Chapter 6 – Let's Play Panty Thief
“I don't want to take piano lessons, Mother,” I whined.
She patted my head and gently tugged at the french braid in my sandy blonde hair that was the highlight of my new style. “I can't wait until your hair grows longer,” she mused.
“Mother, did you hear me?” I asked.
She smiled at me. “Just give it a few lessons, if you don't have fun we can find something else for you to do with yourself.” After she was done primping my hair she proceeded to help me do my makeup until I looked just like I had after my makeover. Nothing slutty or fancy or too grown up, just enough makeup to make me look naturally feminine.
When I was done I stood in front of the mirror and observed. I wore a mint green sundress with white polka dots, frilly anklets, white Mary Janes, and a pearl necklace that belonged to Mother. My fingernails were painted light pink and my hair and makeup were immaculate. Nobody would look at me and see anything other than a twelve year old girl. Well, they might think I was younger than twelve. With that embarrassing thought I again felt those funny feelings under the pink satin panties I wore.
Mother saw me squirm. “It's okay, Dear. Just like I told you, all it means is that deep down you know this is who you really are.”
“But, Mother, it makes me feel so weird. Like...vulnerable and exposed and helpless...it shouldn't feel good,” I whined.
She smiled at me, “Maybe a boy shouldn't feel that way. But all little sissy girls like you feel this way about their clothes. When you get used to them, you'll start to be able to control it and only let that part of you shine through when you want to.”
I hoped she was right about controlling it, but I didn't know if I would ever want to share it. It was just too embarrassing. The doorbell rang.
“Go answer the door, Samantha. That will be your teacher,” she instructed me.
“Yes, Mother,” I replied. As I made my way toward the door I stopped in shock. Two more packages of girl's GoodNites were sitting on a table in the foyer. We had needed to stock up because I had managed to wet the bed every single night since I had moved in. It had never been this bad before. Mother said I must be finding the move too stressful. I went to hide the packages but the doorbell rang again before I could.
“Samantha Anne Donovan! Answer the door this instant!” I heard from upstairs. With a red face I immediately complied. Three names always meant business I was learning. I opened the door and quickly bobbed a polite curtsey while starring at the ground in red faced shame.
My piano teacher greeted me, “Well hello, Samantha! So good to see you again!”
I looked up for the first time, “Oh. Hello, Bridgette. So good to see you too,” I replied. I must always be mindful of my manners. Mother insists.
As she entered the house I slowly put myself between her and my embarrassing nighttime undergarments on the table. Unfortunately, she was tall enough to see right over me to what I was hiding.
She patted me on the head and gave me a hug, “Awwww, don't be embarrassed, Samantha. Your mother already told me about your little problem. My daughter had bedwetting issues until she was seven. I totally understand what you're going through.”
It was so frustrating being patronized like that. I wanted to scream, “I'm not a seven year old girl or a twelve year old girl and I shouldn't be wetting the bed!” but I knew I had to remain polite and well mannered for Mother.
“What a lovely dress!” she exclaimed, “Do a twirl for me.”
I obediently obliged her as Mother came downstairs to greet her friend. I stood quietly while I waited for them to finish chatting and then Bridgette led me over to the piano. I had never played a musical instrument before and I didn't even know how to read music so I was a bit intimidated. Mother noticed and reassured me, “You're a very bright little girl, Samantha, and Bridgette is an excellent teacher. Just work at it and practice every day and you'll pick everything up in no time.”
I was handed a new copy of the house rules later that night. Working at it was to be mandatory, it seemed.
11. YOU WILL PRACTICE THE PIANO FOR 45 MINUTES EVERY DAY. NO EXCEPTIONS!
The lesson wasn't so bad. Bridgette did seem to be a good teacher and she explained everything so it was very clear and easy to understand. She was quick to answer all my questions and never looked angry when I messed up.
After the lesson I donned my apron. “Mother's Little Helper,” it proclaimed me, and that's what I had become. Mother and I were a practiced team in the kitchen and with two people so in sync it hardly seemed like work at all. The three of us went out to a table in the garden. Mother and Bridgette chatted and gossiped while I served the tea and sandwiches.
“Such a helpful little girl, isn't she?” Bridgette asked.
Mother smiled,“A perfectly well mannered little Miss,” she proclaimed me.
After lunch I sat nearby and went back to reading my book. Mary's maid had told her a story about a secret garden in the large manor where she was staying. Mrs. Craven, the wife of Mary's Uncle who owned the manor had spent hours every day tending to roses in her garden. When she died Mr. Craven had hidden away the key to the garden forever.
Mary started to form friendships and lose her angry and rude dispossession. She would play with her skipping rope and explore the moor around the manor while wondering about the secret garden and the tragedy behind it everyone seemed to ignore.
“What are you reading, Samantha?” Bridgette asked.
I held up the book so she could see the cover but didn't answer. I just kept reading. It was still a depressing story, but I wanted to know how it would end.
“Don't be rude, Samantha. Come join us,” Mother chided me. With a sigh I put down the book to returned to the table.
Bridgette smiled at me, “So, your mother tells me you're going back to school in the fall. Are you excited?”
I nodded unconvincingly, “Sixth grade.” I burned at the demotion to a sixth grader but I had no choice. I was being demoted right out of middle school. I would be riding a bus with first graders and the rest of the elementary school kids again.
“That's nice,” Bridgette said, “A student of mine named Marcie should be in your class. I can introduce you at your first piano recital so you have a little friend already for your first day back in school!”
“Thanks, I guess,” I replied.
Being stuck with Mother all the time was becoming more and more smothering. I knew school would be a humiliating disaster but Mother told me I could change my mind and be homeschooled, or go to a boarding school or military school as a boy, any time I wanted. I hated that she always offered to let me be a boy again but only in a way I knew would be terrible for me. It just proved to me over and over how weak and pathetic I was.
“We talked and talked about it before we finally agreed she should go back,” Mother explained.
Still, I felt like arguing some more. “But what if they find out I'm really a boy?” I asked.
Mother smiled at me, “We can't hide who you are, Samantha. The principal will explain to the whole school about your special status. They've dealt with this before.”
I pouted, “So the kids will make fun of me for sure.”
Bridgette broke in, “Oh no. And if they do you go right to the teacher and tell on them.”
“But I don't want to be a tattle...” I started.
Mother interrupted, “Samantha Anne Donovan, calling you a tattle tale is just another way of saying you're a good little girl. If people break the rules the teacher should know. I expect you to be a perfect little teacher's pet and you'll be in big trouble if you aren't!”
I whined, “But the other kids will pick on me. The boys will bully me and try and beat me up.”
“Teacher.” Mother and Bridgette replied in unison.
Mother added, “Any time anyone is mean to you or ABSOLUTELY if they try and hit you all you have to do is cry and ask a teacher or a bigger kid for help.”
I was near tears now already, “But I can't just go to the teacher and come off as weak and helpless. I have to stand up for myself and be brave. Nobody will respect me otherwise and it will just make things worse,” I was crying by the time I was finished, making a mockery of the idea I could be brave.
Mother moved close and hugged me tightly. “You poor dear, you really still don't understand, do you? You're a girl now. Little girls can cry and ask someone else to protect them all they want and nobody thinks less of them for it. Do you know what happens when a boy has a crying fit like this at school?”
I certainly did and it made me bawl even more.
Mother went on, “Yes, they call him a cry baby and beat him up and they totally lose respect for him. But Samantha, do you know what happens when a little girl cries?”
I shook my head.
Mother spoke one simple word, “Nothing.”
Bridgette added, “Nothing but hugs and kisses and everything possible to make her feel better. Girls can cry whenever they want. Isn't it so much better for a shy, sensitive, quiet, loving, pretty little person like yourself to be a girl?”
My head was spinning.
Bridgette went on, “...or I guess you could try life the boy's way again. Having to act all tough and never complain or cry and being treated like you're a rock and nothing matters to you.”
Why did all this make sense to me? “It's just that easy? Being a girl can't be so easy...”
“Of course not, Samantha,” Mother said, “It's just as difficult in it's own way. You're expected to always look pretty. If you act too angry they call you a bitch. Too cold and they call you frigid. People will think you're not as smart as a boy. They won't think you can be a leader. It's harder to get a job and they will pay you less for just as much work and still expect you to have a perfect family life as well,” She looked at me very seriously, “But Samantha, these are all challenges someone with your temperament is much better suited to deal with than what a boy faces. You're already pretty, you are warm and loving and have a great smile, you're extremely bright, and I know you will grow into an amazing woman who can take on any challenge.”
My heart was beating through my chest. I hugged her tightly. I didn't quite believe her, but it was a nice thing to say in a way. I started to think about my experiences in my old school, the last time I was in sixth grade.
-
She had cornered me and dragged me into a girl's bathroom. It was marked out of order so nobody would come in but they had forgotten to lock the doors. She was pulling at my hair violently.
“Owwww! We can't play it at school, Kelly. I'll get in trouble!” I insisted.
My sister replied menacingly, “I don't remember making that rule and I invented this game after all!” She dragged me into a stall and forced my head down towards the toilet bowl.
“Noooo!” I screamed with my face an inch away from the water.
“Better keep quiet, little sister,” she told me, “If you don't want the rest of the school to find out about your little nighttime troubles. Remember those pictures I took this morning of you and your wet bed and girly diaper?”
“They aren't diapers,” I whined, pointlessly. What did it matter?
She just laughed and taunted me in a baby voice, “Aww, my bedwetty wittle sister think just because they call her diapers 'Undergarments' in the marketing that changes what they are. You can call this a facial if you want!” She stuck my face in the water and flushed. I gurgled and cried and then she pulled my face out of the bowl.
“Again?” she asked.
“Please no, Kelly,” I begged in reply, “I'll do whatever you want.”
“We've been playing this game for so long. How could you still be confused about the rules?” she asked before dunking my face back in the water.
“Ahhhhhh! Stop it! I'm a prissy little sissy-girly and I want everyone to know it!”
Her eyes widened in mock surprise. “The whole school, Samantha? I don't think that's such a good idea.” She handed me a pair of panties. “Just these should do, we can play more after school and talk about letting everyone else know if you really want. I'll dress you up like a fairy princess and you can write out a long letter to the school explaining what a girly-girl you are and begging them to let you go back to Kindergarten! It's gonna be great!”
The panties were pink and white and covered in images of Tinker Bell and colorful flowers. “But Kelly, these aren't even yours. Where did you get these?” I asked.
She laughed, “Oh, you want to buy a few more pairs? I think you should stick to your diapers, Betsy Wetsy. These will do for now though. Just try and keep them dry.”
In tears I pulled down my pants and my sister confiscated my boy's underwear. I pulled up the panties. My little sister gave me a quick slap on the behind and I jumped.
She was quite amused at the site of me as I rubbed my butt before pulling my pants back up and drying my face. “Wow, Samantha, stuck in pink Tinker Bell panties for the rest of the day at school. This must be pretty humiliating for you,” she mocked.
That was an understatement.
The door opened and a teacher looked in. “What's going on in here?” she asked.
“Oh, nothing, Mrs. Smith. I was just having a rough day and my older brother came to talk to me and cheer me up,” Kelly replied.
Mrs. Smith nodded, “Okay, Kelly. I hope you feel better soon. Both of you get back to class when you're done.”
My little sister. She was such a master manipulator. The teacher didn't even consider she might be up to no good in there, not for a second. We left the bathroom and Kelly waved goodbye to me.
Nobody could see the panties through my thick pants but I couldn't escape the feelings they aroused in me, that weird tingling down there and the butterflies in my stomach and that feeling of weakness and exposure. I think boys must be programmed to see weakness in other boys or smell it out somehow. I encountered two bullies named Mike and Steve. They had never really bothered me much before. Aside from my little sister, not many people did seem to target me that much. I may have been weak and wimpy but I could project an air of confidence when I needed to. But not when I was wearing some little girl's Tinker Bell panties. They slammed me into a locker and I just barely started to cry, just one little tear, but before the end of the day I was sure everyone would hear about it and other bullies would be paying more attention to me in the future.
That wasn't even the most traumatic part of my day though. A few hours after I returned to class the Vice-Principal came to my classroom and pulled the teacher out to talk in the hall. In a few moments all of the boys were herded out of the class and heading to the office. All I could think about was how miserable I was being stuck in girl's underwear at school. I hadn't been able to clear my head for even a moment. We were lined up in front of the office and were being led in to see the Vice-Principal one by one.
The first boy came out of the office laughing hysterically and explained what was going on even though he had been strictly warned not to. Someone had stolen a pair of panties from the backpack of a second grader. She occasionally had wetting problems and needed to bring backup just in case. Apparently, an anonymous source had told the principal all about it even though the girl hadn't noticed the panties were missing yet. The source said that the perpetrator was a boy in our class. I fumed. I was dead certain who the source was and that she was obviously the thief.
I wanted to sink through the floor and disappear. I wanted to run away in a panic, but that would only confirm the guilty party. One by one the boys went in. I imagined with dread what would happen. If they caught me everyone would know. Everyone would call me a sissy and a panty thief and a freak forever.
My name was called and I entered the office, shaking from nervousness.
“Empty your pockets,” the Vice-Principal ordered me.
“Okay, Okay. I can do this,” I thought, “They won't even think to see if a boy is wearing them. They think it was just a prank, a juvenile version of a panty raid.” I emptied my pockets and he examined the contents.
He went on, “Empty your bag.”
I emptied my bag and he searched the contents.
“Do you know anything about a stolen pair of panties, Jimmy?” he asked me.
“No, Sir,” I replied nervously. The tingle down there was at extreme intensity and the sound of my heartbeat was banging in my ears.
“Very well, pick up your things and send in the next boy,” he told me.
I sighed with relief. I made it. “Yes, Sir,” I replied. I quickly repacked my bag and turned around to leave.
“One moment, stop right there,” the Vice-Principal said suddenly. He walked up from behind me and looked closely. I felt dizzy like I was about to pass out. My pants must have sagged down a bit when I was rooting through my pockets.
He waited several moments. It felt like an eternity to me.
Finally he said, “Hmmm, wrong color. These aren't the panties we're looking for. Send in the next boy, but I'll be having a talk with your parents about this. You should pull up your pants more, Jimmy, I can't imagine what will happen to you if some bully finds out.”
My brain was numb with shock as I walked out and it stayed that way for the rest of the school day. On the bus I saw my sister talking and laughing with a much younger girl. Kelly insisted I sit with them. I didn't want to be anywhere near her then or ever. I sat and listened to them explain what an awesome prank they had pulled on the school by pretending the little girl's panties were stolen. I never did find out where the panties I was wearing really came from. As soon as I got home I met a very angry Dad with a phone in his hands. He took the panties from me and I never saw them again. Thank goodness.
-
As I recalled that day I drifted away from the conversation again and wandered through the garden. I saw a small cocoon. I didn't know what it was until I asked Mother and she told me it would grow into a butterfly. My old parents had never been into gardening or nature stuff. After that she sent me in to practice the piano. Apparently a lesson doesn't count as a daily practice.
Forty-five minutes of “Mary Had A Little Lamb.” I think I mastered it. Bridgette clapped for me and gave me some finger exercises to practice before she left so I could relieve the monotony the rest of the week.
I was fascinated by the cocoon and I started to go to the garden to watch it whenever I could. One day a couple weeks later it was gone and I was sad. I had wanted to see the the butterfly emerge myself.
I was disappointed and I became whiny and grouchy with Mother, which was happening more and more. I still behaved and followed the rules but she could see I was acting coldly and with obvious passive aggression. She determined I was just spending too much time around the house and needed space. I kind of agreed, but I didn't like how she went about giving it to me.
She handed me my pink iPhone to put in the small white purse I was carrying. “Now Samantha, it has a GPS tracker so I always know where you are and I've programmed in emergency numbers and the house. No talking to strangers. Have a nice walk.”
I was wearing a red and white checkered gingham dress with petticoats, white sandals, and Mother's pearl necklace which I was now beginning to think of as my own. She had given me a skipping rope (for exercise) and I carried my book. I was instructed to walk to the local park and not to come back for two hours.
The neighbors got their first real glimpse of the new girl on their street that day. What they saw was an overly prissy young lady in a girly-girl dress with her hair in a french braid. She was most likely shy since she was walking alone with only a book for company. They must have thought she looked sweet. A nice little neighbor to have. It's too bad she hasn't made any friends yet they would think. I hope she comes out of her shell they would say. A girl needs a BFF.
Well, it turns out that day at the park I would finally find one.
Betty Pearl's Sissy Stories 20.1
Topic: The Sissy-Girly Game (Read 37080 times)
