Peer Pressure
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

The door burst open and in came Gaz and Foxy with three cases of beer. All three were landed with flamboyance upon the low table by the cabin’s fireplace in front of Yogi, Lonnie and Bull.

“You should have seen him, Guys,” panted Gaz. “He was brilliant! It was unbelievable! I mean, they asked for proof of age, and he just said: “Thank you young man – you are very kind – but this is my 26 year old son come to help me carry my order to the car”. Wow! Like the guy behind the counter just said “Yes Ma’am” and took the cash!”

“Where is he”, said Yogi.

“He is coming up behind with the tequila,” said Foxy. “He is finding it hard walking in high heels.”

The boys laughed together.

The door opened. In the doorway stood what appeared to be a woman. A mature woman well dressed in tailored evening pants and loose flowing top, her hair drawn up with a mass of curls at the crown, her makeup dressy. She wore heels at she called a holder bag. A manicured hand reached into the bag and drew out a bottle of liquor.

“Stand when a lady enters,” she directed in a high tone. “And then somebody pour me a drink!”

The room cheered.

She raised her hand and said in a deep voice that betrayed him: “Thanks guys. Now I am going to strip for your pleasure”.

A slow hand clap started. Off came the top – undone at the front and then one shoulder then the other. There was a cheer as the garment fell to the floor revealing shapewear beneath, with gel inserts visible in the cups. He turn to shake his butt at the boys by the fire before allowing the loose pants to fall. There was a wolf whistle. He turned back and pulled out each insert to a cheer.

“I will need help getting out of this I think,” he said, stroking the sides of the garment that had given him a very shapely figure. “But I can take off the hair.”

It was not a wig. Charles had hair long enough to be drawn up. It was a wiglet of curls pinned in place, and once removed he could remove the clips and let his hair fall down. Immediately a beer was thrust into his hand. It promised to be a good night for the boys.

The cabin was owned by Lonnie’s uncle and was rarely used. It was perfect for them to get together and get drunk. The only problem was getting the liquor. Dressing as a middle aged woman was Yogi’s idea. His aunt had recently died after complications with breast cancer. The clothes were her. He had been told to give them to charity, but he had a crazy idea.

Charles was the obvious choice. He was always doing the acting and the accents. He had pretended to be Bull’s mother over the phone once, to get him out of trouble at school. Could he pass as a woman? The guys were keen to find out.

It was an adventure. A simple test. Gaz had not been let in on the plan. Could he get away with it with a little help from Foxy and his sister?

It was actually the wig that gave him away. But as Foxy’s sister said, he could use his own hair.

Going in front of strangers was the next challenge. Going to the mall escorted by Bull. Charles was worried. If he got caught out there, he would never live it down. It was time for peer pressure to be brought to bear.

How long can one say no to five? They urged him as a group, and in pairs and even one on one. He had to fold. He had to agree. It was only a matter of time.

“We will back you,” said Foxy. “And people won’t mess with the girl on Bull’s arm. But lets make sure you don’t get outed. We just have to make you look nothing like a guy.”

That sounded better than Bull’s strong arm. The truth is that he was the biggest, but he still looked like a big kid. They all did, including Charles, but as a woman he could be any age. It was just what they wanted. All he had to be was an age to buy liquor. No – older than that – an age to not get asked for ID.

There were so many fake IDs floating around that liquor stores refused to accept them if the young man in possession did not have a full beard, and not a fake one. But a woman?

Now it had been proved. Now they had more beer than they could drink in a night – way more. And the tequila. That would be the chaser. That would just finish them off, which it did.

Even in the morning Bull said, to nobody in particular: “I would love to see Cherry again. I am missing her already.” That was the name they had given to Charles’ alter ego.

“Only when we run out of booze,” said Charles, holding his head. There were still traces of makeup coming off in his hands.

There seemed enough to tide them over, but when the next getaway was planned Lonnie announced the bad news that for the first time in over a year, the cabin was being used by his uncle for the entire school break. They had plans for at least a week there.

“What we should do is go down to my family’s beachhouse,” said Gaz. “They won’t be there. My Dad and stepmom are travelling and my stepsisters are at home. I have the keys but I am not supposed to be there. I can tell them that I will be at the cabin.”

“I can’t,” said Lonnie, for obvious reasons. “If it is not our cabin my parents will want to know there is a responsible parent.”

“My parents could be difficult too,” said Yogi. “If it is a whole week they will expect supervision too.”

“Why don’t we have my mother go with us as responsible parent?” said Gaz.

“But your mother lives in Britain,” said Charles.

“I see where you are going with this, Gaz,” said Yogi. He turned to Charles and said: “All you have to do is pretend to be Mrs Lennox and tell my parents that you will be with us.”

“None of our parents have even met Gaz’s Mom,” said Charles. “You think a phone call will be all they need?”

“Maybe not,” said Foxy. “Maybe not just the voice? Maybe Cherry can come back as Mrs. Lennox? What is your Mom’s name, Gaz?”

“Annabelle,” said Gaz, thinking for a moment how long it had been since he had seen her.

“Annabelle,” Foxy cooed. “What do you say, Annabelle?”

Charles sighed. He really did not want this, or so he told himself.

The voice came first. He decided to go with a British accent. Somehow it made her character seem more real, and very, very responsible. Charles thought that if he called Lonnie’s parents and did a good job, it might be just enough.

“Good evening. Annabelle Lennox speaking. Gareth’s mother. Gareth. Oh, Gaz his friends call him. Yes hello. Pleased to meet you. They were so disappointed that the cabin could not be available for the break. Never mind because I have offered to take them to the beach. Gareth’s father’s beach house. Actually my beach house. No, I will be there throughout. Yes, we could meet if you like. I would love to. Thank you so much. I am looking forward to it. Ta ta!”

“Well?”

“This is turning to shit,” said Charles. “Lonnie, your parents said that they know the Lennox family beach house and the people who live next door who will be there over summer. Who are they Gaz?”

“Oh yes,” said Gaz. “The Sandersons and the Da Costas. Brother and sister and maybe their families. Mrs. Da Costa is a bit nosy I guess, but the houses are well separated. Both are private. They can’t see us partying.”

But Charles had more to reports: “You may have guessed that your parents want to meet Annabelle before we head off.”

“Mine do too,” said Yogi. “Perhaps we could deal with that at the same time?”

“Convincing a shopkeeper is one thing, but two sets of parents in a home setting? Stop nodding. You guys have more confidence than I do.” Charles was beginning to look concerned.

“You don’t have to do what we all would like you to do,” said Bull.

“I think all we need is a better makeover than I can do,” said Foxy. “We need to take you to see the professionals. So we will need to chip in.”

All the boys were well off. There was no shortage of money in the kitty. There were options. One of the beauty shops offered “services to the transgender community”. That seemed like the way to go.

Yogi’s parents agreed to host the meeting. It was after work on a Wednesday. Drinks only – tea or wine perhaps, and a few snacks, sweet or savory. Lonnie’s parents would be there, Bull’s mother too, and Foxy was coming under instruction from his mother.

“What about your other friend, Charles?” asked Yogi’s mother.

“Oh they already know Mrs. Lennox,” said Foxy. “She is a really classy lady. British, you know. Like proper high class British.”

And as if on cue, the door bell rang and Yogi’s father went to usher Annabelle and “her son” Gaz into the room.

“The adults in the room were ready to greet their guest, but Yogi, Lonnie and Foxy were transfixed. The woman who entered the room may as well have stepped off another planet. She was dressed in a style that hinted that she had spent today charming the male vice-presidents of Fortune 500 companies with a mixture of intellect and sex, with perhaps a little more of the second. The wiglet was gone. These must be extensions. The eyebrows were plucked rather than brushed and masked. The lips plumped. A pair of breasts that looked real were on display.

Beside her stood Gaz, with a look that said how proud he was of his beautiful and sophisticated mother, but included a wink to his pals.

“I am not sure exactly what I have agreed to,” said Annabelle standing tall and ramrod straight. “But I can tell you that I have two boys – Gareth here is the younger – and I have always believed that boys need structure, discipline and enough exercise to exhaust them to an early night.”

Who could disagree? The other parents couldn't. Perhaps they felt slightly inadequate?

“Are you boys happy for Mrs Lennox to take charge?” Lonnie’s father asked the boys. She sounds to me like a hard taskmaster.”

“Mrs. Lennox is cool,” blurted Yogi. He was looking right at Annabelle with unconcealable admiration. Where the hell was Charles?

“Tea, thank you,” said Annabelle in response to the question. “Do you have Earl Grey? Just lemon. No milk or cream, thank you.”

She sat down and crossed her legs. Foxy watched the two fathers leer, but Yogi too, and he himself was not unaffected.

“My husband lives here but I live in England these days,” Annabelle explained to the inquisitive parents. We both have our own money. The beach house is my little pied de terre on this side of the pond. I was going to stay there alone, but we have plenty of room and it is so much better with young people around.”

She had them lapping out of her hand whatever sweet thing she was dishing up.

“The Sandersons? Yes. I haven’t met them, but I know who they are. He has a sister? Yes, I knew that. And they will be there? If I have time I will pay them a call. But what time these young fellows allow I will spend on some work that I have to do. Financial publications, that is my area. I don’t write it – I just publish. Oh dear, look at the time.”

It must have been over an hour, but she was gone, and it seemed as if the room had lost class and energy. Everybody was disappointed.

“What a fabulous woman,” said Yogi’s mother addressing a room that had somehow been struck dumb.

Everybody nodded. Yogi just said: “Wow!” and received some strange looks.

It seemed that the end of the week could not come soon enough for anybody. But the morning arrived that the sleek 7 seat SUV turned up at each house to collect the boys, with Gaz at the wheel.

“I sit on this side, but over there the wheel is over here,” Annabelle explained. But Charles did not have a full license. “Everything is back to front here, but Gareth is a very good driver, aren’t you sweetheart?”

“Stop fucking doing that,” said Gaz after they had sped away.

“For the time being I am going to continue to be Annabelle,” she intoned haughtily. “I need the practice. And you boys need to get used to having a lady in your midst.”

The waited until they were almost at the beach before they stopped for a liquor. It was best that the beer be cold, and the pinot gris as well.

“What the hell is pinot gris?” somebody asked.

“A lady’s drink,” said Annabelle. “Just in case we have visitors. I will be drinking pinot gris.”

And that observation spelled the difficulty for Annabelle. It seemed that for a while this disguise could not be discarded. But as it happened even if they had all wanted to see Charles return that would not be easy. Yes, the hair was now a fixture, and the breasts too, although the adhesive did need changing if the costume required breasts to stay where they belong.

That meant outfits that a woman would wear. The clothes in the wardrobes of both Gaz’s mother and Foxy's sister’s back up wardrobe were a fit, allowing for a mixture of styles to be thrust into Annabelle’s suitcase – an eclectic mixture of haute couture and summer youth, but it seemed that everything looked good on Annabelle.

“Class always shines through,” she said. From somewhere an endless series of pithy aphorisms seem to emerge to the fascination of the boys.

Drinks were arrayed and consumption was well underway when the doorbell of the beach house rang.

“I had better just straighten myself out,” said Annabelle. “Stall the caller, Gaz. If that requires inviting them in, then do that.”

It did. It was Mr. Sanderson from next door. He had been told that Mrs. Lennox was at home and he wanted to meet her.

He was standing in the living room in front of a bunch of adolescents drinking alcohol when Annabelle glided into the room in a “beach to bar” robe with her long smooth legs exposed and her sun decorated sandals showing off painted toenails.

“Welcome,” she said. “Have the boys offered you a drink? Is this for me? How civilized!”

“I am Devon Sanderson,” he said, seeming to blush. He took her hand gently as if handling a treasured artifact.

“I do love Devon,” Annabelle trilled. “Such a beautiful part of the country. My country that is. Have you been to Devon, Devon?”

“Umm, no,” he said. He was looking at the drinks. Gaz invited him to have a beer and he accepted.

“Would you get me a glass of Pinot Gris, darling Gareth?” she asked. He scurried off.

“I have to say that I find the drinking laws here in North Carolina hard to understand, being from the other side of the pond,” she said. “I mean, a person in this state can have sex at 16, die for their country at 18, but cannot by liquor until they are 21?! It just seems odd.”

“I hadn’t thought about it,” said Devon. It was true that he had no view on it, at all. He just liked hearing her talk.

“Very strict as I understand it. I am breaking the law by allowing these boys, all 18 or close to it, to drink at all. Apparently, there are some exceptions that apply - liquor consumed for religious purposes – I am not sure what that might be. Or apparently educational purposes? What can that be?”

Back in the UK you have to be 18 to buy alcohol or drink in public, but if you are with a responsible parent you can drink from 16 years old in your home or even in a pub with a meal – beer or cider only. Am I naughty for applying British rules in my own British household?”

“Maybe a little,” he smiled. She smiled back, holding back the desire to respond. “Do you have any dinner plans?”

“Something simple,” she said. “Forgive me but we have been travelling today, so we will relax tonight to be ready for tomorrow.” It was a sensible way to dismiss an invitation, which made what she did next all the more inexplicable.

“Well then you might consider coming out on my launch tomorrow; all of you?”

Annabelle cast a glance at the assembled company and then said: “That would be marvellous! When do we need to be ready?”

But when Devon Sanderson had gone, Gaz asked the obvious question.

“I looked around and everybody wanted to go,” said Annabelle. She looked around again. Who would back her up.

“He has a big launch,” said Lonnie. “And he has two daughters who are super hot!”

“I have always wanted to go on a launch,” said Bull.

“I think I have fucked up.” It was Charles in her clothes rather than Annabelle who slumped into an armchair. “How the hell am I going to get out of this? I will have to cry off sick.”

“Are you kidding?” said Gaz. “He is expecting you. We just need to get you properly prepared. You have already been into Mom’s wardrobe. Bring back Annabelle right now. She is our ticket to a great day out.”

“Honestly, you are the complete package,” said Lonnie.

“Do you really think so?” said Annabelle smiling softly. She had just realized that the answer would be a long bubble bath and a good sleep. She would need to rise early to get ready.

Upstairs she found the perfect swimming costume. It was one piece high at the top and had a huge keyhole to display her fake breasts. She could even swim in it, if she could find a way to conceal the bulge in her groin. The answer lay where it always does – on the internet. All the answers, but she would need Foxy’s help too.

In the morning Annabelle appeared at breakfast with curlers in her hair.

“Foxy and I took the crash course in hairdressing last night,” she said. “And after I have toileted comes the tuck.” She held up a roll of waterproof sleek tape. “I just hope that you boys appreciate just how much Annabelle Lennox is doing for you?”

“We owe you big time, Chas,” somebody said.

“Annabelle,” she said firmly. “Gaz must call me Mummy but the rest of you may call me Annabelle.”

“You don’t have to do what we all would like you to do,” said Bull.

She had shaved the entire area. The recommendation was that this should be done as late as possible and that while urination was impossible, the bowel should be completely cleared. It was the first enema that Annabelle had ever had, She was expecting it to be unpleasant, but it wasn’t. It was actually very enjoyable. That is more than can be said about the taping, which she and Foxy decided should be as tight as bearable. But the effect was startling. Even naked the crotch was nothing more than a slight camel toe.

Foxy wound what was left of the tape around Annabelle’s middle to give her a waist. With the bathing on she looked perfect. The loose floral dress just fitted over the top. He curls were brushed out, and there was a piece of fabric matching the dress as a hairband. Just a little natural makeup and Annabelle was perfect.

They took the SUV down to the Marina. Waiting for them was Katie, one of Devon Sanderson’s two daughters, every bit as gorgeous as Lonnie had described.

You must be Annabelle,” she said, looking right past the boys to the patrician looking woman in their midst. “Daddy is so looking forward to having you aboard.”

The boat was massive. White with stainless steel rails. They boarded to a rear deck through the salon forward of that, past a galley and dining area, to the empty wheelhouse and stairs down, but from there up to the flying bridge and sundeck. Devon Sanderson stood there in white shorts and a striped top, his younger daughter Tania by his side.

“Welcome aboard,” he said. He took Annabelle by both hands and kissed each cheek. Annabelle may have blushed. She certainly was pleased that she had placed perfume in those very spots – a fragrance called “Lust”.

“This looks very comfortable, Devon,” she said.

“And there is no swell or chop at all today, so that comfort should continue,” she said. “Boys, there is no crew aboard so you will all have to lend a hand. Katie will show you what to do. We are casting off immediately, so hop to it.”

They needed no further direction. They knew that today was going to be great. Annabelle has come through again. A little bit of peer pressure and she was able to continue to do what she did so well. They would leave her with Mr. Sanderson at the controls. They had work to do, and then would enjoy the pleasures of the lower decks, with Katie and Tania.

After putting the vessel through its paces and covering some miles at speed on the glistening sea, the captain of the boat called out: “We will head into that bay over there and anchor off for a swim and later some lunch,” he said.

The boys were told what to do. They dropped to anchor and launched the tender boat for the possibility of going ashore.

They noticed that Annabelle was clinging to the arm of Devon Sanderson when they had come downstairs. He said to her: “Let me show you below decks as I promised, and then maybe we might have a swim?”

“That would be lovely, Devon,” she said. She seemed to give him a wink.

The more perceptive of the young men may have felt that something had changed.

Time passed.

“Dad has taken her down to have a look at the master stateroom,” Katie said with a knowing smile. “But that was a while ago. Maybe we should listen at the door?”

I don’t think that your father will get too far with my mother,” said Gaz with a wry smile. “In fact if he tries, I would expect him to be up top very quickly, and that will probably be the end of this trip.” He had a vision of a very unpleasant discovery.

Lonnie must have had the same vision, and a more unpleasant aftermath. He said: “Maybe I should go down at just see that they are okay. I wont go in or anything. Just listen at the door like Katie says. Come on Katie. You show me where.”

“Maybe we should not have put so much pressure on,” said Bull, to nobody in particular.

Lonnie and Katie disappeared down the stairs.

Tania said: “Dad has been pretty lonely since Mom died, and your mom seems really nice. I sort of hope that they have some fun together … so long as you don’t mind.”

I don’t want anyone getting hurt,” said Gaz. It could have meant anything. He left it at that.

It was only a short time before Lonnie and Katie came back up into the saloon. Katie was giggling. Lonnie looked a little shocked.

“They are getting it on,” said Katie. “So I figure, why not. What do you say Lonnie? There are three other staterooms aboard. Let’s make this the love boat.”

“Well, from what I can hear Annabelle is having a great time,” said Lonnie, to reassure his friends. The other noises made it very clear what was going on. It was exactly what he had planned for the rest of the afternoon, and now the light was green for go.

Gaz looked at Tania. She looked at him. She said to her sister: “You take Number 3 and we’ll take 4.” She never even asked him. She just took control. He liked that. She led and he followed, eagerly.

That left Bull and Foxy sitting there alone. The boat seemed to rock, even though the water was flat calm.

“What is going on?” said Bull. “Annabelle is not a woman. Mr Sanderson must know that by now. How can they be doing it?”

“What do you mean that Annabelle is not a woman?” said Foxy. “Sometimes you are such a lunkhead, Bull. It is not what hangs belong your navel that decides who you are. It must be clear to you by now that this is not Charles pretending. This is Annabelle. She is out now. Out and free and proud, and she has a man who wants her for who she is. To be honest, I am jealous of her.”

“Are you telling me that you want to be like her?” said Bull.

“No. I don’t want to be like her. I am like her. Just not enjoying it the way she is.” It was hard for Foxy to say it, but now it was said. Only between the two of them maybe, but at least one other person now knew. Doing Annabelle’s hair and makeup over recent days had just brought things to a head. It was now officially a problem. Dysphoria.

“I think maybe I knew, Foxy,” said Bull. “I just don’t say much.”

And to prove a point he stood up and stepped over to Foxy and stroked Foxy’s smooth cheek. Foxy leaned into his touch and looked up at him in a mixture of fear and excitement, and maybe something else.

Stateroom 2 was available, and they would make it theirs.

The End

© Maryanne Peters

Note: Refer to my Blog "250"