Everybody has a fantasy or two, so do I! Dreams, nightmares, they're all part of the world of fantasy – a place we can safely visit and leave. This is

Charlie's Story

by Ann O'Nonymous

 

Part One

 

Hi! My name is Charlie Smith, and I have a story to tell!

Well, you might say, don't we all! I mean, everyone's life is a story, isn't it? Sure, but not all are like this! So, sit back, and imagine that you are me.

… --- … … --- … … --- …

At twenty, and with high school a distant memory, I was now on my own! I managed to find work in an art supply house, selling and delivering, in a town with a small art colony, nothing like Taos or Bucks County tho', and, nearby, a private liberal arts school for women only. The off-campus apartment where I lived had eight flats, seven of which were occupied by very attractive girls.

There were two floors to the apartment, and a basement with a laundry room, a workout room, and kind of a "Family Room" where you could read while waiting for your spin cycle to end, do minor clothes repair or other sewing on one of two machines provided, or, as the girls sometimes do, have a party.

Why work in an art supply place, of all things?

Well, when I was about seven years old, I came across a book illustrated by Beatrix Potter. I got hooked on it, and started to draw on my own. I imitated her style, and got quite good at it. So it seemed natural for me to work in a store selling and delivering all kinds of art supplies to the school, people in the "colony," and getting a nice discount on my own purchases! Oh, I'm no Beatrix Potter, Boris Vallejo, Picasso or Miro, but I do feel I have some talent – but that's not part of this story, or is it?

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

Everything began on a warm Saturday morning late in summer. The school's fall semester would be starting soon, and I wasn't planning on doing anything special; but, it started just as I was on my morning's second cup of coffee – a knocker rapped insistently on my door.

Answering this annoyance, I was surprised to see Tina Daniels standing there, looming over my five-foot-and-almost-five-inch body.

"Hi Charlie! Can I come in; I've got a problem and you are my only hope!"

Gosh, was I her Obi-wan Kenobi, or, more likely, her R2-D2?

"Sure, Tina, come on in," I replied, "would you like a cup of coffee? I was just starting on my second."

Tina is a man's dream date! She's a little over six feet tall when she wears her four-inch heels (which is quite often), honey-blonde hair done up in a French twist, and gorgeous green eyes.

"I'd love to," she purred, passing through the doorway.

As all the apartments were alike, she easily found the kitchen and sat down at my one-chair-fits-all table, while I found a clean cup and poured a "black, one sugar and no cream" for her, as she had requested.

"Charlie," she said slowly, "I need help!"

"Money? Boyfriend trouble? (Although what threat would a man my size pose?) What?"

"I don't know how to say this . . . ."

"Start at the beginning," I said, feeling foolish at that ridiculous statement. After all, where would you start?

"Okay! I have a 12-year-old niece that I brought some things for. I called her mother to recheck the sizes, and . . ."

"Oh no, no – you're not thinking, please tell me you're not . . ."

"Pleeease, Charlie."

"One of the other girls, I mean," I said, not thinking, "I'm too tall for a twelve year old." I had to put up some token resistance, knowing that, in the end, it would be futile.

Now you should know that these girls are of the modern generation: big, intelligent, able to take care of themselves, independent, and did I mention big? Elaine was 6'2" and played basketball, Joan, 5'11", and so on. I was the smallest one in the place.

"It's just a dress or two, and it would mean s-o-o-o much to me, sweetie."

I was a sucker, a pushover, a mark, but I couldn't help it. I mean she actually called me "sweetie." I distanced me from myself and heard somebody else say, in my voice yet, "Sure, I'd be happy to help you out!"

I was attacked by a very amorous giant, and a second or two later I managed to get enough air into my lungs to gasp out, "You're welcome," and wonder just what was I in for!

"Let me explain, Charlie," she began, "you see George, my niece's father, wants her to follow him into athletics. He was a very good ball player -- almost made it into the semi-pros -- before he had his injury. Rose, her mother, wants her to be a lady. So, they compromised – all week, Jean, my niece, wears satins, silks, and lacy things; on weekends, she's in jerseys and sweats running and working out with her dad. It really is a good idea, because it shows that a woman can excel in athletic competition and still be a nicely dressed lady."

"And you want me to model a dress – or two – and that's all," I said suspiciously.

"Well, there are a few more things, but I promise that I will make it up to you."

I should have thought a bit more than I did, say a month or so, but I caved in. Maybe, just maybe, I could get up enough nerve to ask her for a date – yeah, and I can walk on water too!

"Please, Charlie," Tina repeated her plea.

…- …- …- …-

Next I knew I was in her second floor apartment staring at a variety of items laid out on her bed – there was a lot of frilly stuff, and a decidedly ugly item that I'd stopped wearing years and years ago. I almost ran out of her place screaming.

In front of her, I meekly stripped to my shorts, took some stuff into the bathroom, tossed out my boxers, ran a warm bubble bath for myself, and did all the . . . well, when I got out of that room, towel affixed properly (for a girl, that is), I had no body, arm or leg hair; smelled like a flower garden; had my head wrapped in a turban, and was ready to forget the whole thing – except for one tiny detail –

"Tina," I nearly screamed, "where are my clothes!" They -- meaning the boxers, T-shirt, pants, shoes and socks – were missing.

"Calm down, Charlie. Cat came in and took all your stuff down to your room."

"Please, Tina, I don't . . . I can't go through . . ."

"Sorry Charlie, you said you would help. C'mon, don't be a 'real man' and break your promise."

"Okay," I squeaked meekly, as Cat came into the room.

"Hi Charlie," Cat said with a beautiful smile. Her full name was Catherine Maria Lopez Coronado de Medici Thomas, about 5'8'' in flats, with a mane of jet black hair cascading down past her shoulders, two limpid pools of turquoise blue for eyes. (On a scale of 1 to 10, she was definitely a 15!) Although Cat was a shortened version of her name, it also fitted her graceful feline nature.

"Hi Cat," I replied, "Where are my clothes?"

"I put them back in your room for you. I must say you do keep a very neat place, Charlie. Oh, yes, I put your keys in a safe place in your desk and locked the door on my way out!"

"Lo-Lo-Locked t-t-the d-d-door?" I stuttered. I had one key for the apartment entrance door and one key for my front door – I was shut out! To get in, I would have to call Ms. Carole Driscoll, the landlady, to admit me. And Ms. Carole Driscoll was a very conservative political force in the county.

"Now, where were we?" Tina inquired, "Oh yes, Charlie's little rebellion. I don't think you'd want to confront Ms. Driscoll in your birthday suit."

Well, that was it! I was stuck – the "stick-a-fork-in-me-I'm-done" kind.

"Now remove the towel, get up on the bed, and let Auntie Cat and Auntie Tina fix you up real pretty."

Reluctantly I dropped the towel, climbed up onto the bed, onto the rubberized sheet and waited. By being so weak, I felt I was showing my lack of manhood (in more ways than one, I should add) – I mean I just caved in to them.

"Face down, sweetie," Cat said, rolling me over.

Lying there on my stomach, I felt them rub on baby oil (which really did feel good), and imagined them sprinkling on the lilac-scented baby powder. I felt a soft cloth placed on me, then the command, "turn over."

Now on my back, I saw the triangular cloth, one corner of which Cat was pulling up between my legs.

"We're doing this so you wont have an accident with the pretties we're going to put on you," announced Tina as she fastened the safety pins on the diaper.

Accident? What kind of accident – oh no, not that kind!

Holding up a pair of clear plastic pants, Tina said, "legs up, my little darling Charlie."

I did so, watching Tina work the panties up and over the diaper. I was placed back into babyhood – I don't know what else to call it.

Cat was next. This item was a pair of frilly – rumba, or were they can-can – panties of pale blue satin. There were seven rows of lace across the seat, and three rows around the leg openings.

"Don't they feel just s-o-o-o nice, dearest one," she said, sending shivers down my spine, as she pulled them slowly up my legs.

I was now beginning to think that diaper would soon come in handy.

"Charlie, you really are very brave to do this, you know! Most men would have ran out of here naked rather than be seen in such clothes."

I felt like saying something, but just could not get the proper words to express my indignation. I tried to stifle my anger; hide how I really felt at this being tricked by these girls. But, then again, I had no one to blame but myself – still, they're nice to be around them.

"Okay, sweetie, let Auntie Tina help you up."

Tina helped me to a standing position, and Cat put the next item on me – a pale blue satin training bra. The breast area was padded to the size of a young girl. She adjusted the straps several times before asking, "Does this feel comfortable to you?"

"Cat," I quickly, and rather thoughtlessly, replied, "Does it really matter?"

"Damn! Yes, it does! Now, does it feel comfortable," she said, barely containing her dismay. "Charlie, I'm sorry – you are a very nice and decent person, and we have absolutely no reason to hurt you. Your comfort does matter to us."

"No, Cat, I'm the one that should be sorry. I spoke without thinking – yes, it feels okay," I said. Cat was a gentle person who would put out seed for the birds, milk for stray cats, and go out of her way to help.

She giggled a bit, then said, "I guess I would be mad too if I was standing there in a pair of boxers."

"That depends on whose boxers they were, Cat," Tina interjected.

Both started giggling at some inside gag.

…. .. -.-. -.-. -.-. …. .. -.-. -.-. -.-.

Now back on the bed, Tina applied a coral pink polish to my fingernails, while Cat did the same to the toes. They used a hair dryer to speed-up the drying process. A second coat followed, then a clear coat.

"Emm, Tina, there never was a niece, was there," I nervously asked as the nail polish dried.

"Jean, my niece, is only eight. She's a real tomboy, her father's favorite," she slowly replied, "Please, Charlie, just relax – I do have a reason for all this."

Now what reason could she possibly have for dressing me in such babyish attire! I really wanted to trust her; after all, she never did a thing to harm me -- before.

"Okay. Is the polish dry yet?"

Cat replied, "Yep, time for your slip, dear. Arms up."

I stood up and allowed Cat to place the white nylon item on me. It had a lacy scoop neck that had the bra underneath just peeking through. The hemline consisted of three rows of lace – I was practically smothered in lace.

"Do we really need all this frilly stuff, Tina," I inquired in exasperation.

"Charlie, sweets, you're a new girl, a little one at that, and real girls like lacy things!" was her reply.

"Wait! We can't keep calling him Charlie, Tina," Cat said.

"We'll wait for awhile, Cat – see what happens," Tina replied.

I was to sit on the bed, while the girls put knee-hi white (almost said virgin) cotton socks on me.

"What? No stockings?" I said, trying to get into whatever they were doing.

"You're too young to wear full-length stockings, missy," Tina replied.

A pair of white Mary Janes with 1" heels was strapped on, and now I was ready for the final touch: the dress. It was a white pearlescent satin dress, perfect for a little girl's birthday party, with a lace-covered vee neck, short puff sleeves, and a net underskirt with attached nylon petticoat. Once on, Tina buttoned down the back, and tied the attached sash in a bow. Then I was exposed to the full-length mirror all the girls seemed to have.

"Oh God, you look so-o-o-o cute, Charlie," Tina bubbled.

"You are adorable – the very picture of a pretty little girl going to an eight year old's birthday party," Cat stated.

At least they were happy. What I saw was something a big sissy would be wearing. I dropped my head, nearly in tears.

"Damn, I friggin' look like a God damn big f------ sissy (normally I would never use such language, but I felt it really fitted the occasion)!"

"NO!" shouted an angry Tina, "Don't get that idea in your head, Charles Smith! It takes a lot of inner strength to go up against the established norms of society at large. Hold your head up and be proud that you are beyond such petty things as gender."

"I'm not a renegade or some crusader, Tina."

"I know, honey! I don't expect you to be – but I think there is something more to you than you show to the people around you, and I want to try to bring that out."

"No, Tina," I said sadly, "I'm that WYSIWYG type."

"Well, I think you're wrong, Charlie. I think you hide something deep inside – something you don't want anyone to see. Charlie, you're soft, polite and gentle; you're ashamed of those traits because you view them as less than manly, a weakness."

I shook my head, and repeated, "No, it's all me there."

"We'll see," was Tina's grinning reply.

Cat took me to the vanity where she brushed and combed my hair, saying, "You do have beautiful hair, Charlie, you should take better care of it."

"Meaning . . .."

"Oh, wash and a conditioner – I could come down once in a while and do it for you," she replied.

I could see her broad grin in the mirror, and wondered what it would be like. It might be fun! (Whoa, boy – wash and condition? That's girl stuff, but then again . . .)

While gazing at my reflection in the mirror, trying to figure out their motives for all this, I mentally went over all my previous interactions with the two girls, and the others in the building – I was sure that I was never impolite, less of a gentleman to them, or a "wolf," and this "punishment," in my view, seemed to be uncalled for.

Cat left the room to run an errand, while Tina finished up. She applied coral pink lipstick, a light blusher, a single strand of pearls and matching clip-on earrings.

"Too bad your ears aren't pierced! I've some really nice hoops that would look spectacular on you," Tina stated as she brushed and sectioned my hair, soon to be styled into two braids. (I'd let my hair grow in high school, and just got used to it being long – the "Rock Star Look" you might say.)

The last part of my transformation was a bracelet, a "Power Puff Girls" watch, and a charm bracelet that seemed somewhat familiar. (I knew I seen it somewhere but, at that moment, I couldn't remember where.)

Cat returned with a plastic bag, looked at me and exclaimed, "Charlie, you are TOO pretty, ya know!" She took some items out of the bag, and I got scared all over again.

End, Part One

   

  

  

*********************************************
© 2003 by Ann O'Nonymous. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, and compilation design) may be printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without the express written consent of StorySite and the copyright holder.