Copyright © Tracy Lane, 2000/2021.

Tender Mercies

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Note: this story is set in the Tranziverse; the protagonist is biologically male but looks anatomically female.

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1.

A bolt of panic shot down my spine when I heard the key settling in the lock. My eyes flickered over towards the door: it had to be Aunt Cathy! What was she doing home so early? She'd headed off to her bridge club less than fifteen minutes ago; I wasn't expecting her back for several hours. My pulse leapt into overdrive as the key slid into place with an audible clack!

NOOOOOOOOO! I thought, feeling the colour rise in my cheeks. My lips parted in a silent gasp. My greatest fear was about to be realized; my deepest secret revealed. I stepped backwards in rising alarm, nearly tripping over the coffee table.

This couldn't be happening. Not here, not now. Not after I'd spent so many months hiding my true identity in the shadows. I glanced wildly about the room, mentally calculating the odds of making it across to the stairs unseen. Every nerve in my body started screaming with electric fire. Aunt Cathy was home, I could almost see her standing out on the landing, chatting way with her friends from the bridge club. Any second now, the door would open and they'd step inside, eyes widening at the spectacle of a teenaged girlie-boy dressed in frilly blue panties...

Turning away from the door, I caught sight of myself in the cheval mirror I'd set up near the sofa. It showed me as I truly am; a petite young woman with long blond hair and full, crimson lips. How could I explain this, account for my sudden metamorphosis? In all the months since I had come to live with her, Aunt Cathy had never seen me as my real self. She would never understand: very few people could, even in this day and age. I've never truly understood it myself.

The door swung open.

Aunt Cathy stepped across the threshold, adjusting her sunglasses and leading a flock of gabbling matrons into the living room. Frozen to the spot, I turned to face them, self-consciously covering my mouth with both hands.

A deafening silence fell upon the house as half a dozen babbling voices halted in mid-sentence. The moment seemed to spin out to eternity: how was I ever going to explain this?

An infinite span of time later, Aunt Cathy decided to break the insufferable tension with a single word.

"Chris?" she asked in a voice laced with honeyed arsenic. She stared me up and down with a long, measuring gaze, barely capable of hiding her amusement. I nodded, opening my mouth but unable to form a reply. What was she thinking? I could read nothing from her expression, apart from the faintest trace of mockery.

She knew! I realized in sudden, breathless clarity, she knew all along! Worse still, she'd set me up for this gratuitous humiliation.

I've never forgiven Aunt Cathy for what happened next. The house filled up with housewives and homemakers, spanning the Parlor from pillar to post. They milled about in conspiratorial groups, casting furtive glances at my thighs and panties.

I glanced towards the stairs, feeling two dozen pairs of eyes crawling all over my half-naked body. If the path hadn't been blocked, I would have bolted for my room and locked the door. Noting my obvious anxiety, Cathy suddenly called for attention.

"Ladies," she began, looking around at her friends, "you all know my nephew, Chrissy?" A murmur of assent rose from the crowd, which was now closing in around me in a loose semi-circle.

"Well, as I mentioned earlier, he's agreed to put on a show for us," Cathy continued in a bright, conversational voice, "as a matter of fact, he's been so eager he seems to have begun without us."

Some of the older women were laughing now: soft, placid chortles for the time being, which would soon give way to vicious, waspish cackling. The younger ones were smirking at one another, virtually incapable of keeping their faces straight. Aunt Cathy motioned them towards the armchairs and sofas, encouraging them to find a ringside seat.

"Chris has been working on this routine for months now," she explained merrily, "from what I can gather, he models his underwear every time I'm out of the house."

I groaned in utter despair. What did she mean, what was she going to make me do? Whatever she had in mind, it was certain to rob me of my last vestige of human dignity. I bit down hard on my lip, holding back the whimpers that threatened to escape my throat.

I knew most of these women by sight, having accompanied Aunt Cathy to several of her Bridge nights earlier in the year. One of them I placed as Adeline Rhodes, the president of the local P&T. The others I couldn't pin a name to, although I had the impression they'd all dropped by our house several times over the past six months.

Worse still, I was fairly sure they all had children, most of whom attended my school. Any hope of secrecy had flown out the window the moment these blue-rinse horrors walked in through the door. By this time tomorrow, the gossip would be all over town; everyone in Chamberlain would be discussing the color of my undies.

I stood to one side of the chattering group, trembling with barely suppressed panic. I wanted to run away, hide in my bedroom, but Cathy had no intention of letting me off that lightly. She'd spent weeks - possibly months - planning this moment, and nothing was going to rain on her parade.

Taking her place by the antiquated stereo system, she switched on the radio and tuned into the Melodies station. Low, sensuous "elevator" music drifted about the living room, setting the mood for the afternoon's festivities. Once the preparations were finished, Cathy addressed her audience, extending a hand in my direction.

"As I was telling you, Chrissy has ambitions of being a fashion model. This is probably why he's been stealing knickers off the neighbors' washing lines."

My jaw dropped in astonishment. That was an outright lie. I hadn't stolen anything; I'd saved up my allowance for months on end, buying all of my costumes via mail order. She must have known that; she seemed to know everything else I was doing. This was just an excuse, a flimsy pretext for the ordeal she was about to put me through.

"Noooo, Aunt Cathy, I didn't –"

"And, as he seems to have his sights set on lingerie modeling," Cathy went on, cutting me off in mid-sentence, "I thought we should give him a chance to perform before a live audience."

My eyes bulged from their sockets as I realized what my Aunt had been saving up as the Grand Finale. For one second the floor seemed to lurch beneath my feet. I shook my head in utter disbelief: this simply couldn't be happening. Even she wouldn't do this to me; wouldn't subject me to such total humiliation.

How wrong I was.

"OK, pay attention everybody," Cathy exclaimed, taking me by the wrist, "It's time our little model put on his show."

"Please Aunt Cathy, I don't want to do this," I whimpered hopelessly, trying not to stammer my words, "everyone will make fun of me." Cathy laughed her response.

"Oh, what are you so worried about? You make a beautiful little girl."

"But I don't want to look like a little girl, Aunt Cathy!!"

She leaned in close, lowering her voice and impaling me with a searing blue gaze.

"Well – I guess this is what you get for sneaking around behind my back, young man. You're going to model your pretty little panties in front of everybody, and that's the end of it!"

Faced with this intractable sentence, I immediately found myself begging, sobbing for clemency: No, please Aunt Cathy, don’t make me do this, I promise I’ll never do it again, please.

All to no avail. Cathy deflected my pleas with a careless wave of her hand, dismissing my fears as inconsequential. I pressed on regardless, appealing the verdict in growing desperation. Again, I should have known better. It was a doomed venture from the start.

"You're the one who wants to be a lingerie model," she said, effectively terminating any further discussion on the subject, "so here's your big chance."

"Noooooooo!" I wailed as she led me to the center of the floor. I stumbled along behind her, blushing all the way to my eyebrows. An urgent, feverish heat filled my tummy: this was really happening, she was going to make me dance in my underwear before a houseful of complete strangers.

I stared around the Parlour, heart thundering in my rib cage. The living room was a mass of babbling, wild-eyed housefraus. They were literally squealing with delight, eyes shining with feral pleasure. This was one show they weren't going to miss. I felt surrounded, trapped, hemmed in.

"No, no, please no!" I cried, heart pounding in my throat, "take me up to my room! I don't everyone to see!" A rash of laughter rippled through the audience. Some of them chortled over my childish modesty, others sighed with maternal pleasure. Someone patted me affectionately on the bottom: there there, sweetheart, no need to be shy.

"Don't be silly, Chrissy," Cathy replied gaily, "you're a girl, no one minds seeing your undies." She pushed me slightly ahead of her, then walked back to the stereo, leaving me alone in nothing but my bra, pants and stockings.

More laughter from the audience; high-pitched giggles of sheer derision. Several of the elder Moms clapped their hands in ribald encouragement. Overwhelmed with misery, I stepped away from them, only to discover my exit blocked by Mrs Rhodes and several grinning conspirators. The message was clear: I wasn't going anywhere.

Gasping with shame, I tried to to cover my flimsy little briefs with both hands. The action prompted a chorus of amusement from the audience: Isn't he just the sweetest little thing, look at him trying to hide his underpants, you'd never guess he was a boy, would you?

By this time, my face was blazing the color of a ripe tomato. Even now, years after the event, I can still recall the breathless, gasping shame of that moment, the leering, contemptuous cheers of my audience. That was how it seemed to me at the time; teenaged boys are terribly self-conscious about their bodies, particularly where strangers are concerned. Of course, none of that mattered to Aunt Cathy. She and her company were enjoying the spectacle far too much to consider my emotions.

"OK, let's get this show on the road," Mrs Rhodes said behind me, her high, warbling voice pregnant with excitement, "Cathy, ramp the music up a little".

I cast a final, imploring glance at my Aunt, but found no sympathy there. Her face was hard, stern, accusing. I knew that expression from painful experience. You're going to do this, it said, right here, right now, and without another word!

I choked back on my tears, knowing there was no room for debate, no room for negotiation. She'd reached her decision long ago, and nothing was going to alter her judgment. I would probably get a spanking later on anyway; the only question was whether it would take place in front of these screeching harpies or in the privacy of my room upstairs.

Cathy dialed up the music, then nodded her head in my direction, her eyes narrowed and threatening.

The moment had arrived. It was time to model my lingerie.

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