Chapters Dollhood: A Woman's Choice Book 1 Chapter 2
We grew along with these tales and this life for many years, and our childhood was like anyone else’s, really; quite carefree for the most part. Pappa rarely let his business influence us, and only took Mother with him to events or dinners, at the bank or otherwise, so our large estate was like an oasis we rarely left, nor did we really want to. Living in the big city like I do now with John, I often miss those days just for the quiet. Early on, I had a deep-seated dream of travelling the world, like the adventurous men we saw during our thirty minutes of family telly-time after dinner, but a drive in the autocarriage with Nanny to the shops in Reading was usually enough to satisfy me. Wearing my small training gag and a bow around my wrists as we walked down the streets, I remember the stares and murmurs just out of earshot, which only got more prominent the older I became.
I knew why they stared, though: they just wanted to be like me: nearly nobility and a future member of the exclusive Society of Dollhood. But all of them were like Nanny, who walked beside me with a hand against my back, free to do anything she liked, whether it was driven by noble intentions or those of lust, hate, jealousy, sloth, anything at all sinful. As much as they wanted, these people simply did not have the means to become a true woman; an untainted, essential woman, and I thought that was really sad. To tell you the truth, I was usually uncomfortable in public for this reason, a sort of guilt I carried around when I saw all those unlucky people in town, so my yearnings for travel and adventure faded with age.
Chastity on the other hand had taken to the nursery stories of untamed wilderness and proletariat horror much faster than I did. I think she felt unsafe just stepping over the threshold of our front gate, to be frank. Even an untended garden at the home of one of Father’s work colleagues was enough to unsettle her, and if you had asked her in those years, it would have seemed to her that the Soviets and the destitute and a live polar bear (long extinct, of course) were all right outside of those gates at the end of our drive. That said, I was not so immune myself, and so we held onto the simplicity of childhood for as long as we could. Days of study were interchanged with etiquette training, feminine values, and play in the expansive grounds of our estate. We wrote endless lines — such as, “I love my Husband. He is so handsome and thoughtful. When I am a perfect Doll and he makes me his wife, I will say ‘I Do.’” — practicing our handwriting until it flowed perfectly. We were taught womanly crafts like fine embroidery, but not with the intention of mastery, of course there was no time for that, just pleasant recreation.
And truly, we wanted for nothing.
Yes, those early years were carefree and insulated, but we had always known there was a role for us to play, and Chas and I were getting antsy. At age thirteen, finally, we were given our training gloves, made of fine white leather, one for each of us. I still remember that day clearly. I was sooooo excited! That was the day we began our transition, ceasing to exist as children and starting our journey to be adults, well… women, well… Dolls.
Our Mother was led to the chesterfield across from us to watch. It wasn’t ceremonial per se, but it was still an important moment in every young Doll’s life. You wouldn’t believe it, but her pleasantly empty, blinking stare always kept us on our best behaviour, in a way that only our Nanny’s rarely-used yardstick came close to.
The gloves themselves were made out of the finest undyed, full-grain leather and they both looked and smelled wonderful. I let Nanny waft it under my nose first like a rose, breathing in the aroma of the finely-worked material deeply before I obediently placed my arms behind my back, clasping the two hands together and let her work this new, magical, big-girl item onto me. I locked eyes with my Mother for the whole time, staring, head held high in pride, smiling with my lips parted slightly, imagining I was her already!
That was the beginning. The introduction. The day when I began to have my independence taken away and my reliance on others increased. To some people that must sound like a nightmare, but to Chastity and I, brought up as we had been to embrace the Dollhood ideal from before we could even walk, it was like heaven. Real ladies were totally dependent because they could be. Poor ladies wished to be like that but did not have the option; the privilege, the responsibility to shed all responsibility. We did so because we were blessed, and also obligated to be an example for the rest of Britain.
Even so, when Nanny started to work the glove properly onto me, securing the strap that went across my collarbones and then beginning on the laces that ran the length of it, for a moment, a second or more, I did not feel quite so blessed. My smile faltered and inside, I panicked. It hurt! The strain on my arms and shoulders as the laces slowly but surely brought those two wings, formerly so free and mobile, together was unexpectedly severe. There began a dull ache in my shoulders, and within moments it grew. I yearned to cry out but I did not, I couldn’t let myself. This was what I had longed for! So I bit my lip and tried to put on a false face for our Nanny, for Mummy.
Nanny knew me too well, though. That and the fact that a solitary tear had escaped my left eye against my best efforts. “Now, now then,” she said softly, ceasing the lacing and stroking my hair. Then she got out her handkerchief and wiped that tear away. And in that simple gesture I finally understood, and my heart leapt with joy! She had wiped it away because I was unable to, just like Mummy! I was becoming a Doll, a real living Doll! I looked across at Chastity who was patiently waiting to be fitted after me, hands eagerly clasped behind her, and she smiled too, “You can do it, sis!”
Nanny did not lace me up any further. She declared that it was tight enough for my first day and moved on to fasten Chastity. When she had finished, we stood up and stared at one another, mirror images that we were, aside from our golden lockets. My sister looked so feminine and elegant in her pink satin skirt, her arms drawn behind her like that so, from the front at least, she appeared to be totally armless.
We quickly ran to sit beside Mother, leaning into her warmth. We were becoming closer and closer to her every day!
Later that day, both Chastity and I were feeling the glove’s effects, trying to help each other redistribute the pressure, but it was no use. As much as we tried to rub our backs together, neither of us could massage away the tight pain the monogloves caused us in our shoulders and arms.
“My darlings,” said Nanny after she had found us fiddling, “I know it hurts a little, but be strong; the pain will deaden with time and one day, when you both truly graduate as Dolls, that pain will be gone completely, as too will those infernal arms that caused it. Until then though, you must endure with femininity and grace, as all women in the Kingdom do.” With this, Nanny laid her hand against her corseted belly.
Knowing our sweet Nanny was right, we both smiled and curtseyed. I went to her to give her a hug but then stopped myself, realising that I could no longer perform that action of affection. It made me sad. Being helpless for some things was an honour and a privilege, but I still wanted to show love somehow.
We went downstairs to present ourselves to Pappa when he arrived home from work, but when the doors were opened, to our surprise, a huge party had assembled in secret in the gardens — friends and relatives, Ladies of Leisure, and many Living Dolls! Pappa gave a speech about the start of our journey and we danced and smiled and, when we wished to eat or drink, someone in Nanny’s staff always fed us. It was strange yet fun, disconcerting yet enjoyable.
And it was only the beginning.