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I was on a beach… a warm, tropical beach. Two dark skinned young Adonis’s held me in their arms, slavishly adoring me, as… BRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAATTTTTTTTIIIINNNNNGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!

"The alarm. The gawd damn freaking alarm! What the hell time is it! Shit! It can not possibly be morning. No… I am so tired!"

I slammed my fist down into the alarm clock, sending it skittering off the side table and across the hardwood floor. I watched, as it continued with it’s shrill clamoring, slowly vibrating in a small circle, bouncing along the floor. Freaking thing just wasn’t going to shut up and die. Damn it to hell. So here it is, day three in this freaking Fellini movie that now seems to be my life! It is hard to keep everything straight in my head. Incredulously, I’d been to a hairdresser twice in two days. Why, I’d hardly had my hair trimmed twice, in a full year, before coming here. I’d been dressed up, dressed down and dressed up again. I’d been pinched, pushed, pulled in every direction. James! Damn, I was married to James! Had I really done that? What kind of stupid stunt was that! Well, I’m sure sober now! Auntie Bea, Mother Bea, whatever… and that Freaking Damn Myra Bitch Anne Freaking Power Tripping Marquis DeSade Bitch In A Skirt! Shit! Damn her to HELL!

Ah… then there was Flo. Yes, sweet, Flo. She was like an oasis of sanity in this infernal circus freak show. It was like nothing in this world of mind numbing absurdities could faze her. She seemed to just pick herself up from the most punishing adversity, smile and turn it into some uplifting, character building, moment of immaculate bliss! She could make this all, almost bearable. She was truly adorable!

Slowly, I dragged my sorry ass out of the bed, plopping my feet over the side, feeling around for my fluffy slippers. Lifting a hand to my head to scratch my hair, I encountered the puffy nylon nightcap, I was now required to wear. I wrenched it from my head and threw it across the room.

"Missy Joy! I hear you up there! Get a move on!"

Bitch Bea was calling to me through the floorboards. Doesn’t she ever sleep!

Forty-five minutes later, I was done with the bathroom, had again optioned for the relative ease of the all-in-one girdle, had my stockings on, managed to assure that the seams were suitably straight and stood before the open closet, staring at the clothes. Freaking, Myra Anne. Not only would I have to go downstairs and screw around with Auntie Bea and her overblown breakfast sacraments and then sort out the laundry, whites over here, blues over there; I’d still have to help her, at least get the washing started. But then… Then! I’m supposed to go over to Horace and Myra Anne’s dry goods store and help HER with god knows what! I wonder if I can get away with pants? Hell, How am I going to get pants over this freaking thing? I won’t be able to get the crotch up all the way past the elastic, stretched across my thighs. Besides, that, I already have this bulky damn slip on. The longer I stood there, looking at Myra Anne’s leftover hand-me-downs, the darker my mood became. Somehow, I couldn’t see this shaping up to be anything like a carefree position as a sales clerk at Victoria’s Secret. I moved some things around. That freaking flowered monstrosity was back, looking just a little too cheerful for the mood I was in. I shuffled through some more of the clown suits; isn’t there one normal looking piece of clothing in here? Frustrated, I finally found a more or less, plain pink, long sleeve blouse, and with no pattern whatsoever. I quickly slipped it on and buttoned it up, yes, to my throat, fussing around with another of those difficult loopy tab, button closures. This collar was more rounded, in a Peter-Pan style, that didn’t seem to quite have the innate urge to start flapping like wings at the slightest provocation. I grabbed a gray pleated skirt, flipped it over my head, zipped and buttoned it at my side. On a whim, I picked a red sweater from the overhead shelf and slipped it on as well. It turned out to be another button cardigan, so I closed just the top button under my blouse collar, so that it wouldn’t completely flap about. Huh! I was starting to look a bit like a schoolgirl. A mighty old looking, brown nose, sit at the front of the class, schoolgirl! Well, no, not really, maybe a librarian. And then, I decided to go with those sensible oxford shoes again, in case I had to run!

I looked up toward my face. There really wasn’t much to do there. My so-called, hair was pretty well locked up, impervious, immune to anything. Even if I hadn’t worn the goofy nightcap, my little lavender poodle coif wasn’t much more then a curly immobile carpet sample, a buoyant cushion, seemingly glued to the top of my head. It wasn’t mussed in the slightest bit. My eyebrows, rather the lack of eyebrows, were equally baffling. What was the point of shaving them off, if I had to draw them back on? I couldn’t draw that well and after yesterday’s attempt, I’d looked like one of the Marx Brothers. And my lips, should I really continue with this decorated egg look? The bright fuchsia color only seemed to draw an unnecessarily exaggerated attention to my otherwise denuded head. It was now very hard for me to even consider the application of any makeup, in a context that did not appear to be a heavy-handed, mocking, cartoon facsimile of feminine features. Can I really do this to myself? It’s incomprehensible.

Bea was strangely silent. I could make no sense of it. There was no comment on my dress. Nothing was said of my decision to skip the lipstick. No inspections. Nothing. We went about the business of the kitchen, without word. She directed with hand gestures, grunts and the occasional short instruction. I was grateful for that. I finished the morning dishes and quickly began my duties in the laundry. Everything was properly sorted, soap powder measured carefully, temperature, check, time, check. I went through all of my chores in good order, thinking I had made no mistakes, I felt relieved and a bit of pride in those accomplishments. The entire time that I been working, I had kept a watchful eye on Bea. It was clear that she had been watching me as well, at times her eyes were like narrow slits and at times it had appeared that she was on the verge of shouting out at me, yet she had held her tongue. I felt a chill in my spine. Was this the fabled, calm before the storm?

"I think Myra Anne is expecting you over at the store, now!"

There it was! THAT, is what was in the back of her mind, all of this time. There could be no other reason. She had to be setting me up! This did not bode well for me. What had Myra Anne said? I would curse the day? Well, fer sure… I was already cursing every freaking damn day, since I got here!

It didn’t take nearly long enough to arrive here. I think it might have been a pleasant day outdoors, but standing, now inside the entrance of Horace and Myra Anne’s dry goods store, I can not remember any of it. I fingered at the knot of the scarf, I wore over my head. I can not fathom, what has possessed me to even wear a scarf, beyond some fear driven desire not to offend her. Perhaps it is some obscure, subconscious act of self-preservation. The anticipation, the dread of what might happen next, is absolutely paralyzing. I can not bring myself to take another step and simply stand there, waiting to be discovered.

"Missy Joy, Good day. How nice of you to join us."

Crap! I just about pissed my pants at the first words out of her mouth!

"Why, I’m just fine, Ma’am, Thank you".

Crap, now I really did give a little dip and curtsy before her. Unfrigginbelievable.

"How was your walk over here?"

"Ah… well, fine, Ma’am."

"Did you see any boys on the way over here?"

"Ah… boys, Ma’am? Ah… I, ah… I don’t really know. Well, I don’t really remember."

"You don’t remember. Then perhaps you did. Did you tease them?"

Ah… No, Ma’am, I didn’t. I mean, I don’t know. Ah, I mean, I don’t know if I teased any boys or not. I don’t know if I saw any boys, Ma’am. If I did, I don’t think I teased them at all! No, Ma’am!"

Shit, she has me going so bad, I don’t even know what I’m talking about! What am I saying?

"What did I tell you about teasing boys and behaving like a whore? Do you remember that?"

"Ah,yes, Ma’am. Ah… no Ma’am, yes, ah, no, I wasn’t teasing any boys, I mean, yes, I remember what you told me, but, no Ma’am, I’m sure I wasn’t teasing boys."

"Well then, you’re not positive are you? You act like a whore and you don’t even know it; it must come to you very naturally. You are quite a little slut aren’t you."

"No Ma’am, yes Ma’am, I mean, yes, no, I don’t know Ma’am!"

I am so flustered. She has me so confused. She is so accusing, I am on the edge of tears.

"Of course you are. You are nothing but a slut, a cheap, disgusting slut. You have absolutely no respect for your poor, loving husband, do you. All you care about, is your slut self and your cheap carnal pleasures. You are a slut! You are a disgrace on women. You are an abomination. You are not even a woman, you are a slut!"

That is when I lost it. I mean, REALLY lost it! I couldn’t hold back, I just wailed like a baby, big time. Big, boo, hoo, hoos, big gasping deep breathes, big tears rolling down my cheeks, big shutters, big sobs, over and over, big every thing and everything big. I don’t think it can get any worse… and then I feel it. I am peeing in my pants! I mean, nothing like a gusher on the loo, for God’s sakes… but it’s pee all right. I can feel it. It’s warm, it’s wet on my thighs, it’s probably running down, inside my stockings. There is no way, Myra Anne is going to let this go!

She just let me go on, wallowing in my misery. I had to stand there, sobbing and snorting, sniffling, rubbing tears from my eyes and snot from my nose, on the backs of my hands. All the while, desperately squeezing my legs together, trying to get THAT to stop. I did NOT feel it in my shoes. Thank God, for that! I looked up at her blurry figure. I was in utter despair, humiliated beyond all belief! This is not me. I can not be standing here like this.

"You will retire to the Ladies Loo and clean yourself. Then you will proceed to and wait for me in the changing rooms."

"Yes… sniff, sniff, Ma… Ma’am. Sniff.. Thank… sniff… you." Thank God, She isn’t going to make a big deal of this. God, I am humiliated enough. God, I wish I could just die. I curtsied yet again, and sheepishly moved off toward the loo. God, I am so wet, I hope to God, I haven’t left a puddle in the middle of the shop floor.

From the loo, I waited patiently for Myra Anne, just inside the curtain to one of the changing booths, clutching my wet stockings within a rolled up wad of toilet paper. Fortunately, the nylon material of my slip had prevented any moisture from seeping through and into my pleated skirt. The slip itself was a little damp, but nothing serious and thankfully my shoes were ok. Hopefully, she would give me a change of hose and the incident forgotten. It did seem unlikely, but that’s what I fervently hoped. At this point, I think I am pretty much prepared to accept anything she has in mind, just so it will be over. I’m franticly rehearsing my different apologies over and over in my head, when she again startled me with a sudden reappearance.

"Not another word from you. Put all of this on and join me on the floor when you are finished."

She left a somewhat familiar looking, long white box, two smaller boxes, a fresh package of stockings, a pair of slacks and another soft package containing a very large sanitary pad. I was mortified. I moved to look up at her, but she had already turned to leave. I turned my gaze back, to stare at the pad. It was a huge thing. Probably could hold a full quart of water. My God, she expects me to wear this under slacks! Myra Anne, please! I don’t regularly wet my pants! This was an accident! It won’t happen again. Lord, how embarrassing! I did not see a belt in the pile. How does she expect me to fasten this? With some dread, I opened the smallest box. Inside, lay an extra large pair of incontinent panties, confirming my worst fears. Under slacks! My God, everyone will see what I have on under slacks! I quickly opened the other two boxes. The medium held another of those long brassiere contraptions, and I was certain, the large box would surely reveal a panty girdle like the one Flo had struggled with. My suspicion was confirmed, but with several, not very subtle, variations. Of course it was even longer and heavier, that was to be expected, but this one, this one was padded. A padded panty girdle for God’s sakes! What, who, why would anyone want a girdle with pads like this? This was not a pair of hockey pants. This was a girdle. Girdles squeeze, crush, redistribute, whatever, to make a chubby girl seem trim and sleek. Who in their right mind, would go through all of that torture, only to then add thick, foam rubber padding to make you look bigger? Who… ? Yeah, who, I guess, me.

Do I have any choice in this? Where is my free will? How has it come to this, that I fold to her demands and grovel before her, every stinking time? Am I getting some weird masochistic kick from all of this? Shit! I looked once more at the assembly of sadistic implements. Ha! These things all look new. I thought old Myra Anne said, I didn’t deserve my own, new things. I wonder if she forgot about that? Ha! I guess the joke’s on her. Shit! What kind of sick humor do I find in this? Joy, for God’s sake, get a grip! Resigned, I momentarily, fingered with the button at my skirt, gathering resolve and then pulled my skirt over my head and hung it up. My blouse followed, and after a bit, my slip and the all-in-one were gone as well. Standing naked in the small changing booth, I picked up the package containing the sanitary pad. This sucker has some serious heft! What the heck is this going to feel like, crammed between my legs?

After removing it from it’s packaging, I examined it more closely. It is nearly 3 inches in diameter and 12 inches long, but reasonably soft. There’s an adhesive strip running the length of one side. Well, I’m not sticking that on me. I put it back down on the narrow wall shelf and lifted the incontinent panty. It is a double layered affair. All white, the outer side appears to be of a very heavy plastic nylon, while the interior looks to be of a completely independent, rubber material. It is basically, two separate panties joined and sealed at the waist and leg openings. There is slight, crinkled sound coming from it, as I move it around in my hands, trying to determine front from back. I stepped into it, pulling it up to my thighs as I then sat down. Spreading my legs, stretched and flattened the crotch area before me. I once again picked up the hefty pad, pealed the protective cover off the adhesive patch and carefully placed it in position between the leg openings. I stood back up, gripping the waistband at each side and smartly pulled the panty with its cylindrical intrusion, tightly against my bottom. I rocked my hips back and forth, continuing to pull upward, forcing the spongy member to nestle firmly between the lips of my cuny. It snaked behind me, covered my anal rosebud and snuggled deeply between my bum cheeks. Argghh! This could be maddening. Involuntarily, my hands grasped at my quim. Sweet Geezus! Not now! The last thing I need, is for Myra Anne to find me frigging myself off, with a freaking sanitary pad! Reluctantly, I removed my hands. Come on Joy! FOCUS!

I picked up the brilliant white panty girdle, rolling it over in my hands. Why, this thing must weigh over five pounds! Establishing the front, I sat down again on the seat. Ohhhhh… The thick roll of pseudo-cock pushed into me! Ohhhhh… Ahhhh… For the love of… ! If I can’t maintain some control here, I’ll be fully saturated in another thirty seconds! I pause again, to bring my emotions into check. Gingerly I slide my feet through the leggings, carefully working the taught lycra up to my thighs. I now notice another variation from the version Flo had worn. Where Flo had been given a small overlapping opening at the crotch, that would allow her some access for simple toiletries, and no doubt was entirely responsible for her perpetual erotic massage, I have no such luxury. The crotch of this garment is sealed. Once in place, everything beneath it, will be inaccessible. Again I have to stand. Again, I have no choice, but to roll my hips, slowly working the torturous pant, inch by inch, up and over my pelvis. I have the distinct impression, that I am willfully and actively forcing myself down the throat of a ravenous Anaconda.

The effort required to bring this constriction fully into place, is monumental. There is an obvious, thick, large ventral bulge, visible at my crotch. It is almost obscene, even to my jaded eyes.

I know enough now, that I must put on my stockings next, fuss with the seams and clip both in place, before I can close this cocoon. The absurdity of measured straight seams under slacks is of no matter to me. I twiddle and adjust as much as necessary until they are perfectly straight, then roll my girdle pant leg up and secure them, under the cuff, entirely by feel. It is of only passing interest to me, that, not two days ago, I could not do this.

Silently, swiftly, I fasten the series of hooks and eyes. In this instance, the closure is just slightly to the left of my abdomen, located between a heavily boned and wired, satin panel at my front and a nearly eight inch wide, padded panel at my side. There are four of these padded panels. The two on each side, begin at the pant cuff. They initially rise like any other girdle panel, until they reach the level of my upper thighs, just below my hips. From there, they ease into an increasingly dramatic flair outward, adding nearly three inches of smooth, foam rubber bulk on each side, before carving sharply back in, just over my hip bone. At the back, starting again at the cuff, a satin panel rises along the rear of each leg; at the base of each cheek, they begin their flair. It is a complex structure. Strong elastic banding, support and cup the undersides of each cheek and lift each of them onto high shelves. The foam padding itself, seems to grow upward from the elevated undersides, like large inverted teardrops, again reaching to three inches of rubberized thickness and bulk. The effect is to massively increase the size and appearance of my arse cheeks, introduce a deep rear cleavage and neatly provide a shelf of fat butt, able to double as a end table. The entire girdle of reformation grips me, from just above my knees to the undersides of my breasts.

I have submitted to this, there is no point, but to continue. I slip my arms through the wide straps of the brassiere and press it to my chest. It is too small! The cups cannot be more than an "A"! It doesn’t really matter to me. I’m sure Myra Anne is aware of this and this is her intent. I feed as much of my breast into the hard, small convex pockets, as will fit and stretch the fastening ends behind me, determined to close them together. I will NOT ask Myra Anne for assistance! This is not an easy thing to do. Although I am extremely limber, blindly reaching and fastening the small hooks, high between my shoulder blades becomes a painfully, agonizing trial. I am nearly bent over in the effort. One is fastened. I straighten and catch my breath, then twist my arms backward and up again. I must do this six times before it is complete. The pressure across my chest and breasts is stifling.

My arms still ache at my shoulders as I reach for my blouse. It is on and buttoned up in a moment, as I reach for the slacks. I remove them from the hanger, shake them out and lift a foot into each leg. They are of medium weight polyester, a light sage in color and there are a series of short pleats around each hip. I tuck my blouse into the waistband. The elasticized waistband, sits high over my own waist and I notice another panel of lycra inside the slacks, that will stretch taught, keeping the front flat across my stomach, when closed. They fasten on the left side with a zipper and double button closure.

I see no shoehorn, so I must fully loosen the laces to my shoes to get them on. Gingerly, I sit back on the seat. It is an odd sensation. The fat wad of the sanitary pad is now firmly wedged, nearly halfway in me. It is an intense, yet isolated feeling, demanded at the uncompromising insistence of the successive alliance, generated by the multiple layers of my coverings. Though my thighs sit squarely on the seat, the volume of foam rubber substantially pitches me forward at my rear. I am nearly enticed to remain here and explore these exhilarating pressures further, yet I know that I must press on, this can only be the preamble to a full day of stimulation and denial.

My shoes, finally tied; I stood again, on now shaky legs, straightened and smoothed my blouse, tucking it in again, where it had pulled out a bit as I sat. I searched for my sweater. I slipped my arms into the sleeves and buttoned only the top under the collar of my blouse. I turned to face the mirror, looking for anything amiss. After these past couple of days, after all of the changes in hair and clothing style, that I have been forced to endure; the accelerated aging of my appearance, I should think I could not be further surprised. How long ago was it? It couldn’t have been more than a week ago, that I had long platinum blond hair, a body that Britney could only pray for, clubbing around in boob tube tops and hip huggers; any guy I wanted, creaming in his jeans, if I even looked at him sideways. Was that ever real? This old lady in the mirror, is this me? Look at me! Ditzy little lavender perm, perched on the very top of my otherwise completely bland and hairless head. A nearly flat chested body, with small knobby bumps for breasts, cowered under the most mundane, prim and banal red and pink sweater, blouse combo. The blouse, carefully tucked into the waistband; an elastic waistband, fully three inches above where anyone’s bellybutton would be. The sweater fell away in an inverted "V" from the lone button at the cutesy Peter-Pan collar, hardly displaced at all by the miniature titties, before flaring wildly away over my disproportionately wide hips and ass. The contrast of the off green, light sage color, of these puffy, pleated polyester pants, served only to exagerate the bloated, pear shape of my dumpy, overweight looking body. The tension placed at the pants material centered across my crotch, by my fat looking hips and ass, clearly outlined the bulbous, sanitary pad between my legs. I looked hideous! At the bottom of it all, the toes of my laced up orthopedic shoes, peaked shyly from my wide pant legs. If a man looked upon me now, he would want to gouge out his eyes!

All right Myra Anne, you win. You say jump. I say, how high? Whatever! If my friends could see me now! Actually, that’s pretty funny. If one of my old friends tripped right over me, they would never recognize me. Why, my own mother would not recognize me! I guess I don’t really have anything to worry about, do I? I shoved all of my old clothes into the empty girdle box, picked up the rest of the trash, push the curtain back, and waddle off to find Myra.

The store does not appear to be filled with many customers. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. It isn’t hard to find Myra Anne. She is back in her "ladies department" talking with two customers, an older teen-aged girl and her mother, I guess. Myra sees me immediately, but beyond the fleetest, of sharp stares, did not seem inclined to pounce on me just yet. By now, I should not have to point out, that one of Myra Anne’s piercing stares can drill through bank vault steel and kill, in a nanosecond. The typically odd looking woman, Myra Anne is talking with, has her back to me. I have the weirdest feeling that I know her, she seems so familiar! Ha! Is this a sad commentary on the sorry state of my mind? I have come to this? What, next? Sharing stubs of lipstick with elderly bag ladies in dark alleys? I decide that I should look busy and maybe find a place to deposit these old clothes.

I waddle off toward the back again, there must be an office or something, somewhere back there, where I can ditch these old clothes. Geezus, I must look like a duck! I have a whole new kind of sway to my walk, if I can even call this walking. This twenty five pounds of sausage pad, jammed up between my legs, gives me an exaggerated gait as if I just got off of a horse. Except, the damn horse is still there! Every damned step feels like I’m dry humping a sack of sugar. And I think it’s freaking crinkling and crackling. Am I making that noise! It’s… Ah… Geezus… damn… freaking damn… diabolical… Ahhh… Ahhh… I gotta, Ah… I… just a minute… Shit!

I got maybe twenty feet, then I have to stop and just catch my breath. Just stand there, not say anything, holding, hell, clutching this stuff for all I am worth. Whew. I have another ten feet to go at least. Are these damn plastic pants making noise? Cripes, is this whole day going to be like this? Geezus, I’m probably already dripping down there. I have to believe this thing will soften up some, as it gets wetter, it’s the only way… it HAS to calm down! Another moment, another step, another deep breath, ok, let’s just take it easy. Just nice, slow, steps, one step at a time, that’s the girl, come on, that’s it, step, ok, another, we’re almost there.

It took me a little while to get all the way back to the office. I admit it, it was a challenge. Hey, a different time, different place, it would have been great! At least with this panty girdle, I am able to bend over at my hips. It drives the soggy salami even deeper into my juicy cuny, but I can manage. I am bent over like that, arms and head halfway into the lower cabinet, my upper body, completely obscured behind my giant, gloriously rotund, big fat green ass, when Myra Anne caught up with me.

"Missy Joy! Will you help us, please."

"Yes, Ma’am" I cracked my stupid poodle head, right on the underside of the damn counter! Damn! She said "Please"! Damn! This is the first time, she’s ever given me a one, single nice word! Geezus! My head hurts! But, that’s ok! Myra Anne just said "Please", to me! WELL, All RIGHT! I might look like a little bell-bottom, porky old lady; but I’m a happy little porker!

……………………………………..

"Well, I must say, Glenn, you sure had me going yesterday."

"Well, I’m right, aren’t I?"

"Well, yes, but that’s not the point."

"Why not?"

"Well. A girl doesn’t like to be told she looks like an old man!"

"Well, we sure didn’t make love like you was an old man, now did we!"

"Oh, Glenn! You just like to tease me!"

"Hey! We got time for a quickie, before I have to open the store!"

"Now, Glenn! You just stop it! You know I have a lot to do before Lily gets here."

"What! When is she coming? Geez, I forgot all about that! Crap! What’s the deal with that?"

"Glenn, I’m sorry. We just have to help her. She’s my niece. I just can’t walk away from the family, like that. It’ll just tear them apart something, awful. You know my sister has been sick for two years now and ever since Bill lost his legs in the mill accident. Well, he just can’t keep up with her. She’s been just sassy and delinquent and running with a loose crowd. The probation officer said the last time, now that Lillian is eighteen, one more step over the line… well, you know she isn’t a juvenile anymore. The stories are just terrible! Glenn, Honey, it’s just till she finishes this last year of her schooling. It won’t be so bad. I know we can help her. You can help too, Glenn! It would be good for her to have a strong fatherly figure around more. You know she just needs a little guidance."

"What, Flo! What the heck do I know about being a father?"

"Now Glenn, you know what they say, it’s just like training a little puppy. You must be firm and loving. A little self discipline and control would be a real good learning experience for her."

"How soon will she get here?"

"Well, I think the bus should arrive here in just a few hours. I want her to feel real welcome here in Podash. We’ll have a couple days to get re-acquainted and I do want to take her over to Horace and Myra Anne’s for some school things. You know, she’ll have to be all ready to start her new classes on Monday morning and we’ll want her to get off on the right foot and make a favorable impression."

"Well, then I guess you have a lot to do. It’s a real good thing we got your hair straightened up first. I’m sure you’ll have your hands real full enough, just dealing with young Lillian, without having the bother yet, of all those sex crazed young snots, bird dogging you. Holy Mackerel Flo! What about Lillian! Are we going to be having boy problems with Lily? We’re certainly not going to put up with that; that’s for sure, no funny business here! Maybe the first thing you do is, take her right over to Shelly’s and nip that, right in the bud."

"Now Glenn, hold still! She’s just a young girl. I’m sure Helen, over at Betty Lou’s can make her look real nice and sensible, without having to go and cut all of her hair off the minute she gets into town. What kind of a welcome would that be?"

"Well, you just watch yourself, Flo. If she’s half the trouble here, that she is with your sister and Bill, well… we have a nice life here in Podash, we can’t be catering to trouble makers."

"Yes, Glenn. Now you just calm down and let me get myself together. It will all be just fine. You’ll see!""

……………………………………..

"Lillian, I just can’t believe you don’t own any nice school clothes! My Goodness, You know a neat appearance makes for a neat mind and a neat mind makes a for good place, for you to learn and grow. I just can’t believe that they would let you wear ripped up pants like that, to school. Why, they look like they’ll just fall right off of you in a minute! I just know your mother worked hard all of her life, so you could have nice things. And you certainly can’t expect to wear T-shirts like this, around in public. My, word! What will people think? What is that picture supposed to be? My word! Your nipples are showing! Why aren’t you wearing your bra? Lillian, Lillian! I think we will have to go to Horace and Myra Anne’s for some things before we can even go back to the store and meet Glenn. Lillian, Lillian, I just can’t believe you didn’t bring any other clothes!

"Fuck you, Flo! And it’s Lill. Like kill with an "L"!"

"Lillian! I’ve asked you not to use that kind of language. It’s not very becoming of a young lady. And you are still, very much, a young lady!"

"Fuck you!"

……………………………………..

I am totally blown away! It’s Flo! I can’t believe it! I had been with her, just yesterday at Mary Lou’s. She had her hair done so nice, by Helen. Geezus! I should know! Now, here’s Flo and her hair is gone! No, not gone, but she has it cut way short, combed over and totally, Brylcream slicked down, it’s like an accountants or an engineer, I mean like a guy! Like a nerd guy… why it’s exactly the same as James! And the flippy petticoat dress is gone, she’s wearing some long red shapeless, straight thing, past her knees with big brassy buttons all the way down, from an over sized pointy collar. And who is she with? Like the total opposite. This older teenager, half puked out in a ripped up T-shirt, half her tits hanging out, tiniest little cut-off shorts, low, low, low on her hips and NOT at all happy to be here. Well! I can relate to that! What the heck is that a picture of, on her shirt! Geezus, that’s a… !!! Geezus, Myra Anne must really be getting off on that! Well, she has super, really, really nice hair. It’s as black as a raven’s wing and long, long, long; all the way down her back, to her ass. God, I remember when I had hair like that! Damn! It’s really beautiful. You just know, she really takes care of it! And then there’s good old Myra, looking like a maniacal Joan Crawford Dominatrix, as usual. The three of them together, resemble Dante’s own, extra special version of The Three Graces.

"Missy Joy. This is Mrs. Gloford’s niece, Lillian. Miss Lillian will be staying with the Gloford’s for a period of time and attending her final year of school here, at Podash High. She seems to be having a tiny bit of difficulty, getting into the school spirit and a may need your assistance."

"Why, Yes Ma’am. I’d be more then happy to help in any way that I can." Geezus, Every time I open my mouth around Myra Anne, it’s like these sappy words can’t get past my lips fast enough."

"Fuck you. And fuck your fat ass."

Whoa! Who is this little shit think she’s talking to? I’ve knocked chicken shit bitches like this, flat on their freaking baby fat asses for less then that! Of course, what I really did, was give her my sweetest freaking sissy smile and swallow it. Damn, This babe has attitude. I’m half expecting Myra Anne to cut loose any second. I can see it in her eyes. It’s like looking into the darkest pits of hell. How the hell did Flo end up with this little sweetie!

"As I was saying. You will please assist Mrs. Gloford and the darling Miss Lillian, in any way that you can. I believe she will of course, need some proper undergarments and then you may fit her with our parochial uniform selections. Miss Lillian is not attending the parochial school, but I believe she will find the uniform will help her to focus and reinforce her dedication to intense study and learning."

Am I getting this right? Myra Anne is now actually talking to me like I’m a human being! And she want’s me to help Flo, tame Tiger Lil, here? Well, Hell Yeah, Sister! Flo’s my Sista!

"Please escort Miss Lillian and Mrs. Gloford to the changing rooms and I will select some items and join you there."

"Keep your hands off me, you fat fucking pig."

Damn, this girl is really pushing my buttons! I’m getting a pretty clear idea, of what Myra Anne has in mind for this little bitch and to be completely honest, I’m starting to relish the opportunity to screw her head down a little tighter. Flo, is amazing. I have no idea how she can maintain her cool with this brat. She is like a saint. It seems that she can take any adversity and turn it into some kind of positive personal growth experience for herself. I do not know how she does it. Me… I’d be content to rip this snot face a new asshole!

"All righty now, MISS Lillian. Let’s get you out of these clothes. Can you do that yourself, or would you like me to help you?"

Flo and I pretty much had her trapped in the changing booth, standing side by side, blocking any escape. I was almost hoping she’d try to fight me, just so I could grab a handful of her gorgeous hair and sort of twist it right out of her freaking head. I don’t know, maybe the gleam in my eye, gave my desire away, because after sticking her tongue out at me, she pulled her T-shirt over her head. Four or five minutes later after pulling off her combat boots, she finally stepped out of her cut-offs. I handed her stuff to Flo and motioned for her to take the stuff to the office in the back, and dump it. Lillian and I squared off, come on you little twat, try me! The tension broke with the return of Myra Anne, if you can believe that. Myra deposited several boxes and wrapped packages next to me. I immediately recognized the long white one. Yeah, honey, I’m going to really enjoy this, you can just kiss your sorry punk ass goodbye.

"Here you go Honey, slip your arms into this and turn around."

Good old Myra Anne had provided one of these long brassiere things like I had on and I just chuckled to myself no end, when I saw the little "A" cups. Lillian had a decent set of perky boobs for a young girl, but this thing is going to just flatten them right out into little bitsy nubbins. I spun her, grabbed the back ends and fastened her up in the tightest set of hooks.

"Ouch! Watch it, you fucking pig! You’re crushing my tits!"

I loved it. I hope she’s getting a pad too. Yes! Good old Myra Anne doesn’t miss a trick. I poked through the boxes until I found the pair of plastic panties. I was kind of disappointed that they weren’t as heavy duty as mine, but they seemed to be crinkleier and they were pink with little flowers printed on them.

"Ok now, Honey, now the panties."

She rolled her eyes, gave me a silent sneer and grabbed them sharply from my hands. I left her step into them and pull them up her legs, before I handed her the pad. It wasn’t anywhere as intimidating as mine, but I could wish.

"What the fuck is this? I’m not having my period and I sure as hell don’t wear these fucking things!"

"Why Lillian, Darling. We don’t want to have any little accidents now, do we? You put this in the crotch of those pants right now or I will shove it right up your ass!" Ahh, she is such a treat. I could really enjoy slapping her mouth clean off her face. Unfortunately, she took the hint, depriving me of that pleasure and pealed the adhesive, stuck the pad in place and pulled the panties all the way up. We were glaring at each other in silence, when Flo returned.

"Oh good, I see you’ve started to get dressed. That’s nice. What else do we have here, for Dear Lily, Missy Joy?"

We both looked grimly at Flo. Lily still had some fire in her eyes as I reached for the big girdle box. Dang, it isn’t the padded blimp suit I’m buried in. It is almost the exact duplicate of Flo’s and I do note with some glee that the crotch is closed. I’m sure sweet Lily’s never worn any girdle before, so she won’t know the difference. Well that’s nice, they can be little mother, daughter, look-a-likes. I don’t say a thing and suppressing a smirk, hand it over. Lily didn’t like it, but she stepped into it and started to wiggle it up and over her thighs. She probably thought it was a pair of over blown bike shorts. She ran into a little trouble getting it over her hips. I’m still not saying anything, but Flo leans in to help her get it up all of the way and show her how to fasten all the hook and eyes. The look on her face is absolutely precious, as she finally stands there, all hooked up, panting in complete and crushing discomfort. Yeah bitch, aren’t we hot shit now! I handed the stockings to Flo, I don’t even want to touch this little shit’s legs.

Flo is pretty good at it. I don’t have her patience. She had the little shit, roll them up and down as many times as it takes. She’s pretty limber and didn’t have quite the difficulty I’d had in putting my stockings on, but it was still work and Flo kept her occupied and correcting the attachment of the garter clips, to the point that it took some of the fight out of her. Little Shit!

"Well, that’s pretty good! Missy, What else do we have over there?"

I turned my attention to some whites on the table. We still have a slip and some petty-pants for the Little Darling. I handed the pants to her first. I liked them. They will look good on her. They are nylon of course, the legs reach nearly to her knees, covering the girdle legs and they are encircled by rows and rows of ruffles, that continue upwards across her fanny. I am reminded of Little Bo Peep. I think she made the connection as well, her face is twisted in a humorous mix of horror and bewilderment. I love it! The slip is equally outrageous, the top half is similar to a T-shirt, she should like that… and the bottom half flares out a bit and have three rows of ruffle around the circumference at the hem. Ha! You little freak, you don’t look so tough now, do you?

"Wonderful! Doesn’t she just look darling, Missy! My, My! This is so much nicer, don’t you think so? Oh my, Lillian, you look so much nicer. I’m so excited. Let’s hurry over and see what Myra Anne has picked out for your school clothes!"

It’s hard to keep Flo down! She is really on a roll, and the little freak seems to have finally learned to keep her mouth shut. It is a pretty amazing transformation, standing there in her bright white fluffy slip, with her long, deep black hair flowing down her back, she looks years younger, like an ingenue ready for first communion. I’m sure that any second, she’ll spout some filthy obscenity and shatter that illusion! Flo grabbed the suddenly mute Lily, by the hand and headed off toward the school uniforms. I started off, right after them, but a couple of steps into it and the thick mushy log between my legs demanded my full attention. I settled back into the slow rolling waddle that seems to most appease this intruder and did my best to keep my own crackling plastic panties silent. Yeah… I’ll be right there!

By the time I rejoined them, Lily was being buttoned into a pale yellow blouse. It wasn’t anything particularly trendy and several light years away from the ripped T-shirt look she had come in with. Short puffy, banded sleeves, plain button front, with a rather wide rounded Peter-Pan collar, continued her new cutesy innocent look. The loose cut of the blouse, further de-emphasized her now flattened chest, allowing just the slightest nubbin bumps to indicate that she even had any breasts. She still wasn’t saying much and stood still, holding her chin up high, while Flo tugged and buttoned that collar. I could tell by her look, she hated this and just couldn’t hold that tongue for too much longer. Myra Anne stood to the side, holding more clothes and just kind of surveyed the action. I was amazed that she wasn’t playing a more active, hands-on role, but on the other hand, believe me, her mere presence is more then enough to traumatize the average person.

"Missy Joy. Thank you so much for joining us. Here, take these things and continue with your assistance to Mrs. Gloford. There are things I need to attend to in the office."

Damn, Friggin Myra Anne has a real way of making me feel real friggin inadequate. Anyway, believe it or not, I curtsied yet again, gave her my "Yes Ma’am" and took the proffered clothes from her. Well, at least with her back in the office, I won’t have to stand here like a sniveling idiot handmaiden.

"Ow, That’s fucking tight! Watch it Aunt Flo, you’re choking me! And… Why’s the fat pig back here? You gonna be our new maid, Porky Pig?"

On cue, Lil let one fly. Damn, five minutes, just give me five minutes alone with her. Sadly, I do nothing but smile like a moron dolt and accept her epitaph, It must be that Myra Anne Specter that permeates this place, or at least inhabits my subconscious. I DO feel like a sniveling handmaiden, at the moment!

"Lillian! That is no way for a young girl to talk. I don’t like it one bit. Now, you stand up straight and let me look at you. Yes, you certainly look more like a nice young girl now. Missy Joy, would you please hand us the jumper."

"Yes, Ma’am"

Continuing right along, in my new handmaiden role, I lifted the jumper draped over my arm and handed it to Lily.

"Aunt Floooooooooo… No! This is so stupid! I don’t want to wear this! I’ll look like a preemie! Nooooooooooooo! I hate you!"

Well, I don’t know what a preemie is supposed to be, but if this jumper makes her look like one, and she doesn’t want to be one, then that’s just fine by me! She’s just about stamping her feet up and down, looks near tears and her face is getting red; I love it. Flo is unfazed. I don’t know, maybe it’s her super butch haircut, the set of her jaw, I don’t know… but Lily got the message. Ha! The sniveling little shit, took the jumper and pulled it over her head. The jumper is a big bold plaid in greens, maroons and grays, open on both sides, with an open V at the front, extending from shoulder to waist. The skirt part is pleated, fluffed out a bit from the frilly slip and the hem hangs to slightly above her knees, barely covering the frilly ends of the petty-pants. She fumbles with a short zipper on the side, before getting the waistband, buttoned snuggly around her girdled middle. She’s certainly getting that "back to school" look now, but, I dunno… with that seriously gorgeous, long black hair flowing down behind her, she’s pushing into the Lolita Zone! Tell you the truth, the couple of times that I went with that plaid schoolgirl look, back at college, guys were hitting on me left and right, and the ones that didn’t, had wet spots at their crotches or were gay! Uh oh, I wonder if old Flo is a little to naive to pick up on this?

Well, the last thing I want to do is start something, or put any new ideas in Lily Lolita’s head. Wouldn’t that be great! I have to walk around, yeah right, waddle around like some rolly, polly, blimp ass hausfrau and Lolita here, gets to give every boy in town, a hard case of blue balls. I’m going to have to clue Flo in, when we’re alone. So, for now, I shut up and as Flo gesture’s for the next item, I hand it over. Next item is a tie, same plaid pattern as the jumper and it goes around Lolita’s neck, under the collar and crosses over in front with a little center snap. Flo fusses around behind her with some slider adjustment thing, tightening it up. Lolita remands still, her face still very red and her mouth is opening and closing like a little fish, but thankfully silent. Cute. The little tie crosses and lies partly under her collar like little fairy wings. The last items on the agenda are white knee socks. I hand them over one at a time. I’m not sure why she needs knee socks over stockings, but it does go with the look.

Myra Anne came back briefly, with a smug, self-satisfied smile on her face and I was thinking, just to check on our progress in general and maybe bust on my ass, in particular. She then handed me a shoebox, turned and left me in peace. I opened the box. Inside is the shiniest pair of black patent Mary-Jane shoes I ever saw. Being the strictly professional ladies maid that I am these days, I maintain a solemn and stoic expression, as I hand them over, one at a time. Lily Lolita looks particularly mortified as she slips a foot into each and awkwardly bends to button the cross straps. Har, har. They’re some kind of man-made polyvinyl materials, absolutely dazzling under the store lights. If there was ever any truth in that little boy’s myth, that you could see a girl’s panties in the reflection of her shiny shoes, these are definitely the ones!

Finally all is done, the three of us stand quietly, side by side, each of us staring at the mirror. Flo is sporting her, Joe the Bellboy, haircut, long straight red dress and big shiny buttons. Me with my little pencil eraser head on top of my giant donut lady, ok, Porky Pig bottom and sweet Lily Lolita. Lily looks like the poster child for the "Our Lady of Perpetual Innocence School of Sickening Sweet and Cute Girls". It was a Kodak moment. Except for the hair. She still has that jet black, gorgeous, stunning, rich, lustrous, luxurious, shining, healthy, glowing head of glorious hair! She looks like every boy’s wet dream. I am so freaking jealous! And she knows it! I’d like to shave her bald!

"Well! Now, this is how a schoolgirl should look! Lilian, you must admit, you look much nicer now! Don’t you think so too, Missy Joy?"

"Yes Ma’am."

Why do I say that? Lily Lolita isn’t saying anything, though. She’s kind of wavering between abject humiliation at being dressed like a little schoolgirl and obsessing over this Vladimir Nabokov vision of the flesh. All she needs is an apple and she is the picture of original sin. And that’s pretty much how we leave it. Flo and Lily are walking off and out the door, I’m standing here lost in my thoughts and somewhere, Myra Anne is hollering my name.

……………………………………..

"Glenn! Really! I just think you are over reacting again!"

"Flo… Why, No! That’s not it at all! It’s, it’s, well, it’s not right! Yes, that’s it! It’s just not right!"

"Glenn, Really! You make such a fuss. Lillian looks just fine in her new school clothing. She looks sweet and innocent."

"Yes, yes she does. Yes, You’re right, she certainly doesn’t look like the delinquent I was expecting. She looks like a normal school girl. But her hair, Flo, Her HAIR! My Lord, no wonder she’s on the verge of prison!"

"She’s a young girl, Glenn. Young girls have long hair."

"Flo, Flo… Did you and Lillian walk back here from Horace and Myra Anne’s Store?"

"Yes"

"Boys, Flo, boys! Did you pass any boys?"

"Yes"

"And… And! What happened?"

"Well, yes, there were some boys and yes, some of them were rude, making faces and saying things."

"Ah, HA! I thought so! When you came back from Shelly’s, yesterday, you didn’t have any problems with the young boys. And why is that? Well, I’ll tell you. It’s because you look like a nice mature respectable woman, that has no time for anyone except her husband. When you go walking down the street with this Lillian, all of a sudden lust crazed, mad dog boys in heat surround you! And why is that? Well, Flo, It’s her hair. Lillian has the hair of the harlots. Salome, Jezebel and Lillian right here in Podash! She’s here to finish her schooling and stay out of trouble and that’s what she has to look like in no uncertain terms. She just can’t look like the devil’s playground. We just can’t have it. Flo, You have to take her right over to Bill Shelly’s, right away, right now, we can’t let this get out of control!"

"Ok, Glenn, you’re right. I’m sorry. But, I will take her to Betty Lou’s. There’s no reason to treat her like a criminal. Betty Lou has taken care of hundred’s of young girls hair, here in Podash and those girls all grew up to be right proper Podash Ladies. Now, you know that’s true."

"Oh Lillian, Dear, would you please come here for a moment."

"Yes, Aunt Flo?"

"Lillian, Honey. Glenn and I have been talking. Well, you know we, you and I did get off to a funny little start today, but after our nice shopping spree at Horace and Myra Anne’s, you seem so much more like a young lady. Glenn and I think you should go over to Betty Lou’s Salon with me tomorrow and have your hair trimmed a little bit. Something that looks a little more studious, to help you better concentrate in school."

"NO WAY! NO FUCKING WAY ARE YOU FUCKING TOUCHING MY FUCKING HAIR!"

"SOAP! SOAP!"

Glenn went ballistic! It was one fluid motion. He was out of the chair, had crossed the room and had every strand of hair on her head, clenched in his meaty fist, dragging the stunned Lily toward the bathroom like a caveman. There were banging noises, bathroom cabinet doors slammed closed, Lily was screaming and pleading for her life and then a frightening silence. My God! Glenn! What have you done! Suddenly they burst back into the room, Lily, her hair still firmly in Glenn’s grasp, tripping and stumbling in the desperate effort to stay on her feet. I gasped in horror at the huge bar of soap jammed deeply into her mouth! It completely filled her, I could see the curled soap shavings around her lips, where the bar had been scraped away by her teeth, when he’d forced it in! Tears streamed from her eyes! Oh, Glenn, Please don’t hurt her, she’s only a child! Glenn dropped into his chair, pulling the hapless girl across his knees and still he did not relinquish his grasp. With his free hand, he fumbled to throw her skirts up and over her back to reveal her frilly petty-panted bottom, before struggling to pull them down her legs.

"DAMN! PANTY GIRDLE!"

Glenn was furious! He flailed at her bottom, spanking her over and over.

"Don’t you EVER use that kind of language again! NEVER! NEVER! NEVER! NEVER! NEVER! NEVER! NEVER! NEVER! NEVER! NEVER! NEVER… !"

It seemed to go on and on and on. Each "NEVER!" was punctuated with a sharp crack to her taught white bottom. Lillian howled through the soap bar, tears flooded her cheeks, soap bubbles began forming around her mouth!

"Oh Glenn, I think that’s enough! I really do! Let’s ask her. I think Lillian might have suffered a change of heart!"

Glenn relaxed his death grip. Lily sobbed hysterically, as she crawled off his lap, simultaneously rubbing her surely inflamed bottom and scalp. She reached to remove the bar of soap from her mouth.

"Leave that in!"

"Oh Glenn, now how is she supposed to apologize and answer you with that big bar of soap in her mouth?"

"I don’t know. She has to learn some manners around here, that’s for sure. Does she have any other clothes? She can’t be getting her new school clothes all mussed up right away. How much clothes did you buy for her at Horace and Myra Anne’s, anyway."

"A weeks worth and some underwear. She got five blouses and two jumpers and several changes of underwear and some other odds and ends."

"And that’s on my bill? Geezus, Flo! How many boxes of screws and nails do I have to sell at the store to pay for all of that! Where is the rest of it? I didn’t see you come in with all those packages."

"Now Glenn. We’re going to support Lillian, one hundred percent, through all of this. We all have to do our part, as well as she does. Remember, she’s like a little puppy that needs to learn right from wrong. You can’t just punish her and beat her all the time, you must show her love and that you care. You must reward her good deeds. Now, she looks very nice in her school clothes and you know she’ll just feel better about herself, every time she looks in the mirror and try so much harder to be good."

"Yeaaaaaah… But, if she misbehaves."

"Glenn, Now stop it! Lillian, Honey, now you tell Uncle Glenn that you are very sorry. You won’t use language like that again, thank him for taking the time to care about you and promise that you’ll behave like a good and decent young lady, from now on!"

"Blum, blary blorry, blubba Blenn…"

"You may take the soap out of your mouth, Lillian."

"I’m, sniff, very sorry, Uncle Glenn, sniff, I promise I won’t talk like that again, sniff, sniff, I’ll be good, sniff, I promise. Thank you. Sniff, sniff"

"Well then, ok young lady. Now go straight to your room and hang those clothes up nicely and get to bed."

"Sniff, Uncle Glenn? Sniff, Is it ok if I wash my hair first?"

"Yeah, yeah, OK. But, don’t make me tell you again. And don’t take all night, and don’t use up all the hot water! Now get a move on! Flo, Where are the rest of her things?"

"Myra Anne said either she or Horace will drop them off here tomorrow. But now, I’m wondering, what she has to wear around the house. She has some pretty awful T-shirts and blue jeans with her. The poor girl was wearing rags. Really, Glenn, I didn’t know how hard things were for my sister and Bill. We should really get her some nicer dresses and outfits."

"Wait a minute Flo. We can’t be going out and buying her any more clothes. We just can’t take on that burden."

"Yes, Glenn. I know! I’ll call up Auntie Bea! Maybe she still has some of Myra Anne’s old outfits. You know she doesn’t throw anything away. Missy Joy has been wearing Myra Anne’s things of course, but maybe there is some younger dresses that are too small for Missy. Or, maybe Auntie Bea knows of some things down at the Church’s Needy People Mission."

"We’re not needy people, Flo."

"No we’re not, but Lillian is. She needs love and care and strong guidance. She needs to find her inner beauty. She needs to let it shine out for all to see! Yes, that’s what we will do then. Tomorrow, Lillian can wear her school clothes again and we’ll go over to Betty Lou’s and get her hair trimmed up, more befitting a girl her age and then we’ll go over to the Needy People Mission and get her some nice things! Oh Glenn, I’m so excited! I just want my sweet little niece to look and act so perfectly good!"

……………………………………..

After multiple phone calls, Friday evening, back and forth between Floria, Myra Anne, Aunt Bea, Betty Lou, Helen and Diane Fenstermacher, a plan of action has been established. Aunt Bea has interceded in behalf of Lillian and Flo, with Betty Lou at the Beauty Parlor and arranged an early appointment for Lily’s hair. Betty Lou has shuffled some standing regulars, so that Helen will be available for Lily. Myra Anne will swing by Gloford’s Hardware Store on the way to her Department Store in the morning, and drop off the rest of Lily’s new school clothes with Glenn. Aunt Bea has spoken with Diane Fenstermacher at the Needy People Mission and confirmed that there might be enough items available to outfit Lily with things she’d need when not in uniform. Flo and Lily will head over to the Mission when Lily is finished at the Parlor. Glenn will wait for Flo’s call, then swing by the Mission, with the van and pick them both up and help load whatever items they’ve found.

Seven o’clock in the morning of the next day. It is not unusual to see the girls from the parochial school in Betty Lou’s after school, for their monthly trim and touchups. It is very unusual to see one in her uniform, in the parlor, on a Saturday morning. It is also very unusual to see one of the parochial girls with such long hair. True, some of the girls do wear their hair in pigtails, but they’re usually short enough, that it doesn’t touch their shoulders. None of the regulars at Betty Lou’s, could ever remember seeing a parochial girl with so much hair, flowing all the way down her back, to her bottom. She was certainly neat and cute enough, that’s for sure! But her hair! Land sakes, how had the nuns let this happen! The parlor was buzzing with their whispers.

Lily sat in the waiting chair, fidgeting with her long strands of hair, She was extremely uncomfortable. The whispers weren’t all that hushed or private. They were talking about her hair. All of these old ladies with their gold teeth, their flabby arms and double chins and coke bottle glasses and cheese curl hair. She glanced nervously toward Flo, in earnest conversation with Helen. Aunt Flo said they were just going to trim my hair. Why is this taking so long? What is this horrible smell? What are we doing in THIS place?

"Hello Lillian!"

"Uh, hello."

"My name is Helen. I’ll be doing your hair today. My, that is lovely hair. How long have you been growing it?"

"Uh, I dunno. Since the seventh grade, I guess."

"It’s very lovely, Lillian. I see that you’ve taken very good care of it. It means a lot to you, Lillian, doesn’t it. Floria, tells me that we want to shorten it up a bit for school."

"Ah, I dunno, I guess."

"Lillian is very excited about her new school. We spent half the day over at Horace and Myra Anne’s yesterday, just so she’d have nice things and look her best on Monday morning. She want’s to make the absolutely best first impression."

"Is that right? Well, that’s very good, Lillian. Are we ready to go back now and get started?"

"Dunno, I guess."

"All right, then, Lillian, that’s a good girl. Please follow me."

"Aunt Flooooooooooooooo… Do I have to?"

"Why of course, Lillian. You want to look your very best, don’t you? Well, of course you do. Helen is very good. She does my hair."

"NOOOOOOOat his 85du

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