Feminine Deportment
A Vignette
By Maryanne Peters

My mother said that if there was a male equivalent she would have enrolled me in that, but she bemoaned the fact that boys are expected to be boorish and crass. To her, that was unacceptable. There had to be a way.

Of course, there was no way that I was going to have anything to do with this, but when I learned that Margot Hachette and Lizzie Waldrop had both been signed up for the two week “camp” I suddenly started to think about things differently. Both of those girls were classy and HOT!

I started to think about whether his might be the best way to pick up girls, and either of them would do … maybe both while we were all together? I mean, it was not like a summer camp out in the woods - it was in a boarding school empty at vacation time. It would be living in and doing these courses over the holidays - and I hated camp, and had nothing else to do.

“It is not just deportment – it is feminine deportment,” my mother warned me. She had spoken to the course supervisor, Mrs. Umschalten, who made the point that I would have to conform with dress and presentation standards.

“Do you honestly think that two weeks is going to drive out my masculinity, Mom? You must think that I have very fragile personality!” I just laughed at her. I may not look it, but I had a strong disposition.

Apparently, at first, Mrs. Umschalten had said that no boy could attend the course, but after some consideration she thought that it was only fair that a boy should have an equal opportunity so often denied to young women. She explained this to me when I arrived, and when she confiscated my luggage and locked it in a closet in her office.

“You will not be needing those ghastly clothes while you are here,” she said. “I have something suitable in your size. Thank heavens you have enough hair for us to work with. I think short hairstyles are totally in appropriate for a young woman, or even a young man aspiring to be feminine.”

I wanted to say that was not my objective, but I realized that in saying that I would invite her to ask what my objective actually was. Instead I adopted the words that we all ended up saying in response to any direction by our principal – “Yes, Mrs. Umschalten.”

Before I even knew what was happening, I found myself in a blue lace dress with my hair extended and styled in soft spiral curls, and my face plucked and made up. It was a uniform of a kind as was explained to all of us - we all had slightly different dresses and jewelry, but we all wore the same bright red lipstick and had our extended nails painted in a matching color.

“Every young lady needs to know how to carry out key tasks while taking care of her beautiful mails,” said Mrs. Umschalten. “And I insist that you maintain your lipstick in proper order at all times. A woman’s lips are the key to her sensuality, and sensuality is our power over men.”

The statement interested me. The course seemed to focus on this idea. Feminine behavior was about presenting to a high standard to mark us out as better than other women, and to impress men.

Gentlemen like class in a lady,” said Mrs. Umschalten. “Lesser men will settle for just women, but if you were happy just to be that, you would not be here – would you?”

I thought of myself as a man, and I realized that she was probably right. It would be nice to win over a classy woman, but it seemed to me that might have trouble with that. Classy was the word I used to describe Margot Hachette and Lizzie Waldrop, but they wanted to lift their standards even higher.

I thought about quitting even then. This was not for me. My mother wanted to improve my behavior and maybe help me to know how to greet a duke or what a shrimp fork looked like. But this whole learning exercise was about women winning over wealthy men with their style and presentation. I could have called my mother right then and have her pick me up, but perhaps it was curiosity that made me stay. I wanted to know more. I wanted to understand how the female sex truly see the male sex. It was a chance to see things from the other side.

I got more involved in it all than perhaps I should have. The truth is that I just became one of the girls. That was part of it – I needed to join in as women do. There was the feeling that we were superior to other women, brought together in our high station. It was a special cadre. We all worked to pull ourselves up. We needed to learn together about our sense of style and the importance of never letting ourselves down. Attention to clothing, hair and makeup was just part of it. It was more about poise – the way we stood, moved and handled any situation.

I just did as the others did. I copied where I needed to, because many of the feminine skills they had already developed through childhood. I was perhaps clumsy, but not alone in that. But I was observant and I was soon achieving pass marks, which was enough

As we approached graduation Mrs. Umschalten announced that there was going to be a ball.

“Now we are putting you to the test in a social setting,” she said. “You will need to brush up on dancing, and not taking the lead. That is for the men to do. Oh yes, there will be men attending, from the nearby military academy. Dance cards passed around. You will be scored on your capacity to charm the men who will be attending. I should tell you that one of them is a prince - a real prince – minor European royalty I must admit, but a young man who knows class when he sees it. He will be incognito, so I will be watching who wins him over.”

If have to say that the idea of competing appealed to me, or perhaps my male nature. I tried to do research to find this prince online – after all, how many could there be? Quite a lot as it turned out. I just needed to double check my manners and rehearse demure looks and coquettish acts in the mirror.

I have to say that by the time the ball came around I was getting very excited – we all were. I had enough hair to have it put up in a stylish updo, but I kept jewelry to a minimum and went for low key makeup. I knew that I had a physically strong look that was different, but not unattractive. If that was what a prince was looking for, then I had a chance.

We went to their academy for the ball. It had been decorated by them and we were introduced as we walked in and took our seats around the dancefloor, I asked Mrs. Umschalten to introduce me as “Bobby” but she used “Roberta”. I walked in looking at the ceiling rather than scanning the young men in search of the prince. I wanted to be different, and appear a little indifferent.

More than one young man approached me for a dance, and I politely accepted and listened to their nervous chatter. None of them sounded foreign.

But one of those I had already danced with reappeared and asked for another dance.

“I really think that I should give everybody else a chance,” I said.

“If you look at your dance card you will see that my name is on it,” he said. “That is me. Rupe is my name. Short for Ruprecht.”

Could he be the prince? He had an American accent.

“You look like you could be an outdoors kind of girl,” he said. “Do you ride perhaps? Do you hunt?”

Princely things, I thought. So, I said – “You have guessed that I am not a parlor person. I try to do anything and everything active.” It was not a lie. “But I am more interested in you. Tell me about yourself.” I knew that men consider themselves as their favorite subject – after all, I was one.

“My parents would like to see me with a military background,” he said. “That is why I am spending my high school years at this academy. They think that it will promote leadership. But for me, it suits because I like the outdoors, and we do plenty of that.”

“I do too, so perhaps we should find the exit together,” I said. I only wanted a breather from the dancing and hopefully a cool breeze to stop any unfeminine sweat.

We found a place to sneak outside and sit looking at the stars.

“Do you believe in fate?” he said, his eyes still on the heavens. “I don’t mean the stars. I mean that people are thrown together and it was always meant to be.”

“I haven’t really thought about it,” I said, looking up as he did. Then suddenly, I felt his breath and then his lips on mine. I should have pushed him away – or so I thought later – but in that moment I welcomed his embrace. It was like the perfect moment. Was this fate? Whatever it was, it was warm and wonderful and what I wanted.

“If this was meant to be, then we have a problem,” I said. It was strapped tight in my panties and quivering, as if trying to decide to stiffen or yield to a strong, masculine man.

He pulled back a little. I could see his eyes in the lights of the ballroom. They seemed alive in a way I strangely understood. He stroked my chin and then it dropped to my throat, where he lovingly caressed my Adam’s apple. Perhaps I should have worn a choker, but I chose to show off the smooth skin that I had so lovingly conditioned over the weeks on this course. I seemed that he knew.

Perhaps I should have been insulted. My deportment was perfect. How could I have been rumbled? But nothing else mattered in that moment, because he didn’t care.

“Problems are there to be put right,” he said.

He was right. I was in love.

The End
1762

(c) Maryanne Peters 2026

Author's Note:
I am not sure how these smaller pieces are received by closeters, but when I see AI images like this one I find myself driven to write a story explaining what is going on here. I am pleased to see that my last story posted earlier in the week ("White Knight") has over 10% kudos approval (so far) but I still only have a couple of comments - but good ones. I hunger for feedback, so please consider leaving that mouse alone and tapping some keys!