Ilka's Place Pt. 03

At first I completely denied getting into Ilka's drawers (I know, there's the double meaning..... ). But she persisted, saying she was completely sure her lingerie had been disturbed. Underneath, I myself was disturbed. She insisted it could only be me, repeating over and over again: "Why did you do this? You look for money? Why did you mess with my things? Why did you do this?"

Finally, beaten into some semblance of honesty, I admitted I had looked at her corsets because I was fascinated by them, because my mother used to wear them. That's all I could manage.

"There's only one thing to do," she pronounced with a great sigh. "When you break my trust, when you do something bad, you must be taught lesson -- you know not to do it again."

I was dreading the worst as she pulled me by my ear into our bedroom and pushed me a little roughly against the edge of our bed, so my torso was on top while my knees were on the floor. She pulled my trousers and tight brief down so my bare butt was exposed.

"In Hungary when son is still living with parent, he is still discipline," Ilka pronounced as she went over and removed her black corselette from the drawers. She held it up for me to see before she carefully laid it alongside me, in my direct gaze. It no longer seemed so pleasure-inducing.

Then she left and returned with a hairbrush from the bathroom.

"Brett, I do not like to do this," she said heavily, "but I must make the impression on you."

With that, standing there, she proceeded to spank me smartly with the brush. At the first point of pain, my hands went back to protect my dainty ass, but she proceeded to hold them on my back with her other hand.

It was odd, to say the least, that the pain of the punishment merged with my former pleasure of wearing her corselette, and the spanking itself began to be erotic. She would never know, would she?

Swat! Swat! Swat! The pain sunk in as my poor buttocks absorbed her anger.

Finally, breathing deeply, she finished, and as I rose unsteadily, she left and returned with some skin lotion she told me to use on my rosy cheeks.

And that was that. An initiation into old-country culture. An example of her control over me.

Despite the punishment (or maybe because of it), I became more attracted to her corselettes than ever. But I was not about to open her drawers again, due to her eagle eyes. So I had to make do with seeing them occasionally in the laundry or under her clothing.

To solve my dilemma, I finally saved up enough money to order my own corselette on Amazon. When it arrived I was in heaven. It was an open-bottom Rago, white, fitting my male body well enough. Wearing it was a wet dream. I had a secret hiding place for it, which I assumed Ilka would never find.

Now began a new chapter in my life as a son and handyman (more of the latter). One evening I got called again to Chris' apartment, in Ilka's other building. This time the reason was a shower head that wouldn't swivel. Once there I pulled out a can of WD-40, sprayed it around the head, and voila! Problem solved. He seemed impressed.

While in his bathroom, I scouted around for more tips concerning his sexual orientation. There weren't any more women's shoes or nylons, so while he went to get me a beer, I quickly opened a couple small drawers there. One was absolutely full of lipsticks, makeup, and other beauty items. The other had tampons, some sort of plug, and some lubricants.

He invited me to sit down with the beer while he sipped some wine. He was more relaxed this time as I checked out his facial features. They weren't very masculine, and I would've sworn he'd plucked his eyebrows just a little.

The beer went quickly to my head, because I hadn't had dinner yet, and I was emboldened to ask, "Chris, last time I was here, there were some women's things around. Do you have a girlfriend who comes visit, or what?"

Chris suddenly averted his gaze. He tried to say something, but the words seemed stuck in his throat. Finally, he managed, "No, no girlfriend."

There was a long pause as I waited for him to continue.

"Look, Brett, I got your name right, yes? Just keep this between you and me. Rather embarrassing if that landlord Ilka found out; no telling where she's coming from. To be honest about things, I'm a crossdresser. Not sure if you're familiar. Not a drag queen, for Christ's sake. I just enjoy dressing up as a woman here by myself."

"Oh."

"You know, I've been doing it off and on forever. I have more female clothing than male. It's like I have two personalities. So what do you think about this?"

I piped up, "Well, it's odd but I'm a little that way myself. Surprise!

"I suppose I'm just in the fetish category," I said. "I have a thing about women's lingerie. Like corselettes and girdles. But I don't have that second personality."

Chris immediately brightened. "Who'd have thought! So we share something in common."

"Ilka," I responded, " -- you know I share her apartment, right? -- she figured out I was messing with her corsets and stuff and gave me a hell of a spanking for it. Can you believe that?"

We both laughed. It was good to see Chris coming out of his shell a little.

"So I finally bought my own corselette, without her knowing. Like you say, she is old-country Catholic.

"By the way, Chris, the next time you call for me -- on any pretext! -- please greet me in your female incarnation, will you? I'm truly curious as to how you look."

"That would be my Janice incarnation. What do you think of the name?"

"Tell the truth, I think it fits you."

The other development involved the ex-nun, whose name I learned was Maryanne. As with Chris, I met her when she called for a repair. She too lived in the other building, on a different floor.

Maryanne was a fairly tall, quiet woman who liked to dress in earth colors, which I found attractive. That meant English-style clothing fashioned from somewhat-thick wools. She'd let her brown hair grow nice and long, and she had decent-sized boobs. True to her former existence, she didn't use any makeup -- not the tiniest bit -- and she didn't shape her eyebrows.

Her earrings were very tiny. The thing that really caught my attention was her penchant for high leather boots, with heels. That could easily be another fetish for me.....

While at her place on call, while I was tightening some hinges on an inner door (which a sixth-grader could've done) she stood nearby, talking to me like she was a little lonely. She mentioned her two cats; how important they were to her.

I said, "I understand. I'm a cat person myself, although I don't have any now."

She verified that I shared Ilka's apartment, and asked, "How did you get in this line of work? Seems like you're educated."

As I tightened the last screw, I responded, "I had some reverses in my life, and then she kinda took me under her wing. She can be a bit overbearing at times... "

"Very old-fashioned, very old-country," Maryanne laughed.

"She helped get me back on my feet again."

"And you," I asked, "why did you leave the order?"

"The Sisters of Beneficence," she laughed lightly. "A couple of my friends from high school and I went in. We were so idealistic, you know. I gave it my best, and even served in Central America for a couple years. But eventually I became disillusioned. I felt like there was more to life, you know."

"So what do you do now?"

"I work at the university as a research assistant in entomology -- bugs, you know."

There was the offer of a snack -- hot cross buns and hot cider -- which I gratefully accepted. They were a nice change from heavy Hungarian food. We bantered some more; I liked her. She seemed to like me. We had both made some midcourse corrections in our lives.

As I was leaving, I was going to shake her hand, but she surprised me with a hug and a solid peck on my cheek.

"I'm always at your beck and call," I said optimistically.

"I know."

As I walked down the stairs I was thinking I would love to BE her. To be in her shoes. To be in her clothing. To clothe myself in her feminine personality.

I'm so lucky people seem to take to me. Unless I'm working in a restaurant, that is.

That weekend, after I'd completed my weekly list of apartment visits and repairs (no more with Chris or Maryanne), and after Sunday dinner (when it was getting dark outside), Ilka surprised me. Maybe it was because she'd gone to church earlier.

She cleared off our small dinner table, put down a gayly decorated old-country tablecloth, and lit four candles on the table's corners. She turned off all the lights, and the flickering flames lent the kitchen a nice, cozy and rosy ambiance.

Then she reached across the table and invited me to hold hands with her. Her usual stern countenance was softened, and I wondered if she wanted to have sex! After all, we did share a bed.....

Her eyes captured mine and I could not look away.

"Brett, this is what we used to do in my family for important talk. OK?"

"Sure."

"In homily this morning, my priest said three important things for us. One is to serve and talk to God. Two is to be a good Catholic by being loyal church member. And three was to help fellow man in every way. He said Jesus cared for all -- from the rich to the poor, even people who have sinned."

I wondered where this was going. My hands were sweaty in her big ones. Still, I had to admit I liked thinking of her as a mother. I began to relax.

She continued. "OK, I'll tell you. I think, I think it was wrong to punish you. Not like Jesus. I think I was put here to help you, like you are son.

"So, I think you like women's things, my lingerie?"

"Well, yes."

"So, Brett, you like to wear these things? You want to look like woman?"

"Well, I have some feelings like that, but I've never gone beyond just wearing some lingerie."

I was glad she wasn't dwelling on my erotic connection with lingerie; that I liked to beat off in them. Maybe that was something she'd just shut out of her mind.

Ilka: "You make a list and we go to store to buy, next weekend, OK? I pay."

"I am so surprised. That's very generous. You are very kind."

With that, we had some port wine together before going to bed. There, I almost felt like moving over and hugging her. But she had already begun to sleep deeply with associated bouts of snoring.

During the ensuing days, I kept adding and subtracting things to this magical list. I didn't want to go overboard and stiff her with a big bill.

On my final list, on Friday, I had included panties, panty nylons, traditional nylons, bras, a girdle, a corselette (of course), a slip, several nightgowns, shoes, lipstick, several skirts and blouses, and a dress. After she looked at it, she asked if I wanted a hairpiece, and I seconded that idea.

I had already shown her my own corselette -- the one I'd bought earlier.

The very next day, after she took my measurements, we went to the Kohl's store where she did most of her own clothing shopping. I timidly followed her in and hoped she wouldn't embarrass me. As we approached the women's lingerie section, I felt like I was in candyland. I decided I'd be such a perfect little boy for being rewarded with such perfect delights. I could already feel myself getting wet.

(to be continued)