The Music Lovers (Pt 1) with image

Below is the first part of a story I began writing last summer. This wasn't intended to be posted in 2 parts(90% is already written) but because of various circumstances in my life I'm finding it hard to muster enough concentration to finish it. I'll try to get the second part posted before Christmas.

Hopefully I may be able to post some images also.

Thanks for your patience and hopefully you may enjoy it.

Carrie

The Music Lovers

by

CarrieP

 

 

C

laude could not help but overhearing the phone conversation and his heart sank as the discussion progressed but he knew from bitter experience not to show it. A display of disappointment at the news that the Ladies Council was having another charity fundraising event would never be received well

Trying hard to conceal his dismay he concentrated hard and continued with his embroidery but as the conversation continued he somehow knew he would be involved in it. After all he was now considered an honorary member of the club. He saw Miss Crawford look at him from the other side of the large and lavishly decorated bedroom, fingering the long string of pearls that rested on her silk burgundy blouse, as the discourse continued amid mild peals of laughter.

“Wonderful news Emily, so exciting.” she gushed, a smile creasing her handsome face. “Short notice but we knew that already, I’m sure everyone will be able to come. Such a pity some of the other girls  will not be here.”

The young man shifted uncomfortably in his chair. The ’girls’ were the middle aged matrons of the Ladies Circle and although always very kind to him tended to treat him as an adolescent, almost suffocating him with their attention. As he admired his latest intricate stitching he wondered why they could not treat him as the mature, confident  male that he was.

 Listening to the call, Miss Crawford continued to smile until she spotted something amiss. Her fingers let go of the pearls and a mild scowl appeared on her face, she made a gesture with her thumb and index finger, narrowing the space between them. He understood immediately.

He instantly brought his knees together and cursed himself for such a lapse of concentration, hoping her obvious delight at whatever ghastly venture the Ladies Council was concocting would save him from a reprimand for a breach of yet another rule on decorum. She had so many;  it was hard to remember them all. His quick reaction was rewarded with a nod of approval and a smile, Miss Crawford now returned her full attention to her call. He surmised she must be in a good mood as there was no warning frown of disapproval.

The phone conversation continued in a more muted tone and as he was unable to follow the conversation he returned to his embroidery and his mind, as it often did these days, trying to make sense of how he had come to find himself in such circumstances. Here he was, a young man inexperienced in the ways of the world, now living under the watchful eye and stiflingly attentive presence of a very wealthy and powerful society matron.  To his surprise he was the only male in the house as all the servants were female even the chauffeur. Although, considering his attire, a grey silk shirt,  high-waisted wide leg pants in a bright lavender colour with wide pressed pleats, this fact would not be immediately apparent. His hair, on the insistence of his host, had grown almost to the base of his neck and did nothing to advertise his masculinity.  It was this last observation that occupied his thoughts as his fingers deftly created several stitches in the fabric.

How did I allow Miss Crawford so much control over my wardrobe choices? he brooded as he continued to stitch, pausing every now and then to admire his handiwork. His mind drifted back to the fateful encounter.

One of the highlights of his leisurely world tour was seeing Tosca in the city’s famed Opera House and although disappointed he could not secure a better seat he was nevertheless grateful he had managed to obtain ,albeit at an exorbitant price, a  seat in the high upper circle.

Cradling a glass of wine in one of the Opera House’s busy select bars and desperately trying to blend into to the plush surroundings he was suddenly jolted in the back and his wine glass emptied down the front of his trousers. The offender, an imposing and elegant woman turned to him, her green eyes slowly examining him from head to toe, her décolletage revealed  an expansive bosom, her generous frame no doubt confined by the necessary foundation wear  strained at the boned bodice of her peach taffeta evening gown. Hauteur exuded from her handsome, middle aged face as her inspection continued silently for several seconds.

Naturally, he apologised.

The smile that formed at the corners of her pink glossed lips clearly suggested approval of his display of deference. Within seconds he was absorbed into her entourage of equally glamorous women who fussed and bustled over his predicament. Several hands with monogrammed linen handkerchiefs were employed in an attempt to limit the damage, his thighs and groin receiving particular attention As the bell rang for the curtain he tried to extract himself from their ministrations but to no avail and was informed he would accompany them to their private box.  He tried to protest but the lure of a view from a private box compared to his upper circle seat made any objection seem ludicrous.  Once in the box he was given pride of place, seated so close between Miss Crawford and another formidable matron Miss Rathgorham their wide satin and taffeta skirts almost covered his knees. Before the opera had ended all of the ladies had taken turns sitting beside him, their hands resting on his knees and all too often straying a little higher.

Still giddy from the experience, he accepted an invitation to a late recital at Miss Crawford’s home. He remained  unsure of what happened next but it seems he fainted towards the end of the night, he later considered this to be the combination of excitement and a little too much champagne. The following morning, he awoke in unfamiliar surroundings. Stretching his arms he suddenly became aware they were encased in billowy, diaphanous chiffon. He removed the heavy satin pink quilt and saw he was wearing a full length multi layered feminine nightgown also in a delicate shade of pink. The soft material seemed to be so voluminous it covered almost half the bed.

Miss Crawford rose from a chair and approached the prone figure; caressing his cheek she explained he had become weak and fainted. Luckily one of the ladies in her group was a distinguished medical consultant and after examining him concluded that the young man was suffering from some unpronounceable condition. Miss Crawford told him he had been asleep for two days occasionally regaining consciousness before lapsing back into a deep sleep.

He recalled attempting to sit up as he protested about his feminine nightwear but was too weak to continue and fell back onto the bed. Miss Crawford gestured to the primly uniformed maid next to her, she effortlessly lifted his back and arranged his pillows so that he was propped up and fixed the heavy satin quilt in place. The room began filling with the familiar faces from the Opera House, each one showing great concern as they too caressed his face and stroked his hair. He suddenly had a horrible thought and he raised his hand to his chest. The ladies smiled but it was Miss Crawford that spoke and he still remembered the conversation,

“No need to be embarrassed my dear. I understand having breasts is not uncommon in a certain type of male. Perhaps it was the tightness of the binding that contributed to your weakness.”

She sat on the side of the bed and her hand cupped his right breast through the nightgown’s soft material. To his horror not only did he feel his nipple swell but the organ between his legs stirred also. Thankfully, the heavy quilt concealed this most embarrassing development. The protruding nipple did not go unnoticed by her friends who seemed somewhat excited at the sight. Noticing he was agitated by his ultra feminine attire Miss Crawford continued,

“Oh, your nightgown? I’m afraid there is no male clothing in this house, not even pyjamas, and we could not have you sleep naked, now could we? You should also know that while you were sleeping the doctor took blood samples and it appears you may also have some blood deficiency. Nothing too serious and she has prescribed medication most of which has been given to you intravenously so you may feel a little frail and debilitated for a week or two. Obviously you will need considerable rest to recuperate properly. I’ve asked your hotel to forward your luggage.”

Before he could reply he felt his eyes become heavy and he drifted into a deep sleep.

The next few days, or maybe it was a week or even weeks, he really wasn’t sure, saw a gradual improvement. However, his every waking moment was shared by Miss Crawford and her friends and when these were unable to be present, Frau’s personal maid, Louise, attended to his needs. Any thoughts he entertained of discarding his feminine bed attire were immediately dispelled with a gentle but clearly unwavering rebuke. His luggage had still not arrived and nakedness could not be tolerated. When he first caught sight of himself in one of the mirrors he was quite taken aback at the reflection. Unable to take his eyes away, he searched for some semblance of masculinity in the image. The several layers of voile and chiffon over a layer of satin made this difficult as his unmanly breasts nestled in the nightgown’s lace cups, giving him a distinctly feminine bosom.  His hair, which he had grown to below the nape of his neck and was now almost to his shoulders and now too looked  far too feminine. It was a dreadful sight and he was rendered speechless.

“I’m so glad you like it.” Miss Crawford said presumptively as she adjusted his breasts in their cups. “This nightgown is one of my favourites, so elegant and feminine.  I got it and several in a similar style for my daughter but she refuses to wear them, said they are far too girlish for her tastes. Can you imagine such a comment from one’s daughter? Such ingratitude!”

The maid smiled or perhaps it was a smirk he could not be sure. Miss Crawford, consumed by her own thoughts stood back admiring the sight before her; an appreciative smile broke out on her face.

“You simply must wear the matching peignoir.” she gushed “I think it completes the entire look.”

He wasn’t too sure what ‘look’ she was referring to but before he could raise any objection Louise had already slipped his arms through the long flowing garment, arranging it to her satisfaction ensuring the six pearl buttons at the bodice were secure, allowing the peignoir to drape itself over the nightgown. Another layer of femininity to add to his embarrassment, he thought to himself.

An objection began to form in his brain but his body felt incapable of any physical protest, Miss Crawford’s eyes fell on his and narrowed slightly. The message was subtle but quite clear; any dissent would not be tolerated. 

“Ah yes much better. He certainly looks better in it than Caroline would, Louise.” she laughed softly as she smoothed imaginary creases at his shoulders before her hands, once more, lightly touched against his small but jutting breasts. “Of course his bosom is not as developed but adequate nonetheless.”

“Yes Madam.” Louise added “I think those pearl hair clips you also bought Miss Caroline would be a perfect match for the peignoir.”

“Wonderful idea, Louise.” Miss Crawford said leading him to the dressing table.” The ladies will be here shortly and he really should look his best.”

 

A weary sigh left his mouth at this recollection of recent events, however, it did not interfere with his embroidery as he knew Miss Crawford would inspect his progress once her telephone conversation ended. He quickly regained his focus and completed the last petal on the rose design however, he still fretted over his lack of determination in not being more forthright with his temporary hostess.

I really should have been firmer with her. he rebuked himself silently as he finished a particularly difficult series of stitches. However, he was momentarily distracted as the left strap of his camisole slipped from his shoulder. He immediately laid down the embroidery hoop to adjust it as he it would only take a few seconds before his left breast would fall free, something that was certain to draw Miss Crawford’s ire.  Deftly reaching under his silk shirt, well it was actually one of Miss Crawford’s blouses, but he preferred to call it a shirt, he returned the strap to his shoulder ensuring it was  securely in place. His concentration now broken he became aware of the tightness of his girdle and grimaced as he felt the hideous garment compress his stomach.

Not even my own underwear, he moaned to himself, knowing that to voice such a sentiment out loud would arouse ire in Miss Crawford  I suppose I could not go without underwear... but a girdle.

Miss Crawford had told him she had asked his hotel to forward his luggage but apparently some idiot of a hotel clerk had it delivered to the airport instead of this house and he now had to rely on Miss Crawford to supply his clothes.

Quite intolerable, he cursed silently as he discretely wiggled his hips trying to seek some relief from  the stiff confines of the hideous garment. He sighed, eventually accepting there was no escape and surrendered to the girdle’s inflexible embrace. It transpired that the only approximation of male clothing available to him was some of Miss Crawford’s daughter’s pants which were, as one would imagine, decidedly non masculine with zips at the back or sides. However, it was either wear these dreadful items or float around the house in nightgowns and peignoirs. He considered this was not much of a choice.

Picking up the embroidery hoop once more he reflected that despite his illness and the horrible clothes he had to wear there were some things that made his enforced stay in Miss Crawford’s  home quite pleasant, even enjoyable. As he regained some strength the Ladies Circle had organised several music recitals in one of the several large rooms in the house. Each of these had featured internationally renowned sopranos and several famous  female string quartets, all, of course, were friends of Miss Crawford and the ladies.

 As he began another running stitch, he smiled to himself at these recent events. Being introduced to so many acclaimed artists was thrilling, even if a few of them mistook him for Miss Crawford’s daughter. Of course Miss Crawford’s friends thought this was quite endearing and began addressing him as Claudia which was truly annoying but considering the company he was now in, he quickly swallowed his pride.  He reasoned that this confusion of his appearance was because of the light make-up Miss Crawford insists he wore as she felt he was far too pale.  Despite his initial protests, he had to admit his face did look healthier and although  he still wasn’t keen on the pale pink lipstick he had to concede it was worth it. A small price to pay to be on such intimate terms with these great artists.

“Excellent news,  Claudia.” Miss Crawford gushed, her face beaming  as she put down the receiver and sailed across the room towards him.  Following a telephone conversation with one of the Ladies Circle, ‘excellent news’ was always a very subjective opinion.

He looked up from his embroidery and smiled. Frowning or any display of irritation was never received well.

“We have a very special guest later this week.” Miss Crawford blurted excitedly, her usual calm and reserved demeanour deserting her.

Special guests usually meant the Ladies Circle dressed in all their finery, a chance for them to display their latest designer gowns and flaunt their priceless jewels. Being the only male and without his own formal clothes he was compelled to wear something that was supposed to resemble formal masculine pants. Not unlike the dreadful pair he was wearing at this moment. Choices were limited and none were appropriate for a red blooded young man but as he had no male clothing he had little option. However, Miss Crawford’s guests were so famous, their talents mesmerising and captivating, he quickly forgot about the frightful clothes he wore. He considered the event in a few days would be a similar dressy affair, he speculated his evening wear would most likely be those hideously wide palazzo pants in some ghastly girlish colour with a matching diaphanous blouse with those awful bishop sleeves. He recalled Louise, Miss Crawford’s personal maid,  trying to convince him this revolting garment was a shirt worn by society’s  most fashionable young men. To him it was a blouse.  Miss Crawford seemed particularly taken with this outfit when she brought it, and several others equally distasteful, home from a recent clothes shopping expedition.  He quietly accepted that her enthusiasm meant he would eventually concede and he would wear the abominable ensemble. It was not as if he took this lying down. He had, after all, made numerous and repeated requests for male clothing but these pleas seemed to fall on deaf ears and as she got quite irritated if he pressed the matter, he quietly allowed the issue to slide.

Combined with this dreadful situation, another issue had begun to vex him. Miss Crawford had informed him  the medical advice was that he should no longer bind the fleshy mounds that protruded from his chest. Her alternative, much to his chagrin, was a camisole to conceal and support these embarrassing and unmanly characteristics.  However, he had to admit he did not miss the uncomfortable tightness of the wide bandages and as the weeks in Miss Crawford’s home passed he became less self-conscious and now, when dressing in the presence of Miss Crawford or Louise did not cover them with his hands. Of course, occasionally, these slightly plump protuberances were accidently touched by the women. This was always a little awkward, particularly as sometimes their hands would linger a little longer than he thought necessary.  

“I think you will be quite excited.” Miss Crawford continued, breaking through his thoughts.

He thought this guest must be very special as she did not inspect his embroidery as she usually would. However, before he could answer the door opened and one of the housemaids announced the arrival of two of Miss Crawford’s friends.

 T

o be continued.