Sitting down to breakfast the next day, Will asked his sombre lover: “Tell me what’s the matter, honey. A birthday should be a day of fun not tears. Now come on, you know I love you and would do anything for you, so ‘fess up to what’s bothering you.”
As she breathlessly held back the sobbing, the embryo of a smile started to rise in Beatrice’s eyes. “Oh Will. I’ve never told anyone this. Once you hear it, I hope you’ll understand.”
Will nodded sagely.
Beatrice rubbed her red-rimmed eyes. “Here goes! When I was a little girl, just turning 10, my mother, so very critical of me – she was always calling me 'worthless' – finally said I could have a birthday party. It was going to my first and I was excited but very anxious. I planned it for weeks, jotting down notes about cakes and candy and games and food and suitable dresses.
“Then the day came and I was at fever pitch. I was wearing my adorable light blue satin party dress: it had puffed sleeves, a peter pan collar, pearl buttons at the back, a wide pink sash, all festooned with flirty pink ribbons. Underneath was my cloud of white tulle petticoats peaking out below the hem; and I had on my blue frilly panties and it all felt so wonderful.” She paused to sniffle and Will handed her a tissue. “Go on,” he said.
“Well, after I had put on my lacy white anklets and my shiny black mary-janes, I let my curly hair out of its ponytail and brushed it until it shone. I even put on a little blush and lipstick. I stood in front of the mirror and decided I looked perfect then nervously went out to the front step to welcome all the little girls I’d invited.
“I waited an hour – no-one appeared. Then another hour – still no-one. Another hour and I was feeling desperate.
“I’ve cancelled the party!” My mother was standing behind me, a stern look on her face. “I’ve rung all the girls’ mothers and told them the party’s off, that you have a bad flu. And it’s all because you’ve been a naughty girl this week, talking back to the teacher, talking in class … Now go and get changed!”
I trudged back to my room, tears streaming down my pink cheeks, and slowly undressed, throwing all my pretty clothes on the floor. Then I lay down on the bed, buried my head in the pillow and cried all afternoon …” Her voice trailed off.
“So you see, birthdays are a day of shame and embarrassment for me. And I refuse to celebrate them. It’s all too painful.”
Will looked sad. “Oh, honey. I never knew – I’m so sorry.”
“That’s all right, darling.” Her voice returned to its business-like tone. “Enough bull**** – the past is past. I have to go to work now. I’ll be home about eight.”
She scurried off to the bedroom, showered, put on her dark blue business suit and grabbed her purse, phone and car keys.
“Bye, baby.” Will waved. “I’ll see you tonight. I’ll make dinner and get a nice bottle of wine and, if you like, we won’t even talk about birthdays. See ya, gorgeous.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever!”
Beatrice turned on her heels and disappeared down the hall.
“Right, time to get down to business,” he said to himself.
First he rang their friend Vera who owned a big clothes-making factory in town.
“Hi Will. What’s happening?”
“I’m having a surprise birthday party tonight for Beatrice and I want to get some outfits made up. The theme will be sissy little girls – I know it sounds strange but Beatrice had a bad experience on her birthday when she was little. I think I can give her some closure.”
Vera was intrigued. “So what do you need from me?”
“There’ll be us, you and Andy, and Lucy and Tony. I want sissy dresses for us all. Plus a couple of French maid uniforms.”
“Wow, that’s a big ask,” replied Vera. “When do you need them for?”
“Say, 7pm. The party won’t start until eight.”
“Leave it me. I should be able to get them made up by my girls. It’s a slow day today anyway.”
“Great,” said Will. “I’ll check in with you later. Make sure you tell Andy.”
He got to work organising party food and pink lemonade, blowing up balloons, and ordered a big pink birthday cake studded with 10 candles. Last but not least, he draped a big sign across the wall reading: “Happy Birthday, Beatrice!”
It was a wonderful evening. The four girls capered and skipped, skirts and petticoats flying. They kissed and cuddled and, despite Wilhelmina’s admonition, sneakily had a peak at each other’s panties. They gorged on cake and lemonade, played spin the bottle and pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey and sat cross-legged on the floor and told stories. The CD player trilled out an assortment of girly songs while they whispered the latest gossip in each other’s ears.
When Wilhelmina caught Mandy and Antoinette discussing business, she smacked them on the bottom. But they didn’t seem to mind in the least.
As the party reached its climax, sleepiness crept over them. The slow-danced together, looking dreamily into the other’s eyes. Hands slipped onto thighs, stroking moist thighs. Pink tongues lashed pink tongues.
Wilhelmina broke away from Beatrice. “I think we better call it a night.”
The guests didn’t bother to change back into their street clothes; they simply put them in plastic bags and headed off to their cars.
“Goodnight, girls. Sweet dreams!”
After the gang had gone – it was now getting on to 4am - Beatrice and Wilhelmina began the arduous task of cleaning up. There was cake on the carpet, spilt pink lemonade, paper plates under the table and more. The pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey poster had to be taken down from the wall and the dishes washed.
“This is going to take forever,” sighed Beatrice. “Let’s leave it until the morning.”
“I’ve got a better idea,” said Wilhelmina. “You just wait here.”
She disappeared into the bedroom and soon came out carrying a pair of identical French maid’s uniforms.
“Here we go; this should make things a bit more pleasurable.”
With no need to worry about prying eyes, they slowly took off each other’s clothes and laid them on the sofa. The maids' uniforms were simply stunning. Short black dresses with short puffy sleeves, white lace edging and high collars. Black tulle petticoats held the skirts out. First they climbed into the lingerie. Black lace bras – Henrietta’s had to be padded! – black garter belts with six suspenders, seamed white stockings, a red garter each, and the accessories: a white apron tied at the back with a big bow, frilly white collar decorated with black bows, and the maid’s caps, also festooned with black bows. Long white satin gloves, and lots of bling, completed the ensembles. Finally, they had to squeeze their feet into black patent-leather, six-inch high-heels with buckles across the instep.
“You can be Colette and I’ll be Desirée,” said Wilhelmina. “No way, babe,” flashed back Beatrice. “I’m going to be Desirée. I’ll be the posh one and you can be the tart!”
They both giggled. With feather dusters in hand, they set to work. After half an hour of bending over, flashing their ruffled panties, they decided to quit after all.
“Let’s leave the rest to the morning,” a weary Beatrice declared. “I’m ready for bed and play.” Her voice trailed off.
“I agree,” said Wilhelmina, who was excited beyond belief. “Let’s go.”
They stumbled off to the bedroom where they quickly undressed, decorating the floor with black satin and frills.
As they were about to climb into bed, Wilhelmina ducked into the built-in closet. He emerged with two frilly baby dolls with matching frilly panties.
“This is too much.” Beatrice laughed “But I get to be pink this time”, and threw the blue nightie back to Wilhelmina.
They lay down in bed beside each other and began passionate kissing, tongues flicking in and out of mouths, smooth hands rubbing smooth thighs, then finally they wrapped their legs together. Soon, they were moaning, backs arched, juices running like war streams.
Exhausted, the two lovers fell back on the satin pillows. Beatrice giggled. “You make a very pretty little
girl, do you know that!”
Wilhelmina smiled too. “One last birthday present,” he said and produced a small square package tied with a pink ribbon. Beatrice opened it, lifted out the diamond -encrusted silver choker and gasped. “You shouldn’t have – it’s too much. But it's’ magnificent. Thank you so much, baby, for everything.”
“No, you deserve it. Happy birthday, my love.”
As dawn broke, exhausted, they fell into each other’s arms and dreamed the dreams only little girls dream.
© Jayne Brayne, 2019.