Part 1: A reflection on masculinity and femininity, a woman's look at her boyish past - not what you think - and a brother gone bad.

Vaingirls, Beginnings: Joyce's Story, Part 1
By Jezzi Belle Stewart
 ©2000

This story is dedicated to Rori and Soto who run Transformations by Rori, the real Vaingirls. Thank you both for helping to make my feminine dreams come true.

*****

The ladies were there, as usual. Anytime the weather was halfway nice, the same three or four. They were on an ornately decorated balcony, two stories up, of an ornately decorated building - 1930's Art Deco style with a smattering of incongruous ancient Egyptian influence, he guessed. Below the balcony were the windows and door of an establishment calling itself, by means of a gilt lettered sign and feminine script, simply "Vaingirls". An oval shield, approximately three feet in diameter, gold edged, containing a bright red lipstick in a gold case, flanked by the Red letters "V"and "G" hung in the middle of the balcony railing. There was a curved wrought iron staircase with a gilded railing from one end down to the sidewalk.

The ladies posed themselves, draped might be a better word, languidly, leaning on the railing or against the walls, watching the world go by. While they were all different and favored slightly different styles, all were extremely beautiful and leaned toward the chiffon and lace school of femininity, casual elegance. Hair, all ribbons and tendrils impeccably made up. They ran the gamut, blonde, redhead, brunette, and the most striking of all, a midnight-haired goddess, a tall Elizabeth Taylor in her prime.

The young man looked at the ladies as he passed by, and only turned away when he could feel the twist in his neck that indicated he was past them. This time there was something different, something to indicate that his interest in the ladies over the past month had not gone unnoticed. The Goddess gave him what he later came to think of as "The Look". The Look pierced him, gave him the idea that this woman knew him intimately, to the depths. It was only a fleeting feeling, and then he was by them.

Over the next 24 hours, he tried to convince himself that he'd been mistaken, but when he passed the balcony the next day, he found that he was the recipient of "The Look" from all of them, as they languidly turned and let their eyes rest on him. It was not a hurtful or particularly terrifying look, but a sizing-up look, an examining of potential; today it was followed by three lazy smiles and, almost in deliberate contrast, an almost feral smile of possessiveness from the black haired goddess. It was almost as though he had passed some kind of test, met some hidden set of criteria. He tentatively smiled back.

The four Vaingirls, Jessica, Elizabeth, Bethany, and Joyce, their black-haired leader, exchanged satisfied smiles. 'Another one,' thought Joyce. 'Honey, have we got a dress for you!'

Joyce pulled the red and gold front door of Vaingirls closed and locked it from the inside. Turning off all but the emergency lights, she turned and headed toward the back of the store. She felt a warm glow of satisfaction as she looked at the shimmer of satin and the glitter of rhinestones and sequins reflecting the emergency lights passing through a Romanesque arch into the back room, she grabbed her mug and filled it with steaming coffee from the ever-full pot. The mug was black with gold trim and had the Vaingirls' VG lipstick logo on one side and "Joyce" in gold feminine script on the other. There was a rack on the wall holding perhaps twenty mugs just like it with different girls names on them. She plopped down in one of the two makeover chairs and took a sip of the coffee.

'Not very ladylike, I'm afraid,' she thought, 'but then there's nobody to see me and it has been a long day.' She sank further into the chair. 'Long and profitable!' In more ways than one, she thought about the young man. 'He'll be gorgeous. And he wants to be; she just doesn't know it yet!'

Vaingirls was a boutique and Transformation salon. To most of the citizens of Chicago, it catered to upscale ladies, selling prom, bridal, and other formal fashions, and providing makeovers for weddings and other events. To those in the know, it was a haven for the transgendered, a place for men who either wanted to look like or to actually become women. Everything needed to turn John into Jennifer, from stiletto heeled feet to tiara'd big hair, was available, along with Joyce, Elizabeth, Bethany, or the newest salon girl, Jessica to mother them through the transformation. Once transformed, the client could go "her" own way, take advantage of "field trips" organized by Vaingirls and led by one of the four to various TG friendly restaurants shops or clubs, or could simply relax in Vaingirls' basement library/coffee bar/rec room. The truth was ninety percent of Vaingirls' TG clients were male ninety-nine percent of the time and never left the store while enfemme. Only a very few intimates knew that of the four salon- girls, only one, Joyce, was real.

What really made Vaingirls different from other Chicago area beauty establishments that offered transformations, was that Joyce, the owner, was a true believer. She believed that some men were indeed women trapped by an accident of the flesh. However, she believed that these, the true transsexuals, were relatively rare. Her passion was the belief that almost any man would become a better man if he could only be convinced - or, in some instances, made - to experience and enjoy the girl within himself. After the experience, a man might never dress enfemme again, or he might do so, as a crossdresser, from time to time, enjoying the best of both worlds, or he might become a she-male and live full time as a woman; the point was, he would be a much betterperson. While she tolerated the female to male transvestites, she could not understand them; why would a woman, who could have the best of both worlds, formal gown one day, jeans and a sweatshirt the next, for simple example, would want to limit herself so, she couldn't say.

Pure masculinity was, she truly believed, evil. She had grown up in a household fueled by testosterone, the only girl among six men, her father and five brothers, her mother having died when she was four. Her mother had dressed her in lace and pretty dresses, but when she died, the lace and pretty dresses wore out or were outgrown and not replaced. She had, by necessity and her father's wish, worn her brother's hand-me-downs. She had also, in self-defense, become a tomboy, as her father did not tolerate what he called "sissies" and made no distinctions between raising his sons and his daughter. To his credit, her father had never tried to abuse her, but she had seen and heard him abuse plenty of grown women, and had seen her brothers abuse their girlfriends.

That she had been spared, she believed, was because she had become so successful at being "one of the boys." Every so often, though, as she did some particularly male task, dressed in male clothes, the memory of her mother, of them both in lace and dresses, would come upon her and a tear might trickle down her cheek. In the interest of self-preservation, such thoughts were shoved down and locked away, but they were never completely gone. As she reached her teens, it became increasingly hard to conceal the fact that she was definitely not one of the boys, and she was seriously considering running away, when the event that changed her life took place.

Joyce's coffee grew cold in her cup on the table alongside the chair as she relived the memories.

*****

It was her freshman year, and she was 14 years old. Her youngest brother, George, was an 18-year-old senior. Of her other four brothers, one had graduated from high school, married a submissive little cheerleader, and was happily turning her into a baby factory in Akron, Ohio, where he sold insurance. The other three were in various universities on athletic scholarships. George had never been as big as his older brothers, or as successful athletically; he made up for it in super-macho meanness, of which their father approved. It was her brothers' meanness that had caused Joyce to accept the discipline needed to achieve a black belt. One throw across the room had been enough to keep George away from her.

As the winter holidays came on, though, Joyce began to notice changes, good changes from her point of view, in her brother's behavior. He quit teasing her and actually behaved politely toward her. When, one evening, their father having left for his favorite tavern immediate following dinner, he actually, voluntarily, helped her clean up afterward, she knew she had to find out what was going on. As if it had been the most normal thing in the world, he had worn an apron the entire time!

Joyce determined to follow her brother to get to the bottom of his strange, but pleasant, behavior change, but, as it turned out, she didn't have to. On Christmas Eve, several members of the cheerleading squad came by and dropped off gaily-wrapped presents for George; again, their father was out. Peeking in from the other room, Joyce observed the girls standing in a circle around George, and her brother, her previously super-macho brother, was positively cringing!

Charlene Whitney, the black haired leader of the squad, was speaking to him in what could only be interpreted as a commanding tone of voice. "Now Georgie"- No one ever called her brother Georgie! Before, those would have been fighting words. - "Remember, you must open these presents in front of your father and your sister. And..." Threateningly "...we want them to know how very much you just adore them! Is that understood?"

Now her brother was whimpering, begging. "Oh, please, Miss Charlene, not my family, please!"

Charlene reached out and grabbed his chin, looking at him with a malicious grin "Hmm, defiance, is it? How would you like to take a little trip with us right now? My sister Jacqui's salon is open, and there's time for a perm. I know she's just dying to get her hands on that gorgeous hairof yours. What do you think, girls? Curls in an updo with a rhinestone comb? And a blonde? Definitely a blonde!"

George looked terror stricken until one of the other girls, Sally Ann, came to his aid. "How about just his sister, Charlene? His dad is mean, and we don't want that pretty face damaged, after all."

Charlene hesitated. "Would you agree to that, Georgie? Would that be acceptable? Would you be properly grateful?"

Totally fascinated, Joyce couldn't tear her eyes away. George was like a condemned man suddenly granted a reprieve. "Oh yes, thank you, Miss Charlene, thank you, thank you!"

"Very well," Charlene couldn't keep the note of triumph out of her voice, "But... " George cringed again. "...your father's going out of town in two days right? Wednesday evening?" George nodded. "To show your gratitude, you will voluntarily accompany us to my sister's salon for whatever gifts we may choose to bestow upon you. And you will be happy to do so, won't you? And you will enjoy yourself and act just like our little airhead sissy that you are, right, princess?"

'Sissy!!!???'

George nodded in abject submission, almost in tears.

"Now Sissy Georgie, is that any way to thank us?" George's "friend", Sally Ann, chimed in. "You'd think we were torturing you instead of planning nice things for you that any sissy would squeal in delight over. In fact, when you open these gifts in front of your sister, we want to hear some squeals of delight, don't we girls?" The other pretty heads bobbed in agreement.

"Make sure you turn your little tape recorder on right at the start." said Charlene, taking charge again. Meredith is going upstairs right now to set up the mini-cam in your bedroom. Turning on the recorder will turn it on as well. "Remember positioning, we want to see the pretty you, dear, but we also want to see your sister's reaction. We have bets going as to whether she'll be horrified or delighted."

With Meredeth's approach to the stairway, Joyce ducked back into the under-the- stairs closet and missed the closing act of the drama, but she had plenty to think about. Whatever the girls had on her brother ought to be dynamite, she thought. Christmas day should be very, very, very interesting.

The Christmas presents opened that Christmas morning had been expected. Their Dad had given George and Joyce identical Chicago Bulls jackets. Joyce had received a new pair of running shoes, boy's style she noted, while George had received a new set of Thrush mufflers for his car. George and Joyce had gone together to buy him a bottle of Seagams top-of-the-line Crown Royal; he never questioned the fact that neither of them was old enough to buy liquor legally. There was a method to their madness, and things worked out as expected. Their Dad moved into the TV room, turned on a ball game, and was snoring lustily by noon; the bottle was a quarter empty. Then things got interesting.

"George?" suggested Joyce brightly, after they had ascertained that their father was going to most likely sleep the day away, "Why don't we clean up the house for Dad?" George had never so much as lifted a broom to do housework before the evening he helped her clean up after dinner.

Instead of the usual snarl such a request would have brought in the past, George looked thoughtfully (and a bit fearfully, she thought.) at her. "Uh, sure, sis." In an agreeable tone of voice "What would you like me to do?"

This was going to be even better than she had thought. He was voluntarily, without giving it a thought, putting her in charge! She decided to push the envelope a bit. "Why don't you pick up in here and then dust and vacuum, while I do the kitchen." Then she threw out the line. "Be sure to wear your apron. You don't want to get your nice clothes dirty." She brought it out from behind her back and held it out to him. He looked at her strangely but slipped his arms through the shoulder straps docilely enough. "Here, turn around and I'll tie it for you." She tied it in a nice big bow. "There, now you'll look sweet and stay clean too."

'Not a peep!' she thought, 'Interesting and more interesting!' She turned and went into the kitchen to do her part.

It took her about an hour to clean up the kitchen, and as she worked she could hear George in the living room. At the half hour mark, she heard the sound of vacuuming, which lasted for about fifteen minutes. After five minutes of silence, she peeked out the door. Her brother was sitting on the couch, apron still on, head in his hands, shaking. As she watched, he lifted his head and looked at the front door, as if considering; then he gave it a "no" shake and dropped it back into his hands.

'Wondering how he's going to go through with what he's been ordered to do' she thought. 'I could have some fun with this!' But then she reflected that she liked the way her brother had been this last week. He'd actually acted human toward her - more than that, he'd acted nice! Maybe she ought to encourage him, she thought, not humiliate him. The cheerleaders certainly seemed to be doing enough of that. Making her decision, she walked into the living room. 'Let's see what develops', she thought. She had a pretty good idea of what kind of things were in those packages he had to show her. "What's up, bro?" She said.

George looked up nervously. "Whadayathink, sis?" he indicated the room with a sweep of his arm. It was tidy and spotless.

"Great job! Thanks for helping. Guess we can relax now; Dad will be out for hours yet."

"Uh, sis, uhm I uh have a few more presents I didn't want to open in front of Dad. They're up in my room. Wanna come up and open 'em with me? You and I don't do enough stuff together, and with Al, John, Mike, and Earl gone, and Dad the way he is, all we've got is each other."

'He really sounded sincere on that last part! Nice is definitely the way to go.' "Sure, George. Who gave them to you?"

"Oh, just some of the cheerleaders." he said, as he started for the stairs.

Following him, Joyce could sense the tension. At the top step he whirled around to face her, causing her to flinch back a bit and start into a defensive posture.

"I deserve that." he said bitterly. "Look, sis, just sit down here for a minute." Joyce sat on the step below him. "What's going to happen when we get to my room is going to be humiliating to me. I can't tell you ahead of time what it is, because your reaction has to be genuine or they - " At her raised eyebrows he gave a bitter little laugh, "Charlene Whitney and her crew - won't buy it. Without going into details, what they've done to me and made me do has made me realize that I deserve what I'm going through. I've been a macho shithead jerk to you, just like my brothers, and I was to those girls too, which is why all this is happening to me. I just want to tell you I'm sorry for the way I've treated you all these years, and I won't blame you if you want to join them after you see what's in the packages and how I behave; it'll be how they told me to behave."

With that, he got up and started for his door. As he went in, he reached behind the dresser andpressed on something. His whole demeanor changed - to exaggerated femmey swish!

"Oh, Joyce!" he squealed