Timmy's New Life, part 1 by C.L.T. A young man is brought to heel by tall dominant women [NOTE: This novella was inspired by the story "Petticoated Male" by Anonymous, which was itself heavily based upon other stories. Whereas "Petticoated Male" did little more than compile and edit the texts of other stories--making word changes here and there--the present story simply uses "Petticoated Male" as a springboard. Whereas the beginning of "Timmy's New Life" resembles and sometimes reuses the structure of "Petticoated Male", the more the story progresses the further it deviates from the text that inspired it. It is worth noting that the text of "Petticoated Male" itself is far less "original" than the present story--but that should not be taken as a wholly negative criticism of "Petticoated Male". Lastly, the reader can be assured that (unlike the texts that inspired this story) "Timmy's New Life" will include absolutely no sexual intercourse between its protagonist and characters under the age of 18. Amusing and uncomfortable situations? Yes. Sex with minors? Absolutely not.] Chapter 1: Aunt Rose's Plan / Meeting Sarah Again Timmy felt so tiny literally being dragged by his 6'7" tall Aunt Rose toward the ornate entrance of one of the many exclusive shops that lined the most fashionable thoroughfare in town. His aunt probably didn't intend to be so rough with him, rather it was just that her strides were so gigantic compared to his own; he would have needed to run to keep up with her, and after a whole afternoon of accompanying her, he was tired of running. Timmy's consternation was also due to the the fact that their next stop appeared to be a certain shop that specialized in poufy children's clothes. Timmy had always been small for his age. Even though he was almost 26 years old, he stood only 5-foot-2 and weighed only about 105 pounds the last he checked. The last time that he had been in this store like this was years ago, when he was shopping for a gift for the daughter of one of his parents' friends. Even back then, almost all of the little girls he saw in the store were taller and bigger than he was. And girls nowadays seemed even bigger. He shuddered a bit as he saw them browsing the racks in the distance, all these girls who evidently wanted to turn themselves into real-life Disney Princesses. When he hesitated at the entrance, his aunt, who seemed more like a giant preying mantis to him, took a firm grip on his hand--her long fingers nearly covering his entire forearm--looked down at him, and said insistently, "COME ALONG, Timmy!" "But, Aunt Rose, this is a little kid's store. Why do you want to go in there?" She paused, midstride, turned around and glanced down at him, bemused but stern, the hint of a smile (or was it a snarl?) on her otherwise haughty, impossibly high face. She arched her eyebrows and paused, the silence making him feel even smaller and more self-conscious than ever. Rose Nordegren was an attractive woman, the sort of striking female whom it's difficult to imagine ever looking any younger or older. Timmy didn't know her exact age but reasoned based on what little he knew of his family history, that she would have to be at least in her mid-30s, if not older, though showed no signs of being past her prime. "She seems to exist in a permanent springtime of beauty,' Timmy thought, and he would have been embarrassed for thinking such a thing and using such flowery phraseology, except his aunt seemed to warrant those sorts of accolades. He wasn't attracted to his Aunt, but she really did impress him in many ways. She had naturally dark lips and short chestnut hair. Her light caramel-colored skin indicated the not infrequent mornings she spent sunbathing, though her nephew also suspected that her complexion had something to do with her veganism as well. Timmy was not happy about his Aunt having forced changes in his own diet, and though her great height made at least some sense due to the family's Swedish heritage, Timmy himself resented that he had not been blessed with any of these advantages, despite his similar genetic background. 'It's not fair,' Timmy had often thought as of late, 'she's eaten nothing but yucky vegetables and is so super tall and fit, and yet in the first 20-some years of my life I ate so much meat and potatoes, but I turned out so small and weak. And after all, I'm a boy.' He didn't seem to be getting any bigger or healthier, however, even after meat was stricken from his diet. If anything, as of late he seemed shrimpier than ever, but there may have been other reasons for that. Aunt Rose let the moment sink in, placing her free hand on her hip. She wore skin-tight dark blue jeans and brown leather boots with a modest heel (not that she needed it). The boots looked slightly worn but stylish--probably made to look slightly worn even when they were new--and they each went up higher than her calf but below her knee. She also wore a high-fashion blue denim top that resembled something between a jacket and a shirt. Though Rose Nordegren only had pert B-cup breasts, her tight fitted top had a plunging neckline that did reveal some slight cleavage. It zipped up in the front and ended just above her bellybutton, showing off an inch or two of her taut tan midrift. "Come along now, Timmy,' she said, with all traces of amusement now washed from on her impassive face. Timmy couldn't help but feel that she was often patronizing him, though he could never quite discern any actual proof that she thought so little of him or treated him duplicitously. She seemed to deal with him honestly, and yet her words often seemed condescending. It was tough to decide whether she intended to belittle him or whether she simply would have addressed any younger person this way. 'No fussing, please,' she added, as they entered the store. A helpless Timmy found himself being propelled abruptly into this delicately scented haven of childishness, with an emphasis on old-fashioned babydoll femininity. Aside from the Princesses (thankfully, all of the little girls there turned out to be shorter than he was), Timmy noticed a few little boys in the store as well, each of them towered over by a female guardian or two. All of these young males were dressed in clothes that looked borderline feminine, some pink and frilly, others purple and form-fitting, like some kind of gaudy homosexual dream, except the boys themselves weren't gay (as evidenced by the scowls on their faces). 'What is this place?' Timmy wondered aloud. 'I know this store didn't used to be this weird.' 'Well,' his aunt replied, 'from what I understand this store has changed hands and has become the trendiest source for various new fashions to suit the needs of certain types of modern little people such as yourself.' 'Little people?' Timmy wondered, this time silently. 'What does she mean by 'little people'? 'Little' in stature? Or 'little' as in young? Because I'm not a midget and I'm damn sure the oldest 'young' person here by at least 10 or 15 years.' Before Timmy had time to voice his concerns, a smartly dressed older lady--tall but not nearly as tall as Aunt Rose--hurried forward to meet them. Timmy felt so tiny standing between these gigantic amazons. He also felt that all the little girls milling around in the store were gazing on him in disapproval of his intrusion. He didn't blame them. Had he not been in the firm grip of his powerful aunt, he would have fled posthaste. "Ah, good day, Mrs. Nordegren," the tall woman said to his aunt. "I presume this is the little person you spoke to me about.' 'Hello, Madame. Yes, this is my nephew Timmy.' 'My but your a teeny tiny little thing," the saleslady said as she bent over so her face was even with his, a motion which caused him to inhale a cloud of potent perfume. She pinched his cheek, as if to make matters as awful as possible for him. 'You've gotta be kidding me,' Timmy thought. 'Who does this stuff? Pinching kids' cheeks? Okay, I'm not a kid, but--And what's with her calling me a 'little person'?' 'Your aunt told me about the terrible tragedy in your life,' the saleslady continued. 'I am so sorry and hope some of our nice clothes here can give you some comfort and in some small way help you move on in life.' The reference was to the death of Timmy's parents, which happened six months previous. It had been quite traumatic for the young man, causing him to drop out of graduate school (wasting all that tuition!) and actually enroll in a sanitarium for rest. It wasn't a place for crazy people; more of a resort for people who needed time away from the world. His days there were long and monotonous, but he felt socially paralyzed and often wondered if he'd ever leave, or even get up the courage and ambition to want to leave. Thankfully, three months into his stay, his Aunt Rose emerged to take care of him and nurse him back to relarive health. He had never met her before that day when she collected him from the sanitarium and brought him to live with her in the new mansion she had bought for 'next to nothing' in his home town. 'Next to nothing,' he had thought, skeptically, when he first learned of his aunt's purchase. 'Even in the post-housing bubble crash that the U.S. seems cursed to never to recover from--even, even then... This place must've cost over a million dollars.' Not that he was complaining. He generally liked living in his aunt's mansion. It was kind of odd, his Aunt swooping in to save him this way, though they'd never even met before. She told him she felt guilty and wanted to make up for lost time. He did remember his parents referring a few times to his rich young Aunt Rose who lived in Europe. Several times in the last few months, he asked his aunt where her wealth came from, but never received a clear answer. It had something to do with market shares and trading. As far as he could tell, his aunt no longer did any real business but simply lived off her laurels, sunbathed, did yoga, and facilitated acquaintances with ritzy, obnoxious people such as the saleswoman in front of him. Madame's eyes coursed over Timmy's tiny body, giving him the feeling that he was completely nude. "He appears to be a most suitable subject, Ms. Nordegren. I believe you'll be pleased with the result." She indicated the rear of the store. "This way, please." "Why are we going back there?" Timmy inquired as Madame led the way. "Shush! You will soon learn," his aunt said. "Just come along, be polite, and no more whining!" Obviously his aunt meant business. He followed dutifully behind the women, thankful for the moment at least that he did not have to hold his aunt's big hand. On the way they passed a pretty young clerk who smiled curiously at Timmy. She was about Timmy's age, maybe a little younger, fair skin and red shoulder-length hair. She wore a form-fitting black pantsuit, stood only a couple inches taller than Timmy, and was actually the sort of girl he thought he might have a chance with. He wondered if he would ever again enjoy the company of such a girl in any situation not related to buying and selling. It had been a long time since anything like that had gone his way. Over her shoulder Madame said, "You will please join us, Mary." The clerk fell in behind them. Timmy didn't know if he was glad to have the girl accompany him on'whatever surprise he was in for. They arrived at a small corridor with closed doors on either side. Madame opened one and bade them enter. "Aunt Rose, why do I have to go in there?" He tried to sound as dignified as possible with Mary around. But his Aunt simply yanked him inside without any noticeable effort, and he found himself in the delicately scented atmosphere of a fitting room. He turned in dismay as he heard the door close once all four of them were inside. Obviously, he was at the mercy of these two amazonic females; he apparently had to try on whatever clothes they chose for him, and was to undergo the further humiliation of having a girl like Mary present to watch and aid in the proceedings. He then heard Madame exclaim, in an authoritative tone, "Young man, please start removing your clothing." "Are you out of your mind?' he screamed at her. 'I'll do nothing of the kind! Let me out of here!' Madame sighed, "Very well, then. Mary, you know what to do. You know what we do with bad little boys." Before Timmy was quite aware of her intentions, Mary had seized the collar of his jacket and lifted him off the ground. 'I'm sorry,' she said. 'It's just my job.' In a flash, Madame reached out and unbuckled his belt and trouser fastenings. As his trousers slithered down to his ankles, Timmy's voice took on a new note of hysteria. "No, no! Please don't do this to me," he cried, but to no avail, for his underpants followed the path his trousers had taken. In short order, Madame and Mary had reduced him to a state of crimson nudity. He hunched over and tried to hide his nakedness, turning towards the corner. 'Come now, Timmy,' his aunt said, her voice suddenly very tender. 'We've all seen bodies quite like yours before. Don't throw a fit like a toddler. You're bigger than that. I'm sorry to have surprised you this way, but I had to do it. You never would have agreed to come here if I told you where we were going beforehand, and why, but I think it will be fun if you give it a chance.' What choice did he have? Timmy turned around and let the three women see his small thin body in soft light of the scented fitting room, with its high ceiling and weird red velvet draped walls. Of all the worries he had in the world, he suddenly focused on one: 'I hope Mary doesn't see the tissues I stuff in my shoes to make myself taller,' he thought to himself, eyeing his shoes from across the room. Madame surveyed his mortified person in the manner of one with vast experience in such matters. "He really does have a very suitable figure for the styles you suggested, Ms. Nordegren. And,' she added with a wink, 'a nicely fitted corset would simply do wonders for it!" 'A corset!" Timmy exclaimed in disbelief. His expression sent peals of laughter reverberating through the room. He noted that Mary chuckled as well, though not as loudly as the older women. Smiling, Aunt Rose retorted, "Don't worry, Timmy, no corsets today. I think that transition would be too drastic and shocking.' 'What do you mean?' Timmy asked. He couldn't tell if they were being serious about wanting him to wear a corset. 'Timmy dear,' his aunt continued, speaking very seriously, almost as if her words had been rehearsed, 'some progressive changes need to be made, starting today. You have had enough rest, have mourned and let yourself go long enough. Now it is time for you to adjust back into society in some capacity, and I've every intention of transforming your mournful, cranky self into a demure little person whose adorable exterior shall encourage a more delightful and agreeable inner disposition. This is the way things are going to start to be for you." Her words were like a bombshell to Timmy. He sank to his knees before her pleading that she not do this to him. "Not another word!" she replied sharply. "Get to your feet this instant and act like the polite little person I know you can become!" ''Little person' again!' Timmy thought, very annoyed. But he stood up and faced them--what choice did he have?--his shoulders slumped in dejection. Madame bade Mary to "fetch the things I gathered together for our little Timmy." Mary left hurriedly and obediently, her pantsuit material making a swoosh. After a few moments of silence, Madame addressed Aunt Rose as if Timmy were not even in the room. 'Should we measure him again? Or are you sure about his height?' 'No the figures I gave you are correct. He is five-foot-one-and-a-half-inches. And he--' 'I'm five-three!' Timmy squeaked, indignantly. The two tall women turned their heads to look at him in silence for a few moments. Then his aunt slowly moved to crouch before him. Even on her knees she was taller than him, and being naked in her close proximity only emphasized to Timmy just how much smaller he was than his more genetically blessed relative. She gave him a hard gaze, and he trembled, not knowing what she was going to do or say to him. 'Timmy,' his aunt began. 'First of all, I know that you stuff your shoes with silly paper to make yourself taller. So you can walk around and pretend that you're five-foot-three, or five-foot-four, or maybe only five-foot-two. But when making calculations for your new wardrobe we are going to go with five-foot-one- and-a-half, because that is the actual measurement of your tiny little body that I will put over my knee right now and spank so hard that you pass out either from tears of pain or from exhaustion. And second of all, do not interrupt grown-ups when they are talking. Especially ladies like us who are trying to help you. Is all of that clear? Or do I need to explain it to you slower?' She placed one of her gigantic hands on his shoulder and began to caress it threateningly. 'N-no, Auntie. It's clear.' After a gentle knock, the door opened again and Mary came back in, her arms laden with an array of lavish frilled and silken clothing, everything from lingerie to shirts, which she placed on a chair. One garment in particular sent chills down Timmy's spine: a wasp-waisted pink satin corset elegantly adorned with delicate lace and pert baby-blue ribbon bows. Mary handed it to Madame, who drew it about Timmy's waist and began the process of lacing him down to the last breathless inch, much to his discomfort. "Oh, no... Please. You can't do this awful thing to me... Say it's only a joke. I thought you said I didn't have to wear a corset yet? Auntie...?" His tormentors found his protests quite amusing and burst into fresh peals of hilarity. This time Mary laughed along with them. Timmy knew now that he could expect no mercy from them and more or less resigned himself to the indignities to come. Mercifully, he was allowed to remove the corset, for the time being at least. Then, at a signal from Madame, Mary selected a pair of elaborately lace-and- ribbon frilled panties of finest pink silk and held them out for Timmy to step into. 'But these are GIRLS underwear,' Timmy whined. 'They are most certainly not,' replied Madame. 'These are for boys now too,' his aunt informed him. 'All of these clothes are the latest thing in fashion for sensitive little people such as yourself, Timmy. This is all to make you feel better, if you'll let it.' Timmy sighed dramatically, which provoked a chortle from Mary. He closed his eyes as the pretty salesgirl slowly raised the pink silk panties up his skinny legs. The clinging silk caressed his limbs as Mary's alabaster-skinned hand carefully guided the panties up onto his small crotch and around his small hips, the dainty waistband eventually reaching up a little higher than his stomach. She held her hand there, as if measuring. "These are the smallest little panties available in the variety you wanted, Ms. Nordegren.' 'Hmmm,' his aunt mused, placing the tip of one long finger to her dark lips. 'I suppose they'll have to do, as long as they don't fall down. I do think this silken variety of panties suits him best.' 'Yes,' Mary agreed, taking pleasure in her work. 'I think they will fit our tiny man just perfect. And they won't be falling down anytime soon,' she added, and then, when the other two women weren't looking, she threw him a sly wink and gave his penis a very sharp little pinch between her thumb and forefinger through the soft silk of the his new panties. Timmy was too beside himself with shame and shock to know what to make of this. 'Ouch,' he murmured. "A perfect fit," Mary exclaimed. "They're certainly becoming to him, aren't they?" Madame commented with a knowing smile, and his aunt nodded her approval. "They are not! And I don't want to wear them!" Timmy exclaimed. "I want my own underwear back!" In feigned surprise, his aunt retorted, "But Timmy darling, all the other little girls adore their pretty panties," at which Madame and especially Mary roared with laughter. 'Besides,' his aunt concluded, 'all of your underwear has stains. Yes, multiple types of stains, as our maid tells it.' This new public embarrassment quelled any desire in Timmy to protest anymore. He didn't want to be whatever it was his aunt was turning him into, but the overriding truth was that what he wanted or didn't want simply did not matter. Because his dissent was to no avail, maybe it wasn't even worth dissenting? Long stockings were decided upon, and as Mary knelt to draw their gossamer beauty up his small stumpy legs, her hands seemed more intimate than necessary. Madame had taken his aunt out into the salon to select another outfit for him, and he had been told that he would be marched out in front of the clerks and customers in the salon if he made any fuss while alone with Mary. As she affixed a pair of frilled garters to his stocking tops, Mary smiled up at him. "You do make a beautiful little person, Timmy. I just love dressing up little boys, and it's a special pleasure when they're as cute as you are." Somehow, Mary seemed to be trying to comfort him in a friendly way. 'Do you dress up a lot of little boys--I mean, boys like-like me?' The 25-year- old man asked nervously. 'Heh. Not so old as you, no.' Mary finished tending to his clothes and stood up beside him, resting her elbow on his shoulder. 'How old are you anyway? Ten or eleven?' 'Um...' Timmy began, but found his thoughts were frozen. What could he say? He knew he was very small and thin, but did he really look that young? 'You remind me of my little brother,' Mary continued. Timmy was thankful that she didn't demand that he reveal his age. 'He's only ten. It's weird having a brother so much younger than me.' 'Oh,' replied Timmy. 'I'm an only child.' 'That's too bad,' Mary said. 'You're cute. If you had an older brother I'd totally be into him. I don't have a boyfriend and junior prom is next month.' 'Oh, j-junior prom,' Timmy repeated. 'Yeah it sucks to be sixteen and single,' Mary sighed, 'especially since I'm, y'know, kinda short for my age.' Timmy was mortified and it must have shown. 'Hey, you're not upset that I pinched you earlier, are you? I didn't mean anything by it.' 'No, uh, it's okay, uh, Mary.' The reality of this entire situation was sinking in for Timmy. Overcome, he started to cry silently, small tears trickling down his cheeks. 'Oh...hey,' Mary said. 'Don't cry. Here. C'mere.' She enveloped the crying 25- year-old in her arms. He pressed his head against her and wept into her dress shirt. 'Relax. It's okay.' He did relax and after a few moments was able to regain composure and wipe his tears away. He felt better. But whatever solace Mary's embrace had given him disappeared when his aunt and Madame returned. "Darling, look what a lovely pink sailor suit I've found for you! And an adorable little white sailor's hat!" his aunt cried, fitting the latter item to his head. "And here are some nice pink capri pants! This completely changes your appearance. Aren't you glad you don't have to wear horried trousers anymore? You can wear your little sailor suit and pretty capris instead!" After another humiliating wardrobe change, Timmy looked in the mirror and realized that the little pansy boy looking back was him! The change was positively staggering. Madame made a few adjustments, and he was led toward the door. "Oh, Aunt Rose, please don't make me go out in public like this. Everybody will laugh at me, and I'll die of shame. I know I will. They'll think I'm a 10-year- old." His aunt fussed over him, adjusting his capris, the collar of his little pink sailor suit and his hat, then patted his hands tenderly. "Nonsense, dear, no one will have the slightest thought that you are a smartly dressed 10 year old. They'll simply see that you are a fashionable, modern little man." Timmy was humiliated. Here he was: 25 years old, the holder of an MA in history, halfway through an aborted PhD, and yet his aunt had quickly remade him into a figure who could pass for a 10-year-old pansy. She propelled him rustlingly out the door, his cheeks crimson and his eyes cast down. Still in the salon, they passed a customer who remarked on what a sweet little boy Timmy was. They moved over to a long rack on which smartly styled coats were hanging, and after several trials, a lovely pink cashmere was selected, its fitted waist clinging to Timmy's naturally slim waist-line and its flare skirt flowing out over his flamboyant capris. 'This is a very expensive coat,' his aunt warned, 'so it will only be for special occasions. And take care that you don't spill juice on it. Or stain it in some other way.' Finally, they started for the door, Madame accompanying them part way... "You have made some very wise decisions," Madame said to his aunt. "It would be a waste of his natural loveliness to allow him to wear horrid, coarse 'pants', which can't be good for his fragile psyche." 'Yeah,' Mary added. 'I never really thought about it before, but he came in dressed in blue jeans and a sweatshirt. Timmy's dainty personality just, well, can't live up to that old-fashioned, rugged male stereotype.' 'Exactly right, my girl,' Madame said folding her arms in approval. 'You're beginning to understand the social psychology at work in all of this.' His aunt beamed while Timmy anxiously awaited their departure from the scene of his demasuculization and demoralization. Once they joined the stream of pedestrians, Timmy had the dread sensation that all eyes were directed toward him in the certainty that he was a pansy boy. Tugging at his aunt's hand, he pleaded, "Can't we go home now, Aunt Rose?" "Why Timmy," his aunt reproached him, "You wouldn't want to deprive all these nice people of looking at such a daintily dressed little person as you, now, would you?" In fact, a number of people did stop to compliment his aunt on how lovely her little companion was, so prettily dressed that way. Timmy prayed that the earth itself would open up and swallow him, and he implored his aunt to take him home and out of public view. "Why, Timmy darling, you should be quite flattered to have people say such nice, nice things about you. I'm really at a loss to understand your attitude. Don't you WANT people to like you? But we're not going home yet, and that's final!" The audible, indominable will power in her tone left no doubt in his mind, and the sibilant rustling that accompanied his every step amplified tenfold his nervous state and was a constant reminder of his new status. He tried taking mincing steps, but the rustling still remained. In stark contrast, Aunt Rose's powerful boots clicked loudly alongside him; he grew to fear every click, as if they were nails driving home the point that she was in charge of him and he wasn't in charge of anything. Moments later, he glanced furtively from half-lidded eyes as his aunt remarked, "Isn't that Mrs. Thollen and little Sarah coming our way? How nice! They came over to the house last week, but you rudely stayed in your room and hid from them!" 'I wasn't hiding from them! I just didn't feel like seeing anyone!' Panic had seized Timmy anew. Sarah was a 12-year-old girl whom he used to babysit for a few years ago, during summers home from college. While most of his friends were doing internships and looking for real jobs, he was stuck watching little Sarah. She was such a precocious child; he could only barely handle the job of watching her and often accosted himself for his lack of authority over a child. Maybe he didn't deserve any more responsibility. What would she think to see him dressed in these ridiculous girly clothes? "Oh, please, Aunt Rose, don't let her see me like this! I could never face her again!" "Nonsense, Timmy, and do stop tugging at my hand!" Each moment was a lifetime of horror for him as Sarah and her mother Martha approached. Sarah was dressed in a long, smart, charcoal-colored wintercoat. Her lips were painted ruby red; she wore stylish circular glasses and above her deep brown eyes rested a black beret. It was the first time Timmy had seen Sarah in two or three years and she looked so grown-up and sophisticated. Her mother, Martha, was dressed in a poofy winter coat and her face showed a Mad Hatter-ish grin as she caught Aunt Rose's welcoming gaze. The Thollens were half-Jewish. Martha was a dirty blond and Sarah a raven-haired brunette. As the two adult women began making small talk, Timmy kept his head lowered, then, taking a quick glance at Sarah, saw that she was studying him with a quizzical expression. Perhaps... just perhaps... she would not recognize him! When Mrs. Thollen inquired somewhat facetiously as to who "this lovely little person" was, his aunt said, "This is my nephew, to whom I'm in the process of giving a much-needed makeover of sorts. Meet the New Timmy!" A perplexed expression came to Mrs. Thollen's face and, Timmy's aunt hastened to explain. "Beginning this very morning, I decided it would be much more delightful to have a daintily frocked nephew fluttering about than a crudely dressed sulled nephew who has been such a trial to me." Timmy's heart pounded as this denouement and he could feel Sarah's eyes probing him. "Oh, Mommy, it's really Timmy dressed up in little boy clothes! Oh, he's cute, isn't he?" She bent down and excitedly but tenderly hugged him, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. Even though Sarah was only 12 years old, the leggy youngster appeared at least 6" taller and 60 pounds heavier than Timmy. Dressed as he was in tight little girly clothes, he felt so tiny and puny as he looked up into Sarah's deep brown eyes. "Shut up," he whispered, angrily. His instinct was to give Sarah a good shove and propel her annoying doe-eyed face away from him, but thankfully he caught himself in time. He decided he didn't really want to find out just how ineffective or laughable his physical efforts might prove to be against a much bigger body belonging to a much younger female. This was a girl he used to give piggyback rides to, not so long ago. He felt ashamed and frustrated, and the ugly, unhealthy emotions showed on his face. "That will be quite enough!" his aunt exclaimed. "One more word and I'll drop those new taffeta capris of yours and give you a spanking right here in public!" Sarah giggled and then gave Timmy a long mysterious stare. Mrs. Thollen grinned in approval, then approached Timmy to take hold of his shoulders in a gentle embrace. He tried to back away but bumped into his aunt's washboard stomach. Martha Thollen kicked her husband out several years ago; the thrill had gone and she decided she would enjoy life more if she were single again. Working as a bureaucrat in a university library archive served her nature, which was obsessive-compulsive but not to a neurotic extent. Timmy had always generally liked Mrs. Thollen, remembering her as a stout, pleasingly plump little woman, no more than 5'3' or so, with a kind face, big breasts and bigger buttocks. He was never really attracted to her, but had enjoyed engaging her in some high- minded conversation whenever she and his parents had arranged for him to babysit little Sarah. He had always considered Mrs. Tholen savvy, commonsensible and respectable, someone Timmy could see eye-to-eye with literally and figuratively. But that was in the past. At the moment her puffy winter coat concealed her physicality, but Timmy was perturbed to find that she now seemed a tad taller even than her skyrocketing daughter. 'Surely she can't be growing too,' thought Timmy. He looked down and saw that Mrs. Thollen was wearing what he would have called 'stripper' or 'dominatrix' boots--black pleather boots that came higher than her knee, with rows of silvery spikes running along their svelte length, all resting on gigantic metallic heels and platforms. On the one hand, Timmy was glad that Mrs. Thollen wasn't really so much taller than him, but on the other hand her choice in footwear was just one more disturbing element to take in that day. 'What is wrong with all these females?' Timmy asked himself. 'Mrs. Thollen is a mother, and she must be at least 40. Is this what a middle-aged mother with a respectable job is supposed to look like nowadays? Why is she wearing boots like those? What if she runs into someone she works with, or some teacher from Sarah's school? Doesn't she care what people will think of her, dressed so ridiculously like that?' He paused. 'But look at what I'M wearing. I wonder what people will think of me?' As if Mrs. Thollen could hear his thoughts, she replied, 'I think you look so very lovely, Timmy, and I'm glad that you have taken the first steps to a nicer life.' She bent her head down, giving him a nose-to-nose Eskimo kiss as her dirty blonde locks fell against his cheeks.She then lightly pressed her lips to the tip of his nose before craning her head back up to examine him better, smiling, her pale hands still holding his shoulders. Timmy felt only confusion. His aunt noted pointedly that his 'change in wardrobe will be accompanied by a change in attitude, whether he likes it or not.' 'Oh?' Sarah remarked. 'Why? Has he been bad?' Timmy looked up at her and could not help but feel threatened after noticing that the girl was smiling at him. 'It's not that he's been bad, per se,' Aunt Rose continued, nonchalantly separating Timmy and Mrs. Tholen, placing her hands on the top of her nephew's head and leaning down on him. 'It's just that he is really going nowhere. He shows no aptitude for anything productive. If he is ever to become his own person, he needs to start over, with a whole new outlook and a'more appropriate, more conducive public persona, you might say.' 'I fear it may not be easy,' Mrs. Thollen said. 'There may be some bumps in the road.' 'Yes, I'm sure there will be,' replied Aunt Rose. 'But thankfully he has an aunt like me around to guide him back to the proper path, very strictly if necessary, whenever he strays or tries to lapse back into bad habits.' She smiled down at him. 'And I can be very strict and very effective in corrective techniques, especially to persons who are so much weaker than I am.' He trembled and slumped down, knowing full well that his big aunt was more than capable of carrying out any threat and of controlling him however she saw fit. Living with her for the past few months, he had frequently speculated on just how much more powerful than him she was, but this was the first day his aunt herself had begun to acknowledge her vast physical superiority outright. He was not happy to have their size and strength disparity brought out in the open this way, especially not in the company of the Thollens. Mrs. Thollen relieved the tension somewhat by remarking, "Sarah and I were shopping for a new dress for her big Sweet Thirteen birthday party next month. Would you like to join us? Perhaps Timmy would enjoy helping Sarah make some selections. She needs a few new outfits to impress her friends from school and ballet class." His aunt agreed before Timmy could say anything--before he could even process what this invitation would entail. He just wanted this nightmare to end. The prospect of accompanying these females as they shopped for more clothes was more than he could bear to think about. Sarah exclaimed, "Oh, good! I'm sure Timmy will be lots of help in choosing my new dress." She took his hand in hers and propelled him along at her side. It reminded Timmy of how he used to be sure to hold her little hand when guiding her across the street a few years ago. Only how Sarah's soft hand was much bigger; it totally engulfed his own. With a small but increasingly familiar sensation of shame, he thought that he probably couldn't even extract his hand from Sarah's grasp unless she let him. Even when he was babysitting her, sometimes she broke free of his grip and ran off laughing while they were in public, causing him much stress at the time. But she was in control of him now, more control than he had ever had over her. Each step produced the telltale rustling of his taffeta capris against his silk panties, and Sarah couldn't help but hear it. "Mommy, I think Timmy is wearing silk and taffeta. Isn't that lovely? I'd just love to see them!" Mrs. Thollen just laughed. "Sarah, don't tease me," Timmy begged, as he looked up into her innocent face with tears in his eyes. Her mood softening, Sarah squeezed his hand affectionately, as they walked side by side in the mall. She kept looking down at him, still not believing how tiny and adorable he looked as he walked beside her, in his pokadot capris, bright pink sailor's shirt, and white kiddie-sized sailor's hat. "Mommy," Sarah said. "Timmy and I will catch up in a minute. I want to tell him something." "Okay, dear,' her mother said. "But you kids don't be too long. Ms. Nordegren and I will meet you in the dress store." Sarah sat down on one of the benches in the mall and motioned for Timmy to sit on her lap. Timmy looked at her in disbelief. She didn't say anything but her eyes bespoke honesty; no teasing or humiliation was implied. She removed her hat, allowing her flowing dark brown tresses to fall across her shoulders, and took off her winter coat, revealing a knee-length pencil skirt, formal and black, and a bright red sweater. She patted her lap again, a little insistently. Timmy looked around in embarrassment, but saw no one was paying any attention to them, so he climbed up on her linen lap. She snaked her arms up and held him carefully, firmly, but not too closely or impolitely. Timmy had to admit that it felt very good to sit on this big 12-year-old girl's lap. Stress left him; it was the first moment of relaxation he had gotten in quite a while. 'I didn't know you wore glasses,' he offered. 'Oh,' Sarah said, taking them off. 'These are really just for show. Do you like me better without them?' He didn't know what to say. Despite their physical proximity, Timmy didn't really want to feel 'intimate' with Sarah (of course not!). He didn't really 'like' her. What should he tell her? He didn't want her to get the wrong idea, but he was relieved that she was being nice to him now and didn't want to risk her making fun of him again, or bullying him, should he say the wrong thing. 'I can't say for sure,' he said finally. 'I haven't seen you enough lately to make a decision.' She nuzzled him and whispered in his ear, "I'm sorry I teased you, Timmy. I can't imagine how you must feel." He flashed a wan smile up at her for this small consolation. "Try to make the best of it. Be a big person. Err, I mean, try to be as big of a person as you can be. Okay? If it's any help, let me say that I like you better this way and that you are very lovely." Coming from Sarah, this somehow made him feel a little more comfortable, and a little more confident, than before. "Now jump down, Timmy," she said. "Let's have fun and go shopping. Today, we can be just like two girlfriends--except, of course, you're a boy.' Once Timmy put his old-fashioned, maladjusted male ego aside, he found that Sarah's words actually felt really good and gave him a nice cozy sensation. Before sliding off her lap he risked giving her a peck on the cheek. She stood up and straightened out her pretty skirt. Timmy looked up into her eyes. 'Oh Timmy,' she said, gazing way down at him, a quizzical smile returning to her face. 'If only we were the same age. Instead you have to be more like my little brother.' She pulled his little sailor's hat down over his eyes, chuckled, and again grabbed his small weak hand and started walking to the little girl's clothing store. As they walked hand in hand he looked so cute; just like Sarah's little brother- -or perhaps more like her little sister, actually, to anyone who wasn't up on modern male fashion. As they entered a fashionable shop for girls, Sarah let go of Timmy's hand to go over to a rack from which hung a gay assortment of party dresses from satin hangers. "Oh, Timmy, aren't they perfectly darling?" she exclaimed; Timmy nodded and stood sheepishly by as Sarah examined the dresses, unable to make up her mind. Finally, several were selected, and the clerk led them into the fitting room so that Sarah might try them on. Once inside the cubicle, Sarah quickly removed her hat and coat and Mrs. Thollen helped her out of her clothes. In turn, Timmy's aunt insisted that he remove his clothes as well, although he professed to be quite comfortable. As usual, his aunt got her way and he was soon undressed. "Oh, Timmy, what pretty panties you are wearing," Sarah cried in genuine delight. She herself was now clad only in a black pushup bra and sheet half-slip with her black panties showing through. In spite of himself, Timmy felt somewhat flattered and was enjoying the approval of Sarah in much the same way young children desire approval from the cool big kids in the higher grades at school. "Timmy's lingerie is so becoming to him," Mrs. Thollen said, emphasizing the masculine pronoun as if doing so were humorous and ironic. "Perhaps Timmy would like to try on some of these dresses"? Even though Sarah's dresses would obviously look foolish on Timmy because of their much larger size, his aunt nodded her approval. "Then you could be my little sister!" Sarah exclaimed, giving him a quick but dramatic embrace. A clerk glanced at Timmy, an expression of suspicion on her face. Had she guessed that this shy little male was over twice as old as the very extroverted 'tween' girl whose solid, curvy arms were uncomfortably wrapped around his thin frame? His mind was in a turmoil but the clerk then busied herself by fitting a dress onto Sarah. "Darling," his aunt said to him, apropos of nothing, "I hope you do not think it is immodest for any little boy or girl to show off his or her pretty undies to nice ladies. Besides, I am here to oversee everything and protect you." A few moments later, Sarah suggested that Timmy attend her birthday party. His aunt accepted the invitation for him and, sensing his reluctance, said, "Don't be shy, darling. Of course you'll go and we can buy you a pretty new outfit to wear for the occasion. It will be a great step in your reintegration and socialization process." "Oh, Timmy," Sarah cried, "don't worry, you'll have such a wonderful time! I'll make sure of it!" But Timmy's expression hinted that he believed otherwise. As the clerk assisted Sarah in trying on more dresses, gowns, tube-tops and mini- skirts, his aunt also arrayed Timmy in several of the same items. He looked so silly in the big-girl dresses that fit the 12-year-old Sarah so perfectly. The leopard-skin dress hung off of him as if it were the real pelt of a gigantic, prehistoric cat. The little black dress was like a nightgown on him. The white dress that ended above Sarah's knee draped down onto the floor as if it were a long toga on Timmy. Mrs. Thollen had a loud laugh upon seeing him in each one. Eventually, Mrs. Thollen and Aunt Rose left the changing room to put some of their intended purchases on the counter. Dressed only in a black bra and panties, Sarah boldly sauntered up to the tiny 25-year-old, backed him up and then pinned him smack against the full-length mirror with her young athletic body. 'Stop it!' Timmy squealed, very uncomfortable. Sarah just smiled down at him and smushed him harder against the mirror. She rammed one of her big strong thighs against Timmy's crotch and lifted him up a few inches off the floor. 'Owwww!' Timmy yelled, though his mouth was muffled by Sarah's chest (not by her boobs, thankfully, but by the area right below the neck). 'What did you say?' Sarah asked mockingly. 'I can't hear you very well all the way up here.' She quickly turned around and pressed her backside into Timmy, thrusting her butt against him so that it lifted him off the ground again and he hung there, trapped. Her taut butt was crushing him, and her dancer's legs were braced; she kept applying the pressure and it really hurt. He was afraid that the mirror behind him might break, if his bones didn't break first! Sarah then arched her shoulders and leaned her fit back against Timmy's face, smothering Timmy and covering his eyes, nose and mouth. He gave another muffled scream. 'What was that?' Sarah asked mockingly, relaxing a bit and giving him some room for air. 'Stop it, Sarah,' Timmy said weakly, after gasping for air. 'You're hurting me.' His voice sounded so pathetic. Sarah thought it was adorable and it won her over. She let him down, turned around and faced him. His body was so feeble and he was so exhausted that his knees wobbled and he almost collapsed. Sarah had to hold him up as he recovered and caught his breath and balance. 'I'm sorry, Timmy,' she said, rubbing his little arms with her strong young hands. 'I'm a growing girl and sometimes I just don't know my own strength.' 'It's okay,' Timmy offered, regaining his composure and wanting to get out of the situation, which was uncomfortable for several reasons. 'I just wanted to have some fun.' She swiftly grabbed him around his tiny waist and held him up off the floor. Her grip was firm but gentle. Timmy didn't know what to do or say. Sarah kissed him on the right cheek, then pulled back to examine him, staring into his eyes. Then she kissed him tenderly on the left cheek and did the same. Thankfully, before it could go any further Timmy noticed that his aunt and Mrs. Thollen had returned. "Make Sarah put me down, Auntie," Timmy squeaked meekly as his legs dangled high off the changing room floor. "Oh Timmy," Sarah cooed softly so only he could hear, 'you're such a...' she paused and her tone turned sharply as she concluded, with audible disappointment, 'such a fucking baby." It was the first time he had ever heard the young girl swear, and it shocked him. She then set him down, kissed him matter-of-factly on the forehead, delicately grabbed his nose between the knuckles of her right index and middle fingers, made a honking noise, smiled down at him, and then continued to try on some final outfits. Timmy just stood there in his little silk undies, watching the leggy young girl as she examined herself in the mirror, occasionally shooting him back a self-satisfied smile and an approving glance, as if to rhetorically say 'Don't I look good in this? Yes, this outfit will do'. Timmy and Sarah were briefly left somewhat to themselves again while Mrs. Thollen and his aunt were at the counter signing for all their purchases. Sarah took this opportunity to snake one long arm around Timmy and pull his little body towards her. He was caught off-balance and stumbled a bit before his head softly landed in the armpit of Sarah's elegant charcoal-colored winter coat. "Don't be mad at me, Timmy, for inviting you to my party. It's just that it would be wonderful to have you there, dressed so prettily, so we can be sisters." It was tough for Timmy to think of Sarah in any respect as like a sister to him. Until today his experience with her amounted to twenty- or thirty-odd frustrating babysitting experiences, when he had to chase her then- little body all over the house and sometimes all over the town. And then suddenly today, a couple years later, Sarah seemed strangely interested, by turns, in teasing him, apologizing to him, comforting him with relatively innocent kisses, and making him uncomfortable by cramming him very aggressively against her much bigger body, especially when one or both of them were scantily clad. His feelings toward Sarah were not lewd or amorous, but they were certainly not sisterly either. Nonetheless, he told her he would try and enjoy her birthday party, and he meant it, although he had grave doubts about such a mad venture. Anyway, the party was a month away; his aunt wouldn't expect him to remain in girly clothes for that long... or would she? Goodbyes were said at the front door of the shop. Mrs. Thollen made a special point of telling Timmy to visit her sometime soon. 'The library archive is closed for winter break, so I have nothing to do with myself most days. Sarah is in school and then she has ballet most afternoons. So you needed worry about her being underfoot.' Suddenly, it was as if Timmy were being treated as an adult again. Sarah 'underfoot'? As if Sarah were a small child again? Timmy wondered how Sarah herself would respond to that characterization, but at the moment she was engaging Aunt Rose in a brief conversation about pilates and yoga, so evidently she didn't hear what her mother was saying. 'I remember the long conversations we used to have, Timmy. It would be nice to sit with you, have some hot cocoa together, and talk like that again.' 'Sure, Mrs. Thollen. Maybe it would be good for me to get out of my aunt's mansion.' Timmy normally wouldn't really want to go out of his way to hang out with a 40-year-old plump mother whom he still thought of as 'one of his parents' friends', but he honestly did like having the option of escaping from his aunt's grasp. 'Call me Martha,' Mrs. Thollen said, and she pinched Timmy's cheek after kissing him goodbye. "What is it with these women?' Timmy thought. 'Mrs. Thollen does remind me of that 'Madame' from earlier today, so it is sort of predictable that she'd be a cheek-pincher too. Although she never used to pinch my cheeks when I babysat Sarah for her. Did all of these women get some sort of memo yesterday telling them that they have to start pinching short men's cheeks? Or does my wearing these clothes simply bring that out in them? Either way, it's very annoying. And embarrassing.' Finally they parted company, Mrs. Thollen and Sarah turning one way, Timmy and his aunt turning another. Before he could get two steps Timmy felt a violent pain shooting up his left butt-cheek. He turned around and saw Sarah walking backwards away from him, staring at him with a mischievous smile, her right hand making pinching motions in his direction. What in the world had he gotten himself into? It was as if every minute of his life now was filled with a new embarrassment or humiliation. Is this what his life had come to? To be a 25-year-old man dressed in pansy clothes, for all the public to see, and to be disrespected and pinched on the ass by a towering 12- year-old girl whom he used to be given paid guardianship over just a few summers before? Who would give him guardianship over ANYTHING today? What job could he do? Would any sane person who had just been examining Timmy's life over the past few hours even allow him to watch a five-year-old or even to walk their dog or watch their cat? Timmy just stood there in the mall and stared in Sarah's direction even after she and her mother disappeared. 'Timmy, COME ALONG!' his aunt bellowed, snapping him back to reality. 'You can see Sarah again at her party. You just have to wait.' 'No, aunty, I don't--" 'YES, Timmy. My goodness, for a boy who was so scared and shy to see the Thollens again, you certain fell into the role of little puppy dog once you actually saw them again--especially when you saw Sarah.' 'Aunt Rose,' Timmy attempted, 'please I--" 'Aren't you impressed with what a striking young woman she has become? Don't you wish that someday you might be as socially presentable as she is--in your own little way, at at least?' Timmy thought long and hard about what the least problematic way to respond might be. '...Yes, auntie,' he said finally, not wanting to argue and knowing that she wouldn't allow him to speak enough uninterrupted words to try to explain how he really felt anyway. So he may as well just agree with her. And, besides, despite the general madness of his aunt's apparent plan to reform him, he DID want to be a presentable member of society again. 'That's a good boy. I think little Sarah is a very good role model for you. On the other hand, I heard her mother invite you over to their house alone. I want to warn you that I definitely DON'T think you are ready for such an adult interaction.' 'Adult interaction? Aunt Rose, Mrs. Thollen just--" 'Whether she just wants to chat with you about old times, or whether she wants to pull your pants down and take advantage of you--and I personally suspect that it's the latter--I forbid you to see her without Sarah or myself present.' 'What?!' Timmy yelled, confused by so much of what he was hearing. 'First of all, I'm not interested in Mrs. Thollen and she isn't interested in me that way. And--" 'She seems like a pedophile to me,' Aunt Rose declared. 'Pedophile? But... What?!' Timmy was so confused. Was his aunt intimating that he should be considered more or less a 'child'? He had yet to even confront his aunt on the issue of her 'forbidding' him, a 25-year-old man, from paying a social call on whomever he wanted. His aunt looked down on him and, uncharacteristically, reconsidered. 'Maybe I shouldn't have said that,' she remarked. Timmy wondered if she had changed her mind on Mrs. Thollen being a 'pedophile', or whether his aunt simply wanted to hide her suspicion from Timmy, baseless as it was, in much the way adults don't want to trouble children by saying scary ideas in front of them. 'Come along now,' she said, grasping his hand and pulling him along with her. "Are we going home, finally?" Timmy asked, plaintively as he looked up at his tall aunt. His aunt dramatically halted in mid-stride, bringing the heel of her boot down on the mall floor so loudly that it generated an echo. Suddenly Timmy was very afraid. Aunt Rose looked down at him from her imperious height, squeezed his hand very tightly, and slowly drew her free hand behind her shoulder, as if she were preparing to backhand him. Timmy winced, closed his eyes, instinctly brought his head down and covered it with his freehand in a feeble attempt to protect himself. But she didn't hit him. Instead she lowered her hand and seemed to soften. "Timmy dear," she said with a sigh. "No one likes a little whiner. We are not going home yet. We have one more purchase to make this afternoon. Can you guess what it is?" "No, Aunt Rose," Timmy answered, annoyed at all this tedium. He had an idea that the final stop wouldn't be for anything manly, or anything he would enjoy shopping for. They resumed their walk, hand-in-hand, his aunt's hard heels hitting the floor in a rhythmic way that now imbeded itself in Timmy's mind. "We need to get you some nice little shoes to wear. Some that actually fit you, without you stuffing horrid little tissues in them to make yourself look taller!" Timmy opened his mouth to say something, but he was silenced by a wave of her hand. Once again, he felt super self-conscious, as if all eyes were upon him as his aunt marched him through the mall. They entered a shoe store, and moved directly to a glass showcase in which were displayed several dainty examples of little person's footwear. "Are these children's shoes? GIRLS shoes?!" Timmy asked but got no answer. A 40-year-old clerk behind the counter smiled and asked politely if she could be of any assistance to them. "I'd like to see some nice little shoes, practical but slightly dressy, for my little charge here," Aunt Rose said, and then smiled down at Timmy. "Of course, Madame!" the clerk replied. "Such a very lovely little person does deserve something special." Timmy wondered whether these women were simply insane, or whether there really was a trace of sarcasm in their voices that he could never quite perceive well enough. The only other alternative possibility would be to consider that someone like him actually deserved to be fussed over in this way, as if he really were a futzy little child. "What size does he wear, Madame?" That did it. Timmy hated being talked about in the third-person, as if he weren't there or wasn't capable of speaking for himself. "I wear a MENS size 9," he said. He usually tried to buy 9.5s or 10s, because over the years he had worked out how to stuff those shoes just right and still be able to walk in them, gaining a few inches in height and also having a perceptibly larger shoe-size (not that it ever helped him in attracting women, but he could always HOPE...). Truth be told, he believed that he honestly would have fit into a size 8, or even a size 7.5, but he decided to press his luck by announcing a somewhat respectable size 9. His aunt chuckled in a dismissive way, which brought out a giggle and a smile from the clerk as well. "He'll take a size 6 in these," Aunt Rose said, holding up what appeared to be a shiny black dress shoe for little girls. It looked like a doll's shoe. It had a strap that went across the front, secured by a little silver fastener. A little white lace frill ran along the side and back. Of course, the shoe was totally flat; the sole not even a centimeter thick. "NO, Aunt Rose, those look like little girl shoes--The size--I won't even--" "Oh those will look adorable on him!" the clerk interrupted, then turned to the box-lined shelves behind her, glanced over the labels, took a box and placed it before them. With a gentle but weighty hand on his shoulder, Aunt Rose directed Timmy to sit down a little stool, which he did, not wanting to cause a scene or make things any worse. From the rustling folds of white tissue, the clerk extracted the elegant, tiny pair of frilled black dress shoes and held them up, remarking that they were a recent import from Paris. "They are simply darling," Aunt Rose commented. "But, Auntie--" "Try them on, Timmy," she said with palpable goodwill and optimism. He did try them on. And, to his horror, they fit. He was made to walk around the store, feeling shorter than ever without his makeshift lifts. His Aunt Rose looked absolutely gigantic to him. Slumping a bit, he felt as though he were looking into her bellybutton, which showed on her exposed midrift. There she was, a millionaire who effortlessly looked like a model--a model whose height was closer to 7 feet than 6 feet, thanks in part to her knee-high heeled cowboyish boots. And there he was, only about ten years younger than her (in his reckoning), and yet he looked like a foppish little pipsqueak boy dressed in girls clothes (or, at best, "GIRLY clothes"). "It isn't fair!" he screamed silently, thinking to himself not for the first or last time that the very physical presence of his big aunt--the super-rich, super-fit, rich babe--seemed to be the embodiment of an insult or cruel joke aimed at his diminutive little self. "He looks very nice," the clerk remarked. "Hm," his aunt said, "he'd look a lot nicer if he did something about his posture. He may be only five feet tall, but it would be better were he a PROUD five-foot-tall person." Timmy groaned, sat back down, and began to undo the strap on one of the shoes. "Oh you shall wear them home, Timmy. Don't you just adore them? They must fit and feel better than any ill-fitting shoes you've worn in quite some time. You little boys and the little games you have to play to assuage your insecurities... But these shoes, on the other hand, fit both your dainty feet and your appropriate demeanor. Don't you agree?" "I guess so," he answered meekly, preferring to simply lie and say that he agreed. After buying the shoes, Timmy could at least look forward to going home. Unfortunately, his aunt decided on the spur of the moment to duck into a woman's lingerie shop. Timmy felt so uncomfortable, not least because his aunt insisted on continuing to hold hands while she browsed the lacey racks. Timmy couldn't bear to look at anything. He put his head down, then closed his eyes (not wanting to look at his new capris or his little girly shoes). To make matters worse, Timmy also began to feel the call of nature. He had to pee. At first he thought he could wait until they got home, but his aunt was taking so long looking at the lingerie. He told himself that he would simply use the bathroom near the exit of the mall, whenever they left. But the minutes ticked by and he could bear his problem in silence no longer. Timmy shuffled his feet uncomfortably, with a full bladder, and said, "Auntie--" "Please do stop your fussing, Timmy. We shall return home when I am good and ready! I would have thought a boy like you would have enjoyed looking at pretty lingerie, but apparently it scares you. Is that right?" His aunt didn't even look at him while talking, so intent was she on running the elegant fabrics through her long fingers. "Here, hold these." She passed Timmy a heap of panties, bras, stockings and silken gloves that she intended to purchase. "Aunty, no, I--" "I just need a few other items of lingerie before we leave," Aunt Rose continued, unconcerned. "Do behave or I will drop you right here, in the middle of the store, and give you the sort of spanking that only the very worst bad little boys deserve." She said all of this to the 25-year-old man as if it were the most natural conversation in the world. They wandered around the establishment, Timmy growing ever more physically uncomfortable and becoming ever more certain that the attractive young clerks were laughing at him behind his back and whispering among themselves. His aunt spent five or six more minutes looking at bustiers, selecting a few and then moving toward a section of "stripper" boots not unlike those Mrs. Thollen was wearing. She mumbled, "I hope they carry my size..." Finally Timmy could wait no longer to tell her of his dire condition: "Aunty, I... I... have to go to the bathroom." "Well, can't you wait till we get home? You can pee-pee then," she said, unconcerned. Not appreciating her use of the term "pee-pee", he shook his head vigorously, and said (in the loudest manner he had ever addressed her) "NO!" "VERY WELL THEN," Aunt Rose hissed, clearly annoyed, as if the levy was breaking. "COME ALONG WITH ME THEN, LITTLE BOY." In one swift motion she somehow swung all of her intended purchases out of Timmy's arms, put them on the counter, and swung Timmy himself up high into the air. His mind flew and he didn't know how many (or how few) of his aunt's gigantic strides were necessary to reach the bathroom. When they finally reached it, he didn't know what percentage of the jou---distance was covered with him in the air, with his little hand and forearm hanging from his aunt's huge clenched fist. He looked around. "This is a ladies' room!" "Of course it is, Timmy. Did you expect this establishment to bother maintaining a little lavatory for men? Where else did you expect me to take you?" He didn't expect his aunt to "take him" anywhere. He expected her to let go of his hand for the first time in an hour so he could find his own way to a more comfortable place for him to relieve himself. Still, he was glad to be near a toilet--any toilet. A moment later he found himself in the scented privacy of the most elegant bathroom stall he'd ever been in. From beneath the door he saw his aunt's brown leather boots tapping impatiently. It was hard for him to go under the circumstances. He felt so self-conscious and rushed, even though he really had to pee. Nevertheless he took down his capris and pulled down his new silk panties and-- saw to his great consternation that he had a raging hard-on. It wasn't the first time he had developed an erection for no ostensible reason. He recalled a few lonely bus trips and train trips in which, over the course of hours, the rhymthic motions of the vehicles had given him hard-ons for no sexual reason whatsoever. But all he had been doing over the last hour was trying NOT to look at lingerie. And he hated being in the presence of his aunt. Nonetheless, the rock-hard penis staring up at him caused him no shortage of troubling questions about his own psyche. "I don't hear any tinkling!" his aunt bellowed from behind the stall door. Timmy shivered. He heard the outside door swing open and shut. Someone else had entered the bathroom. Great. "Do you need any help in there, Timmy?" his aunt asked. "N-no," Timmy replied meekly, trying to keep his voice down. Great, now whoever had just entered the bathroom would know that a man was in here--a man who evidently had problems going to the bathroom "by himself". Rather than risk a "fountain shot" of urine, some of which might get on his body or his "nice new clothes", Timmy decided to sit down to pee. With all his strength he tried to pry his erection down as far as it would go. Gosh this was painful. It was as if his erection was the strongest muscle in his body; or at least it seemed stronger than his thin arms. He also tried to arch himself back- -anything to get his aim down low enough to hit the pot. Finally he began to urinate, slowly but safely. "I STILL don't hear anything!" his aunt bellowed again, her exclamation shocking Timmy and causing him to break concention. His penis sprang upright and a fountain of urine began to splash all over his body and clothes. He tried to control himself and stop peeing, but he couldn't. "Timmy! Timmy! Are you okay?" He wished Aunt Rose would shut up. Finally he was able to stop peeing. His erection had actually died down, probably because of all the shame he was feeling. But it was too late; he was covered in his own piss. He stood up and turned around and was finally able to pee like a normal man, right into the toilet, though there was not much left in him. He was already drenched, and it had soaked into his clothes enough for it to be noticeable, visually and olfactorily. He thought he would die or pass out from shame. The next thing he knew, his aunt's hands were on his shoulders and she was crouching down to look him directly in his face. He didn't know if he had actually opened the stall door himself or if she had somehow broken the lock and come in and get him. She shook him, not maliciously but in an attempt to bring him back to consciousness. It worked. He cast wide eyes around the bathroom and crimsoned as he saw, standing at one of the sinks, a tall teenage girl with long platinum blond hair, wearing a dangerously short clingy black dress and calf-high red booties with 4- inch heels. Timmy estimated her to be 18 or 19. The young beauty was washing her hands and looking askance in his direction. "Timmy, look at me," his aunt said, scrutinizing him very seriously. His aunt's face came into focus for him. Her hard, dark features looked genuinely concerned; her dark lips were pursed. It was the first time Timmy had to admit to himself that his aunt really did have the face of a gorgeous supermodel. A dozen feet off, the tall teenager had stopped washing her hands and had turned to use a towel. "Are you okay?" his aunt asked. "Yeah. Yeah. I'm sorry. I just couldn't hold it down," Timmy said reflexively. What he couldn't hold down was his raging boner, but thankfully his aunt would interpret the statement as if he simply lost control of his bladder. "It's okay," Aunt Rose said tenderly. "I guess this was all a lot for you to take in all in one day, huh?" "Uh...yeah." He did feel some relief. At least his aunt wasn't mad at him. At least she wasn't carrying out her earlier threat to spank him in public. "Come on," she said. "I'll get you cleaned up in one of the sinks here." "What?! No! I--" His aunt had already wrapped her hands around his wet, stinky, sticky body, and had lifted him at arms' length up in the air. As she carried him over to the sinks, Timmy noticed with much embarrassment that the hot young girl was still there, looking at herself in the mirror, fixing her black sunglasses so they balanced on top of her blonde head, and tugging on the hem of her black dress as if in a hopeless attempt to make it reach more than an inch or two lower than her crotch. As Aunt Rose set his butt in one of the sinks and methodically began to pull his urine-soaked clothes off, Timmy found that he was too shocked and humiliated to say, much less do, anything at all. The seconds passed like hours as he was locked into a slow-motion opera of shame. He heard the clicking of heels and saw the blonde girl's face above him, next to the face of his aunt but several inches below it. "Uh. Is he okay?" the girl asked in what Timmy thought was a very stupid- sounding teenager voice. "Yes, he'll be fine," Aunt Rose answered, turning on the faucet now that Timmy was--to his horror--completely naked. He closed his eyes and the next few utterances almost totally shattered his mind. "Oh wow," the girl said. "he's got some cute little baby panties... Uh. Huh. Look. He's got a little boner." Timmy cracked an eye open and bravely looked down. He did indeed have another raging erection. Was there to be no end to the indignities being heaped upon him? His aunt just sighed, then squirted a heap of bubbly hand soap into her gigantic cupped hands. The girl had taken out a cherry red sucker and had put it in her mouth. His aunt began to soap up his thin body, removing any urine or scent of urine from him. Timmy squirmed and shivered as his huge aunt's freakishly long soft hands fingered his body and massaged the soap suds all over his naked skin. He watched the blonde teen as she listlessly surveyed the process, slurping on her lollypop and occasionally clicking it against her hard white teeth. Finally his aunt soaped up his dick. Fortunately, or unfortunately, it was not a long process. Timmy got no relief or release from it and was mercifully glad that his aunt did not spent much time on it. As his aunt reached under him and guided him under the faucet so as to rinse off the soap, the teen girl asked, "Uh, should I get a towel?" "That would be very helpful," Aunt Rose said, keeping her eyes on Timmy. Her every word and glance seemed to say, "I am so disappointed in you, nephew. You are just...nothing. So pathetic". A small but growing part of him was beginning to agree with those implied sentiments. His aunt lifted him high into the air again and set him down on the bathroom floor. He noticed that he still was wearing his new little flat-soled dollshoes. Apparently those didn't get peed on. Other than that, he was naked. Suddenly a shadow fell over him and he felt an immense fluffy white towel being wrapped around him. "Thanks," he told the hot blonde girl, looking up--way up--at her blank-stared face. "Another typical teenage idiot," he thought to himsef, desperately searching for anything to make his own ego feel a little better. "Aside from the fact that she's like 5'11" or whatever." He looked down again. There were his stupid little dollshoes--completely flatsoled and teeny tiny. And there were the big teen girl's hot red leather booties with their thick 4-inch heels. They looked so powerful compared to Timmy's tiny feet and very thin legs, especially with the girls' own legs--long, shapely, toned and naked--rising so high above them. And then lastly there were Aunt Rose's big shiny, modest-heeled leather boots, which dwarfed Timmy and reached up to his crotch almost, even though they didn't even reach his aunt's knees. After his aunt helped him dry off she began looking in their shopping bags for a clean outfit for him to wear. "Wanna sucker?" the girl asked him. Timmy wanted to tell her "No! Why are you still here? Get lost!" But instead he just said "Sure." The girl began fishing around her purse, which appeared to be made of the same red leather as her high-heeled booties. In another time and place, Timmy might have tried to strike up a conversation with the girl by complimenting her on her matching fashion sense. But such a situation was hopelessly distant from his current position. "Oh poo," she said finally. "Don't have any more. But. Uh. Here. You can have this one." She bent down so her face was on his level, pulled the red lolly out of her mouth with a loud smacking "pop" and then shoved it into his mouth, which, he realized, had been gaping open in awe of the very leggy female specimen before him. He dumbly sucked on the lolly and savored the cherry-flavored spit that was already on it. The girl chuckled stupidly. "What do you say, Timmy?" his aunt warned him. "Uh, th-thank you," Timmy said. "For what?" his aunt prompted. "For e-everything," Timmy stuttered shakily, uncertain and humiliated. Still kneeling beside him, the girl smiled a toothy grin, giggled a spitty giggle (some lollypop saliva evidently still in her mouth), and then pinched Timmy's cheek with a strong thumb and forefinger whose nice shapely nails were painted cherry red. Timmy was very much aware of his erection, which was now throbbing even more dramatically than his heart was. Then the girl stood way up, smiled again, showing her unnaturally white teeth, and left the bathroom. Timmy couldn't help but admire how good her tight ass looked in that short black dress. He thought back to how Sarah had jammed him against a wall with her ass; it was humiliating, but he wished he could get the same sort of treatment from that blonde girl. He turned to his aunt, half wanting to bury his head in her stomach. She began to help him put on another new outfit that looked more like something a little girl would wear than something a 25-year-old man would be caught dead in. "Don't worry, Timmy," his aunt said sweetly, adjusting his girly choker collar and smiling down at him with her wide dark lips. "It's only the first day. You'll hold up better, later, under the yoke of femininity." What did she mean by that, Timmy wondered? Instinctively, he knew what she meant, but to put it into words...? Before he could think about it much, she continued, "You'll soon change your mind about your life and about what it means for you to be a little male--a little PERSON. You'll change completely before I've finished with you. Of that you can be certain. And all of the strong women you encounter in your life will help out. I'll see to that. You shall become the sort of male to whom women can't help but want to aid and guide--based not so much on a motherly instinct, but based on... some other sort of pity and compassion." His shoulders slumped in hopelessness as she plopped his little sailor hat back on his head. They stopped by the wrapping desk to retrieve his aunt's many packages of expensive lingerie, and then took their departure from the mall. Much to Timmy's relief, they were headed back to their home, back to his aunt's mansion.