Mario was up and down on the window seat in his button-down cardigan of pink mohair. Where were they? Did they know he had said seven o’clock and it was nearly quarter to already. Ohhh, was that Phillip and his mother? – No, just a couple of women walking past the gate. Ohhh that must be Rufus! - No, another woman about his height and she had her hair done the same. The nineteen-year-old was beginning to think his girlfriends may not come. Imelda looked up from her magazine and smiled.
“Darling, sit still and let your tea go down. The boys may be a little late, but they’ll be here, you can be sure.”
“I know they’ll be here, Mommy, but – I can’t wait to put on my new Esther Klaas jimmy-jammies in front of them.” His Mommy might call them boys, but when they were all in their pyjamas – and their legs were in their stockings – he knew how girly they would feel, all three of them.
“Oh Mommy, here’s Rufus. He’s here,” and Mario was lucky to land properly on his heels as he leapt from the window seat to reach the front door before his darling had rung the chimes. As his friend stepped into the hall, Mario choked with adoration. “Oh Rufus, you look fabulous in your lovely robin-redbreast jacket. Is it silk? And your knee length pleated skirt!” He wanted to touch, its pleats floated round his friends knees as if they were made of milk. The two of them melted into each other’s arms, kissing lips to lips, then hugging with their cheeks pressing into each other’s hair. “Darling, let me take off your jacket. Let me see – ”
As he slid the oyster pink lining down Rufus’s arms, he revealed his girlfriend’s embroidered white poet’s blouse, floating around him in tiers of silk-chiffon, with his skirt fluttering below, the colour of white chocolate. Mario opened his mouth to speak his admiration – and the chimes rang.
“It’s Phillip – it’s Phillip!” cried Mario, pulling open the door, and Phillip joined his dear friends in a red plastic mackintosh that rustled and crackled as his friends hugged him, both together, then helped him off with it.
“Oh my!” gasped Rufus. “Mmm, you look delicious!” said Mario as they gazed at his mini-skirt suit in cornflower blue, with pink flowers printed on the collar and at one hip. The little jacket was waist length and had a fold-over boat collar and three quarter sleeves, and Phillip modelled along the hall and into the living room as Mario’s mom brought them drinks of pink fizz. Each glass had a lemon slice, a Catherine wheel straw and a Japanese umbrella sticking up. She had something else for the three effeminate friends too, as they sat with their chairs in a circle so that their knees touched, and sipped through their straws. “When girls throw a party, they have a little gift bag each: here we are, my darling girls,” she said laughing.
The boys’ eyes opened as wide as their mouths as Imelda passed each of them a glossy pink patent clutch bag. Inside they each found a posy of eau-de-cologne flowers and a baby lipstick. They took it in turns to kiss their benefactress on the lips as they sat on her knee. She could see the three of them were getting very excited so it was time to get them changed.
“Come with me, my dears,” she said, making her way upstairs with three very girly boys hanging onto her arms. “You will each have your own room for dressing, then you will choose which room you want to hold your party in.” The boys had to try slowing their breathing – anything to calm their rapid pulses. Imelda opened a door from the landing. “This is the peach room,” she said, which they could all see: it wasn’t just the satin bedspread that was peach, but just about everything else was as well. “Then the primrose room,” said Imelda, to gasps of pleasure from the visitors, “and lastly the rose room. A bedroom each to change into your stockings and pyjamas. You can choo- ”
“Oh please, can I have the peach room?” cried Rufus, his pretty face and dark, drawn back hair an inch from Imelda’s.
“Of course you can”
“And can I have the primrose room?” cried Phillip. “I want to sit at that lovely dressing table with its illuminated mirror.”
“They all have illuminated mirrors, darling. Of course you can.”
“And I want the rose room,” said Mario with a laugh. The three boys disappeared, each with their gift bag and their valise, knowing that they would gather in the rose room with Mario at half past seven. Not only would they have to get dressed in their suspsenders and stockings, and the party shoes they had brought. They would also do their hair with a party ribbon, and their make-up, and they would choose a perfume they loved from the array they found on their dressing tables.
Half past seven arrived, and Imelda knocked on three bedroom doors, and three very excited girlfriends appeared in their lovely pyjamas: Mario was wearing his apple green jama-frock and panty from GirlWay, which he wore with coffee stockings and high heeled escarpins from Kicksweet.
Phillip looked so like a girl with his fringe and his high, blue hair-bow. His jammies were in sultry aquamarine rayon, making his popsie feel tall and strained. “I want to hold you both as soon as I can,” he said, his lips trembling with emotion as he spoke.
“I’m wearing my sister’s peach petti-pyjama and petti-pants, all in silk chiffon,” Rufus told his friends in a hushed voice, just right for standing next to the huge satin bed. “I am so-o-o-o stiff, darlings, I’m aching! I want to go to bed with you, Phillip, and with you, Mario, but which room are we going to go to bed in?
“Well, my dears, I am burning spiced sticks in the rose room.” She didn’t need to speak further. The boys ran in, and found themselves falling into dreamy swoons of jasmine, with petticoats and panties hanging on the wardrobe for them to change into, and negligees waiting for when Mommy Imelda would bring them all a snack at 10. As soon as Imelda closed the door behind her, the three of them pulled back the quilt, dived into the middle of the bed, and started tickling. Giggles mixed with shrieks and squeals, and aching clitties, and soon their tickles turned to soft stroking – then intimate fondling – the touching of lips – and it was going to be a long, long party of stockings and pyjama play before Imelda would come back with drinks, and no doubt some perfumed wipes to make sure everyone was freshened nicely for the late night part of their stockings and pyjama party.
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You can visit Prim's site of sissy-feminization at www.primspetticoatwendyhouse.com