Mistress Psyche's Feminization Fantasies

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The Girl of My Dreams

By Nina

My story began in 1937 at the tender age of eleven. One Saturday morning (no school) as I passed Mum’s bedroom door I noticed an odd-looking garment lying on her bed. She was away at the grocer’s so I paused to examine it. A label said SPENCER. It was quite long, made of heavy cloth. Steel strips were sewn into it every couple of inches around the garment. Heavier steel strips separated the front and looked as though they were intended to fasten the front together. Sturdy laces joined the garment together at the back. Two cups were located at the top as were heavy straps. Three ‘things’ hung from the bottom on each side. As I looked at it I suddenly realized what it was. The cups became obvious. The straps were shoulder straps. The garment was intended to be wrapped around a female body. The laces were for tightening. I had never heard the term corset so it was just a ‘thing’.

I went downstairs and located an old catalogue from the States. It was from Sears. If it existed I knew it would be in here. Finally I found it. It was called a corset. There were many pictures of different styles all modeled by lovely young girls. There were captions such as “Have the figure you always dreamed of” etc. Now I knew, Mum wore a corset. It was obvious from the number of pages that most women did. Then I recalled wondering on occasion why Mum always felt hard and stiff when I hugged her; now I knew. All the models had broad smiles. In my childish innocence I decided that wearing one must feel pleasant, why else were they smiling? Mum returned shortly. I quickly turned to the toy section of the catalogue as she walked in. I temporarily forgot the incident.

A week or so later she again went to the store. As we hugged goodbye I felt her rigid corset. I had to find out what it felt like to wear one. I rushed to her room and located a corset in her closet. I was soon undressed and had the corset wrapped around my body. Mum was not large and I was a bit plump. The corset fit snuggly even with the laces loose. I soon figured out how to tighten them. It was tricky but I managed to get it quite tight; delightfully so I might add. I stuffed a pair of socks into the cups. I glanced in the mirror. I was shaped like a lady. As I looked I had a strange sensation between my legs. I became frightened. It was a divine punishment for wearing Mum’s clothes.

 In my excitement I failed to hear Mum come home until the front door slammed shut. As I was fumbling with the laces, I managed to get them into a knot, Mum entered her room. I knew I was in for it. When she saw me her mouth dropped open. Finally she spoke. “My little boy is playing dress up. Do you do it often?” I began crying. “ This is the first time, really.” Instead of being angry she hugged me. Then she stepped back and looked me over. To my surprise Mum then said, “My corset seems to fit you but you are not fully laced.” With that she spun me around and untangled the knot. Then she proceeded to tighten the laces until the met. I was breathless. I felt pain but it was slight and bearable. The feeling of the corset gripping my body was more wonderful than I ever imagined. Visions of the pretty young girls wearing corsets in the catalogue flashed through my mind. I came back to reality as Mum told me to sit down. Sitting, rigid as my body was, was not easy. “You must always wear hose with a corset,” she exclaimed as she proceeded to roll silk stockings up my hairless legs and fastened them to the ‘things’ hanging from the bottom of the corset. “These are suspenders,” she added, anticipating my question. As she fastened them she noticed my ‘condition’ commenting, “My little Ken apparently has grown up and likes being dressed as a girl”. Her comment didn’t even embarrass me; I was so enraptured by the corset’s tightness and the feel of the smooth stockings on my legs I barely heard her.

When I stood up the pull of the stockings on the suspenders sent a quiver up my back. No wonder the pretty girls in the catalogue were smiling. Next she dropped one of her best flowery dresses over my head. A matching belt enhanced my now small waist and girlish shape. Mum then brought out a pair of white court shoes with low heels. In minutes she had me walking in them. I was then seated at her dressing table. She applied light makeup and styled my hair, it was a bit long, into a girlish hairdo. I didn’t recognize myself. I looked just like a pretty young girl, though a bit older than my age. Mum stepped back to admire her work. After a few moments she said, “I’ve read about young boys who try on their mother’s clothes. Once they do it they can’t stop. If I try to stop you, you’ll just sneak and do it anyway you can. You will spend the rest of the day as my daughter. Then, if you still feel like being laced into an uncomfortable corset and stumbling around in high heels just ask and mummy will help you”. I couldn’t believe my ears. She was right. I had tasted the forbidden fruit and I wanted more and she didn’t seem to mind. By the end of the day the only sensations I had were wonderful. I wished I could become a girl and live this way always. My heart broke when Mum announced that dad was due home shortly. I was returned to her room and minutes late Ken reemerged.

To my great joy, the following Saturday after I bathed Mum called me to her room. Half an hour later Ken was gone. The corset was tighter than the previous one, mum explaining that it was her best one, reserved for wearing under her evening gowns. It felt heavenly. During the week she had procured a light brown wig in a style suitable for a young lady. When I was complete she picked up a camera and proceeded to take several pictures saying, “I want to remember my daughter”. Suddenly it occurred to me why she was so willing to transform me, not that I objected; She had always secretly wanted a daughter, and now she had one. I didn’t care I loved it. It would be great playing her little game. If only it would never end.

Weeks went by, every one brought a new surprise. Every Saturday Mum would take me to the draper’s shop and buy me a dress, some pretty undies or shoes. When school vacation started I was corseted and dressed every morning. We would frequently go to lunch and the cinema. I eventually acquired new shoes with four-inch heels. I was even taken to a corsetiere and fitted with a custom made corset. The corsetiere knew I was a boy and didn’t care. A Crown is a Crown; it buys groceries and pays rent. It was a wonderful experience being fitted. The new corset was smaller and more heavily boned than Mum’s but still felt delightful. I was now laced to twenty-one inches. My new dresses were fitted to conceal my tiny waist but could be belted to show my maidenly charms if desired. Even with the camouflage I displayed a lovely shape. I came to enjoy the attention it attracted. By mid summer I was totally enthralled with being a girl. The only unpleasant aspect was having to become Ken whenever dad was home. I wanted to be one hundred percent (well not quite 100%), girl. Mum had long ago decided that when dressed, Ken was not appropriate. I became Alicia during our ‘sessions’.

One day mum called me aside and explained about the ‘birds and the bees’. I had been concerned about my ‘condition’. When she finished I understood and knew what to do about it. I now had an even greater pleasure in my life; so much so that it clinched my love for dressing as a girl. I’m sure you all know the feeling. Too soon the summer was over and my excursions in the forbidden world again became limited to Saturdays and brief interludes after school. In retrospect I think dad suspected something. My waist, due to the frequent heavy corseting was becoming naturally smaller. Dad noticed that my trousers seemed too large in the waist. The corset had pushed up body flesh into the cups. When I took the corset off, all of it didn’t return where it belonged (or was it staying where it belonged?). He of course couldn’t help noticing the excess ‘weight’ on my chest. He suggested to Mum that it might be a glandular problem and a doctor should be consulted. She dismissed the idea as just a growing up problem. Still, I noticed him occasionally giving me curious looks.

One Saturday afternoon, to use a modern saying, “The s--- hit the fan”. Mum and I were going to lunch and I was dressed to the nines; my corset laced closed to twenty-inches and wearing my four-inch black patent heels. I looked like a girl of fifteen or sixteen. As we walked out the front door we met dad coming home early from work, he had a headache. That instantly became the least of his problems, or so I thought. His first reaction was to ask, “Who’s the pretty young lady; one of your long lost relations?” Then he noticed the resemblance to his son through the makeup and wig. “Inside, both of you! Right now!” he shouted. Mum and I were asked, no ordered, to sit. Dad was red in the face, as were Mum and I, as he just stood there staring at me without saying a word. Finally the glare on his face softened.

He sat on the sofa between us. He gently took Mum’s and my hand in his. He remained quiet for a short while. Finally he softly said, “I should have guessed. I have a little story to tell you. Years ago there was a small boy in our family that took to wearing his mother’s clothes. One day he got caught. His mother ‘made’ him wear them for a while. He actually came to like them as you obviously have. When his father found out it came to an end. The boy never dressed again although he missed doing so for years.” Somehow the story was like mine. I felt my life was over. Then dad kissed my forehead, something he rarely ever did and looking into my eyes he said with tears in his, said, “That little boy was I.” I was shocked. My father liked to dress as a girl? At that point I knew my punishment would be light, if any. He continued, “I know personally the anguish you will go through if you stop. You obviously have been dressing for many months. I was angry when I first saw my son as a girl, having forgotten my youth. I can’t do it to you. You will find a way to dress in secret as I did. If you want to play your little game with mother go ahead. You don’t have my blessing but you do have my permission”.

My elation was beyond description. Mum had a big smile on her face. I gave Dad a long hug. As he returned the hug he ran his hand over my corseted torso. He smiled saying, “I still remember the sensations I felt when I was tightly laced into my first corset. You feel like yours is much tighter.” I muttered, “twenty inches” as I smiled through my tears of joy. Dad suddenly seemed consumed with the idea of having a daughter as Mum had been. I could be a girl anytime I wanted except during school. “Maybe we can work something out regarding schooling”, He added as an afterthought. My young heart was filled with joy. I could wear my beloved corset and pretty clothes almost whenever I wanted. I would miss them during school but that was only for a few hours.

It wasn’t too much later that Dad and Mum bought a cottage in a small village. I don’t know how it was arranged but I was enrolled in a parochial school as a girl. I could and would now be a full time daughter. Shortly afterward Mum and I took the train to a London draper’s shop to buy some new things. I was getting taller and my skirts were becoming too short. On our return Mum casually mentioned a surprise waiting for us at home. I was on pins and needles as we entered the house. I walked into the parlour. A mature lady was seated on the sofa. She stood to greet us. The lady was rather pretty, tall and large but shapely. When she spoke I was floored. The voice was Dad’s. My father was dressed as a lady. Then it dawned on me that he had never given up his desire to dress up. That was why he didn’t try to stop me. He knew I would never give it up either. Then he spoke, “I wanted you to be happy but I also had a selfish motive for not stopping you. If you were dressed as a girl you could hardly fault your father for doing it. I have missed it for many years. With your mother’s permission and your acceptance I can now be the true me”. I was a bit surprised that Mum would approve of a feminized husband but obviously she did. I wondered if dressing had the same effect on him, physically, as it did on me?

WW2 started and Dad was conscripted into National Service. I was still too young so I remained Alicia. Whilst he was away I graduated from high school. The war effort seriously curtailed the availability of fancy dresses so Mum found an old formal of hers that fit. I felt a tad strange as I, a biological boy, walked up to receive my diploma as Alicia, tightly laced into a corset, wearing my mother’s gown, high heels and make up. I attended a graduation dance. It was quite reserved due to the war situation. Many of the boys had been called up for service so there was a surplus of young ladies in attendance. It was then I found out the attraction a tight corset has for young men. My waist was tiny compared to the other girls, many of whom merely wore girdles or no foundation garment at all. My dance card was filled when they saw me. Many girls were virtually partner less. It was the first time a young man had held me. I had always dreaded thinking about having another boy touch me. Instead I found the experience very exciting. I became aroused as I felt their manhood pressing on my thighs. I even let one kiss me during an orchestra break. The sensation of feeling his lips pressed to mine and his tongue touching mine was wonderful. Later I felt confused. As a boy I should have found the idea repulsive. Instead, as a girl it was indescribably delightful. I wondered how I would resolve the issue.

 The war was still raging a month later when I reached conscription age but not being particularly patriotic opted to remain Alicia and avoid service. Besides, being a young lady was so ingrained in me that the thought shedding my corset and finery and again dressing as a male was repulsive. That situation soon disappeared when the war finally ended. Shortly after Dad was released from service I came home one afternoon and found Mum hugging her ‘girl friend’. Dad was back. He made up for lost time. He through caution to the winds and decided to venture out of the house as Helen. We three ‘girls’ had many enjoyable times in London Town. He never had the nerve to go to one of the pubs in our village however. I, on the other hand, now being of age had no problem. Everyone in our village knew me as Alicia.

 

VERSION ONE OF THE ENDING

It was there I met Fred. He was very handsome. A few evenings in his company and I knew why my earlier experiences with boys at the graduation dance didn’t seriously upset me. Fred, I found out was ‘different’; the term is ‘bi’ I believe. He wasn’t upset when he learnt my secret. We moved in together as husband and wife. Dad wasn’t overjoyed but he accepted it. Mum on the other hand said, “Some how I knew it would turn out this way. I always wanted a daughter and I’m glad you’re happy”. I have lived ever since as a loving daughter and wife. I wouldn’t want it any other way. I am her dream daughter and more importantly to me, the girl of my dreams.

VERSION TWO OF THE ENDING

One evening as I sat alone enjoying a gin and tonic a young lady who frequently visited the pub sat at my table. She introduced herself as Juli. We chatted a while. She was very interested in why a young lady in 1946 still wore old-fashioned corsets. I was taken aback by her boldness. I regained my composure and told her I loved the snug feel and the shape they gave me. I also mentioned that the lads seemed to find them strangely fascinating. Then she dropped the bomb. “Are you sure it’s not to hide your male figure?” I was speechless. No one had ever questioned my femininity before. How did she know? She proceeded to enlighten me. “I studied to be a sister (nurse). I was particularly interested in anatomy. In spite of your exquisite figure, to a trained eye it is not that of a girl. Some little quirks in your mannerisms were not exactly feminine either. That was the final give-a-way.” Regaining my speech, I asked, “If you don’t like what I am why are you wasting our time? Assuming for a moment that you are right I still think it’s none of your business. Why don’t you leave just me alone?” With that I picked up my purse and stood up, preparing to leave. She placed her hand gently on my shoulder and pressed me back into my chair.

“Since I was a little girl I have thought of boys and men as rough and crude. They had no appeal whatsoever. I never dreamt that a male could be soft and gentle enough to appear feminine. Then a few weeks ago after seeing you I realized that you were not what everyone else saw. Don’t worry; I’ll not reveal your secret. I would like to be your friend”. With that she placed her hand on my arm. A tingle ran through me as I realized that I had never been touched by a young girl. My teachers, Mum, and my corsetiere were my only contacts. A few more gin and tonics and I left the pub with my new friend. Before many weeks she became enamoured with her Alli, as she called me. My feelings for her were definitely not those of just a friend. The spark of a boy still in me won out. We were in love. Juli insisted that I remain as a girl. The rough, crude male idea was deeply ingrained in her. I had absolutely no problem with that. The female idea was too deeply ingrained in me. I did wear male clothing one more time; for our wedding. We live as sisters to the world. There is one problem. Juli is pregnant. How we will explain it to the world remains to be resolved. If our child is a boy we have a concern. Will he take after his father and grandfather or will he be another crude male? Perhaps he will need guidance as I did. Perhaps someday he will be the girl of my dreams.

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