Making Troy A Man Ch. 05

"Good boy, Troy!" his Aunt smiled. "An' I gotta stress to ya again, yer cousins an' me, we ain't never gonna judge ya fer any o' this. An' we ain't never gonna breathe a word o' it t' no one. Jes' all between us. An' jes' t' help ya get right. An' if y' wanna put on makeup, an' dress like a girl everyday, that ain't gonna come t' nothin'. Out here on the farm, it's all private. An' we ain't never gonna judge or make fun o' somethin' like clothes or makeup, if it makes ya happy. Un'erstan'?"

"...Yes, Ma'am!" Troy repeated. They were insane. All insane. This was a total madhouse.

"Now Troy, I know y' might be feelin' some pressure. That might be part o' yer l'il problem. Auntie wants ya t' know that there ain't nothin' gonna hafta happen if ya do manage t' get a woodie. Y' ain't gotta cum, y' ain't gotta fuck. None o' th' girls nor me gonna touch ya. Auntie jes wants t' see if this'll help ya get a woodie, an' that's it. No pressure t' do anythin' else at this point. Whatever you 'n' Glenda get up to is all separate an' private from this. Got it?"

Troy paused a moment. This... was maybe the best news he could have thought of? Considering? Once again he was struck by how ludicrous it was that a scenario like this seemed like a best case. But it did. "Got it, Ma'am!"

"One last thing," his Aunt continued. "Carol told me about the li'l talk y'all had. An' I wanna letcha know that you c'n watch Carol bang herself off any ol' time ya like, that's all right with me. Oh, an' I almost fergot. If'n y' do get a woodie, you tell Auntie if ends up stayin' hard fer more 'n four hours. Ok, Sugar?"

"Um, yes, Ma'am!"

"All right, Sugar! Now, you just do something fer Auntie here, okay?" She retrieved a glass and two blue pills from the top of the dresser, and handed them to Troy. "This is Viagra. Might help. Be a sweetie an' swallow those down fer Auntie, okay, Sugar? Then we'll go downstairs an' join the girls." He could hear the sounds of violins and a banjo tuning up.

"Um, yes, Ma'am," he said again. He took the glass and the pills, put them in his mouth, took a swig of water and swallowed them down. He didn't see as he really had any other option. And really, it might help. His goal was simple. Dress up like a fairy, dance around a bit, and achieve an erection. He just prayed that his 'courting relationship' with Glenda would preclude him actually doing anything with said erection come bedtime, should it emerge. Maybe it would be better if he couldn't get it up? His aunt did say that she had other ideas... But how long could he pretend that he was genuinely interested in Glenda, or in girls in general, if he could never get it up in their presence? It was extremely important for him to keep Glenda in his camp. And Wendy knew too much... no, best to give it his all. Get a hardon. And deal with whatever consequences it brought him. And best to not think about what they might be.

Joining the three sisters downstairs, Troy followed his aunt and met with a glowing smile from Glenda, a broad, friendly grin from Carol, and a sly, impish smirk from Wendy. Wendy and Glenda had violins and bows in their hands, and Carol plucked a few notes from a banjo.

He grinned back as best he could. This was bound to be some sort of foray into hillbilly hell with the soundtrack by the Redneck Rapist Riders, near as he could tell. Well, regardless, he was stuck here. And apparently had some sort of duty or mission to perform later. He was struck by the surrealism of the scene. His mind had oddly become normalized to this constant, cartoonish insanity. He was actually very glad when his aunt pressed a glass with a pale, amber liquid into his hand.

"Drink up, Sugar," she said.

He took a swallow. It burned like whisky all right. He almost coughed, exhaling swirling, potent vapour. "Whoa," he remarked. His aunt just chuckled, and passed out glasses to his three cousins. She then sat down, took a belt of whisky, and began tuning up her guitar.

Oh boy, here we go, Troy thought. The girls downed their whisky in one or two gulps. Clearly this wasn't their first sip they'd ever had. He estimated the lightest of them to have a body weight of at least 250 pounds, too, compared to his 130. Regardless, Troy figured he should follow suit. When in Rome, do as the Romans, and when in Hillbilly Hell... He downed the rest of his glass in three gulps. There was probably an ounce and a half total, maybe two. A warm fire gently swept down his throat into his belly. Powerful stuff.

He sat down as his relatives started sawing and plucking a couple of runs and melodies. They joked around a bit in between, then his aunt counted them into a song. He didn't recognize the tune at all, but it actually didn't sound bad. Certainly not what he was used to, but they could all play. They did a couple of slow numbers, then a tune that was much faster and energetic. The girls gave a couple of whoops and hoots, clearly getting into the music and enjoying themselves. Another bizarre twist in a whirling, countryside nightmare in which he was embroiled. Four gigantic pairs of breasts heaved and jiggled in time to the music. Four large feet propelled by thick, muscular legs stomped to the rhythm. Troy decided to at least tap his feet along as well. The music wasn't bad, and he felt he should show at least the least bit of interest.

They took a break after that song, cheery faced and glowing. Aunt Lulu poured another glass of whisky for everyone, and handed one to Troy. He was no lightweight drinker, but he was sure he'd be feeling the effects after this glass. He suspected this stuff was higher than 80 proof. Perhaps significantly higher.

They all drank, bantered back and forth for a couple minutes, and the women all cut back into a lively tune, upbeat and boisterous. Halfway through, Glenda stood up and started swaying as she played, tapping her feet in time. This was a spectacle all right. The music was good, if not exactly what he was used to. They had all clearly spent a long time practicing and playing. Troy found himself keeping time with the music. He wasn't going to go full on and start stomping or clapping or anything, but this was actually sort of fun. It was hard not to get caught up in the girls obvious enthusiasm for the music they were making. He thought maybe he might like to learn an instrument. Certainly not violin or banjo... And not the style his aunt was playing of guitar...

He forced the thoughts out of his head. This was a trap, a cage. As much as he had to make the best of it, he had to keep focused on the true nature of the reality. He also came to realize he was getting a solid buzz on.

The music went on, the women periodically got up and danced in a clumsy, stomping sort of manner as they strummed, plucked or sawed. They played a variety of folky tunes, and traded solos back and forth on a number of patterns. Wendy seemed to be the most accomplished, but they were all highly skilled. Aunt Lulu did some singing, and the three girls joined her on a some of the songs. Troy was impressed. They all had good voices too. He supposed if they did this weekly, they were bound to build up a fair amount of talent.

Eventually they took a second break, and Aunt Lulu poured another small glass of whisky for all. This time Troy's was about a half ounce. She indicated it was time for Troy to go upstairs and get ready. He acknowledged, downed his drink, he and Glenda blew kisses at each other, and he went up to the spare bedroom.

He took a few moments to clear his head. He was feeling overwhelmed. And he was well on his way to drunk.

He looked over at the packages. Opened the boxes. Examined the wares. If he was going to be forced to put on a show like this, he might as well try to enjoy himself. And for what it was, that hillbilly hoedown actually turned out to be quite fun. Troy sighed. He was no closer to a real plan of escape than he was four days ago... or was it five? ...when he had pledged to focus on his swift exit. In any case, he was resigned to his fate for tonight. He would try to make it as enjoyable as possible.

The stockings and garters were cheap quality. The shoes were half-decent, if you happened to be a peasant. He hadn't owned a pair of shoes that cost less than $500, and his favourite blue heels had cost $2700. This pair he figured ran about $80. Pathetic by his standards, but at least they weren't bargain basement specials. He quickly slipped one on and found it fit rather well. It was comfortable, and reasonably attractive. A tall black high heel. Simple. It would do.

The makeup was no where near his standards. Smart Girl. Crush Palette. Sensuali. The brands were mass production, middle-of-the-road stuff. Being as he had no choice, he would put them to best use. In all honesty, he guessed the total value of the purchases to be around $200. That was pocket change to him, but it had to represent a reasonable extravagance to his Aunt. Especially considering the beat up pickup truck she drove.

He went to the bathroom, washed up a bit, and began applying the makeup. This seemed so surreal. But this was his aunt's directive, and for now he certainly dared not cross her. He had hidden his love of cross-dressing and makeup from all his family and friends. Until last weekend, only Kevin knew. He had dreamed of meeting many more men while dressed up like this, made up like a whore. And now he was preparing to do so for a branch of the family he had mostly forgotten existed until a week ago. Unreal.

He was quite skilled with cosmetics, so he was able to complete his preparations easily in the time his aunt had allotted. He then stripped, and donned the stockings, garters and heels. He looked in the mirror. He barely recognized himself. He had just stepped back into his city life. This whole image seemed so out of place with his surroundings. But then, as he moved, he found the familiarity with his reflection again. He grinned briefly and blew himself a kiss. He loved the way he looked. No one would ever cure him of this. This was truly who he was.

The music downstairs had stopped, and his relatives were talking and joking in loud, animated voices. They were clearly having a good time. He stood in the hallway, stalling. He certainly was in no rush to join the women. On the other hand, maybe it was better to just bite the bullet. The clock said he had ten minutes still. He quickly went to the alcove at the end of the hall. Of course, the phone was locked in its glass case. He briefly thought about taking a quick reconnaissance of his aunt's room, but thought better of it. If they were still playing, he was sure he would have. But if anyone came upstairs, well, he didn't want to do anything to raise the least amount of suspicion in that regard. Plus, he wasn't completely sober, and he didn't want to make any drunken errors. He took a deep breath. Might as well dive in to the piranha-infested waters. No point in delay.

He went to the top of the stairs, hesitated for a moment, then called out, "Aunt Lulu? I'm ready..."

"That's great, Sugar! Why don'cha come on down stairs, then! We're all ready fer ya!" Then aside, she said, "Ok, Carol, press play."

His heart pounding, he took a deep breath, and forced himself to follow the staircase down to the main level. He quickly recognized Madonna's "Hung Up" coming through the stereo. "Turn that up, Carol," his aunt's voice said. "Get it good an' loud. That's better." Well, this was it. He arrived at the landing in the kitchen, and strode toward the living room. One way of the other, he was determined to show his persona, bold, confident, sexy. That might make it easier for him to get a hardon anyway. This was what he loved. He just had to let it show.

He had a brief moment of terror as he entered the living area, in view of his aunt and cousins, striding forth in high heels, made up sexy and sultry, wearing stockings and garters, his shaved cock and balls plainly visible. His relatives gave him a warm, enthusiastic applause, whooping, clapping and grinning broadly. He took a deep breath and tried to quell his panic He could do this. Moreover, he had to.

"Troy, lookin' good there!" Carol barked.

"Oh, you're gorgeous, Tiger!!" Glenda gushed, her cheeks flushed and abject adoration in her eyes.

"Sexy, Troy!" Wendy called out with a lascivious grin. "Love the shave! Dead sexy! Yer a knockout, baby!"

"Land sakes, jes' like a model!" his aunt remarked. "C'mon Troy, dance for us a bit, will ya, Sugar?"

"Yes!" his cousins all chimed in. "Dance! Dance for us!" They all began clapping in time to the music.

This was so bizarre. He had never been exposed like this for anyone but Kevin. And now, his perverted family was showering him with compliments, urging him on. Was it true? Did they not mind his cross-dressing at all? Was it just an act, to try to help with his 'cure'? Either way, he choked up for a second. He was terrified of ridicule, shame, ostracism; that was why he'd hidden it all away. And now, acceptance and enthusiasm just seemed to be washing over him. He was so confused. He was nearly moved to tears, but he tucked it away, bowed his head in a seemingly coy, sultry pose. He took a deep breath. Then he began to dance.

He let the music take him, and he began to strut, prance, pose, and move through a variety of postures and steps. He loved to dance. And he loved music. And he had always wanted to show off like this. And now he had a chance to do so.

His family were all clapping and whooping appreciatively, calling out encouragements and praise as he danced and posed before them. He couldn't bring himself to look at them. He was as though he was in a video. No contact or acknowledgement of his audience, just acting. And it was lovely. It felt good to stretch and move. His muscles were still sore, but he felt stronger. He shook and gyrated, all but naked before his aunt and three cousins. And he was actually enjoying it.

Ok, he had to admit that this was a bit of fun. Far more than he had imagined it would be. If he was to be a captive, then drinking, dancing and cross-dressing was not too far away from an ideal situation of captivity. He focused himself. He knew why he was here. His aunt wanted to see him get a hardon. Well, best to see if that was possible. He shut out any thoughts of rape and molestation out of his mind. His aunt had promised there would be none of that, at least not during his 'performance'. And so far she had been honest and truthful with him.

He danced his way through two songs. He shook his penis around, thrusting his hips and loving the sensation of it flapping up and down against his sack and belly. He tried to imagine all sorts of hot, gay scenarios. As pleasant and tingly as he felt, his manhood would not cooperate. It stayed flaccid and dormant despite his best efforts.

The third song came on, and it clicked which album he was listening to. It was Madonna's 'Celebration' collection; he recognized it because the song was 'Vogue'. One of his favourites. He grinned slightly, and decided to put on a real show. Here he was in drag, his cock and balls exposed, shaking, dancing, and showing off, and getting nothing but adulation and enthusiasm for it. This was insane. But, he decided, maybe it was a good kind of insane, at least for the moment. He loved voguing, and by his own and his friends' assessment, he was quite excellent at it. So he put everything he had into it, imagining that he was performing at a gay strip club, or a leather stud stag party. He posed, pouted, emoted, and exposed himself in the most lewd and seductive manner that he could imagine. His performance drew delighted laughs and hoots of appreciation an exuberance from his audience. He tried to focus on just getting a hardon... but, nothing.

His family were all egging him on. "Go Troy!" "Lands, what moves ya got!" "Where'd ya learn all that, boy howdy!" "Yeah! Dance, cutie!" "You're awesome, Tiger!" "Shake that cock for us, Troy!" He closed his eyes and ground his hips in a wide circle, arching his back and thrusting his butt out. He realized that he was quite drunk. And wearing high heels while he was dancing. He righted himself as he opened his eyes, a bit dizzy and disoriented for a second. As he focused, his gaze happened to catch Wendy's for a second. She grinned devilishly, opened her eyes wide, and mouthed a single word.

"Faggot."

And that was it.

Instantly his cock began to throb and pulse. He felt a moment of terror. And then, his erection emerged. His cock climbed quickly to the tumescence of full arousal, hard as granite and saluting skyward. Immediately, his family burst out in overwhelming applause.

"Wow, Troy, there ya are!!" "Oh, Tiger I knew ya could do it! Momma, you were right!" "Good boy, Troy! Land sakes, Troy, you good, good boy!" "We got wood! Show us that hardon, stud!!"

He flushed in embarrassment, shame, and elated excitement. His less-than-three-inch cock was hard and throbbing, and he was swinging and waving it around as he danced and posed. It felt fantastic. He was suddenly aware of how long it had been since he'd cum; he was sorely tempted to jerk his cock and get himself off, but he was used to denying himself pleasure for Kevin. So he kept his hands off his dick and just concentrated on his movements. Relief flooded through him. He had gotten it up! Maybe this was a sign for his aunt that his 'recovery' was complete? Wanting to capitalize on this illusion, he leered at his family, sought out Glenda's eyes, and grinned directly at her, thrusting his hip towards her in aggressively suggestive fashion.

This brought another round of frenetic ovation from the women, Glenda blushing clapping, and laughing joyously, "Oh, Tiger!! Oh, Tiger!!"

His family was wild in their applause as he bent forward, his legs spread wide, and grabbed his ankles to look at them through the arch of his legs and held position while the song faded. Glenda was practically out of her mind.

Troy couldn't help but smile. He said he needed a break, which was true. He was drunk, and tired, and as fun as that had actually turned out to be, he was very, very sore. His aunt let him know that it was all right, he had done more than fine. She directed Carol to stop the music, and his aunt embraced him in a warm, tight hug. The rest of his family all joined him.

Encircled by the mass of these four huge women, in drag with an exposed erect shaved cock and balls, his aunt led them in a brief prayer of thanks to Jesus. It was another moment of total surrealism.

Afterwards, they did a bit of a clean up, packed up their instruments, and Troy said that he was about ready for bed. His aunt approved, telling him how proud of him she was. Glenda indicated enthusiastically that she would join him. Troy cringed. He knew that even though he bought himself a reprieve from Aunt Lulu, Carol and Wendy, he was still probably going to have to service Glenda.

As he was heading to the bathroom preparing for bed, Glenda coyly whispered for him to leave the makeup, stocking, garters and heels on. He faked an eager grin. This was surely to be a horrid ending to an otherwise surprisingly enjoyable evening.

It took him a while to be able to urinate. He ended up sitting down and bending forward pushing his penis down into the bowl. As he relieved his distended bladder, his erection subsided. He then reservedly made his way to Glenda's bedroom.

She was waiting for him, naked, kneeling on the bad, rubbing her vulva with a hungry look on her face.

"Come here, Tiger" she beckoned him.

He complied, and the moment he joined her on the bed, she grabbed him and kissed him hard, deeply and passionately. Despite his revulsion and urge to push her away, to leap off the bed, he did his best to return her kiss.

"Oh, Tiger, you were wonderful! An' I love how ya look... yer so sexy, so purdy... yer just a beautiful, beautiful boy..." She then embraced him again in a wet, sloppy kiss.