Nobody ever asks me
By
Skinnie Stallion
Jon sat sullenly on the sofa while the argument raged. He took some comfort from his flounced and pleated PVC skirt that crackled softly as he smoothed its folds. He liked his new dress and his freshly manicured nails but why did the afternoon have to degenerate into this. He didn’t like hearing his Gran and his Mum squabbling. But they always did and it was so often about him. Each might want what in their own eyes what was best for him but both were making so many assumptions.
It was a shame after such a nice morning with Gran even if much of the last few days had been scary. He’d not wanted to disillusion her when she wanted it to be her treat. Fortunately, Genevieve hadn’t blown his cover on either occasion.
Gran had insisted on taking him to ‘Fem-Me’. They’d already had an expedition there the previous week. Gran might think she was in the driving seat but she seemed blissfully unaware of the subliminal influences. She’d given him a maid’s dress at the start. “No need for Mum to know,” she’d said. “Just between the two of us,” she’d said. “Be a girl for me, Jon,” she’d said. It was all quite playful at first. He’d go round to see her. “Alright, me luvver?” she’d ask then he’d find himself presented with a short black dress and within minutes doing her cleaning.
He hung his head. He had to accept some responsibility for getting himself into this position. Gran might want him to get in touch with his feminine side but it was him who’d introduce her to the world of Bergman and Knightley. Gran thought she was being so adventurous. And she was: she always been a good looking lady but now she looked marvellous wearing B&K and some of the new JaneStyle fashions. She didn’t need to know how he’d influenced her. Tidying her papers allowed him to leave magazines open at certain pages with certain flyers as inserts. He’d left her computer logged into a blog he’d found that showed pictures of couple called Jane and Andy. Jane was an older lady while Andy, seemingly a young man, looked and dressed like a girl. Amber’s pictures of the couple on SmoothSlicknShiny had captivated her in the same way that they’d beguiled him. Whatever, she’d never questioned him about how her computer had managed to be logged into that site. She’d just accepted it as part of his interests. Interests that were now hers.
Gran was amazing. He’d do anything for her, not that she would ever ask. Unlike Genevieve.
It was reading the Blog that had led him to Fem-Me in London when he was there for a conference. He’d snuck away early so that he could get to the Kensington store before racing to Paddington for his train home. Walking into Fem-Me had been like walking into Aladdin’s cave.
He was entranced by the racks of dresses and skirts all made from latex or PVC. A poster on the wall still used the slogan of the competition that Rhys Jenner had won last year. He idealised that guy, or should that now be girl? He wished he could look like Rhys. He went along the racks fingering the dresses although his hand recoiled when he saw the price tag on one. Saddened that there was no way he could afford it. He could hardly pay for it on his student loan. His mum still checked his expenditure most months even if she did give him little top-ups. There was no way he could take a dress like home in any case. Not any dress let alone that dress. He’d have nowhere to hide it and nowhere to wear it.
Despite the array of riches on offer, he found himself drawn to a shelf of magazines and DVDs about transformation, whatever that might be. He stared at the glossy wrappers and cases, wanting to read or see what was inside but all were tightly wrapped in cellophane. He could only read the covers and labels.
It took him some time to realise that he was being observed. He’d been dimly aware of a husky female voice behind him saying, “You okay there, Sweetheart?” thinking the question was directed at someone else. He stayed looking at the rack, trying to avoid being noticed, using his body to shield his interests from any prying eyes..
Then he felt a hand on his back and the same husky voice trying to grab his attention saying a seductive sing-song, “Hello?” He had to turn round for that.
Jon panicked. He’d been rumbled. He tried to hide what he’d been looking at, hastily putting the DVD he’d been perusing back on the shelf. “Just browsing,” he mumbled and prepared to run. He looked over his shoulder. Immediately the lady had his total attention. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. It was like she’d walked straight off the pages of Smooth Slick n Shiny or out of his dreams. She was wearing a blue latex blouse and tight black latex pencil skirt. And she was wearing heels. High heels. God, he longed to look like that. Why couldn’t he wear an outfit like that? Sadly he knew the answer. He couldn’t afford it, had nowhere to hide it and had no place to wear it.
The assistant didn’t seem perturbed by his sudden movement or his interests, but she could see the terror in his eyes. She calmly extended a hand saying, “It’s okay, come take a seat if you are interested. Please.” Jon settled slightly. The ‘Please’ helped. He was interested. Doubly so when a further glance back revealed the lady’s colleague. Blue and black latex was a great combination but her colleague was a veritable Red Queen in a tight red skirt and bolero jacket with a plunging neckline, and red high heels. Jon’s flight instinct crumbled in an instant. He felt incapable of resisting the lady’s invitation.
“What’s your name, hun?” she asked while guiding him to sit on a low leather sofa. “Mine’s June.”
“….. and I’m Jane,” added the Red Queen before he could reply.
“Jon,” he blurted. So much for keeping things secret. He’d never been talked to by a lady as pretty or as awesomely dressed, and now he was speaking with two.
“Well Jon, how can we help?” asked June, perching on a stool beside him. “I see that you’re interested in Transformation.”
Jon was surprised. There was no hint of amusement or disapproval in her voice. She spoke in a totally matter of fact way as if it was perfectly normal for a man to be in a dress shop and looking at material about transvestitism. “I was just browsing,” he repeated.
“Sure,” June said as if it was an everyday occurrence. “And is there anything that caught your eye, apart from the mags and DVDs?”
“Is there anything you’d like to try on?” added Jane.
In for a penny, in for a pound, Jon decided that now was not the time to be reticent. “I’d love to try on an outfit like yours,” he said looking at June, “and see what I looked like.”
“Of course, hun,” said Jane. “What size are you? I’m guessing a 10 or maybe a 12?”
“I don’t know,” Jon said shaking his head. “But it’s pointless. I don't want to waste your time. I can’t afford the blouse, let alone the skirt. And the shoes would be something else.”
“We understand Jon,” said June. “That’s the case with a lot of our younger clients. Why don’t you tell me a bit more about yourself and your interests first? We can come back to the clothing later. There might be some options that would help.”
Jon couldn’t believe the next half hour. People came and went in the store with Jane taking care of them while he spilled out his heart to June. He’d never felt able to talk to anyone about his feelings until now. Why was he able to talk to a stranger like June when he’d never even been able to speak to his mother? Was it the fact that she was a stranger? Was it how she dressed? Was it that she seemed to accept him on his own terms without judging? Was it that she didn’t make him feel embarrassed or silly about expressing his secret wishes and desires? She just listened to everything he said without challenging or interrupting him. Just an occasional “Yes” or “Sure”, or nodding for him to continue when he dried or felt uneasy about expressing how he felt.
“You’re such a brave boy telling me all this,” said June as he finished talking about slipping away from the conference that afternoon to Fem-Me.
‘Boy?’ Jon hadn’t been called a boy in years. He didn't protest. Somehow it seemed right coming from June. He’d be a Boy for a lady like June. She could call him whatever she wanted.
“I understand your difficulties. Jane and I meet a lot of boys like you. It’s why Fem-Me has a scheme that could be ideal for you.”
“Really?” Jon was surprised.
“Yes. Fem-Me offers private services for boys like you. You could come to the store. Go to a private room. Dress up. Maybe chat with some of the girls. Maybe take some pictures as a memento. Change. Go home. And no one needs to know about it except you and Fem-Me.”
“Wow! That sounds amazing. But how much would it cost?”
“Nothing for now. That’s the beauty of the scheme. All you need to do is sign up with Fem-Me. We’re part of the Bergman and Knightley Group, you know. There’s some Terms and Conditions but nothing you need to worry about now. Look I’ve got the paperwork right here.”
As June picked up a folder from the coffee table, Jon started to realise that he might be getting in too deep. “I’m sorry, but I really don’t think I have time,” he said trying to excuse himself. “I need to catch a train home.”
“I think you are just a little overwhelmed,” June simpered. “It’s not uncommon, but you have now just done the tricky part. Just have a look. You’ll be fine.” She pushed the open folder into his hands. “You’ve done so well talking to me. You’ve really opened up. I think you'd be ideal for the Fem-Me Young Starter Programme.”
Jon started to read the form. It all seemed quite reasonable.
“I know it’s a lot to take in, but I
think everything in there is open to you, sweetheart,” continued June trying to close the deal. “No pressure. You just need to sign.”
Jon glanced at his watch. “I really do need to get to the station,” he exclaimed as he realised the time. His intended ten minute drop-in had morphed into a forty minute conversation, and he still didn't have one of those magazines or DVDs.
“Where do you need to go, ducks?” asked Jane. “I might be able to give you a lift ….later.”
“Bristol. I’m going to miss my train if I don't go now.”
“Mmm, can’t help you there,” said Jane. “Bristol’s a bit far. I was thinking somewhere a bit more local. Let me and June have a quick chat.” She took her colleague to one side and whispered to her.
June smiled as she returned to her seat. Her tone was emollient rather than pushy. “Look, I understand you need to get your train. I’m going to make a suggestion. Jane’s aunt Genevieve works in our Bristol store. Jane will talk to Genevieve. You can go through things with her if you go to our Bristol Fem-Me. Here’s my card. It’s got my number on it. Get in touch if you need any help but Genevieve should be able to cater for all your needs.”
“That’ll help a lot,” said Jon, relieved that he wasn’t being pushed to sign anything. I can drop by when I’m in town tomorrow. He’d always been anxious about going in the Bristol store, concerned that someone might recognise him. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad. After all, today hadn’t been so difficult.
“That’s great!” said June.
“I’ll tell Auntie to expect you,” said Jane. “Now run along darling. Have a safe journey. We both now you have a long way to go, but at least you’re starting.”
Jon wasn’t quite sure what she meant but he picked up his rucksack and hastened towards the door, but not before Jane and June had each given him a hug and a peck on the cheek. He felt like he was walking on air as he headed towards High Street Ken station. He wasn’t sure if he was intoxicated by the scent of latex or the ladies’ kisses. It was probably both.
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Back in Bristol Jon had a sleepless night. He was determined not to seek relief in his usual way: that would have been so disrespectful to June (and Jane). He sought respite by speculating about what Jane’s aunt would look like. Given his Aunt Mable, she was probably some old crone: he was surprised that Fem-Me would employ someone like that.
The next day he found himself outside Fem-Me in Bristol. He’d walked by a couple of times to check that there was no-one around that he knew. Confident that the coast was clear, he stood outside staring through the glass trying to pluck up the courage to go in when an attractive blonde lady wearing black PVC pants beckoned to him. She was quite a bit older than either Jane or June but had welcoming eyes and a lovely smile. She was mouthing something to him. He tried to lip read. He thought she was saying, “Give me a try, come on in,” but perhaps that was just wishful thinking.
She gesticulated towards the plate-glass door. She walked across, opened it, poked her head out and repeated her words: “Don't be shy, come on in.” Well, he was part correct. Jon followed her instruction like a willing puppy. “I’m Genevieve. I’m guessing that you’re Jon. Jane’s said so much about you…..”
His first visit didn’t take long. He was over quite quickly. Despite his disappointment, Genevieve assured him it was perfectly natural for a healthy young man like him. If he joined up with Fem-Me, he’d learn to hold back. She even offered him personal tuition. And so he signed his Fem-Me agreement and eagerly began his acquaintance with Genevieve.
Everything went well for the next month. He tried to keep his visits to twice a week, despite the temptation and his inner need for more. He told his mother than he needed to go into the city for books, or clothes, or sports kit despite his lack of sporting prowess. To maintain the pretence, he’d drop into SportsDirect for some kit or a ball. A kick around in the garden when he got home helped the deception. His Fem-Me visits became progressively longer. He learned patience and restraint until Genevieve was satisfied with his performance. His pleasure increased with each visit. Things were going well until June’s business card dropped out of his rucksack one day when he was visiting his Grandmother. She picked it up and examined it. She handed it back with a quizzical look but didn't say anything.
Within a couple of days, his Gran’s wardrobe began to change. The next week she brought out a maid’s dress and asked him to wear it. Part of him wanted to complain, but part of him wanted to try it on. He wasn’t going to protest when she was wearing brown latex pants and heels. Although they never spoke, he simply blushed, nodded and complied. He didn’t want to protest. There was no way that he could argue with her when she was wearing what looked like Bergman and Knightley latex. And he wanted to be in latex like her. She knew. The only problem was that his Grandma became demanding about his visits to her, expecting him to come round more often which cramped his style with Fem-Me (and Genevieve).
From then on, he started dropping hints on his Gran’s computer and with her magazines. A month after his indiscretion with the business card, his Gran took him to Fem-Me. Fortunately Genevieve was on the front desk. Genevieve understood his quick shake of the head when he arrived with his grandmother: Genevieve showed no sign of recognition. She kept his grandmother talking while assistants took him into the back salon. They knew him well, even if neither he nor Genevieve had ever given them such licence and liberty as his grandmother was demanding. 
He had a panic attack when they pulled a cap over his head and brought out a wig after finishing his make-up. Kate, one of his favourites, tried to reassure him: “You are doing so well. Just think how proud your Gran will be when she sees you.” She held his hand: “I know it's been a lot, but once we have the wig on you will see how beautiful you are. Come on Jon, You're nearly there honey.”
Jon had his doubts. What if someone let slip to his Gran that he was a regular visitor? He trusted Genevieve but what about other staff? All his old uncertainties flooded back. What was he doing here? How had he allowed it to get to this? Why had he signed that Fem-Me agreement? What if his Mum or Gran found out about him and Genevieve? What if his friends found out? Or the neighbours? For some reason, wearing a dress was OK, but wearing a wig and being seen in public was like crossing some kind of Rubicon for him. He was more embarrassed by that than his feelings for Genevieve.
“Does it have to be blonde?” he pleaded. “My eyebrows are all wrong.”
“Yes, it does. You’ll look so good with blonde hair. And dark eyebrows make a great contrast. It keeps the boys guessing. It’s a standard look for a lot of us B&K ladies.”
He was still unsure: “If you insist, Kate.”
“I do, and so does your grandmother. Now we just need get you into the dress she selected. She wants you in pink. Are you OK with that?”
“I prefer black. Pink will make me look like a sissy.”
“Don't be silly, Jon. What’s wrong with that? It’ll suit you perfectly. You’ll look very pretty. Very feminine. You’ll like that. You’ve never had the chance to go take the full step given your short visits, and you spend most of those with Gen. She must like you a lot. Most of our contracts don't include such personal service. I wish I had one with you like that.”
“That would be nice,” said Jon. “Maybe one day.” He couldn't believe what Kate was saying. His confidence lifted. First Genevieve, now Kate. What was it with these B&K women? He tried to get back on subject: “But pink?!”
“Look, I’ll get Gen; she always knows best,” said Kate.
As Kate left him, Jon could hear his grandmother getting impatient. Kate stayed with out front while Genevieve gave him advice and reassurance before going back to deal with his grandmother. “Where is he?” his Gran demanded He’s taking forever. I’ve had him in one of your maid’s dresses these last few weeks but he needs fixing.”
“Fixing?” asked a puzzled Genevieve.
“Yes. I'm so sorry, you know, he was all football and trees, mud and mess. I just hope you have been able to smooth him out just a little bit.”
“I am sure you will be happy, it really has been a delight having your grandson with us. The girls say he’s been no trouble. And I’m sure the girls have made him very smooth.”
“I didn’t know I was paying for a waxing.”
“Oh more than that. I don't think you’ll find any unsightly bulges either.”
“Oh!” said his Grandmother, not quite sure what she meant.
“We’re putting him in pink as you requested, but we also have a black party dress lined up if you’d prefer.”
“I’d like to see him in the pink first.”
“Here he is now,” said Genevieve as Jon emerged from the back hand-in-hand with one of the assistants.
“Grandma? Is this OK? What do you think?” asked Jon.
“Oh, you look adorable, honey. And his little red gloves are a nice touch,” she said to the assistant holding Jon’s hand.
“You have a very pretty grandson,” said Genevieve, giving Jon a wink while his grandmother’s back was turned.
A happy Grandma. Happy enough that relented when they came back next week. Seeing Jon in black PVC inspired her to take him with her to the big Bergman and Knightley to get a new bottom set to go with her cream jacket. She wanted something more adventurous than a matching cream skirt. Jon helped her select a pair of black latex pants and knee high boots that they both considered a far better accompaniment.
But now it had come to this. Why had she insisted on taking him home with them both dressed like this? Was it to show off like she’d showed him off in the city centre? Or to stamp her authority?
“How could you dress Jon like this!” his mother screeched. “Look at him! What were you thinking?”
“Don’t you think it suits him? All the ladies in Bergman and Knightley thought he looked very pretty when I took him shopping.”
“You took him out in Bristol dressed like that.”
“Of course. I thought he looked even prettier in the pink, but Jon seemed more comfortable in the black.”
“Black! Pink! Who cares?” raged his mother. “You’re making him into a sissy.”
“I care. It suits him,” his Grandma defended. “You'll get used to it Jemma. It's for the best.”
“I don't believe you Mum. You have done it again, interfering. He is my son, I will decide what is best for him.”
‘Arguing again,’ thought Jon. ‘But nobody ever asks me.’ It was a never-ending saga that had been going on like this for so long: the choice of school; which school had the better results; which school had the better uniform; the choice of university; the choice of subject he should study; where he should live at uni. They argued about anything and everything. But always about him. He never got a look in. They never asked him. They never consulted him. They just argued
“Look, I know he likes it. I found him with a Fem-Me card. It’s why I took him there. I’m only doing what he wants. He’s been wearing a dress when he comes to mine for the last few weeks.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“It’s true,” his grandmother insisted as their argument raged above his head.
“No, it can’t be. Jon wearing a dress?!”
“Yes, a dress: he’s a sissy.”
“Of course he’s not a sissy,” asserted his mother. “I should know. I’m his mother.”
“He’s definitely a sissy. Did you see him walking in his heels?”
“I was going to ask you about those. Are they Louboutins?”
“Yes, dear. Doesn’t he look sweet in them. So ladylike.”
“But he’s my son. I'll decide what heels he wears. I mean what shoes he wears.”
Jon could take no more. “Enough! Why don’t either of you ever ask me?”
His mother stopped and looked at him. “I’m sorry, what?” she asked.
“Yes, what do you mean?” enquired his Grandmother.
“Well, at least you can agree on that!” he said with exasperation. “Why don’t you ever ask me?”
“What should we be asking? Is this some kind of quiz,” demanded Jemma.
“If you like? How about? Do I like wearing a dress? Do I like wearing make-up? Do I like wearing heels? Do I like Louboutins?”
“Well?” interjected his mother.
“I hadn’t finished,” said Jon, “but the answer’s yes to all of those.”
His grandma smiled with smug self-congratulation. “See, told you so.” His mother looked shocked.
“I hadn’t finished. Do I like going to Fem-Me? How many times have I been to Fem-Me?”
His Grandma jumped in: “Oh, that’s easy! The answers are ‘Yes’ and ‘Twice’. You went yesterday and today.”
“You’re right about the first one Gran, but not about the second.”
Now it was his grandmother’s turn to look surprised. “What?”
“It’s why all the assistants knew me, Gran.”
“Did they?”
“Of course they did.”
“How do you think the assistant at Fem-Me knew so much about unsightly bulges? That’s Genevieve and she’s been my key holder for the last two months.”
“Key? What key?” demanded his mother. “I hope you’ve not been letting anyone have your house keys.”
“No mum. The key to my chastity,” said Jon.
“Like that silver ring celibacy thing in States?” his mother questioned.
“No, Mum. A chastity device. A cock cage, if you must. Gran would have seen a case of them at Fem-Me.”
“You mean those metal and plastic things,” said his Gran.
“Yes, Gran. It’s why there’s no unsightly bulge in my panties. It was either that or tuck and Gen wanted to me in wear a flat, low profile one. She thought it would be better for me long--term.”
“Who is this Gen?” asked his mother.
“She works at Fem-Me. She’s my special Host.”
“And why the hell does she want you to be celibate? You’re not trying to become a monk, are you?”
“No Mum. And not celibate. I’m chaste in one way but not celibate.”
“Not celibate?” chorused both his baffled Grandmother and Jemma.
“No, not celibate.” He gave them a rueful smile.
“What!” exclaimed his mother.
His Grandmother’s shock broadened into a smile as light dawned. “See Jemma, I always told you he was a sissy. I just wish you’d told me,” she said to Jon
“But why?” demanded his mother. “And why didn't you tell me?”
“Because that’s how I am and you never asked. You’ve never stopped to ask me what I want or how I feel. You just argued about what was best for me.”
“But we only wanted what was best for you.”
“Well what I like best at the moment is wearing high heels and having Genevieve as my B&K Host. And I’ve decided that I’m not going to stay on to do a PhD. I’m going to become a B&K Boy like it says in me Fem-Me Agreement.”
“Agreement? You don’t mean you’ve signed something.”
“Yes, Mum.”
“I can get our solicitor to look at that. I’m sure he can get you out of it. Isn’t that right?”
“Maybe, Jemma. But perhaps we need to see what Jon wants. Perhaps we should invite this Genevieve round one evening. Would you like that Jon?”
“Yes, Gran.”
“But what’s this Genevieve like, Jon? You’ve never had a proper girlfriend. Is she right for you? You don’t have the experience.”
His grandmother was catching on quickly: “I don’t think experience will be a problem when it comes to Genevieve, Jemma? She’s probably your age or a bit older.”
“Jon, how could you!” exclaimed Jemma.
“Very easily, as it turns out. I just hope Gen will come. She always makes me.” Jon grinned at his Grandma who was beginning to shake with laughter but walking over and giving her grandson a joyful hug and kiss.
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