Note: This is a story that is not a story in the sense that it's more like a wish, fantasy, dream or, . . . So, I call this simply

  

Fantasy in A Flat/No. 1

by Ann O'Nonymous

  

This story began a short time ago in a city in the USA. Let's call the city Lima, and the state, Ohio. Our fifteen-year-old young man is called, let's see – yes, Jerry sounds good! And the last name, Crawford – Jerry Crawford, and for his mother's name, Alice. Jerry is one of those unique boys who likes to be helpful around the house, run errands, and has an insatiable curiosity that one day would get him in trouble. Alice is between jobs at the moment, but has an interview on this day.

Jerry's father? It was over three years ago when Mike Crawford went on a mission for the government. His plane went down in a storm over the Atlantic. Alice received the condolences of a grateful nation, a handshake from a senator, and one point five million dollars from an insurance policy she knew nothing about.

Well, that sets the stage; the orchestra is tuning up, so let's begin our little fantastical opus!

 

Part 1: The Interview

"Jerry honey, I'll be leaving in ten minutes," Alice called from the kitchen, "and I'll stop at the supermarket on my way home. Want anything special?"

Jerry thought for a minute then replied, "How about some mint chocolate chip ice cream? And we're out of rubbing alcohol – can you get that, too?"

"That's on the list along with the ice cream, bread, sandwich stuff, vegetables, shrimp, and salad fixings. Do you want Ranch, Islands or French?"

"Doesn't matter, mom! We have the EV olive oil and I'll use that."

Alice entered the room, smiled at her son, replying, "Wish me luck, Jer!"

"Mom, you don't need luck! I KNOW you'll get the position," Jerry replied laughing, "So, you think you'll like selling lingerie?"

Alice looked at him, wondering how he knew. She was sure she didn't say anything, so, "And just how do you know that, young man?"

Grinning broadly, Jerry replied, "I was the one who showed you the ad in the paper, remember? I said, quote, this is just perfect for you mom, unquote. And you replied, quote, I'll give them a call for an interview, unquote."

"Oh gee, you're right – I guess it was the excitement – well, how does your old mom look?"

Jerry looked at his thirty-two-plus-year-old twenty-something mother in her turquoise skirt-suit. She wore a minimal amount of jewelry, and her blonde hair was in an immaculately coifed French Twist, the makeup and nails were perfection, 2" heels mirror polished and seamed black stockings straight as a ruler – oh hell, as far as Jerry was concerned she was the perfect woman and he said, "Mom, you are the most beautiful of all the females I know!"

Alice smiled at that as she replied, "And I love you too sweetheart. Now you stay out of trouble, as I might be a little late. If this doesn't pan out, I have another prospect in the fire!"

"Okay, mom – love ya!"

"Right back atcha," Alice said as they walked, hand in hand, to the door, "And if I'm late, put the water on around 5:30 or so."

"Sure," Jerry replied at the door as Alice gave him a peck on the cheek. He could see how nervous she was, as she had married just out of high school and never really had to go job hunting. "Mom, relax! It's not like we are in dire straits."

On the porch, Alice turned to look at her boy. She smiled at him, thinking of all the ways things could have gone wrong in his upbringing. He was a gentle man, a lover of music and art, and just so damn nice. "I know, sweetie, it's just that I want to do something different with my life – meet new people, see new things, and just be out of the house for awhile – you know?"

That needed no answer! He waved to her as she backed her Range Rover – a gift from a friend – out of the driveway and onto the cul-de-sac that was their suburban street. Watching her drive off, Jerry mouthed silently "Good Luck and Safe Journey Home" as he made a note of what to do that day: "Let's see – dishes first, then a wash, and replace books in bookcase. Then it's vacuuming and dusting, and I want to finish that book on the Peloponnesian Wars. Hmmm, not too much! If I know mom, she'll do some shopping, look in windows, talk to women in the store, so . . . she'll be late."

Jerry smiled crookedly, anticipating a little fun. He made his way up the stairs to the bathroom, and ran a bath, adding his mom's favorite bath salts – the one that smelled like lilacs and roses. Jerry's hair was longer than most of the other kids, and he took a lot of kidding about his other "girlish" looks – hairless skin (arms, legs and chest smooth as a baby's tookis), well manicured nails, wiry body (he participated in several races at school, preferring the longer cross-country runs), and his lack of interest in the contact sports other boys reveled in.

Stripping off his boy clothes, he quickly dropped them in a hamper, and deposited himself in the scented water. Using a favorite perfumed soap, Jerry washed all the boy scent off his body and took on a floral aroma. Once done, he next washed and conditioned his hair, wishing it was long enough to copy mom's styling.

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At this point, it should be explained that Jerry loved his mom and her sisters. In fact, he loved, and moreover respected, all women! He didn't want to be one, just as close to one as possible. But, there was a flip side – what if those at school suspected he was not a macho man, like the rest of the guys.

So, if he is too femme and hangs around girls too much, the guys call him "queer, fairy, sissy, faggot," and other names – his reputation goes down the drain. If he is too macho, he'll be expected to play the guys' macho games. What a dilemma! Girls want the macho guys, he wasn't; he wanted girls, and, because he wasn't "man enough," they didn't want him. (Jerry considered this a strange turn of events as it would seem to be better for a female to want someone who respects them, rather than one who uses them.)

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Finished in the bath, Jerry blow-dried his hair, then wrapped it in a turban. After that, he dried off and dusted himself with a lilac-scented talcum powder then wrapped a towel around him, chest high, and proceeded to his mother's room. Closing the door, he turned on the radio and "fiddled" around until it was tuned to a local station featuring classical selections.

The sounds of a familiar piece broke the silence – "Isle of the Dead," he muttered (his favorite part made him imagine Charon ferrying the dead across the river Styx), as he laid out "his" wardrobe for the chores. Dropping the towel, Jerry fitted the gauze ends of a sanitary pad onto the belt; next, he stepped in and pulled it up, properly fitting the pad between his legs.

Again, using the lilac powder, Jerry dusted the inside of the sarong-style white girdle, stepped in and pulled it up his legs; the six garters dangled down, to await their straining loads.

Next, he slipped his arms into the straps of a white lacy bra, fastened the hooks in back (he was glad he was flexible enough to accomplish this very feminine chore), and filled out the "C" cups with a pyramidal cloth form stuffed with cotton – the salvage from a Halloween costume of a friend.

A peach-colored, lace-edged full taffeta slip followed. He loved the "sksh-sksh-sksh" sound when he walked. He knew there was a word for the sound, but it didn't come to mind.

"Now, the stockings," Jerry muttered, "Let's see – taupe, suntan, white or, yes, black. Black dress and shoes, so black stockings should go well."

After retrieving the black seamed stockings from the bathroom hamper, worn on previous day, he sat on the edge of the bed and worked them up to the toe, then carefully fitted one on the left leg. Making sure to keep his nails away, the stocking was worked up the leg as he had seen mom do it many, many times. He fastened the garters, then checked the seam with his fingers. He followed the same procedure on the right leg. (This was done with a "Toccata and Fugue" accompaniment.)

"Wow! I'm getting good at this – both seams are pretty straight," Jerry commented silently as he slid his hand along the silky casing on his "shapely" legs.

A pair of panties came next. They were peach in color, flare legged, with several rows of lace (a kind of short pettipants would be a more accurate description). Mom once said they were "sissy panties," but he liked their more feminine appearance – just how feminine can "boy leg" panties by "Joe Boxer" be?

Reaching under the bed, Jerry recovered mom's black Mary Janes she wore yesterday. Slipping them on, he buckled the single instep strap. With each new item he donned, his masculinity slipped away a little more. Soon, he would become "Nancy," his femme self.

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

At this point, I must interject a note: Jerry does this so that he will be a better husband, lover, girlfriend or whatever. He wants to be a whole person – to integrate yin and yang, the masculine and feminine. That said, let's continue, shall we – or did I lose you?

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"Now the dress!" The black dress Jerry had selected had a scoop neck with white detachable cuffs, and a back zipper. (The detachable cuffs were mom's idea – they made one dress into two.) He selected a paper clip, "S" shaped it, tied a long piece of string around one end and hooked the other onto the zipper. Then dropping the dress over his head, he fitted his arms through the sleeves and pulled them on. Now it was a simple matter to get the string, pull it over his shoulder, and viola – the back was zipped!

Lastly, the hair pulled up into a high ponytail and fastened with a tangerine scrunchie.

A tug at the hem, a check for the slip showing, the white cuffs attached and Jerry was almost ready for the day. A pair of clip-on pearl drop earrings and a "June Cleaver" pearl necklace finished him off – whoops, a spritz of mom's perfume. "Nancy" went down stairs to do her chores for today.

(Because he was keeping this away from mom, no polish on the nails, no perfume, and no make up. He felt that they would be hard to explain – "Well, you see it was like this: I was looking for a pen and the bottle just fell on my face.")

 

Part 2: What's Chores is Mine

Downstairs, Nancy put on a rather frilly white apron and tackled the breakfast dishes. When that was done, the books s/he had read last night were returned to their proper place. A little dusting here and a swipe there, and downstairs chores were over, so . . . upstairs.

Nancy got the vacuum, hauled it up the stairs and went to work – the sound of Wagner "Ride of the Valkyries" echoed throughout the house.

"God, I hope I don't . . . Oh, hell – there is no neighbors," Nancy mused as she vacuumed the hallway between bedrooms.

With three bedrooms vacuumed, beds made, clothes in wash hamper ready for later pickup, Nancy the "Maid" was ready for a lunch break. S/he hauled the vacuum down the stairs, put in back in the closet under the staircase, and was walking to the kitchen.

The front door opened, in walks Alice, two women, and a teen-aged girl – right in front of him!

"The drawings are upstairs, I'll get them . . . ." Alice was saying, then she stopped as she caught sight of the strange woman that looked suspiciously like her son. "Jerry, is that you?" she cautiously said.

"Yipes!"

One of the women took immediate charge: "Alice, why don't you and I go upstairs and get those drawings. Julia, come with us. My dear, would you be so kind as to make us some tea, thank you very much! Angela, please help with the tea."

With that, the three women went upstairs, leaving a befuddled, open-mouthed Jerry behind.

"We'll have tea ready in about fifteen minutes, mom," the girl named Angela called up the stairs. To him she said, "My name's Angela, Angela Kohl. What's yours?"

"Err, uh, ummm, now it's mud."

"Well, is that Ms or Miss Mud! Where's the kitchen?"

"Ahh, er, its, uh, its in the, the uhh."

"Oh, come on – I'll find it myself," she said as they started off together. "You know you are one great conversationalist. Let's start over, dear. My name is Angela – what's yours?"

Cough, cough, grunt. "It's Jerry. When I'm dressed, it's Nancy," he said, finally able to talk. He looked over the girl as they walked the short distance. She was his height, maybe a few pounds lighter, had beautiful auburn hair done up in a similar ponytail.

Reaching the kitchen, she stated/asked, "If you'll start a pot of water going, I'll get tea cups and saucers on the table – what kind of tea do you have?"

At this point Jerry had settled himself down quite a bit. She was treating him like a human, and she deserved the same from him. "There's Earl Grey, Assamese, Oolong, Green with Mint, Green with Lemon, Mate, and in the back a black and green mix. Any preference?"

"Any green tea is okay. Do you have scones, tea biscuits or . . .?"

"We have some imported English biscuits and scones."

"Wow! Mom will really be pleased," Angela replied.

Soon a teapot was filled; a table set, with each cup holding a different type tea; and a tray of scones and biscuits taking center stage.

As the water got hot, Jerry was able to get a better look at Angela – she was possibly a year older, had beautiful green eyes, a flawless skin, slightly arched eyebrows, and appeared to be quite athletic.

He started, "I know you must think there's something wrong . . ."

"Whoa! There's nothing wrong with being a girl! Yes, you are a male in a dress, but since you are here alone, I don't think you are being forced to do it, so you must like it. So, either you believe yourself to be a female, want to be one, or dress as one to be closer to female. There are other reasons, but, at the moment, these seem to fit best."

Jerry blinked! "You aren't upset by what I'm wearing?"

Angela grinned then stated, "No – actually, I'm flattered! My last boyfriend was nice, but his true colors came out just before a football game. He said, 'I don't know why any girl would turn down a football player. Most would do anything I ask of them.' He then told me to give him a blow job under the stands after the game. I think he's still waiting."

Seeing his confused look, Angela continued: "Boys and men take. They take charge, take women as brides, and take and take. Women and girls give: who nourishes you as a child, gives birth to you, helps you take those first steps. Men give orders and women take them, and that is the only time things are reversed. You seem to want both ways."

"How do you mean that," Nancy queried.

"Didn't you just take orders to make tea from my mother? Oh, by the way, her name is Marti. And, if I'm not mistaken, you are wearing a 'maid's' uniform, right?"

Nancy laughed, as she replied, "Oh, this old thing – needed something to keep the dress clean."

"Now that's a typical female response!"

"Why's that?"

"Men make jokes of others, women are self-deprecating. They make fun at their own expense," Angela said. "A new dress becomes 'this old thing.' "

There were voices in the hall leading to the kitchen: "Don't worry about him – he'll be a fine young person." "These are really quite good – I think this will be great." "I really am sorry about . . ."

As the trio entered the kitchen, Marti said, "Well, dear, I guess you know my name, Marti Kohl, by now! I own the 'Feminicity' block downtown. Your mother is my newest employee. The young lady with you is my daughter, Angela." She then pointed to a strikingly beautiful woman with absolutely beautiful raven black hair, "And this is Julia Bruns, who is the manager of 'Beautiful Dreamer,' the bride's one and only stop – everything from flower girls to trousseau. Tea ready, dear – emm, what is your name, sweetheart?"

Jerry collected himself, thought a minute and decided to do something he had wanted to do for a long time! He bowed his head, curtsied and stated, "I am your most humble servant, Nancy. At your command, madame."

Marti smiled and then laughed out loud, "First, my dear Nancy, you are not a servant – you are a most attractive young lady. Second, never lower head – that lowers you, too. Keep your head up high – be proud of yourself, ALWAYS. Furthermore, I am Marti. I am not a mistress, madam, or anything like them. Alice, I really, really like this child of yours!!"

And that was it – no loud recriminations, no shouting, no nuttin'! It was five ladies at an afternoon tea. (Of course one had a cheese and bologna sandwich – she was still a growing, well you know.)

End of Volume 1. Does this fantasy become another Unfinished Symphony? Do I wake up and face the harsh realities of the non-acceptance in life? Does Nancy/Jerry live on?

  

  

  

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