The Cedar Chests, Chapter 2

[Chapter 1][Chapter 2]

I showed the photograph of the young lady I discovered in the cedar chest to my mom.

‘Tom, I don’t know. I really don’t recognize her. It may very well be Henry’s wife when she was younger, or their child, now all grown up. The only thing I know about them is what I’m heard over the years. She is very beautiful. Being a black and white photo, it could be either his bride or daughter. Sorry, I can’t help you.” Mom handled me back the photograph.

Each evening after work I’d head back to the house to continue to make notes of anything that may need repairs and things I could repair or replace myself. It soon became a long list. My first project was to remove the dust and cobwebs. I took the big commercial wet/dry vacuum and this time a respirator face mask. It took most of the day to remove it. The next day I took a broom and dustpan to remove the rest. The attic was the hardest part to get the dust removed.

The following Saturday I took my girlfriend (hopefully my bride someday) to visit the house with me. Rudimentary electricity was restored, but the house needed a complete re-wiring. My girlfriend is Mary Jo Boone. The Boone’s are a well-to-do Kentucky society financial family and has traced their lineage all the way back to Daniel Boone. Dad does his company and personal banking with him. Mary Jo is a petite 5’ 2” and weighs around 100 lbs. She was homecoming queen in both high school and college. Her eyes are a captivating cobalt blue with a light hint of hazel. She has a beautiful soft voice, flowing light brown hair that falls past her shoulder blades, an hourglass figure with firm 34B breasts, a slim flat belly, and curved hips that hypnotize me when she walks in front of me. Like me, she is an only child.

In contrast, I am just a tad over 5’ 6” and weight 120. I have a long hair style that dad doesn’t care for but appears to tolerate. After all the years of construction work and lifting bundles of tobacco and hay I hoped my muscles would be more jacked, but they weren’t. I guess I inherited my mother’s low-growth genes or something. I looked more like bookworm than a construction worker. However, I do have six-pack abs.

Mary Jo was so intrigued why only female cloths where here. “Tom, these clothes are absolutely beautiful.” She pulled items out hanger after hanger from the closet and held each item up to her body. “I wonder if these clothes would fit me.” Next, she went and looked in the dresser drawers. “Is this a bra or a binding?? I didn’t think ladies of that era wore bras. These bras must have been hand-made and must have been state of the art back then!” She said surprised and placed it back in the drawer.

“Try anything on you wish.” I said.

Mary Jo, without any reservation or hesitation, quickly took off her t-shirt and jeans and tried on a few of the dresses blouses and skirts. “These are so well made. They are too big for me without alterations.”

“There’s more in the attic. I’ll show you.”

Mary Jo quickly slipped into her jeans threw her top over her head and followed me to the attic. I had put the photo back in the cedar chest. I handed it to Mary Jo.

“Oh my gosh Tom, this lady is beautiful. Look how perfect her skin looks. I positive they didn’t do airbrushing back then. Who is she? How old is she? Are these her clothes? How old are these clothes? These clothes are stunning. Oh my gosh, look, more long dresses and gowns.” I could see smiles on her face.

“You are welcome to all of them. I certainly have no need for them. Mom assumes the picture is of the wife or daughter of Henry Alexander,

“Who was he?”

Dad thinks was the original tobacco plantation foremen years ago.

“Tom.” as she looked at me with a smile and said her irresistible voice. “Will you put this gown on for me so I can see what it looks like? You’re a bit bigger than me and these may fit you better than they do me.”

“What? No. Are you serious? I’m not a crossdresser!”

“I didn’t say you were. Come on. We’re in the attic no one will see you. Please. I’ve never seen so many beautiful vintage clothes in one place in my life. Please, Tom.”

Reluctantly, I took off my work boots, jeans and long sleeve Gap t-shirt. Mary Jo helped me put the gown on and buttoned the multitude of button on the back that rose from my the small of my back up to the neckline. She turned me around and looked me over, then said in her soft voice and a big smile as she nodded,

“Well, I do declare.” (‘I do declare’ is a predominantly Southern term usually spoken by ladies and means to officially or formally affirm something.) You look amazing, Tom. I mean if I fixed you up just a tiny bit, I could easily present you at the next debutant ball.”

“That’s not funny, MJ.” She handed me three more outfits. Soon MJ wanted to go back down to the original bedroom. I was happy to get back in my male clothes and we headed back down to the third floor with her.

“I love this four-post bed. If it were mine, I put canopy on it.”

“It’s yours, I just bought this house from my dad.”

“Really?’ MJ said very excitedly. “You bought this house from your dad?” Mary Jo ran her delicate narrow fingers of her hands up and down the engravings on one of the tall bed posts closest to the doorway; then turned and commenced rummaging through the closets and chest of drawers like she just discovered a new flea market. “These clothes must all be vintage. Are they? How old are these? Have I already asked you that? Please take your clothes off again.” She said without looking up from the drawer. She pulled out what looked like a bra and held it up against her breasts. “Too old fashioned for me.” Then she hands it to me. “Please put this on, Tom.”

“What?”

“Please, Tom. Just do it.” My male pride was gone. I really struggled with it putting on the bra.

“How do I put this thing on? I only know how to take these off you.” She gave me a naughty look after that remark then helped me put it on and did some adjustments and stuffed them with vintage linen handkerchiefs. Next, was full skirt that went to the floor followed by a silk blouse.

“I declare, Tom. You really do make a beautiful southern belle.” Smiled MJ. “These fit you extremely well, except maybe in the waist.”

“Can I please take these off now?”

“Just a minute, there’s a few more items I want you to try on.” Well those few items took over an hour and half.

“I love dressing you, Tom. I hope you don’t mind. I really find this a lot of fun.” MJ got down on her knees and lifted the dress I had on. She pulled down my jockey shorts. “I see these clothes excited you.” As she pulled out my hard cock and gave me an amazing blow job. “I look forward dressing you again soon.” She tucked me back into my briefs and stood up with a smile. “So how did they feel?” She asked with a grin.

“The blow-job was incredible.”

“I certainly hope so!” She said adamantly. “I meant how do the clothes feel, silly?”

Fumbling for words since I was still panting and replenishing blood flow to my big head so I could think, “The silk blouse felt soft and smooth.”

Over two months I worked practically every Saturday and Sunday from dawn to dusk to make the house almost ninety-five percent livable. Dad’s construction workers did the bulk of the work on the house and garage for me. They put on a new roofs and gutters, painted the outside verandas and windows, and most of the inside for me. They upgraded the plumbing and installed an air conditioner since Kentucky’s summers are hot and humid, Because of the new HVAC, dad’s electricians now had to re-wire the house to today’s code and had to install a new electrical panel box. Now it could handle Mary Jo’s hair dryer, the microwave, washer and dryer and other modern-day appliances. Finally, they install ceiling fans in all the rooms that I asked for, along with one on the porch along with a swing. Dad’s carpenters helped me tear out one-bedroom wall to make the master bedroom larger, and some other walls to make some of the closets larger. Finally, after refinishing the hardwood floors, they built a covered breezeway from the house to the garage so I wouldn’t get soaked when it rained. My final project would be to the old tattered barn. I would need to consult with one of dad’s building structural inspector’s for his opinion on what I should do with it. Repair or replace it.

With Mary Jo’s advice, Dad’s crews remodeled the kitchen and bathrooms. She fell in love and wanted to keep the big crows-foot bathtub, and had it moved into the master bedroom’s bathroom. She wanted the rest of the girl’s room to stay as it was. MJ bought a canopy for the four-posted bed and put a new mattress on it. She also made many more interiors modifications and help decorate the house. Most without my knowledge or approval. It was now finally looking like a livable house.

Mary Jo dressed me each time she came over. By now I was getting used to it but didn’t tell her that. I loved that she seemed so happy doing this to me and went along with it since it was always followed by incredible sex.

In just a tad over seven or eight months or so from when I discovered the house, I was completely moved in time for fall to arrive. Mary Jo and I went to every school together since Junior High and we’ve be together ever since. I told my dad over our after-dinner bourbon I wanted to ask Mary Jo to marry me. He reminded me that it was proper for me to speak with her father, Harry Boone to formally ask for his permission for Mary Jo’s hand in marriage.

I knew that was the proper etiquette so the following week I called Mr. Boone after dinner Wednesday evening and asked if I could visit and speak to him in private on Saturday. At 11 a.m. on Saturday in suit and tie I went see him. Mary Jo greeted me at the door with a kiss on my cheek.

“Hi Mary Jo, I’m here to speak to your father.”

We went into his study. Mr. Boone closed the door and he offered me a bourbon. I told Mr. Boone I wished to marry Mary Jo and asked him for his permission for her hand in marriage. He knew I’d take over dad’s businesses so I wasn’t questioned how I would support her. He and my dad have known each other for over thirty-five or forty years. Maybe longer. He graciously granted me his permission to marry Mary Jo. We stayed and had another bourbon and he asked my how my mother and father were doing. I think Mary Jo knew I’d ask her to marry her. After all, why else would a Southern boy come all dressed up to speak to her father. I got on one knee and asked Mary Jo to be my bride the following weekend over dinner in Lexington. The next day Mary Jo came by to show my mom her ring. She was surprised I didn’t tell her.

“Frank, did you know Tom was asking Mary Jo for her hand.”

Dad just nodded.

“Why am I always the last to know?” I assumed dad told her over pillow talk.

After just under a one-year engagement we were married and she made this house on four three-quarter acres, a home. Only a lady can make a house a home.

To be continued….

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Tags: crossdressing, featured, Transgender

Category: Fiction