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o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
o The 'Bookshelf collection' offers a very wide variety of o
o stories. They have been submitted by people from all over the o
o world. Also from alt.sex.stories (Newsgroups). There is no o
o particular order other than offering them to you in alpha- o
o betical directories. o
o I don’t believe in categorizing things. "I don’t want to o
o be typed therefore I don’t type things myself." I think it’s o
o a lot more fun to browse around and find 'little' surprises o
o that you might not have even thought of looking for. o
o Lest we forget!!! This story was produced as adult en- o
o tertainment and should not be read by minors. Kristen o
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
Prairie Girl - 4 (Fm, cd, v)
by Chrissie LaFemme
***
Most of the time Homer and Dutchie ignored Blondie; it simply
didn't make any sense to risk a beating by conversing with
their former friend. They acted as if Blondie didn't exist.
Queenie found it amusing to watch Blondie as he sought to
covertly attract their attention at meal-times. He would
dawdle at their table when he thought she wasn't looking or
give them unsolicited extra helpings. But his efforts were
wasted on Homer and Dutchie: they had decided he wasn't worth
the trouble of antagonizing Boss and they carried on as if he
didn't exist.
Their aloof attitude gave Queenie the opportunity to impress
on Blondie the reality of his new situation. She told him he
as a "woman" he would have to live with the fact that men
would treat him as a second-class citizen. However, if
Blondie was willing she would show him how to gain and keep
their attention. She could see he was interested in finding
out how but his pride wouldn't allow it.
One morning she rose earlier than usual and instead of fixing
his hair into two pony-tails she set about arranging his long
blond tresses into a french braid. She interleaved a silk
ribbon between the braids of hair, creating a stunning
effect. From the corner of her eye she watched the boy's
reaction. She could see that Blondie was interested but he
was trying hard not to show it. When she was nearly finished
she held up a small mirror at the back of his head so he
could see in the mirror in front of him the intricate
braiding of hair and ribbon. It was the kind of hair
arrangement that would catch any man's attention -- and he
knew it.
Then, to his complete astonishment, she undid everything.
Soon his hair was back to the point from which she had
started. She handed him a brush.
"You do your hair the way I've just done it -- and be quick!"
she said curtly.
The boy tentatively dragged the brush through his hair and
grabbing locks of hair tried to tie them into a braid. The
result was a complete and utter mess; however, Queenie
refused to remedy the situation and made the boy serve
breakfast as he was.
He had to suffer the humiliation of the guffaws of laughter
from Boss and Homer seeing the dishevelled state of his hair.
Only Dutchie seemed to show sympathy for his plight by not
joining in their laughter; he just looked quizzically at
Blondie's normally neatly coifed hair.
"Being sleeping in the hay, girlie?" Boss snorted with
laughter, winking lewdly at Homer.
When Boss and his helpers had saddled up and departed for the
day, a stern-faced Queenie dragged her hapless assistant up
his bedroom.
"You disgraced me and every woman with your appearance!" she
stormed. She pushed the cowering boy into a chair and then
secured him to it by running a cord around his waist.
"Just look at your hair! You just don't get it, do you
girlie?" she spat. "Men judge you and me not by our brains
but by our appearance! How are you going to earn their
respect if you can't even arrange your hair? They were
laughing at you, girlie! Boss even said you look like a
whore!"
She picked up a brush.
"Do you want to look like a whore, girlie?" she demanded
ominously in a low voice. "Do you want men to laugh at you?
To mock your appearance? To call you a frump or Plain Jane
behind your back?"
The boy shook his head.
"Of course not -- you're not a dumb blonde! You want to learn
to look after your hair, to be able to braid it and plait it,
to curl it, and to arrange it so it looks pretty! Don't you,
girlie?" Queenie demanded. "Do you want to take pride in your
appearance? Do you want to command their respect?"
After a moment's hesitation, Blondie nodded his head.
"Say it, girlie!" Queenie shouted. "Say it like you really
mean it!"
"I want to do all these things; I want to make my hair
pretty!" the boy sobbed.
Queenie beamed.
"Good girl, we'll start with a simple pony-tail. I'll do it
first and then you'll do it second. I'll make you practice
every day until you can do it backwards, sidewards, upside
down, inside out and with your eyes closed!" she declared.
++++++++++++++++
Queenie never missed an opportunity to emphasize to Blondie
that in the men's eyes he'd crossed an invisible line beyond
which he would be considered weak, helpless and feminine.
This she planned to bring home to him in the most daring
scheme she had yet devised.
Even Blondie was surprized one night with the length of the
night-gown that she dressed him in -- it trailed on the floor
behind him as Queenie led him over to the mirror to fix his
hair for the night. But unlike previous nights too Queenie
did not braid his hair into two strands which she would wind
clock-wise around his crown. Instead she curled his hair
using small strips of white cloth which she tied around each
lock of hair.
When she was finished she smiled at his reflection in the
mirror.
"When I was your age I hated boys seeing me look like this ––
so I can understand how you feel, girlie!" she commented
sympathetically. "You know, it used to make me feel so
different from them; while they were out enjoying themselves
or doing something important I had to sit patiently for hours
while my mother curled my hair! But then, as I've told you
many times before, men just don't realize the trouble we take
to look after our appearance!"
Blondie said nothing; soon he was tucked in bed with his
wrists tied to the bed-post. Queenie blew out the candle and
softly locked the door behind her.
"Wake up, girlie!" Queenie shouted, shaking the boy's
sleeping frame.
"Whattssss the maaaaaattttter!?!" Blondie replied groggily.
"There's a fire outside! Hurry! Get up!" Queenie cried,
untying his wrists. "The old shed is on fire!"
Queenie dragged him out of the bed and quickly shod his feet
in a pair of high heeled ankle boots.
The boy shivered in the cold night air.
"Come on, girlie, let's go!" Queenie urged.
"I'm freezing in this! Can't I wear something else ... ?" the
boy beseeched her.
"We don't have time, girlie!" Queenie snapped impatiently.
Then she stopped, opened a closet and handed him a shawl.
"Here, put this around you -- this will keep you warm."
When they got outside they saw that Boss and the two boys
were already fighting the fire. Flames were leaping from the
shed and Boss was shouting orders to Homer and Dutchie.
"Stand by me, girlie," Queenie directed. She stood a safe
distance away from the fire and positioned him so that he was
slightly behind her.
After an hour Boss and the boys had the fire under control.
Queenie called out:
"Boss, are you all right?"
Boss nodded, sweat pouring down his smoke-grimed face.
"Yeh, I'm fine. Homer, Dutchie: you OK?"
The two boys nodded.
"Oh ... I'm so relieved you're not hurt!" Queenie cried in
the most gushing, effusive and emotional voice she could
muster. "Blondie and I were ... were so afraid! We wanted to
help but we couldn't -- could we, girlie?"
Boss and the two boys looked at her and then at Blondie.
'Feast you eyes on girlie, boys!' Queenie said gleefully to
herself. 'Isn't Blondie the picture of feminine
helplessness??? One hand holding a silk shawl around him to
keep warm and the other holding his pretty night-gown up off
the damp grass! Take a look at his hair!?! Gentlemen, have
you ever seen a head so festooned with ... ribbons? I can
guess what you're thinking: girlie's too busy making himself
look pretty that he couldn't put out a fire let alone a
candle!!!'
Boss spat at the ground. Then, a slow smile creased his face
and he turned to Homer and Dutchie.
"Y'know, the more I see of the value of some women, the more
I like dogs!" he quipped to Homer and Dutchie's raucous
laughter.
++++++++++++++++
>From time to time Blondie had what Queenie would describe as
'teenage tantrums'. She learnt to recognize the warning
symptoms and the treatment she devised was remarkably
successful in smothering any rebelliousness.
The tantrums were usually sparked off by Blondie venting his
anger and frustration at new rules she imposed on him.
Sometimes the sense of being hopelessly enmeshed in the
feminine net she was gradually tightening around him caused
the boy to erupt. His gradual loss of physical strength was
another source of intense frustration as were her
restrictions on his diet. Occasionally, she would
deliberately goad him into a tantrum: the easiest way to do
that, she found, was to remind him how he had been rejected
by men for men's work (by implication he was only suitable,
therefore, for women's work).
Two days previously when she had caught him eating cooked
meat which he was supposed to have been slicing, the most
recent tantrum had developed.
"Leave me alone!" he screamed as she dragged him upstairs. "I
hate you!"
He was sobbing by the time she pushed him into his bedroom.
"I was hungry!" he wept. "I haven't eaten meat for months!"
"You should have known better, you little hussy! You'll eat
when I tell you can!" Queenie snapped, tying his wrists
together. "How do you expect to keep your figure if you keep
eating between meals?"
"Let me gooooooooooooo!" the boy screamed. "I don't
waaaaaaaaant to be a girrlllllll! Pleeeeaaaaaseeeee let me
go!"
He tried to kick her but the impact was muted by the heavy
layers of petticoats and skirts he wore.
"I hate you, I haaaaaaattttte you!" he shrieked.
Ignoring him, Queenie went over to the closet and cleared a
space between the racks of dresses.
"Come over here!" she snapped.
"Nooooooooo, I won't," Blondie wept defiantly. "You can't
maaaaaake me!"
Queenie's action was swift and decisive.
"Oh, I can't, can I not?" she asked airily a minute later.
"You look a pretty sight, girlie, surrounded by these lovely
dresses!" Then she scoffed: "Let me know which one you want
to wear when you cool down ..."
She went downstairs to continue her work. When she had
dressed him first, there had been twenty tantrums that month
-- she remembered each and every one of them. She looked at
her diary: today had been the only tantrum so far this month;
there had been three in the previous month, five the month
before that: the futility of resisting was beginning to sink
in ...
Three hours later she went back up to his bedroom. Spreading
out her skirts she sat on his bed and took out her embroidery
frame.
The boy was exhausted from trying to keep his balance; he
kept looking despairingly up at the clothes railing above his
head to which Queenie had attached his wrists. She had fixed
it that he could just about stand on his tip-toes in the
closet. Tear stains ran like dried-up rivers through his
make-up.
"Let me go!" the boy sobbed.
"Are you sorry?"
There was a silence. She could see the boy hesitating. If he
refused he would spend another three hours in the closet (and
miss dinner).
"Yes, ... I'm sorry, ... Queenie," he replied in a low voice.
"I won't eat again ... without your permission."
"I think you have suffered enough, girlie," she said. "But
before I release you, have you made up your mind?"
The boy looked at her and then up at his bound wrists.
Queenie gloated inwardly: 'This is hard on you, Blondie, real
hard,' she said gleefully to herself, 'you get punished for
reacting against all this femininity and then to set yourself
free you have to decide what you're going to wear for the
rest of the day!'
"The ... red and black check dress," he said quietly.
Queenie said nothing but eyed him beadily.
"Forgive me, Queenie, I meant to say: I want to wear the red
and black check dress."
"I'm pleased with your choice, girlie," she commented
approvingly. Then, she added in a silky voice: "Tell me,
girlie, why do you want to wear such a pretty dress?"
Queenie waited for the boy to answer; he knew by now there
was only one answer she would permit.
"Because ... because ..." the boy started and then stopped.
She raised her eyebrows expectantly.
"Because I want to wear ... ," the boy continued in a
faltering voice. He looked up at her and hurriedly gulped: "I
want ... I'd like ... a dress that'll make men sit up and
take notice of me."
Queenie nodded sagely.
"That's the reason why we all want to wear a pretty dress,
girlie -- and the woman who says otherwise is telling a lie.
We live in an age where, sadly, men don't appreciate our
intellectual abilities -- you've seen how Boss and the boys
just ignore you now. The only way we can impress men is to
emphasize our natural attractions," she said, reaching up to
untie his wrists.
"Come on, girlie, let me help you into this dress. I'll
freshen your make-up too -- you don't want them to see that
you've been crying!" she offered in a friendly voice. Then
she added with a smile: "I've a treat for you, girlie: I
bought some lovely new silk ribbons that'll look real pretty
in your hair!"
++++++++++++++++
Though Queenie had reduced Blondie to a passive, submissive
and feminine state underneath the surface she felt there
still burned a masculine ego. He still acted as if he had
nothing in common with her. He would only choose his clothes
for the following day if she made him.
Queenie decided it was time to step up his acceptance of his
femininity. She wrote a letter to her cousin Anita explaining
what she had in mind.
++++++++++++++++
"Hey, Dutchie, you still awake?"
"Yeah."
"You know what I saw when Boss sent me back to fetch the ax?"
Dutchie turned over in his bed to face Homer. They'd
forgotten to bring an ax with them when they'd left in the
morning and Boss had detailed Homer to go back and get it.
Normally, Boss didn't like them going off on their own in
case they'd try to escape. Just like Boss, Dutchie reflected
bitterly, to give a job like that to somebody who was less
smarter than himself.
"No, what?" he replied.
"I saw Blondie --" Homer started.
"So what? You see Blondie every day," Dutchie interrupted
irritably.
"When is the last time you saw Blondie tied up and gagged?"
Homer prompted.
"You saw Blondie tied up and gagged?" Dutchie replied in
surprise.
"Sure did!" Homer asserted.
"Why? Why did Queenie do that? What did she say to you?"
Dutchie demanded.
"Queenie? She never saw me!" Homer replied triumphantly.
"Homer! Are you playing tricks on me?" Dutchie exclaimed
warningly. "You know Queenie would see -- and hear -- you
coming a mile away!"
"But I didn't ride all the way back to the farm --" Homer
started.
"You didn't ride all the way back? Why not?" Dutchie
challenged.
"Well, you know, ... we've both wondered what Queenie and
Blondie get up to each day," Homer replied slowly. "So, I
decided I'd leave my horse near the bend in the creek and
sneak up to the house!"
Dutchie nodded. He had felt insanely jealous of Homer's good
luck; now he felt that jealousy returning.
"So that's what kept you so long," he observed sourly.
"Yeah," Homer replied. "I didn't see them outside so I
figured they must've been inside. I made it up to the kitchen
window unnoticed --"
"What did you see?" Dutchie demanded impatiently.
"Like I said, I saw Blondie with his hands tied behind his
back and gagged!" Homer replied.
"How? What!?!" Dutchie couldn't contain himself.
"Quit interrupting, Dutchie!" Homer exclaimed. "Blondie was
sitting on a chair beside the table and on the table was this
bottle and beside the bottle was a spoon with this red
liquid!"
"Go on!" breathed Dutchie. "What was Queenie doing?"
"Queenie was talking to him and she was pointing to the
spoon. She was motioning to take it but Blondie kept shaking
his head!" Homer said.
"What did Queenie do then?" Dutchie asked.
"She pointed to a plate of food on the table and shook her
finger!" Homer replied.
"And what happened then?"
"She took the plate and walked off!" Homer said.
"Did Queenie see you?" Dutchie demanded.
"No, she never saw me -- but Blondie did!" Homer replied
excitedly.
"Blondie saw you?" Dutchie whistled in surprise.
"Yeah ... looked real frightened!" Homer continued.
"Frightened?"
"Yeah, that's right, real frightened," Homer continued. "Kept
motioning his head at the spoon on the table!"
"The spoon on the table?"
Homer nodded: "Yeah, the spoon with the red liquid. Then
Blondie started doing this."
Homer sat up on the bed and threw out his chest as far as he
could.
"Yeah!?!" Dutchie whispered in amazement.
"Yeah," Homer went on. "Throwing out his chest and nodding
his head at the spoon!"
"Go on!" Dutchie urged.
"Then Blondie started pressing his legs together like this,"
Homer continued. He sat on the edge of his bed and pressed
his upper legs together and drawing in his hips as tight as
he could, pushed his rear in rocking motions deeper into the
mattress.
"He was doing that? Why?" Dutchie asked, puzzled.
"Don't know ... couldn't make it out!" Homer replied, looking
at Dutchie hopefully. "I thought you might be able to figure
it out!"
"No, I can't ... this red liquid made Blondie stick his chest
out ... and keeping his legs together, made him pull
something in ... no, it doesn't make sense, Homer. But I'll
sleep on it!" Dutchie replied slowly. "What happened then?"
"Blondie burst into tears; kept pleading with his eyes for me
to do something!" Homer replied. "But then Queenie came back
and I had to run!"
Later, as Dutchie fell into an uneasy sleep, images of the
spoon with the red liquid flashed through his uncomprehending
mind.