"No, no I have your word," I cried. "I must be a man. I am to marry and begin a great family."
The three women burst out laughing, confusing me dreadfully.
Helen cried, "Oh, Denise, I would love to see your wife's face when she first discovers your girl's bosom. No, no my dear, you shall love your pretty frocks, your smart corsets, your long gloves, and your lovely little high-heeled slippers."
"No, no," I insisted obstinately, and Helen, with an exclamation of annoyance, let me go. She had after all only pretended to be affectionate, though she had very nearly deceived me. Now her face became stern with anger. She looked at me with threatening eyes. "Very well," she said, "but I warn you, Denise, you will come on your knees begging me to put you back into girl's clothes. Now go down to the drawing room, and take care how you walk. Point your toes, arch your feet. Take your fan!"
She gave me a lovely fan of ivory and gold. I had turned from her toward the door when Miss. Priscilla called me back.
"You forget that you have to be punished, Denise," she said calmly, and she told Helen of my coquetry and of the punishment she meant to inflict.
Oh, how confused the situation had become! There I stood dressed as elegantly as any young woman of fashion, all the while being taunted, moulded by the women I had come to love and fear the most in my life. My ambivalence was not only directed toward Helen. I also felt disoriented about the dilemma that I had found myself in.
How right and accurate Helen had been to exclaim that I loved the corsets and dainty shoes, the silk stockings and the fabulous evening gowns. She knew me well, and between her mind and Miss. Priscilla's, they had knowingly awakened the real me that would not lay dormant again. I knew this deep within my unconscious mind, but I had been so stringently conditioned by my father to strive for a career, to build a family name… yet I did not protest as I was bullied by Helen and Priscilla to endure the wonders of their medicines, the massages, the girls' school. In fact, I lived for the hours when I wasn't with Nellie, during which the strong women masseuses would prod and tickle and slap my flesh, slowly forming my body into the feminine shape that it still has to this day. I adored the hours that I lay stretched on my back as a pair of lovely, strong hands kneaded and prodded my wonderfully sensitive breasts into a more full existence. On lovely, rare occasions, the masseuse would be a saucy woman, who would take pleasure in kissing my pink cock, or even lightly stroking the tight little rosebud orifice of my bottom, while she massaged my legs and bum. I never wanted those voluptuous hours to end.
Nor did I want to desire Helen the way that I did. But I knew-as she drew closer to me, letting the tips of her own perfect breasts nearly kiss the tips of my own-I knew that she desired me too. But as a woman. She only wanted to be near me, to stroke and kiss and fondle me if I were dressed as a woman. This was a sudden realization for me, and I nearly reeled upon discovering this secret fact. I wanted nothing more than to remain in this passive, lovely costume for the rest of my days. But how could I have conveyed that through my shame? The thought of remaining a girl forever was as confounding as it was exhilarating. I wanted to reach out and pull Helen toward me, but I refrained and stood still.
I hadn't really wanted to protest my "humiliating" situation, but I did because I thought that I was supposed to. I was to be punished for my insolence and my ingratitude.
I realize now that it is very likely that I had secretly wished this punishment upon myself, that I had precipitated Helen's response to my insolent mood. I deeply wished the sensuous torments that she was to heap upon me.
Ah, one can never underestimate the power of the unconscious mind, the secret part of our mind that drives so much of our behaviour.
CHAPTER 3
"She must be punished," said Helen, pushing me toward a gilt chair with a white satin seat.
"Lift your skirt carefully, Denise, and kneel on this chair," she said sternly.
A little frightened, I immediately obeyed this humiliating order. Helen dipped a pen in the ink upon the writing table.
"It is the rule in this house, Denise," she said, "that one punishment always involves a second to be inflicted later on; and so that we may not forget it, we make a note of it upon the sole of one of the culprit's smart shoes."
"Oh!" I protested. "I am to be punished twice for the same fault."
"That is the rule. It teaches pretty young ladies to be careful to avoid punishment altogether."
She took my instep in her hand and stooped over my feet. My position was, of course, extraordinarily humiliating. But the feel of her gloved hand on my round, warm, silk-stockinged instep, and the sight of her in the mirror as she wrote the punishment I was to endure upon the new white sole of my dainty satin slipper sent a voluptuous thrill through my blood.
"Now stay as you are, Denise, until the ink is dry," Helen said, and, laying down the pen, she began to adjust my feet. She took great care, with her usual love of neatness, that my ankles were pressed together and my high heels and pointed toes were exactly level.
Miss. Priscilla, meanwhile, squeezed and rolled into a ball a small lace handkerchief that she had been soaking in eau de cologne. She came over to me with the ball in her hand.
"Open your mouth, Denise!"
I obeyed. She thrust the handkerchief into my mouth.
"Close your mouth now, dear!"
The eau de cologne burnt my tongue and the roof of my mouth in the most painful way. Tears filled my eyes.
"Oh, oh!" I cried in a stifled voice, wringing my hands.
Miss. Priscilla smiled at my sufferings.
"The eau de cologne will keep your mouth fresh and sweet, darling," she said and she took up a bigger handkerchief of the finest silk and carefully folded it. This she adjusted over my lips and tied the end very tightly at the back of my hair, binding my mouth so that I could not utter a sound.
"Now stand up, Denise!" Miss. Priscilla shouted.
I stood up and Miss. Priscilla carefully smoothed down my shining skirt. What a bizarre spectacle met my eyes in the mirror! I saw a grown-up girl in an exquisite evening gown of white satin with her mouth gagged. Her white throat and bosom were flashing with jewels, while her white-gloved hands toyed with a pretty fan. The delicate bows and bright buckles of her luxurious little slippers were peeping out from delicious billows of white tulle.
Of course what made the spectacle so piquant and seductive to me was the knowledge that the pretty girl was myself. My hands were quite free. I could have torn the gag from my lips in a second. There were only two ladies to prevent me. But I did not dare. I was undergoing discipline in girls' frocks and pearl-embroidered satin slippers at their hands. I was being punished by them and in my subjection I felt powerful and lovely.
"Now go downstairs into the drawing room, Denise," said Helen. "Our guests will be arriving in a minute.
I was to be seen by her guests in this ignominious condition. The shame of it excited me. I looked piteously at Helen. But there was no sign of relenting in her face. I thought the guests would never recognize me. They would see only Denise a girl. They will witness Denise's submission and then Denise was to disappear forever. I picked up the train of my frock and went sadly out of the room. As I turned to latch the door, I heard Helen ask, "Well, what do you think?"
And Miss. Priscilla replied, "In a few weeks he will be the prettiest fetichiste du pied in the world." And then they both laughed heartlessly.
I was troubled by their words. What was a fetichiste du pied? I had to know. I had an intuition that the phrase was the secret to the riddle, was a clue to the plot those two women had concocted to nullify and ruin me. But I had not time to think about it now. My heels were so high and thin and my skirt so tight that I had to be extremely careful making my way downstairs. There were two maids waiting in the hall to receive the guests and they both burst out laughing when they saw me. They knew who I was of course, and my cheeks grew hot with shame. I feared I did not look pretty.