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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 - 6 (Fm, cd, v)
by Chrissie LaFemme
***
"Girlie! What brings you here?"
Oh Dutchie -- you gave me such a fright!" Blondie gasped, his
hands automatically clasping his bosom.
"Where's Queenie? How come she's let you out on your own?"
Dutchie demanded.
"Shssssshhhhh! She's in the kitchen. Don't talk so loud --
she might hear us -- she'd give me a scolding if she caught
me talking to you!" Blondie whispered.
"Why doesn't she allow you to talk to us?" Dutchie asked,
perplexed. "You haven't said a word to me or Homer in
months!"
The younger boy's pale face colored with embarrassment. He
shrugged his shoulders helplessly.
"Come on, Blondie!" Dutchie pressed. "You must know a
reason!"
"She ... " the younger boy started but didn't finish.
"Why, for pete's sake, Blondie, why?" Dutchie exploded
impatiently.
"She says ... she says I've nothing to learn from men,"
Blondie answered in a low voice.
"You've nothing to learn from men?!" Dutchie repeated
incredulously.
Fighting back tears, Blondie nodded.
"What have you learnt from her? How to look like a woman? How
to wear a dress?" Dutchie demanded, his voice rising in
anger. "How to be a woman ... is that it, Blondie?"
Blondie made no reply but his expressive, limpid and kohl-
rimmed eyes silently implored Dutchie not to continue.
>From her hiding place which allowed her to see and hear
everything that went on in the barn Queenie grinned. 'You
could cut the silence in there with a knife!' she gleefully
said to herself.
'You've got two ways in which you can react, girlie,' she
thought. 'Firstly, you can pretend you're still Mr. Tough Guy
underneath your feminine finery or, secondly, you can respond
in the way that corresponds with the way you look and with
the way I've taught you.' Her intuition told her that Blondie
would follow the latter course.
She congratulated herself on the new dress she had purchased
for Blondie. It simply radiated femininity; rose-colored in a
mixture of silk and cotton voile, its exquisitely embroidered
bodice hinted at a developing bust-line. Beside the large and
muscular Dutchie, the dress made Blondie look elegant and
petite.
Back inside the barn it was Dutchie who eventually broke the
silence.
"It's not raining in here, is it?" he said curtly, looking at
Blondie's head.
"Uh ... !?!" Blondie gasped in bewilderment. Then, realizing
what Dutchie was referring to, his slender hands rose and
carefully lifted off the shawl covering his hair. The boy
subconsciously tucked a strand of stray hair behind his ear.
He noticed Dutchie glaring at the shawl in his hand.
"My hair is so long now: if it gets wet, it takes ages to
dry!" Blondie smiled apologetically. Then seeing that Dutchie
still had a glare on his faced added with a pout: "Anyway,
Queenie made me!"
"Does she really make you wear dresses all the time?" Dutchie
blurted out.
Blondie, his cheeks reddening, was about to make a reply when
a movement caught his attention.
"Oh look -- a foal! It's so pretty!" he cooed, lifting his
skirts and going over to the animal lying in the straw.
"You poor creature, you're shivering!" Blondie exclaimed,
kneeling down. "Is she frightened of me, Dutchie?"
"I guess she's never seen a boy in a dress before" Dutchie
commented acidly.
Blondie flinched but said nothing.
"How old is she?" he asked, gently stroking the foal with his
hand.
"She's three days old," Dutchie replied.
"Where's her mother?"
"Out back yonder -- she doesn't want to know," Dutchie said.
"That's why I'm looking after her."
"The poor thing!" Blondie cooed sympathetically. Then, he
gave a squeal of delight: "Look, Dutchie, she's licking my
ring! She thinks it's food! Isn't it pretty, darling, look at
the way it sparkles in the light!"
There was a silence before Dutchie spoke.
"Does Queenie still keep you tied up?" he asked. "Me and
Homer saw you once with your hands tied behind your back."
"You saw me like that? When?" Blondie asked, surprized.
"Oh, I don't remember when exactly ... it was a long time
ago, we saw you through your bedroom window."
"That was a long time ago," Blondie agreed.
"So she doesn't tie you up any more?"
"No, not now ..." Blondie responded slowly. "I guess she
knows I won't ..."
"Escape?" Dutchie finished.
Blondie nodded.
"Why not, girlie, I mean, Blondie? Why couldn't you escape?"
Dutchie pressed.
Blondie sighed and stood up to face Dutchie. He shook some
straws from his dress.
"Look at me," the youngster said. "What do you see?"
Dutchie looked confused.
"I see you ..." he replied slowly.
Blondie shook his head impatiently.
"I've changed, Dutchie, I'm no longer the person you knew,"
the slightly built youngster said. "Queenie's changed me --
look at me again, Dutchie, and tell me what you really see!"
"I see a boy in ... in a dress ... " Dutchie began slowly and
then stopped.
"Go on," Blondie prompted.
"That's all," Dutchie said weakly.
"That's all? Oh, Dutchie, there's much more -- much more!"
Blondie exclaimed with feeling. "Look at my hair: it's
braided. You know who braided it this morning? I did! Yes,
Dutchie, I braided it (I did it in ten minutes -- it used to
take me half an hour!). Yesterday I had pony-tails, I did
them too! I can do every thing a girl can do with her hair!"
Dutchie said nothing.
"Do you know what happened to me yesterday?" Blondie went on.
"I finished my first ever embroidery frame without any help
from Queenie!"
Dutchie shook his head in silent astonishment.
"I'll let you in on a secret, Dutchie: do you know what gave
me my biggest thrill lately?"
Dutchie shook his head again. He saw Blondie suck in a deep
breath of air.
"See this dress I'm wearing?" Blondie asked.
Dutchie nodded: "Yeah, what about it?"
"I got it two weeks ago -- " Blondie started.
"What about it?" Dutchie repeated.
"Oh, Dutchie, don't you notice anything?" Blondie asked in
exasperation. Seeing the blank look on his companion's face
he went on with a sigh: "You wouldn't notice these things but
a woman would."
"Notice what?" Dutchie snorted.
"First of all, it's a new dress and it's all the fashion on
the east coast --" Blondie began.
"And that gave you your biggest thrill? That it's fashionable
on the east coast?" Dutchie asked in wonderment.
"No, ... well, maybe a little bit," Blondie conceded. "No,
Dutchie, my biggest thrill was that it was my first dress!"
"Your first dress?" Dutchie asked, confused.
"Yes, Dutchie, this is _my_ dress," Blondie answered quietly.
"You see, up to now I've being wearing Queenie's hand-me-
downs. They never really fitted me. Queenie got this dress
specially for me. I know you won't understand, Dutchie, but
it makes me feel like a new person ..."
>From her hiding place Queenie could see the look of distaste
on Dutchie's face. She decided it was time to intervene; she
was pleased with how Blondie had reacted so far. Her
intuition told her that Blondie was ready for the second acid
test of femininity she had planned. She called Blondie making
it sound like she was calling from the kitchen.
"Dutchie, that's Queenie calling, I've got to go!" Blondie
said to Dutchie in a panic.
"What did you come here for?" Dutchie asked quickly.
"She asked me to get a bag of potatoes," Blondie replied.
"They're over there," Dutchie said, pointing to the far
corner of the barn behind him.
He stepped back to let Blondie pass. As he did so, Queenie
saw him wrinkle his nose. 'Yes, Dutchie, I know what you're
thinking,' she said to herself, 'he smells like one too!'
Blondie found the bag and tried to lift it.
Queenie chuckled to herself when she saw Blondie look around:
there was a look of recognition on his face.
'Good for you, Blondie! Your feminine intuition has just told
you that I've set you up! You've just realized two things --
One: a girl wouldn't be expected to lift a heavy sack of
potatoes. Two: even if she had to, she certainly wouldn't be
wearing her best dress!' she giggled to herself. 'Let's see
how you get out of this situation! I've told you a thousand
times: the number one rule for any girl in your predicament
is to use your womanly charms to get a man to help you.'
She saw Blondie look at Dutchie.
"Dutchie, could you help me with this sack please?" he asked
sweetly. "It's too heavy for me: I need someone big and
strong like you."
Dutchie's mouth fell open in astonishment; then without a
word he went over to where Blondie was standing and
effortlessly lifted the sack over his shoulder.
"Thank you, Dutchie, you're such a gentleman!" Blondie smiled
up at him in gratitude.
Dutchie grunted in embarrassment.
Seeing that it was still raining outside Blondie threw the
shawl over his head and keeping his skirts lifted off the wet
grass led the way back to the house.
++++++++++++++++
"I feel sick!" Blondie announced suddenly.
"What's the matter, girlie?" Queenie asked.
"My tummy feels like I've a cramp," Blondie complained.
"Maybe you'd like to lie down for a little while?" Queenie
suggested sympathetically. "Come with me."
Surprized, Blondie nodded and followed the woman upstairs to
his bedroom. She made him take off his ankle boots and lie on
the bed. Dampening a cloth in a bowl of water she wiped his
brow.
"You see if you can get some sleep," she said softly.
The boy looked at her with suspicion but then his eyes closed
as he drifted off to sleep. The woman smiled: he plainly
wasn't used to this caring treatment from her. She left the
room and went downstairs.
Later in the evening she went up to the room. The room was
bathed in moon-light and she saw that the boy was half awake.
"There's a full moon tonight," Queenie commented
conversationally as she closed the curtains. The boy tried to
sit up in bed.
"How are you now, girlie?" she asked.
"OK, --" he started. Then, he groaned in pain: "Something's
not right ... my drawers feel damp ..."
"Let me have a look," Queenie said commandingly. She peered
between his petticoats and then reached in to take off his
drawers.
"Just a little bit of blood," she said calmly, showing him
the soiled drawers.
"Blood!" the boy moaned in terror. "I'm going to die!"
"There's no need to worry, girlie, I'll put something on to
soak anything more up," Queenie replied soothingly. "The
first time is the worst. You'll be all right in a few days.
In the meantime, get plenty of rest."
Queenie refused to answer any of his queries regarding the
discharge of blood but assured him that it would pass.
The boy was excused from duties for the next two days. He
stayed in bed and Queenie attended to him day and night.
Gradually, his cramps disappeared and his appetite returned.
Four weeks went by and then the cramps re-appeared. Queenie
gave him the same sympathetic treatment as before excusing
him from work. She changed his soiled drawers regularly. At
night-time she sat by his bedroom window doing her embroidery
in the light of the moon. Queenie guessed he was too proud to
ask her what was happening to him but she knew that he was
scared.
As before and as Queenie had foretold, after two days he was
well enough again to return to his duties.
One morning a week later they were getting ready to do the
laundry. Queenie was an irritable mood that day and had given
Blondie a number of verbal tongue lashes. She sent him up to
her bedroom to collect clothes for the laundry knowing full
well what he would see. They washed the clothes outside in
the large wooden tub; Blondie made no comment when a red
stain ran from her white drawers.
Three weeks later Blondie's cramps returned. This time she
didn't allow him to go to bed despite his obvious discomfort.
Instead she bought him up to his bedroom every few hours to
change his drawers.
When Boss and the boys returned that evening they found
Queenie had prepared their favorite meal. She even allowed
Homer and Dutchie to have beer with their dinner -- something
she had never allowed before. It wasn't long before the sound
of shouting and drunken laughter filled the room. She and
Blondie had their dinner quietly in the kitchen.
"I think they're finished inside now, girlie, bring in the
dishes," Queenie told her assistant a little later.
Queenie watched as the boy gathered his skirts and check his
appearance in the mirror as she had taught him before going
hesitantly into the room where Boss and the boys were eating.
Queenie noted with glee how they made fun of Blondie's pale
and drawn appearance. Then winking to each other the men
raised their empty beer mugs.
"More beer, girlie!" they teased him, pulling at the sleeves
of his dress to grab his attention.
When Blondie returned to the kitchen Queenie noticed that he
was close to tears.
"Why didn't you allow me to lie down today like the last
time?" he complained bitterly.
"Because you don't see me lying down, do you?" she snapped.
"But you don't have ..." the boy started and then fell
silent. Queenie smiled to herself: he had made the
connection. She took Blondie by the arm and led him up to his
bedroom. She sat the puzzled boy down on the bed.
"Look out the window," she told him.
"What's there to see? I can't see anything," he said,
mystified. "It's dark outside. There's only the moon ..."
"Only the moon," Queenie repeated cryptically.
"That's it! I always get the cramps ... when there's a moon
..." Blondie said slowly, looking up at her.
Queenie said nothing.
"It's something about the moon that gives me the cramps!"
Blondie cried.
Queenie smiled and shook her head.
"What is it then? Please tell me!" her younger companion
pleaded, his voice suddenly trembling with emotion.
She sat down on the bed beside Blondie and held his arms in
against his sides.
"It's not the moon, girlie," she said softly. "It's just your
time of the month ..."
"My time of the month?!" Blondie bleated in terror. "What do
you mean?"
"Your time of the month is now, girlie. Next week it will be
my turn," Queenie replied enigmatically.
"You mean I'll have cramps every month?" Blondie cried in
despair.
Queenie nodded.
"It's ... it's so ... so awful ..." the boy said wildly.
"Who said being a female was easy?" Queenie replied calmly.
The boy looked shocked. Queenie had trained him to verbally
deny his gender; now she seemed to be suggesting something
else ...
"Girlie, every female gets these cramps: they're your body's
way of preparing you for womanhood -- " Queenie began.
"Agggggghhhhhhh! I don't believe it!" Blondie screamed
hysterically.
Queenie shook the sobbing, quivering boy.
"Hush, girlie, and listen to me!" she urged.
Blondie's sobs eventually subsidised.
"You're a girl now -- the cramps you get prove that without a
shadow of doubt!" Queenie continued. "Boss doesn't get them;
nor does Homer or Dutchie. Just you and me, girlie."
Blondie opened his mouth to say something but no words came
out.
"Men don't understand what a woman has to go through every
month -- the pain, the discomfort, the misery. They don't
know and even if they did they wouldn't care. Did Boss or
Homer show any signs of caring earlier this evening for what
you're going through?" she challenged. Then she added with a
wry smile: "Or even Dutchie?"
Remembering his treatment at the dinner table, Blondie the
boy slowly shook his head.
"I do, girlie, I know what it's like," Queenie continued
softly. "I can help you, girlie, but you must let me help
you."
"How?" Blondie sniffed.
Queen spoke to her younger companion for over an hour.
"So, remember, girlie, the golden rule is ... ?" she asked in
conclusion.
"Women must stick together," Blondie gulped.
"I think you can do better than that, girlie," she prompted
gently.
There was a silence. Queenie raised her eye-brows
expectantly.
"We ... we women must stick together," came the whispered
reply.
++++++++++++++++
"I can't make it out," Dutchie said.
"Can't make what out?" Homer replied.
It was Sunday afternoon and they were lying on the river
bank.
"You know, girlie, I mean, Blondie," Dutchie replied.
"What about girlie?" Homer returned.
"I dunno, something's changed ... between Blondie and
Queenie," Dutchie said.
"Changed? Changed in what way?" Homer challenged. "I don't
see any change. It's been the same for the last few months."
"Well, take a look at them up there," Dutchie said, nodding
his head in the direction of the hill overlooking the river.
Homer turned around and looked.
"They're just talking, that's all," he said.
"Well, that's a change, that's a big change!" Dutchie
observed. "In the beginning you'd never see them talking --
or even sitting together. Blondie used to have to stand up
all the time or sit alone on a rug. Homer, look! They're
laughing!"
"Maybe you're right, Dutchie. Queenie does seem in better
form these days. We've had beer at dinner for the last two
nights!" Homer replied with a grin on his face. He leant back
on the grass and looked up at the cloudless blue sky. "I
don't care what those two dames do together so long as I get
a beer for dinner!"
"All you think of is beer, you nit-picker!" Dutchie
exclaimed. He continued to look up in the direction of the
hill.
"Oh yeah! How come you always get more beer than I do then?"
Homer challenged.
"What? What are you talking about?"
"You know what I'm on about. Girlie always gives you more
beer than I get!" Homer observed sourly.
"Hogwash! You're imagining it, Homer!" Dutchie scoffed.
"Yes, she does, I've seen her; she's always favoring you!"
Homer charged.
Dutchie just laughed and shook his head.
"She gives you more meat too!" Homer added angrily.
"You're losing your brains, Homer, or what's left of them!"
Dutchie retorted. Then, he got up and stripped off his
trousers: "I could do with a swim. Last one to the far side
is the loser!"
++++++++++++++++
It was just after noon and even though it was late fall it
was still very hot.
They were sitting on a bench beneath a sycamore tree whose
leafy branches shaded them from the burning rays of the sun.
"If I could, I'd spend all day brushing my hair!"
Queenie looked up from her sewing and smiled at her
companion. She watched as Blondie's arm rose and fell in
smooth even strokes.
"A woman can never take too much care of her hair," she
observed. "You've such beautiful hair -- it really pleases me
how well you look after it!"
Blondie gave a light, tinkling laugh: "You're so kind,
Queenie! But I know that look in your eyes -- it's time to do
my chores now ... right?!"
Queenie nodded with a smile and watched her younger companion
gather the blonde shoulder-length hair and deftly twist it
into a bun, securing it with a pin. Then Blondie picked up a
shirt from a wicker basket at their feet.
"Two holes in one day!" Blondie exclaimed in exasperation,
reaching for needle and thread. "How does Dutchie do it?"
"I bet he didn't even notice!" Queenie chuckled. "Men prefer
not to notice these things -- nor do they care! They'd sooner
dress in rags then mend their clothes. That's why they need
us women!" she added.
They sewed in silence for a little while.
"Blondie?"
"Yes?"
"Have you thought any more about what we were talking this
morning?"
"Yes, ... a bit."
"Am I right?"
"Queenie ... I ... I don't believe I fancy Dutchie ... honest
I don't!"
Queenie said nothing; Dutchie's little stammer would have
passed unnoticed but for the tell-tale blush.
Queenie, sensing Blondie's discomfiture at her direct line of
questioning, decided to change tactics.
She bent down and rummaged in the wicker basket. "There's
just this little tear in Homer's trousers, Blondie, and we're
done for today. I'll finish off Dutchie's shirt for you if
you do Homer's. Will you --?"
"No, I want to to finish this! Homer's trousers can wait!"
Blondie interrupted petulantly. "Dutchie's shirt is more
important ..."
Queenie put down her sewing.
"Blondie," she began gently, "we've agreed never to keep
anything from each other ... you can tell me ... maybe I can
help?"
++++++++++++++++
"Queenie, are you finished yet? How do I look?" Blondie
asked, shivering with giddy excitement.
"Blondie, will you keep still while I fix your hem?" Queenie
replied. She stood up as Blondie struck a pose in front of
the mirror.
"That new dress really looks pretty on you!" she smiled. "Do
a twirl for me."
Blondie, standing on tip toes, pirouetted around, making the
long skirt flare out in tandem.
"Blondie, pretend I'm Dutchie: show me how you grab my
attention!" Queenie called.
With both hands Blondie lifted the cerise-colored skirt a few
inches off the ground to reveal white lace-trimmed petticoats
underneath. Then, moving towards her, starting with the right
hand and alternating with the left, Blondie ruffed the skirt
against the petticoats making a distinctive swishing noise.
Queenie smiled: it was one of the oldest feminine flirting
tricks in the book -- instead of simultaneously holding up
your skirts and petticoats as you walked you just held up
your skirt giving men a glimpse of your petticoats and
stockinged ankle underneath.
"More ... more beer, Dutchie ...?" Blondie cooed demurely,
eye-lashes fluttering.
Queenie kissed Blondie on the cheek. Impulsively, they hugged
each other.
"Queenie, what will I do then?" Blondie giggled, eyes shining
bright with excitement.
"What will you do then?" Queenie mused. Then, she burst out
laughing: "You tighten the noose and you rein him in ...!"
END