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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 - 5 (Fm, cd, v)
by Chrissie LaFemme
***
"I overheard Homer and Dutchie talking about you yesterday."
While Queenie waited for Blondie to react she started to lace
him into the new whale-bone corset she had bought. Starting
at the top lace and working her way down, she pulled firmly
on the two ends of each lace and knotted them together.
For the past week she had kept Blondie isolated from Boss and
the two boys -- she had forbade him to be even in the same
room with them. She had confined him to the kitchen at meal-
times and locked him in his bedroom at other times they were
around. When they were alone together she had told him
stories -- some real, some fictitious -- though all with the
same theme: the vulnerability of women living in isolated
farmsteads to being terrorized by gangs of marauding men.
Right now, Queenie could see the boy was in two minds -- she
had reckoned he would be interested in hearing what Homer and
Dutchie had been saying about him but at the same time he
wouldn't want to engage her in conversation. She reckoned too
that he would want to know where Boss and the boys had gone.
"Yes?"
"Yes," she echoed. 'Come on, girlie, you've shown you're
interested -- you can't go back now!' she said gleefully to
herself.
As she worked her way down to his waist she pushed her knee
into the small of his back to gain greater leverage. She
could see the corset beginning to compress his waist into the
desired shape.
"What did they say about me?"
Queenie didn't reply immediately. Inwardly, she was gloating:
'My, Blondie! Six whole words -- that's more than you said
all of yesterday!'
Then she chuckled aloud.
"Men can be so ignorant about women at times!" she exclaimed
with a rueful laugh.
Blondie went pale and in a hurt tone asked: "What do you
mean? What were they saying about me? Please tell me!"
Queenie took hold of another lace and started to draw the
ends together.
"You remember yesterday when you dropped those spoons in the
kitchen at breakfast?" she asked. "Take another deep breath,
Blondie."
"Yes, I do: why?" Blondie replied, puzzled. He inhaled and
then grimaced with discomfort as the corset squeezed his
waist further.
"You remember Dutchie wanted to go in and help you pick them
up but I wouldn't let him?" Queenie continued.
"Yes, what about it?" Blondie answered. A warm glow briefly
surfaced on the boy's face and disappeared just as quickly --
but not before Queenie noticed it.
"Dutchie's such a gentleman, isn't he, girlie," she observed
smoothly.
"What were they saying about me?" the boy cried impatiently.
"They were talking about the way you picked up the spoons,"
Queenie replied enigmatically. She chuckled to herself
inwardly: 'I'm teasing you, Blondie! You'll have to talk to
me eventually -- and in the way I taught you!'
"The way I picked up the spoons ... ? I don't understand!"
Blondie cried in frustration. "Tell me!"
Queenie didn't reply; she continued lacing the corset.
The boy glanced over his shoulder at her.
"I'm sorry, Queenie, it wasn't very lady-like of me to talk
to you like that," he said meekly. "Please tell me: what did
they say about me?"
"They were trying to figure out why you picked up the spoons
like you did," Queenie responded.
"I still don't understand," the boy replied, shaking his
head.
"They were wondering why you had to bend from the knees and
why you had to keep your back straight," Queenie said.
"Oh."
Queenie finished lacing the corset. It was longer than any he
had worn previously, reaching down to the middle of his
thighs.
"Like I said: men can be so ignorant about women!" she said
breezily. She let him digest this in silence as she handed
him a pair of stockings from the bed.
As she watched him pull one stocking at a time up his smooth,
hairless legs and fasten them to the suspenders, she reminded
herself -- not for the first time either -- how most women
would kill to have shapely legs like his.
When he was finished she passed him the first of his
petticoats from the bed.
'This is your least favorite underskirt, girlie!' she said to
herself as she watched him step in to the lace-trimmed
garment and pull it up to his waist. 'You detest the way it
squeezes your legs together! You despise, too, the way it
makes you take little dainty steps! Most of all, you hate the
way it makes you feel vulnerable -- vulnerable in a way only
a woman can understand: like us, if you're threatened by a
man, you know you won't be able to run!'
Four more petticoats followed; then, instead of giving him
the dress she had laid out on the bed she went over to the
closet and picked out a Sunday outfit. She knew he'd realise
the significance of her choosing a frilly dress rather than
the week-day dress on the bed: it meant the men weren't
around, it meant not having to tidy up after them, not having
to cook, it meant having a day to themselves, a day of
tranquillity, a day embroidering up at Lady's View with only
the babbling sounds of the river below to disturb them.
"Where did they go last night?"
It was the question Queenie had been expecting all morning.
"Did the men not tell you?" she asked insouciantly, taking
the dress off its hanger. "Maybe they didn't want to frighten
you!"
"Tell me what?" the boy asked, mystified and alarmed.
"Frighten me about what?"
Queenie gathered the dress up in her arms and lifted it over
the boy's head.
"Newsome's homestead -- a half a day's ride from here -- gang
of five men looted the place -- killed Pa Newsome," she said
in between guiding one arm into the sleeve and then the next
and lowering the dress down over his slender frame.
"They killed someone?!" Blondie asked, horrified.
"Sure did," Queenie answered, pulling at the hem of the dress
to make it sit better on the layers of petticoats. Then, she
added ominously: "And they raped Ma Newsome and her two
daughters ... "
"They what ... ?" the boy breathed in horror.
Queenie closed her eyes momentarily as if in silent prayer
and nodded her head.
"Where are they now?"
"Who?"
"The gang -- the men who raped ... "
"Don't know, girlie. Boss and the boys have gone to join a
posse to find them."
"But they could be coming this way!" Blondie yelped. "Who's
going to protect us ... what will we do if they come,
Queenie? We're defenceless ... !"
Queenie finished buttoning his dress at back.
"Don't fret, girlie," she commented comfortingly. "If anybody
comes just stay close to my side. I'll see that nothing
happens to you."
Inwardly, Queenie was exhilarated: Blondie was reacting in a
way that exceeded her wildest dreams. 'I can't wait for the
new potion that Anita is sending to arrive!' she thought
ecstatically to herself as she tied the sash of his dress at
back.
"What'll happen if they realize I'm a ... " the panic-
stricken boy started to say.
Queenie put her finger to his lips.
"You mean what will happen when they realize you're a virgin?
That's what you meant to say, girlie, isn't it?" she replied
soothingly but with a menacing undertone.
Blondie nodded his head nervously.
"I won't let any man near you and even if they did they
wouldn't be able to take off that corset!" she said jokingly
to show him she wasn't worried.
She ran her fingers through the lace frills of his bodice and
looked into his terror-filled eyes.
"I guess that's why the men didn't tell you anything,
girlie," she said softly, leading him over to the mirror to
do his hair. "They didn't want you to get all jittery or
anything, girlie ... there's nothing worse than a man hates
in these situations than a panicky female ... "
++++++++++++++++
The sun was just past its zenith by the time they reached
Lady's View. Below them the river snaked lazily to the east.
"I join you in a minute, girlie," Queenie said. "I'm just
going to pick some flowers over there."
Blondie nodded and spreading out his skirts sat down on the
bench.
Queenie walked on for a few yards stooping to pick flowers
here and there. When she returned she saw that Blondie had
started on his embroidery frame.
"You look so pretty!" she exclaimed admiringly. "You know I
wore that dress for my eighteenth birthday!"
The boy blushed and nodded.
"Yes, you told me," he confirmed in a low, whispered voice.
"Everyone admired it on me; I felt so pretty and ... so
special!" Queenie replied dreamily. "So special ... I wanted
to wear it forever!"
She sat down on the bench beside him.
"I never dreamed anyone else would wear it!" she exclaimed.
"But it looks gorgeous on you, girlie, and you know how to
look after it!"
Blondie blushed again.
There was silence before Queenie spoke again.
"Who taught you, girlie? Who taught you how to look after a
dress like that?" she asked.
"You did!" he replied hesitantly.
Queenie shook her head.
"No, girlie ... leastways, I wasn't the first! I was
observing you out of the corner of my eye when you sat down
on the bench. I saw you smooth your skirts behind you when
you sat down. It was an instinctive thing; you didn't have to
do it -- you knew I wasn't watching!" she pointed out. "It
was a revelation to watch you, girlie: you did it so
naturally, so unconsciously! I bet my bottom dollar that's
what a pretty dress does to you!"
Blondie shook his head.
"Is no the true answer, girlie?" Queenie asked softly. "You
recall I told you about Mrs. Mellon's throw away remark that
all you lacked was a dress to be taken for a girl but that
hadn't always been the case in the past?"
Blondie said nothing and pointedly continued with his
embroidery.
"I thought you might be interested to hear that I wrote to
her last month for clarification. She told me the story ...
or maybe you'd like to tell me yourself, girlie?" Queenie let
her question hang in the air.
She saw her companion's lip tremble but he said nothing.
"This is hard on you, isn't it, girlie? Your past catching up
on you," she murmured sympathetically. "It was your big
sister who started it, wasn't it?"
Blondie didn't reply.
"Mrs. Mellon said she was a real beauty who loved pretty
clothes, but she was frustrated being the eldest of four boys
and not having any sister to enjoy!" Queenie said. "So when
you came along -- as a baby, you were weak and undersized for
your sex -- she resolved to make a sister out of you. Of
course, she couldn't do that without your mother's knowledge
and approval with whom she had a very close relationship.
Having provided your father with four male heirs, your mother
concluded that she had made her contribution and turned a
blind eye. Being both the youngest and physically small for
your age, you were picked on unmercifully by your four elder
brothers. Your sister offered to protect you from your
heartless brothers. Her protection, though, came with a
price: you had to become her little sister! Once she had you
in a dress and looking pretty, she made you feel safe! But,
best of all, she made you feel cherished and appreciated --
and beautiful!"
Queenie paused to see if Blondie would say anything but he
remained silent.
"She transformed you into such a sweet and winsome little
sister that it wasn't long before your mother put her
inhibitions behind her and she too became involved!" Queenie
continued. "And with your father being away in the navy they
had a free hand! Catching the fever at the age of three gave
your sister the pretext to move you into her room so she
could nurse you. The only thing, girlie, was this wasn't a
temporary move, this was for good -- you never moved back in
with your brothers again!"
"The two most powerful women in your life, girlie, dressing
you up as a girl! They made you feel special and wanted! And
you loved every minute of it! You were the center of their
attention and you loved it! You adored feeling pretty! You
were captivated by the beautiful clothes they dressed you in!
They taught you everything about being a girl -- and you
lapped it up like a sponge!" Queenie went on. "And being the
'new' girl in your family, your brothers dared not touch you
for fear of bringing the wrath of your mother and sister on
top of them! You were safe! But you were only secure as long
as your mother and sister treated you as a girl. You had to
constantly reassure them that not only did you like dressing
as a girl but you wanted to be like one as well! And that,
girlie, was how you lived the first seven years of your
existence!"
Queenie reached over and squeezed Blondie's arm.
"Then, one by one, your family was struck down by the
plague," she went on. "You were heart-broken and going to the
orphanage nearly destroyed you. Suddenly, you had to put all
your past behind you and to survive the orphanage you had to
be Mr. Tough Guy! But deep inside you, buried deep in your
innermost core, were those feminine qualities, waiting for a
moment -- any moment -- to reveal themselves!"
"That's ... that's not true!" Blondie whispered hoarsely.
Queenie saw tear drops falling on his embroidery frame.
"Yes, girlie, it is true!" Queenie asserted quietly and
firmly. "Only some last vestige of misplaced masculine pride
is preventing you from revealing your true feelings! You're
not in the orphanage now! Leave your tough little guy act
behind, girlie! It's artificial, a sham -- I've seen through
it! You're here with me, girlie! I want you to be the real
you! I want the little girl --"
"Nooooooo!" Blondie wept, his face in his hands.
"Listen to me, girlie! You were raised as a girl -- and you
loved every moment of it! I want the little girl in you to
return! To feel pretty and dainty! Embrace your feminine
nature, girlie, stop running from it! Accept it and enjoy
it!" Queenie said gently. "It's your destiny, girlie: you
can't change your fate any more than the river below can
change its path. You're fated for femininity!"
Blondie shook his head.
Queenie sighed.
"If I can't convince you now, then maybe you'll listen to
your body," she said cryptically.