Alan's Penance

by Ann O'Nonymous

 

Chapter 1: Caught

It was a Friday morning and most kids were out playing -- enjoying various summer ball games, hopscotch, Jacks or just wheeling around coaches with dollies or babies that needed minding. However, there were some boys that were the exceptions: ones that seemed to glide from one bit of trouble to another!

. . . - - - . . . . . . - - - . . . . . . - - - . . .

From their hiding place in a wooded area, just a hundred or so yards from a large "C"-shaped two-and-a-half-story fieldstone structure, three fourteen-year-old boys looked around trying to discern any activity.

"No cameras that I can see," John Clarke, the leader of the group, stated.

"The front of the house is clear," Bobby Walsh, John's best friend since childhood, chimed in, then added, "just the old lady's Audi and van parked where they almost always are."

Alan O'Shea, the last boy, was a newcomer to the area. The three had met just a few days ago and he was undergoing an initiation.

"Okay, you know what to do?" John said.

Alan wrinkled his nose and started: "The woman and her girls are in the kitchen having tea. (At this, Bobby stuck out his pinkie and raised his hand in imitation of drinking a cup of that brew.) The patio door on this side of the building is usually unlocked, so I go in, over to the door and check. If the coast is clear, I go across the next room, up the stairs to the right . . . ."

"No," John almost shouted, "That's the maid's room – there's a back staircase to the kitchen at the end of that hall. You go to the left – that's where the girls' rooms are. Got it?"

"Hey, I was just testing! Don't get your panties wrinkled!"

At that jesting remark, the group started snickering.

"So, I go left, get into a bedroom, grab a pair of panties – the lacier, the better – and get the heck out of there! Right?"

"Right! Better get going, Al. Just remember if you get caught, you're on your own!"

At that, the lad took off across the grass, sprinkled with wild flowers and dandelions, running towards a hedged-in patio with green canvas-backed director's chairs and a glass-topped table that was shaded by an oversized green-striped beach umbrella. Moving down a path on the side of the low hedge surrounding the patio, he got to the left side of the sliding glass doors where he peered into the room to see if anyone was there. Looking around, the room appeared to be a library, with bookcases lining the walls. Several comfortable leather covered chairs could be seen from where he stood.

Quietly, he slid the patio door open, entered the room and slid the glass door closed. Moving to an inside door, maintaining as much caution as possible, Alan opened it slightly and listened. He could hear voices and girlish giggling coming from a room to the rear of the house.

Opening the door fully, he ran across an expensive-looking Oriental rug to a tan-carpeted staircase and up to the second floor, where he stopped to catch his breath! Going left, he entered the first room he came to and shut the door.

"Holy smoke," Alan said quietly as he surveyed the room with pale pastel walls and light-colored feminine furniture – a canopied bed, covered with what appeared to be pink satin sheets, and a vanity covered with a variety of bottles, brushes and tubes – prominently displayed. There were several sizes of stuffed animals (cats mostly) and dolls on display: a few in a large display case and some on a pillow strewn sun-lit window seat. Both stained glass windows were closed, as the soft hum of an air conditioner filled the room. To his left, an open closet filled with hangers of virgin white and pale blue slips, and dresses of all kinds and colors. On the bed's pillow was a folded girl's nightgown, ready for use that night.

A slightly opened drawer, containing a myriad of neatly arranged softly colored articles, seemed to call him over to examine the contents. One pretty article caught his full attention: a pale blue lace-covered creation.

"This should do," Alan muttered as he stuffed it into his pocket.

"Find your correct size, sir?" a voice said from behind him.

Whirling around, he was confronted by a woman and two girls, the older one manipulating a softball bat in a rather menacing fashion.

Alan started backing away saying, "P-p-please d-d-don't h-h-hit muh-muh-me, please! I'm s-s-s-sorry!"

"Nancy, put that bat away – it's only a young man who seems to be looking for a bus or taken a fancy to your underwear," the woman stated with a tinge of sarcasm.

As the girl left to return the bat, the woman said, in a more gentle voice, "Now what are you doing here? The truth will be a big help."

He swallowed, took a deep breath, then rapidly stated, "There were these boys and they had this club and I wanted them to be my friends . . . ."

"Whoa, slow down. There's no hurry – let's try again, shall we?"

"Yes, ma'am. I wanted some friends, guys to pal around with. I met these guys, and I wanted to join their club. To get in, I had to get a pair of panties from this house," Alan gradually related.

"Aha! And their names are John Clarke and Bobby Walsh, right?"

Surprised at this, Alan replied, "Yes, ma'am – how did you know?"

"John called, said there was a burglar in the house, upstairs. He thought I wouldn't recognize his voice – hah!" the woman said then continued, "Those two troublemakers you should stay away from as they always seem to be in hot water, one way or another."

"Yes, ma'am. Eh, since it's not really my fault, couldn't you let me go this time," Alan said in his most pleading voice.

"Nope! Let's go downstairs, and I'll call your mother to discuss the matter. I'm sure we can come to some agreement – now what's your name and phone number?"

As they walked back to the staircase and down, Alan, guarded in front by the older girl with the woman following, said sadly, "My name is Alan O'Shea and I live with my mom. We moved here about three months ago. Our phone number is 555 638 2396. Please, mom will really be upset with me!"

"Mother's name?"

"Oh, Mrs. Vincent O'Shea, Janice to her friends. My pop's dead – killed in an accident in the quarry where he worked. Mom collected the insurance about five months ago, and decided to get away from that area, so we moved here."

"Well, Mr. Alan O'Shea, my name is Mrs. Catherine Winters – my husband died some ten years ago. These are my daughters, Nancy, 15, and Nicole, 13."

While shaking the hands of each, Alan took a look at his captors: Ms. Winters was about 5'11" tall, perhaps 155 lb, with dark brown hair, and sea-green eyes, dressed in a blue T-shirt and jeans; Nancy was 5'7", about 120 lb, with light brown hair and light green eyes, dressed like her mother; and Nicole ("Nikki") appeared to be his 5'3" size, 100 lb with emerald green eyes and jet black hair, dressed in a white T-shirt, with "Girls Rule" printed in bright red on the front, and a pair of lemon shorts. All three were very attractive, and well built physically, without being overly muscular.

"Okay, Alan – the girls will take you to the kitchen for milk and cookies. Meanwhile, I'll call your mother and we'll get together to discuss your problem."

"C'mon Alan – we can talk in the kitchen," Nancy said as she and Nikki lead him away.

"Oh, Alan," Ms. Winters called to them, "does your mother like tea?"

"Yes ma'am!" came a quick reply.

"Nancy, please make some tea for our guest," Ms. Winters said, "and bring it in when I summon you."

"Yes ma'am," Nancy said.

 

Chapter 2: The Meeting

Mrs. Winters watched as her hidden surveillance cameras followed the Taurus moving slowly up the drive to pull into an open space in the small parking area in front of the house. She watched as a woman, stylishly dressed in a conservative grey pin-stripe business skirt, exit the vehicle, lock up and approach the house. Catherine got up and went to great her guest.

The timing was perfect: as one woman was about to knock, the other opened the door.

"Oh! Are you Ms. Catherine Winters?"

Catherine smiled, as she replied, "Yes, and you must be Ms. Janice O'Shea?"

"Yes, there was something about my son . . . ."

"Please, come into my office where we can talk this over," Catherine said, admitting the younger woman.

Catherine led Janice to a large room with files, a desk, and an up-to-date computer. Spreading her hands and waving them she stated, "My office! I'm in the Real Estate Consulting business. Please, sit – would you like some tea?"

"Maybe later. My son – what has he done? I will repay you for any damage," Janice said, taking a seat in front of the desk.

Catherine moved around to the back of the desk, saying as she moved to seat herself, "Your son has entered my house without permission, went into a private area, and removed an article of clothing – specifically a pair of girl's panties."

Janice's expression displayed first shock, followed by dismay, then back to shock. Containing herself, Janice pursed her lips as she said, "Oh my God! I'm so sorry! I didn't realize it was that bad . . . "

"Tell me, what kind of a boy is your son: I mean, is he studious, reads a lot, likes sports, girls?" Catherine inquired, "Is he artistic?"

Janice smiled then replied, "He's a wonderful boy! Helps around the house, loves books, but Vince couldn't get him interested in any sports. Alan used to say, 'Two days after a game, what do you have – with a book, it's still there.' I just don't understand."

Catherine interrupted: "He did it because he wanted friends, to fit in – you know how boys are. It was a challenge, a dare, something that he felt he couldn't refuse. Now, I can call the authorities and press charges of breaking and entering, you could send him to a military school – he'd meet lots of boys there, and he would learn discipline, or . . ."

Janice noted the olive branch in that short word, and she accepted: "Or what? What do you have in mind?"

"As I was waiting for you, I had some papers drawn up allowing me to act in loco parentis and if you'll just sign them, I'll explain."

Janice smiled as she said, "I am a paralegal. Where we lived previously, I worked for the law firm of Fischer, Walker, Eisenstadt and Carter researching laws, interviewing accident victims and witnesses, and drawing up wills and other legal papers."

Catherine smiled, handed over the papers and watched Janice's facial expression as she read each page. Taking a sheet from a legal pad, she began writing a list of items she thought might come in handy.

Upon reaching the last page, Janice put down the papers, unsigned. Looking squarely at Catherine, she reacted, "You want me to hand my son over to you for one month! Give me one damn good reason!"

"Breaking, entering and theft can be punished by imprisonment. I do have some pull in this area, and my lawyers are, as you so indelicately put it, damn good at their job!" replied a placid Catherine Winters.

"I think I'd like that tea now," Janice said quietly.

"Good." Pushing down a slide switch, Catherine asked, "Nancy, if the tea is ready, would you please bring it in. Also, bring Alan and Nikki." Turning to Janice, she said, "The tea will be here in a minute, Consider this: Two years in a military school, a year or more in a juvie hall that will be very bad for him, or one month in my household."

It was a lot for Janice to digest – why on earth did he do it?

While waiting, Catherine explained: "Ever hear of 'Petticoat Punishment'?"

Janice thought for a minute before replying, "Can't say as I have. What is it?"

"Years ago, very young boys wore the same clothes as girls. As they got older, there was 'breeching' where a boy started wearing breeches, britches or pants. He was on his way to manhood! If the boy misbehaved, he went back to wearing girls' clothes and was considered 'not grown up.' If an older boy got too out-of-hand, he was put into girls' clothes – petticoats, bloomers, and dresses – and this would be quite humiliating. To avoid being noticed, he sought to blend in and started to act more like a quiet, refined, young lady. He learned to think before acting, became more considerate, and, in most cases, a gentler, nicer person to be around."

"But my son in dresses," Janice interrupted, "he's really a nice kid now!"

"Another thing about petticoating is he'll learn be more like a girl by being around them constantly. Would you prefer him to be with Nikki and Nancy, or those other boys in this area – oh, they aren't all bad, but think of his future."

"Oh, I understand you perfectly now, Ms. Winters. You want to psychologically castrate him – why not take a knife to his balls. And while you're at it, cut his prick off too. I will not have my boy turned into some homosexual sissy pansy! I prefer him as he is now, and I will go to court to protect him, do you read me," shouted an angry, very disturbed Janice O'Shea. "Now you bring my son here, NOW!"

 

End, part one.

  

  

  

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