The Lesson Plan -- Part Two: Supply Teacher (Episode One)

by: Circe



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Rating: G Add Review Read Reviews, Last Review 07/17/18 (7) Added: 07/09/2018 Complete: no Synopsis: Kevin Daly is an aspiring actor and a college dropout, filling in for his aunt Ellen Bennet. After a summer of training is he ready to step into her heels with a night on the town? (This is an unofficial sequel to Tiffani Andrew's Lesson Plan: Endless Summer) Categories: Age Progression Crossdressing / TV Lingerie Smoking Workplace Situations Keywords: Appliances Attached

The Lesson Plan -- Part Two: Supply Teacher Author's Foreword: This is a unauthorized "part two" to Tiffani Andrews' excellent The Lesson Plan Part One: Endless Summer (https://fictionmania.tv/stories/readtextstory.html?storyID =1431653814505060881). The characters, the setting and the setup were so wonderful, I felt inspired to continue in my own way. Thanks to Tiffani for setting the scene so well. I hope you don't mind. For Stephen. Saturday: Foundation gender studies Chapter 1 Aunt Ellen claps her hands together, laughing. "Oh Kevin, you're too much!" "What?" I ask, holding the little black dress against my prosthetically enhanced curves. "I just want your advice. Does this say cocktails with the girls?" I switch the dress with the red one in my right hand. "Or this?" Ellen sits at her antique vanity in her massive walk-in closet, enjoying herself immensely. The same seat she had sat in during all our hours of fashion tutorials. The same seat I had sat in practicing my makeup. All of that seemed a long time ago now that I looked like her; now that I stood in her closet, holding up two of her dresses, wearing nothing but her panties and her Dolce & Gabbana perfume. "Why don't you talk me through which one you think I'd wear?" she says, amused. "I'm leaving in a couple of days, Kevin. Soon you'll be on your own." "Well," I reply, turning away from my aunt to face the full length mirror. The reflection still unreal, no matter how many times I had seen it. "I like the red, it's flattering and sexy and would be great for Miranda to be her wing.... Woman. But," I swap it for the little black dress. "This is classy, and the red would mean I might get more attention than her. Although I don't know if I have the right bra for it," I drift off, looking at the cut out shoulders and the keyhole bust. I turn back to my Aunt. "I guess the red?" I ask, hanging the black dress back on the rail. "Except you wore it the time before last you went out for drinks with her," she says, a playful smile on her lips. "And you did get more attention." "Well, how am I supposed to..." I sigh, putting the red dress back as well and flicking through the racks of clothes. "This is so great," Ellen stands, walking towards me and giving me a hug. "I have my own living mannequin. I should have done this years ago!" Chapter 2 Create a character from the outside in. My acting teacher was full of short snappy sayings in her lessons. One of her pieces of early advice when trying to find the character was to find something, anything, that that put you in their shoes, and work from there. We had one class where we picked up items from a dressing-up box and had to quickly find the truth of that person -- use that item, whatever it was, to inform their character. Mrs. Scheider would be proud of me now, I think, walking into the lion's den of a trendy cocktail bar on a Saturday night, waving at Miranda with a beaming smile. "Hon, you look gorgeous!" I gush in my best Ellen voice, giving her a tight hug and two air kisses. I mean it too -- her normally lifeless red hair was glossy and full of body, artfully piled high; her eyebrows shaped; her lipstick a femme-fatale red. No glasses tonight either. She wore a simple flowing red dress with spaghetti straps that fit her slender frame perfectly, stopping at the knee. The history teacher had been left at home. "Vicki," she answers simply with a satisfied smile sitting back down at the high table. "I love her so much, she's an angel," I agree, sitting opposite her and laying my clutch purse on the table as I cross my knees at the thigh, nylon rubbing against nylon. My Aunt Ellen always looked put together because she loved fashion, she knew how to dress to flatter herself, and she enjoyed every minute of it. That's the reason we spent so long going over her closet; practising walking in her shoes, in her skirts. My first way into being Ellen was her fashion. And lucky for me, everything about the clothes she loved were constant reminders that I was a stylish feminine woman in her early forties. My dress was black and white, with a large floral pattern, and it was tight. It didn't so much hug my curves as squeeze them. There was nowhere to hide, stretched tight across my bust and hips, and clinging to my thighs down to my knees. I'd never worn anything like it. Never mind the plunging neckline, which felt strange and too low on my chest. Or the nude pantyhose, sheer against my smooth legs. Or the brassiere, the band snug around my ribs and carrying the weight of my breasts (my breasts!). Or the tightness of Ellen's panties, fitted to my flat crotch and curvy hips. There's a lot to choose from to get me into her character! "How was Joe with you coming out?" I ask, fixing my posture and resting my elbows on the table as I'd watched Ellen do countless times. "Any trouble?" "He's fine!" She reaches for the slender stem of her martini glass and takes a graceful sip of her drink. "You know, couldn't wait for pizza and xbox. How's your cute houseguest?" Cute? "Kevin?" I affect what I hope is a carefree laugh. "He's fine, housetrained, you know. It's nice to have him around to be honest." Acting is terrifying, and the only way is to deal with it. I doubt that pretending to be your own aunt in a cocktail bar two feet from one of her best friends was really what Mrs. Scheider had meant with that advice, but those words sprung to mind just at that moment. I don't want to be found out. Thankfully, just at that moment a young handsome waiter in very tight black pants walked over to our table. "Ladies, what can I get you?" he asks, looking down at Miranda, then at me. "Martini please!" Miranda replies in a sing song voice. "Me too!" I flash my best bright smile, gently resting my fingers against my cheek and watching as he taps the order into his tablet. "Martini, Ellen? Really? No cosmo?" Miranda asks surprised. She's distracted instantly however, watching the young man walk away. "God he's got a cute ass." "We would blow his mind honey," I say, also turning to watch him go. Well, I definitely would, I think. I try not to let the little slip of the drink show. "So what's new with you? Tell me all your stories." Chapter 3 Maybe it was the cocktails, but I was having fun. I could see now why Miranda and Ellen were such good friends; they shared everything. I had only seen one side of her, probably because Kevin had been around. Now it was just the girls, she was much louder, more relaxed and more open. I had relaxed too. Not so much that I wasn't acutely aware of my role, but enough that I wasn't second guessing myself with every gesture. Keeping the voice going was the hardest part, the most tiring, and this was only after a couple of hours. The thought of keeping it up for a full school day was scary, although the thought of accidentally dropping down an octave even scarier. That was why, even though it was a little out of character, I was letting Miranda do the lion's share of the talking. It also stopped me making any silly mistakes. But after 2 rounds of drinks and an hour, I couldn't help but feel that maybe I was getting away with it. "Here you are ladies," the waiter gracefully put down two more cocktails on our table, interrupting Miranda. "Thank you, but we didn't..." I begin to say. "From the two gentlemen over there," the waiter finished with a professional smile, gesturing over to the crowded bar. We both turn to look and meet the gaze of the two men who had paid for our drinks. "Oh we can't..." I begin again. "That's so nice!" Miranda says beaming, laying a hand on my wrist as the two men started to walk towards our table. "They're cute," she stage- whispers, her smiled fixed. "Good for a couple of drinks anyway." "Hi!" The taller of the two men approaches our table first, trailed by his shyer friend. Miranda was right, they were both ... handsome, I suppose. Both dressed well, in dress pants and open-necked shirts, both obviously fit with broad chests and the hint of bulging muscles. The taller was bald, with a close-trimmed beard; the shyer was clean shaven, with a short but expensive haircut. Gym buddies? Work friends? Either way they were men. Older men. I was acutely aware of their cologne, their hard bodies, the inverted triangle of their figures, the space they inhabited fully, and their total masculinity. "I'm Nick, this is Tom," he says, full of confidence and swagger, looking from Miranda to me and back again. "I'm Ellen," I reply, shifting my weight on the chair, "and this is Miranda. Thank you for the drinks." Everything is an opportunity to practice. "Why don't you both join us?" I ask, tucking a dangling curl of hair behind my ear with what I hoped was feminine grace, my wrist loose, flashing my manicured fingernails. "What do you think Miranda? Would you like Tom and Nick to join us?" "Sure, that'd be nice," she replies with a conspiratorial wink, which made me giggle. Now we were both playing roles -- teenage girls. The two men wasted no time, finding two chairs from nearby tables and sitting between us -- "boy girl, boy girl" Nick joked as he sat next to Miranda. In the last hour with Miranda I'd almost forgotten about my tightly- fitting dress and the whole physical transformation as I'd focused on being Ellen, her friend. Watching Tom's eyes as he brazenly checked me out brought it all back. His gaze flicked between my boobs, my legs and my thighs before meeting my eyes in the space of less than a second. Any worries in my disguise were put to rest a moment later as he smiled, drawing his chair closer still. The two men were, it turns out, childhood friends, who were out celebrating -- if that is the right word -- Nick's divorce coming through. Even though talking about exes is, I always thought, forbidden when getting to know girls, Miranda and Nick launched into divorce war stories almost at once. I guess the rules don't apply when you get older. That left Tom and I talking, which seemed to have been the plan all along. Kevin would never have talked to a guy like Tom, he was too intimidating. Ellen, it seems, didn't have to do much talking -- Tom was desperate to impress her. He couldn't help slipping into the conversation how important he was at work, that he owned a Mercedes, and how much he could bench press. All this while sneaking glances at my legs and my breasts any chance he got. It was incredibly validating that he took me as an attractive woman, and I admit to using the opportunity as a chance to practice. My Aunt Ellen loves to laugh, and looks beautiful doing it. Her face lights up, her eyes bright, her perfect white teeth dazzling as she does. It's a laugh of a confident, worldly woman. It's a laugh I've practiced. As Tom ramped up a fairly amusing story to its punchline, I prepared a punchline of my own: I re-cross my legs, causing him to glance down at my thighs, shift my weight to lean forward, my loose wrist rising to my chin, fingers elegantly touching my (fake) cheek. As he speaks my lips part, curving into a slight smile until he says "I couldn't walk for a week." I deploy my Ellen laugh, tossing my hair with delight and reaching down to gently graze his forearm as I do so. It sounded pretty good I think: Light and tinkling, carefree and feminine. It's not an exact copy, but it's not bad at all. I look over at my audience of one, and am taken aback by his expression. I have never seen anyone look at me with sheer animal lust before. "Hey Ellen, smoke?" Miranda's question tears me away, and I turn as her fingers paw at my bare smooth arm. "Sure," I reply, hopping down from my stool, wriggling down my dress, and taking my clutch purse from the table next to my empty glass. Miranda and I lock arms as we walk away, hips swaying, towards the outside tables and I think, just for a second, "I hope he's watching". Chapter 4 As part of my practice sessions with the real Ellen, I smoked exactly 2 cigarettes. Both tasted absolutely foul, but I had at least learnt to copy her without turning green. Still, as we walked out into the cool night air and lit each other's cigarettes, I'd never wanted to smoke more. "Are you OK?" Miranda asks, tilting her head as she takes a long slow drag of her cigarette before exhaling. "You seem a little... different tonight." "I'm fine," I reply, hugging myself with one arm under my breasts, fingertips resting against my other elbow, copying Ellen's smoking posture. "Why... why do you ask?" I look down as I put the cigarette between my bright red lips, my shaped and painted fake nails glistening in the street light. I inhale, briefly enough to feel the tug of the smoke and hear the crackle of the tip, flushed with air. The acrid smoke curls into my mouth and down my throat while I withdraw the cigarette with practiced grace, pouting with open lips ready for the exhale. I hold the smoke for a second before exhaling, closing my eyes and enjoying the moment. "You needed that huh?" Miranda asks when I open my eyes. "I guess so," I reply. "I think I'm stressed about this new role. Maybe that's why, I'm different." "Teaching? Oh you'll be great Ellen. And you know Chalmers, he's carried a torch for you since you were both kids. And you'll get to see me every day." "Thanks lovely," I say. I feel overcome in that moment; maybe it's the cocktails, but I want to hug her. And then I remember that Ellen is a hugger. I reach out and squeeze her tight, pressing her slender warm body to mine and taking a deep breath before kissing her on the cheek. "Thanks lovely," I repeat in a whisper. "Any time," she whispers, giving me a squeeze before we part and taking another draw on her cigarette. "Besides, if you wanted to de-stress I'm sure Tom in there would oblige. If his wife will let him." "Really?" I laugh, taking another drag. "I should have known." "Nick told me. When he wasn't talking about his gorgeous ex wife." "Oh I'm sorry." "It's fine. Not really my type anyway, but it's nice to be flirted with," Miranda smiles. "Honey you look gorgeous, every guy in there wants a piece of your ass," I say, and meant it. "Why if I was twenty years younger, and a man, I'd flirt with you like crazy." Chapter 5 The lights are off in the house when I stagger home, heels in hand, some time and a couple more cocktails later. I wave to the taxi containing Miranda as it pulled away before fishing in my purse for the house keys among the lipstick, perfume and mascara. As quietly as I can, I unlocked the door, padding into the foyer in my stocking feet. The heels are dropped once inside, thudding on the carpet, the purse left on the table as I creep into the kitchen for a glass of water. Waiting for me on the countertop is a letter. Dear Kevin, I'm sorry to leave so suddenly, but I think it's for the best. I've taught you all I can in such a short space of time, but you really are acclimated now, sunshine! You'll be great as me, and I know you'll be great with those kids. Michelle called me last night and things have gotten worse with her ex husband -- he's been threatening all sorts of things, and she needs me there. I've left you my phone, and bought myself a new one. I'll call you as often as I can. Call me and tell me what I'm up to! I love you. Ellen xx "I love you too," I say out loud as I fold the letter and replace it on the counter. "Huh," I continue, realising I was still using my Ellen voice, in her house, in the dark, on my own. "In my house," I add into the darkness. Suddenly, the phone lying on the countertop buzzes -- sounding ten times louder in the quiet. A text from Miranda illuminates the screen. "Thanks for a lovely night, just what I needed. Am very drunk. Love you x" I smile, reaching for the phone and texting back after several attempts. "Me too! I love you too. Xx" I need to practice with my new nails, I vow silently. I finish my glass of water, leaving my bag and heels where they fell and climb upstairs. The door to my room was closed, the door to Ellen's was slightly ajar. I don't even hesitate to step into her bedroom, turning on a bedside lamp after fumbling for the switch in the darkness. In the light, I see my reflection clear as day. Ellen's reflection. Her hair, her face, her hourglass figure, her dress. "Still unreal," I whisper to myself, fixing my posture and turning this way and that. "Welcome to the other side -- that's for sure." It's always the same after a successful show: the adrenaline is coursing through your body, making you high and giddy. I felt thrilled with how well it had gone and excited with the possibilities. I had gotten away with it, no, more than that, I was convincing! To her best friend and strangers! "I am one hell of an actress," I compliment myself aloud, tasting the last unfamiliar word on my tongue with a beaming smile. I think I might be a little drunk. Find the joy. "People create from different places," Mrs. Scheider had said. "If you want to create a character from a tortured place, that's ok. But if you love your role, that's when you'll be happiest." I love my aunt Ellen. I want to be the best damn aunt Ellen I can be. But the joy, well, that comes from being her with other people. An actor on an empty stage is no fun at all, and I feel the thrill of the night, of the performance, leaving me. With a grunt I reach behind my neck to the neckline of my dress and pull the tiny zipper down to between my shoulder blades. Contorting myself, I reach up and grab a hold of it, tugging it down my back to the top of my padded backside, the dress loosening as the zip travels. I push the dress down off my hips with a wiggle and step out of it, leaving it in a heap on the floor. "There," I say triumphantly. "That wasn't so bad." Maybe because I was a little drunk, maybe because I was still on a buzz from the night's duplicity, but I resolved to stay in character. I keep using her voice, happily noting that the stress of keeping it up was lessening every time. I keep walking like her -- heel-toe, one foot in front of another -- over to her bed, sitting down to carefully take off my pantyhose, bunching down one smooth leg and then the other, and tossing them towards the laundry basket. "Now what would I do next?" I ask out loud, turning to face the mirror and taking a deep breath. My aunt, in her underwear, reflected back at me. I watched as one gentle hand slowly reached up to cup her generous breast through the soft fabric of her brassiere and felt my body shudder. Even on my own, with no witnesses, it felt wrong to make my aunt perform for me. But I couldn't deny that she -- I -- was an attractive woman. From the mirror I turned and looked down, facing again her curvy body, breasts jutting proudly on display. I reach behind my back and, carefully not to damage my nails, unhook the brassiere, genuinely sighing with happiness as the tightness of the thick strap lessens immediately, and feel the unfamiliar weighty tug on my chest. I reach up and cup my breasts with both hands, the slick glossy red of my shaped nails reminding me these were Ellen's hands. Ellen's boobs. My thumb slowly moves over a raised nipple. "Oh Tom," I whisper softly to myself. "You missed one hell of a show." I know I should be a good girl and take off my makeup before bed. I force myself into the huge dressing room, sitting down in front of the vanity and carefully removing my makeup, starting with the false eyelashes and ending with wet wipes to clean off the foundation. I peer at the reflection in the mirror. "Amazing," I whisper, still astonished by how good the mask was even when denuded of lipstick, powder and paint. Which reminds me, I'd have to call Vicki tomorrow and find out how to take care of it. "Now, what would I wear to bed?" I ask myself, moving back into the bedroom, and trusting my instinct to look under one large pillow. "This, I guess," I say, pulling free a black silk top with thin straps and matching cami knickers. I take off my own panties, leaving the gaff in place, and put on Ellen's scented night wear, soft and unfamiliar against my own skin and lie down on the duvet, the scent of my aunt's perfume filling my nose as I drift off to sleep.

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