A GLIMPSE OF THE FUTURE
by
Leslie



I wish I could send this letter back in time a hundred years and tell my family what happened. I can't, but I'll write it down anyhow. It has been the most incredible experience.

I "died" a hundred years ago in spring of 2020. I was a successful business woman, who was a bit eccentric. My eccentricity dated back to my childhood, when I caught my little brother wearing my underwear. Discovering his unusual interest that day opened a door that lead me on an unexpected, but rewarding, path for the rest of my life, a succession of sissy maids.

It was nothing unseemly; he just wanted to know what it felt like to wear my bra, panty girdle and nylon stockings, the unmentionables of my generation. And he wanted to see what he would look like in the mirror. I guess it was actually a compliment that he wanted to be like his big sister. My brother, many years later told me that upon discovering him that day in that compromising situation my true nature came out. He said I was kind, understanding and curious. Interestingly enough, he said those were the very traits that made me a success in business and won so many friends in my community. I have read my obituary. Mine must have been a lovely funeral, but I'm glad I missed it.

I wasn't angry when I caught him, in fact I remember handing him one of my slips and telling him that's what goes over all the other stuff he had on. He obligingly put it on, not sure what to expect next. To his delight, a dress came next, but that's beside the point. Instead of admonishing him for his curiosity, I told him that curiosity is a good thing, but that he had no right to use my things without asking my permission. I told him in the future to ask me first, and if I ever wanted to try on any of his clothes or use any of his things, I would ask for his permission too, because I respect him and therefore I respect his property. He got the point.

I not only respected his property, I respected his privacy too, so I kept his secret. To my surprise that small act won his lifelong admiration and we were very close from then on. I also started saving my worn and outgrown clothing and shoes that would normally be destined for the thrift shop, keeping them a bit longer in a box that was fair game for my little brother. What he didn't want would be donated. Also, from then on I would always get him something soft and pretty for Christmas. His hobby made gift shopping so easy.

Being the older child, and the daughter, I had chores to do around the house that were more related to inside work like laundry, cooking and dish washing as compared to my brother's chores of mowing and raking the lawn, sweeping walkways and keeping the garage, car and basement clean - basically outside the house and in service areas. I would babysit him and we both enjoyed dressing him up in my lingerie, shoes, makeup and other clothes. On those occasions I would let him use my better clothes if he was careful not to damage them. That made those times together even more special.

It was on one of those occasions that I, on my own, discovered the concept of a sissy maid. While he was dressed like me, he was more than willing to do my chores and eventually I had it down to a routine, get him dressed up after school and put him to work. It worked, even if it was just an old training bra and panties or a girdle under his boy's clothes, it still worked. No offense intended, my brother was a fairly smart guy, but in some ways, boys really are stupid.

Organizational skills developed while managing my brother would serve me well in the future and the time it saved me was put to good use giving me more time to study which also added to my long term success. It kept my little brother out of trouble too. If parents had any clue what most of their unsupervised pre teen boys were doing outside after school, at the time, they would have been mortified.

My little brother's secret couldn't be kept forever, and one day our mom returned from work early and discovered our daily routine. After her initial shock and his embarrassment, I smoothed things over for both and convinced our mother not to dwell of potential negatives, but to look at the current positives. After that Mom got with the program and even made a little black maid dress and apron for him to wear around the house. She did however use her influence to insure that his "little diversion" would not become such an important part of his life that it would become an all consuming lifestyle, rather than a fun hobby. Both Mom and I made sure that little brother developed many other interests as well to keep his dressing in prospective. Eventually he outgrew that particular interest when he discovered that the girls inside the dresses could be far more interesting and fun than the dresses themselves and that's when I lost my maid. But, the whole episode was a valuable learning experience for both of us.

While my brother outgrew his cross dressing, I did not. I liked having a sissy maid and I seemed to have an uncanny talent for identifying potential candidates for what eventually became my harem of maids. Even in college, although they were not yet in pretty little uniforms, I managed to have boys falling all over each other trying to please and serve me. I was not beautiful, just an average girl but I did and do have an outgoing personality, had tremendous sensitivity and empathy.

At first, I think I liked the power I had over my brother and the other boys. It wasn't the kind of power I had over him as his baby sitter - authority bestowed by my mother. It was authority willingly granted. Eventually, after one of my college boys felt he would never fit in, got hooked on drugs and died from what I think was an intentional overdose, my fascination with sissy maids morphed into a genuine concern for their futures.

After graduate school, I became a financial advisor and proved to be unusually talented at that job. I had satisfied customers, many of whom would become good friends. In this way I built up a local network of trusted individuals within what one might call the investor class, the so-called middle and upper middle class of our small city. I made no secret about my interest in cross dressing, and I'm sure some friends assumed my husband was one, but he wasn't. He didn't care. Neither were our children, but my brother had made an indelible impression on me.

My sensitivity in dealing with people allowed me to spot things others would not and at opportune times I could bring up topics that others would avoid. Sometimes it would be a client, other times it was the wife or husband of a client I would be talking to. They might shut down the topic and that was OK. Then, a few weeks later after thinking about it, they would want to talk. Or it might be a worried parent who welcomed the opportunity to confide in someone, grateful for a sympathetic ear and caring advice. Word got around and that probably brought more people into my financial planning business as well.

I did not recruit boys. They just seemed to come out of the woodwork and my network of friends could help them and help each other. I could find them jobs, traditional boy's jobs with men who would be a good influence on them if a traditional masculine role was the path they seemed destined to take. If not, there were other options. Trusting parents would introduce their sons and occasionally daughters to me and after visiting them several times and talking with them about their views and aspirations, if I deemed them suitable; I would let them stay in my home and train them as long as they were well behaved. With our own children in the house, we were always careful and selective.

I left no doubt it was a privilege to be there and for many of the trainees, they were delighted to be away from unhappy homes. My husband and I were privy to many family secrets and always respected our friend's privacy. On rare occasions we would diplomatically intercede on the trainee's behalf, but that ran the risk of losing a friendship, so it was a last resort and I was never pushy. Although it was always a private affair, outsiders would occasionally be exposed to what we were doing and they generally ignored it as being other people's business, but we always protected identities.

No money was involved. I was not a counselor nor was I a social worker and we did not want the liability a commercial venture would create. Besides, we were doing well and didn't need the money. This had become a labor of love for both of us. But the parents, or in some cases adult clients who wanted the experience, would always buy their uniforms and accessories from local shops owned by other clients, so we always tried to help those in our little network.

The network also allowed trained maids to be placed in caring homes. In some cases with their parents or with the parents of others whom I had taken in for training effectively swapping sons who were deemed more likely to serve successfully in other people's homes. In this way they were getting true work experience and I always insisted that my maids be paid a fair wage for their labor. Financial responsibility was a fundamental part of their training. That was, after all, my real job and good financial management is an important basis for a happy life. Laying the foundation for a happy life for these trainees was our ultimate goal.

My goal was never to feminize boys. If a boy was feminine that was done by nature, not by me. Others were like my brother and were simply experimenting or having fun. Those boys might decide after a week or two in an unrelentingly tight corset, high heels, a wig or styled hair and makeup, and the need to keep up a constant proper appearance and attitude, that life as a sissy maid was not as wonderful as they had imagined and would return home with a different outlook on life. The corsets were never as tight on the really feminine ones who might be in it for the long haul. Parents appreciated our willingness to help and some appreciated my natural talent for training a son and returning him to them as a proficient and obedient sissy maid.

My husband ran a small architectural and engineering firm out of our house. He helped train the maids and enjoyed the benefits of so much trainee labor around the house. He would also introduce them to several traditionally masculine pursuits getting them to help him in his wood working shop, repairing cars, taking them shooting and even getting them to help him do the complex electrical wiring of his large model railroad layout. He would even take some fishing or hunting on our land if they were so inclined, at which point flat shoes were deemed acceptable.

Several of them were trained in drafting and CAD but were still required to be in their maid uniforms while in our training program. Some of the boys were won over from house work to various traditionally masculine trades or even careers by his influence. Generally, they enjoyed activities with him and his companionship presented an example of a viable alternative to sissydom. Our program wasn't there to create sissy maids. We trained those who were sissy maids by their nature, but it was there to help all of them find their true path in life. For those boys who were like my brother, or like my poor friend in college, this could avoid a tragic path that could lead to an unhappy life of addiction and self loathing. A path, my brother by the grace of God avoided. For the true sissy, we made him into the best sissy maid he could possibly be.

My husband was smart and completely logical. We never had a real fight because two people with the same values, when given the same information, will always reach the same conclusion. That's why mathematics works. If we had a disagreement, it was because one of us lacked critical information that would result in agreement. We were a good example to the trainee maids, and our children as well, of what a successful marriage based on love and mutual respect could be. We would talk to them about the importance of common values, respect and compromise in a marriage. Our children grew up with this constant turnover of trainee maids, always properly uniformed and made up, in a large house seeing it as just a normal part of their lives. They thought everyone had maids. The abundance of maids, however, didn't get them off the hook for chores.

The combined talents and resources of our network ushered in a golden age for sissy maids in our small city, and earned the loyalty and devotion of those families we helped. Occasionally a former trainee would come by to introduce his wife and family and even a few who transitioned to totally new lives visited us. But it all came crashing down when I was diagnosed with a terminal illness. The above story is not the kind of thing that makes it into history books or even into newspapers. So, I don't know what happened to our local group after my "death". I do know my husband would not be able or willing to continue on his own. I hope someone stepped up to help those kids, but I doubt it.

Faced with imminent death, I took a totally crazy course of action that was only possible with the help of a truly loyal physician friend who took a risk. I chose cryogenics, in the hope that a cure might be found in the next few years. We had a big going away party; I was declared dead and then frozen. It would have been illegal to freeze a living person, but a living person offered the best chance of success.

In anticipation, I had set up a trust fund to be administered by a reputable law firm and a reputable brokerage house. The Trust Fund was wisely managed and prospered but the trigger date was tied to finding a cure which never happened. By luck, in a recent review - sixteen years ago, my account happened to fall into the hands of an extraordinary individual. He is the kind of person who goes above and beyond that which is asked or expected of him and that lead to decisive actions.

Decisive action, we use the term but don't dwell on the wonder in it. The ability and willingness to make decisions is so rare in our species, that our failure to celebrate that trait is actually an injustice. Perhaps we intentionally dismiss it out of envy. It takes courage to assume responsibility, make a decision and initiate action, instead of settling for the status quo. The status quo for me was being literally hopelessly frozen in time with a law firm and brokerage firm raking in a percentage of my trust fund each year. Sticking with the status quo was in their interest but he acted in my interest. That took courage and the result was magical.

He actually visited me. Yes, he went to the cryo facility, which had been reduced in size decades ago to one small dark room in the basement of a large corporation that had assumed responsibility for my unit and he looked into my case. Finding that my illness had been eradicated by genetic engineering, he reasoned that finding a cure for an ailment that afflicts only one person on the entire planet would not be high on the priority list of most scientists, but he did hit on a plan to help.

I should not be surprised after a hundred year slumber to find that I am obsolete. But I didn't expect my attempt to extend my lifespan through cryogenics to have been so wrong. I feel like the person who bought stock in a buggy whip factory when Henry Ford needed investors.

At least I survived my "death". I'm one of only three people that were actually thawed out with a functioning brain. And then came the big dose of irony, the "We have good news and bad news for you" part. The bad news was that after a hundred years, there was still no cure for my illness but the good news is, while it can't be cured, it can be prevented. The administrator of my trust decided to grow a new body for me. That's right; a new body. It was generated in a tube using my DNA, with my illness engineered out of existence. He also gave me high cheek bones and a cute nose, bless him! It took fifteen years for the body to grow to the point that it could accept my brain engrams in an electromagnetic transfer similar to moving files on a computer.

"If I knew then what I know now", used to be a common saying, but nobody uses it anymore. People can now live for hundreds of years swapping their consciousness into new cloned bodies grown in tubes. So the 15 year old boy who meets your 14 year old daughter might actually be 70 years old and might actually know what a 70 year old knows. Face it, when most men said that, they are thanking about how easily they could "have their way with" all the na&iumil;ve teenage girls, so you can imagine the blowback from parents when this possibility became a reality and the first few clones actually did take liberties.

The poop hit the fan and regulatory legislation was quickly passed. At first it was an expensive luxury for the few but enough people did it that there has been an entire branch of the legal code dedicated to it. It has had a major impact on inheritance and parenthood and every other part of society. Why have kids to replace you in society when you can replace yourself? You walk in an eighty five year old and walk out with all your memories, all your assets but in the body of a fifteen year old. All you need is a new driver's license picture.

I always took comfort in the knowledge that the few people whom I considered truly evil would die and the world would finally be rid of them. The idea of them burning in Hell was just be icing on the cake! Now there is no such certainty. They can live almost forever as a scourge on society. The grave is no longer the great equalizer.

Thankfully my trust fund provided me with a cushion to allow me to adapt to my new world at my own pace. As I explored old interests, including the possibility of obtaining a sissy maid, I discovered sissy maids are almost nonexistent now. The gender dysphoria that was the basis for so many of our maids is gone, either edited out by gene jockeys, or allowed to run its course until the child is old enough and mature enough to make an informed decision.

There are no more parents inflicting their preferences on a confused child or confused parents trying to anticipate what is unknowable in the life of a five or six year old who says one day he wants to be a girl or vice versa. When a six year old tells you he wants to be an astronaut, you don't stick his ass on a rocket, but so many people with the best of intentions, did the equivalent with gender identity at that age.

I know it's far more complex than my simple DNA harvesting and gene repair and it's easier for males who at least have one X chromosome but the gene jockeys can do it for both males and females who want a new body of the opposite sex. So by the time the child is old enough to make an informed decision about a gender preference, he has real options. Once it's done, DNA samples of both bodies are saved, so it's reversible if someone made a mistake. That is rare however due to a good evaluation process. Many people switch sex just to have a fuller life experience, living a full life time as each sex and then select a preference again for future bodies.

That addressed genetically based gender identity aspect of sissy maids, but not the cultural aspect and submissiveness of a typical sissy maid. Submissiveness is generally considered to be a feminine trait, but there are healthy and unhealthy expressions of any trait. Being a door mat or tolerating abuse from another person is not healthy regardless of gender, but being submissive to one who has earned your trust because you want to please them is a healthy expression of femininity, regardless of whether you are a boy or girl. This is true of all traits regardless of whether they are generally considered masculine or feminine traits. It all comes down to ethics which I'm happy to say have improved in the last hundred years.

Because the vast majority of medical costs a hundred years ago were incurred in the last few months of life and it was those last few months and years of life that this procedure has eliminated, medical costs have fallen so low that it almost killed the health insurance industry. It has virtually eliminated the nursing home industry as well. This had not only cured aging, but has been able to save accident victims whose bodies were mangled beyond repair. It has eliminated many major risky surgeries, greatly reducing the size and cost of the entire medical industry within the economy. The effect has rippled through society necessitating extensive welfare reform, lower educational costs, lower policing and criminal justice costs and smaller government.

I have not fully adapted to the mindset of people who grew up with this technology. I'm glad it saved my life but I still have doubts about it. Is the expectation of immortality good thing? Coming to terms with death has always been an important part of the human experience that these people seldom see. Yes, people die from accidents, but it is rare.

This is not Utopia. It is not a perfect society. A perfect society would require perfect people just as a truly just society would have to be composed of truly just citizens. We have seen the results of the quest for perfect societies when leaders took it upon themselves to rid societies of all of those who are less than perfect. It turns out people didn't want a perfect society. All literary utopias are orderly, clean, tidy and just, but they are never free.

We still have some crime and some people still choose to give their lives over to drugs and other addictions. Freed from the limits imposed by mortality, they have the ability to do or become whatever they want. They can keep growing or settle for a status quo. Or they can escape, opting for a life of debauchery, but those who do end up dying of drug overdoses or violence, which I cynically call culling of the herd.

There is no economic equality here. If there were no high achievers, how would others have aspirations? Or, how would we know humility? The mediocrity that results from bringing exceptional people down to the lowest common denominator has been rejected. They want exceptional people to excel because most human progress has been accomplished by a few exceptional people and we all benefit from their success. So, they have rich and poor and both can be happy or sad but all are free to pursue their dreams and free to fail as well.

It's always tempting to look at society as a finished product, but it isn't. Society is a work in progress and only a hundred years have passed since "my death". When you think of it, a hundred years is nothing in the grand scheme of things. In a hundred year period from 1860 to 1960, just a few generations, we ended slavery, built a transcontinental rail system, invented the automobile assembly line, the airplane, the telephone, radio, television, computers, electric lights, motion pictures, developed modern medicine and sanitation, built interstate highways, wooden sailing ships morphed into steel nuclear powered behemoths and we liberated and spread democratic ideals to countries that had succumb to tyranny and totalitarianism. The great grandchildren of those who took months crossing our continent in oxen drawn covered wagons were zipping back and forth in jets in mere hours.

I picked a period before my time because it's easy for us not to see the forest for the trees. We don't perceive the change happening all around us because we are part of it. That's why this experience has been so striking for me. It's like someone in 1860 waking up in 1960. Now I've got some great grand children to meet for the first time. And, by the way, we still don't have those flying cars yet.

The End

Return to Index