Simon

[Simonssister]

Chapter I:  A Naughty Boy

Maybe you have read about Simon somewhere else.  If so, it has probably been excerpts from his diary, which he started keeping soon after he turned sixteen.  That wasn’t an arbitrary moment.  To explain why, I need to go back a few years.
Simon’s mother, Anne, had a stepsister, Beatrice.  Beatrice is my mother, so I suppose technically I’m Simon’s stepsister, though I’ve always regarded him as my little brother.  From before he became a teenager he was looked after principally by Bea, because Anne was busy keeping a roof over their heads.  We lived close by, in a house in Garden Road, but my mum spent most of her time at Simon’s, especially as he grew up and needed more attention.  Why more?  Because although he was a very pretty little boy, he also had all the worst traits of a teenage boy.  He was often in trouble at school, getting into fights, swearing at the teachers, playing truant.  How many times did my mum and I ask ourselves why he couldn’t have been born a girl.  I’m sure if that had been the case we could have made him far more amenable to reason, and we could all have had a much nicer time.  And the funny thing was, apart from his behaviour, he could very well have been a girl.  He looked young for his age, he had a well-shaped face, delicate features and limbs, and a little retroussé nose peeping out from under a shock of thick fair hair.  I know both his mother and my mother would have preferred a girl, but what could you do?  What indeed?  My mum and I discussed the matter many evenings after Simon had eventually been got to bed.  Then one evening, before Simon’s fourteenth birthday, Bea let me in on her plan.
“I’ve been thinking, Stella.  Simon’s problem is that he is rebelling against us.  Against me, Anne, you, and your friend.”  (My friend, my best friend, Sandra, who spent a lot of time with us.)
“Well I know that. Mum.  But the question is, how are we going to stop it?  Or will he be like this forever?”
“No, you don’t understand.  He even has a go at his teacher, Miss Benson.”
“So?”
“He’s angry with all females!  He doesn’t hate us.  He loves cuddles and attention when he’s come down from one of his moods.  He resents us.  Maybe he resents our companionship.  I’ve noticed he doesn’t have any male friends – except Billy, that is, and Billy is the very opposite of him, quiet and gentle.  Do you think …”
“Do you think that maybe…he wants to be a girl, somewhere deep in his subconscious?”
“What?  Are you serious?”
“I don’t know.  Perhaps he’s crying out to be tamed.  That’s the impression I get.  If we were only strong enough, or he weak enough, to be subdued …”
“You’re suggesting we turn him into a girl.  Good luck with that.  Not that it wouldn’t be the best!  He would make such a fantastic girl!  He looks so sweet sometimes and in the right clothes he could be one!”
“He could, couldn’t he?” said Bea, thoughtfully.
“Yeah, Mum, but he’d go berserk if you ever got near him with a dress or a “Hello Kitty” top.  Forget it.”
“You know there are ways.”
“Such as?”
“I had an idea recently.  I worked out that there is an intermediate stage to feminizing a boy.  Do you know what it is?”
“Give him a girly doll?”
“No, something subtle, Stella, you idiot.”
“Like?”
“Didn’t you notice I’d fitted his bed with a nice rubber sheet?”
“Yes – but that was a necessity, wasn’t it?”
“A pink one?”
“Yes, I saw that.  I did wonder.”
“He didn’t object, did he?”
“No.  I noticed you were making a big fuss of him after he went to bed.  Cuddles and kisses and stories and everything.  Were you …?”
“Yes.  Getting him used to it and encouraging him to associate rubber with nice things, with attention and love and calm.”
“Clever!”
“And next – a pink rubber pillow-case with frills all around the edge.  It’s already in his drawer.”
“Wow!”
“And then – these.”  She went to a drawer in the bureau, and produced something wrapped in tissue.  Opening the little package carefully, she produced a little pair of puffy pink rubber panties, with elasticated legs.
“Bloody hell, Mum!  He won’t wear those!”
“I bet he will.  He’s going to get used to the smell and feel of rubber, the softness, the smoothness, the attention and caresses that go with it.  I’m going to put them in his drawer and I’ll explain to him he can wear them if he wants, just in case of night-time accidents.  I won’t force anything.  If I’m right, he won’t be able to resist trying them on, and then I think he’ll be hooked.  Can you imagine how nice they’ll feel to him, and what nice dreams he might have?  Wait and see.”
Well I did, and I was amazed that her prediction proved correct.  I think it took him ten days, but after that he wearing them every night.  We said nothing, but we were assiduous in out attention and affection, and little by little we saw an improvement in his comportment.  The seed had been sown.
“Well it looks like he’s addicted, Mum.  You were right.  That’s so clever of you.  But where do we go from here?”
“Well, Stella, I’m not sure.  The theory is that the association of rubber with submissiveness and even femininity should drive him to want to wear more girly clothes.  But I admit, it’s not happening.  He’s still a boy, through and through.  He’s never even touched those frilled panties I put in his drawer.  So I really don’t know.”
“Yeah, and he was rude to Miss Benson again the other day, wasn’t he?”
“I’m afraid so.  Perhaps ultimately we’re going to have to force the issue.”
“I can’t imagine how you’d do that.  We have no leverage over him.
“No, not at present.”
And indeed, it was another two years before the opportunity finally presented itself.

Chapter II: An Extra Birthday Present

It was a few days after Simon’s sixteenth birthday.  I’ll let Simon tell the story.  My mum discovered where he hid his diary, inside some comics in the bottom of his wardrobe, and we used to fish it out while he was at school and have a good laugh.  This is how he records the fateful day.
“Thursday June 9th.  This was the worst day of my life – so far. My aunt caught me – she caught me looking at a video of a girl, that was all!  I don’t know why I like rubber so much.  My aunt says I had to have rubber bedding when I was younger, and that it was me that wanted to sleep in rubber pants all the time.  Anyway, it was all quite innocent.  In fact, I was doing my homework for the next day.  I had been researching superheroes for a school project, and I eventually got onto one of my favourites, Catwoman.  Actually she reminds me a bit of my aunt, if my aunt had a prettier face, that is.  I had written most of the notes, then when I was checking out images for the cover sheet I happened on some pictures of a rather pretty girl – a real girl – wearing a very well-tailored black rubber catsuit, tight black rubber gloves, and little black patent ankle-boots. She had a mass of long black hair which lay on her shoulders. It gave me a funny feeling when I thought how that soft hair would feel against the taught latex.  Out of pure curiosity I followed the link and found lots more! Some of them were super cool! She had really well-shaped breasts and in one picture she was eating a big bowl of custard and she seemed to have dripped some of it down between her breasts and it was tricking down over her tummy and – well, anyway, and in the next picture she was trying, not very successfully, to scoop it up with her fingers, and she was getting a bit messy. In the next she had put down the bowl and was trying to wipe the custard off the tip of her left breast, but because her fingers were dripping with custard she was really just making matters worse! The series went on: in leaning forward her hair must have dipped into the bowl, and little bobs of yellow custard were getting smeared onto her shoulders! I don't really know why, but I was beginning to feel excited – I wanted to know what would happen next! It was then I saw the link to the video! I could hardly breathe! While it was downloading I decided to loosen my clothing and make myself a bit more comfortable.  I was only a few minutes into it when I became aware of a pair of sharply-nailed fingers closing around my ear.
"So! This is what my little nephew gets up to when his mother's out! How interesting!"
"Aunt! What are you doing here? I was just working on my project...."
"Project? Really? Is this what Miss Benson gives you for homework these days?" she smirked. "Oh, no wonder she's so popular with the boys! Such a useful exercise!" And she went off into peals of laughter.
“Come with me, Simon.  No, leave that.  Let it download.”  And she led me by the ear down to the living-room.  What now?  Was she going to tell Mum?
She seated herself comfortably in an armchair.
“Stand there.  I want to talk to you.”
“I’m sorry, aunt.  Please don’t tell mummy.  It won’t happen again,”  I whined, zipping up my jeans.
I don’t know why I was pleading with her.  I’m not twelve any more.  She shouldn’t have been watching me and in any case she has no right to tell me off.  Why do grown-ups make me feel so little?  Even Stella and Sandra treat me like a child – ruffling my hair and patting my cheek and saying things to make me blush – it’s not fair!  And there I was again, hanging my head and blushing as I stood there like a naughty child in front of the headmistress.
“So you don’t want me to tell Anne?”
“Of course not.  Why would you tell her? You know it'll just be embarrassing for all of us! Listen, aunt - I'll be good. What do you want me to do?" I don’t know why I said this.  I was just desperate to get this over with and get back to my project.  I wondered if the video had finished downloading yet.
"Is that an offer?  Well, what I want is for you to start behaving better, Simon.  There was a time when you were definitely improving, but lately you’ve started regressing.  There have been a couple of incidents at school recently, haven’t there?  Your mother is beginning to worry about you again.”
I could feel the two sides of my nature fighting each other.  A part of me was angry that Bea should still be trying to treat me as her own son, and not only that, but as a little boy rather than an adolescent.  But the other part felt as powerless as a child.  But I plucked up all my courage.
“Look, Bea,” (I thought the ‘Bea’ would put her in her place), “I’m no longer a kid, you know, and you can’t treat me like one!  Now I’m going back to finish my homework!”  And I turned to leave.
“Oh, Simon!  Just a moment.  I’m so sorry.  I didn’t mean to treat you like a silly little child.  I saw just now what a big boy you are.”  I stopped.  Was she being sarcastic?
“In fact, as your so grown up now, I had a little extra present for you which you didn’t get on your birthday.”
“Really, aunt?”
“Yes.  I didn’t want to give it to you in front of your friends in case they got jealous.  But you can have it now.”
“Wow, th-thanks, aunt!” I stammered, quite disarmed.
She stood up and went over to the drawer which contained her personal stuff.  She took out her key, opened the drawer, and produced – a little parcel wrapped up in birthday paper. She offered it to me.
"Here. Happy Birthday!" A pause. "Well aren't you going to open it?"
My hands trembled a little as I tore of the wrapping, of blue bunnies of a pink background. Whatever it was, was soft and a bit squishy. Underneath there was pink tissue. I ripped it off. At first I didn't quite understand what it was. It took a moment to dawn. Then I held up a pair of little rubber hot pants, blue with red frills around the legs and a red waistband. I was speechless. Aunt Bea smiled.
"In the circ-umstances it seems to me the perfect present," she cooed. "I think I must be psychic! Well, aren't you going to say thank you?"
I was so confused I think I did actually say, "Yes, thank you Aunt Bea!" Idiot!
"Do you understand what they are, Simon? These are your new school shorts. They're in your school colours – blue and red – and they're going to fit you perfectly. Don't you remember when we measured you for your shorts? Well here they are!"
"I am NOT wearing these for school – or anywhere else!" I protested. "No way!!"
Bea smiled. "Oh but you are," she said – "at least in the nice weather. You'll look so sweet. Everyone will love you in them."
"You can't make me, and I'm fuc-king NOT!" I threw then down and stalked towards the door.
"Simon, there's something you need to know." I stopped. What was coming now?
"Simon, when I came upstairs just now and witnessed your little performance, how long do you think I'd been watching?"
"What do you mean?" My heart sank.
"Well, I'm not sure myself, but it must have been a minute or two. Let me check the video."
She took out her phone and clicked a couple of buttons. I rushed back. She held it out of my reach and I caught a glimpse of me sitting at the computer. I didn't need to see any more. I flopped into a chair, horrified. Bea continued:
"So Simon, it's really a very simple choice. You can wear your lovely new shorts for school tomorrow – it's Friday, so initially it's just one day to help you get used to them – or, once I've downloaded and copied your little show, we can see what your friends think of it. Would you like to upload it to your Facebook page? What do you think?"
I groaned.
"Well, I'll take that as a yes for the shorts. Your mother's going to be so pleased! Why don't you put them on now ready to show her when she comes home? Go on! Hurry up!"
What could I do? I picked up those silly little pants and made my way miserably back upstairs.
"No underpants mind! Put a nice clean shirt on! And a clean pair of socks with your best trainers please!"
It was horrifying! These were not secret indoor pants, like I was used to.  These were real outdoor shorts!  They fitted me perfectly – taught without being tight – the frilled legs quite straight but ridiculously short. There was no fly, just a seam in the rubber running from the front of the waistband to the back. I would have to pull aside one leg to go to the toilet. I felt silly and self-conscious, and I couldn't help blushing as I looked at my reflection in my mother's full-length mirror. As the latex warmed up it gave off  that slightly sickly odour that I knew so well, sweet and exciting.   I had to bite my lip to cool down. Bea was calling me.
"Simon, come down please. Your mother will be home soon and we want to surprise her, don't we?
I made my way back down to the living room.
"Oh, you look sooo CUTE!" she screamed. She jumped up and started fussing with my pants, adjusting the frills and the waist, making sure they were straight. I had to bite my lip again. She fussed with my shirt, pulled up my socks, and smoothed my hair. Then she stood back and regarded me with delight. Out came the phone for some pictures.  My mind was a whirl. Tomorrow. I couldn't go through with it. I had been feeling rather pleased with myself because that day I'd made a joke at Miss Benson's expense which had made everyone in class laugh.  I was getting on very nicely with my friend Alice who sat next to me, and she really wasn't that bad for a  girl.  Imagine if I had to turn up in these! 
"Now, before Anne gets back, just one more thing. I want a little video of my own to remember this moment, and how happy you were with your present. Everything's ready. Come out into the garden a minute." And, taking her video camera and tripod out of the cupboard, she led me out of the back door.
"Please, Aunt," I whined, "No more videos."
"Well the one I've already got – as you know – is rather disgusting, don't you think?  Now you all nice and well-behaved it would be nice to have another one which I can watch without feeling horrified and which I can show to my friends if I want to.  Unless you'd like the present one to go on your Facebook page, I suggest you co-operate.  Agreed?
What could I do?  I couldn't think of a way out.  Reluctantly I followed her across the lawn.  She led me over to one of the flower beds and made me stand in front of it.
"Perfect! A background of poppies and lupins!"
I swore under my breath.
"Okay, Simon, please read this little poem, and learn it by heart. You have two minutes and then I want you to be able to repeat it without the paper."
I looked stupidly at the paper. Bea had been busy. On it were written the following verses. Apart from the fact I am the owner of a flash drive, a gift from my Aunt, containing a copy of my performance on that day, they are imprinted on my mind.

"My name is Simon. My delight's
To wear my rubber pants.
The latex is so smooth and tight,
It makes me skip and dance!

I'm going to wear them every day,
They fit my bum just right!.
I'm just a sissy, I'm not gay,
Oh, what a pretty sight!

So, if you like them, say hello
When you see me in the street.
And tell me, don't you think I'm so
Sexy, cute and sweet?"

It took several goes till I got the verses off pat, protesting all the time. But I had no choice. It then took even more takes for me to put on a performance which satisfied her.
"Simon, either you do this properly or that video gets uploaded right now!"  She spoke in a firm tone and I knew she meant business.  I want the little dance at the end of the first verse – and we both know you can dance, you went to Irish dancing classes for two years – and I want joyful smiles and proper emphases.  I want to believe everything your saying – so that when I watch it I can feel I've given you a nice present, not something you hate!  Understand?"
"Yes, Aunt."
"Good boy.  Again, please."
Eventually she had it recorded to her satisfaction. She closed the camera, folded the tripod, and led the way back indoors.
"Well done. I know that was difficult but in the end I think you did amazingly well. Now, when your mummy gets here you are to let her know how delighted you are with your new shorts. Do you understand? If she has any doubts about your enthusiasm you're going to be in trouble.  Remember what I said about the other video. Be like you were outside and there won't be any problems. Okay?"
"Yes, Aunt, I understand" I whined, hanging my head. I'd decided to try a different tack. "I'm really sorry about my behaviour lately. I'm going to reform from now on. In fact, I'll do anything you want from now on.
"You will? That's so nice of you. That's what I and your mother have been waiting to hear for years! Thank you, Simon!"
"And I won't swear or shout any more."
She held my hands and kissed my forehead. "That's my Simon! I know you're not really bad. Your mum's going to be so pleased."
My hopes rose a little. "So tomorrow ...?"
"Oh, tomorrow. Well I'm sure you'll find you get lots of attention."
"What? So you mean...?"
"Yes. Your new pants will certainly make you very popular. I think your classmates are going to love them!"
"No! You're such a bitch, Bea!"
My mother got home about nine. She seemed surprised at my enthusiasm for my new shorts, but, fearful of the consequences if I deviated from the plot, I somehow managed to convince her that I thought them really smart and cool, and that I couldn't wait to show them to my friends! Bea backed me up to the hilt, the cow.
"I think they're very pretty, Bea, of course.  He does look such a sweetie in them!  You're very clever to have found something nice that he'll wear.  Whenever I get him something new he never seems to like it."
"Oh, a few weeks ago he actually asked me if he could have some new summer shorts.  When I showed him these smart little latex ones in the catalogue he got quite excited.  Didn't you, darling?"
"Yes, aunt."
"I must admit I'm quite surprised, but you do look lovely, Simon.  Maybe you'd like some other colours for the summer holidays?"
“Oh, yes, Anne.  What a good idea!  You know, purple and pink are the ‘in’ colours this year!”
“Wha-at?” I gasped, almost choking with anger, “I – I, won’t…”
Bea glared at me, and fingered her phone meaningfully.  I swallowed my protestations.
“Er, yes, maybe, mummy, but …”
“Oh, yes, Anne.  I remember now.  Earlier Simon was saying what a pity it was his school’s colours weren’t pink and yellow, weren’t you darling?”  A pause.
“Weren’t you?”
“Oh, oh, yes, absolutely, mummy.  Pink and yellow … so nice!”
“Well that’s lovely, Simon.  I’m so glad you’ve found something you like wearing.  And it’ll make a nice change from those old ripped jeans I’ve been seeing you in lately!”
“Yes, Anne.  And they’re so practical for playing or cycling or just laying around.”
“Yes, that’s true.  And comfortable, I imagine.  Funny, he’s always been quite fond of rubber, hasn’t he?  Haven’t you, dear?”
“Yes, mummy.”  I wondered if the video had finished downloading yet.  Even in the depths of despair I couldn’t help starting to feel a little aroused at the thought.
“Aunt, can I go upstairs now?  I just need to finish my homework and then I’m going to sleep.”
“Of course, dear.  Good night!”
“Good night aunt.  Good night mummy.” 
Good night, darling.”
And I dashed off up to my room.  The video file had downloaded, and I quickly copied it onto a flash drive in case Bea deleted it.  Then I went to my desk to finish off my project.  Sitting there in my new pants and thinking about Catwoman was not the greatest idea.  I had never worn anything quite like these before, and despite my determination to focus on my work I could feel myself beginning to swell.  I bit my lip.  How was I going to cope tomorrow?  It wasn’t just the fact I would be wearing the sissiest pants in the world, but on top of that the years of rubber training had conditioned my body to react with irrepressible arousal!  I looked down at myself.  The little elongated bulge lying parallel to the frilled left leg band was horribly obvious.  I tried to flatten it with my hand, but that only made things worse.  What was I going to do?
“Ooh, Simon!  I thought you said you were going to behave in future!”
Why did she creep about like that?  “I’m just doing my homework, aunt,” I groaned.
“So I see.  I just popped in to say well done!  Your mother is so happy your feminine side is blossoming at last.  I have carte blanche to organise your wardrobe.”
I ignored her.
"It's a big day for you tomorrow," she went on. "Oh, how I wish I could be a fly on the wall of your classroom! But never mind, you can tell me all about it after school."
"Aunt," I whined, clutching at straws, "I'm sure I won't be allowed to wear these to school anyway! I'm simply going to be sent home straight away!"
"Oh, Simon!" She smiled indulgently. "Don't you know your Aunt Bea better than that? When I had this idea, of course I went into the office and checked the uniform regulations. 'Shirts must be blue or white. Ties must always be worn. Only official school blazers are permitted. Shorts, trousers and skirts may be of any style but must be either black, grey, or in the school colours, navy blue and red.' Voila! No restrictions about material. So I'm afraid you don't have any worries on that score!" she sniggered.
As I lay there, I realised that it had been a mistake for me to go along with the making of Bea's "personal" video. She would never really have shown anyone that first video - course she wouldn't. But now she had something that she could show, and in which it appeared that I was acting of my own volition like a sissy little show-off! I prayed that it really was something she intended for herself alone. Shit, what a mess!
As for school, I couldn't see any way out. Feigning illness would have just led to punishment and possible exposure. Unfortunately for me, it was the day when we had to present our plan for the superhero project in front of the class. Each of us would have to stand up there for five minutes, to introduce the superhero (or superheroine) we had chosen, to show a picture, describe him or her, and talk briefly about his or her powers and characteristics. I had downloaded an anime picture of Catwoman, and I had plenty to say. That was not the problem. The problem was that the class were not going to be listening to what I was saying – they were going to be staring at my little blue and red shorts, and probably even (I winced at the thought) surreptitiously taking pictures. I felt my cheeks burning at the mere thought, as I turned over and tried to get some sleep.  I slept fitfully however, disturbed by the most confused dreams, including one about Catwoman, in which, instead of her usual black catsuit, she was wearing a blue one with red collar and cuffs!  I awoke to the realisation that I needed a cunning plan.  But I couldn’t think of one.”
Poor Simon!  Reading this the day after we felt quite sorry for him.  But not for long.
“I wonder how he’s getting on at school, Mum?”
“Oh, I don’t know, dear,” Bea replied, “but I’m looking forward to reading the next episode of his diary!”

[sissy marci]

Lovely story, I very much enjoyed Simons troubles. Thank you so much for posting and am looking forward to more chapters in Simons diary. Love Marci

[Simonssister]

Thank you, Marci.  Glad you like it.  Will post the next chapter in the next three or four days.

[Simonssister]

Chapter III:  School

Well, it was not until the following week that we got to read Simon's diary, but I think you'll agree it was an interesting entry, so I'll quote it verbatim:
As I sat up in bed on Friday morning, the first thing I saw on the chair by my bed was my new latex pants, neatly folded. The room seemed full of the sweet smell of warm rubber. I was still half asleep when a familiar voice called me from outside my door.
"Simon?  Are you awake?. Time to get up and get dressed! You don't want to be late today!"
I slid out of bed. The rest of my clothes had been laid out of the chair. My usual long grey socks had been replaced by ankle socks which matched my pants – pastel blue with red hoops around the tops.  My aunt must have been planning this day for some time.  She had ironed my blue school shirt and laid across it was my red and blue striped school tie.  My school shoes had been shined. I dressed, tucking my shirt into my pants.  I tried to tie my tie so that it would have down as far as possible, but then I reflected that Bea would insist I tucked it in as well, so I gave up.  I glanced at myself in the mirror.  I felt sick with apprehensiveness.  I made my way slowly downstairs. Bea had the table laid for breakfast, and was asking me what I would like to eat. I didn't want anything really. I mumbled a reply. She came over and embraced me, patting my bottom comfortingly. I was engulfed by her rose-scented perfume, which she must have applied with a plant spray.
"Oh, Simon. Come on now, cheer up! Have something to eat – you're going to need all the energy you can get today!"
"Aunt, I can't go to school like this. None of the boys in my class wear shorts any more anyway! Let alone rubber ones!"
"Well, I guess they'll all be jealous, then, won't they? I'm sure you'll be a hit with the girls, anyway."
I thought about the girls. Alice, who sat next to me. And the others. I would be finished! Anyway, I did have some breakfast.  For me, hunger always overcame all other emotions.  A bowl of Cheerios. Bea had made my lunch – I must admit she did know how to make good sandwiches.  As I ate, I was working on a plan.  I would cycle to school. Queen Alexandra Secondary was only half a mile from our house and I normally walked. But today that was out of the question. Instead I could flash past the people and with luck no-one would notice me. First problem sorted. Also, I was going to get there early. My form teacher, Miss Benson, normally arrived early herself and sat in the classroom working. I had decided I would ask if I could join her so that I could get my pants under my desk before any of the other kids saw me. That would be a start, at least. After that, my only strategy was to pray for a miracle.
I packed by rucksack – lunch, pens, my folder with my project. I had the idea of wearing my blazer, though it was a warm day. It was new and quite big on me so it would help hide my shorts. It wasn't hanging in its usual place in my room, however.
"Aunt, have to see my school blazer?"
"It's going to be hot today, Simon. You won't be needing that. I've put it away."
Crap! I knew it. I grabbed my old red school jumper and stuffed it into my bag. I had had another idea. As I made my way to the door I took one more look in the mirror in the hallway. My heart sank. The pants fitted me so perfectly, and the latex was so fine and stretchy, that it pretty much showed everything I had. The pastel-blue frills were undeniably girly, and the centre seam was tight, forcing my boyhood to one side. And the legs were so short – I struggled to pull then down a little but as soon as I moved they rode up again. An eight year old might have just got away with it, but never a grown boy. Worst of all, the smooth, taut rubber was already having a slightly arousing effect, despite the circ-umstances and my nervousness.  It was an instinctive reaction, born of years of conditioning.  I pinched my bare thigh hard, hoping to distract myself.
"Simon! You'll be late if you're not careful!"
But I had no intention of arriving after the playground was full. Five minutes later I was speeding through the school gates. It was still early so the school was pretty empty. I stashed my bike in the rack, tied my jumper by the arms round my waist, and ran to my classroom. At least it hid my bum. So far no-one had noticed. Miss Benson was at her desk, just as I had anticipated.
Now I must tell you about Miss Benson. She's okay, really. I suppose she's about thirty, black hair cut quite short, and she's actually not bad looking, but she always wears these dowdy clothes – like stiff white blouses, checked skirts, and flat shoes. And she has classic teacher glasses, with thick black rims. I got into a bit of trouble with her last term. And then yesterday again. The class was discussing fashion, and she had asked us what was meant by the phrase "fashion sense", and I had piped up "What you haven't got, Miss". Everyone laughed, but actually she didn't say anything. She just glared at me. I've tried to make it up to her since. I hope she's forgiven me.
I knocked at the door and let myself in.
"Simon." Good morning. You're early."
Then she caught sight of my shorts. She looked startled, but quickly broke into a grin.
"Wow! New shorts I see! Very smart. And in the school colours, too!"
"Yes, Miss. They were a present. Miss, I wonder if it would be possible for me to sit at my desk and work until class begins? I'd be very quiet."
Miss Benson paused a moment before answering. She had a funny smile on her face.
"Well of course, no problem. Go and sit down."
I hurried to my desk, which was about half-way back, and sat down. I turned my jumper round so that it covered by pants. Brilliant! No-one would be able to see them.
"And Miss ... do you think I could stay in and work on my project at lunchtime too?"
"Well, Simon, I'm glad to see you're becoming so industrious!  Of course you may. Remember we are having the initial presentations this afternoon, though I don't expect we'll get through everyone today. So don't be disappointed if you don't get your turn, will you?"
"Oh no, that's all right, Miss Benson!" A little fountain of hope sprang up in my heart. Did Miss Benson realise how I felt and wanted to spare me embarrassment? I smiled at her with a valiant attempt to express pleading and gratitude in a single expression. Then I dutifully settled down to work.
The morning passed without incident. Alice sat next to me as usual. She couldn't see what I was wearing, but she noticed my bare knees sticking out from under my jumper.
"Ooh, Simon, you're wearing shorts today!"
"Yeah."
"Good idea. It's so hot."
I liked Alice. We got on quite well, though occasionally we got told off for talking or sniggering together; we both liked to make jokes about the teachers!
At lunchtime when all the other kids went out to play I stayed in. Alice stopped at the door.
"You coming, Sim?"
"No, I have some stuff to do. I'll see you after lunch."
She shrugged and left with the others. I took out my lunchbox. Miss Benson worked for twenty minutes, then got up and went out with her papers, I guess to the staffroom. I looked around, feeling bored. There was still more than half-an-hour to go, and I didn't really have anything to do. I took my project out of my rucksack. The cover-sheet featured a photo of Catwoman from the film. I looked at it approvingly. She really was very sexy. As I stared at the image I felt myself beginning to respond. Quickly I turned over my booklet and willed myself to calm down. Now was not the time. "Stay cool," I told myself, pulling my jumper more tightly over my legs. But in those tight little hot-pants it was not easy.
I ate my lunch slowly. As I was finishing, the others were filtering back in. Alice sat down beside me.
"What have you been up to, Sim? You look very flushed."
"Nothing," I said, a little to abruptly. "Er, it's just quite warm today, don't you think?"
She looked at me quizzically.
"Outside, yeah. It's okay in here though."
Lessons resumed. Only an hour and a half to go. I could do it yet. Miss Benson had returned, carrying with her a little wooden stool about thirty centimetres high. She put it down in front of her desk.
"Right class. Time for projects. Each of you has five minutes to tell us who you're going to study and how you're going to do it. So, to remind you. First, visual description and a picture to show the class. Second, powers. Third, how the character uses them. And finally, an outline of what you'll be writing. Let us start. Now, who's going to be first?"
Miss Benson usually does things like this alphabetically. Typical old school mentality. Our name is Saunders, so whichever name she chose I would near the end of the list.
"Simon!"
"Wha-at??"
"SIMON!" Come on up. On the stool if you please!
"Bu-ut Miss, you said ...."
"I said, Simon, that you may be disappointed. But since I would hate to disappoint you, I'm going to let you go first. Now come on, we have limited time you know."
I had no choice. I began to struggle from my desk. Even then I had a desperate idea. I swivelled round my jumper to cover my bum. Then when I got out there I'd swivel it back to cover my front. I clutched my notes and lurched towards the front.
"Now Simon! What are you playing at? Since when are you allowed to wear your jumper like that? Don't you have any fashion sense, little boy?" So that was it! Revenge! I backed away, but Miss Benson was on me in a flash. With a quick movement she snatched away my only protection.
"Now, up on the stool so everyone can see you, please!"
As I climbed onto the stool there was a communal gasp of disbelief from my classmates, whistles from some of the boys and screams from the girls. I tried to use my notes to cover my embarrassment, but Miss Benson was having none of it.
"Simon! Hold up your picture first and show the class. Then read your notes please."
"Quiet, children, please!" shouted Miss Benson. "Let us hear what Simon has got to say."
All eyes were wide and riveted on me – or on my shorts, I should say. The expressions on the faces varied from delight to disbelief. Mouths were open, and some of the girls had risen in their seats to get a better view.
"Children! SIT DOWN!" shouted Miss Benson. "Now let us get on. Simon – please."
I thought I'd better simply get this over with as soon as possible, so I began reading out my notes, blushing and stammering my way through. In my panic I could hardly see the words I'd written. As I did so I could hear phones clicking in front of me, while Miss Benson stood smugly by watching me and making no attempt to stop them.
"C-Catwoman first appeared as early as, er, 1940. This is a p-picture of her. She wears a black or purple catsuit with cat ears..."
"Excuse me Miss!" It was Debbie, a real smart-arse.
"Yes Debbie?"
"Can Simon tell us what Catwoman's catsuit is made of, please?" (Laughing from the class.)
"Well Simon, can you tell the class what Catwoman's catsuit is made of?"
I couldn't look them in the eye. I looked at the floor. "Well, I think it can be from a variety of fabrics ..."
"But Miss!" Debbie again. "In the film it's made of rubber, isn't it?  Like Simon's new shorts!!"
Pandemonium. Banging of desks. Cheering. I wanted to sink through the floor.
"Well yes, that's right, isn't it Simon?" Miss Benson addressed me direct. "In the film it's definitely shiny black rubber. Latex rubber is a very useful material. It has lots of uses, but it's especially good for sexy clothing, don't you think?" She was enjoying herself now, and I was stuck up on this stool, like a prize idiot. It couldn't get any worse than this. She continued.
"Maybe we can learn something from this. Does anyone know where latex comes from?"
Billy suggested it was artificial, made in a factory.
"No Billy, wrong. Anyone else?"
"Does it come from a plant, Miss?" That was Alice.
"Well done Alice! Raw latex is harvested from different varieties of plant. Of course it has to be processed to end up as tyres or clothing. Now, what are its properties?"
"It's stretchy, Miss!" "And waterproof!" "It can be made so thin it can be used for balloons!" "And condoms, Miss!"
"Yes, you're all right," said Miss Benson. "Simon's shorts are a perfect example of highly-refined latex. While we've got him here on the stool I think it would be a good idea if each of you came up and you can examine it close up. No, stay there Simon! I want you right where you are. Children, form an orderly queue, please.  Orderly, I said, Sarah!  Familiarise yourselves fully with the look, smell and feel of this valuable product! There's plenty of time – we still have forty-five minutes left and I think we'll continue with projects next week."
So that was it. Miss Benson then pretty much left them to their own devices. The boys on the whole contented themselves with making fun of me, with such remarks as "Pretty frills, Simon!" or "Nice babypants!" The girls were much worse. They pinched and scratched my legs and giggled uncontrollably. At first I tried to fend them off, but Miss Benson made me stand there with my hands by my sides – "Simon, I want you to hold the side frills each side between finger and thumb, and not move, so everyone can examine the rubber. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, Miss Benson."
And so there I was, totally exposed, my cheeks burning, my legs trembling, my pants and my boyhood on full display. It lay comfortably at ninety degrees to my legs, against my right thigh, no longer aroused thank goodness, but clearly visible under the thin rubber. Alice had made her way to the front of the crowd.  She held her notebook in one hand and in the other her pencil, which had a little hand-shaped eraser on the end.
"Oh, Simon! Why didn't you tell me you were wearing such pretty little panties? They're so cute! And so sexy!"  Her eyes narrowed spitefully.  “And what’s this little sausage, boy?” she whispered, and, checking that Miss Benson was occupied with one of the boys, she took the opportunity to give the little mound in my pants a surreptitious prod with the eraser end of her pencil. 
"Alice! Don't!" I protested. She laughed a short laugh. "I'm impressed, Simon. You're so brave to come to school in those. I'm going to ask my mum if you can come and visit next weekend. She'd love to see them!"
Eventually everyone returned to their seats. There was a muted hubbub of chattering and giggling for the rest of the lesson. Miss Benson let me get off the stool but made me stand at the front of the class, squirming with embarrassment, until the bell.
"I hope all of you have learned some interesting facts today." She said as after giving permission for everyone to put away their books.
"In fact it would be nice if everyone could draw a picture of Simon in his new pants, and write down as many facts about latex rubber as they can for next week. Good night, children!"
"Good night, Miss!"
"All right, Simon, now you may get down."
"And Simon – thank you for being such a useful exhibit today," she smirked. "We all enjoyed it very much!"

[Simonssister]

Chapter IV:  Stella

This chapter’s all about me!  Well, not all.  Course, it’s really about the subject of this narrative, my little brother.  So I’ll let him continue:

When I got home, Bea was waiting for me, of course, smirking with triumph. She couldn't conceal her delight.
"Simon! You're home! How was your day?"
Not wanting to give her the pleasure, I replied nonchalantly,
"Fine. No sweat. I'm going to change and go see Billy." (Billy lived around the corner. He didn't go to my school, thank goodness.)
"Oh. Do you have any homework?"
"Nope."
"That's funny. Miss Benson rang. She said you had to do some research. Materials science. Latex rubber, was it?"
"What? What did she want? Why was she ringing you?"
"Oh, no particular reason. As a matter of fact she just rang to say how well you'd behaved today. She's so pleased you're trying to turn things round at last. She said if you can keep it up you can be one of her best students!"
I didn't know what to say. I managed only a non-committal "Huh!"
"She thinks maybe your new uniform helped. She was wondering whether it's going to be a permanent arrangement."
"Aunt, please, no! That's not fair. I've ... I've turned over a new leaf. I'm going to be totally good from now on. You don't need to keep me in these, I swear! Please!"
Aunt Bea looked thoughtful for a moment.
"Well, we'll see, shall we?" She smiled a wicked smile. "But it's Friday, Simon – don't forget Stella's boots. We'll go round to Garden Road after supper. But bring Billy if you like."
"Oh, no," I sighed, "don't worry. I'll see him tomorrow."
Now I'd better explain what this was about. My aunt's own house was a short walk away in Garden Road. She spent some of the time there and some at my house, depending on whether or not she was supervising me. Her daughter Stella lived with her at Garden Road. Stella was a few years older than me. She worked and studied part-time. Her obsession was horses, and she spent most weekends riding at Holly End Stables. She would come back Sunday evening with her clothes dirty and her rubber riding boots muddy, so we had this arrangement, where on a Sunday evenings I would superficially clean her boots, that is brush the mud off them under the garden tap, and leave them to dry in the garage. Then on Friday evenings I would go round and polish them up. Normally this consisted of buffing them with talc until they had a nice soft glow, and occasionally, if she had a show or something on the Saturday, I'd really make them gleam. There were various ways of doing this, from rubber shine to rubber cream to furniture polish! For these jobs I received five pounds from her every Friday evening, which sort of financed my weekend. On rare occasions, if my aunt was busy, I might even get to wash her clothes. Stella didn't have much time herself, and she was naturally scruffy I think, so I was performing a valuable service. Her best friend, Sandra, was Alice's elder sister. Sandra was the dead opposite of Stella. She always seemed to be dressed up like a model, and had a penchant for black leather, fishnets, tall boots, perfume, and black-painted nails. She had jet black hair, too, where Stella was sort of mousy blonde. But they got on famously, and were always in high spirits when they were together. Secretly I always hoped Sandra would be around when I went to Stella's. I think she liked me cos she always paid me loads of attention, cuddling me, ruffling my hair, and so on. I thought she was pretty cool and I always felt quite proud if she took me out for ice cream or something – like I was her boyfriend, maybe. Once the kids from school had seen me with her and she had one arm round me and they were all sick with jealousy! But that night I was hoping she wouldn't be there, because I couldn't believe that Alice wouldn’t have told her all about the day.  I had a sort of fantasy that one day I’d date Sandra.  In fact there was no real reason that I shouldn’t ask her out, except … except that she made me feel like a little kid when I was with her.  Not deliberately.  I just did.  Sort of shy and awkward.  But to tell the truth, I fancied her like mad.  And if she saw me in my rubber pants I would just feel more stupid and immature than ever.  But I couldn’t get out of going to Stella’s.
"So, Aunt...can I change, then?"
"Of course, dear. Your clothes are on your bed. Don't be long, now."
Thank goodness. I could get out of these stupid pants at last. I dashed upstairs, tearing my school stuff off at the same time. I threw open my bedroom door. My clothes were on the bed. What was this? I didn't have a pink T-shirt! With frantic despair I scattered the little pile. NO! NO! NO! YES! A short pastel pink T-shirt with "BOOT BOY" across the chest in big red letters. A pink baseball cap with the same words in two lines on the front.  Very long pink socks. Bright red wellies. And -worst of all - a little pair of cherry-red latex pants with pink leg frills and a pink waistband.  I held them up in despair.  To add insult to injury, there, right across the butt, in solid pink letters, my name: SIMON.   And next to them a little pair latex gloves, perfectly matched right down to the pink wrist frills! I stood transfixed, choking with disbelief and anger. I heard a voice behind me.
"Well, Simon, aren't you going to get dressed? Stella's boots are waiting. I hope you like the gloves. I thought they'd be just the thing for your Friday chore."
"I'm NOT! There's no way!"  My eyes filled with tears.
"Oh, dear. I'm so sorry you feel like that.  I must say I think it's a little ungrateful of you.  It cost me a lot to get this outfit ready in time.  But if you insist. It's your choice.  I must admit, I'm not altogether averse to uploading your little video. I think it's going to cause a minor sensation." And she turned and began to descend the stairs.
My hesitation lasted barely more than a second.  Then I was after her down the stairs as fast as I could go.
"Aunt, no, okay? Okay?  I'm getting dressed! I promise! Give me two minutes and I'll be there!  Honest!  And ... and thank you for my new...uniform.  I really like it, you know!"
Bea stood at the foot of the stairs and smiled a simpering smile.
"That's better, Simon, isn't it? You're going to feel so smart when you're dressed, and Stella is going to have such a nice surprise, isn't she? Hurry now.  And brush your hair – it looks like a haystack!  I'll get my things. And don't forget to bring your night-time pants in case you stay over."
I quickly got dressed in case Bea changed her mind and decided to be vindictive. The worst thing I could imagine was that sissy video turning up online. I thought about what I'd do if it ever did. I'd have to run away. Either that or turn into a sissy for real! How could that ever happen, though? I wasn't one, was I, and could never be! I pulled on my new pants. They hadn't been powdered but they seemed incredibly smooth inside and they glided over my skin. The waistband slid easily over my hips, pulling the centre seam firmly into my crotch, and pushing my pen-is to one side. They fitted so neatly they could have been made to measure. Despite myself I experienced a momentary frisson at the gentle pressure of this second skin, its tautness around my crotch, and the feeling of the leg bands clinging to the tops of my thighs. In a way the sensation of being softly but firmly encased like this was made me feel safe and cared for... I don't know how else to express it. But that wasn't so odd, was it? Surely any boy would feel something having to wear such nice sensual clothes? I checked myself in the mirror. Well, actually, red and pink looked quite good on me, I thought. The red made my outfit, well, not so girly as it might have been. In fact, I thought, I wouldn't be surprised if the girls thought me quite you know, cool. I think I started fantasising a little, thinking about how Sandra might react. I wondered if she might actually admire my new look ... perhaps even ask me out on a date ...
"Simon! Are you coming? We need to leave!"
"Yes, Aunt!"
I grabbed my rucksack and stuffed in my pyjama pants, my gloves, my new hoodie, and some ordinary clothes. Maybe tomorrow I could get back to normal. I rushed downstairs. Bea had the front door open and I ran to the car as fast as I could. It was parked a few yards down the street. Of course, it was still locked! Come on Aunt, where are you? I was aware of some kids coming along the street towards me so I dodged between the cars to hide myself. Where was she? Taking her time, obviously. The kids were getting closer. Come on, come on! Should I run back to the house? But too late. They had noticed me. Damn! I didn't recognise any of them. A boy and two girls, a little younger than me. Now I was in for it. They came up and stared at me.
"Hello," said one of the girls.
"Hi!" I called, nervously, holding my bag in front of me to hide my pants.
"Do you live here?"
"Er, yes, I do."
"We're going to see our cousins. This is a nice town, isn't it?"
"Yes, it's fun. There's lots of places to go an' parks an' stuff."
"I like your shirt. "Boot Boy" – is that a shop or a brand? What's your name?"
"Er, my name?" I stammered.
"I saw my aunt approaching. At last.
"Simone," she said, "this is Simone, my niece. What are your names?"
"Hello, Simone," they chorused.
I didn't hear the rest of their replies. I was too gobsmacked. They accepted I was a girl! No, they had assumed I was a girl! It was the pink, it had to be! The stupid T-shirt and the thigh-length pink socks!  I didn't look like a girl, did I? All right, I had longish fuzzy fair hair and I suppose quite delicate features for a boy, but ...
The kids drifted off and I heard my aunt say, "Hop in Simone." I climbed into the car in a state of shock. I had nothing to say.
"Well, that was interesting, wasn't it? grinned Bea. "That opens up all sorts of possibilities!" She glanced sideways at my lap. "We'd have to do something about that, though. That rather gives it away."
"Do something?"
"Oh, don't worry," she laughed. "I mean maybe a skirt with some little rubber girl-panties underneath. Or a dress. Maybe a few ribbons? Oh, yes, this is going to be fun!"
I kept quiet. I hoped she was joking. I started to imagine what she might do if she followed through. I thought of all the stupid things my female peers wore when out of school – mini-skirts, little vests, long stripy socks ... and to my horror I felt faint uninvited stirrings in my pants! My bag was at my feet, so I folded my hands over my lap to hide myself. But despite digging my nails into the top of my thigh in an attempt to distract myself, I felt my unruly member beginning to swell, sliding smoothly from under the centre seam towards my right thigh. I prayed my aunt wouldn't notice. But I'm sure she had. This was the whole problem with my new pants: they were arousing to wear, and the consequences were then impossible to conceal!
"How are the pants, Simon? Comfortable?"
"I suppose so."
"Did you notice they weren't powdered?" I nodded. "I've discovered this spray-on lubricant you can get. A quick spray on the inside and they're ready. It's much more effective and it doesn't wear off like talc. What do you think?"
"Really? I didn't notice."
"Hm. Well I'm surprised. Don't they feel much smoother inside?"
"Maybe."
A moment's pause.
"Could you ring Stella for me and tell her we're on our way? The traffic's quite heavy now. Say ten minutes. My phones there." She pointed to the glove compartment.
"There's no point. We'll be there soon."
"Simon. Ring her please!"
I had to take my hands out of my lap to make the call. I saw my aunt glance down at me and give a little smile of satisfaction. Even under the restraint of the taut latex, my condition was still embarrassingly evident. Please, please, let it go down before we get there, I prayed silently.
When we arrived, my aunt drove onto the run-in. Stella was waiting in the front garden. She was wearing her customary outfit of frayed riding breeches and old jumper, her hair fastened carelessly in a pony-tail.  As soon as Bea turned off the engine she ran over and opened my door.
"Hello, Sim!" But she wasn't looking at my face. Her gaze was glued to my pants. She had obviously been told what to expect.  "Oh, they're so sweet! Darling!" she cried.  I had not fully recovered my cool yet, so I kept my hands strategically placed until eventually I had to vacate my seat and climb out, and as I did so she was unable to hold back an exclamation:
"Goodness! Simon! Er, wow...well, you look like you...er...really like your new pants a lot...,"   She stammered, trying to be diplomatic, and then quickly changed the subject.  "And this is your Boot Boy outfit, I see!  It's fantastic!  Specially for when you clean my riding boots?
"Yours or anyone’s, I guess," said Bea, "but while he's here he's yours to command."
"You told her, aunt!  About my pants!" I complained.
"I did not."
"Oh, Sandra rang me," said Stella gleefully, "but she said they were blue!"
"And how did she know?"
"Oh, Alice rang her at college." I might have guessed.  She ushered us through the front door. "Come in, come in!  I want to hear the whole story, Simon."
As we filed into the house Bea filled her in.
"Simon's blue ones are for school, Stella – school colours, blue and red. These are his weekend ones. Nice, aren't they?”
“Super!  I want a piccy!  Smile, Sim!”  And she snapped away with her phone.
“Have you seen his butt?"
"His butt?"
"Turn around, Simon," ordered my aunt. I did so. Cue a squeal of delight from Stella.
"Oh my god, that's so cute! Everyone, like everyone, will know his name. He's gonna be famous!"
"Mind you, Stella, these children we met this evening thought he was a girl! Can you imagine? I told them his name was Simone!"
"That's so cool. He really could be, couldn't he? I mean, if it wasn't for his ..." She giggled. "But if he wore a dress and we did his hair and gave him the tiniest bit of makeup ..."
This was getting out of hand. "Stop talking about me as if I'm a doll or a performing dog!  And I'm not a girl. And I don't want to be one!"
"Are you sure about that, Simon," interjected my aunt. "Don't you remember that time Alice and Debbie dressed you up in their clothes, and you didn't want to take them off?"
"No, I don't!" (Though I did.)
"Well I do, and I know Stella does. So there must be something in it."
We went into the dining room. Stella had made supper, and we sat down to eat. It was a relief when the conversation moved off the topic of me and my pants, and as I ate I started to feel a lot cooler and calmer.  I needed to get away from them for a bit.
"Stella, shall I go and do your boots now?"
"Oh, yes, thank you, Boot Boy, she smiled. "They're in the usual place. You can wax my whip as well if you like, oh, and my spurs need cleaning and polishing. Take off the straps and do them as well. Okay?"
"And don't forget your gloves," added Bea.
"No, aunt."  I fished my new gloves out of my bag and headed for the garage.  "I'll see you later."
"Ooh, matching gloves!  I'm impressed!" laughed Stella.  "Do a good job, now!  And by the way, Sim, Sandra's coming over after she gets home. She's dying to see your new outfit!"
I didn't reply, but a little thrill of anxiety mixed with anticipation ran through me.
"So behave yourself in the garage!" Followed by a peal of hysterical laughter.

[Simonssister]

Chapter V:  Sandra

This next entry is all about my best friend, Sandra.  Poor Simon!  He was like putty in her hands.  He would have worn a tutu if she had told him he looked good in one!  He was so sweet and innocent it almost made me want to cry, sometimes.  If it hadn't been so funny, that is!

I found Stella boots just inside the garage door.  It was never used as a garage.  In fact Bea had had floorboards put down so the girls could practise their dancing in there.  It was a nice space, clean and quite warm.  I unstrapped the spurs from the boots, and unthreaded the straps from the spurs.  The little straps I treated with saddle soap, the spurs I polished with silver polish.  I had already washed the boots so they were clean.  All I had to do was polish them, and as there were no special events at Holly End Stables the next day I simply buffed them up with rubber cream, working it into the seams with an old toothbrush.  After that I dealt with the whip.  There were two resting against the wall, a standard riding whip and a long black dressage whip, so I waxed and polished both.   The whole job only took me about forty minutes, and I didn’t particularly want to go back in, so I found a book in a cardboard box and sat on the floor reading, still wearing my new rubber gloves.  I was so engrossed I didn’t notice Sandra quietly open the door.
“Hello, Simon.  How are you?”
“Sandra!  Hi!”  I scrambled to my feet.
“Sorry to disturb you.  It was so quiet in here I thought you may have fallen asleep.”
“No. I just started reading this book.  It’s all about pirates.”  Sandra looked a bit like a pirate herself, I thought.  The thigh boots, the little leather skirt, and the mascara.
“Hmm, interesting.  So this is your new outfit,” she remarked, looking me up and down approvingly, but with a twinkle in her eyes, “Very nice.  Stella’s Boot Boy, are you?  She’s very lucky then.  I wish I had a Boot Boy like you.”
“It was auntie’s idea,” I responded, nervously.  “I’m not sure about it really. I don’t mind putting it on it for Stella’s jobs, but you know my aunt, she will have me wearing it outside.”
“Stand up straight and let me look.  Turn around.  Oh, I like your name right across your butt!  Very fetching!”  She paused.  She wasn’t laughing at me, at least.  “Do you want my honest opinion?”
“Yes, Sandra.  Completely honest, please.”
“I think you look very smart.  I must say, if it had been me, I would have chosen purple instead of red.  The red’s a bit overpowering, and pink is just light red, after all.”
“But what about the pink, Sandra?  Don’t you think it’s too … too…”
“Girly?  Not at all.  Not on you, anyway.”  I looked at her questioningly.  “No, no, I don’t mean it like that.  I simply mean that you’re so obviously a boy, that you can carry it off.  You can wear soft, pretty colours.  They sort of balance your masculinity.  But I’d still prefer purple.  Maybe I’ll have a word with Bea and see what we can do.”
“But some kids thought I was a girl, earlier this evening.”
“Oh yes, Bea was just telling me about that.  But you know, she told them you were a girl, and of course they had to be polite, they couldn’t refute it.  That’s all.”
“Do you think so?”  I still wasn’t sure about purple and pink, I must admit.  It seemed so archetypical girl, if you know what I mean.  But she reassured me at once.
“Simon.  Do you trust my judgement?”  I nodded.  “Absolutely!”
“Well, take it from me, those colours would look great on you.  I’d be proud to be seen out with you.  I think my blacks and your purples and pinks would complement each other perfectly.”
The prospect of going out with Sandra dispelled all my doubts in an instant.
“I’m sure you’re right, Sandra.  You always know best.  Of course I’ll wear whatever you advise.”
“Oh, Simon, you’re such a darling!.  Come here!”  And she gave me a big hug, wrapping her arms round me and patting my bum gently.  Accidentally, her left thigh pressed firmly against the little mound of my boyhood.  But fortunately she didn't seem to notice.  I felt so much better now, as she led me back into the house.
“All done, Simon?” asked Stella.
“Yes, Stell, boots, spurs and whips all sorted.”
“Good boy!  Here’s your dough.”  And she handed over a five pound note.
“We were talking about Simon’s latest outfit, Bea,” said Sandra.  “We both agreed that red and pink is nice, but that the best would be purple and pink.”  My aunt looked a little surprised, and Stella spluttered into her coffee.  But they don’t understand fashion like Sandra.
“Really?” said my aunt, “Well, that’s not a problem.”
“Could we get him new pants and things in those colours, do you think?  I’ll contribute, of course.”
“So will I!” shouted Stella, grinning.  “Great idea!”
“How long does it take to get the pants made, Bea?  Any chance of getting them by next weekend?  I wanted to ask Simon over to my house and I’d really like him to have his new outfit by then.”
“No problem, dear.  If I order them tomorrow they should arrive by Wednesday or Thursday.”
“Super!  What do you think, Simon?  Can you come over next weekend?  It would be lovely for us all to see you again.  My mum was only asking after you the other day.”
“Yeah, sure.  That would be great!  Who would be there?”
“Oh, just me and my mum and Alice.  Oh, and possibly Debbie.”
Not so good.  But I’d be with Sandra for a whole day, that was the main thing.
“If you did it on Sunday I could come too,” said Stella, “but of course I’ll be riding on Saturday.”
“Okay, let’s make it Sunday then!  I’ll ask my mum if she can make her special pancakes for tea.”
Oh yes!  I loved Mrs Thomson’s pancakes!  With loads of jam and maple syrup and lemon juice.  The best!  So it was arranged, and with luck I’d have a new outfit to wear, one which Sandra herself had picked for me!  And maybe I’d get to go out somewhere with her.  I was so happy.
“Thank you so much, Sandra.  I feel much better now!” I love her so much.  She always looks and smells amazing.  I went over and gave her another big hug.  She was wearing a short black jumper over her leather skirt.  She embraced me and pulled my head onto her chest, between her small breasts, holding me there for a few seconds, our bodies pressed together.  For a moment I thought I was going to faint.  I clung on to her, inhaling her scent.  Immediately I felt my constricted boyhood beginning to swell in my pants, and before I could move, it burst out from the tight centre seam and surged sideways under the taut, lubricated latex, thrusting against Sandra’s thigh. 
“Ooh!” she ejaculated, with a little laugh.  But she didn’t say anything more and she didn’t move an inch.  Overcome with embarrassment, I broke free from her embrace, jumped backwards, and stood, red-faced and stammering, in front of her.
“So, Sandra…er, I really look forward to coming over, er, next, er, weekend.  To see your mum.  And you. And Alice”
She folded her arms and smiled quietly at me.  She allowed herself a quick glance down at the cause of my embarrassment.  “Well, I look forward to it too, Simon.   I can’t wait to see your new clothes.  Don’t forget your little friend, either.”
“Sorry?”  I asked, flustered.  What was she saying?
“Oh, I thought you might bring Billy with you.”
“Oh!  Billy!  No, he’s busy next weekend.”
“Oh, well, not to worry.”
I turned my head towards my aunt, without moving my feet.  “So aunt, I’m quite tired.  Can we go soon?”
“Yes, maybe it would be for the best.  You’ve had a very tiring day, I’m sure.  Okay, Stella, Sandra.  We’ll say goodnight.  I’ll get those things on order, and maybe we should discuss accessories, Sandra.”
“Yes.  I’ll call you tomorrow.  Good night!”
Both the girls kissed me goodbye.  Sandra didn’t seem to have taken offence.  She took my hand and whispered, “Can’t wait for next Sunday, darling!” as we parted.  On the short drive back I nodded off once or twice.  I guess my nerves had been strung up most of the day.  I was asleep almost the moment my head hot the pillow.  I couldn’t wait for next weekend.

[Simonssister]

Chapter VI:  Three Witches

Narrator’s aside:  At this juncture, dear reader, I feel compelled to apologise if you’re a tiny bit disappointed that our Simon hasn’t yet been seduced into dresses and satin panties.  Perhaps if it had been my choice alone, things might have been different.  But I was only one of three conspirators, and the others inclined towards a more graduated process.  They preferred to sip their wine slowly, where I would have gulped mine down in one.  If you still have the patience to follow Simon’s progress, you will discover that in time the conspiratorial circle grew even larger, and its schemes even more ingenious; and our poor hero became entangled in ever more elaborate snares.
 
We had a meeting the next day at my place.  Me, my mum and Sandra, that is.  Simon was at Billy’s for the day.  Billy’s his friend from Scouts.  My mum ordered the new pants.  Not just the purple and pink ones, but several in different colours.  I think there was one pair in pink and canary yellow, another with silver frills, one with a front zip – though I said I thought that was a bit dangerous!
“Mum, I thought we were aiming for more girly clothes, but we seem stuck on little rubber pants at the moment.  I agree their amazingly cute on him, but when will we move to little skirts and dresses?”
“Oh, there’s plenty of time for that, dear.  This is fun, you have to admit.  We’ve achieved our main object, which was to modify his behaviour.  Do you know he’s doing really well at school now?  Miss Benson says he’s letting his natural intelligence free at last.  Let’s just experiment a bit.  We have all the time in the world.   I believe you had some ideas connected to Holly End?”
“True.  I’ve spoken to Sue, and she even suggested I persuade him to participate in the next horse show.  That would be a start.”
“I agree with your mum, Stell.  I’m really having fun with him now.  Miss Benson’s right – he’s a very bright kid. And so sweet!  But at the same time so unbelievably naïve!  You didn’t realise what happened yesterday when I cuddled him, but did you see him suddenly break away?”
“Yes, I did.  What happened then?”
“What do you think?  All I had to do was press myself gently against him, and it sprung up like a little jack-in-the-box!”
“No!  You’re such an incorrigible tease, Sandra!”
“It did!  He was so embarrassed!”
“You do seem to have that effect on him,” said my mum.
“Yeah.  And the black leather helps,” I added.  “You should wear those new shorts of yours next Sunday.  That should cause some fireworks!”
“Yes, do that,” said my mum, “and I’ll make sure he’s primed for the weekend.  No rubber and no relief during the week.”
“Can you do that Bea?  Cool!  And don’t forget to let me have a look at his diary when he’s written the entry for Friday, will you?”
“No dear.  I’ll send you a scan in the week if he writes it up.  I think he should have a dress rehearsal for Sunday when he comes to do Stella’s boots Friday evening.  We should have all the stuff by then.  It’s probably better you stay away, Sandra.  Let him save himself for his big appearance.”
“Agreed.  Oh, I just know I’m going to be so impressed!  He’s going to believe he’s the smartest kid in town, the little innocent thing.  I’m sorry, this is such fun!  It’s not too cruel, is it?  You know I really love that boy – I wouldn’t hurt him for the world.  To be honest I love him more than you two know, and playing these games makes me feel that I almost own him!  Ownership is really a part of love, isn’t it, though everyone likes to deny it.  Perhaps it sounds selfish, but I love having that hold over him?”
Wow, Sandra, I didn’t know you felt so strongly.  It’s a strange way of loving, though, deceiving him and playing on his credulity?  Cruel?  No, I don’t think so.  He’s in heaven, the lucky boy!” I said.
“So you want to make him your boyfriend?” asked my mum.
“No.  Ultimately – my girlfriend!” replied Sandra, with a short laugh.  But she didn’t sound as if she was joking, somehow.  Neither me nor my mum knew quite what to say, so we stayed silent.  Sandra quickly returned to present matters.
“Right then.  I’ll organise his other clothes, Bea, and probably see you again Thursday or Friday morning.  What’s happening with school?”
“Well, as I said he have a nice normal week.  I haven’t told him yet but Miss Benson wants him to take part in the freshers show after the holidays.  She made it quite clear that she’d like him smartly dressed!”
“That opens up a whole range of possibilities,” I said.  “Miss Benson’s on our side, isn’t she?”
“Totally.  I should invite her to the next planning session.”
“Yes, do, Bea,” said Sandra.  “Alice has told me all about her.  I’d love to meet her.”
“Okay, I will.  For the time being I’ll keep her in the loop.”
“And talking of Alice, I’ll have a quiet word with her about Sunday.  She needs to be on board too - we don’t want her or Debbie giving the game away.  They’ve got to behave as if Simon’s new duds are super cool.  I’ll make sure there’s no smirking or giggling.”
We looked at each other in satisfaction.  “We’re like the three witches, and Simon’s in our cauldron!” I said. 
“Well, three white witches, at least,” said Bea, “and our cauldron is just coming to the boil!”