Printer-friendly version


The makeup was minimal; almost a visual expression of the feelings she held about herself. She smiled in the mirror and the young lady smiled back; weakly with an almost neglect in her expression toward the real person she reflected. She pulled off the undershirt and threw it in the hamper.

“Ohhhhhhh…” She sighed with little strength. She took the panties from the top drawer; an almost reverence guided her hands as she opened them up and stepped into them. Ivory satin lined with cotton; a marriage of sensual and practical. She pulled them up slowly and adjusted them, pushing and pulling parts of herself she barely acknowledged other than with another sigh; this one disdainful and sad.

“Oh….” She gasped; feeling guilt and shame warm her face as things she had wished to forget remained intrusive and uncomfortable in their familiarity. She shook her head. At one time she would have given into those same shameful sensations and addressed a need now no longer urgent. She smiled at her resolve before returning to the dresser; almost with a mission.

“Blue…Navy…yes.” She said to no one and to whatever capricious deity oversaw her original 'assembly.' She sat down and began pulling on the tights. Convention and practicality worked alongside the nice dark pattern woven into the thick fabric; at least they’d be fairly pretty even if they weren’t as comfortable. She had no choice since being more attractive would garner unwanted attention at the most inopportune of times. Better to be plain and safe than sheer and sorry, since wearing the pretty hose meant addressing other issues about the legs they covered.

“Oh.” She gasped once again as her legs brushed ever so lightly together, giving her a pleasant start. She opened the second drawer down in the dresser, pulling out a soft ivory-colored brassiere; its straps were wide and the satin reflected the dimmed bedroom light. She pulled it on and fastened the back, feeling a sense of accomplishment at her success in being able to perform such a simple task. The ivory full slip came next; quickly slipping over her head and down into place, hugging her body like a third skin over her own body and the other lingerie.

“Charcoal? Ecru? Ice blue? Yes…ice blue!” She grabbed the blouse from the closet; shiny with a neckline unbuttoned just low enough to not show cleavage but tease anyway. A black wool skirt followed; warm but sensual with a black satin lining that pushed the practical aside just a bit.

“Hm….shoes? No…black calf-length boots. Two inch block heel!” She announced the footwear as if she was describing the fashion for a catwalk display. She added a single pearl on a chain around her neck along with a thin silver band on her left wrist. She decided against the clip-on earrings; too easy to lose. A moment later she stood before the mirror once again; her twin waving back at her sheepishly. She grinned to herself just before noticing an expected presence; the all-too familiar face scowled over her right shoulder.

She nodded once to the figure in the mirror; an acknowledgement of surrender before she put her head down and shook as the blows rained against her back….

* * *

“Donnie? Donnie?” He heard a voice called in a ‘loud’ whisper. He raised his head off the bed. Brown streaks covered his face where the makeup had run from the tears; he had vowed he wouldn’t cry, and his shame made the pain hurt twice as bad. The younger boy moved closer to the bed and grabbed his brother’s hand.

“Why, Donnie?” Tears streamed down the boy’s face at the sight of his brother’s pain.

“So you’ll be safe.” The little boy stared at the sight before him; more than disheveled, his older brother was a picture of hurt. The illustration included the physical damage of welts and bruises, and the emotional damage took the form of eyes that felt betrayed, but with almost a hint of relief.

“Go, Jimmy….get out….get out…run!” The boy gasped and fell back on the bed. The younger boy shook his head before grabbing the skirt off the floor. He took the garment and pulled it on; it draped loosely, but he held it up by his hand.

“No, Donnie,” he said. Almost an eternity later he heard the floor creak under the weight of an expected but unwelcomed presence. He turned to find his father standing in the doorway, slapping a belt against his hand.

He stood defiantly, shaking in anticipation while inside he became the bravest girl in the history of the world other than the girl who lay on the bed behind her.

“No, Daddy!”

If you liked this post, you can leave a comment and/or a kudo!
Click the Good Story! button above to leave the author a kudo:
And please, remember to comment, too! Thanks. 
This story is 811 words long.

Comment viewing options

Select your preferred way to display the comments and click "Save settings" to activate your changes.


That is going to be hard to top. Well crafted. Very high impact.

devonmalc's picture

Brotherly love

I went cold reading this and then cried from memories past.Hard hitting and very well written.The unconditional love of the brothers helps them stand up to the bigot of a father.Thank you for another great story.I hope it helped with your demons.




This was me sixty years ago the only difference is it was my sister that was there, who dried my tears but the bruises were the same.
I thank you for this story, you and have walked the same road so very long ago. ''I am now in tears''

Love Ronnie :(


“No, Daddy!”

I'm just weeping, knowing how much of this is based on reality. That such things should be allowed to happen is enough to give a person of faith doubts.


Ole Ulfson's picture


Life as it shouldn't be... Ever! But sibling love and protection instead of sibling rivalry.

Greater love has no one than this, than to lay down his life (or his body) for his friends (or siblings).

True heroism!


We are each exactly as God made us. God does not make mistakes!

Gender rights are the new civil rights!

moongoddess's picture

oh Maman

i was never physically touched... the scorn hurt just as much...
this is healing though.
Your daughter,

joannebarbarella's picture


Not the story, of course, but the situation portrayed within it. Such bravery in the face of overwhelming force. Both heroines,


Renee M's picture

Sounds Like an Electronics Story....

Transsisters! (sorry)

Heck, Some of your stories are so painful, Drea. Definite bummer.

Maybe you could add a few more elements or keywords. Also, besides 'Caution' there are more descriptive Cautions, such as Caution: Physical or Emotional Abuse....

I'd probably read any of your stories, anyway, but more warning might help out this old dyke!

Hugs and Bright Blessings,

Andrea Lena DiMaggio's picture


and done! love you!

Crying is all right in its own way while it lasts. But you have to stop sooner or later,
and then you still have to decide what to do. ― C.S. Lewis
Love, Andrea Lena

Young kids...

Young (teen, tween and younger) can be amazingly brave when attempting to protect those they love. My nephew got hit by his daddy trying to keep him from hitting my cousin again... (Hitting his son seemed to get some sense into the man and the violence stopped that time - and yes, they separated and are in different states mutually agreed.)

So - the older kid attempting to defend his younger sibling - quite believable. I'm glad you didn't take the story further... We are left with the ability to HOPE that the young kid standing up to his dad jar'd him enough so he wouldn't do any violence, this time.

Thank you for the story (I think).

Comment viewing options

Select your preferred way to display the comments and click "Save settings" to activate your changes.

Syndicate content