Synopsis: This is where the "La Caisse" has been.

 

Sisters of Raven Square

by Misty Dawn and Christy Lake

Part 19: A boy is disrespectful

 

"Wish I'd've been able to wear a skirt, instead of these tacky ole jeans…"

Terrance was very happy. Hopefully, today he would get rid of the last of the junk from Granddad's house. The slim, effeminized, mild-mannered youth hefted the ornately hand-carved wooden trunk or "La Caisse," as Gramps had called it, onto a table and opened the lid to display the fifteen leather-bound volumes inside. Two were blue color and the other thirteen were green. The row of green books had a diagonal blood-red line across the spines. If they were in a specific order, the line was complete. He felt his big eyes begin burning with tears caused by his loving and hating of them.

Hating them because he now tied the box of blank books to the two major changes in his life, Terrance vowed he would get rid of it today at any price. Pausing a moment, his mind wandered backwards in time.

It had been six years ago that Terrance had discovered the box of books while playing in Granddad's attic. Gramps had avowed the box and its contents had been very special to his mother's, Great-grandma Misty. Then Grandpa had sworn "La Caisse" was destined "to be delivered unto someone very special, a woman of great powers" or some such garbage! Angered by the manner in which Gramps handled, almost revered, a bunch of stupid old books with blank pages, he had slammed the book back in the old box with all his ten-year-old strength.

That's when the damned thing had shocked him the first time. He now tied that shock to the first big change in his life. The next day the city-owned swimming pool had opened for the new season. Terrance had left shortly after arriving, in tears, because the other kids had teased him about his pretty legs. Over time the teasing and taunts had gotten worse. Almost overnight, he had developed prettier legs and a more girlish figure than most of the girls in his class. It had seemed even some of the teachers were envious. His profile developed until he now had a very girlish shape nearly impossible to hide.

The second big change had been just shortly after Grandma's death. He had been cleaning the attic so some of her stuff could be stored. He had used one of the green books to support the short leg of a chair he'd used to reach some of the top shelves. When he'd put the book back in the box, it had shocked him a second time, just as the other book had that first time years before. He remembered the incident and associated it with the books; because that was the day he discovered his love of lingerie.

After putting the wobbly chair back in the corner, he'd discovered a box very similar to those the school got copier paper in. He had been curiously compelled to squat down and cut the tape. The lid had literally popped off, surprising him. He'd lost his balance and landed on his too-girlish rear, spilling the box between his too-shapely legs in the process. Girlish eyes, crowned with thin and perfectly shaped brows had widened too-feminine delight!

The box had been stuffed with fine, exquisite, and some of it sexy, lingerie. Silky slips, half-slips, camisoles, Satin, rayon, and fine cotton panties, bras, girdles, frills-and-lace garter belts, and seamed nylon stockings. There, right in front of his slim-fingered hand, lay was a beautiful light metallic-blue, matching bra and panty set. The delicate white lace trim was just too divine. Another incredibly powerful, impossible-to-ignore compulsion had urged him into an impossibly female action.

It had taken only a few seconds for him to strip to his birthday suit. He had then almost frantically pulled the white lace trimmed blue bikini panty into place; carefully he tucked his little man back. For the first time in five years he had been glad his testicles had retracted five years ago. The panties felt delightfully female. He had picked up the matching bra, slender fingers quivering with an amazingly girlish anticipation; the tag said Princess 32 A. It had fit perfectly; it was only then that he had realized the flabby pectorals he had so long denied were really breasts.

He had then picked up the frilly garter belt he had dropped to put on the bra. Disbelievingly, he had opened it and checked the tag. Princess 26. It had fit perfectly, but high on his waist. He had had to adjust the catches to their full extension to get them past the leg openings of his panties, sliding them under the filmy material as though she had been doing so all his life. Without the slightest hesitation, he had reached into the box and found a package of sheer, suntan sandal foot nylons.

Almost frantic, he had then ripped the package and literally savored the silken sensations as he slipped them up shapely legs to the tops of his firm female thighs. With no problem, it taking but a moment, he had then fastened the webbed tops to the garter tabs. Shivering deliciously, he had then walked around on the piece of linoleum on the attic floor a couple of times, softly caressing the panties and bra. They felt so perfect, and the snug embrace of the nylons, being tugged by every step was delicious.

But something was wrong; something was missing. There was one more piece of shiny light blue material. With uncontrollable haste, he had snatched it up. It looked like a miniature tank top except for the lace across the front and up the shoulder straps. He looked at the tag; it said Princess 34, nylon/lycra. Tiny quivers had raced up and down his spine after he had slipped it over his head and pulled it into place. Then everything felt perfect. He'd put on his jeans and soft sweatshirt and tried to lace the sneakers down, but could not get them tight enough. He'd had to put his tube socks back on, but over his nylons.

Grandpa had been boxing and stacking stuff in the garage for Good Will to pick up during the week. He had called out to Terry, said he had a couple of small boxes for him to take up to the attic. Grandpa had not commented about his wearing pretty lingerie. Terrance had then retrieved a roll of gray duct tape from downstairs, and taken it up to the attic with him. After placing the boxes of Grandma's cookbooks on the floor, to be taken out later, he'd started repacking the lingerie with a possessive attitude and loving care. Yet, no matter how carefully he folded and smoothed each delicate item, he could not get everything back into the box.

Finally, breathing heavily with almost feminine frustration, he had to stack items some four inches above the box. Moving with grave caution, he had then very carefully placed the cover and had then sat his saucy, girlish butt atop it and applied liberal quantities of tape. The first time he stood up, the tape tore loose, so he had had to sit back down on the box and put a lot more tape on to hold the lid shut. When he'd been satisfied it would hold, he'd carried the box down and secured it to the luggage rack on his bike.

While down there, he'd filched a couple of plastic grocery bags, the sort with the handles, from the kitchen and went back to the attic. With very careful packing he was able to get six matching sets of slip, half-slip, camisole, garter belt, bra, and panties into each bag. Then with a softly too-feminine sigh of satisfaction, "A job well done," he'd thought, and certain he had every thing he could glean from the attic, he'd hurried down to his bike. Always all-too-aware of his girl-on-a-bike image, and now even more so, because wearing his new bra caused just-recognized-breasts to bob and sway enticingly, in a most feminine manner, while pedaling down the street, he was constantly worried that one of the bags might break or the box come open, spreading his pretty underwear for anyone to see, Terrance had raced for his home.

He'd coasted to a stop at his driveway, allowing his dad pull into the street ahead of him. Terrance waved, in a decidedly female manner, and wished his dad well in the big bowling tournament. "Good luck, Daddy!" It no longer even concerned him that he now almost always used the feminine term when addressing his parents. Nor was he any longer upset when momma and daddy called him Terry, though some spark of male pride still preferred his friends call him Terrance.

After moving his precious cargo to the kitchen, Terry had had to explain to his mom what had happened. Finally he'd stripped off his outer clothing and showed her what felt so good. She hadn't seemed at all fazed by her son's wearing girl's underwear. What bothered her was "Where did he get all these pretties." She was very nearly devastated thinking that he might have stolen them from somewhere.

She knew, from Mr. Valencia's secretary, they shared the same confessor, that the Princess line of "Young Women's Lingerie" would not be available for sale for another two weeks. Yet, here was her pretty son not only wearing costly, unavailable, Princess Lingerie, but claiming it as his own!

Using a pair of scissors, she had cut the knot off one of the plastic bags and started unpacking it. She carefully arranged each of the ten sets on the kitchen table. Each matching set had a slip, half-slip, tap pants, camisole, bra, three pair of panties, and three pairs of new nylon stockings. After carefully checking each piece and finding no store tags, she'd calmed down and told him to take his pretties to his room and that if he was going to wear such expensive underwear; he had to take care of it.

During the year, Terrance had constantly worn his always new and much more comfortable underwear except on gym days and the visits to the Doctor. Wearing nylon stockings and a garter belt had made it necessary to become a lot quieter and calmer and so he had become something of a loner. Outside the house, he wore the standard sneaks, oversize jeans, and sweatshirts. But, at home, he wore pullover tops, short-shorts, those sexy short alls, or mini skirts, and high-heeled sandals. Terry had quickly learned nylons were hot under jeans. What really thrilled him most was to wear short-shorts, pantyhose and tall spiked heeled pumps.

He loved the box because of his ability to at least part time enjoy fine feminine clothing and the freedom to be feminine. Someday, maybe. Maybe when he was 18, he could live full time. For now the Doctor appointments to get the necessary stuff for the government were just too expensive.

When Terrance, at that moment in "boy" mode, had discovered the ornate book box, or "La Caisse," as Gramps had called it, again, last month when they were cleaning up the old house after Gramps death, he'd decided to offer it in the upcoming city-wide flea market hosted by some woman's club. Today the lid would not stay open. Angrily he dumped the books. Several slipped off the table and crashed on the hard pavement.

After picking up the books and replacing them in the box and getting another mild shock, Terri waited a moment for the sudden wave of dizziness to pass, and then arranged the box so the sun was shining on the books, displaying them well. The first tour bus was pulling in. She checked her lipstick in her compact mirror and straightened her blouse, wished again she had worn a skirt instead of these tacky old jeans. Something about the box of blank books bothered Terri and she vowed that she would make sure someone got them today. A soft, feminine smile played at the corners of her full, pouty lips as the bus eased to a smooth stop a few yards from the entrance of the park where the "Sisters of the Raven" held the annual women's club picnic, carnival, and flea market, quite a lucrative fundraiser, or so she had heard.

At the end of the day Terrie was quite happy; she'd unloaded nearly everything, most especially that eerie casket of old books. She had also met a new friend, an Egyptian student staying with one of the major sponsors of the Flea Market. The girl had invited Terrie to come visit next week.

 

The End of Year 1, the Raven Square Story, in the Sharla Winslowe Universe ---- June 2000 next.

  

  

  

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