T.J.’s Experiment in Pink

by Anne O’Nonymous

 

PART TWO

Sandra stood there, open-mouthed, staring at the scene before her. What to say? What to do? Mainly, where in the hell can I hide for the rest of my soon-to-be shortened life.

I soon noticed that she seemed to be fascinated with the somewhat attractive creature, and yet, in a way, also repulsed by the sight! Now she could’ve screamed bloody murder at me, ranted and raved, but she felt an unusual need to hold and comfort me. I tried to control myself as best as I could under the circumstances, but I was very close to my breaking point.

"Tea, it’s all right," she said gently, "I’m not angry, more curious. Come on, let’s sit down and talk."

Sandra walked over to a chair, and motioned to me. I hesitated a minute, then walked over to sit beside her. She smoothed out her clothes, pointed to her lap and said, "Sit here, sweetie, and explain all to Sandy."

She watched as I sat, carefully smoothing the dress under me before I slid onto her lap. The tears broke out as she pulled me into a warm hug and kissed my forehead. I lay there, thinking of how much I loved the person holding me, tears running down my cheeks and dripping onto her blouse. "There, there baby, everything’s going to be okay," she said soothingly.

I wondered how much hurt I caused her, seeing me the way I was now – a pathetic, sobbing wimp; a boy-in-a-dress sissy. What explanation could I give her? The truth sounds so, so stupid. I can’t believe that I did what I did!

"Oh God, Sandy, I feel so bad – I didn’t, . . . I was, . . . I saw a TV program and I was curious," Tea managed to blurt out between sobs.

"You saw the same program?" Sandra exclaimed.

"Huh!"

"Fran and me, we were watching some TV last night and saw those guys in dresses – was that what you saw?"

"Yeah! I ju-just wo-wondered what cuh-could be the ah-attraction. I feh-felt the only way would be to try it for mah-myself, and in that way, I wo-would eh-experience the same seh-sensations," I somehow managed to stutter out.

"I guess it would be impossible for me to tell you what it is like to wear a dress," replied Sandra, thoughtfully. "Maybe we should just let this ‘experiment’ run its course. Sweetie, could you make me a cup of coffee, please -- no, two cups. Also a ham-and-cheese sandwich with mustard, and something for yourself."

Her kind words relieved me somewhat; so I pulled myself together, got up, curtsied to Sandra, and went to make the snack. I remembered the curtsey part from one of the guests on the show. Her giggling laughter was music to my ears.

"We shall dine in the kitchen, Fifi. Hey Tea, I rather like that," Sandra replied between laughs, "you should do that more often."

In the kitchen, I made the coffee, Sandra’s sandwich, and a pickle-lettuce-Swiss cheese-tomato-and-pepper sandwich for myself. Cups were out, coffee poured, and table set.

"Ms. Sandra, luncheon is served," I announced, adding, "ma’am."

"Thank you, Fifi," she replied.

There we sat, two girls having an afternoon repast and sipping coffee, pinkies sticking out, discussing my incursion into womanhood. I was wondering about Fran, and why was Sandra home earlier than usual – so I asked.

"Sandra, is there anything wrong between you and Fran?"

"How thoughtful of you to ask. No, she had to run an errand – send a fax to her mother. Her computer isn’t equipped to do it, so she’s using a friend’s. Besides, I wanted to check on how you were doing."

"Oh! Errr, sis," I said, finishing my drink, "mom doesn’t have to know about this, does she?"

"We’ll cross that bridge when we get there, sweetie. I think it might be best to not say a word for now."

That was the biggest load off my chest. I could have been in really deep doo-doo for years.

"Oh, Fran is coming here! I almost forgot – yipes. What are we going to do?"

Great timing, sis! I could hear the chimes of the front door, the sound of heels on hardwood flooring, and "Hey, Sandy, where are you."

"In the kitchen, Fran."

More walking, and, finally, Fran entered the kitchen, stopped and looked at the two of us.

"New girlfriend, babe? You always did have good taste."

"Hi Fran. No, this is not what it looks like – remember that show last night?"

"Y-e-a-h! Some of them were pretty cute!"

"Well, my brother is trying out his better half."

"Christ, no shit! That’s your brother!? Just how long has he been that way?"

I had to answer her. "Fran, I’m not Gay if that’s what you are implying! I’m only trying to understand the attraction these things have for men. This is only the first time I did this."

Fran grabbed the coffee pot, poured herself a cup, and joined us at the table. "Hey, calm down. I wasn’t implying anything, besides I know you just love girls."

"Fran, would you like a sandwich to go with the coffee?"

"Bacon, tomato and American cheese sounds good."

So, while I made her snack, we got into a short discussion.

"You know that those men were really into the entire experience of being a woman; that is, they shopped, dined out, and so forth. Maybe that is what you should do, too."

"But, as they say, could I pass? I know I would need a lot of work on various things."

"First things first, sweetie," my sister cooed, "you did do something wrong, and must be punished for it."

Great, she was right – I had to agree on that.

At that, Fran’s eyes lit up! There was a slight sadistic streak in her. I knew very little about her background, only that she avoided males as much as possible. I managed to learn this on the few times I met her; still, she and I got along fairly well.

It was after we finished eating when Fran started.

"Love, do you have any heels?"

"Three inch and a two inch, why?

"Well, love – our little girl needs training. And a name, we can’t keep calling Tea. It has to stand for something!"

"Hmmm. I know, Terri!"

"Okay, Terri it is. T.J., you are to answer only to Terri, you understand?"

"Yes, ma’am." I knew better than to disagree with Fran. I wondered what she had in mind as punishment. I couldn’t wait to find out – not.

Sis got the heels, and soon had them strapped on my feet. The other shoes went back to where I got them. Now, it was up and down the room and stairs in heels. Fran was on the right, and Sandy the left propelling me along this new path. I was getting tired, and the arches in my feet ached. There seemed to be a reshaping of my whole body to accommodate the new footwear.

"C’mon, shoulders back, thrust out those boobs, keep your head up, and walk in smaller steps," said my drill mistresses.

"Now you know why mom kicks off her shoes when she first comes in."

"Please, ladies, can I sit for awhile?"

"Sure, sweetie," Sandra replied.

She watched as I carefully slipped my hands under my butt as I sat. I twisted one leg to the side and placed the other over it at the ankle. The hands were folded in my lap.

There was a little small talk about girls at school, past soccer games, fashions and such. I managed to participate, throwing in what little I could, and getting a lot of information in return.

"Hey, I forgot – TJ invited us over. Her mom’s away, and she’s cooking pasta. She said we could stay overnight!"

"Fran, give her a call. Tell her we’ll be there around four thirty. Also say that we are bringing a special friend for some fun!"

"Will do. She will be ecstatic." Fran shot a smiling glance at me that said it all.

Who is this TJ person? Where does she live? Apparently both girls knew her, but I didn’t recall Sandra mentioning her name.

Fran went to the family room to make the call. Fifteen minutes later, she returned and announced, "She says come on over now! She’s so bored she’s watching football!"

"Wait! I can’t go like this! Everyone will see me!"

"Sure will!" Sandra replied emphatically. "You created your predicament – now you’ll just have to suffer the consequences."

Damn! Did she always have to be right? I’m responsible for this, and I must try to redeem myself, even if it means losing what little dignity I have.

Sandra supplied a jacket, shoulder bag (Navy blue), and a multicolored scarf for my hair, which she tied under the chin. She also had some things packed in two shopping bags, which, I assumed, were for her. In the shoulder bag were a girl’s essentials, including two quarters to call home. A check in the compact mirror removed some, but not all, doubt as to how I appeared. After making sure the house was secure, Sandy put the bags in the back seat and, using the safety belt, secured me in the front seat of the car.

Fran drove a late model Ford product, a gift from her mother two years ago. With Fran driving, and Sandy riding in the back, I was certain we would not be in an accident.

It was a beautiful summer’s day, with a slight breeze from the north keeping the area fairly cool. The sides of the roads were covered in flowers, the results of a local highway beautification program. Fran had the windows down, and the car radio on -- tuned to a classical music program. Copeland’s "Fanfare for the Common Man" was playing. All in all, it was rather pleasant riding along, enjoying the music and company.

As I rode along, I considered my course of action – escape, from a moving car? I was stuck, but it was my fault. "Take it like a man," was my thought -- lie my way out!

"Where are you taking me?"

"Where we can have some fun," Fran answered. "TJ’s house is off the main road. She has some, shall we say, special items."

"Terri, don’t be scared. TJ was into theater a few years back, and her house has some costumes and props from a play she was in. Her mother works for a company that sells equipment to police and private security firms, and is attending a law enforcement sales convention."

In my mind, I pictured a bleak future as a plaything to a group of man-hating lesbians – suddenly, I wanted out! Suicide by jumping from a fast moving car didn’t seem to be such a bad idea now. The thought brought tears to my eyes, thinking about how miserable life for me would be from now on! Maybe something like that happened to that kid they found in the park; well, I guess he’s better off now.

"Hey, don’t cry, Terri," Fran said, "We’re not going to skin you alive."

Oh yeah, now that’s a comforting thought. A hand reached out from behind me and I sensed the consoling touch of my sister; then, I knew everything would be okay, and I would survive whatever tortures awaited me (strange that no matter how miserable I got, all it took was a touch, wink, smile, or just a certain glance from Sandy and all was well – I guess you might call that real love to have that much trust in another person).

(Comment: I think that’s what real love is – a mutual trust between two people, each trusting that the other will never do anything to harm them. If so, then I do love Sandy more than anything else!)

To take my mind off this drive to my doom, I asked a question that had been on my mind, one that I needed answered, if I was to understand Fran, and her avoidance of males.

"Fran, can I ask you a personal question?"

"Knowing your curiosity, I think I already know what it is. When I was twelve, a teenage boy living up the street from me took me into his house, stripped me and took pictures. Boys at a former school called me a slut, a whore and other nasty names. That’s why I took up weightlifting and sports – now, I can beat the shit out of most of the friggin jerks I run into. Look Terri, when Sandy told me about you, I couldn’t believe what she said. My father dominated and abused my mother, a boy raped me, and you are a ray of sunshine. So if you think I’m going to extinguish that, you are sadly mistaken, sweetie."

"And what’s this TJ like?"

"Well, she’s somewhat like me, only a little stronger. Her father walked out on the family three years ago, cleaning out the bank account. He was a drug addict anyway, so no big loss. She likes to have fun, as she had very little when she was younger. Other than that, you’ll have to discover for yourself!"

In a few minutes, Fran pulled off the road onto a dirt road, a little more than a path through the woods. First a left turn, a right, then a second right. Up ahead a two-story ranch-style house appeared. Fran parked the car in a carport beside the garage. During the drive, I noticed several poles supporting what I assumed to be security cameras. At the house were other cameras, pointing at a pool, a play area, and the garage.

About fifty yards from the house it was woods – mostly evergreens, both long and short needles. Ahead, just to the right of the house, was a fenced-in in-ground swimming pool and patio, and to my left was a play area with a swing set and seesaw. What was odd was that they seemed a little larger than usual.

"Her mother usually uses the carport as there’s no doors to open," Fran explained, "and TJ uses the garage."

With the vehicle parked and secured, we started down a gravel path at the rear of the garage. Fran supported me, as I was still unsure on heels, especially since this was a rocky walkway. Sandy brought up the rear, lugging shopping bags filled with, well something. We entered the house by way of an unlocked kitchen door at the rear. To the left was a breakfast nook with a view of the pool, and, adjacent on the right, a dining area with a very large table.

"I’m in here," came a voice from another room, "come on in. I’ve got most of the stuff set up. I think we’re going to have one heckova time!"

I was going to finally see this TJ person.

With Fran on one side and Sandy on the other, I was marched, in a way, into a large living room. A filled bookcase dominated a wall to the left, while several easy chairs were spread throughout the room. On the right side was a large TV, showing a football game in progress, a second smaller TV, apparently for the surveillance cameras, and an open cabinet, on the left of the larger set, holding at least a hundred videocassettes. All of the paneled room was unpainted; that is, it was highly varnished bare wood. A rather pretty girl got up from a couch in front the larger TV and came towards us.

"Well, it’s about time!" she exclaimed, as a welcome.

"What’s the score," Fran asked.

"45 to 42. Quarterback fumbled twice, running back tripped over his own blocker, and a pulling back went the wrong way. As I said, I was bored," she replied smilingly, "so, is this our playmate?"

I looked her over, trying to ascertain exactly how far she might go. She was a rust-color African-American with brown eyes and jet-black wavy shoulder-length hair. Her gorgeous smile went a long way in making me feel better.

"TJ meet TJ! Terence Josiah, I’d like you to meet Toni Jensen. Toni, I’d like you to meet my brother, Terri."

I got wrapped up in a big hug and kiss in the blink of an eye. She showed a tightly controlled strength – that it was there, and she would use it, if necessary. I was sure I didn’t want any demonstrations.

Toni took my hand and guided me to the couch where we sat together. Sandy sat on the couch to the left, while Fran took some bags upstairs.

"Tea, I met your sister eight months ago at a meeting of single mothers -- she was with your mother at the time – and we just hit it off. We kinda formed a group made up of daughters of single and divorced mothers."

Wait – a light was coming on! Was I wrong all this time?

"Toni, is my sister a lesbian?" I asked, not knowing to be happy or sad if she was.

"Tea! Why didn’t you ask me?" Sandy practically shouted. "Fran and me are very good friends, that’s all. We don’t play lickety split on weekends; it’s just, mostly, a discussion and slumber party for our group."

"Hey, maybe we can get some of the girls here and have some real fun with our poor captive!" Toni enthused. "Having four more to watch him ‘suffer’ might make it a lot more fun."

"Wouldn’t you like to have more pretty ladies over to see you in lovely lacy underthings? I’m sure they’ll enjoy every minute of your struggle in such pretty things," my (possibly former) sister came out with. "We could have an undies fashion show, wouldn’t you like that?"

Now all this sounded like a threatening encounter was about to ensue. But Sandy took my hand in hers and gently squeezed. That touch; that feel, it was all that I needed. I squeezed back – I was ready to face all of Sandra’s friends, in a bra, panty girdle, black hose and high heels if she wanted – heck, it might turn out to actually be fun.

Fran entered the room, sat in a nearby chair, and inquired: "Did I miss anything?"

"We were just teasing Terri a little. I think we should establish some ground rules first," Toni exclaimed.

"Sounds good," Sandy said, then turned to me, "We already asked you to answer to ‘Terri,’ and we need to establish a baseline."

"What she means is that you are in control. If things are too much for you, you can say a word, and we stop right there," Fran added.

"Oh! A kind of safety factor?"

"Yes!" Sandra replied, surprised at how fast I caught on. "When we’re outside, all you need do is say ‘I wanna go home,’ and we stop! It’s our word on it, not just mine."

"Okay, Tea, here are the rules," Toni intoned, sounding like the referee at a boxing match, "First and foremost: You can stop everything by saying – pick a word . . ."

"Red, how’s that."

"Great! Red is your safety word – remember it. Next, you’ll be dressed in female attire ranging from a baby to a young girl to a young schoolgirl, finally to a young lady, and, yes, there is a difference – is that okay?"

"I guess so."

"Tea, the clothes are frilly, lacy things, excessively femmy. You’ll be here, most of the time! When we are out, either Fran or me will be close by to protect you," Sandy softly stated.

"Okay, then."

"You will answer to ‘Terri’ only, at all times. There will be some mild bondage. You are to stay close to us, and not do anything mannish or stupid."

"Okay, I think I can take it."

"Last, and this is important! If you aren’t enjoying the feelings, if it’s getting too painful to you, and/or you feel, or imagine you feel, threatened by something or someone, say something. That includes words, too! We’ll talk about it, okay?"

"If you are unhappy, we’ll feel bad too," my wonderful sister added.

"This might be a very interesting experiment; I think I can take it, for the sake of science."

"I also reserve the right to spank you for going through my things!" Sandra retorted.

Well, I did deserve it, I suppose. "I have a question."

"Ask!"

"Just what do you mean by light bondage?"

"Good. Handcuffs, leg shackles, ropes and possibly a penis gag or a baby’s pacifier. Fairly loosely laced corset, or girdle. No full head covering, mummy wrap, duct taping, chastity belt, butt plugs or rebreathing stuff."

Now I knew what handcuffs and some of the others were, but mummy wrap? At least I didn’t see a pyramid on my way here. It all sounded so . . . so fatal! And butt plugs? I felt like vacillating again.

"And I can stop this at any time," I asked, as a means of reassurance. I was curious, and yet had a very deep fear of being helpless and put in a very vulnerable position where I could not protect myself. Against certain people, that fear was justifiable, but here? As I said, true love is trusting in the one you love!

"So, I guess I’m as ready as I’ll ever be – Lay on, MacDuff, and woe to him who first cries hold."

"lt’s about three o’clock, I can start cooking around five, and have a meal, with a little help, around six. Terri, there will be two more here for dinner: Judy Winkowski and Jean Gardner. They’ll also be staying overnight."

Gee, how lucky could a boy get – these were two very foxy girls. As I said, I didn’t have much luck with girls and all of my sister’s friends were out of my league. Guess the only thing to do is to take what little pleasure I can get just being near them.

 

To Be Continued –

Annie O

 

 

 

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© 2002 by Ann O'Nonymous. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.