Anastasia; Life As A Debutante
I have no idea who came up with the original idea, but I am positive I would love to get my hands firmly around their neck for just a few minutes. So far, I have managed to escape the longer lasting effects of this crazy idea. My mother doing most of the shopping for me so far, loaded down with bags of goodies after numerous trips to the local malls and boutiques. When she returned I did have to stand there as she held up each piece of clothing to see if it was the appropriate size and added to the desired effect she was striving for. I tried to not look in the mirror, not wanting to see what she had selected for me. My eyes focused straight ahead with my eyes closed most of the time.
After some discussion with family members about an upcoming debutante ball that was scheduled for the near future, several families got together and tried to come up with a plan to discredit the whole debutante ball fiasco. Several of their younger female family members felt it almost mandatory to attend or their social status would be doomed from the get go. Their parents tried to get them to pass on participating but the peer pressure was just too much. In one case, the estimated expenses in being introduced as a debutante was almost thirty thousand dollars, the gown alone being most of the expense. Then you have shoes, makeup, hair styling, jewelry, and lingerie making up the remainder of that total.
The new plan was to have an identical ball on the night before the debutante shindig, this one featuring the male children in their families dressed as young female debutantes, presented to society for their approval and consideration. When I first heard about it, I scoffed at the idea, knowing they would not get enough people interested to pull off such a feat. I for one wanted nothing to do with this, not even wanting to attend as an interested party, much less a participant.
To my surprise the support for the idea mushroomed, and soon there were plans for fifteen male family members to be presented as young debutantes. The parents of these new volunteers willing to fork out the fiances to accomplish that feat, hoping to end the allure of a debutante ball in the future for their younger daughters.
I am sure the word volunteer and willingly were never to be used together in the same sentence ever again. In my instance after being informed of my Mother’s plans, I rejected the idea as absurd. Well a few nights spent away from my computer and video games and I was at least ready to hear the details of my planned involvement. Sure enough it was worse then I feared, not only would I be presented to society, but would have to live the life of a female until the night of the ball. Apparently it was not their idea to have the young volunteers appear as males dressed in gowns, but as young women being introduced to society for their future roles. The idea was to make the males so feminine that it would take away from the female debutantes.
I think their plan had some basic faults, but no one had the nerve to point it out to the mothers. I surmised that the mothers who had no daughters would get to experience having a debutante, a more logical reason for the ball and activities. It just so happens that each of the mothers of a male volunteer had no daughter of debutante age. A coincidence, I think not. So a young male would have to volunteer to fill that vacancy. The original reason for the additional debutante ball now losing some of its credibility.
Over the next few days I heard more about the plan, now including newspaper coverage including pictures of all the young volunteer debutantes. In a way it was sad, since the original female debutante ball lost some of its appeal, now everybody talking about the second ball, the ones where the new young females would be strutting their stuff. A couple of the original debutantes withdrew, not wanting to be upstaged by some males masquerading as debutantes. The truth was far different though for the participants, our mother’s determined to present fifteen young females, as poised and perfect as possible. There would be no masquerading involved here, each volunteer expected to live the life of a female right up to the ball.
The day after I asked for more details of my involvement, I spent three hours in stiletto heels walking around the house, my training apparently had begun in earnest. Some how I missed my verbal agreement to be involved in this stupid idea, but what do you expect from a young male being manipulated by his over bearing Mother.
Other than daily exercise in my new footwear, and a crash diet, that left me starving even after eating any provided meal. Things changed little at first but I knew with what they had planned things will escalate and soon. According to my Mother I had to lose thirty pounds, that to be helped along with daily exercises at her gym starting the first of next week.
After graduating high school I was given a job at my father’s business, a trainee of sorts in their financial planning department. Now I was being excused from those duties, this apparently far more important than learning a career. I can’t really say any of my family were suffering from inadequate financial resources. The house my family lived in was huge, two story and almost three thousand square feet of living space. There were servants quarters in the house, but Mother preferred to hire a maid when necessary instead of having one full time. Of course, I always had the latest model car, never the sportiest but definitely not your usual plain Jane model.
I did plead with my mother when I started to hear how invasive this was going to be, hoping she would derail some of my involvement. I thought it would help, but was soon to learn it was wasted effort, as she notified me she had signed me up for some modeling classes, guaranteed to make any of my movements more feminine and dainty.
So now a modeling class every morning, tights, leotards and heels required, at the ungodly hour of seven A.M. Then on to the gym for an hour long exercise session, then home to shower and change clothes. No lunch, my little breakfast of toast or a bowl of cereal I managed having to suffice until dinner. Then I was set in front of our computer watching tutorials for the rest of the day. I watched them but did not pay as much attention as I should, getting caught a day later when she asked me to do my makeup, as per one of the videos I had watched. Yep, no video games in my future, in fact, anything that I used to be involved in now postponed indefinitely.
I did finally manage my makeup requiring fifteen separate attempts till I had gotten it good enough to pass an initial inspection. My skin was raw, and no matter how much makeup remover I used it seems there was always some left on me, my lips in particular.
I laid there in bed wondering why I was chosen to be involved in this crazy plan, knowing the truth but not willing to acknowledge it. I was far from masculine in appearance, I had the necessary male organs, but according to my mother barely adequate for any females needs. When that thought was voiced to me, my ego suffered terribly, my own mother proclaiming my failure to be able to satisfy any female in the future.
I was shy of six foot tall by six inches, and lacking in any muscle development that a normal male might possess. I never participated in any sports, sweat and me never getting along in any way. I did have some intellect, but seldom used it for my benefit. I did not participate in school other than classes, had few friends and even fewer that I knew their name. In fact I wondered why I was chosen by my prospective girlfriend, her personality and beauty would allow her to pick anyone she wanted, but for some reason I was selected to be her boyfriend. When I asked her why me, the question was always avoided, a trait of hers.
Initially, I just presumed she was playing the field, but when she kept coming back to me for another date I wondered about her sanity. Now with this latest crazy plan maybe I was right about the sanity. A girlfriend helping to turn her boyfriend into a debutante, a pretty one who acts and behaves just like a natural born female, surely there is something wrong in the universe.
Everyday I could see a little more of my masculinity slip away, even my Father looked the other way when I approached. I had overheard several loud arguments presumably about me since I heard my name several times during the discussion. He still talked to me, mainly at dinner, but I could tell he no longer saw me as a male child. The proof of that surfaced a week later when he started calling me by my feminine name, one that Mother had hand picked for me. I didn’t react, but to me from that day forward he was now my Daddy. Maybe not the wisest response, but for some reason he just seemed like a Daddy to me now.
The name Mother had hand picked for me was somehow a perfect name for a debutante. Anastasia, no mistaking the bearer of that name to be anything other than a female. Each day something was added to my regimen for the day, now when talking I had to talk softer and use more inflection in my voice. After a few days I sounded just like some of my female schoolmates. Another step towards Mom’s goal of a female for a daughter.
Then the day came when all of my former life went down the shit tube. I was woken from a restful sleep by my Mom, and handed a dress to slip on. Nothing totally unusual about that, since I was seldom coherent enough when I first woke to know exactly what she had in mind for the day. Led out to her car, with me whining about missing breakfast. She made sure my seat belt was fastened securely then drove off, destination unknown to her daughter. When she pulled up in front of a beauty salon, I suddenly became concerned. This was something new, and unexpected. I looked her way, but all I got was a huge smile, maybe more a smirk than a smile. I was helped out of the car and led into the salon. One of their technicians was waiting for me, grabbed my hand and led me away. I looked back for Mom, seeing her walking out the door of the salon. I was now suddenly alone and feeling very vulnerable.
I was led to one of their treatment rooms and helped out of my dress. Suddenly embarrassed since I was given no underwear this morning, bare assed naked and obviously a male to anyone looking at me. I tried to cover my groin, but the tech just removed my hands and led me to a chair. I was helped into the chair and my feet secured in stirrups extending from the end of the chair. My arms were secured to the arms of the chair while my hands were placed in bowls of water, the slipperiness of the warm liquid causing my fingers to tingle some. My head was leaned back in a head rest and a strap placed over my forehead to keep me from moving it. My mind was panicking big time, fearful of what they were going to do to me. I was utterly helpless and feeling very nervous right now.
The tech leaned in and gently hugged me, then started slathering a cream over the front side of my body. She missed no areas, my male organ thoroughly coated in the whitish cream. Luckily for me my organ stayed flaccid, most likely scared to death of what was to happen to him. The cream stayed on for about thirty minutes, then when she wiped it off my body hair came with the cream. Right away I felt goose pimples pop up, my denuded skin now super sensitive.
She moved the stirrups apart and settled on a chair between my legs. I felt a cool spray land on my genitals, then nothing. She worked down there for quite some time, with my head strapped down I couldn’t raise my head to see what she was doing to me.
When she finished with my groin she moved a machine next to me and glued some cups on my chest. The cups looked like breasts, substantial in size with a pointed nipple at the end. A hose was hooked up to each cup and a pump turned on sucking some of my flab on my chest into the cup. I closed my eyes, a tear exiting my eyes as I realized that I would soon be a proud owner of a set of breasts, a very feminine set to be exact.
I just laid there staring at the ceiling, while little drops of moisture slid down my cheeks. It seemed to be forever before I heard the pump cut off, in actuality over five hours. In the meantime, my nails were worked on, my eyebrows thinned drastically and makeup carefully applied to my face. Then the lady disconnected the hoses from the cups on my chest. As she did that I felt the weight shift around on my chest, not a good sign at all. My hands were released from the arms of the chair and the strap holding my head down was released.
I raised my head to see what had been done to me to see my hands for the first time, each nail extended and now painted a perfect pink in color. As my hands went to my chest my mind focused on the cups, now filled with my tissue and so big. It took my brain a few seconds to assimilate that image then I fainted. There was a nagging feeling left in my thoughts that my previous male genitals now were absent, a slit surrounded by two puffy lips now residing in that spot. But too much to process, so that thought left unattended to
I was turned over and the cream was used again to render my backside hairless too. That temporarily gave me something different to focus on, but alas when the cream was wiped off and I was turned back over, the breasts and the empty groin became the focus again. The first thought that crossed my mine was how I could revert back to a male with these changes happening. I doubted the breasts were possible to be reversed with out major surgery. Maybe a step too far for a debutante coming out gala. Again Mom wanting a daughter a more likely reason for the changes. I wonder if some of the other volunteers were having similar problems.
They worked on my hair, after shampooing and conditioning, it was cut into a feminine style, then set in curlers. I was informed that for the ball I would receive extensions, waist length and my hair dyed a light blonde in color. Makeup was applied, with the techs focused on my eyes and lips. The image reflected in the mirror was definitely female, and obviously debutante worthy.
They worked on the calves of my legs, strapping my legs into a form that held my foot rigid, toe pointing straight down. Then a syringe of liquid was injected into the calf, its purpose to tighten the muscles in the calf. End result would be a requirement to wear heels all the time. While that was processing my nails had extensions added and way too many coats of polish.
Back in a dress after being supplied a bra and pantie, my image definitely a young female. Mom chose that time to show up, her squeal heard throughout the salon. I was taken home, my Father home early from work, anxious to see his new daughter. I was hugged tenderly, then appraised very carefully. I could see disappointment in his eyes, realizing that he no longer has a son, but a daughter. He did focus on my breasts, seeing that the tissue there was real, not a breast form. The son he raised was gone, a daughter now residing in that body. He did inform me that the position at his work would be filled by someone else, he would not tolerate a daughter working for a living.
The debutante ball was now a week away, every day spent fine tuning my actions and movements. I had several dress fittings, my gown for the ball was made to fit me perfectly. A corset was added, since my waist was still several inches too large. The corset manged to take a couple of inches off, a fact that pleased Mom greatly. Another dress fitting to take in the waist of the dress yet again.
The day finally arrived, the ball late in the day, a salon appointment to do my hair first on the agenda. It took them three hours to add the extensions after dying my hair a honey blonde. I received an up do courtesy of a multitude of curlers and lots of setting lotion. Some semi-permanent makeup was applied to my face, eliminating the need for me to have to refresh it during the day and evening. I did realize that my time as a debutante and female was now extended for the foreseeable future.
I was presented to society, the ball drawing a huge crowd. A few words, then a walk around the stage was the extent of my presentation. I did dance with a lot of males, my Father receiving the first and last dance. All of the weeks preparation for thirty minutes in the spotlight.
The ticket sales for the ball were so large that the regular female debutante ball was canceled. Imagine a ball for male debutantes replacing the usual affair. There was even talk about another ball next year for the sons that missed out on this one.
I did remain a female after the ball, the changes to my body almost demanding the gender change. My escort at the ball became my boyfriend. Tall and handsome we seemed to hit it off at the ball. Lots of time spent together, fancy meals and gifts of jewelry, sweets and flowers. To this day we are still dating, I do not know where it will lead, everything still on the table as far as a relationship goes.
Of course, I took advantage of the circumstances, getting several fond wishes fulfilled by my parents. Number one wish was a new car, a glistening white Mustang with pink leather seats. A definite girly car suited for a debutante.
I am happy to be my Mother’s daughter and spoiled rotten right now. A life so special, a debutante’s life.
© 2016 thru 2024 by Francesca