Becoming Bethany

by Heidi-Jo McGillicuddy's

 

After the initial flurry of excitement with which Lisa and I announced our engagement, our lives quickly settled back into the hum-drum routine to which we had become accustomed. I went back to my part-time job delivering pizza, while Lisa continued in her role as a hostess in a local private club.

Our jobs couldn't have contrasted more. My work uniform consisted of one of several pairs of inevitably stained khaki pants, a polo shirt, sneakers and a baseball cap. A quick shower and shave, a couple of swipes of deodorant, and I was more or less ready for work. I'm not sure when a polo shirt and khakis became standard issue unisex garb, but both the males and the females at my job wore the same outfit, day in and day out.

Lisa's work uniform, however, could hardly be considered unisex. Many a morning I would awake to the sound of her hairdryer and the smell of wonderful fragrances coming from the bathroom, as she would emerge from the bathroom soft and clean and beautiful, humming a song to herself as she began the process of putting on her bra, panties and camisole before she would sit down at her little vanity and apply her makeup. Then she would slip arms into the sleeves of her ivory colored blouse, and sit down on the bed facing away from me so that I could button all the little buttons that went up her back all the way to the high collar. I loved the way the sheer nylon that slithered and slid and draped her body so wonderfully. Then I would watch her as she would oh-so-carefully put on a pair of nylons, and finish by slipping into a satin-lined skirt that zipped and buttoned in the back with a short walking slit just behind her knees. Finally, after slipping into her click-clacking high heeled shoes, she would put on a string of her grandmothers pearls and a final spray of her wonderful perfume, and finish by putting on her collarless blazer, making a wonderful zipping noise with her French-tipped nails as they traced through the satin-lined sleeves.

Therefore, as I would slog through another shift at my crummy job, enduring profanity-laced tirades from both management and customers, I would dream of being with Lisa, but I would also envy her. While I knew she worked hard, the thought of hobnobbing with elegant society people instead of stepping over homeless people in the parking lots, of walking on marble and carpeted floors instead of old kitchen tile crusted with mozzarella cheese, of working on the top floor of a downtown skyscraper instead of a roach-infested, sauce-splattered ghetto workplace, and yes, of being clothed in elegant nylon and satin instead of faded and ratty polyester…

Some days, when Lisa was at work, I would iron her uniform for her and luxuriate in its entirely feminine design and materials, but while I wasn't exactly a linebacker, Lisa's clothing was far too small for me…I knew this because sometimes I would attempt to try it on, and to my shame, it never fit.

Lisa in her infinite feminine intuition and wisdom had eventually somehow realized this, of course…she realized that I had an urge to do more than simply iron and button her clothing for her…

And then one evening, shortly after we had become engaged, I came home to find Lisa in, well…an interesting mood. She greeted me at the door in a lacy nightgown, and I noticed that all the lights were dimmed, that candles were lit, that soft music was playing…It was obvious what she wanted from me, although she certainly was more than willing to um…give more than she received, as it turns out.

Still slightly dazed when she finally rolled off of me, I wondered aloud if something had come over her. I was being sarcastic. For all I knew, maybe women tended to get turned on for no reason from time to time. Why question this?

It was then that she brought out what it was that had gotten her so…heated up. It was in a large tube, and she had apparently received it today. "I want to get it framed", she gushed, "but I hate the thought of it being at the frame shop for a week after waiting so long for it already!"

I looked as she pulled an oversized, poster-sized print out of the tube, unrolled it, and held it up to me.

I couldn't believe it. It was a photograph of a southern belle. She was wearing a beautiful lavender gown filled out with hoopskirts that easily measured five feet in diameter at the bottom hem. Her skirt and bodice were covered with ruffles and her arms were covered with long satin gloves; she held a dainty little parasol and poufy little sleeves covered her shoulders. Her wide-brimmed hat was tied underneath her chin with a perfect floppy bow. And she looked…if not beautiful, then at least radiantly happy…

I almost didn't recognize myself.

The portrait was taken on the day that I wound up proposing to Lisa. She had volunteered to be one of three dozen girls who would march in the annual Heritage Day Parade dressed in the full antebellum finery of a traditional Southern Belle, and I had been excited, perhaps too excited, about the opportunity to see her in full costume. As it had turned out, however, only thirty-five young ladies were able to arrive at the community center on the morning of the parade. Before I knew it, Lisa and a desperate Belle wrangler named Gretchen had conspired to dress me from head to toe in lavender. Not only was I issued a ball gown, but also a hoopskirt, pantaloons, wig, hat, parasol, and, of course, the pair of long satin gloves that went all the way up over my elbows.

After the parade, however, and the excitement of our engagement announcement, the Heritage Day Parade quickly faded into the past. I took the dress and everything else off; as enjoyable as I had found the whole experience, well…let's face it, there's not a lot of occasions out there that require a ball gown. While I certainly wouldn't rule out the possibility of marching in next years parade if asked, I also knew that it was, of course, a year away. And besides…needing to wear a hoopskirt every day would almost certainly grow annoying, to say the least.

Prior to the effervescent greeting that she had given me tonight, I had thought that Lisa had seemed happy to have me back in male mode. My biggest concern had been that wearing a dress might somehow indicate to somebody…somehow…that I had somehow managed to change my sexual preference. While the experience had certainly made me more empathetic with both women and gay people, I honestly didn't feel compelled to pay any more attention to men then I had before; indeed, the time I had spent with my sister Belles and at the Ladies Auxiliary luncheon afterwards only showed me how moronic similar gatherings of men tended to be by comparison.

I told Lisa none of this, however. She worked with another girl named Carrie, who had also marched as a Belle that day. Carrie had teased me about how they needed another hostess at the club, going so far as to ask Lisa if I had nice legs, and if I wanted to come to the salon to get pampered with them someday.

Of course, Carrie was just teasing. Passing as a girl while wearing yards and yards of ruffles and chiffon were one thing, but passing as a girl while wearing little more than a skirt suit and blouse was probably a lot more difficult. And the club certainly wouldn't want to jeopardize its exclusivity by hiring a drag queen to interact with club members.

And so after having spent the day so resplendent in such feminine formal wear, I was willing to at least try and pretend that it had all been an aberration on my part…a delicious aberration, I admitted to myself, but one that might hopefully fade from memory with the passage of time.

But here now was Lisa, holding up a very incriminating photograph of me and asking, "Were you ever going to dress up again for me, sweety?"

I looked down at myself. Lisa had shaved my chest and arms for the parade, but stubble was already quite visible again.

"I'd like to," I said. "I just don't want to look ridiculous."

"You won't."

"I want to look pretty."

"Oh, sweetie," she said, "don't you know the secret to looking pretty?"

"What is it?" I mumbled, but I was curious. If anybody knew how to look pretty, it was certainly Lisa.

"It's easy. You just make yourself over so that you feel pretty. Because that's what counts. Didn't you feel pretty in your ball gown and hoopskirt?"

I had to admit that I did, and nodded.

"You see?" she cried. "When you felt that good about yourself and how you looked, you didn't care what anybody else thought. But I'll tell you something else," she added.

"What?"

"Because you felt so good and were so happy, that's why nobody bothered looking at you so closely that they could see the boy in you. They only saw a girl."

I nodded, tentatively. "What did you have in mind?" I asked.

She smiled. "Trust me," she said. "I wouldn't allow you to be anything less than beautiful."

"You can get me clothes that fit me?" I asked.

"One thing at a time," she said. "First thing I want you to do is to take a bath. Not a shower, a bath."

"O.K.," I said.

"Now," she said.

Gingerly, I slid out of bed to my feet, and padded across the floor to the bathroom. The door was half shut; I pushed it open and saw how Lisa had even lit a few candles in there as well. When I saw the towel draped over the side of the bathtub, I started to get the impression that I had underestimated the amount of preparation she had put into…whatever it was she had in mind.

Lying on the towel was a brand new Venus Divine, some extra blades, a tube of expensive-looking skin moisturizer, and a pink can of apricot-scented shave gel. At the same time, my bar of Safeguard was nowhere to be found.

"Be sure to use the bubble bath," I heard Lisa calling. She knew that I liked her bath and beauty paraphernalia--I'd spent a lot of money on it for her birthday. I wasn't sure if I felt right about using it on myself. Then I noticed that these weren't the items I'd bought her…I'd bought her the cherry blossom collection, and here on the edge of the tub was the velvet tuberose…body splash, bubble bath, shower gel…

"I don't hear that water running!" she called.

It had been a long day, and I wasn't exactly clean. I pulled up on the faucet and poured some of the bubble bath into the tub. A smell wholly feminine and beautiful filled the bathroom. I dipped a toe under the spigot to make sure it wasn't too hot or too cold, then slid into the water.

Shaving my legs turned out to be interesting, and not especially complicated, although I was surprised at the amount of daily agility that women apparently must muster in order to keep their legs smooth and lovely. I coated my left leg with a generous coating of pink shaving gel, inserted a fresh blade into the girlish razor handle, and tentatively drew it up the length of my calf.

I was amazed. The Venus cut through all my leg hair like butter, creating a swath in the shaving cream and leaving behind a trail of smooth, pink...sexy skin. I ran a finger along the hairless trench and shuddered. The I rinsed out the hair-clotted razor and shaved another smooth path up my leg.

Things got a little trickier around my kneecap, and I replace cartridges halfway up my leg so that I could shave my thighs with a fresh blade. I used two more fresh blades on my other leg.

"How are you doing in there, sweety?" I head Lisa calling.

"Fine," I called back. I wondered how she would see me with my legs shaved smooth like a girl, what she would think…I switched blades again to get rid of the stubble on my arms and chest, and then I lathered up my armpits and changed blades yet one more time.

The water was still warm, but by the time I was through shaving, it didn't feel particularly clean. I stood in the tub and pulled the plug, and then I closed the curtain and began to wash myself off under the shower. I lathered myself up with my new sweet-smelling body wash and took a moment to marvel at the feeling of the soft sponge over my now hairless body.

When I finally rinsed myself clean, I turned off the shower and took a moment to let the water finish running down my smoothness. I jumped when, with a giggle, Lisa suddenly pulled the shower curtain back.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "I knew you had gorgeous legs, I knew it!" Her smile was beautiful. I was impulsively reaching out for her, about to wrap my still-moist arms around her when she stepped back and said, "There's just one thing you need to do before you do anything else."

"What?" I asked. I probably sounded petulant. I was starting to get, um…needy again, if you know what I mean.

She held up the moisturizer. "You need to put this all over your body before you do anything else. Especially where you just shaved."

"I see," I said, taking the tube. "Why?" I asked. I was still standing naked and hairless in the tub, and feeling plenty moist.

"Because if you don't start to moisturize regularly starting now, your skin will dry up and get all itchy when the hair begins to grow back in."

"Oh," I said.

"And you don't want that, do you sweety? You want to be all smooth and pretty for me, don't you?"

"And if I feel pretty…" I said.

"You've got it!" Lisa said. "Come on," she said. "I'll help you."

She laid a couple of fresh, fluffy towels down on the floor of the bedroom and instructed me to lie down. Then she proceeded to rub generous amounts of moisturizer all over my body, making sure to thoroughly rub it into every pore, while also kneading my sore muscles. When she was through, I was close to exhaustion. It had been a long day.

"Are you tired?" she asked, seeing me yawn.

"Mmm," I said, trying to sound flirtatious. "I think I'd like to get into bed, anyway."

"Just one thing first, sweetie," she said springing to her feet.

"What?" I asked.

She was in the closet. I heard the sound of crinkling plastic. She came back out carrying a pink bag. "I bought you a nightie," she said.

"Really," I said. I had never given much thought to wearing a nightgown.

Lisa nodded, reaching into the bag. "It has a matching wrap, although I don't think you'll need that till morning." She pulled out a mass of lacy white nylon and held it out, letting it unfurl. "Sit up, sweety, and hold up your arms."

I did, and quickly found myself being overcome by filmy white chiffon, quite delicate and soft. When my face emerged from the top, I felt two straps come to rest on both of my shoulders; I looked on either side and saw a cute lacy ruffle. More lace trim trailed down the bodice of the gown, but unfortunately, I was unable to properly fill the bodice. "But I don't have boobs," I complained.

"I know you don't sweety," Lisa said. "But just for tonight, though, enjoy the feel of the soft nightie on your nipples, OK?"

I paused a moment to consider the pleasant sensation that Lisa was obviously quite familiar with. The nylon was soft and cool against my freshly shaven pecs. "O.K.," I said, standing up.

"Look at you," Lisa said, as the nightgown fell down almost to the floor. "How do you feel? Ready for bed?"

"Bed, yes," I said. "Sleep no."

Lisa took my hand. "That's my girl," she said with a wink.

 

TO BE CONTINUED

  

  

  

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