CONSCRIPTED!
Tracy Lane, 2017/2021.

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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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My very first experience with girls' lingerie occurred during the summer of my ninth year. I was assisting my mother around her department store, dressing mannequins and attaching price tags in the women's section. This was common practice back in those days, female staff often brought their children to work during the school holidays. I wasn't the only child on hand either; at least two of my classmates were rambling around the stock room, frequently emerging from the depths to see what I was up to. We were all pretty excited, the store was a veritable wonderland, and I'd been waiting all year to accompany my mother in her duties, feeling very important and self-assured. I had no idea how much embarrassment I would suffer by the end of the day!

My ordeal began when the floor manager approached Mommy and told her there was a problem with the latest shipment of girlswear. Evidently, the manufacturer had misplaced one of our orders: everything they sent was the wrong size. Nothing seemed to fit the mannequins we had for the window display, and nobody was sure which models to requisition from the warehouse. This was a disaster in the making, as the July Sale was meant to start the next day. Time was of the essence, and we had to sort the matter out immediately.

"Which order are we talking about?" Mommy asked, looking over the inventory sheet.

"Girls' cotton sun frocks, size 7," replied Mrs Hannigan, thoughtfully adjusting her glasses, "also nylon panties, small to medium six." Mommy mused over the report for a few seconds, then appeared to come to a decision.

"I think I may have a solution," she remarked, looking over in my direction. "Jayden? Could you come over here, please?" Having surreptitiously eavesdropped on the conversation, I had some inkling where this was leading, and already felt considerable trepidation.

"My son's small for his age," Mommy explained in her matter-of-fact tone, "roughly a six, give or take. If the order fits him, we'll know which mannequins we'll need."

"Mommy!" I cried in open horror, "I can't wear girls' panties!!"

My complaints were naturally swept aside as I was led away to the changing booth.

"Nonsense," Mommy replied, guiding me firmly by the wrist "who'll know the difference? Once we get you into a dress, you'll be the prettiest girl in Everdale."

Who'll know the difference? I wailed internally. She'd just dragged me past five of my grinning classmates and half the Friday morning crowd. Everyone could see what was going on: by this time next week the news would be all over town.

Mrs Hannigan joined us with a handful of knickers and several dresses folded over one arm. My stomach practically turned a backflip as I understood there would no escape, no last minute reprieves. I'd been conscripted as a living mannequin. No matter how much I begged and protested, I'd soon be modeling those shiny satin briefs in public. Mommy flung open the changing booth's curtain, tightening her grip on my forearm as I tried to pull away.

"No, Mommy, please no!" I trilled in a high, quavering voice, "I'm not a little girl!"

"You are today," she answered implacably. A small crowd was starting to gather in our vicinity, mostly women with small children, their faces etched with growing amusement. I tried digging my feet into the carpet, and was rewarded with a sharp, stinging smack to the rear.

"OOOOWWWW!" I yelped, jumping involuntarily forward, "that hurt!!"

"It'll hurt a lot worse if you don't hold still", Mommy warned, reaching down to peel my t-shirt over my head. A ripple of laughter circulated amidst the onlookers, I heard my name bandied about by several of my erstwhile schoolchums. A moment later, I felt Mommy unbuckling the belt of my jeans.

"No, Mommy, DOOOON'T!!!" I cried, but put up no resistance, unwilling to risk another spank. She didn't even draw the curtain back across the booth. A few seconds later, I was standing naked with my jeans lapping around my ankles.

"Look how Jayden's blushing!!"

This was followed by a high-pitched, girlish cackle. I didn't look around to see who was laughing at me, I wouldn't give them the satisfaction. Turning my back with a childish pout, I presented my smooth, round bottom-cheeks to the milling horde, certain there must have been a bright, red handprint burning there.

"Now – step into these," Mommy instructed, holding out a pair of high-wasted nylon panties. They were a brilliant, glistening white, catching the glare of the overhead fluorescents. I hesitated less than two heartbeats, noting the expression on my mother's face. She was not inviting discussion on the matter.

I trembled slightly as the sheer, wispy material touched my bare flesh. Mommy carefully tugged them into position, stretching the elastic leg-bands with an audible pop. There were dainty lace trims on each hip and a tiny pink flower sewn into the front. They were an almost perfect match for the frilly pink girl-socks she slipped onto my feet.

"Come out here, so that Mrs Hannigan can take a closer look at you," Mommy said, ushering me out of the booth with a sweeping gesture. My entrance was welcomed with giggles and applause. Giggles because I was so obviously embarrassed, applause because…well, I looked so gosh-darned pretty. Most of the women (including some of the floor-staff) were cheering in approval, a slew of wolf whistles issued from the young male quarter.

"Well, what do you think?" Mommy asked, "would you say he passes muster?"

"With that petite figure, he's the perfect choice for the job," Mrs H observed, readjusting her glasses further up her nose. Looking back on the incident, I can see she wasn't far off: right up until I hit puberty, I was virtually indistinguishable from a real girl at the best of times.

"All right then, it's settled," Mommy agreed, taking me by the right arm, "let's put you into one of these dresses."

"Mommy…" I complained, wavering on the brink of tears. She took no notice, simply told me to hold my arms straight up over my head. The dress she chose was a drop-waisted yellow sun-frock; slipping easily over my shoulders, it reached to about six inches above the knee. I could feel its cool material swishing quietly against my thighs as I moved.

Mrs Hannigan looked me over, exchanging a satisfied nod with my mother.

"You were right," she quipped in an offhand manner, "I guess we can go ahead and requisition some size sevens from the warehouse." I sighed with relief at this, thinking my ordeal was finally over.

"Does that mean I can take off these girlie things?" I twittered hopefully.

"Not exactly," Mommy answered, curling her fingers around my wrist once more. She led me out to the centre of the floor space, affording everyone a better view. More whistles and catcalls erupted from the crowd.

"We're still going to need a display model until the new mannequins arrive," Mommy explained, pushing me reluctantly forward, "that'll be your job for the rest of this afternoon."

Just when I thought the day couldn't get any worse, the unthinkable happened. One of my former playmates pushed through to the front, holding up a cheap disposable camera, the kind you can buy from any Quicksnap outlet. Her name was Janet Kessler, she was one grade above me at school.

"Would you like me to take some pics of Jayden, Mrs Taylor?" she offered, a mischievous grin plastered across her face. She'd never struck me as being particularly cruel, but right now I'd have sworn she was the most malevolent being on the planet.

Mommy paused to consider this for a few seconds, then appeared to arrive at a decision.

"Yes, good idea," she agreed, leading me toward the lens, "this will look good for the company year book."

"Mommy –"

"Come on."

I tottered along with the dress flailing about my flanks while Janet adjusted the zoom. Mommy tied my hair back with a ribbon, then fussed about with the frock, instructing me to lift the skirt for the camera.

"Hold your dress up to your tummy," she said, "we need a shot of everything you're wearing." My lower lip started to quiver.

"But Mommy – everyone will see my panties!" I stared wildly around the store, blushing to the eyebrows at the ensuing laughter. I started to cry, crimson roses burning on my cheeks. Mommy cut me off with a dismissive gesture.

"Don't make a scene, Jayden," she warned, impaling me with her wild blue eyes, "Now take your dress up over your waist so we can see your underwear." I knew this was not a request, and that any further delay would result in the most severe repercussions.

Moaning with embarrassment, I hiked the frock all the way up to my chest. Cries of delight circled round the room as I displayed my shiny white knickers. The camera whicked as shot after shot was taken, documenting my silken girlie-pants from every possible direction. I flinched with each blaze of the flash bulb, imagining how the photos would look, pinned to the school notice board when the new semester began.

"Higher. And smile for the camera!"

I choked back my tears as I raised the hemline all the way to my chin. How could she do this to me? This morning I'd been a boy, as bright and boisterous as any other. Now I was a sissy, a nancy, a travesty of the masculine gender. How had this happened, what had gone wrong? Never in a million years had I imagined I'd find myself modeling Girls' Knickers in public!