Chapter 6: Ms. Francesca

Spot greeted the Amazon by name, calling her Ms. Francesca. She then told her to stop playing games and that I was her mom. The amazon looked at me appraisingly, one eyebrow raised, probably because I was holding my daughter’s leash.

Spot then said we were there to look at bridalwear. She added that she wanted Ms. Francesca to be part of the bridal party.

Adopting a much more feminine voice as if speaking like a man had just been to confuse me, the amazon made the appropriate noises of acceptance and excitement and literally pulled me inside. Spot, at the other end of the leash I held, got dragged in as well.

Ms. Francesca then proceeded to almost ignore me as she led the way down a long corridor and into what could only be described as a small warehouse while she fired questions at Spot.

I came to a halt when we entered the bigger space. There were racks of materials, stands with half finished costumes on partial mannequins, a big work table with a large piece of shiny, plastic-like fabric on it, a couple of weird industrial sewing machines and a tiny stage about thirty inches square where a person would stand to be fitted. At the back of all this was a commercial loading dock overhead door.

It took a little looking around to spot anything bridal-ish at all. To me, the place seemed more like it specialized in leather and PVC than lace and wedding dresses.

Spot told me Ms. Francesca had done quite a few appearances on Spot’s live stream although she was really mostly a designer. Her appearances on Spot’s live stream were simply to make ends meet and because the audience loved to see her.

Ms. Francesa added that a lot of viewers subsequently invested in outfits made by her after seeing one on the live stream.

Spot didn’t use specific words detailing what Ms. Francesca did on the live stream but the message was clear. Ms. Francesca made pornography with Spot.

I couldn’t help but wonder if Ms. Francesca was trans or a real woman. I’d been around two trans men in connection with the church but one always had a nine o’clock shadow and hairy legs while the other was always over the top and the most dramatically inclined person I’d ever met. A paper cut once threatened to send her to the hospital.

Ms. Francesca on the other hand acted just like a regular woman, once she’d had her fun scaring me. I couldn’t tell if she had an adam’s apple or not.

Doris, the hairy trans woman from the church, had told me that’s how you could always tell but I didn’t want to get caught staring.

Ms. Francesca got us down to business pretty quickly after a comment to Spot that had something to do with a Cornhole game - I didn’t understand the reference at all - and Spot gave her a disapproving and very human glare.

Whatever Ms. Francesca had meant by her comment was obviously meant sexually and Spot clearly wanted to protect me from inappropriate conversation.

Ms. Francesca clicked her tongue and shook her head, managing to make me feel like she’d just told Spot I am no fun.

I wanted to protest but knew enough to just let it go. I really had no desire to hear what Ms. Francesca and Spot got up to on camera anyway. I was there to look at wedding dresses.

Ms. Francesa went to a large sideways filing cabinet the size of my kitchen counter and opened one of the drawers at the end, withdrawing a heavy binder. In the binder were hundreds of pictures of wedding dresses, from the sublime to the ridiculous.

I was able to quickly determine that Spot didn’t share my opinion about the ridiculous end of the spectrum. At first, every single picture I pointed at with interest caused a scrunched nose from Spot.

Spot did pause Ms. Francesca’s hand from flipping over one early page for a few seconds. The image was a profile shot of a woman in white shiny PVC that covered her from head to toe, but her small breasts were clearly bare. Her privates too were bare and there was a piece of shiny stainless steel protruding from her bottom like a fish hook, tied to the model’s long hair.

That the model was wearing a short veil was the only concession to it being a wedding dress - or pantsuit, I suppose. It looked pornographic to me! An inset showed a closeup of a wedding ring linked to an earring, sitting on a velvet cushion.

Ms. Francesca sighed and said with fondness that she remembered that being a particularly arousing union (not a wedding) where the conclusion of the ceremony between the two women had been after the bride had received a nipple piercing and had been bent over the altar and bred by four different men in front of everyone.

No one knew which sperm donor had done the deed but the bride’s breeding had been a success. It had been the first time she’d ever had sex with a man and so far, also the last. The bride’s wife was also her mistress.

I couldn’t imagine losing my virginity in such a scary fashion, in front of an audience, especially if I was inclined towards loving only women.

I do understand that being a lesbian is a cross some women have to bear but being raped on my wedding day? I suppose it isn’t rape if it’s consensual, but the whole thing still turned my stomach.

Spot looked like she didn’t share my opinion and if anything, was excited by the story Ms. Francesca had told. She had her friend bookmark that page, before moving on.

None of my suggestions except one was bookmarked and I only suggested it so I could be seen as supportive.

The woman in the picture was completely nude under a veil that covered her to her toes and became a train behind her. Through the sheer veil it could be seen that the woman was in a harness much like the one I’d purchased for Spot, although the configuration of straps drew the eye much more to her naughty parts.

It reminded me enough of my present to her that I was tempted to ask Spot if she’d tried my gift on, but I didn’t really want to know, especially since the halter included a butt plug. How does one ask their daughter how their new butt plug fits?!

The halter in the picture we were viewing was designed to be a showpiece, not an item that could ever be considered comfortable, with straps making three turns around her breasts and digging into the woman’s skin, causing the model’s breasts to jut straight out as much as her smallish B or C-cup breasts were able to.

If Spot wore that, she would undoubtedly be in excruciating pain and she had to know it. Spot’s bust is so much bigger than that model’s. I didn’t even want to imagine what it would make hanging breasts look like as she crawled down the aisle next to Herbert.

I needed to convince Spot to wear something that contained her mammaries, not let them hang and sway. The church would never condone such an outfit, anyway. I was banking on that.

I’d selected it because it looked so uncomfortable and was in a way, my form of protest that Spot could ever consider something like that. Unfortunately, Spot loved it too.

In the end, there were a half dozen contending ideas for what could loosely be termed an outfit. I didn’t like a single one of them. Luckily, Spot agreed when I said she surely didn’t want anything that had been done before.

What I meant by that is that I was having very little success at convincing my daughter to wear a traditional wedding gown even if it would be tailored to suit her insistence on crawling down the aisle. I certainly did not want her in an outfit that was little more than fetish bondagewear. It was for a wedding, not a ... a three ring circus.

Once we were through the binder, Ms. Francesca asked about lingerie and whether Spot wanted something designed around any underwear she’d wear.

I saw the opening and jumped in with both feet, telling them that the wedding rules stipulated that she wear something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue.

I insisted that since Herbert would be paying for the wedding (news to Spot) that I at least be allowed to insist on that tradition and that the lingerie could be old and blue if necessary.

The unspoken idea was to convince Spot to cover up as much as possible even if I couldn’t force her into a traditional wedding dress. You have no idea the relief I felt when Spot considered my words and eventually nodded her agreement.

Ms. Francesca wanted us both to try on a few outfits while we were there, partly to give Spot a chance to get measured, partly so Ms. Francesca could show her a couple of things that hadn’t made it into the binder and partly because she thought it’d be fun.

I declined the offer, insisting that I would be seated firmly in the audience, not part of the bridal party. Ms. Francesca seemed a little disappointed but accepted my decision, as did Spot.

Still, Spot pulled off her tee shirt and shorts with no hesitation, right in the small warehouse showing once again that she had no concerns with nudity. If anything, I was surprised she wore a thong under her shorts.

We spent about three hours at Ms. Francesca’s boutique and I got a new appreciation for the level of detail the woman went to, taking measurement after measurement.