Agnes Dourville Ch. 03

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Goodbye, mom.
2.5k words
4.25
19.3k
10

Part 3 of the 18 part series

Updated 06/08/2023
Created 04/29/2017
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ValoryG
ValoryG
285 Followers

Wisconsin's hot and humid summer is now half over, and that means I should be returning home in a month and a half. At night here, fireflies bob and dodge in the dark and the town's restless youth peel rubber around town with their throaty hot rods. The pair of cops on duty don't seem to care much.

But I, always tired from my nine-hour shifts in the Dourville Grocery and my exercising, usually turn in around 9 or 9:30. Up until then I usually watch TV with Agnes, who's typically wearing a thin bathrobe, and sometimes I can see some straps from who knows what crossing her shoulders.

Something happened that made me more of a recluse. In my first visit to the town's pool a couple weeks ago I'd gathered the courage to wear my tight, white swimming suit. I paid my two bits to get in and rent a storage basket. Because it was Sunday, the pool was crowded. I tried not to look too hard at the girls sunning themselves in their revealing, tight suits. My own swimming suit made me feel conspicuous, so I got into the chlorinated water quickly and swam around, trying to avoid little kids and teens playing around. At one point I got tired and hung on the edge of pool to catch my breath, and was approached in the water by a dog-paddling high-school-age boy who asked, "You live around here?"

"Nope, just here for the summer."

"Didn't'ya know this pool's just for Douglas people?"

"No."

"Well, it is, dogface. You better go."

I was instantly on the defensive. Looking up, I asked the nearby female lifeguard if out-of-towners could use the pool. "No problem," came the curt reply.

This just made my tormenter more determined. "Where'd you get your fag swimming suit, city boy? Cuz only fags wear stuff like that."

I just stared back at him, afraid he was telling the truth. Just then, someone else sat down on the lip of the pool above me and squeezed my head between his two legs. The two of them thought this was hilarious. The lifeguard told them to cut it out but before leaving, the first ruffian advised, "You better watch out, fag. We're gonna smash your teeth down your throat, buddy boy."

I tried to ignore the episode and stayed a half hour more, but felt everyone in the locker room was watching me when I took my swim suit off and put on trousers. It seemed my penis had shriveled into a one-inch nubbin. I kept looking behind me as I walked the blocks to Agnes' place.

I didn't tell Agnes. My humiliation was my own to dwell on. I didn't return to the pool. For women, I'd have to be content to be around Sharon.

This evening Agnes and I are watching the laconic, manly Richard Boone on TV in "Have Gun, Will Travel," with her electric fan whirring across the room. I'm wearing summer shorts and T-shirt, and underneath, a panty girdle of Clarice's that I delightedly discovered almost hidden away in a small drawer in her vanity. When I excitedly tried it on, my penis tried to come to erection underneath, and it wasn't long before a little wet spot appeared. I loved the way it pulled in my midsection and left indentation marks on my thighs. Every little detail of it was incredibly sexy. This time, I made sure it didn't show above my belt. However, I was worried about leaving stains on it that Clarice might see if she wore it again.

Following the TV show, I excuse myself to go take a shower in the common bathroom upstairs. After the humid air and my sweat, the cool water makes me feel like a new man. Afterwards, I wrap a towel around my waist and secure it, skirt-like or sarong-like, and make my way down the hallway toward my room, my toilet kit dangling from one hand. I feel good.

Then I hear Agnes coming up the stairs heavily and she meets me. She looks a little tired, but I can tell by the way she purses her lips and raises her chin that she's going to admonish me.

I see she's still wearing nylons and her robe is open just enough at the top to hint at her wearing one of her long girdles, or corsets. I can see the beginnings of the bra cups at the top. I instantly avert my gaze, but she doesn't miss a thing.

"Going to bed now?" she asks.

"Yeah, probably read a little first. Thanks for putting a fan in my room."

"Oh, sure." She looks sideways for a moment as if gathering her thoughts. "Michael, I have something to ask."

After what I've just seen of her undergarment, my thoughts are jumbled.

"Just look at you, walking down the hall. Your towel might fall at any minute, exposing you. I wouldn't like that at all."

"Well, I could dress back into my street clothes in the bathroom."

"I have a better idea. Since you don't have PJs or a robe -- you don't, right? -- I'd suggest you just throw on one of Clarice's nightgowns between the bathroom and your room. You know, one of those white cotton ones that are so pretty, with the embroidery on top?"

With that, she realizes she's crossed a boundary when she said "pretty, with embroidery."

It's late, I'm tired, and I ordinarily would avoid a confrontation. But I'm beginning to lose it.

"I don't want to wear any more girls' stuff."

Then I let loose: "I get the feeling you're trying bit by bit to turn me into a girl, maybe because you miss Clarice. I suppose you would've been happier if I'd been a girl coming to work for you."

Agnes' eyes widen. "My dear Michael, this attitude of yours ... is this the thanks I get for housing you and giving you a job? You think I want to turn you into Clarice? I'll tell you where I'm coming from, Michael -- my late husband, as I hinted before, was kind of a slob. He often wore the same T-shirt over and over, didn't bathe much, and often needed a shave. He had no respect for my need for neatness and pretty things. Now, I know you're not like him, but seeing you with just a towel around you brings back his memory.

"If you wear a nightgown, it's not that you're a girl, but a pretty man. What's wrong with that?"

To me, "pretty man" means "fag." I remain quiet.

"Wearing a few women's things takes the hard edges off a man," she continues. "It's like those fancy men's shirts with ruffles and cufflink jewelry that I think are very attractive."

"Oh, I guess I see your point. But I would be just plain embarrassed parading around at night in Clarice's nightgowns. Wearing panties, OK, I can hide them under my trousers."

"Oh, dear," exclaimed Agnes, looking toward the ceiling. "We are so going to have a further talk about this tomorrow. Goodnight, Michael."

I slide into bed, glad that I stood up to her. But on the other hand, she always has this way of making everything -- including my dressing in feminine things -- seem so reasonable and normal. Against my better judgement, I fall asleep feeling guilty about not bowing to her request. After all, it would just be between the bathroom and my room ...

The next day at work, things are very quiet between Agnes and I, which Sharon notices, and she asks if everything's OK. I wonder what Sharon would say if she knew I was wearing panties and that Agnes wanted me to wear a nightgown. I say, "We'll see."

I've been wanting to get closer to Sharon. Every once in a while our arms or bodies touch when we're working, and I wonder if she enjoys it as much as I do. I hope so. Over time, she's been looking better and better, even if she is such a farm girl. Of course, I think Clarice is much more attractive, but I see very little of her.

And so, my devious mind begins to plan a way to see Sharon outside the store. I could take a walk with her, or we could go on a picnic somewhere, or ... yes ... I could take her to a movie. Because I've only had several dates before, and I've never kissed a girl, I feel I need to plan something where I can kiss Sharon.

For starters, I give her more attention for a couple days, and am extra nice to her. Then at the end of her after-school shift one day, I make the big pitch.

"Oh, Sharon, I was wondering, would you like to go to the movies with me sometime? Maybe Friday night? I think 'Boy on a Dolphin' will be showing; do you know about that film?"

Sharon's getting nervous again; she had grown more comfortable being around me, but now I'm escalating things a notch.

"I don't know," she ponders. "I'd have to ask my parents."

I've never talked about dating with her before -- that is, if she's ever gone out with anyone. Wait, she did say she'd gone to some teen social events at church. But she never mentioned going to a school function like a sock hop or prom.

"I'll have to ask my parents," she says again. She doesn't say if she wants or doesn't want to go on a date with me; it just seems like she'd go along with the idea. It boils down to trust. And I figure that taking her to a public place isn't very threatening. Besides, I deliberately chose a family film -- the other film showing is the quite-provocative "Peyton Place!"

Whew. I get through the Sharon test without stumbling too badly. Next, it's time to face Agnes when we arrive back home. We go through the meal prep process silently. She pours herself a large glass of wine and me a smaller one. She only gives me wine on special occasions (or maybe when she wants to get me a little drunk). We sit down to eat salad, fish sticks, peas and strawberry shortcake with whipped cream. We drink our wine.

She's still wearing her store clothing: dark maroon skirt, tight, with a white, fitted cotton shirt that prominently displays her tits. Just the opposite of Sharon. And she's still wearing her pearl earrings.

"Now," she says with authority, "we need to get down to brass tacks, Michael. You've been here over a month, and I am so pleased with your demeanor and your work and how you get along with Sharon. You are a darling young man, if I may say so."

Like a fag, I think.

"But we're hitting a stumbling block with my little request. Just a little request, Michael. Your pushing back on it surprised me. I asked you to do this little thing and you basically said, 'No can do -- no thanks, auntie.' "

"Well, I do appreciate the job you gave me," I offer.

"Anyway, Michael, I talked to your mother, my sister, on the phone today. We had a heart-to-heart."

Oh god, I hope Agnes isn't going to send me back home with my tail between my legs.

I pop up with, "I haven't talked with her all summer."

"I know, but you sent her some letters. Michael. Here's what she told me: Before you and your brothers left, she was going nutsy. You were all over 18 and were becoming a big burden. It was time to have you leave home and make your way in the world."

I'm having this sinking feeling that my lovely mom doesn't like me anymore.

"So, Michael, I offered to let you keep working and staying here until you save enough money to go to trade school in Milwaukee."

"Well, thank you, really, thank you."

"But, and this is a very important 'but' -- if this is what you want, you must follow my rules. If you don't, out the door you will go, and you'll have to find a job, and live somewhere else. There's no going home to mom anymore."

"So, Michael ... "

"Sooooooo ... " I respond.

"I see you understand, and I assume you want to stay here, yes? Good ... Now we come to our little disagreement the other night, about dressing respectfully when leaving the bathroom. Michael, here's what's coming down. You WILL wear a nightgown between the bathroom and your room, and because you resisted that so strongly, I've decided you WILL wear a nightgown to bed every night as well. I'll even buy you a new pretty new one and you'll thank me for it."

She got me backed into a corner because she knew I didn't have the confidence to go out in the world on my own -- so now there's no doubt I will be wearing nightgowns. But I'm still Michael, and I've still got a prick.

I need to sit down and calculate how long I need to work to save enough to return to school. To get out from under her thumb.

I'm finally able to speak to my mother on the phone. I wish she'll say everything Agnes told me is false, but now that I'm 18 it's apparent I'm no longer her favorite child. She says she's sorry, but she's trying to keep herself and the rest of the family above water. She knows I'll do well, and Agnes is wonderful to help me. I'm tempted to say, "Yeah, by turning me into a girl." If I told her some of what Agnes is foisting on me, she wouldn't believe me, I know.

At one time, I thought my mother was the most beautiful woman in the world, with a comforting and warm voice. Those days are past, and it's a shock.

Sharon gets the go-ahead from her parents to go on a date, with the proviso that she must return home right after the movie. I plot and plan, and as the day approaches, Sharon gets more nervous and I'm afraid she's going to cancel. I do everything I can to reassure her that my intentions are honorable, and that this will be a fun thing. Besides, the movie's for kids!

After work on Friday, we set out for the downtown, and I'm not even confident enough to hold her hand. She's wearing a fancier dress than usual that reveals her ample breasts just a little, and her hair has a certain flair to it that wasn't there before. But there's still no makeup and no perfume. Nicer shoes.

I carry the conversation, trying to impress her with my knowledge of politics and the latest movies. She doesn't say much.

I keep one thing in mind -- the goal of kissing her before the evening's over.

On the way to the theater, I worry about running into the tough guys from the swimming pool. I fantasize about having to fight them ...

ValoryG
ValoryG
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300bowler300300bowler300almost 7 years ago
THE BUILT UP IS GREAT

BUT, HOPE IT ISN'T TO MUCH LONGER TILL THE FUN STARTS...!

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