A Painted Thief (...Continued)

 
The room was filled with over a dozen girls, all displaying an infidel’s immodesty of flesh. A mostly naked dancer sidled over to one of the men in the shadows, and after the briefest of exchanges, spread her legs and sat down on him, her huge breasts pressed into his face. Across the way, Miss D (the only Double-X girl in the room other than the bartender) watched Panties fend off the wandering hands of the man who had alighted beside her. Panties sent the man for drinks, which he interpreted as license to enjoy with his hands and fingers, what he had been admiring with his eyes. The pretty bartender had emphatically warned Panties about their cheap wine, but the $12 gin-and-tonic tasted harsh and chemically sweet. “You have beautiful hands,” said the man, trying to link fingers. He was even more in love with Panties’ legs. Panties looked over at Miss D who was texting on her cell. (You are a girl trying to please a man...) Panties shifted in her seat as the man’s hands crept up her thigh. Panties sat demurely, looking anxiously to Miss D who was chatting with another man while texting. (Lapdance...) Panties was led into the corner where her skirt was rucked up in the back and she was sat on the lap of her man. She tried to enjoy it as a girl would, eagerly moving her hips to please her man, but she was also aware she was wet, as was the floor in front of them after Panties began to touch her man the way a girl might, or more precisely, the way he would. Panties had expected the man to lose interest after ejaculation, but it was only after two more shots into the dark that he let her go.

A few seats away, Miss D had left her bag while she danced with one of her admirers. She was the prettiest creature in the room in her casual skirt and top, with little makeup, but dripping with the natural chemistry any of the gurls would kill for. She’s a trusting girl, too, which is why she makes friends wherever she goes. While she was on the floor, her purse was rifled and she lost her wallet containing her credit card and driver’s license, as well as a new, metallic-red, Lumix camera. The bar was closing, and one of her new friends implored her to party on at another bar that stayed open past dawn. We got out on the street and managed to charm a passing car to drive us to midtown where the driver, another man, joined us for a drink. That’s where we met Meghan and at least two other real girls. But that’s another story.

A Painted Thief

 
When the air hangs heavy, with the dew point pushing 80, a can of spray-on pantihose is a girl’s best friend. The best way to put it on is standing fully dressed on a few sheets of newspaper and spraying your legs in short strokes of color. Miss D and Miss R sat in the hot darkness enjoying an after-theater drink and meal at an Irish pub not far from Madison Square Garden. The girls renewed their friendship, Miss D doing much of the talking and Miss R listening with that mix of gentle, friendly intelligence you rarely find in the city. Panties was reminded of her limited part of what might at first look to be three girls at a table in the garden– she could join in the conversation only up to the point where Miss D would cut her off with a look, or a firm “Panties!” when she was speaking in too many statements, rather than in submissive questions, or when she sounded anywhere close to relating to either girl as someone who might hope for something more than an air kiss or a girly hug at the end of the night. When Panties expressed an insufficiently modest opinion about the play, Miss D loudly suggested that Panties herself write a play about panties. Earlier Miss D had told Panties she should start looking forward to kissing a man which would in fact, not be a homosexual act, but simply a straight expression of feeling between a woman to a man. Later... long after midnight, Panties found herself silently following Miss D into a basement event filled with drab, shlubby men and hard-bodied girls in heavy makeup and short, tight outfits. Miss D instructed Panties to find a man and give him a lap dance. She left Panties sitting next to an elderly Asian girl and went to the ladies room. (Continued...)

Art Project

 
Miss C informed Panties of a gallery opening where her drawings of Panties in various states of attire— progressing from full face semi-sissy without makeup or wig to diligent secretary in heels and pantihose, to ballerina, to cheerleader, to final state of pantied servitude: on her knees, scrubbing the floor in her maid’s uniform— would hang on the walls. Panties would be on display as well, along with her transvestite poetry beneath each painting. She will have done all the work (including purchasing all art supplies, gallery inquiries, publicity, refreshments), and if Miss C and Miss D were satisfied with the results, might be allowed to enjoy the party in a cocktail dress and high heels, carrying her sequined hot-pink purse, rather than in a short cocktail waitress skirt white blouse and apron, wearing low heels, silently scurrying about to tend to the needs of the guests. The paintings may be sold to a collector or museum as a narrative series, but you may be able to purchase some of the preliminary sketches if you ask Miss C politely.

Like a Lady

 
Miss D and her BFF Miss C passed a sex store and purchased several items to help with Panties’ training. Miss C is most gentle and kind with her friends, but Panties has learned she doesn’t forgive quickly. She still remembers when Panties dared take liberties, commenting on one of her paintings. She was also upset over Panties’ insinuations when Miss D had generously permitted her to discuss books, not as a peer, but on a level more advanced than Nancy Drew and Trixie Belden. Fingering a pack of colorful Penis Straws they had bought, Miss C explained to Panties that she would not always be allowed to touch her lips to the cups and glasses Miss C and Miss D and their friends drank from, that when Panties spoke the wrong way she would immediately have one of the penis straws popped in her mouth. Said Miss C: “When you do something bad with your mouth, you’ll have to use that straw. So you’re going to be very careful with your how you use your mouth, won’t you, in the future, Miss Panties?"

Cramps

 

Seven evenings ago Panties slipped between her Barbie sheets and Barbie pillow case having dressed herself in her sanitary belt and napkin beneath her panties, bra and nightgown. During menstruation (she has come to pronounce the word as does Miss D, drawn out in four syllables) Panties is spared the ordeal of sore nipples and water retention, but beginning this period, Panties would have her first taste of sissy cramps as prescribed by Miss D during a recent training session. She had been teaching Panties about high heels, specifically, about how Panties was to wear them whenever she was doing secretarial work. Panties listened as Miss D assigned Panties’ version of the curse, to be endured for the first week of every month hereafter:

...You like how the spike hurts the middle of the heel, (makes) your toes press into the point of the shoe causing pain because it arches unnaturally, that goes up the bone, even at the top of the foot all the way up to your shin to just below your knee. From now on this will be your menstrual cramps. The week you’re menstruating you are to wear high heels the entire day except to shower. Of course you can wear flats for my errands or for working around the house, but it means you’ll have to sleep in high heels when you’re on your period.

Lying in bed, the high heel shoes felt hot and insistent on Panties' feet. She soon fell asleep though and woke the next morning immediately aware it was the first day of her monthly cycle which she would soon remember for the two days of especially heavy flow and her special menstrual cramps.