RELUCTANT PRESS

the next day, and have her confirm that I was wearing the panties I had been given the day before. Usually, this was done discreetly but often one of them would be in a playful mood and tease me into thinking that she would reveal my secret to everybody around.

One day, Becky even held up the returned panties and remarked openly in the hall, "Why thank you Danny, they're lovely," leaving everyone in earshot to gossip about what this was all about.

After school it was a mad rush home to change my clothes. Obviously, to hide my real identity from the mothers, I had to arrive looking like a girl. One of the four would drive me home and help me into a padded bra, slip, skirt and blouse, or dress and, riding in the car I had to apply my make-up and put my hair in a ponytail or hold it back with barrettes. I would comb bangs down on my forehead and tease the front to look more feminine. Oh what I would have given to have had hot rollers or a curling iron in those days, but they had not yet come into common use. My clothes generally came from one of the girls and increasingly I began wearing my Mom's things who was almost my size. Of course, just like the panties, these things had all to be laundered and pressed before being returned, further adding to my already full load of chores. And, since I was wearing either skirts or dresses, I had to keep my legs shaved!

I would spend my afternoons doing whatever my sorority sister wanted and often also being ordered around by her mother, each of whom thought all this was very amusing and took full advantage of having a maid around the house.

I must admit that I learned a lot in those four weeks about housekeeping, laundering, and cooking. It was like having eight teachers all contributing their two cents worth. And I knew that I had to perform well both in my work, to please the girls, and also in acting like a girl so none of the mothers became suspicious. And at the end of my ordeal, I found that I could slip into my feminine role with ease and with increasing fondness and efficiency.

In fact, I found to my great surprise one evening as I was sliding a pink nylon nightie over my head, I was starting to resent the times I was in boy's clothes.

-000-

RUFFLES & CURLES

By Kammi Morton

There were two notable incidents that occurred during my initiation. My second week was spent at Linda's house. As I have mentioned before, this was a beautiful place and it was obvious Linda's parents were rich. In fact, they already had a real maid who came in a few times a week to do housework and laundry so my chores that week were relatively light. I became very uneasy at how Mrs. Baker looked at me, as though she was seeing through my disguise.

The Friday of that week was a school holiday and Linda told me that her mother wanted me there early for some "special duty". I arrived promptly at nine and found Mrs. Baker waiting for me. She was all dressed up.

"You know, as I have been watching you all week I suspected that there was something more to you than meets the eye. Underneath the quiet, plain appearance of a young girl I believe there is someone else," she announced somewhat dramatically.

I was petrified! She knew that I was a boy and that I had been deceiving her all week, doing things no boy would normally have been allowed to do. What would she do? Call the police? Would I end up going to jail dressed as a girl with everybody knowing I was a boy?

"Why do you look so terrified, dear? What I mean is that I think that there is a very beautiful young woman yearning to be released and today we are going to find out. I have a special surprise for you that I'm sure you'll love and I don't want to hear any objections from you. I already got the OK from Linda to give you a day off from your 'maid duty' so let's go!"

She took me by the hand and led me out the door to her car. Fortunately, she was a chatterbox and did all the talking as she drove to Lincoln. All I had to do was give an occasional "Yes" or "No" to keep the one-sided conversation going. She pulled into the parking garage of Wellington's, the most expensive store in the whole county. My Mom used to dream about the day when she was rich enough to buy even a single dress from this store.

Once again, Mrs. Baker took my hand and led me into the store and up the elevator to the third floor, the "Ladies Boutique & Salon". Along the way she was greeted by several clerks with a deferential, "Good morning, Mrs. Baker."

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