He noticed Catherine was absent from dinner. He was grateful, but it made him wonder if she was avoiding him. He wouldn't blame her -- the thought of having to spank her in front of the other women at the table caused him to blush. He looked around and seeing as there were several empty seats, he decided it could be explained any number of ways. Apparently, except for Sunday night, dinners were optional.
Still, he wondered what was to happen. What if she passed him in the hall? Would he be forced to spank her no matter what? What if she walked into the bathroom, with the other women present? The image of her baring herself to him and demanding to be spanked threatened to eclipse everything else going on, including the conversation.
"...blushing again! My word, Chester, what could you possibly be thinking?"
He looked up and blushed even a deeper red, if that were possible, smiling gamely.
"I dunno, Corrine, but whatever it was it doesn't seem to stop! Look at the poor boy!"
He cast his eyes down, smiling as best he could at the ribbing and concentrated on his mashed potatoes. The conversation moved on, but he had trouble participating. All he could focus on were images of Catherine's backside, presented to him to spank, and, he shook himself, penetrate.
"I swear, Chester, if you don't stop day dreaming, we're all going to starve! Please pass the butter, man!"
He jumped at the voice and reached for the butter plate, passing it to Genielle, the memories dissolving. He shook his head, finished his dinner and excused himself as quickly as he could, explaining he had a lot of work to do.
In the safety of his room, his door shut, he focused on the remaining homework for the week. He had caught up, but given his new circumstances, he was betting he'd be getting more distractions than fewer in the days to come so he tried to get ahead in his reading assignments.
By the time he looked up, it was 10:00 and surprisingly Roxie hadn't appeared. The images from dinner crept back, his peter starting to swell. As he considered whether to make it an early night and start getting ready for bed, there was a soft knock at the door.
"Chester?" Roxie pushed open the door. "I saw your light on and figured you were still up."
He turned to watch her, framed in the door, her arms clutching a stack of books and her laptop. Thankfully she wasn't in her pjs as he had fantasized, but she might as well have been: she had the shortest cut-offs he'd ever seen, and her blouse was tied around her midriff, her breasts clearly visible without a bra.
"Hi Roxie," he sighed with a little more exasperation than he had intended.
"If it's not a good time, Chester." She seemed to notice.
"Well...no...I'm a little tired, is all." He looked up to see her shrink a little. "Shit. I'm sorry. Come in. It's not that hard." He had been referring to Morten's assignment -- something he had dashed off in less than 20 minutes. She looked down at his groin and smiled.
"We could fix that," she said accommodatingly, setting her books down on his bed.
It took him several minutes to figure out what she had said, long after he had started helping her through the homework. While she was busy thinking about her next outline point, he shook his head, wondering what he'd gotten himself into.
"Hey, Chester. Can I ask you a personal question?" She was apparently satisfied with the progress she had made on the paper and was packing up.
He glanced at the clock -- 10:30 -- and nodded. "Sure." He started cleaning up his own work.
"The other night, at dinner, Beatrice asked you about why you like to dress like a woman. Your answer seemed to satisfy everyone, but I'm still curious. Why
do
you dress this way?" She sat with her palms on her thighs, her face open and sincere.
He remembered his answer, the one he usually tossed off. But at that point he hadn't regained his memory of Yvette's treatment of him, how he had truly come to be this way. Now, now he couldn't hide the truth...but he wasn't sure how he would explain it.
"I...uhhh...well..." A dozen ways to begin flashed through his brain. "I had...uhm...have a step-sister...Yvette..." His hands started to flutter as they always did when he got nervous. "Shit...She..." He stopped, looking at Roxie, flummoxed. "It's complicated."
Roxie looked at him, concern mixed with curiosity. "Okay...it sounds like you're not ready to really share...that's okay." She started to turn to collect her things.
"No!" He put his hands to his mouth in surprise at the force of his answer. He started to giggle in embarrassment, thankful she was smiling with him. "Sorry. No. I would like to tell someone," he said, relief washing through him. He had always considered it a secret, he realized. A secret he couldn't share.
He remembered the first day she made him dress up in public. It was the three of them, Yvette, Lyssa and himself. Yvette had bought tickets to a Sunday concert in the park specifically as a celebration of Lyssa's first line. She had closed a deal the week before with a small retail company -- her lingerie would be in several boutique stores in the Fall.
As usual, he was stripped naked when Lyssa arrived, his peter hanging loose, his body clean-shaven. As far as he knew it was a typical Sunday -- his father and step-mother had some social affair, the help were off, Yvette and he were taking a quiet coffee in the garden. Lyssa walked around the side and through the gate, a box under her arm.
After each of them kissed on the cheeks in greeting, Yvette cleared a spot on the table for the box. "Are these it?" She was practically clapping from excitement.
Lyssa nodded, opening the box and pulling back the tissue. She pulled up a coral tinged lacy bra with a subtle underwire laying on the inside of the box top, followed by the briefest bikini panties, the front panel clearly designed to fit Chester.
"Ooohh, Lyssa. They're beautiful! I'm soooo jealous."
