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Miss Victoria's School

by Abby Rhodes

Part One

 

If my mother loves me, why did she send me to Miss Victoria's School for Girls? Of course it's one of the very best schools in the country with a great academic record and it regularly produces girls who excel at sport and in the arts. It has a record of caring for the pupils and catering for all their problems as they mature from six year olds to teenagers. They care that you feel a part of the wider Miss Victoria family and that you can depend on the staff, prefects and your classmates to help you in a crisis.

Obviously I'm an ungrateful thirteen year old who doesn't appreciate the opportunities I've had put in front of me. Well, yes and no. I do appreciate that I've had a wonderful education and I have had everything I could ever have wanted from a school. Except I'm a boy, a thirteen year old boy who has been at Miss Victorias for seven years, who is starting to think that he might have a part to play in the world somewhere as a boy.

I asked my Housemistress only yesterday if I was wrong to think like this and she grinned at me and tousled my hair and said "Why on earth would you want to be a boy?", and sent me off to talk to Miss Victoria in person. Miss Victoria is about fifty I suppose. She's a blonde, slightly plump woman who radiates goodwill and charm. She stands about five foot six and wears high heels and short skirts. One of my friends at school once said the Headmistress was in love with Miss Golightly, the junior maths teacher, who is very young and pretty.

I looked at myself in the mirror in the waiting room while I was waiting for Miss Victoria to talk to me. The girl looking back at me definitely didn't look boyish. I have black hair to my shoulders and it's dead straight unless it gets wet and then suddenly there are curls everywhere. I was wearing the school uniform, which is a short, mainly red, plaid kilt and a white cotton blouse we wear with a short black tie. We wear knee-length white socks and black school shoes you know, Mary Janes with a T-strap across the arch.

I'd finally got to the grade where we were allowed to wear a little make-up, mainly just a little lipstick and a touch of eyebrow pencil. Make no mistake, I looked like a girl. No-one, and I include my mother, would ever suspect I was a boy. In fact, my mother had stared hard at me the last time I went home for the Christmas break, wondering for a moment who I was. She was embarrassed to find, after a moment's puzzlement, that it was me, James.

I suppose I just wanted someone to reassure me it was okay to be a boy at a girls school, that I would be alright and my worries were just a passing phase. Today, Miss Victoria didn't quite make me feel good, but she made me feel different. She opened her door and invited me in with her big smile and said she'd heard from Miss Travis that I had some concerns about being a boy.

"Does anyone else apart from me and Miss Travis know you're a boy, Samantha? I presume you haven't told anyone else?"

I confirmed I hadn't told anyone, but the level of social activity among the other girls in my dormitory was such that I was finding it more difficult to avoid detection. I was lucky that my mother could afford the fee level that saw me with my own bathroom and toilet, so avoiding displays of maleness in the changing rooms and community bathrooms. I should have thought more about that and realised it was impossible for it to be any other way. But these days we were gathering in each other's rooms for gossip sessions and late-night snacks and I found I had to be scrupulously careful to keep myself well hidden away.

 

I suppose I should start from the beginning. My mother owns a large real estate company in upstate New York. I am an only child and for some reason she dressed me in girls clothes from day one. I spent my childhood in the prettiest and most feminine dresses and shoes and assumed that was how all boys dressed. Or I would have if I had the slightest idea I was a boy.

I wasn't aware I was a boy until I was three or so. Mother hired a series of nannies for me who took care of my needs and followed the directions given to them. I don't remember any of them rebelling against my mother, only seeing that my outfits were a mass of satin and organza and lacy ruffles.

Girls visited me from time to time, the daughters of friends of my mother, and I would go to their birthday parties at their houses. I have pictures of me at two and three and I look adorable, a little darling in white and pink satin with lace everywhere, sitting neatly with my ankles crossed and grinning at the camera.

My only encounter with a penis other than my own took place at a party for Justin Charles. We were both three and Justin was determined to show me his penis. Unaware of protocol, when he showed me his I insisted on showing him mine just to show him I had one as well, and all girls did. I remember the confused look on his face as his convictions about the differences between boys and girls got blown out the door. My nanny saw what was happening and intervened quite quickly, but I can still hear Justin's mother telling him he was talking nonsense, it was not possible his friend Samantha had a penis. He was still screaming denials when the nanny took me out the door. I was given a long talk by my mother that night about keeping my secret to myself. For the record, my father ran away from home before I was born and has never been heard from since.

I did as I was told and a month later I knocked Justin down the stairs at another birthday party because he kept trying to put his hand up my dress.

 

Miss Victoria is a close friend of my mother, and that was why I was allowed to attend her school as a girl. She took me into her office when I turned up at school on my first day, the day I turned six, and she explained that I was never to tell any other girl or teacher that I was a boy. If I needed anything I was to call her, and I was possibly the only girl in school who had Miss Victoria's private number. But I seemed to remember a nod and a wink when my mother and Miss Victoria spoke about me attending the school, and I suspect there is another boy here somewhere. The chances of me finding out are quite slim.

Anyway, as I was saying, the girl in the waiting-room mirror was definitely a girl and I told Miss Victoria that I was having some confusion. I suspect, although I didn't mention it to her then, that I was on the cusp of, if not getting past, puberty. Miss Victoria never equivocates and she made an impassioned speech about what a wonderful girl I was, how clever and how pretty. She praised me loud and long and then sat down in front of me and said in a low voice, "Samantha darling, you have a wonderful life ahead of you. I know you are confused and that's because your body is going through some changes right now. Tell me, Samantha, what do boys do that you, or any other girl, can't do better?"

I had to think about that. I suppose my feelings were more general than specific, caused partly by my classmates having become obsessed with sex. They spent hours talking about rock stars and actors and about sex and what it would be like and circulating pictures of penises cut from magazines. They wanted to dress like Jennifer Anniston and they compared breasts to see who had the biggest, and fortunately there were two other girls in the group who were still flat-chested like me, but that wouldn't last. Soon I was going to be embarrassed.

Miss Victoria stopped to think about that. "I think you're right, Samantha. We have to take steps to see you develop along with the other girls. We will get you started immediately. The technique is really quite simple. When you lift your breasts up into the cups of a brassiere you stretch and shape the tissue and the shape as it develops is enhanced by a suitably pretty bra and we will simply mould your breasts until you can hold your own, if you'll pardon the expression, with any of your classmates. You will have to wear a bra full-time until the treatment is complete. My personal secretary, Miss Blonde, will undertake your treatment and she will accompany you into the town this very afternoon to buy your first bra.

Miss Blonde was a mystery figure to the girls. She was around thirty and lived in Miss Victoria's apartments and was consistently described as her personal secretary to distinguish her from the school secretary who actually did office work. Miss Blonde was known to be involved in some activities such as training the senior girls in social skills and sex education.

In later years I described Miss Blonde as resembling a mistress or a kept woman who hung around waiting to be of service to Miss Victoria. She was very pretty, having dark hair, ruby red lips and green eyes. Her legs were long and seemed to be permanently encased in pumps or strappy sandals with exceedingly high heels.

She was often seen in Miss Victoria's rooms by girls visiting for tea or discussions about their future and she always seemed to be wearing the most elegant chiffon nightgowns and negligees. If she was dressed to go outside it was a short tight skirt and a skimpy satin top or a white silk blouse. In any case, no one had ever seen her when she wasn't fully made up with her red lips pouting beautifully, her hair immaculate and high heels on her feet. The girls were sure she was Miss Victoria's lesbian lover.

Miss Victoria, having made her decision about me, went to a door on the opposite side of the room and asked Miss Blonde to step in and meet the lovely Samantha. Miss Blonde flowed through the door in a swirl of white chiffon. The green eyes looked at me and I felt a vague thrill as they seemed to have a hypnotic effect. The red lips were as immaculate as ever and I swear she must redo her lips every few minutes to keep them that glossy and perfect.

"Miss Blonde, Samantha has a problem that I'd like you to take care of. I'm sorry, Samantha, but I have to tell Miss Blonde our little secret so she can take care of you. Miss Blonde, Samantha here is actually a boy. She's a very lovely girl on the outside but it's time to help Samantha achieve womanhood along with her classmates. I want you to help her develop her breasts with the techniques we've used in the past, gently shaping and gathering the tissue to form perfectly shaped breasts. Just out of interest, Samantha, have you started to have those dreams that boys have when their maleness becomes rigid and they spray the inside of their nightgowns with fluid?"

I felt myself blush and I confessed that it had happened a few times and I was unsure what the cause was.

Miss Victoria turned to her secretary. "Miss Blonde, would you please be so kind as to explain to Samantha why she does this. Perhaps while she relaxes as you're developing her breasts. Samantha needs to know exactly what puberty will do to her body and her mind."

"Of course, Miss Victoria, it will be my pleasure." Miss Blonde spoke for the first time. "I'm so looking forward to working with you Samantha, because you're such a pretty girl. Come back here at half past three and we will go and get your first bra and you'll be ready for your first development session. Until then, my dear, take care of yourself."

She took my hands in hers and squeezed them gently and I couldn't wait until our next meeting. Once she left the room, Miss Victoria said. "There you are Samantha. You'll love Miss Blonde, but please come and see me again if you think I can help you with answering any more questions." She showed me out and I went back to class. Miss Travis smiled at me as well and I felt much better, but still puzzled about some things.

At three-thirty I entered the Headmistresses apartments and Miss Blonde was waiting for me. She had changed into a short black skirt and was wearing pale black and sheer stockings and very high heels. She was wearing a sleeveless white wool top that emphasised the size and shape of her full breasts, so there were two spectacular torpedo-like protuberances under the white top. She led me to her sports car and drove me into town, where she parked outside a lingerie shop in the high street. I looked up to see a sign that read 'The Silk Drawer'. She led me inside and greeted the woman behind the counter like an old friend.

"Hi Angela. This is Samantha, Samantha, this is Miss Angela Silk. Samantha needs her first bra, Angela, and we'd like it to be something pretty and stylish in an A-cup, probably for a 32 inch chest?" She looked at me and I nodded. "Yes, 32 inches. Show us what you've got, Angela." Angela produced a dozen bras in white and black with a single pale blue number. Miss Blonde sorted them on the counter and picked out two for me. "What do you think, Samantha, are these pretty or what?" They were both white and one was made from satin and white lace and the other was in tulle with white leaves embroidered on it. "They're both beautiful Miss Blonde. I can't really decide. Do you have a preference?"

"I think the satin and lace number will give you better support while you develop. Perhaps we could buy two though and you would have this gorgeous tulle number to look forward to as a change, and to wear while your other bra is in the wash. Yes, I think that's best. Come with me into the fitting room so we can check that 32 inches is right for you. She led me behind the curtain and I shed my school blouse and the white nylon camisole we all wore and Miss Blonde held the bra in front of me and had me slip my arms through the straps. She did it up behind me and asked if it was comfortable. I confirmed it was.

"Well, you may as well wear it back to school then. No time like right now to get started." I put the camisole and blouse back on and noticed that the bra itself made a slight bump on my chest. I was looking forward to this treatment. Miss Blonde took the other bra to the counter for Miss Silk to wrap and shortly we started back to the school. As we drove, Miss Blonde told me that Miss Silk was an old friend who supplied her with fine hosiery and silk lingerie. She described panties and camisoles and camiknickers in pale gold silk encrusted with lace and how I would be wearing them one day too. "Beautiful lingerie is one thing boys never get to wear, Samantha. Remember that. Do you like your new bras?" I confessed that I did.

When we got back to the school, Miss Blonde took me around to a side door to what she said was her own apartment, which turned out to be quite clearly attached to Miss Victoria's rooms. She had me take off my blouse, camisole and new bra and lie on my back on a sort of massage table. It was very comfortable. She stripped off her skirt and top (to avoid getting lotion on them she said) to reveal a black silk camisole and tap pants as well as the black stockings. She never took off her high heels the girls were right. She shook something that smelled beautiful on to her hands and commenced work on my breasts, kneading the flesh and nipples, gathering them into points, shaping them into cones. The sensation was magic and I almost drifted off to sleep. She explained about how flesh can be moulded into something different and that in a few months I would be the proud owner of breasts that would pass the closest scrutiny. By the time she finished half an hour later I was positively glowing and smelled wonderful.

"That's all for today, Samantha. You must come here every day at four-thirty precisely and we will continue the treatment. In the meantime wear your bra all the time. Tomorrow I will discuss your body as Miss Victoria asked me to."

Once I had my clothes back on she kissed my cheek and sent me back to my rooms.

  

  

  

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2004 by Abby Rhodes. 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.