Pantomime Dwarf Pt. 01

Prologue

In front of the curtain. Two women dressed in ball gowns with full crinolined skirts. One is very tall and blonde. She speaks first.

“Once upon a time there was a beautiful Princess who was kept locked in a walled enchanted garden by a wicked Witch…”

“Oh No there wasn’t!”

“Oh Yes there was!”

“Oh No there wasn’t!”

“OK. There wasn’t. How about a beautiful Giantess who hated men because of what they had done to her?”

“That sounds more realistic – if you are the beautiful Giantess. You are, Marie, aren’t you?”

“Yes. And I get to be saved by this handsome dwarf…”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’m sure. He is handsome. He’s a dwarf and I love him.”

“OK. If you must, Marie. Now get on with the story.”

One woman walks off stage left. The tall blonde walks between the curtains.

The Curtain rises revealing the Giantess seated at her computer. She is blonde, nearly two metres tall which is not apparent until she stands up and comes down stage, well built, curvaceous but not fat. She is a large lady suitable for the part of a Wagnerian soprano, particularly a Valkyrie or Rhinemaiden. Her hair swings either side of her face in shimmering curtains lightly waved. She is wearing a ball gown, full skirted in black and white striped taffeta with a fitted bodice in metallic black. The puffed sleeves billowing around her arms are in the same taffeta as the skirt. As she walks towards the audience her skirt hisses with the rustle of her petticoats.

In the brightness of the footlights it is apparent that she is not in her teens or early twenties. Her face has begun the process of becoming lived in but is still beautiful if saddened by life.

“Hello. I’m the sad Giantess.” She announces.

“Hello” chorus the well warmed up audience.

“I’d like to tell you a secret. Should I?”

“Yes!” reply the audience enthusiastically.

“I hate men!”

In the orchestra pit the musicians play the introduction to Katarina’s song from Kiss Me Kate.

The Giantess sings “I hate men” encouraging the audience to join in the reprises. At the end of the song she bows to the audience’s applause.

“Shall I tell you why I really hate men?” she asks.

“Yes!”

“Do you really want to know?”

“Yes!”

“Then I’ll tell you.”

She goes back to the computer and pulls the chair downstage before sitting on it and leaning forward.

“You won’t tell anyone?”

“No we won’t,” respond the audience prompted by a placard held out from the wings.

“You are sure about that?”

The placard is inverted to reveal the next response:

“We’re sure.”

Invariably at that point my dream pantomime would end. Even in a dream I couldn’t bring myself to tell anyone why I hated men. For I, Marie, am the blonde Giantess. The dwarf who will save me is Alan, a fellow student at my computer class. How he will save me and why I love him I do not know. In my dream I am convinced that he and he alone is my salvation and that I will love him. In real life I am not so sure. How can a dwarf who barely reaches my waist save me from myself and my unreasonable hatred of men?

Chapter One.

I’m twenty-nine, nearly thirty. That is a fact: a fact that influences my life. As a teenager and in my early twenties I imagined that by thirty I would have married, settled down, and have a family.

I wasted my twenties on two men who used me and then cast me aside. Actually I threw the second one – right out of my front door on to the lawn but not until after he had told me he was leaving.

I won’t go into details about how unsatisfactory both men were. I’m biased and still angry. I won’t even name them. All I will say is that both were control freaks who wouldn’t let me do anything unless they allowed it. I was their slave in all but name despite being taller and bigger and brainier than either.

The first got tired of me. He found a fluffy more manageable bimbo and just walked out. The second caught me on the rebound and soon I was back into the same self-destructive spiral of pandering to his whims and fetishes. I hated being tied to our bed dressed in corset and stockings and yet it happened several times a week.

Things started to change when I joined evening classes to improve my work skills. He didn’t object because it meant I would eventually earn more money for him to waste. On the nights I was at my class he would go out clubbing with his mates.

I joined the students’ club and from there I was persuaded to sign up for a women’s consciousness-raising class. I told him it was another class that met at the same time. It was my first lie of many. I found the class irritating at first because some were too overtly feminist but I made friends. After a few weeks I became to realise that I was his doormat.

I started to rebel. I wouldn’t do everything he wanted. I refused to be tied up. One night he tried to insist. He was the one who ended up dressed in the corset and stockings tied to the bed. I gagged him with his own dirty socks because he would have been sexually excited if I’d used my panties. I left him like that all night and slept on the settee. That was the beginning of the end. He didn’t tell me he was leaving until he too had found a convenient younger replacement.

Once he had left I decided to have nothing to do with men. I wasn’t going to be caught on the rebound again. I have kept that resolution for a year. Yet now I am having dreams about Alan the dwarf. Why?

If I think clearly about Alan I can come up with some reasons why I dream about him. First and probably most important is that I like and appreciate him. He is kind, considerate, intelligent and invariably even-tempered. Second is that I can’t imagine him as any kind of control-freak mentally or physically. Physically he would be no match for me. Even when he stands to his full height his head is well below my breasts. Mentally Alan never tries to enforce his opinions on anyone. He discusses, argues, tries to persuade; but if he fails he shrugs it off. He accepts that others have opinions that could be equally as valid as his own.

He is a great person to be with. After talking with him I feel better about myself. He is really interested in other people. The only obvious flaw I can see in him is acute self-consciousness about his lack of inches. He likes to be treated as a normal human adult. That he is. He isn’t like many dwarves with an out of proportion head. At a distance with no scale references he looks like a perfectly normal and handsome man. I would consider Alan as an acceptable date except that we would attract attention because of the vast disparity in our sizes. At nearly two metres I’m taller than most men.

Yet I’m planning to use Alan. Is that fair? Probably not. Men have used me and now I intend to use Alan, the one man that I like and respect.

It all started at our women’s consciousness raising class. They decided that they would produce a adult pantomime to raise money for a local hospital charity. Because it would be women’s group pantomime the majority of the cast would be female. A group started to write the pantomime. The theme was that women are our own worst enemies and were only subjected because we allowed it.

I ignored the writing group until they told me that I was the heroine. By then it was too late to change the script. I would be the enchanted princess who could only be rescued by a kiss from a man but the man had to be a dwarf. The writing group knew that Alan had taken part in some amateur pantomimes and that he was a friend of mine. They had relied on me to persuade him to participate. They hadn’t asked Alan, or me. Now I had the task of persuading him to take part as the hero.

I felt used. Now I had to ask Alan to allow himself to be used as well. I hadn’t even seen the script. They had told me some things but they didn’t want me to see the script until I had persuaded Alan to co-operate. I blew up. I lost my temper and told the script writing group what they could do with their script. When I calmed down, and that took a lot of cajoling from people who were not script writers, they agreed to let Alan and I see the script before he made a decision. They still wanted me to get him to agree before reading it. I wouldn’t. We compromised that I would put the proposal to him. If he didn’t reject it out of hand then both of us could have a copy of the script to read together but it wasn’t to be let out of my sight.

I still felt like telling them what to do with their pantomime but I knew that many people had put work into the project. If I rejected the pantomime it would be a blow for all my friends.

I spoke to Alan in the coffee break at our next computer class. I sat down next to him.

“Alan,” I said.

He held up a hand.

“Marie, I can tell by your tone of voice, even just from saying my name, that you want something from me. I can go further. You want a favour, not for yourself, but for other people and you aren’t happy about asking me. And it is about a pantomime.”

“How do you know all that from one word?” I asked.

“Elementary…” He laughed. “It was easy. This place is a rumour factory. I know that the women’s group is planning a pantomime. I am the only person around here with years of pantomime experience. It was almost certain that sooner or later someone from the women’s group would come to see me. I’m pleased that it is you, Marie.”

“Why pleased because it is me?” I had to ask.

“Because I can talk to you on a rational level. Some of your women’s group are so committed to their cause that they behave as if talking to a man is beneath them. Actually listening to a man and discussing something with him would be very painful for them.”

“That’s not fair, or even true!” I protested.

“It is fair and true – for some. Admit it. You can think of one or two that fit my description.”

It was true. There were a couple like that; rabid feminists who could see nothing good in any man. One had been a sexual predator worse than any man I had ever met. There had been several unpleasant scenes before she was asked to leave.

“OK,” I said. “There have been one or two but most of them are not like that.”

“I appreciate the use of ‘them’.” Alan said. “You don’t think like one of them at the moment, do you?”

“No. They have pushed me into a corner and given me an unpleasant task.”

“Out with it. Tell me the worst. What do they, not you, want from me?”

“They want us to appear in their panto. Me as heroine; you as hero.” I blurted out.

“Hero? That’s a switch. Usually I’m the principal dwarf. Now you have me intrigued. What’s the catch?”

“I don’t know. I’m sure there is one. They haven’t let me see the script yet. They won’t let me see it until you have agreed to consider taking part.”

“That’s easily settled. I agree to ‘consider’ because Marie has asked me. Now what?”

“Now I report that back to the script writing team and they let us borrow the script for a short while. Then we have to decide one way or the other. If we decide to refuse they have to rewrite the whole thing.”

“Can we read the script in private or do we have to do it here?”

“I haven’t asked. Does it make a difference, Alan?”

“Yes. I want us to be able to discuss the script objectively. If we do it here they will be watching our reactions. We won’t be able to say what we really think.”

“So what do we do?”

“How about a meal together?”

“Are you asking me out, Alan?”

“I’d like to, but not this time. This will be a working session. A meal out should be enjoyable. I think this script might not be. Perhaps a take-away meal at my place – or yours?”

“Mine. I’ve been to a party at yours. You don’t have any furniture large enough for me to relax in.”

“OK, Marie, your place it is. When?”

“Tonight? Are you free after our classes?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll go and tell them that we want to see the script tonight. OK?”

“Yes. But make sure they understand that WE have only agreed provisionally. We need to read and understand the script before we decide.”

“Yes, Alan. Thank you. Back in a minute or two.”

I walked over to the scriptwriters’ huddle. They had been watching us from the other side of the common room.

“We have agreed to consider it when we have read the script.” I announced.

“We?” Andrea queried.

“Yes, we.” I said baldly.

“Does that mean that it is either both or none?” Andrea persisted.

“Yes.” I paused. “We need to read the script – tonight. Then we will decide.”

“OK.” Andrea handed over a heavily sealed package. “This is it. Look after it please. It is only a copy but we would like it kept confidential, particularly if it isn’t going to be used.”

“Only Alan and I will read it. You can have it back tomorrow. We should have decided one way or another by then.”

“Thank you, Marie,” Andrea said. “I appreciate what you have done for us. Even if you decide against this script, thank you for persuading Alan to read it.”

“That’s OK, Andrea.”

I walked back towards Alan. Andrea at least understood what I had been asked to do. That was a good sign. Perhaps I had been unfair to the scriptwriters or maybe Andrea wasn’t typical. The script itself would be more revealing. I thumped the package down in front of Alan.

“Here it is.” I said.

“Oh dear,” he said. “That looks heavy. Will we have enough time tonight?”

“It is Friday night,” I responded. “Neither of us are working tomorrow. We can burn the midnight oil as long as we like. I think it won’t take long to decide to say ‘no’. It might take longer to say ‘yes’. It might take a very long time to say ‘maybe’.”

“As long as you have plenty of coffee, I’m willing to try.”

“Coffee I can do. See you after class?”

“Yes. I’ll meet you by the entrance.”

Chapter Two.

Alan and I were sitting side by side at my dining room table. We had cleared away the remains of the Chinese take-away meal that he had brought. We were finishing the red wine and the large ring bound folder with the pantomime script was open in front of us. Alan was propped up on several cushions. We had just finished the first few pages when he reached over to turn a page.

The cushions slipped out from under him and he sprawled across my lap. We burst out laughing. Maybe we had drunk too much wine. I straightened him up so that he was sitting on my legs with his head against my breasts. His head pressed back momentarily against them.

“This is a much better position,” he announced.

“Is it? Don’t you feel humiliated, sitting on my lap?”

“No. Not if it is YOUR lap, Marie. This is just pleasant, not demeaning.”

“OK. If that’s what you want, stay there.”

His head pressed against me again. I folded my arms around him and hugged him lightly. I kissed the top of his head.

“That is more than pleasant, Marie. I like that.”

I hugged him again.

“Back to work, Alan. We have only read a few pages.”

We read on. Then Alan gasped.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Look there. Do you see what I have to do?”

I hadn’t got that far. I looked where he was pointing.

“Oh.” I said. “Is that a problem?”

Alan was flipping through the next few pages.

“It might be. I have to do it to almost everyone.”

He kept flipping the pages rapidly.

“There!” he gasped. “Even to you.”

“That might be interesting…” I giggled.

“I don’t mind some of the rest. That is fairly normal treatment for a pantomime dwarf even if it is more obviously sexual. Some of it is blatant but could we get away with that on stage? Over and over again?”

“Never mind what we, or they, think we could get away with. What do you think of the idea of doing it? That is more important tonight. If you can’t face it…”

“Face it? I’d have to ‘face it’ wouldn’t I?” He laughed. “I have to crawl under the skirts of six women, no, seven including you, and kiss them on their pussies – on stage in front of an audience.”

“Knowing the script writers I think you probably have to do it to the Wicked Witch as well.” I added.

He turned to the end of the script.

“Your guess is right. I kiss her as well. So there is a cast of eight women and one man – me. I kiss all eight on their pussies. Some of them get kissed several times. Apart from that I get humiliated on stage – often. So do you. At the end you are seated on a throne; I am between your legs and disappear under your skirt just before the curtain falls. No wonder they were reluctant to let you or me see this script.”

“You haven’t answered the important question. Could you do it? Would you want to do it?”

Alan turned on my lap so that he was looking up at my face.

“Marie?”

“Yes Alan.”

“What would you say if I told you I have never done that?”

“You are serious?”

“Yes. I have never kissed a woman there.”

“Oh.” I gave him another hug. “So what do you think of the idea?”

“Hypothetically, with someone I love, it seems attractive and even exciting. But twenty times or so, on stage in front of an audience, with women I barely know – that is frightening.”

Then I risked everything. I liked Alan. I wanted more of him.

“You would only have to pretend to do it, Alan,” I said. “They’d have their panties on at least. You just have to disappear under a skirt and make it look as if you are kissing a pussy. You could try it now.”

“How could I try it?”

“You could pretend to kiss my pussy.”

“You are wearing jeans.”

“I can change.” I waited for his reaction. My heart was in my mouth.

There was a long silence before Alan responded.

“If we are going to seriously consider doing this pantomime the pussy kissing is a serious problem. I don’t mind the rest. It is demeaning and humiliating but I can cope with that. I don’t know whether I could kiss pussies twenty times or even once. Pretending to or actually doing it is the same. Whether I actually do it or not I am going to have my face between a woman’s legs. Can I do that? I don’t know.”

He looked up at me as if considering what he knew about me.

“Go on. Go and change. I’ll try. If I can’t do it with you, I can’t do it with anyone. Now. Before I get too nervous and back out.”

He climbed off my lap.

I went into my bedroom, stripped off my jeans and considered what to wear. I had been wearing my panties all day so I needed to change them but for what? A G-string wouldn’t do. Neither would skimpy translucent lace. What was suitable for a scared pussy kissing virgin? Virginal white? I rummaged in my pantie drawer and found a pair of white cotton panties that had a thin strip of decoration around the legs. I washed between my legs, dried myself and pulled the panties on. They were a good fit but much more material than I usually wore.

Now what to wear over them? I needed a full skirt but nothing too extreme. I found a calf length grey lined skirt that was slightly too large around the waist but elasticated all round. I had a long cotton petticoat, pintucked and frilled at the hem, with a drawstring waist. Once they were on, I checked that there would be enough room for Alan’s head. There was.

I decided against tights or stockings. I didn’t know what Alan thought of nylon or suspenders. My bare legs would have to do. They were hair-free and long and slim with just a suggestion of rounded softness in the upper thighs. I am proud of my legs. I think they are my best feature even if the men in my life so far had preferred my breasts.

I walked back into my dining room with the skirt swishing around my legs. Alan was sitting on the edge of his chair looking like a scared rabbit.

“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, Alan.” I said. I hoped he wouldn’t back out but I wouldn’t force him to do something he found unpleasant.

“No. I want to try. If I don’t I’ll never know. I’m glad that I’m trying it with you and not at a rehearsal.”

He slid off the chair. I stood still.

“How do we do this?” he asked, looking up at me.