Agnes Dourville Ch. 09

I've learned in my short life that women can't be labeled as the passive sex. My conception of Sharon takes a 180-degree turn. Wow.

I'm speechless. Her kiss is no peck on the cheek; it's not brief and perfunctory. No, it's a full-on-the-lips, smootchy, lingering kiss which I soon return in kind. My heart is beating like mad.

She pulls away, looking me in the eyes and smiling. I just stand there. I had felt her breasts against mine. I had smelled her hair.

"Sharon ... "

"That's for Michelle," she says. "Well, I was just in this store with my mom, and happened to be passing the cosmetic department, and looked at the totally amazing lipstick display, and thought to myself, 'What shade would look good on MIchelle?' I mean, it's like you're a doll I want to dress up."

"Are you sure you haven't been drinking?"

"So while my mom's back was turned I bought this color I'd never ever buy for myself, but I thought of trying it out on you. And on you - you looked absolutely, completely kissable!"

"Well, glory be, Sharon. You can use me as your dress-up doll any old time. However ... I do wonder if you might be taking advantage of me."

"Now you're making fun of me, Michelle."

I love to be called Michelle. It gives me a little tingle.

"Tell you what," I say. "Next time I get to the store, I'll buy a shade for you."

"I'd have to wipe it off before I went home," says Sharon, already worrying a little.

"That reminds me," I say. "I need to go wipe mine off." But before I do, I give her a little peck on the lips.

So ends our fun little encounter.

Work calls. However, our relationship now has an extra little dimension I can't ignore. But whatever happens from now on will be mutual, I know, and won't be me coming on to an innocent farm girl. Sharon has just told me she's into me ... in such a wonderfully playful way ...

When she was applying the lipstick, I could see down her bodice into the beguiling beginnings of breasts and bra. I wonder if she looks up my dress when I'm on the stepladder.

And I wonder if Agnes knows we've kissed ...

Days pass. At home, Agnes treats me in every way like a young woman, except we don't have to worry about any periods! When I remove my wig after work, Agnes insists I wear a hat of some kind to cover my short boy's hair, to try to preserve the illusion. I use my Michelle voice to play the daughter role, which I know Agnes needs. She can be so generous; she buys me little gifts like earrings, or clothing, or a perfume, or candies. Everything dainty and pink-ribbon wrapped.

She's teaching me how to cook, which I love.

The next time we shop in Madison I go as Michelle and do OK. There, I find a lipstick for Sharon, which isn't as extreme as her's. Because, for one thing, I've never seen her wear lipstick, period. Not even on our show date.

Just like Sharon, Agnes surprises me. One Friday night over dinner, she announces Clarice is coming over Sunday for a "dress-up party." I ask what this means, and she mysteriously tells me "just wait."

When Clarice rolls in, in her little VW bug, I wonder if this dressing thing is to involve me. It might be fun ...

She brings in a little carry-case, then they both retire to Agnes' room. I am mildly aghast when they both emerge wearing full-length stretchy corsets - the kind I had retrieved from Agnes' clothesline when I first arrived; the kind I've been imagining her wearing all this time.

They notice my interest; I can't keep my eyes off them. Agnes wears a slightly off-white creation projecting her wonderfully big boobs and tugging at her generous hips. It pulls in her waist slightly and the bottom is open, with garters holding up those black-seamed nylons I'd seen. The strategic placement of sexy stretch panels and embroidery is quite captivating. Somehow, I find her large body rather erotic in its containment. Wearing it seems to make her more ebulent ...

Then there's Clarice, and if I've had visions about what her body looked like under her clothing, now was my time to see ... She's wearing a long, light-blue corset with more decoration and variety than her mom's. Her corset cups delightfully mold her smaller breasts erotically, and her waist and hips transition more gracefully and womanly than Agnes'. Her corset isn't open at the bottom, but has legs, if that's the term, which have hidden garters holding up her - yes - blue nylons.

Both of their corsets have over-the-shoulder straps and low backs.

And I, Michelle, don't know what to say.

"So, this is our dress-up party, dear," says Agnes, with both she and Clarice pirouetting to show off their skin-tight lingerie. "This started a few years back when Clarice said she wanted a corset like mine. You have probably figured out by now I like to wear them. I'm wearing a Rago now, and I have four others. Clarice has four, but I have hopes she'll expand her collection."

"There's something about them," says Clarice. "It's really feminine and feels so right. We usually do this every couple of weeks, but since you came, we put it off 'til we thought you were ready for it."

"We just like to spend the afternoon," says Agnes, "prancing around like two crazy broads, two crazy corset aficionados, sipping champagne and watching old movies on TV, or even laying in the sun."

"I don't know what to say," I offer. "I've never heard of this! But I must admit that as Michael I loved to see pictures of women like this in ads ... and, oh yes, I really liked wearing my tight swimming suit."

"Well, that's kind of what got me into this, too," says Clarice, "because I had a really tight swim suit that was almost like a corset. Loved wearing it. And the boys loved to look at me." She laughs.

So, I join them, me in my short skirt and top, and bra-breasts and lovely wig, and one-inch heels. We begin to watch a Dorothy Lamour movie. While pouring us champagne, Agnes changes into another white corset (a Gossard, she says). I'm just amazed at the relish of these two women for corsets. I had never imagined women could be so front and center with their, well, sensuality, even more so than men (at least in private), it seems.

With continual refills of the bubbly, I'm feeling very friendly indeed. They encourage me to run my hands over their outfits to explore every little seam and panel (and doing so is like my wildest wet dream ever - however, I don't take liberties with three particular spots on their bodies).

After the movie's over, Agnes pops the question: "Michelle, might you ever want to wear one of these? We'd love to evangelize you and have you join our, ah, Royal Order of Corsetry. You know, if you love to look at them - and who knows where you go with that! - and you like the way we look - then maybe Michelle would look good in one too."

I say, definitely, yes.

"Well, Clarice," says Agnes, "could Michelle wear your Lilyette just this one time?"

"Oh, she doesn't have to do that," I protest.

"Oh, come on, Michelle," says Clarice, obviously tipsy, "I want to see how your cute buns look in it."

I'm handed the precious garment and head for my room. I'd have preferred white, but this one is brown with black trim around the bra cups and black panels over the tummy and on the sides. Slipping into it gives me an instant hard-on through its open bottom. The corset fits me very well through the chest, but because I have boy hips, it's too slack down there. So I try pulling my padded girdle on underneath, completely covering the erection. My shape doesn't look completely authentic with the padding, but better than without. I fill the bra cups with forms and deliciously garter-attach some sheer nylons. Then, aha!, I moisten my lips with the slutty lipstick Sharon gave me.

I can feel my penis already exuding pre-cum down there below the two layers of spandex; kind of like a woman getting moist with excitement, I suppose.

Clarice's wolf whistle greets my entrance. "I never knew a boy could be so darn pretty," she says. Agnes says she'll buy a classic Rago for me: "Every girl needs at least one in her wardrobe."

"I thought I was only going to be Michelle for a month," I say. "Don't count on me changing into a girl forever."

"Oh, dear," says Agnes. "Don't think about tomorrow, just enjoy today. Isn't it terrific wearing these; a little bit like a guy in a medieval suit of armor excerpt this is so sexy. ... Say, Michelle, where did you ever find that beach-girl lipstick?"

"Beach girl? Is that what they wear? Actually, believe it or not, Sharon gave it to me."

(I'm continuously enjoying the authoritative tightness of Clarice's Lilyette and the nice boobs it provides.)

"Oh yeah, Sharon," says Agnes. "I wonder what she'd think if she saw us this way."

"She may not be the prude you imagine her to be," I offer.

"Clarice, I saw the two of them kissing the other day," says Agnes teasingly.

"You mean the girl from the store who said Michael accosted her?"

"The one and same."

"Hmmm, maybe she's a lesbo," kids Clarice, playfully rubbing herself against her mother's corset and then mine. With me, I feel her hand briefly reaching under to touch my hidden prick. Apparently with women, anything goes ...

"Please don't make fun of her," I ask. "She's all right. If it took Michelle to bring her out of her shell, that's just fine."

"Leave her alone, Clarice," commands her mom.

Later, while I do the dishes, Clarice and Agnes retire to Agnes' room. I hear music and giggles. I'm in bed before Clarice leaves (I had hung her Lilyette on the front door handle for her to grab). My first meeting with the Royal Order of Corsetry has concluded.