TRANSVESTIA

"I know."

"He doesn't want to hurt you."

"But he's mean."

"Because you've done a terrible thing."

"But look what he's making me do."

"Maybe it'll help you realize..."

"I do already."

"Maybe you do," she said hopefully.

At that moment my sister stuck her head in the door, and surveyed the scene.

"Why's Lynn in a dress?"

"He's being punished."

"What for?"

"Just something he's done. Now run along and let us talk."

She obeyed, but neither of us had any more that we were willing to say. I went to my room and waited for bedtime.

The vacation days passed slowly. My father, true to his word, insisted that I be kept in a dress, and my mother compliantly enforced his order. She eased it somewhat, allowing me to leave off the stockings and the brassiere when he was not at home, and replacing the hopelessly worn-out panties with a pair of my sister's.

Mother pitied me, and showed it. My sister thought it was the best thing that had happened to me since I broke my arm, and she let no opportunity to tease me pass unused. My father, in spite of having been the cause of it all, seemed to grow more contemptuous of my situation every day. I spent most of my time alone in the basement or in my room.

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