March Of The Southern Belles

by Heidi-Jo McGillicuddy

   

"You!" I heard a woman behind me exclaim.

I jumped. "Me?" I asked. I turned around. I knew this woman, by reputation more than anything else; she had never taken the opportunity to speak to me before. Her name was Gretchen, and she was in charge of the March of the Southern Belles for this year's Heritage Day parade. "Turn back around," she said.

"Me?" I asked, but I did. From behind, I could feel her fingers as they ran across, not my butt, but the little patch on the back of my Levis. "Are these pants tight on you?" she asked.

"Not really," I said. "Why?"

"Lisa?" she called. Lisa was my girlfriend. I had just dropped her off here at the parade's organizing headquarters where, I assumed, she would already have been off somewhere changing into her antebellum dress for the parade that would be starting in a couple of hours.

I twisted around again, and now saw Lisa, smiling wickedly. I half-hoped she would already be in her gown—I had my digital camera with me to take photos of her before all the belles would assemble in formation--but she was still wearing the sweat pants and t-shirt she's been wearing when I'd brought her here.

"Sweetie?" she asked.

"Why aren't you dressed yet?" I asked her.

She laughed. "You said wanted to get a good look at the girls in their pretty hoopdresses?"

"We'll have to get some makeup on him," Gretchen said.

"I told you that wig would look good on him," Lisa said.

"And his coloring is perfect for that dress," Gretchen nodded.

"Dress?" I asked.

Lisa smiled. "Yes, sweetie. Dress."

"Huh?"

"Hopefully," Gretchen said, "if we put him somewhere in the middle of the group, nobody will pay particular attention to his face."

"I'll notice," Lisa said, coyly.

Suddenly, it dawned on me what they wanted. Lisa stepped towards me and gently took my hand. "Sweetie?" she asked.

I was speechless. "You're not going to ask me to do what I think you're going to ask me to do."

"What did you think I was going to ask you to do?" she asked innocently.

I blinked.

Gretchen cleared her throat. "As I'm sure Lisa has told you, the March of the Southern Belles has been a cherished part of this Heritage Day parade for nearly sixty years."

"I'm aware," I said. For years now, I'd always enjoyed the Heritage Day parade, and had always been mesmerized by the colorful display of femininity each year as the young ladies in their gorgeous pastel-colored ball gowns marched up Main Street, each of their elaborate petticoats as wide as an entire lane of traffic, a veritable sea of ruffles and crinoline. In fact, I'd encouraged--well, hounded--Lisa into volunteering this year, and was looking forward to finally seeing her dressed in what she described as bright yellow chiffon, taffeta and satin from head to toe.

"Somebody's sick or something," I said, my voice hoarse.

Lisa smiled. "Do you remember Erica?"

I did. I also remembered that she was about my height.

"We can not have any holes in the belle formation," Gretchen said soberly. "Thirty-six dresses, thirty-six girls, four across and nine deep. The hoops are over five feet in diameter. We cannot afford to have even one missing girl--the hole left behind is too big to fill."

"And we can't do five rows of seven," Lisa said. "Or seven rows of five. Thirty-five girls just doesn't work. The numbers don't crunch—and neither do the hoopskirts."

"He'll have to shave his face," Gretchen said.

"That's not a problem," Lisa said. She was still holding my hand, and now she began to pull it.

Gretchen dismissed us with a sudden wave of her hand. "Just make him presentable," she said.

"Come on," Lisa said, pulling me up the hallway.

"You're serious," I said.

"You're going to need your own dressing room," she said. "Luckily, I can get dressed with you. That way I can make sure you're as pretty as possible."

Dumbly I followed her into a small dressing room where the first thing I noticed were the massive hoopskirts hanging on the wall. Next to them, on a rack, were two brightly colored but shapeless masses of frills and satin. One was yellow, the other was lavender. On a table in front of a mirror were two floppy hats; again, one was yellow and one was lavender. And a wig.

"Take off your pants," Lisa said, closing the door.

"What?"

"We don't have much time," she said, reaching for the button on my jeans.

"Hang on," I said, putting my digital camera on the table. "Let me get my shoes off."

"This is going to be so much fun," Lisa said, suddenly pulling her tank top off. She giggled. "You are going to look divine in lavender, darling."

I hurriedly pulled off my pants and stepped out of my socks. With a bare foot, Lisa naughtily kicked them into the corner, where they disappeared underneath all of the colorful ruffles. However, she bent down and picked up my socks. "We'll need these," she said.

"For what?" I asked.

She was holding something white and lacy. "T-shirt too, sweetie," she said. "Turn around."

I looked around to see something lacy, white, and stiffened by wires, being placed around my stomach, extending up and covering my non-existent chest with two stiff, empty bra cups. "This is your corset," she told me as she began to fasten it in the back. It gradually grew tighter and tighter. I felt my stomach being pushed in.

"Am I going to be able to breathe?" I asked her, as I heard her grunt behind me, straining to attach the device.

"Breathe yes," she said. "Eat…probably not." She laughed.

"You're enjoying this," I told her when she was standing in front of me, inspecting me."

"Absolutely," she said. "Let's get you in your pantaloons right now.

"My what?"

She was behind me again. I turned to see her holding up what looked like a pair of satiny lavender long johns, except these had an elastic waist and frilly lace trim around the leg holes.

"Oh my God," I said. They were the girliest thing I'd ever seen in my life.

"Come on!" she said. "Either you can put them on yourself like a big girl or I'll put them on you."

I took them from her. With a sigh, I closed my eyes and stuck my foot into them and pulled it up one leg. They felt soft, unlike any material I'd ever worn before. "Oh my God," I said again, as I put my other foot in them and pulled the elastic waistband up over my hips, the fabric oddly sensual against my otherwise naked penis.

Suddenly, there was a distinct tenting in the front of the undergarment. Lisa giggled. "Luckily, with the hoopskirt, we won't need to tape that down."

Tape that down? I only gaped at her as she was now wearing a pair of yellow pantaloons of her own. Like mine, they went all the way down to the bottom of her ankles, which were ringed by three layers of lace ruffles. On her anyway, they looked cute.

"Sit down," she said. I did. The sound of running water and the shaking of a can of shaving cream let me know what was next. I sat there stupidly as Lisa coated my arms, armpits, chest and face with a layer of shaving gel, then expertly zipped it off with a few strokes from a pink Venus Divine. The absence of anything remotely masculine in my life was becoming all too apparent; there was even a knock on the door. "Do you ladies need anything?" a woman called.

"We're fine," Lisa said, giggling. She picked up the socks that I had taken off earlier and tucked them against my chest, into the empty bra cups. Standing up, I was struck by how feminine the outline of my body suddenly was; my waist was tucked in to where it appeared to be narrower than my hips, and with "breasts"…I momentarily paused to stare down at myself.

"Come on," Lisa said. I turned around. She had now put on her petticoat. I counted six hoops of gradually increasing circumference that, indeed, must have measured at least five feet across down around her ankles. She was unhooking the other hoopskirt from the wall. "Take this," she said.

I did. It was made of cotton, and although the hoops were able to bend slightly, they tended to immediately regained their shape. I struggled to figure out how to put it on. "You step into it," Lisa was saying. I leaned over, and gingerly stepped across the hoops with my satin pantalooned leg, placing both lace-frilled ankles inside the waist opening. Then I pulled the skirt up with both hands, and like magic, the hoops draped down around the lower half of my body as though I'd been a southern belle my whole life.

Lisa stepped towards me, and our hoopskirts bent slightly oval to accommodate each other. She twisted my skirt around until she found a drawstring; then she pulled it tight and tied a bow.

I looked down. My penis was still not exactly shriveled up, but it was now shrouded with satin and frills. I wasn't even sure if I could reach it to touch it at this point.

"Are you ready?" Lisa asked.

"For what?"

She smiled. "For your ball gown, silly."

My ball gown. Holy crap. Lisa had found a zipper somewhere in the middle of all of that lavender satin. I recognized a limp dress bodice and the cute little puffy shoulders where my arms would have to go. I gulped. With Lisa and I in our hoopskirts, the room had suddenly gotten very small, and I was aware of the persistent rustling that all of this taffeta made as we moved. Lisa smiled gently at me. "I'm going to love the way you look in this, sweetie," she said, and I realized that she meant it. She had both hands underneath the dress now and held it up. "Put out your arms," she said.

I did. I was conscious of the socks on my chest as, with a slight grunt, she worked the bodice over my forearms, then gently moved them up so that the massive skirt fell over my head and past my shoulders. My field of vision was engulfed with bright lavender before a thick row of ruffles brushed past my face. I felt my arms go through the holes of the short sleeves, and the silky smooth satin of the dress slid down, settling easily over my hoops.

"Turn around," Lisa whispered gently and I did, my skirts turning with me, brushing against both Lisa and the wall. I looked down at all of the lavender that surrounded my legs, at the pretty patterns of ruffles blowing gently in the air conditioned breeze. As Lisa pulled the zipper up my back, I felt the silky material tightening around my midsection. I gingerly reached down and pushed at one of the hoops; it gave slightly, but the entire skirt moved. I then looked at my shoulders, at the puffy little sleeves, a pretty, perfect lavender bow hanging from each one, and at the larger bow between the pair of socks strapped to my chest--except I no longer looked as thought I had a pair of socks strapped to my chest. I looked as though I had breasts, especially with my freshly shaven chest and arms…

"Stop enjoying yourself and zip me!" Lisa said. She was now draped in yellow satin and ruffles, except the back of her dress was unzipped. My hands trembling, I gently pulled the little zipper up past her strapless bra and up to her shoulder blades.

A yellow bow rested gently at the small of her back, its streamers hanging down the back of her skirt. I contorted myself slightly to see if I had a bow like that behind me as well, and I did. When I looked back at Lisa, she was holding my digital camera to her face. With a pop, the flashbulb went off.

"Oh great," I said.

I heard her gasp as she looked at the photo she had taken in the little screen in the back of the camera. "Look at you!" she exclaimed, holding it up so that I could see.

I was astonished to see myself on the little camera screen with my now girlishly trim waist rising from a bell-shaped skirt, the pattern of ruffles looking like icing on a lavender cake, my hairless arms daintily touching my "bosom", but I was horrified to see my head on a woman's body.

"You like?" Lisa said, grinning hugely.

"I think I need to put the wig on," I said, trying to sound casual.

Lisa must have heard the urgency in my voice, however. "Let me do it for you," she said.

She had me sit, first trying to tell me how to do it. If I sat with a hoop underneath my butt, she told me, the front of my dress would fly up, but I had already managed to arrange my skirts, and when I sat down, she laughed and said, "I didn't have to show you how to sit in a hoopskirt! You have more southern belle in you than I thought!"

I sighed as I sat, my skirts ballooned around me, and then I felt Lisa put the wig on my head. She was standing in front of me, frowning and making adjustments to my new bangs. Then she said, "Close your eyes."

I wanted to say "Why?" but didn't; suddenly I was feeling very passive and gentle. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Shortly, I felt Lisa adjusting my wig yet some more, but differently this time. Then I felt the unmistakable sensation of satin against my skin yet again, this time as she tied a ribbon underneath my chin, and now I knew what she was doing. I smiled. "May I open them yet?" I asked.

"There," Lisa said gently. "Open them."

I did. Lisa was holding up a pocket mirror, and there was my reflected face, beneath a ladies hat with a wide, floppy brim, trimmed (of course) with still more lavender ruffles, a lavender bow tied underneath my chin. I moaned.

"Are you OK?" Lisa asked. "What is it?"

"I look ugly," I said.

"You do not!"

"My face," I said. "I look like a boy in a wig. I need makeup."

Lisa smiled and leaned in underneath the brim of my frilly hat and kissed me on my lips. "Close your eyes and give me a few more minutes," she said.

I closed my eyes again and relaxed, taking a moment to enjoy all of the various sensations my body was enjoying, from the tight, stiff, yet weirdly feminizing corset to the cool, silky satin of my pantaloons; my ankles, I knew, were ringed by three layers of frilly lace somewhere underneath all of these skirts. The long hair of the wig was soft and warm against the back of my bare neck, and I could feel the air conditioning gently blowing the ruffles on my shoulders against my skin.

"There you are, sweetie," Lisa said. "Now put on your gloves while I finish getting ready--we've only got about another five minutes.

"But what about shoes?" I asked. Certainly I wasn't going to be walking the length of the parade route barefoot, but I didn't want to get all dressed up only to have to wear my dirty old Nikes underneath all of this.

"I'll have to get you in heels another time," Lisa winked, as she handed me a pair of flat-soled slippers. "Your gloves are on the counter. They're the lavender ones," she added.

Still sitting, I reached down underneath my dress, managing to find my feet and put the slippers on them. I stood then, the hoops immediately dropping and resuming their shape around me, and saw the gloves she was talking about.

When she said gloves, I assumed she meant gloves that ended at the wrist--like men's gloves. Not these. Like the gown, they were a shimmering lavender and looked about two feet long. I picked one of them up, inspected the finger arrangement, and figured out which arm it would go on. Then I slid my hand inside and felt that now-familiar sensation of smooth satin surround and envelop my arms, my fingers eventually finding their individual slots as the other end of the glove went way up past my elbow, almost to the bow at the end of the puffy little sleeve.

My fingers suddenly looked beautiful--slender, soft, and of course, lavender. At my the inside of my wrist, I noticed, were now three little pearl-shaped buttons--again, lavender. I picked up Lisa's pocket mirror with my gloved hand and shuddered.

She had made me beautiful. My lips were now a bright red, my eyes carefully shadowed and mascaraed and gorgeous. I told myself not to cry, as it would ruin the effect, and reached for my other glove. It was slightly more difficult, as it was more difficult to get a good grip with fingers encased in satin, but I managed.

"Are you ready?" Lisa asked.

I whirled around. It was hard not to whirl as I turned, what with this gigantic dress turning with me, but Lisa now had her hat on and she looked gorgeous, just as I'd imagined, yellow from head to toe.

"What?" she asked, batting her eyes.

I shook my head and felt the ribbon tied beneath my chin tickle my bare upper chest. It was hard to suddenly act the part of predatory male dressed as I was; my penis was again stirring--truth be told, it was sticking straight out--but one glance below my waist and all anybody could see was ruffles upon ruffles upon ruffles. I was smoothing out my skirt with a gloved hand when I heard Lisa open the door. "Let's go," she said.

I could hear voices outside. I took a deep breath. People were about to see me dressed like this. Was I ready to let them see me? I took a second deep breath, looked at Lisa, my sister Southern Belle, and smiled.

For some reason, I was indeed ready. Clutching at my petticoats with my lavender-colored fingers, I prepared to squeeze my way through the door…

TO BE CONTINUED

  

  

  

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© 2008 by Heidi-Jo McGillicuddy. 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.