The Present, Part Eleven
Part Eleven
“How about a blouse, Chrissy?” Amy asked, “Your boobs are a bit smaller than mine, but we know that you can fit into my clothes for the most part.”
Chris wasn’t sure what he had expected. To him, ‘makeover’ implied that his cousin was going to put her make-up on him. He obviously hadn’t been enthused about that, but at least had been able to use the short walk to brace himself for it. However, he definitely hadn’t anticipated more girls’ clothes. In retrospect, maybe he should have, as why would Amy stop at the bra/jean shorts combo when he was stuck going along with her games?
As he stood there in nothing but her garments, he knew better than to outright reject her. Besides, a shirt would actually be better than walking around in nothing but a bra above his waist. He cleared his throat and took a moment to properly manipulate his vocal chords for the higher, girly voice. “What about a t-shirt?” he asked. Hopefully one that was more gender neutral, though he doubted Amy would let him get off that easily.
Amy deliberated for a moment, then said, “Let’s compromise. You can wear one of my tank tops. If you ask nicely.”
It was the definition of a compromise. Better than a blouse for sure, but girls’ tank tops were noticeably different from the kind that he wore. Then again, it wasn’t like he was trying to get away with looking normal, as the jean shorts were already a far cry from anything he or any guy he knew would wear. “Fine,” he muttered. This was all to get her to delete the small collection of blackmail on her phone, anyway. The sooner he finished getting dressed like a girl, the better. Belatedly processing that she wanted a bit more than begrudging agreement, he awkwardly added, “Can I please wear one?”
“We’ll have to work on those manners,” Amy said, “You may be dressing casually, Chrissy, but you’re still a lady. Alright, first things first. We’ll have to get your bra padded. No cousin of mine is totally flat!”
“Amy, hold on. You-”
“Chrissy!! Girl voice! Right now.”
“I- Amy, this is ridiculous.”
“It is ridiculous. Surely a college girl like yourself should be able to use her real voice for more than five seconds. That’s strike two, by the way. Mess up again, and you can wear a pretty, pink dress. Or maybe that’s what you want. Are you messing up on purpose, because you know that means you’ll get to be even more of a girly girl?”
“N- No!” Chris exclaimed. “Of course not.” He was dangerously close to earning himself a third strike right then and there. As much as he had practiced the feminine voice in Amy’s absence, it didn’t mean he was used to using it exclusively. Moving forward, he would have to make a more conscious effort to not slip up. And then there was the way his cousin had so abruptly and harshly reprimanded him. He was used to her subtle smirks and sideways glances whenever she was sneakily antagonizing him around various family members; this was a completely new energy, no doubt due to the dynamic she had managed to set up for them. As long as Chris was under her thumb, there wasn’t much he could do aside from keeping up the voice and doing his best to nudge her away from stuff like the blouse idea.
Amy just raised an eyebrow, “So you’re saying you don’t want to be a pretty girl? Choose your next words carefully, Chrissy.”
It was such a simple yet effective trap. Immediately using his denial against him, when the smallest mistake would give her an excuse to claim a third strike. For the most part, Chris had been going with a ‘less is more’ strategy. Letting Amy have her fun at his expense, but trying to limit his own reactions and word count when speaking like a girl. Now that he was put on the spot, however, it felt like he needed to say something worthwhile in order to avoid putting on one of her dresses.
“I do want to be a pretty girl,” he said. Rather than trying to be creative, Chris just aimed to echo as many of Amy’s phrases as possible. Less authentic, but easier to get out. And yet, he still ended up blushing at saying such things while sounding like a girl. “Please pad my bra and let me borrow one of your tank tops?” It had felt like a lot, considering his actual gender and personality, though Amy didn’t look particularly impressed. Not sure what else to say, he decided to just ask. “What else . . . ?” At some level, he knew it was a bad idea to give her such an opening. At the same time, he was still trying to avoid the lingering threat.
Amy’s smirk verified that he should have just thought of something himself. “Let’s make it panties and bras all weekend, Chrissy. And you want me to do your nails and your make-up, right?” Pausing for a moment, she then tacked on, “Oh, and tell me what you want to wear if you can’t commit to your voice, girl.”
Chris just nodded. It was so overwhelming and so much in terms of quantity that he didn’t know how to nitpick or counter anything she was suggesting. Not without risking Amy finding a way to pile onto what she had already listed. So, against his better judgment, he just said, “Okay.”
Naturally, that wasn’t good enough for Amy. “I want to hear you say it, Chrissy!” she smiled, “All of it, including what you said before. Be a good girl and get it right. Because if you don’t . . . a dress will be the least of your concerns!” She said it like it was all in good fun, but her tone had the slightest trace of sternness to it as well.
Taking a deep breath, mostly since he needed a few seconds to engage his memory for the task demanded of him, Chris started by hesitantly repeating the part that he had already said once. “I want to be a pretty girl . . . with a padded bra, and tank top.” That alone was mortifying enough, and then he had to go through the rest. “Panties and bras. Nails and make-up.” How had it escalated so quickly from simply putting on a pair of girls’ underwear?
With a hand on her hip, lips pursed in a smile, Amy asked, “And if you can’t commit to your voice?”
“ . . . A dress.”
“You want to wear a dress. Say it!”
Blushing more deeply, he said, “I want to wear a dress.”
Amy made a show of pulling out her phone. Not being subtle at all about holding it up and pointing it at her cousin, she dictated, “My name is Chrissy. I want to wear a dress.”