“I know,” she whispered back. “Why do you think I’m standing so close to the dressing rooms?’And before I could use my standard ‘Oh you li...tle sneak!’ line when she does those unexpected delightful things; she had me by the wrist and was practically dragging me and my stumbling, weak-kneed legs along behind her. (I’m sure glad Waldo-Mart uses real doors now instead of those curtains on the dressing rooms!) In no time at all, she was yanking my weak-kneed legs free of my pant legs while I was. I looked in the mirror and realised how ridiculous I looked. From the ground up, I looked very feminine and like a slut, going up to my heavily made up face. But the lack of a wig combined with my short boyish hair cut left you in no doubt that I was a male. A simpering feminised sissy male. I knew I had to go downstairs and face the ridicule.I decided to play along as well as possible, to earn no further demerits and to get out of there as soon as possible and try and think of some way to get. More

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