Camp Sissy Curls--part63
We drove through the town and past the Mall and up the entrance ramp of the Interstate for the hour's ride home. And I thought about all the humiliating girlish horrors I'd faced in each of those places. But at least I was leaving them behind me and, hopefully, forever.
But what lay ahead for me? What did my future hold? And most immediately, what would my father think?
As we drove, my stepmother tried to engage me in conversation. More like chit-chat actually, with questions about camp and the things I did and how the weather was and if I made new friends. Innocuous questions like that. And I responded simply with "yes" and "no" or one or two word answers.
Finally, about halfway down the Interstate to home, stepmother said. "Why so quiet Stephie?"
I seized the opportunity. "How long am I gonna have to be like this and what are people gonna say when they see me like this?"
"Oh Stephie, don't worry your pretty little head about that!" She answered.
"Don't worry my pretty little head is exactly the problem!" I said. "A thirteen year old boy shouldn't have a pretty little head or a pretty little dress or a pretty little ANYTHING else."
"Oh, don't fret sweetie. You'll be fine." She said, in a failing effort to comfort me.
"But what will dad think when he sees me?" I continued.
"Okay." And stepmother took a deep breath. "Look Stephie, I promise you that your father will be fine with Stephanie instead of Stephen. I really mean it! You don't need to feel embarrassed at all in front of him."
"But that can't be." I argued. "It's not possible."
"Listen Stephie, I need to go to the bathroom. There's a rest stop a few miles ahead. We'll stop there and I'll use the Ladies Room and then I'll explain how it is, indeed, possible." And she left it at that.
Just minutes later, we exited the van in the parking lot of the rest area. Stepmother held my hand and we walked toward the large, crowded building of restaurants, shops and bathrooms. And I walked along side her as little girlishly as I could. I wanted to "pass".
As we approached the entrance, I stopped and looked up at her. "I need to go to the bathroom too!" And I truly did.
"Well Stephie, That's not a problem. That's what your diapers are for silly." She answered.
I started to cry. "Please, I don't want dad to meet me in wet, poopy stinky diapers! Please, can I use a toilet?"
My tears worked. "Okay Stephie, I understand. You can come with me into the Ladies Room this time and use the potty. But I'll need to help you with all you're wearing."
I stopped crying and was grateful to, at least, be spared the indignity of meeting my father in messy, smelly diapers.
As we made our way to the Ladies Room, I got a good share of attention. But I could tell that it was from being so fancily dressed or maybe because I probably looked a little big or a little too old to be dressed as I was. But the attention didn't seem to be because anyone thought I was a boy.
The Ladies Room was busy and I got lots of looks and smiles. But, for the most part, they were looks of really almost admiration and pleasure at the sight of me. And the comments I received weren't taunts.
"Oh my!" Said one middle aged woman to my stepmother. "It's such a shame more girls aren't dressed like your daughter." And she fondled my curls. "You look pretty as a picture sweetheart."
Stepmother took me into a stall and closed the door and had me hold up my dress and petticoats while she snaked my diapers and rhumbas down to my ankles. Then she helped me onto the toilet seat.
"Be sure to wipe yourself thoroughly when you're done Stephie." She said, as she left the stall and closed the door behind her.
I heard her situate herself in the stall next to me. It was really freaky to be doing my "business" right next to my stepmother who was doing her "business". But I was glad that I wasn't doing my "business" into my diapers at least.
I flushed. Stepmother flushed. And moments later, she was back in my stall refitting me into my diapers and rhumba panties.
As we left the building, she stopped at a small shop and bought a large round, flat lollipop. She unwrapped it and handed it to me.
"That'll help sooth you for the rest of the ride home Stephie."
I took it and began licking it, despite knowing that the lollipop would make me appear even more "little girly".
Back in the van and buckled up, the ignition still off though, stepmother said. "Okay Stephie, there's something I want to show you before we get back on the Interstate."
She reached into her purse and pulled out a photograph and held it up. It was wrinkled a bit and dog earred and worn and the color was slightly faded. It was obviously an old photo.
She put it into my hand and said, "I want you to look at this picture and tell me what you see."
I glanced at it and replied. "It's a picture of a little girl standing in front of a row of what looks like evergreen trees."
"Yes, but look more closely and tell me more about what you see!" She prodded.
It pained me greatly to say it, but I did. "Well, she's dressed a lot like me. And her hair's a lot like mine. And it looks like it's summertime in the picture."
"Good Stephie, very good. Do you think she looks kind of like you?" She asked.
Again, I hated to admit it, but I did. "I suppose so."
"Now Stephie, take one last very careful look at the picture. Does that girl look familiar?"
I looked very carefully at the little girl's face. And my jaw almost dropped to my lap.
"No!!! It can't be!" And I repeated. "It can't be. This just can't be real."
"Yes, it is real Stephie. And it's why you don't have to worry about your father seeing you like you are now." And she caressed my cheek with her hand.
"Almost thirty years ago, your father was in one of the first groups of campers at Camp Sissy Curls."
Betty Pearl's Sissy Stories 20.1
Topic: Camp Sissy Curls (Read 147090 times)
