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Prologue: This story is completely fictional save for the Halloween costume part. I wrote this as an experiment. I am thinking of writing a series of stories looking at the darker side of forced feminization, and wanted to begin with something "light", and will begin to write darker stories if this one gets a good response. You may email me at Mstress_Cindi@yahoo.com with your comments.

 

Forced to be a Girl

by Mistress Cindi

 

It all started when I was six years old. We did not have much money, as my mother was a single parent trying to raise me on her own, and Halloween was fast aproaching. My mother decided to barrow a neighbor girls figureskating outfit and a wig and use them as my trick or treat coustume. My mother had me get undressed and handed me a pair of white nylon panties and told me to put them on. I was a bit embaarassed, but did as my mother told me to do. Next I was handed a pair of pink tights. I did not know what to do and my mother assisted me in getting them on. Next I was handed a pink leotard to put on and this was followed by a red wrap skirt. As I could not wear skates for trick or treating, they were tied an hung over my shoulder and I wore a pair of white Mary Janes. My mother then placed a blonde wig on my head and I thaught that this embaarassing costume was complete, but not so.

My mother took me to the bathroom where she lifted my face to hers and took out a tube of red lipstick and applied it to my lips. Next she put mascaara and eyeliner on my eyes and stood back to admire her handy work. I was totaly red faced as I stood there looking like a little girl. Trick or treating was very "profitable, but humiliating as well. Most of the doors we went to thaught that I was actualy a little girl. It was not easy for me to say "thank you" to coments such as "What a cute costume your daughter is wearing" and "What a pretty daughter you have."

It was the following summer that I got a big surprise. I had been out playing in a field with some friends, and had gotten quite grubby. When I came home, my mother was very upset. "Look at you", she screamed "you look like a filthy pig. Go to the bathroom and get in the tub this instant." Not wanting to get into any more trouble than I was in I obeyed. When I emerged from the tub, mother told me that she had not yet dome the laundry and I had no clean underware, but not to worry, she had saved the panties I had worn for Halloween, and I could wear them. I started to protest, but did not want to get into deeper trouble for disobeying, so I took the panties and sheepishly put them on. I was then given a pair of short pants and a tee shirt to wear for the rest of the day. I went back out to play, but could not forget that I was wearing girl's panties under my clothes and I was very self concious and embaarassed. I did not want my friends to find out that I was wearing "girly underware". As a result, my play was more subdued than it usualy would have been. No climbimg the trees in the field today. I could not risk one of my friends climbing up behind me seeing a glimps of my panties under my shorts.

That night my mother asked what I thaught about wearing the panties. "I was embaaarassed, and I did not anyone to know that I was wearing them. If they had found out they would never play with me again, they would think I was like a silly girl."

"And what, just exa tly does that men? Do you think that girls are silly? That boys are better than girls?" mother asked.

"Girls play silly games, they don't want to play marbles or baseball, they just sit nd talk to dolls, that's silly. Everyone knows dolls can't talk." I replied.

Mother's face got red with anger, and I did not know what I had said to upset her. She told me to go to bed, and I went to off to bed. It was a very restless night, as I was upset for making my mother angry, but could not figure out how I did it. The next morning I awoke and went to breakfasst. Mother looked at me and said that we were going to do some shoping that day. I hated shoping. My mother was born to shop, and it usualy meant hours of wandering through the store as she perused eveery item on the shelf. I was crestfallen as I realized that my day of playing out side was ruined. When mother noticed my expression, she said, "Cheer up, we are going shopping for you. You are getting some new clothes."

I could not understand why I needed new clothes as there was still five weeks to go before school started up again. I just sat there and ate my cereal in silence, not wanting to make my mother angry again. As soon as brekfast was over, mother piled me into the car and we drove to the depaartment store. Mother took my hand and we headed into the store. Mother kept a determined pace as we passed the boys department and headed to the girls department.

I was mortified, and started to tug to get awasy from my mother's grip, but she was much to strong, and I was dragged kicking and screaming into the lingerie area.

"Since you thingk that girls are silly, you will have to learn better, and the best way to do that is to be one for a whaile." mother said.

" But I don't want to be a girl, I am a boy, I want to be a boy", I protested.

Mother would not hear my protests, and just continued on her path. We stoped at the panty display, and mother picked out a package of day of the week panties in pastel colors adorned with either lace aplicays or ruffled bottoms. I was embaaarassed just looking at them, knowing that they would soon be covering my rump. Next we went to the sectioon where they had slips and camisoles for little girls, and mother baught two full slips, two half slips and two camisoles, all in white nylon.

I began to cry as mother picked out the feminie underware. I was sure that she would make me be a girl forever. I had no hope. I was doomed to be a sissy, silly girl forever and there was nothing I could do about it.

Mother then baught several skirt, blouses dresses and shoes, all the picture of femininity. When we returned home, mother made me get undressed and get into the panties that were for that day. She then placed a full slip on me. By this time I was sobbing uncontrolably, but mother was determined. Next came a little pink jumper and pink ankle sox followed by a pair of pink tennis shoes. I just sat there as mother dressed me in the sissy girl cloths. there was no fighting her. I was totlay mortified, and when we weeeere done and mother told me to come down stairs and go out to play if i wanted, all I could do was sit there and cry.

Mother kept me in skirts and dresseds every day for the rest of the summer, and I never left the house. I would spend all day in my room, crying till I was exausred, but mother never relented. When my friends csame looking for me I told mother to tell them that I was sick and could not come out. Luckily for me she agreed and spared me the humilation of my friends seeing me in the girl's clothes. When scho;; started again, i was again dressed aas a boy, but the still was made to wear panties every day, and a camisole instead of a tee shirt under my clothes.

This contined for the next three years, and when I was nine, I ran away from home, and have never returned. I do not know what happened to my mother, nor do I care. I was picked up by the Police, and told them that I was an orphan, that my mother had died. I gave then a fake name, and wound up in a foster home, eventualy.

To those that think that forced feminization is somehow romantic or desireable, I say they are welcome to it. As for me, it took several years of counseling to get my head back on straight. The feelings that I experienced due to my mothers forcing me to dress as a girl manifested in my developping violent anti-social behavior that resulted in my being expelled from school several times for fighting and violent pranks.

 

 

 

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2002 by Mistress Cindi. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.