betsy. “Aren’t you glad just
a little bit that Mommy took you to the beauty parlor and we went shopping
together?”

He turned around and hugged her around her waist. “No Mommy,” he answered as he
started to cry a little. “I don’t like wearing girl's clothes. It makes me feel
ashamed.” Betsy kissed his cheek.

“Don’t feel ashamed dear,” said Betsy as she hugged him to her. “Mommy will
always love her little girl and take care of her. You’ll make Mommy so happy!”

“But I won’t be happy being a girl Mommy,” he said.

“Yes you will sweetheart,” said Betsy. “It’s just that you’ve never known before
how nice it is to be a girl. Soon you’ll start to like wearing pretty panties,
petticoats and dresses.” She took a tissue from the sleeve of her dress and
dabbed at his tears.

That night at supper, Betsy showed him how to hold his fork properly, sit up
nice and straight and eat like a little lady without stuffing his mouth, and
remembering to use his linen napkin. Betsy smiled lovingly at him as he ate in a
dainty fashion. But there was a bit of revengeful satisfaction in her
smile also. ‘A boy just like his father...’ she thought... ‘I wish he could see
him now!’

After supper, Beth helped his mother clean the table and then dried the dishes
with a dish towel as his mother washed them. She wanted him to experience a
little bit of housework so he’d realize how much she did to keep their home nice
and clean. Besides, it was good training for a girl!

At eight o’clock that night, they sat next to each other on the couch to watch
Milton Berle. He liked sitting next to Mommy and having her arm around his
shoulders. And as “the men of Texaco” sang their introductory song for the
program, Beth felt a little better. It wasn’t just having Mommy’s arm around
him. His bouffant slip and dress were so pretty, and he liked the feel of them
around his legs. And when he thought of the pretty white lace on his pink
panties, it made him smile a little. ‘Maybe Mommy is right,’ he thought.
‘Feeling pretty is sort of nice.’ But then he would think about the fact that he
was a boy, and it made him feel ashamed all over again. He wondered who he could
play with now. Naturally, he didn’t want his pals to know he was a sissy. Mommy
had said something about him playing with girls, but he
didn’t really know how they played. The only thing he had seen them do was play
jacks and jump rope in the school yard. He decided to wait til the next day and
he could ask Mommy.

Then “Uncle Milty” came out dressed like a little girl! But some of his teeth
had been blacked out and he looked like a homely girl! Beth and Betsy both began
laughing. Later at one point in the show, Arnold Stang said he was
“cheap-cheap-cheap”, and Berle said “What the hey...” Mommy started laughing,
but Beth didn’t catch the humor. Still, it was nice to have Mommy sitting next
to him and laughing. He still wasn’t glad she had made him a sissy. But
everything seemed to be pretty and fun with Mommy. And he loved it when she
kissed and hugged him, even if she called him her “pretty little girl”.

When the show ended, Betsy said he had to go to bed, and she held his hand as
they went upstairs to his bedroom. She helped him take off his pretty clothes
and put on a baby doll nightie. It was pink cotton, and on his chest were three
white lambs jumping over a brown fence. The panties that went with it had
ruffled edges around his legs. It felt very nice when he had it on, but he
wondered why girls’ nighties didn’t cover their legs. Just then Mommy told him
she’d get him a long nightgown for cold nights. In the bathroom, she washed off
his makeup and untied the ribbon bow on his
ponytail. Afterwards she brought him into her bedroom and had him sit at her
dressing table while she brushed his hair as she stood in back of him. “By the
end of the summer darling,” she told him, “you’ll have a nice long ponytail.
Won’t that be nice?”

“Mommy,” he asked, “will mine to be as long as the ones the girls in school
have?”

“Yes honey. But Mommy thinks you’re very pretty already sweetheart,” she said to
him, and then leaned down from behind him, kissed his cheek and put her arms
around him. Not expecting it, he giggled a little, and Mommy hugged him tighter.
"Oh darling!” she said. “Mommy loves her little girl so much! Soon we’ll go
shopping again and I’ll buy you some more pretty things to wear. Would you like
that?”

“Mommy,” he asked, “couldn’t you buy me just a few boy clothes so I could play
with my friends?”

“Oh, no sweetheart!” said Betsy. “You’re Mommy’s little girl now. Besides Beth,
you’ll be playing with girls now.”

She gave him another kiss and then told him he had to go to bed. Back inside his
own bedroom, he climbed up into his bed and Mommy pulled the covers up to his
chin. Then she leaned down and kissed him ‘good night’. He reached up and hugged
her around her neck and kissed her cheek, too. After she left, he lay there
wondering what dress Mommy would put on him the next day. But it didn’t really
matter. They all made him feel like a sissy! He started to cry a little bit.

CHAPTER THREE

In retrospect, the biggest mistake I made was underestimating my younger sister, Margaret; underestimating her cunning, her spite, and her ingenuity. It started with the custody battle during my parents' divorce. After my Dad left my Mom to marry Angie, his secretary, I begged him to let me live with him. The idea of living without Dad in a house with Margaret was more than I could take. I loved Mom and all that, and she really loved me, but Dad and I were best buds. We did everything together; ball games, fishing, backpacking, the works. I wanted to be just like him when I got older. I told both my parents that as a guy, I really needed to have the guidance of a live-in male authority figure.
I never figured my Mom would care so much about having custody of me. She told me it was because she loved me too much to have me turn out like my father. She was very proud of her "little man," and she bragged about me all the time. Maybe she bragged too much, because sometimes I caught Mom's friends and our neighbors rolling their eyes as Mom went on and on about what a perfect son I was and what a great man I was destined to be.
Mom was concerned enough that she even hired this bitchy woman lawyer, Ms. Proctor, to represent her in the custody dispute. I think the lawyer knew I didn't like her, because she didn't even pretend to be friendly to me. On the other hand, she and Margaret seemed to be instant friends. She was always telling Margaret how clever she was and went on and on about how much Margaret reminded her of herself when she was that age. Lots of times, Margaret and the lawyer would whisper and giggle, even when Mom wasn't around. Whatever!
That summer, before the custody trial, Margaret got way out of hand. Without Dad around to put her place, she became unbearable. She went out of her way to annoy me, acting like I was her personal slave or something. She even talked Mom into making me start doing some of her chores; stuff like delivering and picking up Mom's dresses and skirts at the dry cleaners. I felt like an idiot handing over that girly stuff to be cleaned. The ladies at the cleaners thought it was hilarious to say stuff like, "When do you need your dresses, dear?" "Oh, I bet you look just darling in this one." "Don't you think this dress is a little sophisticated for a boy your age?" "I bet your boyfriend just loves you in this!" Ha-ha, very funny. I tried to ignore the teasing, but it really embarrassed me. Worse, I always turned beet red, which just invited more teasing.
When Dad was around, he never let Margaret get away with her crap. Now that he was gone, she really stepped it up. Mom didn't seem to notice; I guess she was too busy with the divorce and stuff. I knew it was useless to complain; Mom would only tell me to stop being a wuss. Oh, well, at least school was out for the summer.
A couple of days later, I was playing a video game in my room when Margaret and her collection of bratty friends burst into my room. To my amazement, she marched over and actually yanked the power cord from the socket.
"Hey! What in hell do think you're doing?"
"For your information, dweeb, my friends and I are trying to listen to music. Your stupid game is bothering us."
Margaret's friends giggled nervously, waiting for my reaction. "Screw you!" I snapped back.
Margaret just smiled. She continued in a childish voice: "Now Priscilla. Is that any way for a young lady to talk?" Her friends' giggles turned to raucous laughter. Years ago, Dad was out of town on business, and I was complaining to Mom about something Margaret had done. Without thinking, Mom told me to stop acting like a little girl. Margaret quickly noticed how embarrassed I was by that remark, and started calling me "little girl" whenever she wanted to make me mad. She even came up with a shameful nickname for me - "Priscilla." She knew it really pissed me off to be called that stupid name.
To my chagrin, I could feel my face turn beet red. "Shut up, Margaret!"
"Now Prissy, don't be mad. I'll tell you what. I'll go get my old Barbies so that you can play dollies. Playing dollies always makes you feel better, doesn't it?" Margaret's friends laughed louder, and if possible, my face got redder. Finally, it was more than I could take. I had been in enough playground scuffles to know what to do. I easily grabbed my sister's arm and twisted it behind her. She winced in pain.
I couldn't resist rubbing it in a little. "Who's the girl now? Huh? Speak up, I can't hear you."
Margaret just glared at me with a hateful scowl. I could tell she was furious, and I've got to admit, the look on her face scared me a little bit. She couldn't stand that I was showing her up in front of her stupid friends. Still twisting her arm, I marched her over to the door and shoved her into hallway where her friends were already waiting. I felt kind of bad for being so rough with her, but she had it coming. Anyway, I guess it worked; Margaret and her friends left me alone for the rest of the day.
After that, something wasn't quite right. Margaret always tattled on me, even if I just looked at her wrong. But this time she never said anything about it. I didn't see much of her over the next couple of days; she was obviously busy with something. When I did see her, like at mealtimes, she just glared at me. It made me nervous. Eventually, she did start talking to me, but it was strange. She was acting really sweet toward me. It was sickening.
"Brother, dear, can I give you anything? How about another cookie? Peter, the ball game's on TV. Can I turn it on for you?"
I knew she was up to something, I just didn't know what. I didn't have time to worry because I came down with some kind of awful flu bug. I woke up in the middle of the night with terrible stomach cramps and a splitting headache. At breakfast, I complained to my mom.
"Mom, I feel awful. I've got stomach cramps, my muscles ache all over, and I've got no energy."
She felt my forehead. "You feel fine to me. You don't seem to have a fever. Take some aspirin and rest for a couple of days. I'm sure it's nothing," she said sweetly.
Margaret piped up: " I know what it is. Priscilla's getting her period. Isn't that precious?" At least Margaret was back to normal.
Leaving Mom and Margaret giggling in the kitchen, I retreated to my bedroom and stayed in bed the next few of days. I was absolutely miserable. It got so bad I could hardly move. Every day, Margaret stopped by my room and looked in, an evil grin on her face. It was starting to freak me out. Eventually, Mom began to be worried, but the same day Mom was going call the doctor, I started to feel a lot better; the headache and cramps went away, and I finally had more energy. My muscles also stopped hurting, but I still felt really weak. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but something just felt - wrong.
That afternoon, I went to the neighborhood park to shoot some hoops with my friends. It was great to finally be out of the house away from Margaret. But the minute my best buddy, Jeff, threw me the ball, things started to go bad.
"Hey Jeff, where did you get this ball. It feels like it's made of lead."
"What you talking about? It's the same ball we always play with."
I tried to take a jump shot, but I felt like I was shooting a bowling ball instead of a basketball. The ball fell three feet short of the basket. "You guys are crazy. There's something wrong with that ball."
I listened as all my buddies assured me that there was nothing wrong with the ball. I couldn't figure it out. As we started our regular pickup game, a bunch of the neighborhood girls came over and sat in the adjacent bleachers. I waved to Suzy Johnson, a girl in my class at school. She was really hot, and I had heard through the grapevine that she had a thing for me. This would be a great opportunity to dazzle her with my athletic talent.
Thirty minutes later, the game was over. My team had gotten clobbered, and I was single-handedly at fault. None of my shots even came close to the basket, and on defense, the guys pushed me around like I wasn't even there. I could tell my teammates were starting to get frustrated. Then the guys on the other team started to mock me. "Great shot, Peter. Maybe in a couple of years you'll be a big boy and actually get the ball to the rim." One of the girls in the bleachers said snidely: "Gee Peter, I'm a girl and I play better than that."
The guys all thought that was hilarious, and they actually had Becky, the girl who had spoken up, substitute for the guy I was guarding. To the delight of the other girls, who were now all cheering for Becky, she made a fool of me. She blocked my shots, easily shoved me out of the way to get rebounds, and scored as if I wasn't even there. Worse, she kept up a steady stream of taunts.
"Golly, Peter, maybe you should go over and play hopscotch with my little sister and some of her friends. That seems more your speed. But don't let them push you around. Sometimes they can play really rough," she mocked. As everyone laughed, I wanted to crawl under rock. Even Suzy was laughing. As I walked off the court, she had a look of disappointment on her face.
The next day, Margaret's friends were over, making a racket as usual. Apparently, they were planning an afternoon out at our backyard pool. The dÈtente with Margaret was obviously over because she barged
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Mommy Made Me A Sissy

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