A TV Ghost

It’s hard for me to believe that a year ago I was a perfectly normal young man with a lovely young wife. I still have my wife but I’m anything but normal. If my wife weren’t so understanding I wouldn’t have her either. It all began late last October. We had closed on our new, old home. The house was a Victorian era home in Hebron, a small town near Chicago. On October thirtieth we took possession and moved in the next day. It seems the whole town had a reputation for being haunted. It’s almost funny how rumors and stories get started. My wife was superstitious and had been a bit reluctant to buy it but I convinced her that it was crazy to let it stop us. After all the town was full of normal people. I never put any stock in things like that. It might have been better if I had.

The house, in spite of its age, was neat and clean so the next day we moved in. Later in our first afternoon at home I decided to explore our new treasure. I had taken a cursory tour prior to the purchase and now decided to see how we could fix it up. The first and second floors were great as was the basement. It was the attic I was most interested in. I planned to fix it up by building an office for my insurance business and a computer room. It would be isolated from the rest of the house. We planned to have a family. I would be able to work at home and have lots of privacy. I headed up the stairs. The attic had electric power but the bulbs were old and dim. It seemed completely empty. As I nosed around however I spotted an old trunk shoved way back under the eaves. It looked at least as old as the house. It must have belonged to the original owner. Curiosity got the best of me and I decided to check it out. I dragged it out and pushed it close to the meager light. After much effort I finally got it open.

To my surprise it was full of antique clothing, once the pride of a Victorian girl. As I started to remove the articles I noticed what appeared to be a wisp of smoke circle up from the trunk. It was so fleeting that I decided it was an illusion and returned to my unpacking. Suddenly I felt a cold touch on my arm and became dizzy. I must have passed out for a moment. When I came to I was no longer in the attic. In fact I wasn’t sure where I was. I was in the parlor of an old house. The furnishings were at least a hundred years old. Kerosene lamps glowed on the tables. I looked down at myself and to my amazement I was physically a young boy of about ten or eleven. I looked around the room again and discovered that the architecture; that is, the window and door locations and the fireplace were those of my house. I was at home but it had been transported in time. I was myself but I wasn’t. I had my mind but not my body. Then I sensed that I had another mind in my head, that of a young boy. I was on the verge of panic when I heard a female voice call, "Victor, where are you? Come here at once." The boy in my body recognized it as his mother’s and ran, or rather we ran to the source. To say I was confused would be a mild assessment. How could I be two people at once, and how did I get here? I tried to speak but I discovered I had no control over the body I was occupying. The boy, Victor, was in complete control. His mother was an attractive but stern looking woman of perhaps thirty-five. She was clad in turn-of-the-century clothing. She had the typical tightly corseted, wasp waist look popular back then. She looked like someone out of an old movie.

Apparently Victor had done something wrong because the moment he walked into her presence she started to berate him. As I listened to the conversation I got the impression that he was a preadolescent hellion. "I’ve warned you about your conduct once too often young man. You don’t respond to the punishments your father and I have handed out so we’ve come up with something different." As she spoke I happened to look at the calendar. It was October 31, 1902. Somehow I had traveled back exactly ninety-nine years to the day. It was impossible. Whatever knocked me out was now causing hallucinations. Then again perhaps I was still unconscious and dreaming. Yet I seemed wide-awake. His mother interrupted my train of thought by describing what his punishment was going to be. Victor was going to undergo petticoat punishment. I had read about it in a short story years ago. She informed him that he would be dressed in girl’s things for the rest of the winter or longer. His screams and pleading almost broke my, or rather our, eardrums. "Tomorrow we will go to the county seat and get you fitted with your new clothes. It won’t be as bad as you think. Why I have even heard of boys getting to like them," she concluded. He, or we, carried on until bedtime. All the while this was going on I was frantically watching for my wife to show up and bring me back to reality, no such luck.

I/we finally fell asleep. As I did I was sure that when I woke up it would all be a dream and I would be back in the attic, probably with a splitting headache. His mother’s voice woke us up. I was not back in the attic and I was still sharing a body with a ten-year-old boy. It had to be a dream but I seriously doubted it. Something weird was going on. Maybe the rumors were right. Could a town or house actually be haunted? No, it had to be a dream, I just wasn’t awake. "Get up, we have a lot to do today. We’ve got to get your new clothes. From now on you will be our daughter Victoria," she announced. Victor immediately began crying and carrying on until a slap to his head quieted him down. He/we barely ate anything he was so upset. Frankly the idea of wearing female clothing didn’t appeal to me either, but I was helpless in my borrowed body. His dad hooked up the horse and buggy and we went shopping. The county seat was a much larger town about ten miles away. We arrived about noon. Dad (?) tied up the horse in front of a lady’s apparel shop and we went in.

The proprietress met us as we entered. Victor’s mother explained that she wanted a complete girl’s outfit for him. The clerks and other customers in the store all turned to look at him. I sensed that he wished the ground would open and swallow him. "I want him well corseted," his mother announced. "Make them long and tight," she continued. I don’t want him to forget he’s wearing them." We were led to the underwear counter. "I’ve got the perfect corset for him right here," she replied, holding up a formidable looking corset. She held it against our body. It was, I learned, the latest style, covering us from our armpits to well down on the thighs. I had never seen a corset up close before. Not only was it long but also very stiff, with stays placed every couple of inches around the circumference. It had a very stiff steel front fastening about a foot long which I learned was called a busk. Several hooks fastened the lower section together. We were whisked off to a fitting room where we were ordered to disrobe. Victor blushed as he stood naked in front of the attendant. He was given a short slip like garment to wear under the corset. The latter was then wrapped around him and the lacing began. I could feel the tightness as the laces were drawn together. Just when the pain became excruciating she stopped and tied the laces. He, or rather we now had a wasp waist figure. I had to admit that in spite of the pain our body did look nice. As she finished tying the laces she announced, "As soon as he gets used to being corseted the laces can be drawn in another three inches." We could barely breath as it was, what would another three inches be like? To put it bluntly, pure hell, or so I thought at the time. Victor was crying one moment and ranting the next, screaming, "I won’t wear it. I hate it. I hate you." A slap to the face quieted him down.

Silk stockings came next. The smooth fit of them felt almost erotic. As we finished the outfitting the pain of the corset began to subside. A strange, almost pleasant sensation was replacing it. After that a lot of unidentifiable clothing items were added. We were finally provided with a pretty powder blue dress and a winter coat. We were even fitted with medium high-heeled boots and a pair of regular shoes typical for that period. We had entered the store as a boy and were leaving as a girl. Only the hair was a giveaway. That didn’t last for long. A stop at a hairdresser provided a hairpiece that was worked into our hair and looked like a part of it. The clothes made us appear to be about three years older than Victor’s real age. He/we were now Victoria. He was terribly upset about the whole experience. I for some reason found it to be fascinating. In particular was the corset. I was pretty much accustomed to the discomfort by the time we reached ‘my house’ and was beginning to enjoy the pressure of the corset on erogenous parts of our body. Victoria was not quite so pleased. He was too young to have erogenous parts as yet.

Several months passed. This dream was not about to end. By this time I was thoroughly enjoying the corset. Victoria had grown to like it also. We were even wearing it to bed. occasionally I found myself wishing that the dream would never end. If and when it did I was convinced I could never give up wearing my corset. By the time winter was over Victoria was now accepted by his friends and schoolmates. Little did they realize that it was no longer a punishment, he had grown to like being a girl. His deportment was perfect. He had become an ideal young lady. His parents announced that his petticoat punishment was over. He begged them to let him stay a girl. It wasn’t too unusual back them to dress boys as girls until they matured. In some cases they never changed back. They finally gave in and agreed. Both of us were pleased. I too had come to enjoy being a girl. I especially looked forward to being fitted with new and tighter corsets. I frequently wondered what I would do if I ever returned to my old self? I had my doubts about that.

Once again it was October thirty first but now 1903. I had been a woman for an entire year and enjoyed every tight-laced minute of it, but when would it end if ever? We were invited to a Halloween party. Victoria wore a very long dress that night. Our corset was laced to the last breathless inch. We left the bedroom and headed down the stairs. Victoria’s heel caught in the hem and we went flying head over heels down stairs. When I came to I was lying on the attic floor with my wife Anne kneeling beside me. There were no kerosene lamps. The dim electric bulb lit up the attic. I had my body back. "You must have passed out," I heard my wife say. She helped me down stairs. My house was once more my house. I asked Anne what day it was? "It’s the same day you silly boy. What day did you think it was?" I looked at the calendar. It was still October 31, 2003. She wanted to call a doctor but I assured her I felt all right. I had lived a year in just a few minutes. I spent the rest of the afternoon explaining my ‘dream’ to Anne. She was intrigued by it.

The next day we went through the old trunk. It contained an old corset exactly like the one in the dream. The dress and the boots were also the same ones. I hadn’t unpacked the trunk before I passed out. How did I know what they were like? Anne was puzzled also. " are you sure you didn’t unpack the trunk?" she asked. I assured her I hadn’t, reminding her that it was still packed when we opened it together just now. The whole episode was unreal. She was as puzzled as I was. At the bottom of the trunk we found a large envelope. We were shocked when we opened it. It contained a few old photos of a young boy including one of him dressed as a girl. A newspaper clipping was included. It read, "Local boy, Victor-------, was killed last evening when he tripped going down stairs on his way to a Halloween party. He was wearing a girl’s long dress and apparently caught his heel in the hem and lost his balance." The address was ours. The clipping was dated Nov. 1, 1903. I almost fainted again when I looked at the picture. I could have been me as a ten-year-old boy! My wife was dumbfounded. "It has got to be pure coincidence. Yet I wonder about the rumors?" she said. So did I.

I tried to put most of the incident out of my mind but I kept thinking about dressing as a girl. It was eating into my soul so to speak. More and more I wanted to wear a corset. The sensations I had felt were still very real and pleasurable. I had to experience them in real life. Finally one day when my wife was shopping I went back to the attic to look for the trunk and the corset. I was actually afraid to go up there but the desire for the corset was too strong. I took it out of the trunk and literally ran downstairs with it in my haste to get away from the attic. It was a little too small but I managed to get it on and partially laced. I was so engrossed in what I was doing that I didn’t hear my wife drive up. She walked in and there I was standing in front of the mirror wearing only the old corset and a pair of her nylons. After her initial surprise she wasn’t angry. She did mention that I looked terrible. It just didn’t fit right. "The way you talked and acted when we discussed your dream made me wonder how long it would be before you wanted to wear those things," she said. "Now I know. You didn’t have to sneak it. I don’t care. My brother likes to wear woman’s clothes and so did my dad before he died so I’m quite used to it. Mom never minded their idiosyncrasy so why should I?" Was I hearing right? It sounded like she was giving an ok to wear a corset. Since the old corset didn’t fit I decided to return it to the trunk. As I closed the trunk I thought I felt something touch my arm. A cold chill ran down my back. I had that feeling; you probably have had it too, that someone or something was watching you. I turned quickly but saw nothing. I could have sworn I heard a soft voice say, "We want to be a girl." I thought again about the town rumors briefly as I ran from the attic. My wife had a frightened look on her face but said nothing when I told her about my experience. She just looked over her shoulder. To calm her I said, "My imagination is working overtime don’t let yours."

A week or so later I asked her about her dad and brother commenting that I had never noticed anything ‘unusual’ about them. She indicated that her dad was very discrete about his activities. "Dad had no idea that I knew about it. I had secretly seen him late at night several times. My brother however, was quite open about it when I was younger but became more discrete as I grew older. When I was maybe ten or so he used to have me lace his corsets. I loved to do it and felt badly when he stopped asking me. It was fun watching his body change shape as I pulled the laces tighter and tighter and he seemed to enjoy it immensely. Dad also wore corsets, even under his suits. It was quite obvious even to a young girl. Since then I have always wondered why some of you men like to wear them." Why did she say," Some you men?" Was it another hint? Maybe she would enjoy lacing me up as she did her brother?

The memory of the ‘dream’ was still very vivid in my mind. The desire to dress as a woman was becoming an obsession. Every night I would see Victor in my dreams just as in the first one, if that had been just dream. I had serious doubts about that. During the day I kept imagining I heard that voice whispering the same thing, "We want to be a girl." Then it dawned on me; it was Victor’s voice! While I would hear it randomly anywhere in the house it always was heard when I passed one unused bedroom and the attic stairs. I never heard it out side of the house. Was I going crazy or was it a ghost? Ridiculous, there are no such things. But, if it was a ghost, what did it want? I even had thoughts of being possessed. I tried to avoid mentioning it to my wife. I didn’t want to scare her. She was already wound up enough about the earlier events plus the town rumors. It was making me so tense I had trouble working or even watching TV. I seemed always tired and lost my appetite and a few pounds. Day after day she noticed that I was always nervous and would ask me what the matter was. I was always evasive but I was sure she knew. She would often tell me that whatever was bothering me I shouldn’t fight it. How could I tell my wife that I wanted to dress as a woman?

Victor’s presence had now become very real to me. I was sure that for some reason he wanted me to dress up as we did in the first "dream". Perhaps he was trying to give me a message. Had I always had a subconscious desire to dress up and he was trying to help me fulfill my hidden desire? If he was, he had certainly made me conscious of wanting to. He had come to like the lifestyle and had died as a boy/girl. Did he have to transfer the desire to someone else in order to leave this world? I longed for the sensation of being held in the grasp of a tight corset. How could a dream have been so vivid? I had never given a thought to corsets. They were something one might see in a period movie, nothing more. I had no idea of what one must feel like and yet in the dream it was very vivid. Of course the weird part was that I had come to love the feel of something I had never experienced. Then there was the voice urging me to dress as a woman, not an ordinary modern girl, but rather a woman of a hundred years ago. I felt I had to do it, if for no other reason that perhaps the voices would stop once "it" got what it wanted.

One day my wife confessed that she was now having dreams in which she dressed her son in corsets and period female clothes. She was also hearing a feminine voice urging her to dress her husband that way. Her waking hours were punctured by a female voice saying, "You must do it, he deserves it." I asked her to describe the clothes she wore in her dreams. I had never described the woman to her. I was shocked when her description of the clothes was that of the woman in my dreams. She was a bit skeptical until I identified a couple of things she had neglected to mention. Now we both were worried about what it all meant. We were convinced that, if not the town, at least our house had a "problem". Two former rational people were now superstitious and frightened. What were we to do? We could call a member of the clergy and ask to have our house exorcized. In this day and age he would probably think we were crazy or seeing too many movies. We could move. We couldn’t afford a move and a buyer might wonder why we wanted to sell after only living in the house for a few weeks. As a start I reluctantly dragged the trunk down from the attic. The whole time I sensed that something was trying to hold me back but wasn’t quite strong enough. I thought I could feel a touch on my arm and I experienced the chill that always accompanied a trip to the dreaded attic. I dumped the trunk in the middle of the yard. I then doused it with gasoline and torched it. Maybe our problems would be over. I hoped they would. This business was disrupting our life. I watched as the last embers lost their glow. I then took a shovel and spread the ashes around. The old trunk was gone. My anticipated relief didn’t last long. I heard the voice again. I resigned my self to the idea that I would have to live with it.

A few days later I decided to proceed with the conversion of the attic into an office. I could run my insurance business from my house and save on office rent. Very few people ever came to my old office in the city. Almost all the business was conducted by mail. I intended to have a contractor do the work but I wanted to get an idea of how to layout the space. As usual when I approached the attic door I heard the voice. I switched on the lone bulb and entered. I was terrified. There on the floor was the trunk. My wife heard me scream and came running. As soon as she saw it she grabbed me by the arm and pulled me out and downstairs. We agreed the office would have to wait. There was a small unused room on the first floor that would work temporarily. Something had to be done. That evening as we sat talking my wife had an odd look on her face. Finally there was a lull in the conversation. What took place next caught me off guard. She looked at me and said, "Do you suppose that if, and just if, you were to dress as a woman for a little while it might satisfy our what ever it is?" I was so taken by surprise that all I could mutter was, "It might be worth a try." Ever since that first ‘dream’ I had wished for this moment. We discussed the matter for a long time. "You could just dress for short periods. That might satisfy ‘it’. I’ll see what I can order tomorrow. The sooner we start hopefully the sooner this ordeal will end," she said adding, "Ever since you had that first experience we both knew that you had a desire to dress in female clothes. Leave everything to me. I’ve forgotten more about woman’s clothes than you’ll ever know."

For several days she was busy pouring over Sears and other catalogs. A few days later packages started arriving. Soon I would know if I liked the clothes as much in real life as I did in my dreams. I would experience the tight grasp of my corset. Would she find one like my dream corset? Some how I doubted it. They went out of style eighty years ago or more. I could hardly wait. Finally one morning as I came out of the shower she was waiting for me. An array of feminine garments covered the bed. The first item I saw was my corset. Suddenly I was apprehensive. It was incredibly long and very stiff. It was what I wanted, but could I wear it? She had already loosened the lacing. Before I put it on I measured it out of curiosity. It was twenty-two inches long in back. The front was even longer to accommodate the attached bra cups. In seconds she had it wrapped around me and had fastened the front clasp. She stepped behind me and started tightening the laces. She repeatedly tightened them. It was sheer ecstasy as I felt the corset become tighter and tighter. Finally just as it reached the point of pain she stopped and tied the laces. "There’s plenty of adjustment left. As soon as you get used to it I’ll tighten you a little more." I glanced in the wall mirror after she placed falsies in the bra cups. I had a woman’s shape. She looked me over and seemed to smile approvingly. I sat down and she proceeded to roll nylon stockings on my legs. I stood up again so she could fasten the to the four garters on each leg. "How does it feel so far?" she asked. The only word I could think of was that much overused one, "Fabulous."

I was rigidly encased in a corset from my armpits to the top of my thighs. It should have been uncomfortable. I could hardly bend, but I was so enthralled by the whole thing that I loved it. The pressure on my breasts, stomach and pelvic area was very erotic. It was far, far better than my dreams. My dress was a pale blue, my favorite color, and very form fitting with an above the knee hem line. "I have more dresses and some blouses and miniskirts for you also. She had me sit at her dressing table where she proceeded to make up my face. With that done she placed a light brown wig on my head. As she put earrings on me she said, "These look cheap. We should have your ears pierced. They look better and don’t fall off." The last item was a pair of black patent leather pumps with three-inch heels. "As soon as you get used to these I have some with higher heels. No more flats for you." It wasn’t many minutes and I was able to manage walking in them quite well. I was now a girl. I couldn’t tear myself away from the mirror. It wasn’t me. "You look lovely. I wish I looked half as good. But now you need a new name. Since ‘he’ started all of this how about Victoria?" I wasn’t sure but I finally agreed. Of course I might still have to be John for business and legal purposes. The idea of wearing all of these incredibly sexy things, particularly the corset, was thrilling beyond words. I could hardly wait until I could feel it fully tightened. I was still a bit wobbly on my heels as she helped me down the stairs. "I don’t want another Victoria incident on these stairs," she remarked. She reminded me that back at the turn of the century girls wore their corsets to bed. "I imagine that you will want to do that also." I had done it in the ‘dream’ so why not in real life?

We had spent most of the morning lacing me up and getting me dressed and presentable. We had yet to have breakfast. Anne terrified me as she suggested that we have breakfast at a small restaurant in town. "Someone will recognize me or I’ll get arrested," I cried out. "Nonsense, you look as good as any real girl and better than most. You are overdressed for the time of day but people will just think we are going somewhere. Don’t worry. If it will make you feel better I’ll change into a fancy dress and heels." As she went to change I took another look at myself. I decided she was right. I did look nice. At the restaurant we were seated without incident. The server, a middle-aged lady, did comment that we both looked very pretty. I was flattered. Anne decided to order for both of us since my voice would be the giveaway. After breakfast Anne drove us into Chicago for the afternoon. I learned the secret of using the ladies room. Don’t stand up. I would have rather stood up; sitting down on a low toilet in a tight corset is not easy. Standing up afterward is even harder. We had dinner and took in a movie and went home. I was pleased with the approving looks that men gave us. Anne was not too pleased when I smiled at a couple of them.

My first day as a woman was as far as I was concerned a huge success. Now I had to figure out how to set up my insurance agency. After we moved to Hebron I gradually lost many of my old customers at renewal time. I did pick up new local clients. I decided that I would change the agency’s name and list Victoria ------ as the new agent. I wanted to convert the attic but that old trunk was the stumbling block. How it got back in the house after I watched it burn up both amazed and frightened me. I could still sense Victor’s presence. The voices stopped. Every once in a while I could feel hands running over my body. It was if ‘he’ was making sure my corset was tight. I finally decided that I would shove the old trunk far back under the eaves where I originally found it and have the carpenter frame the office space around it. That way it would be out of sight and hidden forever. If Victor’s spirit lived in it there should be no problem since they are reputed to be able to pass through walls. I had no idea of how to get rid of it so I would just have to live with it. His ‘visits’ were becoming less frequent. My nightly dreams stopped. Apparently he was pleased that I was now a twenty-four/seven woman, as he wanted to be.

My business went well. The local ladies liked dealing with a female agent or rather agents; my wife was my assistant. When we moved in this entire Victor thing started and I never had a chance to meet my neighbors. That worked out for the best. When I did meet them I was Victoria. I loved my new life. My waist had succumbed to the staylace and been reduced to the point where my corset laces met. Anne sent for new ones three inches smaller. A month later the new corset was closed. Anne measured my waist. It was a mere twenty-two inches. That was the same size Victor had when he died. As Anne announced my size to me I felt Victor put his arms around my corseted waist. A voice whispered, "We made it. Don’t stop." I never sensed Victor again. I never did thank him for getting me into corsets and woman’s clothes. I was grateful even though he scared us half to death.

In public I always wore loose clothes to hide the fact that I was tightly corseted. In spite of that, it was obvious that I had a lovely figure. My clients and even total strangers on the street would compliment me on my figure. My waist, with a new round of corsets, was now only twenty inches, five inches smaller than Anne’s waist. She was glad for me but not happy in general with the situation. One day she called me into her room. She was standing holding a corset similar to mine. I was thrilled at the thought of lacing my lovely wife into a corset. They are the sexiest garments ever conceived for women, and of course men, to wear. I moved behind her and began tightening the laces, stopping before the corset became uncomfortable. She had always worn pantyhose so stockings were new to her. At first she helped me with mine but I soon learned how to fasten the garters, especially those in back. She had no idea how to fasten hers so I took over the task until she learned the trick of it. When she was laced and stockings fastened I held her close to me. Now I knew why men like to hold corseted women. But to hold one when one is himself corseted is an incredible turn on. Anne told me that she loved the feeling of the tight corset squeezing her body. "Now I know why you like it so much," she laughed. It was great. Now that her waist was close to mine we could swap clothes.

I have been enjoying the bliss of wearing corsets and pretty clothes for about a year, I never intend to give them up. My body is so accustomed to being supported by the corset that my muscles have atrophied and cannot support my frame for more than a few minutes. I don’t mind. If I have to be a prisoner, being one to a corset is fine with me. We have thrown out all my male clothes. We travel everywhere as two sisters. The townspeople and my clients know us the same way. To avoid the possibility of others thinking we are strange we occasionally date the local single males, always being careful to not encourage them sexually. I’m sure there are a lot of frustrated men in town. Incidentally they all seem fascinated by the girls in corsets. Actually the corsets help keep the men at bay. Corsets are like a suit of impenetrable armor. When they try to feel you all they touch is a mass of steel ribs.

There will be some talk in town in a few months. Maybe it was the increased sexuality of being corseted. Maybe it just happened. Anne will have to give up her corsets for a while. We are expecting a son. I can just hear the gossip, "How come one of the ------- sisters is pregnant? I wonder who the father is?" Of course we could move. We would rather stick it out and keep them guessing. How will we raise our child? Not many children have a woman for a father. I could never give up my corsets and things for any reason. If he grows up with it he probably won’t think too much about a lady father. Keeping him from telling our secret will be difficult. Anne and I have discussed his future. We are trying to select a name that can be easily changed to a feminine one. We have tentatively decided that since Anne, Victor and I found great pleasure in wearing corsets it would be a shame to deny our son the same. Of course we would have to dress him as a girl from birth to avoid later problems with his identity. We will corset him at a young age. Eight might be early enough. The younger one starts the easier one adapts to and accepts them. Also, we wouldn’t want to deprive him of an early opportunity to experience the exquisite pleasures of being tightly laced into a long, stiffly boned corset and feel the tug of his garters on his silky smooth nylon stockings. In retrospect I wish that my mother had corseted me at an early age. I missed many years of pleasure but I still have many to look forward to. Thank you, rest in peace Victor. Someday when our ‘son’ is grown and loves the feeling of being tightly laced he will be glad we did it. Who knows, he may even have a lovely wife as I have who will delight in tightening his laces. Maybe they will have a son?

THE END