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MRS. CHARD AND MRS. ARGENTINA got along famously from the first time they met.
Both ladies were divorced; both bitter about their former husbands; both in their early thirties; both with thirteen-year-old sons. They had each inherited more than enough riches to remain idle and indulge themselves in their discontent.
Mrs. Chard was blonde, so blonde her hair was almost white. Her startling blue eyes were set in a fine-boned face that was only just beginning to show the passing of thirty-two years. A slender and small- bosomed figure gave her an appearance of fragility.
By contrast, Mrs. Argentina was dark. Her hair was black as a raven's wing, usually piled on her head in an intricate hairdo, but when it was unpinned it fell almost to her slim waist. Her body was lushly curved; her bust, full. Generous lips suggested great sensuality. It couldn't be said she was older or younger than Mrs. Chard, for her beauty had a timeless quality.
When their neighbors in the condominium complex saw them together they smiled and said, "As different as night and day," which was not at all accurate, because the similarity of their personalities bridged their physical differences completely.
Their children also got along well. The two boys were skinny and smaller than average, which caused them to seek out each other's company since they couldn't compete in the rough-and-tumble physical sports of their bigger friends. Although they were at that age when girls become of consuming interest to boys, and vice versa, in their cases the interest was not reciprocated. The young ladies in their eighth-grade class never gave them a romantic thought, preferring to make eyes at the taller boys and athletes.
Johnny Argentina didn't resemble his mother much. He had inherited her liquid dark eyes and his lashes were too long and pretty, but his hair, which he wore long like most of the other boys in imitation of rock stars, was an ordinary brown, unlike the luxurious ebony of his mother's. Where she was dignified and poised, he was a scampy little rascal.
Nor did Leslie Chard look much like his mother. Although he could properly be called blond, his tangled curly hair, not quite as long as Johnny's, was a dark honey color. His eyes were gray and his features lacked the aristocratic fineness of his mother's. His nose, for example. Instead of being thin, almost aquiline, was a cute turned-up button hardly worthy of being called a nose; and he had an overbite which gave him a friendly look that drew people to him.
In the open, innocent way kids have, Leslie and Johnny comforted each other about their mothers's unfairness to them. It seemed they were always in trouble. For being late, for making too much noise, for getting too dirty, for being clumsy--for any and everything their mothers could think of. In short, for being boys.
Not long after they met, Johnny revealed his darkest secret to Leslie. Mrs. Argentina had devised an uncommonly cruel punishment.
"Yeah. If I do anything wrong, she has this dress she makes me put on. And then I have to do housework like a girl. Even if I don't do anything bad she just makes up something so she can punish me. It's not fair. I have to wear the dress almost every day. She calls it petticoat discipline."
Leslie didn't know what to say. He knew how mortified he would be if he were in Johnny's shoes. Finally he said, "That's really pretty creepy."
On the way home, he cut across the lawns that terraced the condominium complex where he lived, just as the sprinklers came on. A shocked moment later he laughed and raced for the safety of a walkway, but by the time he got there he was drenched. He shrugged and ran back on the lawn, charting a zig-zag course for home, pretending the sprinklers were land mines.
He crashed open the front door in exhilaration, dropped his sodden books on the hall table, and went to the kitchen, shoes squishing, to gorge on the milk and cookies the maid always left for him.
As he sat happily dunking cookies in milk and slathering them down, he became aware of a presence behind him.
Mrs. Chard stood in the doorway. Her eyes were blue chips of ice.
"What is wrong? Just look at yourself!"
"Oh. Well, it wasn't my fault, the sprinklers came on."
"So you decided to track water through the house and sit in a puddle in the middle of the kitchen."
"Not as sorry as you're going to be, young man. I'm sick and tired of this kind of behavior. Go upstairs this instant and dry yourself off. Take your schoolbooks with you. They're in the hall. Ruined. Put them away in your room. And wash your hands and face, you're filthy. You must be deliberately trying to annoy me. When you're finished come back down. You're to be punished."
Leslie opened his mouth to protest but closed it again. When she was in this mood there was no reasoning with her. He made a face behind her back but did as his mother told him. When he came down, Mrs. Chard was in the living room. One of Angie's maid's uniforms was laid out on the couch.
"Leslie, you have become far far too careless and impudent lately. You need to be taken down a peg. Remove your clothes and put on this dress."
"No! What a dumb idea," he retorted, shocked into rudeness. "Where'd you get it from, Johnny's mother? That's what she makes him do."
"Never mind. I think Mrs. Argentina and I know more about raising children than you. Now do as I say."
"Leslie, you know the court gave me sole custody. You must obey me in every particular. If you don't, I'll see to it that you are put in a juvenile detention home. That's what they do with incorrigibly disobedient children."
However unrealistic a threat, to a thirteen-year-old it was effective. He shrank a little.
Sullenly, the boy stripped to his jockey shorts.
The maid's uniform, black satin with white cuffs on the sleeves and a Spanish lace collar, was almost a fit.
It was large around the waist, but when he tied the little white apron around him it took up the slack. Since he and Angie were the same height, the hem fell to mid-thigh as it was supposed to.
It felt strange. Air circulated freely around his bare legs. Somehow wearing the dress made him feel more naked than if he had no clothes on at all.
He was also confused, for his penis hardened in his underwear. True, almost anything made him excited these days. Ever since he had discovered masturbation a few weeks before, he got erect at the very slightest provocation--but this was different. There was a special kind of "no-no" about wearing a dress.
"Let me look at you. Why, it's rather becoming." Mrs. Chard's eyes softened. "You would have been quite an attractive girl . . ." Her voice trailed off and she appeared to be lost in reverie.
Mrs. Chard gave a start. "Can you what? Oh. No. I want you to vacuum the living room. Angie didn't get around to it today. You'll do the dishes after dinner too. That will give Angie time to run errands for me in the morning."
"I don't have to keep wearing this dress while I vacuum, do I?" he whined. "What if somebody comes?"
"Nobody's coming. You're being punished, and you will remain clothed like that until I tell you different."
By the time his mother allowed him to go to bed, Leslie was in tears. He had never been so humiliated.
Nevertheless, he noticed that he had to masturbate before he could get to sleep, and what he fantasized about while doing it was wearing the maid's uniform. If his mother hadn't put it in the laundry he would have donned it, now that he was alone and safe in bed.
The next afternoon after school he and Johnny went to their hideaway in an empty lot and Leslie told his friend all about it. The other boy was sympathetic; he tried to take Leslie's mind off his troubles by suggesting a hike over to Hilbert Park.
Somehow the time slipped away. They were late getting home. It was Friday--being late shouldn't make any difference since they had the whole weekend to do their homework, but both boys wended their way home with foreboding.
Mrs. Chard was in the living room. "Where have you been? It's after five o'clock."
"I'm sorry, Mom. Johnny and me, well, we just--" He broke off. He had a feeling it wouldn't do any good to explain. He hoped she wasn't going to make him wear the maid's uniform again, but a sinking feeling told him that was what she had in mind.
He looked up in surprise. Her gentle tone put him off balance.
"Come sit here beside me." She patted the couch. "You remember I made you put on Angie's dress yesterday?"
"Aw, Mom, you're not going to make me wear it again, are you?"
"Poor dear, you didn't like it much, did you?"
"Leslie, it couldn't be all that terrible. Girls wear dresses all the time, after all."
"Yes, of course. Do you know," she said brightly, "I've always thought it would be nice to have a daughter that I could dress up in all kinds of frou-frou and teach to make up and, oh, all the things that mothers do with their little girls. I don't suppose you can understand that."
"When I saw you in Angie's dress yesterday I thought you'd make a perfectly lovely young lady. You're still so slender and delicate- looking." She gazed at him earnestly. "I wonder if you would do something for me," she continued. "Would you?"
Leslie was suspicious, but said, "Sure, Mom."
Mrs. Chard led Leslie upstairs to her bedroom.
On Mrs. Chard's bed was an assortment of lingerie and a sleeveless blue dress.
Holding up the dress she said, "I bought some things for you today. I'd like you to wear them."
Leslie's cheeks flamed. "But Mom--"
"Now, dear, I just want to see what it would be like if you were my daughter, to get a chance to have a sweet girl around the house for a little while. We're all alone and nobody can see. You will do your mother this small favor, won't you?"
"You're a dear child. You won't regret it, I'll make it up to you. Come into my bathroom, I'll run a bath for you. You can't put on nice clothes if you're all grimy. Oh, dear, wait. You have to shampoo first. How long has it been since you washed your hair? Never mind, here's some lovely shampoo with a conditioner. Wash your hair in the shower while the tub fills."
He undressed, keeping his back to her with the painful modesty that afflicts children whose pubic hair is coming in. Through the wavy glass of the shower door he saw her put bubble bath and a scented oil in the water. She picked up his clothes and held them out at arm's length. "Phew!" he heard, "These coarse old things can go directly in the hamper."
A dress. His mother wanted him to put on a dress and pretend he was her daughter. Leslie wondered if she had gone nuts. Well, it wouldn't do any harm to be nice, he guessed.
He was glad she wasn't mad about him being late.
Wait a minute. If she punished him for being late he'd have to put on a dress. But he was going to have to wear one anyway!
He held a towel in front of him while he stepped from the shower to the tub, hair hanging wet and bedraggled over his ears. The foamy bubbles in the tub concealed his body. He found himself relaxing in the warm water.
"Lift your leg up." Mrs. Chard held a can of shaving cream and a lady's razor.
She knelt by the tub. Holding his ankle, she covered the leg with lather and skillfully shaved the fine golden hairs. He squirmed, wanting to protest. After repeating the process with the other leg, she made Leslie put his arms behind his head while she shaved the light hair in his armpits.
"But, Mom, what if the guys at school see?"
"Why? You don't take off your shirt in school, do you?"
"Never mind, nobody will ever notice. It will grow back before you know it."
Mrs. Chard looked at his face intently. "You have no fuzz at all yet. I'm glad." She put the shaving equipment away. "Now finish your bath. When you're all dry, dust yourself with this body powder and put on this robe." She hung a negligée on the door.
Leslie used his mother's soft natural sponge. It slopped smoothly over his shaven legs and hairless underarms. The fragrance of her imported soap rose to his nostrils. When he had washed every inch of his skin he lay back in the soothing water, not quite conscious of deliberately avoiding getting up and facing her again.
Finally he forced himself out of the bath and toweled himself dry. At the last minute he remembered to pat himself with the scented powder puff.
The robe was pink satin with lace all down the front. Putting it on made him bashful. The material slid silkily over his naked skin. It came down to his ankles. He fastened the little snaps and made himself open the bathroom door.
"Oh, there you are, dear. Sit down here. We've got such a lot of work to do."
During the next hour and a half, Mrs. Chard fussed over him like a little girl playing with her dolls. It really was like that. Surprised, Leslie thought it was as if she had become a child again and he was a Barbie doll or something.
She busied herself with his hair, trimming it evenly with scissors, putting it in curlers, and blow-drying it.
While he winced and wriggled, she plucked his eyebrows judiciously and darkened the blond hairs with an eyebrow pencil. False eyelashes and mascara followed. When Leslie blinked, the eyelashes touched his cheek and eyebrows.
She regarded him speculatively. "Oh, well, it's evening. A little eye shadow won't hurt, just for fun. Even if you're so young." She suited action to words and brushed a blue tint above his lids.
The mirror showed Leslie eyes that were embarrassingly wide and innocent. Their gray was altered in hue by the eyeshadow. He didn't need the touch of rouge on his cheekbones to give him color--his face was blushing. A pink lipstick completed the makeup. It tasted perfume-y.
Pink plastic curlers stuck to his head made him look like some kind of space alien. With an attack of shyness he recognized the same thought he had when he saw Patty Perkins in the supermarket, rollers imperfectly covered by a thin scarf, and was embarrassed to identify with her that way.
He was thankful when Mrs. Chard finished drying his hair and removed the curlers. She brushed it out so that it fell softly across his forehead and curled around his ears. It made a big difference, Leslie thought uncomfortably. Although the hair was no longer than it had been before, it was unmistakably feminine in appearance. He'd have to wash it again before going to bed so he wouldn't look like a sissy the next day.
"You're just darling. Oh, Leslie, I'm glad you're being a good child. Come over here and we'll get you dressed."
She made Leslie slip off the robe. He covered his genitals with his hands.
"Don't be so silly, Leslie. I'm your mother. You have no secrets from me. Now put on this garter belt. Yes. Clasp it in front, then move the clasp around to the back."
The lacy elastic exerted an unfamiliar light pressure on his waist, and the garters dangled against his thighs and bottom.
She handed him a sheer brassiere and showed him how to fasten it in front like the garter belt and turn it around before slipping his arms through the shoulder straps.
"Put these in the cups," she said, holding out a pair of breast forms. They were some kind of flesh-colored rubber, liquid-filled, complete with rosy nipples. "At your age you would already have developed this much."
It was too embarrassing. His eyes filled.
"Stop that, Leslie. If you cry, your mascara will run. Whatever is the matter?" She dabbed at his eyes with a tissue.
"I don't know. It makes me feel all funny inside. Do I have to do this? What if somebody sees me?"
"Nobody's going to come. Now pay attention. This is the way you put on your stockings."
She knelt in front of him and helped him on with a pair of nylons. The warm tan color made his legs look rounder and sleeker.
As she fastened the garters to the stockings, her arm kept brushing the boy's genitals. Despite all he could do to prevent it, Leslie's prick lifted. The tip peeked out from the foreskin.
"What's this?" Mrs. Chard stared. "I didn't know you were old enough to-- Oh, dear."
"See, you do like dressing this way. Never mind, here, put on this pair of panties and tuck it down between your legs. Think of something else. It will go away." She sounded flustered.
The panties were hardly more than a scrap of nylon, but Leslie was relieved to have his private parts covered. He did his best to make his penis bend down along the crotch, but it was too stiff. He made do by pinning it up against his belly with the elastic of the panties. The head still showed.
The blue dress came next. It was short. So short, Leslie saw, that if he bent over carelessly, the tops of his stockings might show. He enjoyed seeing girls in mini-skirts, but it was different wearing one.
A pair of dark blue pumps with two-inch heels finished Leslie's ensemble. His mother had to force the shoes on. He complained they were too tight. She assured him he would get used to them.
"There," she said. "Isn't that better? You're taller. Why, the top of your head is on a level with my eyes."
She stood back, arms akimbo, studying Leslie attentively. Her expression softened as it had the previous day.
"It's quite surprising, Leslie dear. You really should have been a girl. You're far more attractive like this than in those awful old boy's clothes. I'm pleased. I think I shall always want you to be dressed this way when you're not in school."
She looked at the clock. "My goodness, it's past seven. Come, let us get dinner together."
Leslie teetered after her on his heels. The garters tugged at the stockings, making them move sensuously on his legs with each step. Air circulated around them and up along his crotch. The falsies, alive against his chest, bobbed gently.
At the table, Mrs. Chard kept reminding him to sit up straight and eat daintily. She seemed to have got carried away with the game, out of touch with reality. She kept referring to him as a girl or young lady. She appeared secretly elated.
It troubled him--putting on a dress and makeup was crazy--but his mom was being nicer to him than in a long time, so he didn't say anything. For once he had her approval. He loved her. If it made her happy to dress him up like a girl, he could put up with it.
It wasn't too bad if he didn't let himself think about somebody seeing him. He was cleaner than he could remember, and he hadn't known his hair could be so soft and light. The bar soap he usually used just didn't do the job.
On the other hand, everything about him smelled like perfume. It spoiled his dinner. The taste of his food mixed with the taste of his lipstick.
The worst thing was being afflicted with an erection that wouldn't go away. He still couldn't understand why these clothes made him excited, but they did.
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