(She Said) Something About Tulips

by Bright Eyes

 

"…and stockings. You will ALWAYS want to wear stockings. You will love the feel of soft, silky thin stockings, smoothed up your legs. You have no control over this. Tights are not good enough. You will always feel the need to be as feminine as you can, and you are drawn irresistibly into a web of stockings and suspenders. Your mind will be entangled, entwined with sheer slut-black stockings, lacy and…"

Hector heard it coming from his bedside radio late one Saturday night when he woke up with stomach cramps. He would have heard more if he had not had to quickly crawl, doubled over, to the bathroom. "Never drink cocktails again," he vowed to himself. The memory of last night, the laughs and the drinks on another semi-date with Ophelia, a pretty middle-manager who made the most of her long legs tasted gritty in his mouth.

Hours later, stumbling back to bed with the pale peachy light bleaching painfully through the curtains, it had stopped. The bedroom was silent as he heaved himself back into bed, and drifted on and off in an uncomfortable sleep, where he thought of the strange voice no more. Kate was coming round today, and he wasn't sure if he was looking forwards to it or not.

Hector and Kate had been a more than a little rocky recently. The last week or so had been surprisingly peaceful by recent standards, but before that he had thought they were breaking up for sure. Love's labours losing. Hence semi-dates with Ophelia, who he had met while waiting for Kate at her office.

It was when he awoke again, mid-morning on a sunny Sunday that he remembered the strange voice.

"Must have been the radio," he grumbled to himself, turning it on. It was Urbania FM as usual. It didn't seem very likely to be talking about stockings in that way. The tape deck was empty, but there was a CD in the player – one of Kate's relaxation new-ageish things. He pressed play, and out came whales, waves and sea shores. Perplexing. He shrugged, showered, shaved and got dressed.

Kate arrived at lunchtime. Surprisingly, she was dressed to kill in a little black vinyl skirt and high heeled boots. The tight skirt clung to her curves, and her boots shone blackly in the innocent morning light. She was wearing very thin black tights showing lots of leg from the top of her calves right up her trim thighs, and at the sight of the tights Hector's mind flipped back to the curious voice. She carried a leather bag, and wore a plum-black stylish designer raincoat despite the blue sky.

"You look great!" exclaimed Hector. "Not what I was expecting, but great!" She smiled at him, with a look not quite of warmth, but of anticipation and perhaps invitation. "Though why the coat?" he asked as she shrugged it off, shaking her long nut-brown hair down her back, where it contrasted stylishly with her fitted crimson blouse.

"There's a storm coming," she replied like Sarah Connor.

Inside, he handed her the CD, looking out at the sky through the window. There were some clouds gathering, if the truth be told. "I think you left this," he said, trying to gauge what kind of day it was going to be with her.

"Yes I did," she replied, a strange and expectant expression slipping from the corners of her slick red lips as she spoke, strutting confidently past him into the house. "I left that one, and lots of others before it. I left them deliberately and set your bedside CD unit to play them at night."

"Oh? Why?" Hector was unsure about the situation. She looked like she was ready for action, but she obviously had something to say.

"It's not all relaxation," she continued. "In fact only the first twenty minutes or so have those whale sounds and pan pipes and stuff. The rest is all stimulus-suppressed operant conditioning."

"It's what?" asked Hector. Weird words. The sinking feeling started.

"Basically, the CDs contain commands and suggestions that have now been inserted into your subconscious while you were sleeping. It's like I've hypnotised you. I've set these discs playing in your unit for the last month, or maybe more, and you are now programmed the way I want you to be."

Hector snorted. "Yeah right! That explains what I heard last night. There was this funny voice going on about stockings. You reckon all that stuff on it has hypnotised me into wearing stockings? I don't think so. Why would you want to do that? I don't think you would, and anyway, you couldn't. I woke up and heard it, and I'm not wearing stockings now, am I? Rubbish. You're weird." He looked disdainfully at Kate. He would have liked to look down on her, but he had never been tall, and in her heels she had a good two inches on him despite her average five foot six.

"Not just wearing stockings," she responded, sauntering over to the rocking chair. "You've had twelve CDs now, and this was the last. The first four set up your suggestibility and reception to the latent commands of the subsequent disks. Every night, you now enter a trance, ready to receive instructions. You couldn't resist them if you tried. Since then, you've absorbed a desire to wear stockings – in fact, a deep longing for all lacy feminine underwear – and a particular penchant for stilettos. You like them really high and sexy, you tart! You want to wiggle your hips when you walk. You don't realise it yet, but you have developed a healthy wish for bigger boobs – about D cup at the moment – and you have become expert in all areas of cosmetics, though your taste will be a little tarty in that too. You'll look great in lipstick," she said, licking her own glossed lips like a cobra scenting out unwary, unsuspecting prey. "I've been waiting for this day." She crossed her legs slowly, her skirt riding up to show perfect thigh in what Hector saw now were not tights but stockings. As he looked up at her, he knew that she had seen him checking out her legs. She raised her eyebrows expectantly.

Hector found it hard to contain his anger. Was she was joking or she was trying to wind him up? "Have you gone mad?" he asked. "You're talking crazy!"

"Almost all those commands you've been fed," she just went on calmly, "all those changes I've made to your longings, are still waiting for a trigger phrase from me. That's why you don't feel any of them now."

"Rubbish!" He repeated, his face flushing red with rage, although he realised that at least the part about listening to all those CDs was likely to be true, because he had heard that one playing last night. Could she really have hypnotised him that way? Could she? Naah! What was she trying to do?

"I say almost all," continued Kate, "because I left a few to operate immediately. To clear the way as it were. Do you know how long you've been shaving your legs? Or how long you've been plucking your eyebrows into that delightfully delicate female arch?"

Hector snorted again. "Look," he said, no longer simply angry but now also resigned to another all-out row, "You can take your strange and disturbing ideas somewhere blue and eat them in a fondue. Quirky's one thing, kinky another – and maybe a couple of months ago, I might have agreed to a little something to spice up our sex life. But what you're talking about is just perverse. You're just weird, and it's all rubbish." He knew he was repeating himself and wasn't arguing well.

"It's all true. Enjoy this while you can, my man." countered Kate.

Hector changed tack. "It may be true that you've played me these CDs, but that's the end of it. The rest is just absurd! So you've hypnotised me into shaving my legs, have you? Well how come they aren't shaved then? Look!" He pulled up his trouser leg to reveal his left leg. As usual, it was smooth and hairless.

"See?" He crowed, "See? Done this morning. Completely smooth, completely…"

Hang on…

"Hang on…"

"That's right!" Kate's eyes blazed with triumph. "You never even realised! The conditioning took you, turned you, and you never even realised! Do you want to see your eyebrows?" She swiftly held up a small mirror from in her leather bag. Even before he looked, Hector seemed to know that it was true. Somehow, the memory of plucking his eyebrows seeped back into him. Thin and feminine. Delicate.

Then there they were in the mirror. All he could see was a pair of eyes, and thin, feminine, delicate brows arching over them. Suddenly he understood some of those comments he'd been getting at work.

But that meant…

"Hang on, Kate," he started to say, but she held up her hand.

"Be quiet." Her voice was commanding. "Sit down. I am now going to give you a choice, and you had better think hard and you had better think carefully. Sit!"

Hector practically leapt onto the easy chair by the window. Had she hypnotised him? It looked that way. Could she turn him into a transvestite? Could she make him want to wear stockings? She had already made him shave his legs, so he wasn't taking any chances. He sat quietly and listened.

"Your choice is this," she stated simply. "You can either dress up as my lesbian lover now and do as I tell you of your own free will, or," and at this she threw the bag at his feet. It was only half zipped up and inside he could see black lacy things that pegged his heart with dread. "Or… I can just say your trigger phrase and make you do it anyway. You'll be my lesbian lover anyway, but trapped in what remains of your old male self. Choose quickly!"

  

  

  

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