The Feminization of Todd Stanwick Phonesex-Part Two

JASMINE 1-844-332-2639 ext 262

Todd Stanwick awoke and immediately regretted it. He had made plans to go out with his friends on a fishing trip that day so it was an unpleasant surprise when his beautiful mother shook him awake and with a cruel smile upon her crimson lips and said “Today is the day, Todd!” He rubbed the sleep from his eyes groggily. “What do you mean, Mom? Today is what day?” His mother narrowed her eyes as her smile, which did not reach those flint-like eyes  broadened.

“Why today Todd–today is the day you are going to realize–your– dream,” she spat the last word out contemptuously. “Today is the day you are going to find out what it feels like to become a woman!”

She made him shave his legs before telling him sternly to put on the baggy sweats she had laid out for him and which normally he would never even have worn out of the house.

But his mother was the sort of woman who would brook no argument so he meekly agreed. He wore the sweats while she was, as usual, immaculately turned out, in one of the designer dresses that clung to her curves perfectly, yet tastefully, with silky sheer stockings, high heels and her signature pearl necklace.

She dragged him to the beauty parlour where she announced loudly to everybody. “This is my son, Todd. He thinks he wants to be transgender!” She joined in the laughter of the other women there and winked roguishly. “Let’s see if he really does.”

They began the onerous task of putting extensions in his hair and doing his nails–“French manicure, I should think,” said his mother, glancing down at her own nails. “And make them acrylic so he won’t be able to take them off.”

The eyes of the other women at the salon, the beauticians and the other patrons were eloquent in their disdain and amusement. It was an expression Todd would know very well by the end of this day as he saw it it the eyes of everyone who witnessed his intense humiliation at the hands of his mother.

When two girls from the cheer leading squad at school passed by the salon and peered through the window at him, he wished fervently that the floor would open up and swallow him whole.

“OMG! That’s Todd Stanwick!” one of them said. It was the pretty blonde one, the one he had fantasies about telling his deepest secret to, of telling her that he had longed for years to be a girl and then of having her out him. But it had been just that–a fantasy. He had not really wanted it to happen. Had he?

“No, it can’t be,” cried the other girl.

“Yes it is! Look!”

The very air around him seemed to be filled with mocking laughter.

Then came the makeup application. His mother supervised closely and when a frosted pink lipstick was suggested, she waved it away disparagingly.

“No, something more subtle. I don’t want him to look like a cross-dresser or a garden variety sissy. I want him to look like a woman. Like a–” and here she brought her face very close to his and once again narrowed her jade green eyes maliciously–“a transgender!”

He raised one of his now French manicured hands to his face which was hot with shame only to have his mother grab it in a vice-like grip.

“Now darling, we can’t have you touching your face and messing up your makeup, can we?” she snarled, that brittle smile never leaving her face. From her Hermes Kelly bag, she pulled a pair of pantyhose and proceeded to bind his hands tightly to the makeup chair.

For a moment, he struggled against his silken bonds but he knew there was no point, really. He was trapped. There was no way out.

Once his makeup had been completed to his mother’s satisfaction, they left the salon.

“Now it is time for us to get you some panties and a bra, darling,” she said, her voice sweet as saccharine.

Was the humiliation at the lingerie store worse than at the beauty salon? It was hard to say. It all began, perhaps mercifully, to seem like a blur.

His mother’s smile, the laughter of the other women, the laughter of a few men too as his mother brought him bra and pantie sets to try on and bought him some pantyhose and after purchasing them with her credit card, forcing him to wear them.

“Now it is off to buy you some high heels, darling. A woman must have high heels! Oh but what should I call you now that you are quite the little woman? Not Todd, no.” She inclined her head, her swan-like neck to one side as she surveyed him and considered.

“Tara,” she pronounced finally. “Tara, like Scarlett O’Hara’s ancestral home”. She laughed again. “Well you know, I always did wish you had been born a girl. And I would have named you that. I never told you how disappointed I was on the day you were born that you were a boy, did I? So come along, Tara, as we get you some high heels and a dress.”

With his mother’s “help” Todd tried on several of the dresses the sales people brought at her behest, practically bowing as they handed the garments to her.

It was always this way with his mother. Wherever she went, people deferred to her. Perhaps it was her beauty, or her upper-crust accent or the elegant way she dressed. Perhaps it was simply because she expected nothing less than complete obedience and worship as that was how she had always been treated.

Through the blur of his humiliation, the blur of his confused feelings as he gazed at himself in the beautiful dresses his mother had chosen for him, he envied her intensely. He envied her beauty and power, her invulnerability. And especially he envied her womanhood.

She pushed him down into a chair and a boy about his own age, the clerk in the shoe department knelt before him as he presented his pantyhose clad foot to try the high heels on. The boy looked up Todd’s skirt, trying to get a glimpse at what lay beneath. The boy’s hand lingered upon Todd’s ankle.

“I don’t want you in those tart’s trotters yet,” said Todd’s mother. “These three inch Mary Jane heels will suffice for now. And you will have to learn how to walk in these high heels! Will you enjoy that I wonder?”

Then she took him by the hand and led him once again to the looking glass.

Staring back at him was a beautiful young woman where an awkward boy had once stood.

“Here,’ said his mother, clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Your zip is undone. Let me help you.”

She zipped him into the simple sheath dress. It was a tight fit but a perfect one.

Their eyes met in the mirror and once again he saw his mother’s smile, a smile of grim determination mixed with cruelty.

 

JASMINE 1-844-332-2639 ext 262

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