Sunday, February 25, 2007

Girls as Boys: Cross Dressing the Other Way

Guest Blogger: Fiona Locke
http://fionalocke.net

‘Frank, I am very sorry to hear how badly you behaved this morning. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. I intend to punish you severely. Prepare yourself at once,’ I added, getting out the rod. He glanced at it with a look of fear, and a hot flush rose to his cheeks.

He let down his trousers and placed himself in position across the end of the sofa.

I tucked his shirt up and began to apply the rod, and as I was angry with him, I laid on the cuts smartly, raising long, red weals all over the surface of his white bottom. He wriggled, writhed, and rolled about in pain, half turning over on to his side for a moment, so that I saw the front part of his naked body. And what I saw paralysed me with astonishment.

‘Frank’ was a girl!

*

That was the scene that did it for me. Frank & I is one of the great classics of Victorian flagellant erotica. And I read a lot of such stuff. Punishment always turns me on, but in this instance it was the idea of a girl being punished as a boy, by a man who doesn’t know she’s really a girl.

Cross-dressing is a common fetish if you mean men dressing as women. Transvestites describe the joy of wearing soft feminine things, so unlike male clothes. I experience the reverse when I hide my girlish curves in boys’ clothes. It’s strangely erotic, the thick and unflattering cotton Y-fronts and boxer shorts that cover so much more than a flimsy pair of knickers. I feel surprisingly vulnerable, stripped of my feminine wiles and charms. The strict headmaster of my fantasies might take pity on a whimpering girl, but he’s not about to be lenient with a boy.

I’ve done a lot of roleplay as a boy. School canings across my taut schoolboy shorts. Formal 19th century birchings in my Eton tailsuit. ‘Rent boy’ scenes in my Edwardian boy’s suit. (Honestly, before Tipping the Velvet, I had no idea any other girls were into dressing as boys.)

I have some modern clothes too; teen boys’ stuff fits me pretty well. I have to bind my breasts and tuck my hair up under a hat, but I’m reasonably convincing if I don’t have to talk. My boyfriend took me to a strip club in the States once and the low lights helped my disguise. One of the dancers asked if I was gay, but she didn’t suspect I was a girl! Using the gents’ loo was an especially naughty thrill, though I didn’t have the courage to use the urinal. I chickened out and went for the privacy of the stall with the locking door.

Of course, the costume I love best is the one I don’t own (yet). In the days of Nelson’s navy, common seamen were flogged, but midshipmen were bent over a cannon and caned. It’s one of my oldest and most enduring fantasies – a girl who disguises herself as a young gentleman and suffers the wrath of a zealous young lieutenant. I wrote that story, ‘Kissing the Gunner’s Daughter’, for Sex in Uniform, managing to combine three of my fetishes: caning, uniforms and cross-dressing.

I wrote another girl-disguised-as-boy story for Sex and Music called ‘The Apprentice’. And when Nexus Enthusiast commissioned Over the Knee I couldn’t resist another chance to indulge my peculiar kink, this time in a pure spanking arena. But enough teasing; here’s a taste. The narrator, Angie, always wanted to know what it’s like to be punished as a boy. In this scene she’s role-playing a schoolboy who’s got on the wrong side of a bully.

*

The cane slashed through the air and into my bottom with astonishing force and I couldn’t hold back the breathless cry of pain as my body tried to process the sensation.

The pain began to swell and crest until I thought I couldn’t bear it. I bounced on my heels, trying to will the sting away. My nails gouged into the windowsill and I gritted my teeth, reminding myself that I was a boy.

Boys don’t cry, I thought, desperately needing courage. I repeated it in my head like a mantra.

When he finally stopped, I stood up, stumbling a little.

‘Back in position,’ he ordered. ‘I’m not finished with you yet.’

With a soft moan, I resumed the position.

‘This time you can drop your trousers, boy,’ he said. ‘And your underpants.’

I gasped.

‘You heard me. You’re a cry-baby, Shepherd. And cry-babies are punished on the bare. Now take them down.’

‘But Carruthers—‘

‘Now, boy. I want to see those baby-cheeks. Drop your trousers or I’ll do it for you.’

I blushed so hard my scalp tingled. But I wasn’t about to disobey. With a mournful sigh I bent to the task, unbuckling my belt and unfastening my trousers. I held them up for a moment before letting them slip down to the floor. They puddled around my feet and I stood before him in my boy’s underpants. Putting them on earlier had felt sexy and transgressive, but now I was self-conscious. I knew Peter was thoroughly enjoying my discomfort and I hesitated only another few seconds before hooking my thumbs into the elastic and pushing the cotton underwear down my thighs.

‘Feet apart.’

I managed to shuffle my feet away from each other until they were about twelve inches apart. Then I felt the cane tapping against my backside. I winced. I knew he would use it hard. After all, he wasn’t punishing me; he was punishing a boy who had broken the schoolboy code by telling tales. No matter how much you were bullied, no matter what was done to you, you did not squeal. As always, he had set me up nicely.


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16 comments:

kristina lloyd said...

I love Victorian smut. It’s full of charm – and bottoms. There’s a theory it was so bum-centric to avoid obscenity laws but I’m sure the classic English vice also had a lot of appeal for the well-birched toffs who bought this stuff (no one else could read or afford it). Frank and I is a lot of fun, though my favourite from that era is always going to be My Secret Life by ‘Walter’. Not much spanking or cross-dressing, I’m afraid, just mad amounts of rutting, quite a lot of it seedy, gas-lit and whorish. Can’t think why I like it.

Fiona, you might know the tale of Phoebe Hessel, a legendary historical figure (18thC) in Brighton where I live. She’s said to have dressed up as a soldier in order to join her lover in the army and got away with it for ages. She sounds fantastically bonkers, a really odd, interesting character. She lived to be about a zillion years old, was famed for her story-telling and ended up selling gingerbread on a street corner. Which is what I’ll be doing if I don’t get on with writing this novel. (‘Gingerbread’ isn’t a euphemism, by the way.)

And a great excerpt. Thank you. ‘Feet apart.’ Oh, I do like those words. Nice arse on the cover of your book too …

Alison Tyler said...

Excellent post... perfect way to start a Monday, with a nice caning. Can't even try to be eloquent like Kristina, at the moment, because had another strange sleepless night. (Like Steve Martin, "We're just waiting for the drugs to take effect..." I'm just waiting for the caffeine to kick in.)

I think the first Victorian smut I read was The Pearl. Can't think where I got a copy of it. Perhaps at the B&B where I cleaned in high school. (Did I just admit to stealing from my employers?)

Oh, dear...
Where's a cane when you need one?

XXX,
Alison

Fiona Locke said...

Kristina, I did NOT know of Phoebe Hessel, but you can be sure I'll be reading about her now! Thanks for the tip! My favourite tales were always the naval ones (sexier uniforms and much more frequent and ritualised flogging).

Yes, there's something truly exquisite about Victorian smut. 'Walter' is suspected to be Henry Spencer Ashbee, by the way - THE smut connoisseur of his day.

Alison - where's a cane when you need one? A mere transatlantic flight away, with plenty of English gentlemen prepared to swing it.

Nikki Magennis said...

Fiona, thanks so much for your lovely post!

There's plenty said about men crossdressing, but very little about women doing the same. (Apart from the pirates, of course. And Joan of bleeding Arc.) It's great to hear a little about your experiences.


Oh, and here's a link to Fiona's novel OVER THE KNEE, described as 'the definitive CP novel'.

Alison Tyler said...

All right, Fiona, so how am I supposed to get any work done now?

I'm sitting here, scanning airfare to the UK and imagining men with fine accents greeting me at the gate... canes in hand...

XXX,
Alison

kristina lloyd said...

Yeah, didn't Ashbee have an extra house or something to stash his smut in? I think he claimed to be generously cataloguing it all so no one else would ever need to read such horrid, horrid filth.

And he went under a pseudonym - Pisanus Fraxi. Fraxi is from the Latin for 'ash tree' and Pisanus .. dunno but I'm sure it was very clever of him.

There is more useless crap like this in my head. I think I over-researched when I wrote Darker Than Love, my Victorian smut. Good fun, though.

Mathilde Madden said...

Thanks Fiona. Great post.

I must say I don't have any desire to dress up in drag myself - I have completely wrong body type - but I find women dressed as men very hot indeed.

Shall I bring up Lorne again? Yes I shall. In my filthilicious novel Peep Show - about a woman who spies on gay men having sex - I had a delicious transman/drag king character called Lorne who is one of my favourite of all my characters. She is a little sad sometimes, but she is very sexy.

And just like I don't really like the idea of cross dressing myself, but I am quite happy to enjoy the spectacle of other people doing it, I likewise don't really like the idea of being spanked or caned myself, however...

Um, anyways... just remembered something I've got to do...

Johnny said...

Alison, I don't have any canes but I've got a very flexible fishin rod that might work.

I'll pick you up in the Landrover, 'kay honey?

kristina lloyd said...

Alison, don't trust him. He had me once and ... oh God ...

Kate Pearce said...

Love girls dressed as boys, have a medieval languishing in the bottom of my writing drawer about a very complicated pair of lovers who start out this way and as the hero has been accused of being gay, he's a bit concerned by his attraction to the heroine who's dressed as a boy. (Anyway I won't bore you with the details unless it gets published!)

I actually think one of the sexiest book I ever read about cross dressing was 'The Masqueraders' a Georgette Heyer in which the hero dresses as a woman and his twin sister as a man. There's a marvelous scene where the heroine is caught by her potential lover. The image of rich red claret dripping down her arm as he forces her to reveal where she's been pouring all her drinks is incredibly erotic.

Madeline said...

Great post and great comments. Did anyone watch the Academy Awards last night? An award was given to, I believe, a costume designer, and a delightful little lady took the stage, dressed in a tux. She thanked her producer, director etc. She had a delightful little accent to go with her adorable face. Then she thanked her 'master' the late Stanley Kubrick. OMG. That was it for me - she made the 3+ hours entirely worthwhile.
What a wonderful way to start the week.

Peter said...

Well, Alison.

I expect Angie and I could be there at the gate. There's a brace of cannon at Etal Castle, just beggin for a pair of girls to be bent over them.

http://www.northumberland-cam.com/etal/index.htm

Would one cane in hand do?

Peter

Alison Tyler said...

All right, Fiona, so how am I supposed to get any work done now?

I'm sitting here, scanning airfare to the UK and imagining men with fine accents greeting me at the gate... canes in hand...

Madeline said...

and finally, folks, this post will be accompanied by a picture of me.
My work for today is done.

Alison Tyler said...

Am I the only one who's been humming "Lola" all day?

"Girls will be boys and boys will be girls, it's a mixed up, muddled up, shook up world..."

Hope I have that right...
:) AT

Fiona Locke said...

See what I mean, Alison? All you have to do is mention spanking or caning and English males will be flocking to accommodate you! Le vice anglais holds sway over this foggy little island. (And Peter does have a fine accent.) ;)

Alison Tyler said...

Fiona,

Yes, I do see your point now.
And you know Peter personally?
Hmmm... where is my passport?

XXX,
Alison