When I said goodbye to my mom, I thought I was going to have another year of private lessons with Miss Samantha. That’s the way it started out. I had a routine I followed each day. I woke up and helped her with breakfast and cleaning the kitchen. Next, I took my bath, conditioned my hair, put lotion on my body, filed and painted my nails, fixed my hair, put on the clothes that Miss Samantha had laid out, and went downstairs for my lesson of the day.
Mostly these lessons consisted of how I was supposed to act as a girl. I didn’t know there were so many subtleties. Miss Samantha would offer up all kinds of scenarios like walking to school or accepting an invitation to a birthday party. She would ask me how a boy would do it, and then show me how a girl would do it. I had to practice several times before I passed that section of her class. The next few days, she would review what I had learned, and make me show her that I remembered each of my lessons.
We would practice everything together by going on field trips, and she would watch my demeanor and point out what I needed to work on.
“Girls don’t grab. I want you to daintily reach for it. Good, that’s how I want you to do it from now on.”
After my lessons, I would help Miss Samantha with dinner, and would clean up for the night. If I was good, my reward was to be able to watch TV or read magazines, however, they were the movies and magazines that she chose. Most of it was sappy, romantic stuff that turned my brain to mush. It wasn’t particularly entertaining, so I found myself doing my nails so I wouldn’t have to do them the next day.
When it was time for bed, I took another bath, got in my nightgown, and Miss Samantha came in to tuck me in. I always had to go to bed early, and in the waning light, I looked around my pink room, pulled off my princess covers, and looked at my panties and painted toes and tried to make sense of the whole thing.
I had two strange sets of emotions going through me at those times. I felt…pretty, but I knew I shouldn’t. I thought about the panties I had put on that fateful night in this room, and pondered how that had changed my life. I wondered if I could get through this year, and get back to my life again. Usually I would hear Miss Samantha’s footsteps in the hall, and would pull up the covers again, and feel soft and comfortable in my pretty sheets and sheer nightgown. I knew I should rip off these clothes and throw them to the floor, yet I knew I would never mess up my pretty things. My god, what was happening to me?
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