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Archive-name: Changes/melissa1.txt

Archive-author: Linda Lafrance   (c) 1989

Archive-title: Melissa



          "Missy, come into the living room.  We have guests."   

The demure, girlish form standing in the foyer heard the words

coming through the closed doors to the room.  Missy looked at her

image in the mirror on the wall and saw a person she hardly

recognized.  Well, she recognized herself, but the reflection was

not what she was used to seeing by any stretch of the

imagination.  Perhaps if she was lucky, the visitors with her

Aunt on the other side of the door would not recognize her

either.  She raised a well manicured hand to the side of her

head, patted a curl into place, and couldn't help but notice how

natural the feminine motion appeared.  The thought sent a shiver

up her spine. 

          Missy quickly reviewed her appearance in the full

length mirror.  She wore a tea length, white chiffon dress with a

circle skirt that fell in soft folds over her moderately full

petticoat.  Her ankles peeked out below the hem of the dress

through blush pink hose, and she stood on white leather pumps

with four inch heels.  Her hair was worn below the shoulders,

falling in soft curls around her face, with straight bangs across

her forehead, providing a piquant, juvenile look.  Missy was

examining her perfect makeup, which she herself had put on

earlier that day, when the voice of her aunt came through the

door again. 

          "Missy, I said come into the living room, and I meant

it."  Aunt Mary's voice was more urgent and Missy realized she

had delayed too long before the mirror.  She twirled on her

heels, her skirt swirling about her legs, and in the sweet

feminine walk which she had been learned over the past summer,

Missy minced to the door and opened it to join her aunt and the

guests for tea. 

          As she entered the room Missy only saw her Aunt Mary

clearly.  The guests were seated in two wingback chairs facing

the sofa from which Aunt Mary had just risen.  "Missy, when I

call to you I expect you to respond promptly, do you understand,

young lady?"  Missy halted abruptly, concerned that lingering in

the foyer had made her aunt angry.  "Yes ma'am, I'm very sorry. 

It won't happen again," Missy answered demurely, hoping to

appease her aunt's temper.   

          "Well don't just stand there child," continued Aunt

Mary, "We have guests."  Missy took her cue and once again began

to walk towards her aunt and the two wingback chairs.  She

swished around the chairs to join Aunt Mary, turning towards the

guests.  Missy's Stepmother and stepsister rose from the chairs

in unison to greet her, each wearing a smile that would light up

the darkest night.   Missy's blood raced and she could feel a

warm flush spreading over her cheeks as her Stepmother moved

forward to greet her.  "Missy, you look so pretty today.  Are you

glad to see us?" she asked.  The young girl curtsied reflexively

and responded in the affirmative.  Her hands now clasped together

behind her back, Missy bent forward slightly at her tightly

corsetted waist, so as to give her Stepmother a peck on the

cheek.  "Yes Mother, its very nice of you to come visit me,"  she

softly replied.  Missy's stepsister, Amanda, a year younger than

Missy at fifteen, yet appearing several years older at the

moment, chimed in.  "What about me, little sister, don't I get a

kiss too?"  Missy blushed further at this invitation, and slowly

walked forward to lean towards Amanda and kiss her cheek.  Aunt

Mary directed Missy to a straight back chair strategically placed

so that the others all had a clear view of it's occupant.  In a

gracefull manner she grasped her skirts and fluffed them out as

she seated herslf. 

          Her Stepmother spoke again.  "Have you had a pleasant

stay dear?"  "Yes Mother.  Aunt Mary has been very kind to me,"

she responded automatically."  "That's nice," her Mother

continued.  "Well the summer is over and its time to get you back

to school.  We've come to take you home."  At this comment Missy

was noticably startled.  "We. . . I'm going ho. . . home?" she

inquired.  The thought of returning home, with all of its

implications, was something Missy was unprepared to deal with. 

She stared down at the deep red polish on her inch long nails and

thought of an earlier time, three months ago. 


          Michael opened the kitchen screen door and let is slam

with a bang behind him.  It was the last day of school and his

bounding walk reflected his enthusiasm for the summer aheaad. But

he wasn't very enthusiastic about another part of his life.  His

father had recently remarried, the most immediate consequence of

which was that he had a new Stepmother, and a stepsister, Amanda. 

His Stepmother was an attractive woman, several years younger

than his father.  She was a good deal more of a disciplinarian

than Mike was used to, however.  As for Amanda, he could do

without her entirely.  Mike had known her since he was in grade

school; both Amanda and her mother had lived in his town for

years.  She was always a spoiled bitch, and the fact that puberty

had endowed her with sufficient assets to make her the envy of

every girl in town had only exacerbated it.  The boys in town

predictably fawned over her, and she loved it.  The combination

of all these facts made her truely insufferable.   

          The door slammed and his Stepmother's footsteps could

shortly be heard coming from the living room.  She came into the

kitchen and immediately berated him.  "Michael, how many times do

I have to tell you that doors do not slam in this house!  I am

entertaining guests in the other room and you've embarassed me

before them."  Mike stared at this incomprehensible woman,

thinking her next edict would be no breathing allowed.  "And

those shoes," she added.  "Take them off this instant.  They're

filthy and you'll track mud all over the house."  He kicked the

shoes off into the corner of the entranceway and shrugged his

shoulders as he went to go up to his bedroom.   

          "Where do you think you're going young man?  I'm

speaking to you," his Stepmother demanded.  Mike turned back to

her and muttered, "I'm sorry.  I won't slam the door again," and

quickly turned to go upstairs.  "Stop right there," she ordered. 

"I'm not going to put up with your insolent attitude any longer. 

Stay in you're room until I call for you."  She turned on her

heels and left to regoin her guests.  Michael went upstairs

convinced that his stepmother was mad.  The sounds from her

gathering filtered up to his room.  They seemed to be celebrating

something.  No matter.  He would speak to his father about it and

end this nonsense. 

          But that was part of his problem also.  His father had

been called away on business several months before.  At first the

trip was supposed to be only a few weeks, but it later turned

into an indefinite assignment.  In his father's absence, his

Stepmother had become increasingly autocratic, and Amanda had

become absolutely intolerable.  It got to the point where he

simply avoided them as much as possible.  Whenever Michael was

around his Stepmother she was constantly demeaning him and

criticizing his behavior.  Amanda treated him with scorn, always

taunting him about his small size, saying that any girl who was

interested in him must be a lesbian.  Complaining about Amanda to

her mother was useless; Amanda would always find some way to

twist the facts around and make it appear as if Michael were in

the wrong. 

          The sounds from the party had quieted and his

Stepmother finally appeared to deliver another of her inevitable

lectures.  She had waited until he returned from taking a shower,

and when she entered he was clad only in a towel wrapped around

his waist.  She advised in a firm tone that she was not going to

put up with his rudeness and bad manners any further.  So long as

his father was absent she was responsible for his upbringing, and

his failure to respond to any reasonble guidance measures to date

were going to change immediately.  With that she led him from his

room to the newly decorated guest bedroom. 

          Mike knew the room was being renovated but was unaware

of her exact plans, and was surprised to find it so elaborately

furnished.  The room was done in pastels, predominantly pink, and

seemed to him to be extremely feminine.  Lace curtains, a canopy

bed, and a deep shag rug overwhelmed the room.  She spoke again

he had an opportunity to take in the surroundings.  "You'll be

staying in here for the weekend.  I'm locking your room so that

you will not be tempted to disobey me again."  Mike stared at

her, baffled.  Why should he have to stay here?  And what was he

supposed to wear if he couldn't return to his room? 

          His questions were shortly answered.  "I've had this

room specially remodeled.  It is designed to perform one task: 

to teach you how to live like a civilized human being."  With

that she snatched the towel from around his waist, leaving him

stark naked.  Mike quickly threw his hands over his privates and

dashed behind a chair, desperately seeking some form of modesty. 

"What do you think you're doing?" he demanded.  "Give me my towel

back right now!"  He tried to sound assertive but realized that

his words were having no effect.  His Stepmother just stood there

with his towel, in complete control, and he knew it.  "Please . .

. ?" he offered with a second thought, hoping to placate this

apparantly mad woman. 

          "No," she replied.  "As I said before, you are going to

learn to be a civilized human being, and the lessons start right

now.  You have already amply demonstrated that you are an uncouth

young man, absolutely incapable of proper behavior, especially

towards ladies and girls.  Accordingly, you will begin this

evening to learn a little about what ladies and girls are all

about."  Mike was having a difficult time following her.  The bit

about his conduct towards girls and women was incomprehensible. 

If anything, he was constantly oppressed by them, not the other

way around.  And this "learning" about females was equally

indecipherable.  For the life of him, he could not figure this

woman out. 

          His Stepmother walked to the door and tossed his towel

out into the hall.  She then closed the door and locked it with a

key.  "What are you doing?  I'm standing here naked and you threw

my towel out the door," exclaimed Mike.  "That's right, because

there are already plenty of things in here for you to wear," his

Stepmother replied.  With that she walked over to the large

dresser dominating one wall of the room and began to remove

clothing for Mike from the drawers.  She pulled out a pair of

pink, lace trimmed panties, a matching garter belt and stockings,

and a pink sleeveless undershirt, or vest, trimmed with lace at

the neckline and sleeves.  She spread these garments out on the

bed with great ceremony, and stood back, turning to look at the

astonished boy. 

          "There, now put those on and I'll find the rest of your

clothes for this evening," she stated in a matter of fact tone. 

"What do you mean put those on.  They're girl's clothes.  I'm not

wearing them."  Michael again tried to be firm in his reply but

his voice betrayed his fear that he might indeed have to wear the

feminine articles.  His Stepmother ignored him and walked over to

the large, walk-in closet.  She opened the door and took a switch

from a hook hanging inside.  Turning towards the cowering boy

hiding behind the chair she swung the rod through the air as if

to test it.  "You'll begin to dress immediately or you will

certainly regret it," she threatened.  Forgetting for a moment

his naked state, Michael dashed to the door only to find it

securely locked.  His Stepmother took immediate advantage of his

now defenseless position and moved quickly towards him, slashing

with the birch and catching him squarely on his exposed bottom. 

Michael was caught by surprise and slumped to the floor in a

foetal position, as if to protect himself from her further


          "Get over to that bed right now and start getting

dressed or you'll think what you just felt was a love tap!" his

Stepmother commanded.  He immediately jumped to his feet and ran

to the bed in order to avoid any further blows.  "I . . . I don't

know how to put them on," he stammered.   

          "I don't know how to put them on," she mocked.  "Pick

up the garter belt and wrap it around your waist you stupid

twit," she directed.  Michael did as he was told and she fastened

the garter belt securely at this waist.  He stared down at the

lingerie around his body uncomprehendingly.  He started to

protest again and was met with another swat on his still bare

buttocks.  "Shut up.  You're going to learn that properly behaved

young ladies do not speak back to their superiors.  And I AM your

superior.  Now sit down on the bed." 

          In short order, his stepmother drew the pink tinted

hose up his legs and fastened them to the garters.  The vest was

drawn over his head and the panties up over his legs.  Ordered to

stand, he felt the strange sensation of the stockings pulling on

his garters.  Stepmother walked over to the closet and came back

with two more garments that sent chills through Michael's body. 

He wanted to shout out his protests, but knew they would be


          His Stepmother approached and draped the pink taffeta

dress over a chair so that she could place the full, white

starched petticoat over his head.  After adjusting the shoulder

straps, she reached for the juvenile party dress and held it out

in front of the cowed and confused boy.  "Isn't this a sweet

dress dear?" she inquired teasingly.  Michael didn't know what to

say.  He knew he would be wearing the frilly, girlish attire

shortly, but was too overwhelmed to know what to say.  And he

definitely did not want to say the wrong thing.  "I asked you if

the dress was SWEET!" she insisted.  "Yes, mother, it is sweet,"

he mumbled.  She smiled, and proceeded to drape the dress over

his shoulders and down his body.  As she buttoned it up the back,

Michael couldn't help but notice how short the skirt seemed, and

how much the petticoat puffed it out about his thighs. 

          In short order his Stepmother placed pink lace trimmed

anklets and black mary janes on his feet, adding to his youthful,

girlish appearance.  Her task was completed as she brushed out

his longish blonde hair and secured a matching pink ribbon bow at

the rear.  He was again directed to sit on the bed and waited as

his Stepmother walked to the vanity and returned with several

items of makeup.  Michael had yet to see a mirror and view his

image, but he had no desire to do so.  He wanted to even less

after she finished applying his makeup, including blusher,

mascara, and lipstick, to his fair features.  She sprayed the

petticoated boy with perfume, and, finally satisfied with his

effeminate appearance, told him to stand, and addressed him


          "Now, Michael. . . it seems funny calling you that now

that you are dressed so nicely.  I'll have to think of something

else. . . .  Anyway, you're to follow me and remeber to behave

yourself.  You don't speak unless spoken to, and you certainly

don't act like the nasty brat that you've been since I became a

part of this household."  With that she walked out of the room

and left the door open for him to follow.  He hesitated at first,

but then obeyed and walked along behind her, the skirt and

petticoats bobbing and swishing strangely against his stockinged


          The house was quiet as he walked slowly behind her down

the stairs, and as they approached the living room, she took firm

hold of his hand.  But the silence was shattered as he followed

her through the door into the room where, he had thought, her

gathering had ended an hour before. 

          The group of ten ladies, his Stepmother's and Amanda's

friends, erupted in a chorus of laughter and teasing comments as

Michael was walked into the center of the room.  At the first

sight of these guests he frantically tried to free himself from

his Stepmother's grasp, but without success.  He finally stopped

struggling and stood, head down, as the women and girls moved

closer and crowded about him.  "She's so adorable!" cried out

Karen, Amanda's best friend.  "And the dress is perfect.  It

really suits her, don't you think?"  "How do you like it, little

girl?" added Amanda in a mocking tone.  "How do you like wearing

a dress?"   

          These and other comments crashed down on Michael's ears

as the girls proceeded to pluck at his dress, fluffing out the

skirt over his stiff petticoat, adjusting the bows at the short,

puffed sleeves, and fingering the lace frills.  Eventually, his

Stepmother restored a degree of decorum to the gathering, and the

guests all took seats about the room, leaving Michael to stand at

the center of their attention.  His Stepmother spoke. 

          "Ladies, I'd like to introduce you to a new member of

my household.  This is Melissa," she gloated, standing to the

side and gesturing towards the feminized boy.  "Melissa darling,

walk over to our guests and greet them."  Michael/Melissa stared

dumbly at his/her Stepmother, and then slowly walked over to the

nearest guest and held out his hand.  "No, no, no.  Melissa,

prettly little ladies don't shake hands.  You should curtesy

gracefully, and say you are pleased to make the guest's

acquaintance.  And kiss each one on the cheek."  Melissa was

horrified at what was happening to him--what had he done to

deserve this??  What was she doing to him??  And the guests. 

They stood there expectantly, with broad smiles on their faces,

waiting their turn to greet the new little lady. 

          The first guest was Karen.  He stood before her, 

fumbled ashamedly with the hem of his skirt, and bobbed down as

he imagined how a girl performed a curtesy.   His Stepmother was

there again to correct him.  "No, Melissa dear.  My, my but you

do have so much to learn.  Take the hem daintily between your

fingertips, drop one foot behind you, and bend your legs slowly. 

And look directly into your guest's eyes while you curtesy.  She

wants to she how pretty you look."  Tears began to form in

Melissa's eyes as she tried again.  He had avoided looking at

anyone directly--his shame was just too humiliating.  Karen was a

tall girl and towered over him in her four inch heels.  He looked

up and saw her standing over him, with a smile that was sexy and

at the same time showed her strong sense of superiority over him. 

He took the lacy hem of the dress in his fingertips and curtesied

as instructed, his gaze locked on her smiling eyes.  Karen leaned

down and presented her cheek for Melissa's kiss.  "Oooh, Melissa,

you smell sooo pretty today," she teased.  By the time he had

finished greeting each of the guests, Melissa thought he could

never feel more mortified.  Melissa was wrong. 

          The party lasted all evening.  Melissa's silence was

not tolerated for long, and she was required to speak in the tone

of a little girl.  The conversation was directed entirely at the

new little girl on the block, and how much she would enjoy her

summer.  "My summer!!", Melissa screamed to herself, and finally

broke down.  But the tears simply brought more teasing comments

about how girlish he now was.  There was no escape.  When Amanda

suggested the nickname "Missy", the tears started again. 

          Melissa's Stepmother explained that Michael's

inexcusable behavior and manners were a disgrace to the family,

and that he would spend the summer learning how to correct them

at her sister's home.  Perhaps at the end of the summer with Aunt

Mary, Missy would be "reformed."  Missy was called upon to model

the pretty party dress, and was devastated further by having to

describe every bit of clothing she was wearing, and how much she

liked each and every one.  Amanda, Karen, and her other friends

were screaching with laughter as Missy carried on about her

"favorite party dress and petticoats."   

          Missy arrived at her aunt's house the next day, wearing

a white lacy sheer blouse, pink skirt, white hose, and pink

heels.  In the ensuing weeks, she learned all there was to learn

about being a teenage girl--everything.  All signs of masculinity

or rebellion on her part were strictly forbidden, and punished




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