Come Dancing

[DaraJaney]

Shortly after that he was standing outside Patricia’s Beauty Parlour waiting for the others.  When they arrived they smiled at his outfit.  â€śGorgeous cami”, Maire commented.  He glared at her.



There was no need to bring Chris into the back room now – nobody would think for a minute that he was a boy.  They just needed to touch up his ringlets and put on some make-up.  He watched enviously as the other girls put their wigs of ringlets in place.  Then it was on with the dance costume and special panties.



When they got on the bus the boys were so used to him that they barely gave Chris a second look, apart from Jack who continued to ogle him.  Chris was now becoming used to acting like a girl and sometimes even could forget his predicament for a few moments.



But his frustration and awkwardness all came back as he stood on the stage looking down at the smiling teenage boys in the front row.  He suddenly felt very conscious of his lace trimmed panties and the dress felt like it hardly covered them at all.



Still all thoughts like that had to be banished if he was to perform properly so he concentrated on his steps and high-kicks without thinking of the consequences.



When the results were announced, they had come sixth.  Their dance teacher was devastated.  Chris was frustrated too.  Here he was stuck having to dress like a girl for the next eighteen months, already established as the school slut and all that to end up coming sixth.  At least he could concentrate now on his studies and his goal of getting into college.  In fact, having to wear girl’s clothes would ensure that he stayed at home as much as possible and would have little to do but study.



After a few weeks his mother sat him down for a chat.  She was finding it difficult to pay the school fees.  He was going to have to find some part-time work to help.  She had heard that a local cafĂ© was looking for waitresses for evening work.



So Chris found himself waiting on tables three evenings a week.  He had to wear a white blouse, short black skirt and black tights.  The cafĂ© was a favourite hang-out for teenage boys and he was constantly being whistled at and having his bottom pinched and hands put up his skirt.  His complaints to the manager were laughed off and he was told it was good for business and if he didn’t like it he could resign.



On the second night, who arrived in only Jack with a gang of friends from school.  When Chris was finished and on his way home he ran into the gang at the end of the street.  Jack took him down a dark lane.  Despite Chris’s pleas Jack turned him around, made him bend over and pulled down his tights and panties.  He called one of the other boys who trotted over eagerly when he realised what was happening.  Chris heard a zip and a moment later a pen-is appeared in front of him.  He took the boy in the mouth while Jack continued to push in and out of his back passage.



Chris stumbled his way home realising that these boys were going to continue looking for satisfaction day and night.  And he wasn’t even getting used to the taste of sperm.



He now had much less time for study and his grades suffered.  At the end of the year, his results were very disappointing.  He would have to try and catch up by studying over the summer.



But his mother had other ideas.  She had heard of an elderly lady, a friend of an aunt, who needed help around the house.  She lived in a large house in another city so Chris would have to go and live with her for the summer.  He realised that this would get him away from the local boys and warmed to the idea.



The lady seemed quite nice but rather formal.  She showed him around the house.  In the kitchen she introduced Chris to a man who cooked for her and did other jobs around the house.  Chris was happy enough to take the job.



“Your room is on the top floor”, Mrs. Byrne told him.  â€śYour uniform is laid out on the bed?”  Uniform?  Chris hadn’t reckoned on that.  But the lady was insistent that she wasn’t going to let “standards drop”.



Chris went into his room and saw a black maid’s uniform laid out on the bed.  It had a lace collar and lace trimmings around the cuffs and hem.  He sighed heavily.  He stripped down to his bra and panties.  When he went to pick up the uniform he realised that there were petticoats attached.  He put on the dress and zipped it up.  Looking in the mirror he saw it was quite short on him.



A pair of black stockings was also laid out on the bed.  He took off his tan stockings and rolled up the black ones to put them on.  He saw that the black stockings were seamed.  He did his best to keep the seams straight but it wasn’t easy.  He attached the suspenders and stood in front of the mirror again.  He turned around and twisted to examine the seams.  He bent over slightly and could see the dark band of the stocking tops amid the white petticoats.



He pushed the skirts down but that made little difference.  He rummaged under his petticoats to find the suspender straps but they were already pulled up to their shortest length.



There was a pair of black court shoes beside the bed which obviously went with the uniform.  They seemed to have a very high heel and he hoped that they wouldn’t fit him.  As luck would have it, they did.  He tottered across the room.  The heels must have been a good four-inches.



There were white gloves and a white hair band on the pillow.  He put them all on and was ready to go.  He walked along the corridor, arms extended to try to keep his balance in the heels.

[DaraJaney]

He knocked on the door of the lounge.  “Come in”, Mrs. Byrne called out.  He brushed down his skirts again and opened the door.  She studied him as he walked across the room towards her.  He stood in front of her and waited for her verdict.

“Curtsey”, she ordered.  He gave her a disbelieving look.  Surely maids didn’t have to curtsey to their employers in this day and age.  But her stern look told him so would brook no argument.  He tried to think what girls did to curtsey.  He lifted his right foot, tapped the toe on the floor behind and bent his left knee briefly.

“That was barely a curtsey”, she said.  “Take the hem of your skirt between your thumbs and forefingers on either side and raise it while you curtsey.  Chris was fuming inside but did what he was told.  “A bit better”, she conceded.  “Now turn around.”

Chris turned and stood, feeling her eyes scan him from head to heel.  “Your seams aren’t straight”, she said.  He sighed.  She told him to return to his room and straighten his seams.  Chris was furious at the treatment he was receiving but didn’t argue and left the room.

He spent twenty minutes twisting his stockings back and forth to get the seams straighter.  It was difficult to see properly having to twist around to look in the mirror.  When the seams were as straight as he could get them, he practiced a few curtseys.  After a few attempts he sighed deeply again and wondered how had he ended up like this.

Eventually he went back down, knocked on the door, tottered across the room to her and gave a more extravagant curtsey.  He was instructed to turn around again.  “That’ll have to do, I suppose.  Now bring me tea and scones.”

Chris turned.  “Curtsey before you leave”, she instructed him.  He froze, bit his lip, turned back and curtsied.

Jenkins was in the kitchen and quite blatantly looked Chris up and down with a smirk.  Chris felt distinctly uneasy and tried to push his dress down as far as it would go.

He returned to the lounge with the tray.  He bent down to place the tray on the coffee table.  “Bend your knees, for goodness sake!” she scolded him and Chris jerked back up realising that anyone behind him would certainly see his suspenders and probably his panties.  He felt like saying “well, if the uniform wasn’t so damn short!” but he held his counsel.

The house had little in the way of modern conveniences.  Chris had to sweep the floors since there was no vacuum cleaner.  Every time he bent his knees to sweep into the dustpan his stockings would slip down a little and he would feel the suspenders stretch tighter when he stood up again.

The house was full of large mirrors which treated him to regular reminders of how he looked in the maid’s uniform, stockings and high-heels but at least afforded him the opportunity of ensuring that his stocking-tops could not be seen.  But several times each day he would have to rummage under his petticoats and pull up his stockings again.

After a few days he was told to wash the floors.  His only implements were a basin of water and scrubbing brush.  There was no alternative but to get down on his hands and knees and scrub the floor.  As he bent over, he knew that his stocking tops, at least, had to be visible to anyone standing behind but Mrs. Byrne was in the lounge and Jenkins was working in the garden.

Chris was halfway through the hall floor and had managed to forget his precarious position when he heard a gentle cough behind him.  He straightened up immediately and desperately brushed down the back of his dress.  It was Jenkins with an even bigger smirk on his face now.

Chris also had to wash their clothes by hand and hang them out on the washing line to dry.  He was certain that having to reach up to the line was exposing his stocking tops and he kept swinging around to see if anyone was behind.

One day Jenkins answered the door to a guest and returned to the kitchen to instruct Chris to bring up tea for two.  Chris prepared the tray and brought it up to the lounge.  By now Mrs. Byrne had him well trained to maintain a demure appearance with his eyes directed downwards unless spoken to.  He placed the tray on the coffee table, turned towards his mistress and curtsied, raising the hem of his dress daintily to expose his petticoats.

He heard a snort from the guest.  He glared in her direction only to see his mother desperately trying to conceal her great amusement.  He was mortified.  He wrung his white-gloved hands in embarrassment.  When his mother recomposed herself she praised Mrs. Byrne for making such a fine maid of Chris.

The whole summer he was fully conscious all day every day of his short dress, the constant movement of his suspenders and the discomfort of the four-inch heels.  At the end of each day when he could finally take off the shoes and stand flat on the floor, his toes would remain curled upwards for at least a minute afterwards until he could ease them out of the unnatural shape they had been forced into for the previous sixteen hours.

[DaraJaney]

At the end of the summer he was relieved to be out of the maid’s uniform but dreaded another year wearing his short school skirt.  He pleaded with his mother to be allowed wear trousers but she wouldn’t hear of it.  He longed for the security that a well belted pair of pants would provide but instead he walked towards school in his pleated skirt knowing that within hours he would have returned to his role as school slut, forced to satisfy any boy in the school on demand.



He was also back in his waitressing job in the cafĂ©.  With all the hours he had to work he was not getting much chance to study and his grades continued to deteriorate.  He was frustrated by the amount of time he had to spend in front of the mirror doing his make-up or curling his hair.



By the time his final exams came around he feared the worst.  He failed to achieve grades that would get him into any college, let alone a top university.  At least school was finished and he could end this charade, which was all for nothing in the end, and get back to his life as a boy.



But his career guidance teacher did not know his secret and was determined that she was going to fix up every pupil with some job or training before they left.  She reckoned she could get him into a secretarial course during the summer that would leave him in a good position to get a job.



Chris’s mother thought it was a great idea.  He pleaded desperately to be freed from his life as a girl but his mother was insistent that he had to earn his keep and what other job could he get now but as a secretary?



So one Monday morning he left the house to start the course wearing a flimsy white blouse, a black jacket, a black and white mini-kilt, black stockings and four-inch heels.  His mother was convinced that a secretary needed to dress like that to progress in her job so he’d better get off to a good start.



He cursed under his breath as he waited twenty minutes at the bus stop, shifting from one foot to the other to try to ease the pain of his heels.  The bus’s arrival created a gust and he yelped as he tried to hold his skirt down.  He looked around nervously wondering if anyone else at the stop had seen his suspenders.  From the amused looks, he presumed that they did.



The bus was so full he had to stand.  Every time it slowed or accelerated he tottered back and forth in his heels.  Several men occupied seats but they seemed to be too amused by his predicament to want to offer Chris a seat.



When he arrived at the course most of the girls were wearing casual, comfortable clothes and most were amused by the sight of this stereotypical secretary trotting in.



He endured the course for the summer, wearing a succession of very short skirts and virtually see-through blouses that his mother reckoned were de riguer, despite the evidence that the girls in the course obviously did not see it that way.



When the course was finished various job offers were made to the girls.  Chris couldn’t help but smile at the irony of his offer – the administration office of a university.  He consoled himself that, if he couldn’t be a university student then at least he could be close to them and maybe socialise with them.



His mother insisted that he keep wearing his short skirts and high-heels to impress his new male bosses.  The first day at work, he knew that it was actually working.  The other secretaries glared at his long black-stockinged legs and his thin bulging blouse while his boss generally made a fuss of the new “girl”.



On his second day he checked his make-up in the hall mirror before leaving home.  He stepped back a little to check that his powder-blue pleated skirt covered his white stocking tops alright.  Then he noticed a ladder in his stocking.  â€śOh damn”, he muttered as he clattered his way upstairs to get a replacement.



He was now late for his bus which appeared around the corner when he was still a hundred yards from the stop.  He trotted along as fast as he could in his high heels.  His shoulder bag slipped off which further hampered him.  Two women overtook him easily and got to the stop before the bus arrived.



The driver had obviously seen him running and waited until Chris eventually stumbled his way to the stop.  Dozens of cross faces watched Chris get on.  He then had to fumble in his purse to find change to pay the driver.  He could hear the tut-tutting from the seats.



As he walked down the aisle of the bus he realised that his stockings may well have slipped down from all the running.  He tugged at the hem of his skirt but knew that he couldn’t start fidgeting with his stockings or suspenders in the middle of a full bus.



As soon as he arrived at the university he went into the ladies’ and checked in the mirror.  He was mortified to see a few millimetres of his stocking top showing.  Then a worse thought struck him and he turned around, twisting his neck to see how he looked from behind.  There was bare skin visible above the stocking top and he nearly died.  He went into a cubicle, lifted the hem of his skirt and pulled his stockings up.



At lunchtime he returned to the ladies’ to freshen up his thick make-up.  He powdered his nose and cheeks and renewed his lipstick.  He checked his pink nails and examined his stockings carefully.  Then he went to the canteen.



There were three female students in the queue in front of him.  He envied them their comfy sweaters, jeans and sneakers, not to mention the fact that they were attending university, something he had desperately wanted to do.



They were oblivious to him as they checked the menu.  He thought it would be nice to make friends with some students so he said Hi.  They looked at him as if he was from another planet.  He stood there highly self-conscious as they looked him up and down from his heels to his dangling ear-rings.  Eventually they returned his greeting but almost immediately turned away trying to stifle laughter.  He was hugely deflated.



When he paid for his meal he deliberately headed past their table in the hope that they would ask him to join them.  Instead they sat huddled together whispering.  As he passed he heard “…secretary in the administration office…”  and “God, what a bimbo!”  He kept on walking.



Then he heard a “hello there” behind him.  He turned with a big smile on his face, finding acceptance after all.  But it was Jack from school.  â€śI heard you’d got a job here”, he told the dumb-struck Chris.  â€śI’m doing engineering.  Come over here and meet my friends.”  Chris looked behind Jack to see about ten smiling boys all looking him up and down eagerly.  â€śHey guys.  Meet Chris.  Chris is a really good sport.”  Chris’s buttocks clenched and his mouth went suddenly dry.



[concluded]