A boy helps his mum win a bet
Mom came into my room, holding some big boxes.
“Here Steve,” she said, “I’ve got you some new clothes for you to wear while you’re staying with your aunt.”
“Mom, do I really have to?” I whined.
“Yes; you really have to,” she firmly said. “Now, let me have a look at you. Stand up and turn around for me!”
I did, and the yellow, knee-length, long-sleeved, A-shaped cotton dress with all of its tulle-petticoats swivelled around me.
“You look wonderful, dear,” she cried.
“No, I don’t,” I grumpily said, “I look like a girl!” I spread my arms in despair. “Why can’t I wear my normal clothes? Why must I dress like a girl, when I’m clearly a boy? And these cotton pantyhose are unbelievably hot and uncomfortable! AND I look ridiculous in this wig!”
“You know why, so you stop your whining; right now!” The tone in my mothers’ voice told me there was no point in continuing to whine. And besides, I did know why; she and my aunt had made a bet I couldn’t pass as a girl, and my mother was determined to win it.
So therefore, I had to endure spending a couple of days with my aunt and her daughters and be introduced to her friends as Stefanie, nicknamed Steve.
I looked in the mirror, and was once again amazed by what I saw. If I kept my mouth shut as much as possible, I probably could pass as being a girl.
A muscular and not overly cute one perhaps; but it just might work, after all.
When my parents and I arrived at aunt Prissie’s house which, thankfully, was in another town, she said with despair and surprise in her voice; “Yup, you were right, Alice; he really does look like a girl! Let’s see him walk.”
I tried to walk the way mom had taught me. It wasn’t easy as it was the first time I walked on gravel in shoes with high heels. I could do it quite gracefully at home (well, sort of), but now I felt as if I had never worn a pair before, much less walked in them.
“Hmph,” aunt Prissie snorted. “I guess that’ll have to do; for now. He’ll learn in time. But graceful; it wasn’t! And we’ll have to do something about that figure of his; it is way too boyish. I have got something that might fix that.”
In my room, I unpacked the clothes I had brought, as well as the ones that had been sent directly to the house. My heart sank when I saw it contained only dresses, blouses and skirts.
Aunt Prissie opened the door, without knocking. She carried a small box, which she put on the bed. My dress had a row of hooks and eyelets in the back which she unhooked, and peeled down the bodice.
She opened the box she had bought and took something out which she put around my waist. It looked like two pieces of fabric held together by not only the buttons, but by a long piece of string. I immediately recognized it from pictures mom and I had been looking at on the Internet.
“A corset,” I cried. “You want me to wear a corset? You have got to be kidding me!”
“How very observant of you.” she dryly said. “Yes it is a corset, and I want you to wear it for as long as you are here, and no; I never joke about such things as clothes.”
With moves that oozed of experience, she put the corset on me and laced it.
“Take it easy will you, aunt; I can’t breathe!” I gasped.
“What I will do; is put you on a weight-loss diet!” was the only thing she said.
Those words however, sent icy shivers down my spine. How long was I supposed to be here for?