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Article 1 of 115
Subject: Estragon revised: Travels With Aunt Paula I/6 (femdom)
From: Estragon <rgt@well.com>
Date: 1997/02/07
Message-Id: <32FB4E47.4F2C@well.com>
Cc: alt.sex.femdom
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Organization: Estragon Productions
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories,alt.sex.femdom
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Travels With Aunt Paula I/6
(for adults only
copyright ©1996, 1997, Estragon Productions)
"The captive bands may chain the hands,
But Love enslaves the man...."
Cal was late and it wasn't like him and he didn't want Aunt Paula to
be mad. It was Tuesday too, his lesson-day, and Paula had promised
that today's would be important. He was already apologizing to her as
he came through the door.
"It's okay, honey," his aunt said. "No harm done. Today's a biggie,
though. Lots of new stuff. Hard stuff, some of it, Cal. So, whenever
you're ready...."
As he unbuttoned his shirt, still catching his breath, Cal realized
that Paula was dressed up in what she liked to call her feminine best.
Short black dress, nylons and heels, make-up, ear-rings. Her long dark
hair was radiant and she smelled citrus-like and sweet. Cal knew that
she was staying home with him, but this was certainly the costume for
an evening out. He laid his shirt over a chair and quickly undid his
belt. In his haste he was fumbling a bit. But Aunt Paula didn't seem
impatient at all. She nestled in her chair, relaxed and beautiful. She
pronounced his name gaily several times as she watched him struggle to
pull his jeans off over his shoes. He was still used to the baggier
clothes of a younger boy. But Cal had recently turned ten. His jeans
lay at his ankles as he bent to unlace his shoes. Aunt Paula was
enjoying his balancing act, which was taking many minutes. He looked
boyishly clumsy and adorable, she thought, with buttocks high in the
air, stretching his white briefs, as he stumbled about.
When the job was done, Cal stood up proudly and faced his aunt with
exaggerated triumph and the burlesque suavity of a magician. She
laughed at the stiff little bow he gave her, and at the theatrical way
he rose up on his toes and flung out his arms. Then, in one curt
movement, before Paula was quite done laughing, Cal snapped his briefs
almost to his knees, wiggled a bit until they fell to his ankles, and
stepped free. Naked as a nail and ready for business now. "What's up,
auntie?" he said.
Paula tried to sound serious, but couldn't help her laughter. "Cal,"
she said, "you are going to have to be less charming or Aunt Paula
will never get to the lesson." Cal beamed. He had loved Aunt Paula all
his life. Even before he lost his mom (Paula's elder sister) and dad,
nephew and aunt had shared a tender delight in one another that was
not unlike the love of parent and child. Paula was very young, a few
years out of college, when her sister died; but neither she nor anyone
concerned for the boy had ever doubted that she must be his guardian.
She invited Cal to sit beside her on the couch. She put her arm around
his shoulder and drew him against her. Cal loved the feel of Paula's
dress against his skin. The crepe was slightly raspy and he was still
boyishly smooth. Cal appreciated the contrast: a woman's dress, a
boy's exposure. He squirmed against his aunt in the hope of being
chafed. Aunt Paula allowed it, encouraged it even. Free though she was
in showing Cal her solicitude toward him, she normally limited his
modes of reciprocation. For Paula, it would be inexcusable to blur the
line between her nephew's acts of deference toward all women,
including herself, and mere greedy incest. The woman controls these
things, she alone has the power to strip away ambiguity, decide the
significance of every intimacy, ordain what she must never show and
what her boy must never think. Paula's every desire toward Cal was
indeed maternal, even this long-established insistence on his naked
humility. It was for his own good.
But she was being strangely lenient today. So Cal thought, until she
asked him to stand facing her once more. "Cal," she said, "I want to
ask you some questions I know you know the answers to."
"I hope I do, Aunt Paula."
"They're questions about boys, Cal. About ladies too. I'm sure you'll
know how to answer. For instance: why are you standing naked in front
of me like this?"
Cal was relieved. "Oh, I can answer, Aunt Paula. If that's the kind of
question you mean. Yes, I'm standing naked in front of you because
that's how a boy shows ladies his respect." There was no guess-work
here: Cal had often repeated, for Aunt Paula and many of her friends,
the tenets of her feminist catechism. "Because a boy mustn't keep
secrets from ladies...," he continued.
"Secrets, Cal?"
"Things happen to a boy sometimes, auntie, when he sees or thinks of
ladies or girls. I mean...."
"Things, Cal?"
"Like to his penis, auntie. It stands up...."
"IT stands up, Cal?"
"I mean, the girls, the ladies, they MAKE it stand up."
Paula nodded her understanding, as though she had never considered
these matters before. It was a game she liked to play with her nephew.
She had taught him everything, but it was lovely to ruffle him. "Why
would the girls want to do a silly thing like that, Cal?"
"So the boy will know they have power over him. So he'll be respectful
and obedient, auntie."
"And can the girls and ladies observe what happens to the boy?"
"Oh, yes, auntie. Very often they can. But...."
"You mean right through the boy's clothes?" Aunt Paula sounded
incredulous.
"Oh, yes. That is...."
"Then why does the boy have to be naked, Cal? I'm not seeing this."
"That's what I was going to say, auntie. Many boys, when they realize
what power girls and ladies have, well, they get frightened of it and
they try to hide. And if they can't actually hide, they can still
pretend that their penis isn't because of the girls at all. But when a
boy is naked, he can't hide and...and...this is something that I
think, auntie...."
"Tell me, Cal."
"He can't hide and he doesn't feel like it either. He doesn't want to
any more. It's just what you've always said, Aunt Paula. My body
doesn't lie even when my clothes do."
"Why is that, do you think, Cal?"
"I can't explain, Aunt Paula. I mean, you'd have to be a boy to
understand...."
"I can't help you there, sweetheart. And I think you wouldn't like me
to."
"I mean, when you're a boy and you're naked and your penis is just out
there like that, I don't know, auntie, you just have to go with it. If
it was just there for you, the boy, it would be hidden inside you in
private. But it's out there, auntie. So when you're naked you feel
that means something."
"Isn't there something else, Cal?"
"Oh, there is. Do you mean...?"
"No, Cal. Don't ask me. It has to be something you already know."
"Yes, auntie." Cal lifted his penis toward his stomach to give Paula
an unobstructed view of his balls and pressed two fingers of his other
hand between his testes. "It's these," he said. "Do you see how
delicate they are, auntie?"
"I do, Cal. I see."
"Do you think that these things - they're called testicles,
auntie...."
"Thank you, Cal. I'll remember that. They're very delicate indeed."
"Do you think that these testicles ought to be just hanging here like
this?"
"What do you think, Cal?"
"I think yes, they should be, auntie. Because they're so easy to reach
this way. You can see that. So easy to do things to. So no lady or
girl has to be afraid of a person with testicles on him. Because she
can always teach him a lesson. It's no work for her."
"What kind of lesson, Cal?"
"Her power over him, auntie. That's what I mean."
"Let me ask you, Cal: didn't you say a boy doesn't really want to hide
his penis from a lady?"
"Yes. I mean, once he realizes...."
"Wait, though. Does it feel good when a boy's penis is hard?"
"Yes, auntie. Because it feels good to be honest and respectful to
ladies."
"And it's honest and respectful also to let ladies know about these
testicles you showed me?"
"Oh, yes, it is."
"I mean, to let them know about how easy they are to...how did you put
it, Cal? To do things to?"
"Yes, that's what I meant to say."
"But tell me, Cal: do you think a boy would secretly like to be
treated that way, just as he secretly likes to get hard? I mean, if
you're right and it IS the respect these things allow him to show to
ladies, there shouldn't be any difference, should there, just because
making him uncomfortable or even hurting him is involved?"
"A boy could be more frightened of being hurt, though, auntie."
"Of course, darling. Of course. That's why you wait until he's a big
boy...."
"How big, Aunt Paula?"
"Say, ten. I'd say, by the time he's ten a boy is ready. His penis and
those testicles you were mentioning are big enough by then. And when
he's ten, if he's had a good upbringing, he's already had a lot of
training in showing his respect to ladies. As you have, Cal, as you
have, my ten-year-old sweetheart. You impress everyone. All my
friends, and their daughters (and you know how hard it is to impress
young girls) - they always compliment me on your exemplary behavior. I
know being so good at it keeps you busy, darling. But it makes Aunt
Paula so proud of you, you know."
Busy was an understatement. Cal's was a long story, which begins here:
Cal was six and had been living with Paula for a year when his aunt's
life-long faith in the supremacy of woman began to evolve into a
concrete plan for raising her nephew. She knew in her heart that a
worshipful man is a happy man and an adored and well-served woman
happier still, and she wanted for her sweet nephew as much happiness
as a life of early sorrow could still afford. Cal was her great love,
and now she would make him her work as well.
Perhaps it was as well, then, that Cal's parents had gotten it into
their heads that circumcision is traumatic to an infant, and had
refused to permit the procedure to be performed on their newborn son.
Paula's gifts to Cal begin with that.
The circumcision question was one of the few occasions on which Paula
had doubted the judgment of her capable big sister, the only one on
which she'd thought her girlhood model terribly misguided. Becoming
Cal's guardian, bathing the little boy daily, Paula found herself
scandalized by the indecency of his "in tact" look. Uncircumcised men
put her off. She couldn't say exactly why. A matter of aesthetics, she
imagined. But for a long time she tried to reconcile herself to Cal's
disheartening feature. This was her nephew, this was her love. Wanting
nothing to compromise her tenderness for Cal on any level, even the
bodily, Paula tried for a year and more to dissolve her repugnance.
She adored the boy and reproached herself for the grief she felt at
every sight of his innocent little watercock looking, after all, only
as nature had intended. She tried every means to banish her revulsion
- argument, fantasy, self-reflection. All the same, when the boy stood
smiling as his aunt undressed him for his bath, this moment of
intimacy which should have been one of the day's sweet interludes
became for Paula a mine-field of ambivalence. It horrified her that
she turned away from the boy's benign nudity. But her resolutions and
brainwashings inevitably failed, and day after day, as she lowered the
boy's white briefs, no beautiful miniature of a human organ appeared,
but an obscene spigot, a pizzle waiting to grow great.
How could her sister have been so wrong? Why this stupid anomalous
loyalty to "nature" - what had nature to do with human happiness? -
and on the part of the woman, too, who had taught Paula the arts of
make-up and feminine style and had assured her of their importance.
How could she not have recognized the disservice to her sex in keeping
her boy-child uncircumcised. Even if you rejected questions of
hygiene, there remained deeper ones, of aesthetics, of male
psychology.
Paula did fear that she was on shaky ground about all this and she
tried every gambit to rid herself of indefensible ideas. One device
was concentrated self-analysis, a practice in which several years of
Freudian shrinkage had made her proficient. The result of her
self-analysis wasn't cure but resolution. For in a moment of
compelling insight Paula saw how circumcision merely completed the
paring away of man's disguise. No wonder the permanent uncloseting of
that over-sensitive glans delighted her eye and mind. It denied a man
even that wisp of covering allowed to him at birth. From girlhood on,
Paula had helped many boys and men pull down their vanity along with
their trousers. Now she would help her nephew to a deeper humility,
one that would truly get under his skin and endure there. It thrilled
her now that he hadn't been done as an infant. She apologized to her
sister's memory for her rash disapproval of that decision. Cal was six
now. Conscious, intelligent, with a definable personality and many of
boyhood's customary traits. But at six the shell of the ego is still
fairly thin: it takes ages, Paula knew, to build up the atrocious
crust of false masculinity that women like her were dedicated to
rupturing. Cal, happily, would never have the chance. Circumcision -
not in private, not at the surgery, but in public, at a lively
ceremony with Cal at the center and all ages of women to witness it,
almost the way religious people do it, really - circumcision would
demolish the little fortress of reflexes and instinctual pride which
is the only defense a boy of six has yet had time to build. And the
memory and the effect of that lovely catastrophe - at a woman's hands
quite literally, for Paula had already selected the doctor who would
crop the boy - would rule Cal's heart forever.
end of part one
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