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--------------------------------------------------------
(c) 2001 by Vickie Tern. May be copied to any free 
archive, but let me know please. All comment welcome 
(VickieTern@aol.com).
--------------------------------------------------------

Perfect
by Vickie Tern (vickietern@aol.com)

***

It was fabulous, beyond any wild fantasy I might have 
ever fantasized about. Our clothes flew off. She opened 
her legs and arms and heart and mouth and gave me access 
to all of her, any part, everywhere, eagerly, wherever, 
insisted on it in fact. (MF, Fdom/M, 1st-MM, d/s, tg)

***

Author Note: This kind of story shouldn't be read by 
anyone who shouldn't read this kind of story. No 
exceptions!

***


CHAPTER I

I was in love with her, there's no other explanation. I 
still am, I think. That's how come I agreed to all this. 
I'm not sure I would again, knowing what I know now. But 
maybe. Probably. I think so.

I know so. Who am I kidding? Especially when I look at 
the alternatives, the other paths I might have taken, or 
the places on this path where I might have drawn a line 
and called a halt. But then I'd have regretted all sorts 
of lost opportunities, one after the other. And this is 
so much lovelier. So perfect.

How did I get here? I'd squandered my adolescence with 
computers instead beating out other guys in sports and 
bedding down girls like other guys. Well, there was this 
one girl, but after a while she got tired of me and took 
up with a big beefy guy, an ox, which I definitely am 
not. Anyhow, I'd just gotten my MBA and my first real 
job, and summer was ending, and I was new to the city. 

No friends yet, and no girlfriends, still looking. Work 
was challenging during the three weeks it took me to 
learn it and then it got boring. And the people at the 
office mostly'd been there a while, and they did their 
own things. Office talk was mainly sports or sly 
insulting of each other, and neither of these things 
were ever my things. So I was pretty much alone. 

To keep busy and maintain an edge I took a short course 
at the local community college, Inter-Personnel 
Management, how to talk to employees, set them at ease 
so they'll tell you their problems, so you can decide 
whether the real problem is their situation or them, so 
you can fix one or the other. Faking friendship for fun 
and profit. The Japanese do it all the time, the boss 
goes drinking with the "team" and they all pretend to be 
drunk and squeal on each other, and the boss listens. 

I sat in the front row, and the few times I didn't come 
up with the right solution for some casework problem, 
something tactful that would do the job, this marvelous 
babe in the back row came up with them. I remember the 
first time I turned to look at her. A stunner! One of 
those gorgeous girls with cool gray eyes and a doll's 
face, the kind that almost makes you wish you were a 
little girl so you could play with her. 

After a few days I got the impression she was checking 
me out in her own way, that she'd decided she'd set the 
class straight only when she saw I couldn't. Set me 
straight too, that way, demonstrate how she could match 
me step for step when she chose, even step a little 
ahead of me. 

I liked the competition. And that's how it happened that 
we already knew we liked each other, respected each 
other too, when we finally met. It was by accident in a 
nearby coffee shop after class one evening. I was 
draining a latte and gloomily contemplating my boring 
work at the office.

"Hi, I'm Gayle," she said, standing over me. "Spelled 
with a Y. It's time we got to know each other. You?"

"Allie," I replied, suddenly cheered by her presence and 
attention. "Spelled without a Y. 'Alan,' really, but if 
I tell anyone that then I have to spell it out for them. 
Care to set for a spell?" God! The dumb up-country quip 
was out before I could bite my tongue.

She didn't seem to notice. Maybe she was used to guys 
turning stupid in her presence. And I've got to confess 
it, as she lowered that pear-shaped rear onto the little 
wire chair at my little Formica coffee table, never 
taking her eyes off me, I could scarcely breathe. Then, 
all the while we talked about the class, and the 
professor, and whether women solve problems different 
from men, stuff like that, and all the while she held 
her little espresso cup to her perfect red lips and 
sipped, she watched me. 

I was hopelessly smitten. And after a few more after-
class sessions I could sense real interest, maybe even 
affection on her part too. A meeting of hearts as well 
as minds, maybe. Mine with hers, anyway. I wanted to 
follow up with a meeting of bodies the worst way. 
Sometimes she'd come dressed direct from her office in a 
business suit, her large breasts subdued into a bulge 
under her gray pinstripe jacket, all very proper. But 
sometimes she'd show up in a leotard fresh from some 
kind of dance exercise, supple, her skin rosy and 
glowing, each breast waving in my face like a plump 
flag. I was dying to bury my face between them. But I 
was shy about pushing the relationship. 

She appreciated that, I think, so we built our 
friendship slowly, and she took all the initiatives. 
Eventually we made a date to go jogging in the park, 
four miles first thing Saturday. She turned up slender 
and lithe and long-legged in teeny running shorts, the 
lower curves of her cute tush exposed, wearing a cutoff 
satin slipover, no bra, those breasts now bulging with 
nipples that poked through the satin like pencil stubs. 
I'd done track in college but I'd gotten out of shape, a 
little, so I ran the whole distance behind her with my 
mouth open, watching her legs churn, following that 
bobbing round rear end. Her whole body beckoned as she 
ran on, and I tried but I couldn't close on her. She 
stayed ahead all the way until toward the end, when for 
some reason she dropped behind me, then finally pulled 
alongside. We finished together in a dead heat, me 
utterly winded. She'd barely broken a sweat.

"Nice ass," she commented while my face was still buried 
in a towel and I was bent way over trying to hide the 
fact that I was struggling for breath.

"It sure is. God, Gayle, I couldn't take my eyes off 
it." I gasped. When I lifted my face off the towel I saw 
her staring amused at me. She'd meant my ass. I would 
have flushed an even deeper red if it were possible. 

"I'm glad you think so," she said. "A girl should feel 
proud of her assets. How about you show me yours more 
often? Three times a week from now on? First thing 
before breakfast? It's easy for me, I live right over 
there." She pointed at an apartment building fronting on 
the park.

"Deal!" I said, still breathless, from her compliment if 
from nothing else. A girl's assets? Hers? Mine? A vague 
thought evaporated before I could grasp it.

I learned later that immediately afterward she'd gone 
home and broken up with a guy she was seeing at the 
time, quite clear in her mind that I was to become his 
designated replacement. Her friend Gretchen told me much 
later that the guy she'd been "turning" just before me 
was "unpersuasive, so it wouldn't have worked out 
anyhow." Which made no sense. But I didn't want to know 
what she meant, so I never asked. 

We ran together a few times the following week, and each 
time she showed up in cutoff short shorts and a satin 
elasticized top that wrapped snug around her thin waist 
and slim chest and held her extended breasts and long 
nipples way out from her chest. An incredible girl. By 
Friday I'd recovered enough of my old track meet shape 
to pace her whenever she tried to pull ahead, but only 
just. So when we finished we were both soaked. As I 
blotted myself I couldn't help but stare at that figure 
of hers with its protrusions. There they were, those 
curvacious boobs, her shirt so wet she might just as 
well have been naked. Though she was still breathing 
easily.

"You're lucky girls weigh less than guys," I said 
stupidly, thinking that maybe I had to use more muscle 
to push myself the same distance she'd practically flown 
over. 

"Usually girls weigh less," she said, unbinding her hair 
to shake it loose, blot it, then re-tie it. "But not 
where you're looking. Jealous? You'd like a pair like 
these?"

In my hands and mouth at that moment? You bet. But I was 
too embarrassed to say anything. Jealous of what? What 
had she said? Again an insubstantial thought faded out 
of sight. Then she continued, "Of course I weigh less. 
So should you. Maybe you don't eat right? Let's have 
dinner tonight and talk about it."

I nodded.

"My place?" she pointed.

I nodded.

"Want a cup of coffee right now?" she asked.

I nodded.

We went there. It was a neatly furnished two bedroom 
apartment on the ground floor, lots of space, the other 
bedroom her workplace, an office of some kind. Soft 
stuffed chairs, stuffed animals sitting in them, an 
overstuffed sofa in the huge living room, and a dinette 
set in the kitchen. Two mugs were already set out on the 
table.

Here I was on familiar ground, Formica and coffee and 
chatting while seated. We talked about my job, how 
quickly what had seemed exciting had become dull.

"Work doesn't have to be dull," she said. "I have an 
idea."

"What?" I asked.

"In due time!" she said, glancing at her watch. "Time to 
shower and get to work. You OK now?"

"Yes, couldn't be better." I meant it.

"Good," she said. "Let yourself out then. Seven tonight. 
Bring a suitable wine, it'll be sea food."

And she disappeared. I heard her turn on the shower, and 
imagined her stepping under it, naked, water splashing 
off those protruding ripe globes, spraying her jutting 
nipples and then in rivulets running through her tuft 
and then trickling below her thighs and down her legs. 
Fluids trickling down her legs. I wanted to lick up 
every drop.

My dad had fancied himself a wine expert, and I'd picked 
up some of it. A Brut Champagne wouldn't impress her, I 
sensed -- too obviously always correct. So I brought 
over a chilled Graves from a good Chateau, a better 
choice I figured than a bone-dry Chablis, something with 
body in case she was planning something spicy. She 
nodded brightly at me when she saw it -- it was just 
right for the scallops in garlic butter she'd prepared.

"Weren't we talking about losing weight?" I asked when I 
saw the fat scallops glistening in their rich yellow 
butter sauce. I was finally feeling at ease with her.

"The secret is portion control," she said. "Look at me. 
Do I look fat?"

"No way, Gayle."

"You can look like me in no time." She mused to herself 
a moment. "As thin as I am, even in the waist, and still 
eat well. You have a slender figure. I bet you'd end up 
real cute. A charmer. No problem. Want to?"

"Maybe," I replied. I wasn't much into cooking, and I 
ate a lot of high-carb junk food.

"I'll arrange it," she said. "Just put yourself into my 
hands."

I couldn't refuse that offer. And then the most 
marvelous thing happened. The bottle of wine was empty 
and we were dawdling over dessert, an incredibly rich 
low-fat mousse, and I was feeling no pain. And this 
incredible girl suddenly asked me to move in with her. 
Just like that. In a calm, low voice. "Would you like to 
live here? With me? I can shape you up easily, I'm sure. 
I've been looking for someone like you for a long time." 
She was staring straight into my eyes as she always did, 
as if she saw something there even I didn't know about. 
She was serious.

"Yes," I said emphatically, as mindless as ever in her 
presence. 

"When?"

"Wait!" she said. "There's one condition. You have to 
agree to it first. It's absolutely essential. Don't say 
'yes' just yet."

I just stared at her. What condition could possibly 
affect how I felt about an offer like that?

"I'll regret it if you say 'No,'" she continued. "A lot! 
But I'll understand why, and I'll still respect you, no 
hard feelings. In some ways maybe I'll respect you even 
more than if you tell me 'Yes' and agree to it. But if 
you aren't willing to do this, we'll have to go our 
separate ways. Even jog separately. I don't want to get 
deeper into a relationship that's going nowhere."

Her perfect doll face was staring solemnly at me, those 
gray eyes shadowed to look even larger, wide-eyed, those 
delicate red cupid's bow lips pursed speculatively. I 
knew from our coffee talk that she'd deliberately 
cultivated that blank little-girl expression, knowing 
that it hid her thoughts and masked her intelligence. 
"Give nothing away," she'd told me was her personal 
management mandate. "Keep 'em wondering. Then surprise 
them with a gift, something just perfect for them, and 
they'll love you for it. Even if it's something they 
didn't know they wanted. Or more than they bargained 
for." 

Her face registered nothing, and her body held utterly 
still. She was serious, intent. She meant every word. 
Agree or end it.

I looked back at her dazed, elated, absolutely 
entranced. Just looked. Her full blonde hair was curved 
over her forehead and then gathered at the nape of her 
neck, tied back with a huge velvet bow that matched her 
velvet jacket. There was a simple silver chain around 
her neck. And no blouse anywhere I could see. She could 
have been naked under those velvet lapels.

I was simply blown away. Again, breathless. The curves 
of her breasts parted in a deep, shadowed cleft. I 
wanted to unbutton that jacket the worst way. Face the 
bare truth of her.

"I agree already," I said. "What condition?" There were 
no problems. How could I not agree? This girl was 
glorious, a prize beyond anything I'd ever dared desire. 
Anything.

"I have parents," she said.

"So?" I replied. "Who doesn't?" 

Again, dumb! Me, for one, and she knew it. Mine were a 
memory. They'd died in a car accident a few years 
earlier. Knowing I'd be alone in the world if something 
happened to them, no brothers or sisters or aunts or 
even distant relatives to gather round me, they'd put 
considerable money in trust for me to use to complete my 
education and then reserve for emergencies. The trust 
produced substantial income, I didn't absolutely have to 
work. But I wanted to. I like feeling useful, and I like 
doing things I know I do well. Computers and personnel 
management are two of them. We'd joked before about how 
I was an orphan, a waif. Little Orphan Annie, she called 
me sometimes.

"No, you don't understand, Allie. My father's a minister 
in a small town, very staid, very proper, very visible, 
a leader in the community. Very old school. And my 
mother's a pillar of social respectability and 
responsibility in that town, even more proper than he 
is. You know the kind of thing, she's on every social 
and charity committee. The two of them impeccably 
respectable."

"So?" I asked. If she wanted to keep me out of sight 
when they visited the apartment, that was OK. 

"They're apt to call me here at odd times. Maybe some 
time when you're in and I'm out."

"So?" I asked again.

"They'd never understand why a man's voice was answering 
the phone. Never. They'd be here as fast as the speed 
limit allowed, upset, outraged, terrified, devastated, 
and they'd never quit trying to drag me back home with 
them, trying to redeem me from this city, this cesspool 
of vice."

"So?" I said earnestly. Here was an opportunity to play 
the man. To counsel her. "You're an adult. Tell them 
it's time they became the parents of an adult who lives 
her own life."

She smiled so sweetly at me that my heart melted 
straight into my shoes. I was trying. And that smile 
built in intensity, sustained, irradiated me until I 
glowed. She was so utterly  beautiful.

"God, Gayle! You are so utterly!" I burst out before I 
realized I was off topic and shut myself up. 

She saw, heard, and understood anyhow, and she reached 
over to clasp my hand in both of hers, pleased. 

Then with my hand still enclosed in hers she went on. 
"Allie, I know your parents are both gone, and I'm sorry 
for it, and maybe that explains why you don't know it 
doesn't work that way. My folks are too old to learn 
anything. Too committed to their small town proprieties. 
Too old-fashioned in their thinking about boys and girls 
and marriage. I'm an adult now, yes, grown up, so they 
expect me to be married soon. They'd approve of you, I 
know they would, if you and I were ever to get that far 
in our feelings for each other. Though understand, I 
make no promises or demands -- this is strictly an 
arrangement for living and loving, for getting to know 
and enjoy each other's company. No more than that." She 
paused. "For now," she added.

"I understand that," I said solemnly on cue. "Nothing 
assumed or implied by me either." 

"No way would they ever approve of us or anyone living 
together before marriage. Their own daughter? Can you 
imagine the hassles? The crying, the lamentations? I 
know my father, he'd feel honor-bound to preach to the 
whole town about his family's depravity. He'd deliver 
some anguished sermon about a prodigal daughter or a 
Jezebel or something, and then he'd fall to his knees 
and resign his ministry. The disgrace would crush him. 
And my mother? Don't even ask." 

"I see," I said gently, being mature about all this even 
while my heart was still beating wildly. I took my hand 
out from under hers and grasped both of hers instead. 
"How can I help?" I asked. "What can I do?"

"Just one thing," she replied. "It shouldn't be too 
hard. It's simple, but it's absolutely essential. You 
have to be willing. Can you sound like me whenever you 
answer the phone?"

"Just like you? No, Gayle. Your voice is the original 
magic flute. It shames songbirds into silence." A little 
flowery, but I'd prepared those remarks way in advance 
and here was an opening for them.

"Oh, Allie, you are a love. I know I'm not making a 
mistake. But really, I'm not joking, either. No, I mean 
can you make yourself sound like a girl when you answer 
the phone? Not like yourself."

"I don't know," I said. But I did know. When I'm nervous 
my voice gets tense and rises a full octave. Sometimes 
in college when I had to ask a question in class but was 
afraid to sound like a fool, I'd chirp out the words and 
the professor would have to look closely to see if the 
voice had came from me or from the girl sitting next to 
me. "I guess so. I could try."

"Let me hear."

"I guess so," I said again in falsetto, like Minnie 
Mouse.

"Same idea, but lower," she said. 

"Like this?" I asked.

"Better!" she said. "But with more tonal range? More 
highs and lows? More delight, more enthusiasm? There are 
reasons why girls squeal sometimes, you know." I looked 
up. She was looking straight into my face and her eyes 
never wavered once. "And why girls moan." she added, in 
case I doubted my own ears. She still didn't look away. 

Oh God. This marvelous woman was telling me that if I 
could just get past this one entrance exam I'd be set. 
We'd head straight for her bedroom and she'd squeal and 
moan all night.

"Of course, Gayle." I squealed in a high, tense, 
melodious crescendo, extending the vowels of her name by 
rising to a squeak and then sinking deep on the last 
sound. Then I almost sang in a rich, lilting, reassuring 
contralto, "Anything you want, Gayle. Anything." 

She grinned. "That's perfect. Perfect! To whom have I 
the honor of speaking?"

"Allie," I replied mellifluously. "This is Allie, 
Gayle's roommate. Her dearest girlfriend. May I take a 
message?"

"Yes, dearest girlfriend," she said in an urgent voice 
almost as low as my former masculine voice, but steady 
and tense. "Take me into the bedroom and get rid of 
those clothes. I want you. Now!"

It was fabulous. Beyond any wild fantasy. Our clothes 
flew off. She opened her legs and arms and heart and 
mouth and gave me access to all of her, any part, 
everywhere, eagerly, wherever, insisted on it in fact. 
Smooth and warm and soft and slick and wet. I was still 
sucking, licking, kissing, stroking, plunging into her 
and embracing her with my lips, tongue, cock, and 
fingers as the first morning light revealed what a 
shambles we'd made of her bed. Finally we simply grinned 
at each other, then fell asleep still tangled together.

When we woke again and were still drowsily, snugly 
hugging, she asked me sweetly if I'd mind speaking only 
in my new "Allie" voice from then on. So it would be 
instinctive, habitual. "I need to feel secure that it's 
always there. That it's as natural to you as breathing. 
No forgetfulness or slip ups ever."

"Always? No matter where?" I asked, pitching my tones 
high and sweet, like some girl delighted to be given a 
new party dress. 

"Everywhere, lover. Always. I love it. That voice is 
you. It needs to be you from now on. It's so beautiful. 
So seductive." 

This took a little thought. I hesitated. She wriggled 
her hips as if she were remembering the sound of my 
voice in the silence, as if it were a penis moving deep 
inside her. "Promise? For me?"

I stopped thinking. For more nights like this last one, 
anything. "Yeah, sure," I said in that delicious girly 
crescendo. "As long as you're seduced, I'm seduced. I 
promise!"

"Not 'Yeah, sure', Allie. That's too manly. Too butch. 
Say 'Why, I'd love to, Gayle. I really would. I'm so 
glad you think my voice is attractive."

I did. Whatever.

It was a strain at first, until I added a hint of 
southern belle breathiness to it. All day she kept 
giving me other little hints to enhance the effect, 
mainly about what to say. Never to tell people what I 
want, but instead to ask if I might have it. To be sure 
people know how dear, how darling they are whenever they 
offer me anything, and how precious whatever it is 
they're offering. Stuff like that. All day we practiced 
when we weren't in each other's arms finding new ways to 
appreciate each other. She was the dearest, most 
darling, precious girl imaginable. And she thought I was 
absolutely adorable. 

By the next day, when I moved my things into her place, 
my femme voice had become the way I spoke routinely to 
everyone. I simply stopped thinking about it. The 
building superintendent looked at me oddly as he helped 
me carry down the few books and bags and boxes I'd 
accumulated, and he stepped back when I smiled and told 
him he was a dear man, refusing both the tip I offered 
and the handshake. I realized why afterward, and had to 
grin. He thought I was making a pass at him. No matter, 
I'd never see him again anyhow. 


CHAPTER II

A phone test came almost at once. One of Gayle's 
girlfriends called and I happened to answer. A simple, 
sweet "Hello?" produced immediately, "Oh yes, you must 
be Allie, of course. I'm Gretchen. Is Gayle there, 
please?" Surprisingly, Gretchen wasn't in the least 
surprised to hear my voice, and she knew my name. I 
wondered what else she knew. When I asked Gayle, she 
told me "Why, everything, lover. Gretchen's my closest 
girlfriend, next to you, and I hope you'll soon be 
hers." 

Though Gayle's words didn't quite chime, my heart rose. 
I'd never had a girl for a friend. 

Some guys called too, and I merely took their messages 
and passed them on. One tried to come on to me, and I 
hesitated whether to lead him on in order to embarrass 
him or just cut him off. In the end either way seemed 
complicated, so I was properly polite, no more. It was a 
little unsettling though, hearing that man's 
ingratiating voice inviting me to tease him back. In 
fact I did, a little. I figured that much would be 
expected of Gayle's roommate. A little daring, a little 
jesting playfulness. I felt strange yet self-assured. It 
was like playing a hooked fish.

Then one day came the anticipated call. Gayle was out 
shopping, and it happens I was in a cheery mood when I 
answered. Baking low-fat cookies as a matter of fact, to 
surprise Gayle with when she got back. "Hellooooo?" I 
said, making the word into five luscious syllables 
chanted across a full tonal scale.

An older woman's voice declared immediately, "Why, how 
lovely. You must be Allie. I'm Gayle's mother, you know, 
Gayle has told us so much about you. How nice to hear 
your voice. And how good of you to keep her company, 
look out for her, help her with her computers and 
everything, she tells us. You must be such a lovely 
girl. And all alone in this world -- Gayle told us that 
you've lost both your parents, you poor dear." She 
paused.

"Yes, I'm afraid so," I said, even more afraid of what 
might be coming next. "But that was some time ago." I 
remembered that I was speaking to a minister's wife. It 
was corny, but it couldn't hurt to say it. "I'm sure 
they're in a far better place now."

"I'm sure," she said, pleased. "And I'm sure they're 
still looking after you where you are, keeping both you 
and Gayle from temptation. Gayle's father and I pray as 
I'm sure they do for your safe passage through all those 
iniquitous things we hear about in that city you're in. 
Are any of them troubling Gayle, do you think?"

She was asking me to squeal on Gayle, just as Gayle had 
anticipated. "No, ma'am," I replied. "No iniquities. 
Your daughter is just fine. She's an angel. I love her 
already." I did, too. "We take good care of each other." 
We did, too, sometimes all night long.

"Yes," her mother said, a little disappointed that I 
wasn't dishing dirt but gratified that maybe there 
wasn't any. "Well, you be sure to keep well. Tell her I 
called. I'd like for you to think of us as your family 
now, Allie, and for you and Gayle to think of yourselves 
as sisters, not just friends. Sisters watch out for each 
other, don't they?"

"Yes, I imagine they do," I replied. "Thank you, that's 
sweet of you." She hadn't quit. Instead, she'd promoted 
me to family spy. Well, I couldn't find fault with the 
impulse behind her tactics. 

Gayle was right. Parents worry.

"Goodbye now then," she said. "I'll see you both this 
Thanksgiving, in just a few months. We're all looking 
forward to the big event. Everyone's coming. All of our 
family. It'll be wonderful to meet you then finally."

Thanksgiving? Meet her family? How could I go to a 
Thanksgiving family celebration with Gayle ever, as 
Allie? Allie's supposed to be a girl. One look and 
they'd know what we were up to, and I'd have to move 
out. It was all over. "Yes," I said. "Wonderful!"

"Tell Gayle Chris sends his love. He's looking forward 
to it the same way she is."

"I'll tell her that." My mind registered that her 
father's name was Chris, and that they considered a 
family Thanksgiving a big event. I supposed it was. But 
mainly I was overwhelmed by the terrible realization 
that we'd be lovers for only a few months more. 

A moment later common sense returned, and I realized 
that no such exposure was necessary. I'd invent some 
relative with a prior claim on my presence for 
Thanksgiving and send regrets to Gayle's family. That 
was all I needed to do. No problem. Maybe I could even 
come as a different Allie, the guy Gayle knew from her 
night school class.

"Her father sends his love too." her mother said.

"I'll be sure to tell her," I said automatically, not 
yet recovered from the crazy scare that Gayle and I 
might have to split. Her father sends love twice? Who 
was Chris? She didn't have a brother, I knew, and until 
a minute or so ago no sister. We had a lot to talk 
about.

"Allie dear, I'm so pleased you're now part of our 
family. 

Welcome. We'll talk more before Thanksgiving. B'bye."

She hung up. "B'bye," I said to myself, staring at the 
phone for a moment before clicking it off and setting it 
down. 

I told Gayle everything when she got home. She was 
amused but unconcerned. "Don't worry about anything, you 
sweet darling," she said. "I can handle it. So now 
you're my sister? We're in an incestuous lesbian 
relationship? If only they knew."

She wrapped her arms around my neck and pressed close to 
me, and kissed me so very sweetly. "You can be my 
girlfriend any day of the week, all week, baby," she 
said intensely. "I'd like that."

"I like whatever you'd like," I said, not really paying 
attention. "I love what we are. But who's Chris? And 
Thanksgiving's a 'big event' at your house?"

"Big for Mom, I guess," Gayle replied. "She's an 
arranger. But don't worry about it, honey. Parents 
always make problems. They aren't our problems. Mine 
once, but not anymore. I've got it all worked out. Are 
these scrumptious cookies really low cal? You are such a 
dear."

That night, since we were incestuous lesbians, she 
proposed that we try making lesbian love just for fun. 
"You can be my girlfriend for real tonight," she said. 
"And I'll be yours." So she sucked my 'clit' and I 
licked her pussy, and we fondled and kissed and tongued 
each other's breasts, that was all. But over and over, 
and then again. Each time either of us woke up, that's 
what we did to get back to sleep. In the morning we each 
declared that the night had been altogether 
satisfactory, serene but passionate. We did it now and 
then afterward too, often in fact. I couldn't have been 
happier.

It was odd, though. Clearly it pleased and amused her to 
think of me as her girlfriend. It was so much less 
problematic than having a boyfriend with her parents 
looking over her shoulder. 

Probably it helped ease some of the guilt she felt that 
we were living together, knowing her parents could never 
approve of it. Of course. There'd been all those little 
allusions to me as a possible girl, even the first day 
we'd jogged together. I remembered them now, references 
to my wanting a bust like hers maybe, or about showing 
off my ass. All part of a little game she liked to play. 
Now she did it routinely, and I realized I'd been taking 
it for granted. She'd compliment me on my grace when I 
jogged with her, and she'd warn me to watch my figure 
when we were dining together ("a girl's excess calories 
go straight to her hips, honey"). And as girls do, we'd 
touch and hug often, and press our cheeks together when 
we met and parted.

Whatever, I thought to myself. What she needs to imagine 
about me doesn't change me. I felt complimented. 

At work though everyone was looking at me peculiarly, 
from the moment I first arrived and said "Good morning, 
everyone" in my new voice, just as Gayle had requested 
as a gesture of my devotion to her. It was sometimes 
embarrassing, talking that way in the office. But I'd 
remember her ripe breasts cupped in both her hands and 
offered to my mouth, and my lips closing on those long 
nipples, and then I'd have no problem with it at all. Or 
I'd remember that sweet smile on her face when she came 
down from an especially deeply satisfying orgasm. So 
even though I knew what the whole staff was thinking 
when they heard me lilting and lisping breathily, I 
didn't care. 

Gayle called me at the office each day that first week, 
just to remind me how she was looking forward to the 
evening, to being together, just the two of us, or just 
to tell me how she'd bought an exquisite satin nightgown 
"just for you" as she said. I knew she was really 
calling to make sure I was using my feminine voice 
whenever I answered the phone. And she never failed to 
appreciate it. "Lovely Allie," she'd say, "You sound so 
wonderfully girly, my sweet sexy-voiced darling. From 
the way you sound, no one would dream you weren't a 
girl." 

No, I suppose not. A few customers who knew my old voice 
thought maybe I'd developed a cold or something. Maybe I 
overdid the gushing -- one asked me point blank what the 
hell was wrong with me. He didn't pursue it when I told 
him things couldn't be better. But I noticed that 
everyone at work began to avoid me. I'd never been one 
of the "in" crowd at the office, but now I sensed 
outright hostility. I began to overhear nasty cracks. I 
did my work and turned in my reports, but by the end of 
the week I realized that I was coming back to my new 
home with Gayle as if to a sanctuary. 

That first weekend Gayle held a housewarming party for 
me. She invited all her friends to meet me and hear my 
new voice, so there'd be no deception when they called 
and I answered. Besides, they all wanted to meet her new 
"precious" boyfriend. They all thought I sounded just 
wonderful, unmistakably feminine, and they admired me 
for it. It had to be true love, they said, for me to be 
willing to do this thing for Gayle. 

"Not every guy would go swish for a girl," one of the 
girls at the party told me. "You're really something 
else."

"Oh, Allie has a long way to go yet," Gayle told her. 
"This is just going girly a little. He hasn't begun to 
swish. But you're right, as a guy he really is something 
else. I'm proud of him."

I finally met Gayle's closest friend Gretchen, who 
turned out to be a stunner in her own way, tall, 
domineering, sultry, and dark-haired, head of the Art 
Department of a major advertising agency with lots of 
talented people working under her. "I wish I had someone 
like you to live with," she told me. "Then my boyfriend 
would never know I've got another boyfriend at home, 
someone I keep as a spare." 

She smiled at Gayle, who smiled enigmatically back. Now 
what did that mean? Well, they go back a ways, I thought 
to myself. Gretchen was once caught two-timing someone, 
I'll bet.

An earnest girl's voice behind me disagreed. I turned to 
see. "Oh, Gretchen, Allie's fine on the phone, I'm sure. 
But the moment your real boyfriend saw him I'm sure he'd 
know there was something wrong. I mean, Allie looks like 
a boy. You know?" 

This from a short, earnest blonde girl named Evelyn who 
had come to the party with an old home-town boy friend 
who had just moved to the city to join her. They were 
engaged, Evelyn had announced on arrival, showing 
everyone the ring he'd just given her. Gayle thought the 
announcement and the ring were both tacky. 

"Oh, I don't know," the boy friend said tartly. He 
sounded pissed. Maybe a little jealous that I was 
getting all the attention? Maybe resenting it, thinking 
that by changing my voice's gender just to get laid I'd 
let the male side down? He sounded disgusted. "Allie 
here looks like he'd be pretty safe with women. He looks 
a lot like he sounds. Maybe he's already one of the 
girls?" That last he said emphatically eyeball to 
eyeball with me, a direct, man-to-man challenge.

More gay-bashing crap, like what I was starting to 
overhear at work. Well, I'd had it. I squared my 
shoulders and glared back at him. Then hesitated, 
wondering whether to punch him out right now or to call 
him into the corridor first. 

Gretchen stepped between us before a decision could lock 
us into a mean-spirited brawl. 

"You're right. Allie does look as good as he sounds," 
she said. "A few touches here and there and I bet he'd 
look exactly the way he sounds. So what? Should he be 
ashamed to look like a girl, someone like me and Gayle 
and Evelyn, like half the human population? Does he have 
to look like an asshole Lord of the Universe like you? 
He isn't ashamed at all, and I think that's to his 
credit. I admire him for it. He's not a chauvinist pig 
like lots of men. And anyhow, what Allie sounds like or 
looks like is Allie's business and Gayle's, not yours. 
Isn't it?" 

Evelyn's fiancé glanced at Gretchen while she stared 
wide-eyed at him, and that broke our eye-combat duel. I 
looked at Evelyn, who looked apologetically back at me 
and then annoyed at her fiancé. She quickly led him off 
toward a snack table in another room. I flashed her a 
rueful grin, signaling no offense taken. 

"Do you think so, Gretchen?" I heard Gayle's voice ask 
behind me. Gayle had witnessed the whole incident. I was 
glad of that. She'd seen how manly I was, how quick to 
defend my honor. But she'd also heard testimony from 
Gretchen about how admirable I am, how free of male 
chauvinist superiority. Score two points for me.

"Think what, Gayle?" Gretchen turned attention toward 
her. I stepped back so they could talk face to face and 
I could listen.

"That Allie here could look the way he sounds with only 
a few touches here and there if need be," she said. 
"Because that could solve a problem I've got at work."

The warmth of Gayle's smile stifled any embarrassed 
objections I might have to all this talk of me being 
touched here and there, made to look more girlish. For 
the moment I was a bona fide hero to her, a rare man, 
altogether unashamed to be thought a girl. I smiled back 
noncommittally.

"Because fair employment practices and all that to one 
side, we have a job opening that needs a woman. We 
advertise that it's an 'equal opportunity' position, but 
it's definitely an 'affirmative action' position. What 
do you think, Gret? Could Allie qualify if he had to? If 
the front office ever checked up on us?"

Gretchen not only supervised mobs of photographers and 
artists and beautiful models for her agency, she'd taken 
beauty salon courses to help design the chic hairdos 
they wore. She was often called on to advise about make-
up before they were photographed for picture spreads. 
She knew. 

Gretchen glanced at me again. "You mean make Allie 
really look like a girl, not just sound like one? So if 
some vice-president came through expecting to see an 
office full of women, Allie'd be wearing his blush and 
lipstick and the usual protective coloring, like all the 
others? Sure, I see no problem. His features are 
regular, and his nose and chin are small for a man, 
rather cute in fact. He has plenty of his own hair, so 
he wouldn't need a wig. Pin it up like so, and a few 
dabs here and there, and I bet that in ten minutes I 
could hide Allie in plain sight among any group of 
women. He'd never be noticed. But Gayle, he has a great 
voice already. Why wait? Why not fix him up right now 
and be done with it? He'd be passably pretty with the 
right hairdo and the right morning make-up routines, I'm 
sure. His figure isn't too bad even now, compared with 
some women I've seen. We could do things with it. No 
problem."

"Allie? Do you think you'd be willing?" Gayle was 
looking directly at me. Not smiling. She was actually 
serious. She was making some sort of administrative 
decision."

I was suddenly frightened, but also annoyed. At work I 
was being hassled for giving away a big piece of my 
manhood, and now these two women wanted the rest of it. 
"I just don't know, I'd have to think about it," I said 
evasively but firmly. Speaking in my now-habituated girl 
voice, I realized I sounded as if I'd just been swept 
off my feet by a proposal of marriage.

Gayle was satisfied. "I'm just thinking about it too, 
honey, right now. There's no hurry. I'm not sure yet 
about a few things. So I'll just take that answer as not 
a 'No!' and we'll just see." 

A week later things at my office suddenly got much more 
serious. My boss called me in and glared at me silently 
for a full minute, then asked me what the hell I thought 
I was doing. I explained to him why I was talking like a 
woman, about Gayle's parents and so on. 

He was unimpressed. "You're telling me you're 
pussywhipped, that's your excuse? You've gone queer just 
so you can shack up with a piece of ass? Well, people 
are complaining. The women in the office think you're 
mocking them, and the men are all mocking you. It's bad 
for the business. I can't let you near the phones to 
talk to customers, they're all asking me what flouncy 
new product line we're selling these days. Maybe you 
better take the rest of the week off and think about 
whether this job means more to you than some asshole 
promise you made to some dumb broad. I don't want to 
lose you, but if you can't shape up you're gone." And he 
turned abruptly away.

I felt flayed. It was infuriating, and for a moment I 
considered whether to quit right there or to wait and 
continue to torment everyone by talking in my lovely 
feminine voice, to force him to fire me. Just for the 
way I was talking? Outrageous.

When I told Gayle, she immediately advised me to quit 
and accept the job she'd had in mind.

"Gayle, you said the job required a woman."

"Well, maybe not necessarily. Maybe just a woman's voice 
and the right attitudes." 

And she explained. Gayle oversaw Corporate Acquisitions 
for her firm, really a holding company with lots of 
smaller firms. There was a Phone-Marketing startup 
they'd acquired last year, with a three person office 
supervising several hundred part-time "associates" who 
worked from their homes all over the city, networked as 
if they were all together in cubicles. The firm needed 
someone with exactly my background to be the third 
person. Someone to modify the main record and book-
keeping systems and set up sales analyses, and then to 
walk new associates through the different computer 
procedures. And along with the other two supervisors, 
advise the home associates whenever they had problems 
with their customers, telling them how to keep their 
sales pitches tactful and informal. That sort of thing. 
Personal advice too. Exactly what we'd learned in that 
Inter-Personnel course where we'd met.

I could begin by working at home myself if I felt uneasy 
about it, she said. But it would be better if I worked 
alongside the two other administrative supervisors from 
the outset. To get their input before I changed systems 
around, and also to learn from their example how best to 
deal with the associates. 

"You'd be perfect, honey." Gayle told me. "You have 
exactly the right background, and you have exactly the 
right voice, too. It's not at all like the job you've 
got now, where it's boring and they don't appreciate 
your gifts."

"Why might I feel uneasy?" I asked. "And what do you 
mean, the right voice?"

"Because this time you'd really need to act like a real 
girl, not just in the way you talk but the way you think 
and feel too. The associates are all women. To 
understand their problems with their customers you'd 
need to make all sorts of girl talk with them all day 
long, and really enjoy it, the way women do. You'd hear 
a lot about all sorts of things women only tell other 
women. And you might feel uneasy about that, abandoning 
your male reflexes and personality altogether all day 
long, really being one of girls on the phone while the 
other two supervisors listen in. They'd have to listen 
at first, to help you sound more authentic. In effect 
they'd be teaching you how to be a woman in everything 
but appearance. You know, I think you'd enjoy it."

"I see," I said. "Why are the associates all women?"

Gayle grinned. "They have to be. It's a specialty 
marketing firm strictly for women's products. Pantyhose, 
sanitary napkins, lingerie, make-up, fashion magazines, 
you know. Things only women use. The associates' 
customers are all women. Women don't buy things like 
that from men."

She smiled to herself, then said, "I think with your 
empathy you'll do just fine. It's a stretch maybe, but 
you can imagine how a girl feels when she's wearing her 
new hot-'n-sexy panty-and-bra set for the first time, 
can't you, and then advise our associates how she'll 
feel, how to advise their customers. You'd be better 
than most women at it, I'll bet. Because it would all be 
new to you, a fresh challenge. And you come at it with 
no set ideas of your own."

"Let me understand. The associates are all women who 
advise other women, their customers, who call them to 
find out what to buy or how to use something they've 
already bought, how to use it in some imaginative new 
way? It isn't just that they take orders by phone?" 

"Exactly!" Gayle replied. "The associates provide a kind 
of a fashion and feelings help line, with flair. They 
pitch their sales while they're being helpful. They're 
big sisters and wise aunts and best friends. They're Ann 
Landers to the lovelorn and they're Eloise and Martha 
Stewart to the housekeepers. They do all the work with 
customers, and you work with them. Apart from 
maintaining the accounting systems, you'll be a kind of 
clearing house for whatever they need to know. And a 
morale booster. You'll design their in-house reporting 
and ordering protocols and so on, of course, but mainly 
you'll keep them motivated, and share any good advice 
you get from other associates about what works 
especially well. Things like that!"

I still didn't see why I had to be a facsimile woman 
when talking with the associates. "I can see why you 
need women at the base level, working with the 
customers," I said. "But why do all three supervisors 
have to be women?"

"Because of the kinds of associates we've got!" Gayle 
sighed. "Well, strictly speaking, not all of them. For 
some a male supervisor isn't an issue. They're the women 
who do our work but also take care of elderly parents, 
or babies, or want to be home when their kids get home 
from school. Or want to schedule their own time. Or want 
to work bare-faced in blue jeans -- a girl can save 
hours out of her life for herself each week if she 
doesn't have to set her hair and makeup her face for 
downtown office work. Not to mention the time and money 
women spend shopping for 'career girl' outfits suitable 
for business. Lots of those associates are college 
grads, smart and under-employed. They're not our 
problem."

Gayle smiled, then added, "We direct-deposit a lot of 
their earnings into bank accounts with names different 
from the names they use at home. So they're likely to 
tell you all sorts of things about their lives they 
don't want their husbands to know! Some of it gets 
pretty racy!"

"All right," I said. "Then it's the other associates 
who're the problems?" 

"Correct. The others come in two kinds. One kind is 
entry-level, recent high school graduates. They're young 
and they advise other girls their age what to buy and 
they do very well at it. Telling another young girl when 
a tampon's preferable to a napkin, for example, and 
which kinds of tampons. Even what their new boyfriend 
might appreciate by way of a birthday blow job! You can 
advise them how to do that part right, can't you, 
Allie?"

I said nothing.

"But they're young, and soaked in their own brand-new 
high-test hormones. Some are intimidated by men but most 
of them are ready to play the female seducer to any male 
behind a male voice. You know, they flirt instinctively. 
They can be all business when they talk to another 
woman, but they're easily distracted into silliness by 
men. If their supervisor is a woman, or if they think 
so, it makes for far greater efficiency."

That rang true enough. In college I was a work-study 
aide on a University Computer help line for a while. I 
found quickly that lots of girls practice their girl 
tactics on any guys on the phone who don't know them. It 
can get pretty harrowing when one of them aims both 
full-bore barrels at you! And then if one actually does 
develop a crush on you, or on your voice, she can waste 
an awful lot of your time. Some of the girls were 
probably worth the time, but who knew? 

I'd often thought about flirting back, but I never did. 
I'd have been fired, they kept stressing that. On the 
other hand, one guy I know actually managed to talk a 
lot of girls into performing phone sex for his 
fraternity brothers. "They liked doing it, Al," he 
informed me. "Getting guys off! They'd challenge each 
other to speed and endurance contests, how fast and how 
often they can get a guy to cum with a single phone 
call. For how long they can string him along whenever he 
tries to hang up. They're unbelievable! I tell you, 
don't let the bitches of this world get the upper hand 
ever! Just try to think of them as pussies with tits, 
with mouths that talk too much and don't suck cock often 
enough! Then you'll get on fine." 

I couldn't do that. I wasn't raised that way, I guess. I 
respected girls. Maybe that was why I didn't get on too 
well with them.

"And the other kind of associate?" I asked. "The other 
kind that can't handle a male supervisor, I mean?"

"The second kind, right! They tend to be women returning 
to the work force because they've gotten rotten divorce 
settlements. Some of them are looking for another guy to 
get in bed with right away, so there's the same problem 
with them as with the high school girls. Only worse, 
because they know the score. A sweet guy like you 
wouldn't last ten minutes with some of them. They'd eat 
you alive."

"Sounds good," I replied, grinning. "But I'm not that 
easy." 

"Coulda fooled me, Allie," Gayle said, grinning back. 
"Anyhow, lots of our divorced women can't tolerate a 
male voice of any kind, no matter how helpful! One of 
them put it to me this way: 'No male supervisors ever 
again, Gayle! Not ever! One mother-fucking son of a 
bitch-bastard telling me what to do day and night was 
one too many for me and still is, and will be, now, 
whenever, and forever after, Amen!'"

Gayle paused, then said, "But you've got no problem that 
way, Allie. Your voice is perfect! Who'd think you 
weren't a girl, hearing you on the phone? With a little 
re-orienting you'd fit in perfectly."

We talked some more, and the idea began to sound better 
and better. 

Challenging! And I'd get in on all sorts of women's 
secrets! 

So that Friday I called and told my boss I was quitting, 
that I was giving him my week's notice, that I'd been 
offered work better suited to my talents.

"I'll bet you've got offers," was all he replied this 
time. "Resignation accepted, and don't bother coming in 
at all for your last week, Nancy! I'm happy to pay you 
to stay away. We're well rid of you! Your girlfriend put 
you up to this, huh? Give him a kiss for me!" And he 
hung up.

That shook me! I'd never encountered a real bigot 
before. But it was done. I was well rid of him. 


CHAPTER III

The next Monday I went to work at Gayle's Phone-
Marketing headquarters. It was just as Gayle had said. 
The other two supervisors, Connie and Meg, were already 
there when Gayle brought me into the firm's spacious 
one-room office to introduce me. Connie was an older 
woman, the office manager, smart and chic, who'd been 
around the block a few times and was whimsically ironic 
about it. What she says goes, I was told. Meg was also 
quick and sophisticated, enthusiastic about each of her 
new relationships with any man or any woman. They looked 
me over, and then each gave me a sisterly hug. 
"Remember, you're strictly a woman when you work with 
us, Allie!," Connie told me. "Be sure you park your cock 
and balls outside the door when you come in." 

Both were impressed by my voice and my explanation how 
it got that way. 

"We'd wondered how some guy named 'Alan' could possibly 
do this job, when Gayle first sent us your papers," 
Connie said. "We should have known. Gayle has that 
effect on some men." She grinned. Meg nudged her and 
told her not to tease. 

They showed me various personnel forms for my signature. 
Some had been made out originally to "Alan" or "Allen" 
or "Allan," and then in all the spaces changed to 
"Allie." "'Allie' stands for 'Alice' if anyone wants to 
know, honey," Connie said. "You've just had your first 
sex change operation. I think it'll be fun having you 
here, Miss Alice! Let me show you the ropes."

I looked over their systems that first day and made a 
few suggestions and designed a few changes, then settled 
in seriously and began to reshape all of them. Within a 
week I'd made their billing, shipping, receiving, and 
payroll far more efficient, practically automatic. They 
appreciated me for that. 

Then I began making calls to teach new associates the 
company's computer and reporting procedures, and tell 
the old associates about the changes I'd made. They were 
grateful.

And Gayle was right. They immediately began to think of 
me as family, or as their new girlfriend. Some 
unburdened all sorts of intimacies on me while I made 
sympathetic noises. I tried to be helpful the way women 
are with each other. I heard all sorts of gossip about 
boyfriends and hairdos and kids and their husbands' 
infidelities and kinks. I sympathized with them all 
about their burdens, their anxieties, their private 
demons. 

After a while they began to ask my advice about all 
sorts of things, and it could get pretty harrowing. One 
woman had been gang-banged three weekends in a row while 
her husband watched, that was how he got off. Now she 
wanted to watch her husband getting gang-banged just 
before she left him for good -- how could she arrange 
it? "I want to know cum is dribbling out of his ass the 
whole month I'm serving him his divorce papers!" she 
told me. I thought a moment, then suggested she trick 
him into letting her tie him up. Then she could invite 
as many men as she wanted to come in and use him for as 
many days as they wanted. "Maybe he'll want to see some 
of them again after the divorce," I said. "You never can 
tell."

Another associate called because she had to exult to 
someone about a pair of red leather Napa shorts she'd 
picked up for a song, what it had done for her rear end. 
And what that rear end had then done to her boyfriend 
when he saw her in them. "They're great!" she told me. 
"I can't keep his face out of my ass now," she said. I 
congratulated her. I thought about it some, and that 
night asked Gayle to let me burrow my face into her 
beautiful ass. She did.

Another couldn't resist telling me about her Donna Karen 
silk charmeuse top, you know, the full-sleeved style 
that's coming back? She wondered how it would go with 
her A-line skirt and a bolero? I waved to Meg to pick 
up, and Meg whispered to me what to say. "A bolero's 
perfect with full sleeves, honey," I told her as Meg 
mouthed the words. "It'll give you a commanding look But 
the A-line would make your outfit much too peasant-ish. 
Better a long, severe, narrow skirt that puts your torso 
on a pedestal! You'll be surprised what happens!" She 
was. The next day, she called back for advice how a 
husband on his knees could give her head while she was 
wearing that long, tight skirt. "He dropped to his knees 
when he saw me," she said. "But the only thing his 
tongue could get at was my shoes!" She sounded 
disappointed. I told her on my own to open a side seam 
to the top of her thigh, for a glamorous slit skirt 
look. Meg, listening, was impressed. I was learning.

Another wanted to know how to meet her customer quota 
despite severe monthly menstrual cramps, and with 
Connie's help I gave her some good practical advice 
("Take a long, slow, hot, delicious, perfumed bubble 
bath, dear -- pamper yourself. No of course a tampon, 
not a napkin"). I also provided sympathy ("You poor 
dear, I know just how you feel, mine can be terrible 
sometimes too, it can go on for days and days"). 

A few weeks more and I'd learned a lot, and signalled 
for Connie's or Meg's help only occasionally. I began to 
have similar girl-to-girl conversations with Gayle -- it 
all seemed quite natural, and so much fun! She and 
Gretchen and I began to go out together as a trio, 
giggling and chatting and laughing and listening to each 
other's stories while people nearby marveled at the two 
women with one man who together sounded and behaved like 
three women. 

In fact people who spoke to me in the street or in 
stores began to address me as "ma'am," maybe because of 
a lilt I'd developed unawares in my speech, or my 
gestures, or because of the way I carried myself. Gayle 
was charmed that I now moved my head and hands 
gracefully, and held them at intriguing angles when I 
listened, and that I tended to lift my chin ever so 
slightly before saying anything. All things girls do on 
the phone and off, she told me. She was delighted I had 
such an instinctive feel for my new line of work.

One day Meg overheard me handling an especially 
difficult problem, a married associate who was turning 
lesbian and felt so guilty about betraying her husband 
with her new girlfriend that she couldn't call her 
customers. "Just relax," I told her. "Let your 
girlfriend make all the moves. Enjoy them, and both of 
you meanwhile try to think of ways you can eventually 
include your husband! If you blindfold him when you're 
having sex, maybe you can get him accustomed to all 
kinds of things he won't even know about at first!" 

Meg congratulated me. "It sounds like you're all set to 
be a woman yourself now, Allie," she said. "You're on 
our side! There'll be no surprises! Have you ever 
thought about it?" 

I pointed out that nearly everything I knew was 
theoretical, imagined, by the book, books Connie gave me 
to read by day and Gayle by night. For example, I knew 
all the routine ways to blend the company's eye-shadows 
and to match them with lipsticks and blushes. I knew six 
ways to achieve a new Fall look, and several ways a girl 
can make a man excited enough to cum maybe without even 
touching him. But I could think of nothing practical to 
say one day when a young associate called to ask how she 
could persuade a young customer who never wears bras 
that she should own a few anyhow. I hadn't the foggiest.

"You don't know?" Meg asked, grinning. "We should get 
you a pair of breasts, honey, then you'd know soon 
enough! It's because even young girls bobble when 
they're active, jumping around. And sooner or later we 
sag, sooner if we don't have good support. Shall I ask 
Gayle to arrange some implants for you, so you'll know 
at first hand? Either hand or both hands, however you 
want to hold them?" 

*

I didn't mind being teased that way. I liked it. It 
meant I was accepted, that the three of us were a team! 
I told Gayle what Meg had suggested, and she thought it 
a wonderful idea. She commented that it had crossed her 
mind that it was unfair that she couldn't enjoy my 
breasts the way I did hers. "You're mean, Allie!" she 
said. "Only giving me one thing to suck on when I give 
you two!" 

I wasn't altogether sure she was joking.

The next morning Connie brought in a box full of panties 
and bras, the different brands marketed by our 
associates. All sorts of colors and materials, satin and 
cotton, nylon and spandex, wisps and pushups, front-
hook, long line, and sports, and erotically lacy hi-
legs, bikinis, and thongs. And some lines manufactured 
by competitors, I saw.

"They're all yours, babe," she said. "Wear them in good 
health!"

I lifted an eyebrow at her.

"You know our inventory pretty well, Allie," she 
continued. "But as you said yesterday, it's all 
theoretical. Time to get a real feel for these things. 
Here are assorted undies mostly in your size, but some a 
little small and some a little large so you can get to 
know how these feel too. The bra cups are all too large 
for you right now, of course. But put on a panty and bra 
set every morning anyhow, here if you're embarrassed to 
show Gayle, so you know what it's like for a girl to 
work in harness all day."

I stared at the strange garments uneasily. What did she 
mean by "right now?" I wondered. "Does Gayle know about 
this?" I asked.

"I report to Gayle regularly. There's nothing she 
doesn't know. She knows how pleased I am with your 
progress so far, how quick you are to improve your 
strengths and correct your deficiencies when we point 
them out. I think she's very pleased with you too. In 
fact I know so!"

I got the hint and nodded agreeably. 

"Try this undersized little bra first, and this matching 
thong. So you'll know from tomorrow's set how a 
properly-fitting bra should feel, that it doesn't have 
to bind. Also so you'll appreciate how a regular pair of 
panties feels, one that covers your cheeks instead of 
tucking into your crack so you waggle when you walk." 

I took the wispy things and dangled them from one hand. 
"Now?" I asked, a little anxious about all this.

"I don't know why not now," Connie said. "You go, girl!"

I went to the men's room by the bank of elevators and 
put them on under my suit and shirt. Nothing showed. The 
bra felt tight from the outset, and by the end of the 
day the band seemed to be cutting into my flesh! And all 
that day Connie and Meg grinned when they saw me moving 
about the office, twisting my hips constantly to ease 
the pressure of that elastic strap stretched deep 
between my buttocks, pressed up tight against my anus. 
"Very sexy moves, sweetie," Meg told me. "Has anyone 
ever told you you have a cute ass?"

"Matter of fact, yes," I replied. I grinned back at her, 
but my face felt strained.

I couldn't wait to change out of those flimsy 
instruments of torture when the day's work ended. But 
the next day's bra and panties were so comfortable I 
forgot to remove them and wore them home. I had to 
anyhow, I realized, all of them, so I could rinse them 
out by hand immediately after wearing them the way I'd 
advised so many other women. Gayle said nothing when she 
saw them drying on a towel rack in our bathroom. Nor 
when she saw the pretty pair I wore home and rinsed out 
the following day. But she complimented me a few 
mornings later when we returned from a jog and showered 
and then dressed for the day, and we found ourselves in 
our bedroom together wearing only our bras and panties. 
My set was maroon with delicate lace edging. Hers was a 
chaste white, her bra with wide support straps for her 
heavy breasts. We looked like two women dressing 
together casually, roommates, it occurred to me.

"Nice," was what she said. "Very pretty! Enjoy them!" 
Then looking more closely, "Are you developing a figure, 
honey?" 

I looked down at my chest. "I don't think so. Some of my 
bras do gather up muscle and skin, whatever's there, and 
then the cups shape them. I guess these do look a little 
like breasts."

"They're darling, Allie. Really! Very becoming! You must 
be feeling very proud of them!" 

She reached out and touched a nipple through the satiny 
material, and it instantly became a teeny erection. She 
smiled and glanced at me slyly, then as she slipped into 
her blouse she commented, "Maybe we really should start 
thinking about ways to fill you out. I'll bet you do 
enjoy wearing pretty undies. Most women do. They remind 
us how feminine we are. How desirable we are."

It hadn't occurred to me before, but all that day 
whenever I remembered what I had on underneath, I did 
enjoy the fact that I was wearing them. Gayle was 
delighted when I confessed it to her that night. A few 
days later I wore another thong bikini, and the snug 
band rising tight between my buttocks and separating 
them actually felt good! As I waggled to lunch, both Meg 
and Connie lifted their eyebrows and grinned at me. I 
grinned back, and waggled my rear at them even more 
exaggeratedly.. 

*

Two weeks later I'd worn all of my undies home, even the 
undersized ones, and they'd replaced all of the regular 
men's underwear in my drawer. A few days later a box of 
various styles and colors of teddies and slips and 
camisoles and chemises and body-stockings and leotards 
appeared on my desk, in lacy, satiny, and plain cotton 
fabrics. Without comment I took them home and added them 
to my morning wardrobe. Soon after, when Connie set up a 
half-price special lingerie sale, I was able to tell 
each associate I spoke to what features of each kind 
they might want to stress to their various customers, 
which helped a girl feel cute or naughty or proper or 
seductive. I already knew from the ways they made me 
feel when I looked in the mirror each morning. 

Connie and Meg and I alternated going to lunch in 
couples, one of us always on the phones while the other 
two went down to the coffee shop off the lobby to nibble 
a sandwich or a salad and then bring one back. Gayle 
wanted me even thinner, so we could pace each other on 
our morning jogs. I was already nearly as lean and swift 
as she was, though as full as ever in my hips and thighs 
because of all the jogging. My arms were almost as thin 
as Gayle's too, because she wanted them that way --she 
told me that male upper body musculature always somehow 
seemed threatening to her. So usually a small salad was 
ample for me. After two weeks of testing out a fast-
weight-loss diet-drink product we were adding to our 
website, I doubt I weighed any more than Gayle. 

So mainly I looked forward to lunch for the talk. More 
girl talk. Both women spent their lunch times with me 
briefing me on everything every girl should know, and I 
tried to remember it all. Some stuff was predictable -- 
Meg loaned me a book of recipes I could claim my mother 
had passed on to her daughter, and I'd dole out a few 
when that topic ever came up, along with advice about 
how to peel garlic cloves, and to remember to toss 
freshly cooked pasta in a bit of oil. 

But there were always surprises. One of them finally 
tipped the balance.

I was in the office alone when the Connie and Meg came 
back from lunch to find me talking empty phrases into 
the phone and turning pages of fashion books almost at 
random. I motioned desperately for one of them to pick 
up. The problem was simple, A much-valued customer 
wanted to color coordinate a retro red evening gown with 
this year's make-up, but fashion had shifted from the 
bright reds appropriate to that gown to dark wine colors 
that weren't. She wanted a shade of lipstick and blush 
that could match the dress yet appear au courant. 
Moreover, it had to be kiss-proof even through strenuous 
lovemaking, because she and her escort were both 
married, but not to each other. Tell-tale smudging might 
prove disastrous. Connie mouthed me some suggestions and 
then threw in some additional helpful hints -- for 
example, ways a woman can phone her lover at any time 
without rousing a wife's suspicions. The day was saved, 
but when I hung up my hands still shook. 

Connie then came over and sat down on the edge of my 
desk to speak to me seriously. "You're comfortable with 
what you know about lingerie, aren't you Allie?"

"Yes," I replied. "I'm also comfortable wearing them."

"Well, Allie, the time has come. You need to begin 
wearing make-up too. You need to learn more about 
matching, all sorts of little practical tricks girls 
work out for themselves, so you can extrapolate or 
transpose them and share what you know with your 
associates."

I waited to see what she had in mind. With make-up, I'd 
look like a woman, I was thinking. No doubt of it. 
That's what everyone will think I am. I'll have no 
choice, I'll have to live like a woman. And I wasn't 
ready for that. Despite my telephone identity and my 
professional knowledge of all things feminine, and my 
underwear, I was still a man. 

"You're here eight hours every day, Allie, and there's 
no one here but us. There's no one here to see you. So 
here's where you can feel free to practice with the 
company's products, figure out what works for you and 
what doesn't. Then you can advise others from a deeper 
basis of understanding. Because you'll know more about 
what makes a woman look pretty, or glamorous, or 
whatever effect she's seeking. Are you with me so far?"

"So far," I said. 

"All right then. We understand each other. Starting 
tomorrow you'll wear make-up every day all day, and 
learn for yourself the uses and the durability of every 
line we sell. Experiment with it. Play with it. The way 
we all did when we were girls!" She hesitated. Then 
said, "You'll look gorgeous! You'll love it!"

I sat there stiffly. I no longer thought of my new voice 
as feminine, just as, well, just as my voice. I no 
longer paid attention to the way policemen or 
supermarket checkout girls or strangers reacted when 
they heard me. I now related comfortably with women, and 
they all sensed it and appreciated it. The common bond I 
felt with them, our voices, the fact that we were hugged 
by the same kinds of undies, and shared the same daily 
concerns, these had brought out a femininity in me I 
sort of liked. I felt more open and spontaneous and 
gentle, more free to speak about my feelings with Gayle, 
or Meg or Connie. And it was true, where make-up was 
concerned, I'd always felt a little like a fraud when I 
gave girl-to-girl advice, even when I knew it was good 
advice. Because for all my sensitivity and 
understanding, what I knew was only by the book.

For things like that Meg and Connie had to carry more 
than their share. I couldn't speak from personal 
experience about lots of the products we were advising 
women to buy. Not about sanitary napkins and tampons, 
not about matching dresses or skirts. But make-up was 
the most frequently discussed of all our products, the 
most competitive, the most heavily purchased, and the 
one I knew carried our highest profit margins. 

"All right," I finally said. "Let's say I start using 
make-up.

Daytime only, here. What's involved, do you think?" 

"Not a lot. We'll need to get your hair styled properly 
for the shape of your face first, so the shapes and 
shades of the make-up you need to wear will be obvious 
whenever you look into a mirror. You already know the 
basics. When you've adapted them to meet your own needs, 
everyone else's needs will make much better sense."

"I don't know..." I said, hesitantly. Some make-up 
didn't remove easily. One of our lines was practically 
indelible. Any color at all on my face when I was out 
being a man could raise real doubts about me whenever 
anyone looked at me. True, I was feeling less and less 
like a man each week anyhow. And Gayle didn't seem to 
mind! Far from it, she enjoyed my knowing and caring 
about her concerns as a woman. I'd even begun advising 
her mother about this year's fashions during her 
occasional phone calls -- her entire bridge club had 
listened fascinated when she reported on my say-so that 
little hats with veils were returning for formal 
afternoon wear.

"You don't know? Well, that's a good enough answer. I do 
know, so that's that!" Connie immediately stood up. It 
was settled, I saw. "I'll call Gayle and tell her we 
think you're ready and it's necessary, and I'm sure 
she'll agree," she said. "You ask her tonight."

I imagined the scene. "Gayle, I love my bras and 
panties, and I adore my teddies!" -- it was true, I 
realized, I was beginning to do just that. "But it's 
time I began wearing make-up. Could I borrow that 
darling mocha rose lipstick of yours tomorrow?" What 
would she say? I realized I already knew. She'd call 
Gretchen to ask her advice about getting me a complete 
makeover, doing it right. She wouldn't mind at all.

"Daytime only, here, like you say, if you're worried 
about what people on the street might think, Allie. You 
can always put your face on after you arrive here, and 
you can always take it off before you go home. Though I 
myself don't think anyone will think anything. The 
sandwich man downstairs already thinks you're a girl, 
just from your voice. A little lipstick or eyebrow 
pencil won't change that impression. Maybe it'll 
eliminate a little dissonance, the mismatch between the 
way you look now and the way you sound when you speak. 
To look a little more obviously feminine wouldn't be a 
big step for you. Your hairdo will carry you over the 
edge anyhow, chances are." 

"I'm still dressed like a man," I said, still hesitating 
but trying to sound reasonable until I could find a 
tactful way out of this. 

"Dress any way you like. Lots of women wear slacks and 
shirts and sweaters and jackets and suits to work, same 
as you. And as you know, we all wear big clunky shoes 
anyhow these days, just like men's shoes but with just a 
bit more heel."

"Connie," I started to say.. But she was gone. It was 
settled.

That very night I told Gayle what Connie had ordered up, 
from between Gayle's legs. My face between her legs, I 
mean. Gayle had the sweetest, freshest cunny-hole in the 
world, and once she'd told me she loved it I couldn't 
get enough of nuzzling its sweet delicacy each time we 
made love, always as a preliminary to the main event. I 
also loved the ripe, fermy smell of her secretions mixed 
with my sperm when she asked me to go down on her 
afterward, after my cock had lost its vigor but Gayle 
hadn't yet had enough. Anything I sipped from Gayle's 
pussy was nectar, even my own cum! 

I told Gayle I wasn't sure it was a good idea, my 
wearing different kinds of make-up in the office, 
learning what kinds best enhanced my own ... ahhh 
...appearance. My beautiful face. She smiled delighted 
as I nibbled her clit, and as her orgasm rose she bucked 
her crotch into my face and smeared it with our combined 
juices and cried out, "Yes, beautiful, yes, perfect, 
yes, do it, do it, Allie, sweet, sweet, Allie! Ohhhh DO 
IT!" Then she breathed deep and was silent, finally, 
utterly content. 

I took that to mean she approved my wearing make-up, 
crossing the line and no mistake, appearing to the world 
as a woman. Only afterward did I realize that she hadn't 
necessarily, that she might have been responding 
randomly to her orgasm! That my thinking she'd approved 
maybe meant that deep down I wanted her to approve. 
Because it was easier than disappointing Connie and Meg. 
Because what they'd proposed made sense, and Gayle's 
respect for me depended on my knowing that it made 
sense. I cherished Gayle's respect above all else. And 
her appreciation. And her love for me. 

So I supposed she didn't mind, and my impression was 
confirmed when I was leaving for the office the next 
morning and she said, "Enjoy everything, dear. I can't 
wait to see!" 

En route to work, I realized that her last remark meant 
I'd have to wear my make-up home. I'd arrive home 
looking like a woman. And if I did that, I thought, 
could I explain why not all the time? Why not even on 
weekends? I did have a lot to learn about the durability 
of some of our cosmetics, after all, and about looking 
nice in all sorts of circumstances. Was I ready for 
this?

When I arrived Meg was already waiting for me. "Hurry, 
Allie! Your appointment's in ten minutes and it's two 
blocks away!" And she swept me away. 

As we scurried along the sidewalk I asked how she 
already knew that Gayle didn't mind, and she flashed me 
a sidelong glance. "Oh, Allie, nothing's accidental in a 
large organization like this one! Connie cleared this 
with Gayle long before she raised the issue with you! Of 
course! It's really obvious and inescapable for someone 
in your line of work! Yesterday after you agreed, I 
called Gayle and we discussed exactly what changes in 
your hairdo and so on would do you the most good! She 
called Gretchen, and Gretchen made a great suggestion 
we're going to follow out. The idea is, we'll enhance 
your feminine appearance without pushing you way over 
into it. We'll stay near the border, so you can retreat 
if you feel panicky. But we'll go far enough for you to 
feel committed -- women are all committed to being 
women, after all, making the best of how they look. What 
you learn from that can translate into all kinds of 
practical advice associates can pass on to their 
customers."

"Enhance my feminine appearance?" I asked her with a wry 
smile, trying to project a manly, dignified reserve.

Another sidelong glance from Meg. "Oh, Allie, just 
listen to you! You're already more feminine than most 
girls I know. You certainly know more about feminine 
things! You're a role model for all those women who 
phone you with their problems! Masculinity is wasted on 
someone as sweet and sensitive as you! Give it up!"


CHAPTER IV

Even though it was still early morning of a business 
day, the beauty salon was already filled with women of 
all sorts and ages, sitting and lying in chairs and 
getting brushed, combed, curled, rollered, blow-dried, 
waxed, manicured, clipped, wrapped, massaged, and 
sprayed. All the work stations were filled with other 
women at work or else standing and chatting. The female 
energy filling the air was palpable, overwhelming, 
intimidating. For a moment I felt genuine fear! 

Oddly, no one paid me the slightest attention -- could 
Connie and Meg be correct that my face and temperament 
already read "female," and that my voice confirmed any 
doubts?

We were ushered past crowds of waiting women and I was 
seated immediately in one of the purple leather lounging 
chairs enthroned in each work station. Meg spoke to the 
attendant who was already studying me. "Dana, this is 
Allie!" she said. "Gayle says go ahead the way we 
discussed it."

"Fine!" Dana replied. Her name tag also read "Dana," I 
noted stupidly. I was out of it. The women were in 
charge. "Complete make-over, once over everything, but 
lightly. So she'll be reminded she's a girl even when 
she's fresh from a shower. But discreetly, nothing 
really shouted out loud!" 

Reminded that I'm a girl? 'She'? Shout what? "That's 
exactly right," Meg replied. "Allie, you'll be most of 
the morning here. Don't worry, we'll cover for you at 
the office. Come back when you're done, and we'll all 
three celebrate the new you with champagne!"

"What do you mean, the new me?" I replied, fear rising 
in my belly.

"Oh, that's a lovely voice, Allie," Dana said, sincerely 
surprised and impressed, but also trying to calm me. I 
was obviously disturbed. Not that it mattered. If one 
not-quite-man misbehaved in a salon crowded to capacity 
with women, who'd notice? 

I gave Dana a quick, scant "Thank you, that's sweet of 
you to say so, Dana!" but otherwise paid her no 
attention. "What new me?" I repeated to Meg, a little 
more loudly, tense.

"The you who'll know more about looking beautiful than 
any of the high school girls you talk to. If you get too 
worried, just remember that Gayle will love you for 
this! She's wanted this for you for a long time. Even 
before you moved in with her, if you must know! And I 
know even if you don't that deep down under you'll love 
it too! Ta ta!" 

And with a triumphant smile Meg turned away, her hand 
high in the air, rotating it at the wrist in farewell!

I've got to admit it, they did do everything but didn't 
overdo anything. My hair was razor trimmed and then 
permed lightly for body, lightened, and then blow-dried 
into a fluffy layered style that barely covered my ear 
lobes. Bangs fell curving over my forehead, so my 
unusually small face -- for a man -- looked positively 
diminutive. When I tried brushing them back they fell 
forward again, trained to stay there. It was conceivably 
a man's style, but it looked distinctly feminine. 

My body was hairless. I'd been taken in back and waxed 
and stripped painfully, and every inch of me was now 
bare and smooth, though clothes covered the fact 
everywhere but on the exposed backs of my hands. Dana 
handed me a schedule for the further electrolysis of my 
thin beard, three times weekly. My nails were now longer 
and manicured pink, almost their natural color but more 
uniformly, richly luminous and glistening. Anyone 
looking would know they were a woman's hands, though 
anyone glancing might not notice. 

My eyebrows were -- as one of the operators said -- 
neatened. Trimmed, thinned, and arched, plucked but not 
quite as hairless as many women's. No longer a man's, 
even so. A foundation creme coated my face and smoothed 
away every blemish and covered what little beard I had, 
flawlessly, and Dana showed me how to make it resemble 
natural skin again with just a brush-full of face powder 
and some wisps of blended blush. I'd gotten both ears 
pierced on a dare in college -- they found the holes and 
re-opened them with teeny gold rings that were now 
glinting in my earlobes. 

"See?" said Dana as I examined my mirrored image. "You 
can still swing either way, hon. Except for your eyes. 
We went all out there with your company's products. The 
eyes have it all! They're unambiguous!" 

It was true. I checked the mirror. I now looked like 
either an incredibly effeminate man or a really cute 
girl, depending on my body English. Except for my eyes. 
My eyes were now exquisitely made up, deeply feminine, 
outlined and widened, my lashes extended and thickened 
into dense fringes and my lids and browbones shadowed 
with blended shades of eyeshadow, a streak of white just 
under my eyebrows. The rest of me could be called "cute" 
as a man or as a woman, maybe. But my eyes changed 
everything. Those deep, glamorous orbs were unmistakably 
feminine. They looked as big proportional to my face as 
a little girl's, downright attractive, innocent yet 
seductive. Even though I was shocked to see how I 
looked, I had to admire what Dana had done. I felt a 
strange, delicious apprehension! I'd entered a new 
world.

"That's the secret, Allie. Eyes. You tell the girls you 
talk to tell the girls they talk to. Play with your eye 
make-up all you want and the rest will follow. A new 
sleek, smart you, with a romantic mystery men will 
always notice whenever you pass by. You'll get all the 
admiration any girl could crave." 

Men? Listening to her, I was appalled. Excited, but 
terribly fearful. Something important had somehow 
slipped from my grasp! Something else had replaced it. 
As I studied my reflection in the mirror, I reached up 
to tuck a stray hair back into place in my coiffure. I 
saw myself do it!

"Your lipstick is rose beige, incidentally, perfectly 
appropriate for most occasions and not necessarily 
noticeable. But go darker at night, especially for any 
long-gown evening affairs." 

I hadn't noticed, but it was so. In the perfection of my 
face, my lips were now also perfect. Rosebuds like 
Gayle's, smooth, even in tone, almost but not quite 
their natural shade. I was almost still a man. As I 
stood up, I didn't know what to think. Dana refused 
payment. "It's on the company tab, taken care of," she 
said. "Just as you are, honey. Remember your 
electrolysis appointments, now."

I walked warily back to the office, avoiding all eye 
contact with everybody but watching for signs that some 
people recognized how ridiculous I was. A few women 
smiled at me understandingly, as women do other women in 
passing, and a man stared in open admiration as I passed 
him by. I felt a little reassured. I wasn't freakish 
after all. 

Back at the office the girls took one look and screamed 
joyously, and hugged me, and in their exuberance tried 
to dance with me. They'd ordered in a pizza, and now 
they poured champagne into plastic champagne flutes. "To 
our lovely Allie! To her long and happy life!

I wasn't too happy with that "her." "In the lobby, a man 
held a door open for me," I said worriedly. "And in the 
elevator another man tipped his hat." I was still trying 
to get used to this idea. What had I done? Why had I let 
them do this to me? Was it that bad? 

It didn't feel that bad at all. It already felt the way 
my voice sounded to me, perfectly natural.

Both Meg and Connie looked at me with amused 
understanding. "That'll happen a lot from now on, 
looking the way you look, Allie," Connie said. "You 
should see your expression! Pretty but dazed, with such 
a fetching air of vulnerability! Men'll get stiff and 
maybe even cum in their pants when you walk by! Have a 
glass of this bubbly stuff and sit quite still so we can 
all get used to looking at you. Here, set this mirror up 
on your desk, so you can look yourself over any time. 
I'd say Allie's now quite pretty, wouldn't you, Meg?"

"I'd say so," Meg said. "Dana did some marvelous things 
with your face, honey! Study them. There're the secrets 
your associates will be glad to hear about. Every day 
try to match them to the colors of different blouses and 
dresses."

"Wait a minute, ladies," I said as gallantly as I could. 
I felt very strange. I knew how I looked. I was 
embarrassed, excited, but also calm. My voice, as I 
listened to it, had a peculiarly wistful quality. "No 
one said anything about blouses or dresses. This is all 
so I can learn the uses of our products at first hand. 
And that's all it is. It all begins and ends at the 
office!"

"Honey," Meg said with a pleased glance at Connie. "Not 
your own blouses and dresses! Not yet, anyhow. That's 
what you'll tell the associates to tell their customers. 
Wherever did you get the idea I meant you? Though how 
you'll make yourself up each morning without reference 
to whatever the color scheme you're wearing that day 
escapes me. Your men's clothes are all a drab 
monochrome, I've noticed! We'll have to speak to Gayle 
about this." 

"Well, one thing I know, I said. "I take my face off 
here when I go home and I put it on here when I arrive. 
That's all I agreed to do! There's cold cream in the 
ladies room for taking it off. I know that from when you 
brought it out that time I was on the phone with the 
associate who thought it was greasy, so I could reassure 
her it wasn't."

"Oh? Connie, should we allow Allie access to the ladies' 
room?" Meg asked. "Should she know all our little 
secrets? Can she use the tampon dispenser now when she 
needs to?"

"I think we'll have to let her," Connie replied gravely. 
They were now each finishing their second filled flute 
of champagne, and I must confess it, by now so was I. 
"We can't ask her to use the men's room any more. Think 
how anyone with a dick hanging in his pants would have 
to behave, seeing her there. Could he even pee through 
it? One look and it'd point straight up at the ceiling!" 
The two of them giggled.

Then seriously, Meg looked at me. "Allie, you can take 
your face off before you go home if you feel you must. 
Until you develop enough pride in the way you look now 
to be the way you want to look always. But not today! 
Today Gayle wants to see you at your best."

That was true. I remembered her last words to me -- "I 
can't wait to see!"

"Don't worry," Connie consoled me. "There's no way 
you'll be embarrassed on your way home. No one would 
dream you were ever a man! Did you have any problems 
walking back from the salon?"

"No," I said, realizing for the first time that I 
hadn't. "Two women smiled at me. That never happened 
when I was a man. When I looked like a man, I mean."

"I heard you the first time, Allie honey," Connie said. 
"I'll phone Gayle and tell her what to expect." She 
stood and weaved over to her desk. "There's still a 
little more champagne in the bottle," she said to Meg. 
"I think it's Allie's. She's earned it." 

"Yes, she has," Meg said. She smiled at me more warmly 
than any time since I'd known her. 

"'He' has," I responded, one last effort. Meg didn't 
seem to hear.

"Here you are, Allie." She handed it to me, and she 
lifted her own glass. "Welcome to the other side! You'll 
love it, trust me!"

Welcome to what? But before I could ask, all three 
phones started ringing at once and our afternoon's 
advisory sessions got under way. I told several of the 
women I spoke to during the next several hours to stress 
eye make-up for their clients. "It's absolutely 
transforming," I said with my own face visible in the 
mirror Connie had given me. It certainly was. 

When quitting time came, both of my fellow supervisors 
were sober again. They watched in silence as I walked 
into the ladies', their faces impassive. They looked 
visibly relieved when I walked out again with my face 
unchanged. They glanced quickly at each other and then a 
little hesitantly at me. Then they broke into laughter 
when I grinned broadly at them. 

"Just checking to see what my new accommodation 
provides," I told them with a faint smile. "A lady's 
entitled to know! Not a single urinal! And why isn't 
there a condom dispenser alongside the tampons and 
sanitary napkins? And shouldn't we be keeping a full 
range of our products on that mirrored counter? How will 
I put on my face tomorrow? Good night, ladies!"

"Good night, Allie honey," they both chimed. "You look 
just great! Feel proud! Walk tall!"

So I walked out into the hallway and headed toward the 
elevators with small steps, my feet stepping close to an 
invisible centerline, delicately, head high. Now I had 
to move like a woman! It occurred to me vaguely that I 
should be carrying a purse. I attracted no more 
attention on the street or the bus back to the apartment 
than any other young woman on her way home from work. 
And as I realized this, I began to feel ... authentic. 

When I arrived home, Gayle was already there in the 
living room, waiting, enthroned in one of her 
overstuffed chairs. I paused in the middle of the room 
and struck a model's pose, turned, looked over my 
shoulder at her, smiled a wide, inviting smile, then 
turned back and looked haughtily out the window, my 
shoulders twisted one way, my hips the reverse. All 
poses I'd seen in women's clothing and cosmetics ads. 
She looked me up and down expressionlessly, then 
suddenly giggled.

"You sweet, sweet thing!" she said. "Connie phoned. It's 
just as she said! I see how Dana did do your hair and 
everything so close to the line you could still pass as 
a man, if you were very careful about it. Maybe you 
could. But I love it that you now feel feminine enough 
not to bother. I love it that you're so sure of yourself 
you don't care what others think you are. I love it that 
my boyfriend is now also my girlfriend. Take those 
clothes off, you wonderful girl, you! Dinner can wait!

In bed she couldn't get over how smooth my hairless body 
felt. Her hands never stopped roaming and stroking and 
petting and fondling me, and her mouth moved everywhere 
over me, her lips and tongue testing and tasting the new 
feel of my skin. "I want this," she moaned barely 
audibly. "Oh I do so want this!" She seemed near 
fainting when I finally moved my face out of her pussy 
and up to kiss the hollow of her neck while I inserted 
myself gently into her. She came almost immediately. And 
then again lightly but continually as I languidly 
stroked in and out of her. Her hands cupped my chest and 
caressed my nipples as if they were full-sized breasts 
and teats. 

I decided right then that if I could put up with what 
people thought of my voice, I could put up with whatever 
they thought of the rest of me. This was how I looked 
and this would be how I looked. While we were resting 
between rounds, tasting each other's lipsticks in soft 
little nibbles, I told Gayle just that. "Mmmmmm!" she 
said. "Perfect! You're such a love! More!" She left me 
in no doubt what she meant. In the morning she offered 
me use of her make-up, "just to get to the office, where 
I understand Connie's assembled what you'll need from 
now on." Arrived at the office looking thoroughly 
feminine, I found a large cosmetics case waiting for me 
on my desk, with "Night Cremes" and "Fresh-from-Your-
Shower" lotion and other things that left no doubt they 
were for home use. I brought it home and that found 
Gayle had bought me a new vanity table and mirror. "For 
before you go to work," she said. "I want you to look 
beautiful always." 

Thus much for my plan to wear make-up only at the 
office. I nodded, and said nothing. I felt pleased, in 
fact. If Gayle wanted it for me, I wanted it. 

It had been a game so far, an amusing game, but Gayle 
incorporated my new look into our relationship with the 
same high good spirits we both brought to making love to 
each other. In a way I was now a woman to her, but a 
woman with a wonderful warm dildo attached. And that was 
how I began to think of myself. We often made "lesbian" 
love as she still called it, like two women, all night 
long each of us devoted to the other's crotch, no 
penetration necessary. But whatever we did, there was 
nothing solemn about it. It was simply wonderful, fun, 
joyous, a natural extension of what we felt for each 
other.

Each day I played with my hair and my make-up before 
getting dressed. Despite the original plan, each day I 
left the house already altogether a woman, fully made-up 
for the day, sometimes rather elegantly. It was easier 
for me to keep my main array of cosmetics on my vanity 
in the bedroom alongside Gayle's, and only touchups in 
the ladies' room at the office. Once over the line, I 
didn't mind going further, trying now to look 
definitive. I no longer feared embarrassment, Dana had 
seen to that. It was still a game, but the same game 
many women play.

Meg and Connie said nothing the next day when I showed 
up for work with my face -- and especially my eyes -- 
unquestionably a woman's. In fact, knowing that I was 
now navigating the streets looking like a woman, no 
longer like a man, our luncheon conversations turned 
toward issues different from the earlier ones. Safety 
precautions at night, for example. And how to keep men 
from hitting on you, as they did all the time. And what 
to do when they did.

"The big question is always, first of all, Allie, do you 
want him to? You always ask yourself that, even if he's 
intrusive and annoying, but especially if he looks cute, 
or handsome, or you hear he's got a lot of money." She 
paused. "Or you hear he's well-hung." That was Meg 
speaking. She had considerable experience with cute or 
handsome or well-hung men, a different one each week it 
sometimes seemed.

"Not me," I said categorically. "I'm spoken for!"

"Well, sure," Connie replied when the same topic came up 
the next day. "But your ego isn't. Take that guy over 
there, you see him, the one sitting by himself, the 
brown tweed sports jacket and tanned face? The 
outdoorsman? Holding his fork like a tennis racket and 
his knife like a golf club? Do you think you could get 
him interested in you? Would it make you feel more like 
a real woman if a hunk like him was leaning over you and 
making his moves?"

I looked him over, for fun, playing Connie's game. I 
could see what a woman would see in him. I could even 
feel the force of it, a little. A very little. But 
intimacy with any man? The idea felt a little repellent. 
Still, I enjoyed looking attractive now, the same way 
women did who used our products. It would be nice to 
feel that's what I was. Attractive, I mean. Well, that I 
was a woman too, in a way. An attractive woman. It might 
help me understand better the appeal of our products to 
women, if I could understood better how women use them 
to appeal to men. Somehow. It was so deliciously 
confusing!

"Yes, I think so, Connie," I said with a little 
wonderment in my voice, still looking at him. "Would I 
feel more like a real woman if he were interested in me? 
I think so, Connie! Isn't that remarkable!"

"Isn't it, Allie?" she said, now openly amused by my 
response. My honesty. "That's why we flirt, honey. It 
makes us feel good, whether or not we want the poor 
wretch we're flirting with to grovel at our feet. 
Mostly, we don't. Well, maybe Meg does, she loves men 
who grovel. Let's try something though. Just keep 
looking at him. Sooner or later he'll notice, and when 
he does, keep looking at him, straight into his eyes, 
until he turns away or breaks off contact. Don't you 
look away first, under no circumstances! Then when he 
looks again, be sure he sees you chatting with me, 
utterly indifferent to whether he lives or dies. Because 
that'll clinch it."

"Clinch what?" I asked, though I did what she'd 
suggested. The man was two tables away and happened to 
look up. At me. He'd felt something? He saw me, and he 
stared back blankly for just a moment -- I could see the 
browser behind his eyes searching his memory to see if 
he knew me. It came up blank, and he looked away for a 
moment. I kept my eyes on him.

He decided something and stood up. As I started speaking 
nonsense animatedly to Connie, he came over, and 
actually leaned over me! "Pardon me," he said. "I don't 
mean to intrude. But do we know each other?"

I thought fast. "I don't think so," I replied. "But I'm 
sure I'd remember if we did." I smiled up at him.

"Any chance we can get to know each other?" he 
responded, encouraged. "I'm in town only for today, and 
I'll be gone tomorrow morning early."

"That would be perfect," I replied -- Gayle's favorite 
word. I kept my eyes looking into his now despite my 
incredible temptation to look away as I spoke my next 
line in this old, old scenario, a real whopper! "Except 
that my husband's in town too, and I hate to leave him 
alone with our two kids while I'm out on the town with 
another man. It might give him ideas of his own."

The man grinned a devastating grin! "I bet it would! A 
pity! He's a lucky man. But I hope you don't mind my 
asking."

"Not at all," I replied. "Thank you!"

"No, thank you!" he said, and with a sigh he returned to 
his table.

Connie was beside herself. Ecstatic! Unable to repress 
her mirth! "See?" she said. "Now don't you feel better 
than you did? And he does too, I'll bet!"

"I have to say 'yes,'" I said. "But because of a man? 
I'm damned if I know why!"

"No, you're 'quite sure' you don't know why, Allie. Only 
men are 'damned' in this world, the poor dears." 

I accepted the correction. "You know something else, 
Connie," I said as I reached for my purse alongside my 
chair -- I now carried one, even though I was still 
wearing men's clothes and pockets -- and we both stood 
up to leave. "I also feel a little regretful."

Connie's smile broadened. "Because he's such a nice guy, 
and you had to disappoint him?" she asked. 

"That too," I replied. 

At that Connie went into such spasms of laughter that we 
had to run across the lobby to the elevator to preserve 
minimal decency. Once inside with the doors shut, she 
almost choked. She couldn't stop! The rest of that 
afternoon she couldn't look at me without spluttering 
all over again. It was a while before she could pull 
herself together long enough to tell a puzzled Meg why 
all the glee. "Our new girl here actually felt attracted 
to a man!" she spluttered. "A keeper, too! It's really a 
pity she had to throw him back!" Then she exploded 
again! I maintained an aloof dignity through all of it.


CHAPTER V

It was Meg who suggested the next stage in my journey. 
One day when I was wearing a T-shirt around the house it 
seemed all too obvious that my figure was too flat for 
the women I resembled. Gayle brought home some breast 
forms for me. I didn't especially care for them, because 
my own nipples had become sensitive, and I liked their 
feel projected out by my bras. The breast forms 
compressed them under jiggly plastic. Still, it seemed 
only proper for me to wear them at the office under my 
shirt. They justified my wearing my brassieres, after 
all. 

Meg noticed them immediately. I was in full daywear as 
well as makeup, and I'd clipped a barrette over each ear 
to hold my new hairdo back from my face. I took off my 
jacket to work on a new billing procedure, and my bra's 
lacy cups bulged out prominently under my white dress 
shirt. Meg looked at me, looked again, and then said, 
"Well! We aren't even a little bit androgynous today, 
are we?" 

Connie was also intrigued. "This will certainly improve 
your rapport with our associates," she said. "Do you 
mean to get pregnant too, so you can advise them on our 
complete line of nursing bras?"

I just looked at her, and unexpectedly I felt a twinge 
of guilt. I was indeed a fraud, pretending to a reality 
that wasn't mine, trying to look like the woman I was 
not. But my fake breasts were for me and Gayle to think 
about, nobody else. 

I think Meg realized that. "May I make just one 
suggestion, Allie honey?" she asked.

"Of course," I said sweetly. I did appreciate her tact 
at that moment.

"There are so many becoming blouses in all the stores, 
as you know. You advise women about mixing and matching 
them with skirts all the time. Why do you keep wearing 
those ugly men's shirts? And I notice you still aren't 
wearing hosiery. Whether pantyhose or stockings with a 
garter belt or girdle is none of my business, but I'll 
bet you have fabulous legs. Why not show them off under 
a skirt? Allie?"

"What for, Meg? I don't feel any need to show off my 
legs."

"Need? Why Allie, every girl wants to show off her legs, 
if she has good legs. They're part of the decor. Why 
don't you bite the bullet and show up for work in skirts 
or dresses and be done with it?"

She was teasing. 

Finally I spoke. "I don't know. Maybe because I feel, 
somehow, that going all the way that way, wearing 
complete outfits of women's clothes, it's ... well, 
maybe that would be a one-way street. Maybe I wouldn't 
want ever to go back. It's scary to think about."

"Why should you want to go back?" Connie asked. 

I had no answer.

"Have you ever worn any of Gayle's clothes?" Meg 
suddenly asked me softly. 

"Yes, once," I confessed.

"Did it feel nice?"

"Fabulous!" I replied. The fact was, I couldn't take my 
eyes off myself that one time. I was home and Gayle was 
working late, and I'd gone into her closet wondering 
what I'd look like. I'd tried different outfits. It was 
terribly addictive, I'd concluded. So I'd carefully hung 
her clothes back where they belonged.

"Then enjoy being pretty, Allie. Be a pretty girl. 
That's what it's all about. You won't go any further 
than you want to. Certainly no further than Gayle wants 
you to go. There's a terrific sale going on now at 
Talbot's. You know Talbot styles, beautifully cut, 
tasteful, classics, never flamboyant but not too casual 
or conservative either. Clothes for girls like you, 
reserved and poised. Shall we look for a skirt and 
blouse for you there after work today? Then maybe some 
shoes? No clunky shoes, you have plenty of those. 
Something more delicate, a mid-heel pump maybe?"

I tried to say 'no.' Tears came into my eyes. "Meg, I do 
appreciate your thoughtfulness," I told her. "I really 
do. But ...." My voice trailed off. My resolve 
collapsed. They both waited. They knew where I'd end up.

"Yes," I told her. "I'd love to go shopping with you. 
More than anything." Now tears began to stream down my 
cheeks. I tried to blot them. "See what you've done? My 
mascara's running!"

As I stood up to go to the ladies' and repair myself, 
there was Meg, and before I knew it we were hugging, and 
I was pressing my wet cheek against hers as she cried 
too. "Oh Allie," she said. "I've suspected it for so 
long now. I just knew that there was a wonderful girl in 
you struggling to get out! Isn't it marvelous that now 
she's out! I know Gayle will be pleased! She's been 
waiting for you to come around, to decide you'd rather 
be a girl, to live as a girl! And you're right, there's 
no going back from it, because why in the world should 
you ever want to? The girl in you needs her freedom!" 

I just shook my head, tears still flowing. I had no idea 
why I should ever want to go back either. It felt so 
much nicer here, being a girl with these other girls! 
But it felt a little poignant too. Some of my tears were 
for my lost manhood.

I came back to the apartment a little late for supper, 
wearing a near ankle-length pencil-pleated skirt, teeny 
patterns all tan and straw and burnt umber, with a 
simple sleeveless slipover blouse that displayed my 
breasts and thin arms without emphasizing them, and a 
light topper. Gayle was waiting, a little concerned. 
"I'm sorry I'm late," I explained simply as I hung my 
new topper in the front closet. "I was shopping. With 
Meg." There was nothing more I needed to say. She saw.

She looked me over slowly. My pretty new outfit, and the 
shy pride I took in how becoming it was. She saw that my 
eye makeup was nearly gone, for the first time in weeks, 
and she guessed correctly that I'd been blotting my 
tears repeatedly. 

Then she threw herself into my arms, and couldn't keep 
from kissing my face everywhere she could reach it. "Oh, 
darling, darling Allie!" she kept saying. "I'm so happy 
for you. I've waited so long for you to come to this! 
And you arrived all by yourself!" And as we pressed our 
cheeks together, I could feel that hers was as wet as 
mine. Just like Meg's! Why do women cry so easily? We 
both felt so very happy. That night when we made love, I 
wore the exquisite satin nightgown Gayle had bought 
months earlier during the first few days of my new voice 
-- bought, as she had told me then, "just for you." It 
fit perfectly, and felt as exquisite as it looked. 
"Here," she said when she handed it to me. "I really did 
buy this just for you -- you notice I've never worn it? 
From now on you wear only pretty things. Right?"

I nodded. "If that's what you want, that's what I want," 
I said.

"I want," she said, coming toward me. 

It was a whole, wonderful new world of feelings and 
appearances I was exploring now. Thrilling in some ways, 
not only because it was new but also because it was 
somehow a little dangerous. "Transgressive" was the word 
Gayle used when I described my newfound wicked delight 
in doing and thinking and wearing girl things. She 
encouraged me to move further into my feelings, to 
explore more of them. I told her about the tweedy man 
who'd tried to pick me up the other day, and my twinge 
of regret that he hadn't. We made love that night more 
gently, more tenderly, than ever. "My sweetheart feels 
the way I do," she crooned. 

Sexual ambivalence began to enter into our sex play. 
Gayle told me she wanted to reinforce some of my very 
complicated gender feelings, the gender identity issues 
I'd discovered when I'd first talked on the phone as a 
woman would, then as if I were a woman, then naturally 
as a woman, then allowing myself to look like one, and 
now choosing to look like one. "You can be one gender or 
the other in your own head, Allie," she said. "Or one 
and the other. But I don't want you to be confused 
between them, a muddled effeminate man or a masculine 
woman who doesn't know what he is or she is. Do you know 
what I mean?"

"Yes, of course, Gayle," I replied. "When I felt I was a 
boy, I had to enact being a girl deliberately. As a 
girl, it's fun to pretend I'm a boy, though that's all I 
do now, pretend. I may look like either or both, but I 
feel like one or the other, not both. It's very 
strange."

"Which do you feel like right now?" Gayle asked.

"A girl," I said. "That's how I woke up this morning. 
That's how I want to wake up every morning. I love it! I 
really do! I hope you don't mind. It's so much easier 
when I'm working with the women on the phone when I can 
feel I'm one of them. I'm much more effective. And Meg 
and Connie now accept me completely as one of their own 
kind. I remember how much fun it was when Connie taught 
me how to pick up a man. Do you mind?"

"No, I don't mind at all, Allie honey," Gayle said. "I 
understand it and like it, that you prefer being one of 
my kind. It's a supreme compliment. But shouldn't we 
explore this further?"

"How?"

"Leave that to me!"

That night I made myself as beautiful as I could, at 
Gayle's request, and lay back on the bed in my satin 
nightgown with my heart beating hard, waiting for Gayle 
to appear from the bathroom. When she did, we just lay 
there, wanting each other but for the moment only 
embracing. We did that now and then.

The vagaries of my erotic desires baffled me, and I 
mentioned it. "It's mysterious, yet there's no mystery 
to it at all," she told me seriously. "You desire the 
feminine. Me. You desire to hold me, possess me, enter 
me and make me a part of you." She smiled at that. "To 
share my every feeling, to become one with me. Isn't 
that true?"

I nodded.

"It's no accident. You desire the feminine in me, and 
you want to make that femininity a part of you. 
Passionately, as completely as possible. Isn't that 
true?"

"Yes," I said. It was true. 

"You want to internalize my femininity? Possess it for 
yourself?

"Yes, Gayle, I do!"

"That's how you feel when you enter me?"

I nodded.

"The exact same way I feel when I want you to enter me? 
When I want to give myself up to you?"

"Yes. Yes, if that's how you feel."

"That's how I feel, Allie. And I want you to feel it 
too. To give yourself up to me, to feel how I feel when 
you enter me. Are you willing?"

"Yes, I am." I wasn't sure where this was leading, but I 
was with her all the way. It was a breathless exchange -
- we were both excited by something ineffable we were 
revealing to each other. 

"You do know there's only one way, Allie. Don't you?"

Was she talking riddles? Suddenly I saw where we were 
headed, but I was caught up in a momentum I couldn't 
stop. Nor did I want to. I wanted to give myself to my 
beloved woman. To feel her possess me as I took her deep 
inside me.

"Yes, I know," I said, a little awed at what I had just 
agreed to.

"I want that too," she told me, pulling me toward her 
finally and feeling for my lower parts. "First you do 
me. Then I'll do you."

My cock was hard as a rock. It slipped into her silkily, 
with no friction and barely any pressure, she was 
already so soaked. It was like dipping a spoon into a 
jar of honey. "I do want this for you," she whispered, 
as her hips began to move against mine. "I want you to 
know that what makes me what I am is being felt deep 
inside you too!" It was the sweetest lovemaking! We 
slowly rose together and surged, then subsided. And as 
we recovered our breaths she said simply, "Now you. Just 
lie still, love!"

She slipped out of bed to use the bathroom, as she 
usually did when we'd made love, though usually after 
I'd licked my juices back out of her and brought her off 
yet again. When she reappeared she showed up in the 
dimness with a strange silhouette, and I realized with a 
thrill of horror and anticipation that she was now 
wearing a strap-on dildo. A long one. Double-ended, she 
explained later, so we could both be pleasured by it at 
the same time, each of us penetrated by the same cock, 
as she put it, each of us sharing in the pleasures of 
penetration by that cock. 

"Now you'll know, Allie darling. How wonderful it feels. 
So soft yet so stiff. I've made it slick with my own 
juices, sweetheart, and yours too, so you too can feel 
how it is to have a man's cum inside you. It will hurt 
you at first, sweetheart, because manhood never yields 
easily. But soon you'll relax into the pleasure of it, 
and feel what I feel. And that feeling will never leave 
you, ever again! You'll keep it deep inside you always 
as my gift to you, Allie. I'm giving you a gift of 
femininity,. Tonight you become a woman. And you'll 
always know that's what you've become.

And she bent over me as I lay on my back, and touched my 
legs under my knees so I'd know to raise them onto her 
shoulders. Then she crept forward slowly, and my legs 
went higher and further back, my rear hole turning 
higher toward her, exposed, vulnerable, until I felt a 
soft knob pressing on my anus. She pushed. Then pushed 
again. She was gentle, but it hurt me anyhow, a lot. She 
hugged me and crooned to me as she pressed herself 
against me, and then she was inside, just! The knob had 
entered me! 

"Ahhhhhhh!" I said, relieved yet lamenting.

"Shhhhh, baby," she whispered to me. Her breasts were 
both hanging over my face. She offered one to my open 
mouth and my lips seized it greedily. As she pressed 
further and further into my rectum I sucked on her teat, 
concentrated on it hungrily, tearfully, seeking 
consolation, seeking to fill a hunger in my belly I 
could feel filled further down by that long penis of 
hers. A fulfillment slowly spreading through my body. My 
mouth stuffed full of smooth, soft breast, my ass 
filling full of stiff cock. 

There was a strange burning sensation below from the 
spreading and stretching of my tight anus as she pushed 
deeper into me, kissing away my tears. "This is how 
girls lose their virginity," she told me. "This is how 
girls become women. I know it hurts, baby. But there's 
no other way. I'm sharing with you my most desirable 
gift, my femininity. I'm making it yours!" On and on her 
cock moved into me. Finally it was lodged all the way 
inside. I was complete! 

Then she just lay still on top of me, my thighs propped 
up high on her shoulders, letting me get accustomed to 
how it felt, my lower parts filled to bursting, letting 
my sphincter slowly relax. I suckled her steadily, my 
mouth full of breast and my tongue pressed flat against 
her nipple, tensing and relaxing. I tried to lift my 
rear to change the angle of her penetration, and as she 
slid a little further inside me I realized I could grip 
her cock with my anal muscles. I did, like clenching and 
releasing a fist, and she felt it. She smiled. The 
original burning sensation was now gone, leaving instead 
a feeling of repletion. There was special pleasure in 
knowing that we both felt this way at this moment. 
Fulfilled.

Then slowly my lovely lovely Gayle began to rock back 
and forth, and I felt a warmth, a glow, a delicious 
yearning previously centered in my prick now spreading 
all through my belly. Her rocking grew more extreme, 
more impassioned, until she was plunging all the way in 
and out of me and I was loose and eager and ready and 
glowing, thrusting back with all my heart and soul and 
strength, joyous desire spreading all through me and 
rising like lava toward white-hot eruption. At last, I 
can't tell how long after, the throes of my orgasm 
seized me. It filled every part of my body, even my toes 
and my fingertips, with a gratified craving so intense I 
thought for a moment that I'd fainted! A moment later 
Gayle came too, and collapsed onto me. And then we fell 
asleep, her dildo cock still buried deep inside my new 
pussy, her breast still heavy in my mouth, still hugging 
each other. I opened my eyes for a moment and saw she 
was smiling, as satisfied as I was. 

"My sweet girl," she whispered.

"Yes," I replied.

And we slept through the night like that. When she 
withdrew from me in the early morning, I felt empty.

After that I began to crave that dildo the same way 
Gayle craved my cock. After supper I'd move my hips 
suggestively just an inch or so, ever so expectantly, 
and I'd look intently into her face, and she'd 
understand my meaning at once! And smile. And I'd feel 
desirous and wanted, as I'd never felt as a man! We 
enlarged our regular lovemaking. Now we were women 
together. She used my dildo nightly for as long as I 
could get it up, sometimes only once or twice. Then when 
I'd gone soft for the night I used hers, and our 
lovemaking went on far into the night. 

Some nights we practiced "lesbianism" in a new way. We 
curled into each other head to crotch, and she sucked on 
my penis all night whenever she woke up, and I sucked on 
hers. I loved falling asleep and waking up again with 
that soft, firm cock in my mouth. It was so comforting. 
I felt so secure, protected, nursing on it like a baby. 


CHAPTER VI

I was a woman. I wanted to dress and look pretty for my 
darling, always. I began to favor our "Everstay" line of 
cosmetics, the most permanent of them, the foundation 
that perfected my face with a tan glow practically a 
paint, the lipsticks and eyeliners all dyes. When I next 
went back to the beautician's for electrolysis I asked 
Dana to put a slight curl in my hairdo, just something 
to soften the effect and make my face prettier. "Of 
course, Allie," she said, and did it. "It does seem 
you've fallen altogether off the deep end. No going back 
ever, this time?"

"Whatever for?" I asked her, smiling. I was so happy!

Connie and Dana could see the difference in me 
immediately, of course. They heard me praise our 
Everstay line to the associates whenever it seemed 
appropriate. "The foundation never rubs off on sheets, 
or pillows, or cheeks, or hairy chests," I told them, 
"and not on breasts either. And the lipstick stays where 
it belongs. No telltale red markings on wine glasses or 
table napkins or collars or penises." 

Nor on dildos. I told Gayle I wanted to suck her cock 
the way she sometimes sucked mine, just to know what it 
was like. It pleased her to look down and see me on my 
knees in front of her as she sat on the edge of the bed 
or on one of our soft chairs, or as she stood with a 
hand on her hip while I pleasured the soft rubber 
jutting from her with my mouth. The part of it wedged in 
her pussy knew. And her heart knew. Maybe because of 
that, I loved it.

My most ultimate commitment rose up from a seemingly 
inconsequential, even racy interchange. Meg came in one 
day wearing the lowest décolletage and the deepest cleft 
I've seen in a business office. Her blouse was so 
transparent it hid nothing of her bra. And her bra was 
"Seductress," one of our newer models, imported, 
uplifting each breast to a sweet curve but so flimsy 
that the colors and even the shapes of her nipples 
showed through, slightly pointy, haloed by a dark lace 
star.

"Got a date, Meg?" I asked her. "A breast man?" She'd 
told us how some of her guys were especially turned on 
by breasts, or legs, or shoulders, or necks, or well-
turned asses, or shaved pussies. Once she knew, she'd 
know how to drive them to a frenzy through the earlier 
part of an evening. It paid off afterward.

"You know it!" she replied. "You were once a breast man, 
weren't you? How come you're not a breast woman now, 
enjoying yourself that way? You should try it, Allie."

"I lack two essential qualifications," I said.

Meg turned more serious. "Hasn't Gayle put you on 
hormones yet? Doesn't she want her sweet baby girl to 
grow up to have pretty knockers? Breasts that don't come 
off?"

"We've never discussed it, Meg." I felt strange suddenly 
in the pit of my stomach.

"Really? You should, love. You're enjoying your clothes 
and your new ways of feeling I'm sure, but you sure are 
missing out on the physical fun."

That evening I told Gayle about Meg's outfit and our 
conversation.

She thought a moment, then spoke gently, carefully. 
"Would you like to be on hormones, baby? We could 
arrange it. I want you to have whatever might strengthen 
your pride in your womanliness." 

"Would you want me to start hormones?" I asked. This was 
terribly dangerous ground. Decorating my body was one 
thing, but changing it from the inside out, altering its 
shape -- that took careful thought. For Gayle I would do 
it. But for myself?

"Do you want to know what I think? And why?"

"Yes, of course."

Her next answer startled me. I'd traced our relationship 
back to its beginnings, and seen the pattern clearly 
enough. The little hints after class or after jogging 
that my feminine potential might exceed my masculine and 
might be preferable, her pleasure when she heard me 
attempt a femme voice, her approval of everything I'd 
done to qualify as a supervisor of women's sales, how 
I'd thrown everything into learning what women need, 
finally even myself. I'd begun to suspect she wouldn't 
be satisfied until I'd changed my sex altogether. That 
what she wanted from me wasn't a heterosexual 
relationship but a purely lesbian relationship.

But Gayle was now as wide-eyed as I'd ever seen her. And 
solemn. Staring straight at me. "My answer is 'no,' 
Allie. I don't want to see you on hormones." 

I must have looked surprised. 

She continued, "I know, they'd help you feel a little 
nicer about yourself, maybe help you feel even more 
tender about some things, sweeter, and they'd change 
your body for the better, soften your face maybe, give 
you slightly wider hips, and of course real boobs." She 
thrust out her chest. "Maybe even bigger than mine. And 
I know you love mine!"

We both smiled, then grinned at each other. We'd shared 
so much.

"But you don't need those things, sweetheart. Most of 
them. Your body's proportions are much like a woman's 
already, I noticed that about you almost as soon as we 
started talking after class, and they're even more so 
with the jogging we've been doing, and the dieting. Your 
disposition couldn't be sweeter. And we both know you 
already have a pretty face, and you know how to enhance 
it to best advantage. You were lucky the way your male 
hormones came in -- they show in only one way, really, 
and that's hidden except when we're in bed. I love it, 
that you're living with me as a girl now. I wanted that. 
I want to live with you this way for a long, long time. 
But if you were to go on hormones, I doubt we'd last six 
months!"

I was shocked! "But why?"

"Because we'd neither of us want you to merely nibble 
hormones. We'd both want you to seize your womanliness 
with both hands, if that was what you wanted. And if you 
wanted hormones that's what we'd do. Heavy duty shots, 
estrogen, progesterone, testosterone suppression drugs. 
In six months your breasts would be budding, and you'd 
be shaping into a beautifully curved figure." 

That didn't seem too bad, I was thinking. A little more 
than I wanted, but maybe it was like diving into a cold 
lake. Not at all something to look forward to, then 
shocking, but finally exhilarating!

"But at what cost, Allie? No more erections. No more 
lovemaking with that dear, dear dildo, not for me and 
not for you. Eventually, castration and reshaping of a 
useless penis into a vagina. If I wanted to live with a 
woman, I'd live with one. Gretchen's suggested it now 
and then. She's tried boyfriends, and she likes them 
well enough, but for her a cock is no big deal. She 
can't at all see what I see in yours." 

She paused. I was amazed to see that there were tears in 
her eyes. "That's why I don't want you on hormones all 
out, Allie! I love the way we are! I have plans for us 
the way we are! That's why we're the way we are right 
now!"

You can't imagine how I felt to hear her say that. She 
loves me.

She has plans.

She continued then, after a pause, "Of course, if you 
like you can always touch up some of your better 
features, become a little more of what you are. Not with 
massive hormone replacement, but say only birth control 
pills. No more than I take. Just enough estrogen to 
enlarge your nipples and your milk ducts some, to round 
you out just a little, for me. Smooth your complexion." 
She smiled. "Maybe enhance your girly feelings just a 
bit. But not to change you altogether!" 

I have never been so moved. I choked when I tried to 
speak. I didn't know why she'd been encouraging me to 
take on more and more feminine characteristics, but I'd 
assumed after a while that she wanted to see me end up 
fully feminine, a complete woman. "All right then," I 
said finally. "I confess it, I'd been frightened by the 
prospect of hormones. I was afraid you'd want me to have 
them, lots. I'd take them, too, if you'd wanted me to. 
But I love the way we are too, and I'm not at all eager 
to go anywhere further if I can't come back. Certainly 
not without you alongside me every inch of the way. And 
in me, every inch of you. And me always in you too. I 
love doing what you do." 

Gayle tried to smile, her eyes glistening. She reached 
into her drawer, and took out a plastic compact, the 
same kind that contained the wheel of her birth control 
pills, but a bit larger. "Here," she said. "These are 
like mine, a bit larger because you do need to overcome 
your male hormones. Just enough to make a difference 
here and there, maybe. This one is yours. We'll take our 
pills together each morning from now on. It'll be one 
more thing we two girls do together."

I opened the compact and looked in. Twenty-one fat 
purple pills. 

Four pink ones. Three white ones. A complete menstrual 
cycle. 

They looked double the size of hers.

"All right," I said.

"Take one now," she said, her gray eyes watching me 
mildly.

I did.

For a moment she said nothing. Then as often whenever 
we'd reached some new plateau of understanding, she 
growled, "Take off your clothes, lover. Here. Now!"

No questioning that command! I took off my suit jacket. 
a short Chanel style flared at the hips, and my skirt, 
then my blouse. And kicked off my shoes, one of the mid-
heel pumps I'd bought with Meg when she'd started me on 
my women's wardrobe. I was wearing a pretty pink slip 
that day, with a fitted bodice, though the small mounds 
gathered by my bra scarcely justified it. Gayle watched 
me attentively as I adjusted the slip neatly on my body 
-- it had twisted when I pulled off my blouse -- and as 
I reached for the hem and lifted it over my head. Now I 
was wearing only my bra and matching hi-leg panties, and 
today not pantyhose but a garter belt and stockings. My 
long-legged look.

Suddenly I realized I was putting on a strip show for 
Gayle, who hadn't herself moved. She was merely sitting 
there looking appreciative. I paused and cocked an 
eyebrow at her.

"That's such a charming expression, sweetheart, your 
eyebrows are so beautifully shaped. I see you aren't 
wearing your breast forms. Your little breasts are as 
cute as your ass, sweetie. And now, this moment, I love 
it that you're a woman from the inside out just like me, 
those hormones inside you doing wonderful things to your 
body. But your breasts will never be proportional to the 
rest of you. And don't tell me you aren't a breast man. 
I'll never believe it!"

"I wear my breasts at the office, Gayle. I suppose out 
of a feeling of propriety, to feel solidarity with the 
women I speak to. I'm not sure why I take them out when 
I come home. Because they inhibit feeling, and I love 
feeling my nipples poked out against my bras and 
blouses? Because they aren't 'me' I suspect. Not the 
real me. Because as Meg said, they come off."

Gayle was silent, studying me. I stood there looking 
back at her, waiting for her response. To tease her, I 
rocked my hips sideways and twisted my torso with its 
little breasts, and tossed my head back, until I'd 
achieved a provocative model's posture, a girl's "come 
fuck me" pose. It felt delicious. Gayle didn't respond.

"No, you're right," she said suddenly. "You do need 
breasts! Large ones, proportional. For a C cup bra, 
maybe even a D. Breasts that don't come off. Because 
even though you're thin as a rail in some ways, your 
figure isn't quite right. It's cute but not ... 
generous. Every woman should be able to walk into a room 
feeling self-assured, proud, her womanliness thrust 
forward on her chest. You need to feel the same kind of 
assurance. To feel completely committed. Not to some 
distant hope or shape some day, maybe, but to what you 
are right now. So like every woman you know that the 
weight and heft and tenderness of your breasts are as 
much a part of you as any other part. More! Isn't that 
right?"

I was baffled. Where was she going? Suddenly I 
remembered. Meg had once teased me about getting breasts 
I could grasp with both hands. That was when I still 
sounded like a woman but wasn't yet living like one, 
when I had no idea why a young girl should ever want to 
wear a bra.

"You mean implants," I said. "Something saline or 
silicone to reshape my chest into a woman's."

"Yes, exactly," Gayle replied. She grinned and stretched 
her body backward, like a cat, hands clasped high far 
back over her head. "Why should you have all the fun 
nursing on me whenever I'm fucking you! I deserve equal 
time!"

"If you want me to have breasts, I want them," I said to 
her. I meant it, earnestly.

"Not good enough, Allie. You need to want them for you!"

"I want them," I repeated. Then I paused to realize what 
was meant here. My chest reshaped into a woman's. Not 
just my hairstyle or makeup to declare my gender to the 
world, but breasts to declare what I am to the world, to 
me, to everyone, inescapably and insistently, for every 
moment of my life from that moment on. Quietly I said it 
again, "That's what I am. A woman. I want them for me! 

She heard me, and in an awed, quiet voice said, "Then 
you shall have them, Allie. Just as soon as we can 
arrange it. Come to bed now."

As I slipped on my satin nightgown and looked down at 
its shaped bust draped flat on my flat chest I repeated 
aloud what Gayle said -- "just as soon as we can arrange 
it." And as we slipped into bed together and began to 
hug each other, and began the delicious preliminaries of 
our lovemaking, I reached out to touch hers, to lift up 
one of her plump breasts with my fingertips, then with 
my palm of my hand. And as I settled into a position to 
take her nipple into my mouth I said, "Gayle."

"Yes lover," she replied. She was stroking my hip, 
preparing to reach for my penis, already stiff and 
waiting.

"I want them," I said.

"I want them for you," she replied. "But take these 
meanwhile." 

And there was no more talking that night.

A week later my brassieres were abundantly full, 
overflowing, and my heartfelt full too. Two days after 
our decision Gayle took me to a plastic surgeon, who was 
impressed by my lack of development in the chest and 
took special pains when correcting it. He knew how a 
full figure improves any woman's morale, he told me. 

It was an office procedure, under local anesthetic. He 
made nearly invisible incisions in the curve underneath 
where each breast would crease once I had them, and 
through those slits he inserted large shaped implants 
under my skin, just above the pectoral muscle, 
immediately behind each nipple. Then he injected 
collagen into the areola of each of my nipples, so they 
became pointy, projecting forward as if awaiting small 
mouths.

"The collagen will last perhaps six months, Allie," he 
said. "If you become pregnant during that time we'll 
forego replacing it, but otherwise, come in and we'll 
re-inject what's been absorbed."

"Thank you, doctor," I replied, while Gayle kept a 
perfectly straight face. "I don't expect I'll become 
pregnant, but I'll remember. I feel like a new woman."

"Good," he replied, pleased. "Certainly you'll find that 
your nipples have a new sensitivity to stimulus. The 
nerve endings are all concentrated forward now, isolated 
from other chest sensations, so now they reinforce each 
other. Women usually report greatly enhanced feeling 
under these circumstances. Wear a heavy bra for the next 
few days to give the implants an opportunity to heal 
into surrounding tissue."

I did. Connie and Meg noticed the next day that my 
modest breast forms were still in my top desk drawer 
though my chest was now thrust far forward, additionally 
swollen by the operation. They saw how I sat with my 
shoulders far back, posture-perfect, to help my bra 
straps carry the additional weight now hanging from me. 
I'd had no idea breasts were this heavy. 

Still, they waited a decorous few days before making any 
comment at all. Then when I could quit with the heavy 
cotton bras, I came in wearing a translucent silk blouse 
and underneath it one of our frothy bras, a deliciously 
tempting confection. They gathered around my desk. "Can 
we see, can we see?" they both exclaimed like excited 
schoolgirls. 

I wordlessly unbuttoned my blouse and unhooked the plump 
front-hook bra I was wearing, and then like some 
Valkyrie or Maenad I sat bare-breasted before them. They 
projected well forward from my thin chest. My nipples 
pointed forward from them proudly. I smiled at them. I 
really did feel proud.

"Impressive," Connie finally said. "You were a little 
undeveloped earlier, dear. But now I'd estimate you can 
produce at least two quarts a day, maybe three."

"Can I touch?" Meg asked. She reached out her hand and 
allowed her fingertips to graze the tip of my nipples.

"Ohhhh!" I cried out. The sensation was excruciatingly 
joyous! Then I caught hold of myself. "Oh, Meg, I've 
never felt anything like that!" I explained. "It was the 
most erotic thing! Electric! Incredible!" 

"Careful," Connie said to Meg. "Look at her face. See 
what you've done? Blow on her nipple and she'll follow 
you anywhere!"

"We'd better tell her to wrap them up again now," Meg 
said. "So they can stay fresh for Gayle. That's quite a 
reaction, from one little tweak! I'll bet Gayle can suck 
Allie's brains out through those nipples!"

And that night Gayle made up for the months she'd 
claimed she felt deprived. "Now we're women together!" 
she said. We lay alongside each other head to breast and 
suckled each other for hours. I was in ecstasy the whole 
time. I felt and tasted heaven. So wonderfully a woman! 
I loved it! I loved it! Gayle had to kiss me to stop me 
from saying so over and over. 

Undies and dresses and blouses and suits that had 
previously looked fine, neat or fashionable, now looked 
sensational, smashing when I wore them! I had a stunning 
figure, lean yet ripely curved! I woke up each morning 
overjoyed to see myself. I thought I noticed a slight 
softening of my chin line too, from the birth control 
pills I was taking. A slight enlargement in the 
derriere. I hoped so.

As October faded into November we talked our associates 
through the new winter fashions, and quite a few into 
and out of affairs with both men and women. I also 
talked now and then to Gayle's mother. She always wanted 
to know if Gayle was seeing anyone, asking in several 
different ways, sometimes mentioning that "Chris" was 
concerned. 

I'd reply that whenever Gayle went out of an evening, it 
was always with me and perhaps with one or two other 
girls, never with a man. She seemed gratified to hear 
that, which surprised me, because mothers I had heard 
always want their daughters to hook up with a man and 
get married as soon as possible. When she'd ask if there 
was some special man I was seeing and I'd tell her 'no' 
she always sounded disappointed. She'd urge me to attend 
more Church Socials, to get out into circulation more. 
But she'd never urge Gayle.

Lovemaking with Gayle was as wonderful as ever. We 
penetrated each other alternatively as either one of us 
chose, giggling together and loving it. Many nights we 
practiced the lesbianism of our earliest happiest days 
together, Gayle sucking on my cock on or off through the 
night while I bathed my face in Gale's pussy juices, 
sucking or licking her clit whenever the whim arose. Or 
sucking her cock, if she was wearing it. 

"You're perfect now, Allie!" she told me one morning. "I 
love you! Thanksgiving's coming, and it's time you met 
my folks."

At last! was my first thought. Not as her roommate of 
course, but as a man she'd been seeing for some time 
now. I could still improvise the appearances and sounds 
of a man, I thought. Meeting her parents was a necessary 
step in the direction I wanted to go with Gayle. 
Marriage. She'd need to know what they thought of any 
prospective husband-to-be. My Gayle was traditional, 
after all. A minister's daughter. 

I hadn't proposed marriage to Gayle because I wasn't 
exactly sure she'd want to be wedded for life to the 
effeminate man I'd become, or rather, to the woman with 
a penis, a warm collapsible dildo. But finally I screwed 
up my courage and told her how pleased I was that she 
wanted me to meet her parents. Then I came out with it. 
I wondered what they'd think of Gayle marrying someone 
so obviously effeminate. This was the first time I'd 
used the "m" word in any conversation, and I paused, 
waiting.

Gayle seemed not to notice! She ignored my reference to 
marriage. "Oh no, Allie," she replied. "I don't think 
they'd want to meet an effeminate boy friend," she 
responded. "That would be too awkward. No, I want them 
to meet the lovely girl I live with! Their new daughter, 
remember? You'll come home with me this Thanksgiving as 
my roommate. As my dearest girlfriend."

Now there was a problem! I knew I could do being her 
girlfriend flawlessly. That's what I was! They'd never 
suspect I was anything other than that. And I loved 
pretending I was a girl in new social situations, 
exploring how it felt -- each time my femininity 
blossomed in different ways. Gayle and I and sometimes 
Gretchen or other friends would go out together to shows 
or movies or rambles in the park or to parties, and 
sometimes to bars for sociability. I found I loved the 
freedom a pretty girl enjoys to say whatever she feels, 
and to be well-attended by hopeful men. I now danced and 
flirted with them, modestly, and it was fun to feel them 
trying to feel me up! I especially enjoyed feeling free 
of competitiveness with men, freedom from one-upping 
tensions, unable to relax.

But once I met Gayle's parents as a girl, how could they 
think of me ever as anything else? It seemed to 
foreclose our ever getting married! How could they ever 
accept a son-in-law they'd already welcomed into their 
family as a daughter? My heart sank when Gayle told me 
she wanted me to come as I am.!

Near tears, even though we were already in the 
apartment's hallway preparing to go out, I turned to 
Gale and confessed how I felt. All of it. How crushed I 
felt that she was closing off forever the possibility of 
our someday getting married with their blessing.

Curiously, Gayle was as unconcerned as if I'd raised 
only a minor technicality. "Oh, sweetheart," she said, 
"Don't worry your pretty little head about that at all! 
I have it all figured out, lover. We will both live 
together as long as we both shall live and want to, and 
with their blessing. Don't worry. And with you my 
girlfriend, the more affectionate we seem to be in their 
presence, the happier they'll be to see it! You'll see! 
Words uttered over us aren't essential, are they?"

"No," I had to confess. "But your parents think so! And 
marriage does have advantages. It provides each of us 
assurance that at least once, at one time, we wanted 
this relationship to last forever. And it does sort of 
commit us to try, out in public, where everybody knows!"

She placed her palm on my cheek. Nowadays I always wore 
a light coating of makeup to give me that perfected 
complexion she loved, and of course a shadow of blush 
just under my cheekbones, which were now rather 
prominent thanks to our dieting. I knew I looked pretty, 
and I wanted to look pretty. For her! Her eyes were as 
wide, as large, as open as on that night we first met 
and talked. 

"My sweet darling," she said slowly, earnestly. "I could 
never feel more loving of you, more appreciative. We'll 
live together as long as you'll have me, and with my 
parents' full approval, and we'll be as intimate as we 
ever have been or might wish to be. I promise you! 
Because I do love you. But this is how. This is the only 
way how. Are you mystified now? Of course. But trust me, 
Allie. You'll know soon enough, my lovely baby girl!"

I trusted her. I had to trust her. We clutched and 
fondled, then kissed each other where we stood, pulling 
each other's bodies tight against each other, our lips 
sealed tight against each other's, our tongues taking 
possession of each other's mouths. I opened my eyes for 
a moment, and saw in our full-length hall mirror two 
pretty women wearing stylish dresses and fashionably 
high heels, ready to go out, deeply affectionate, 
intimate, wrapped in a passionate embrace, their bodies 
pressed as tightly together as two women with full 
bosoms could ever squeeze themselves. 

We did feel as committed to each other as two people 
ever could. 

Seeing was believing.


CHAPTER VII

"It'll be a long weekend, Allie. Five days, Wednesday 
through Sunday, so bring clothes for at least that 
long." 

"All right," I said. After much shopping, with Gayle, 
Meg, even Connie, on my own as I gained confidence, my 
closet was full and I loved everything in it. The 
morning ritual of selecting an outfit for the day was so 
much more fun than just putting on clothes, especially 
when Gayle praised some daring combination that came off 
with flair. Thinking about fashion yet comfort for the 
trip, I took down some designer jeans that had always 
turned heads when I wore them.

"No pants at all of any kind, sweetheart," Gayle said 
with a little regret in her voice. "Some of the Church 
Board members think pants on women are an abomination. 
So, dresses and skirts only, and of course stockings -- 
bare legs are for summer. Some cocktail dresses for 
social occasions. For more casual, try to go as girly as 
you can. Skirts all above the knee, cute, pert, 
kittenish, flirty, those are what younger women wear in 
my town." 

"Sexy not allowed?"

"Sexy is very allowed, Allie. I know it sounds peculiar 
to a big city girl like you, but in a town our size, to 
want to be attractive to men is a proper girly thing, so 
sexy is altogether proper. So take your prettiest 
lingerie and an exotic nightgown or two. That miniskirt 
I love that shows off those cute round rear cheeks of 
yours whenever you bend over -- could those hormones be 
rounding your butt already? And those teasing French 
lace panties that don't quite cover the curves. I want 
all the men to admire you. I want to see pricks standing 
straight up when you pass by, like telephone poles on a 
highway. That form fit elasticized blouse you can't wear 
even with a bra, the one that wraps around your breasts 
and nipples like a glove and thrusts you out forward and 
leaves nothing to the imagination? That's ideal. You 
have a gorgeous figure now, sweetheart, with your small 
waist and large boobs. Flaunt it. You can even look a 
little whorish. Make the men drool. Make me proud!"

"Gayle, I'll get raped!"

"Not by these men. Not by most of them. You'll see. 
They're all very proper, all look and no touch. Lead us 
into temptation is what they pray daily, because then 
when they're done leering they can remember to resist 
and feel proud of themselves. That way they think 
they've earned Brownie Points with the Head Honcho 
upstairs. They think He thinks that absolute virtue 
consists in having no fun at all." 

"You grew up in a strange place, Gayle. No wonder you 
behave a little strange sometimes."

Gayle beamed at me. "Takes one to know one, lover," she 
said. "We found each other."

"You found me," I corrected her.

"Little by little you found yourself, and became what 
you now want to be," she said. "Don't you? But I made 
you what you are today, I admit it. I hope you're 
satisfied."

"Very." I went over to her and took her around her 
narrow waist, and she took me around mine, and we 
pressed our crotches against each other. That hallway 
mirror image of us came back to mind. Two women in love. 
I gave her a light kiss on the lips, which she returned.

Then I broke off. "Nothing decent to wear at all?" 

"Decent is allowed. It's boring for the men, but some 
women insist. Older women wear proper. Us city girls are 
something they do accept now finally, but they still 
need to swallow hard to get used to us, women who wear 
power suits and severely tailored blouses and sit in 
offices telling men on the phone to cut the crap and 
deliver the goods. And sit at home telling their 
husbands the same thing. But most girls who remain there 
grow up to run households and be attractive to men and 
have an affair or two, and meanwhile remain girls until 
they're grandmas. And most boys grow up to run 
businesses and head families and remain boys all their 
lives because they don't know how else to be. Anyone 
with any pizzazz leaves home. A few come back afterward, 
you'll meet one or two. You'll see." 

We rented a car for the four hour drive to the 
comfortably prosperous town where Gayle's family lived. 
As we left Gayle's apartment she looked around slowly 
and regretfully, as if committing each wall-hanging and 
article of furniture to memory.

"It's only for five days," I told her, trying to console 
her for some unnamable loss she seemed to be 
anticipating. She nodded, then turned toward me and 
looked me over the same way. I'd done my hair especially 
carefully that morning, thinking ironically that as 
Gayle's parents' potential son-in-law I wanted to look 
especially beautiful, to make a good impression on them. 
My hairdo formed a pretty halo around my delicately 
made-up face. I'd gone especially heavy on the eye make-
up. Dana's secret recipe, sauce for the feminine 
mystique.

"You look lovely, Allie," she said.

"Thank you," I replied. She seemed in a strange mood 
indeed!

"Allie..." she began, as if a crack had opened in some 
dam, and the first trickle of water had appeared of what 
would shortly be a deluge while the whole dam crumbled. 
Then she took a deep breath, and the crack disappeared. 
But she still felt under pressure, I could tell.

"Allie, you do trust me, don't you?"

"You know I do," I said, as intensely and devotedly as I 
could feel she needed to hear it. "Absolutely!"

"Absolutely, no matter what?"

"Absolutely!" I told her.

"Because Allie, this is not going to be easy on you, 
this trip. It may seem a little boring, much of it, but 
believe me, Allie, you will not be bored. Shocked, 
bewildered, betrayed, gratified, but not bored. This is 
going to be one of the most difficult experiences of 
your life, at least since you lost your parents. But 
there's no other way. You have to go through it to 
arrive where I need you. It's just...it's just...."

"What?" I said as gently and quietly as I could. She 
seemed agonized, my poor darling.

"Just remember," she said, beginning to recover herself 
from whatever it was. "Just remember that I love you, 
and you love me, and you'll see when we emerge that 
we'll be living together happily ever after, making a 
life for ourselves exactly as you've hoped. Not exactly 
the way you've imagined it, that's all. Different. In 
some ways better." She smiled to herself. "But you can't 
know that yet. You can't even imagine it."

Now I was absolutely baffled.

She had now concluded this strange speech. "I've made 
all the arrangements. I know I'm right! But you'll just 
have to trust me. You do, don't you?"

"I do," I said solemnly.

"Then darling, I now pronounce us woman and wife. You 
wanted a marriage, didn't you? Well, there it is. Now 
let's get in the car."

Gayle took the wheel. As we drove off I saw Gayle's 
wistful mood evaporate, leaving behind the capable woman 
I'd first seen in that personnel class we took together 
months back, and the lover I'd come to know since then.

"It's like this, Allie. We won't see a lot of each other 
this weekend. You'll be staying at the local Inn, and 
I'll be staying at my folks' place, in fact I'll be 
sleeping in the same room I slept in as a girl. You 
know, the same banners and teddy bears and posters of 
cute guy rock stars I'd put up before I knew what I 
really wanted. They've kept it that way as a shrine to 
me. I'll always be their little girl. You know how it 
is." 

She glanced at me. "No, poor Allie, you don't know. You 
never were a teenage girl yourself, were you? Well, 
cheer up. Now you can be just that. I want you to enjoy 
being a teenage girl. More than that!" She glanced at me 
again, and licked her lips. "I've arranged it. When 
we're done you'll be just like me, a woman with a past!" 
Now she looked at me yet again and grinned 
mischievously. "More mystery! But you'll love it I 
suspect. I'm sure you won't be bored." 

More mystery indeed! But at least it sounded like fun.

Then she added, "We'll see each other probably only on 
three occasions this weekend once I drop you off at the 
Inn. Always with lots of others crowding around. I'll be 
entirely occupied by family and things. There'll be only 
the Thanksgiving dinner, which will be a mob scene, and 
then Friday night the ladies are planning something, and 
Sunday in Church will be another kind of mob scene."

I made a disappointed noise. She glanced at me again, 
still gripping the wheel firmly. "Sweet Allie, don't you 
worry. You'll be busy every moment, same as me. You 
won't have much free time to miss me, I promise you 
that!"

She nodded to herself, then looked at me again with a 
superbly commanding expression . "I made you what you 
are today, Allie, and I know you're satisfied. But don't 
think I'm done! We're getting close. Fix your lipstick." 
Then her eyes went back onto the road ahead.

As we approached the outskirts of town Gayle gave me a 
quick briefing on the people I'd meet. Her father was 
Minister of All Souls Church, attended by everyone who 
mattered in the community, the strait-laced and 
righteous and the very wealthy, who were the honorary 
righteous. Most of the town's civic leaders belonged. 
The Church Treasurer was also the President of the 
Fiscal Security Bank, and the Church's Board Chairman 
Ben was the head of Mercantile Enterprises, the town's 
largest employer, and also Gayle's parents' closest 
friend. We drove past "ME" signs on warehouses and 
packaging plants and office buildings it seemed forever 
before crossing a railroad track and then, finally, 
entering a more residential neighborhood. 

"The head of ME as they call it is Ben, the founder. He 
has more money than anyone. He could buy the town but 
doesn't need to, because everyone already feels bought, 
they do what he wants. You'll meet him, he's a lady's 
man -- watch out for him. His son and heir's Chris, 
you'll see him at our family Thanksgiving dinner and 
afterward too. Our parents expect certain things from 
us, but neither of us feels committed -- we have certain 
understandings, Chris and I. Watch out for him too. He 
makes plays for girls whenever others can see him do it. 
It can be embarrassing."

"This is the 'Chris' who's been looking forward to 'the 
big event'?"

"He's the one. Anyhow, to be anyone in my town you have 
to belong to my father's church. That means you must 
practice unassailable virtue as attested by my father, 
who never sees anything but virtue anywhere anyhow. 
Which is why I had to leave home to find out what I 
really wanted and how to get it." She smiled, pleased, 
and glanced at me again. "Which is how come I found you. 
Here we are!" 

She pulled in at the Inn's front entrance and waited. I 
got out, and a boy in uniform came to put my luggage on 
a wheeled cart. Gayle waited, feeling for a way to say 
something.

I leaned in to kiss her goodbye for now, and she pulled 
back slightly, amused. "Two women kissing? They'd talk 
about it for weeks." Then she gave me an intense look, 
loving but pitying. "You're a lovely girl now, Allie, 
remember that. Say it." 

Odd. But why not say it? "I'm a lovely girl."

"No matter what! And remember, you told me that you 
trusted me. Say that again!"

"I trust you, Gayle!"

"Good. You do that! Bye-bye, baby! Love you" And she 
drove off.

Bye-bye, I called out to her in my mind, wistfully. 

"Bye bye to lots of things, baby!" came a voice behind 
me. "Your innocence for openers!" 

I turned as rapidly as my high heels allowed. "Gretchen! 
You're here too?"

Gretchen was there all right, dressed fashionably as 
always, with a provocative twist to her body as always. 
"I wouldn't miss it, Allie honey! And I'm necessary, 
moreover. Gayle didn't tell you? I'm your guide to this 
weekend's various events. I've got the car, and I know 
what's going on where and you haven't got a clue. have 
you? That didn't occur to you? I guess not. Gayle's made 
all the arrangements ever since you met her, so you 
haven't had to think for yourself or take any 
initiatives, have you? You just do whatever Gale says, 
don't you? Well, she asked me to look after you, so you 
just do whatever I say. You have quite a time coming." 

I didn't want to answer, so I didn't.

She looked me over, her expression ironically amused as 
always whenever she saw me. "You look absolutely 
adorable, Allie. You're the prettiest boy here. I'm sure 
you're the only man in this town who at this moment is 
standing on a sidewalk wearing lipstick and high heels 
and a short, flirty skirt, showing his cleavage and 
waiting for the action. The other local weekend 
crossdressers are still in their factories and offices 
I'd guess. Gayle told you to flaunt those new boobs of 
yours so you'd look authentic? Like a woman, not a man?"

"I am a woman, Gretchen." But suddenly I felt naked, 
exposed. The way Gretchen talked, brassy, skeptical, in 
your face always, I became vaguely aware that my 
womanhood, my self-image, was more fragile than I'd 
thought it. It seemed to depend on what other people 
thought me. With Gayle or Meg or Connie I had no doubt 
that I was one of them. With Gretchen I was starting to 
feel like an imposter. A near-miss.

"Not yet you aren't a woman, sweetie. Not to me! You're 
what Gayle wants, a sweet sissy boy who's been drifting 
and dreaming his way into thinking he's a sweet girl and 
is just about persuaded. But don't worry, this weekend 
we'll make a real woman of you. Let's get you checked 
in." 

It was rather a nice place, as I looked around the 
lobby. Oak and marble, well appointed, comfortably 
affluent without seeming opulent. I said so to Gretchen, 
wondering if my room would look that way too. For once 
she was silent. We both followed the bell-hop, and when 
he opened the door I saw there were someone's dresses 
draped on a chair, and a vanity case in the bathroom. I 
looked around puzzled as the attendant put my bags onto 
a rack for me, then left.

"It's 'our' room, sweetie, not just yours. We share. 
This is Thanksgiving weekend, they're full up."

"There's only the one bed," I said. Except for that girl 
I'd dated once who left me for a hunk, Gayle was the 
only girl I had ever shared a bed with. And intimacy 
with Gayle was a private matter between us alone, 
unique, and precious to me for that reason. I cherished 
it. I was true to her. I wasn't too happy about this. 
"I'm faithful to Gayle" I said determinedly, staring at 
the bed.

Now Gretchen really was amused. "What're you worried 
about, Allie? Two women snuggling together? Don't worry, 
we won't snuggle. And this bed's just right for a man 
who likes to wear dresses, I see. Queen-sized."

Then impatiently, "Unpack and let's go find something to 
drink -- I hear they have a nice cocktail lounge, and 
the restaurant's pretty good too. There'll be no alcohol 
at Gayle's house. Maybe we should buy a flask to carry 
around?"

I'm really not sure how what happened next happened. We 
were seated in the "Pow-wow Room." Gretchen ordered 
Margaritas for both of us, double sized -- a "ladies' 
drink" she called it -- and while we sipped them and 
ordered another round she quizzed me about my sex life. 

"I'm curious," she told me. "You didn't originally want 
to be a girl, did you? It all happened because Gayle 
wanted you to be a girl?"

"Pretty much. Because Gayle wanted it for me. But at 
every step she made sure it was what I wanted too."

"I'll bet she did. You'll pardon me Allie, but you do 
sound naive. How well do you know girls? Did you sleep 
around much when you were still pretending you were a 
man? Before Gayle made you into her girlfriend?"

This was going to be a long weekend, I could see. "No," 
I said. "There was only one before Gayle, really. And 
she left me for another guy. 'A really buff guy' she 
called him. I'm not."

"Tell me about it. A buff guy's nail polish doesn't 
usually match his lipstick the way yours does, does it? 
Well, did you try sleeping with really buff guys 
yourself after she left you, to see what the appeal 
might be? Or did you wait until you owned a few pretty 
party dresses, and then start dating them?"

"I've never dated men! I'm not gay, Gretchen!"

"But you're supposed to be a woman, Allie. Don't women 
manage to sleep with men now and then without being 
gay?"

I had no answer to that. Gretchen was trying to confuse 
me. I was getting confused.

"Didn't I hear that you once felt attracted to a man in 
a coffee shop, someone you picked up while you were 
being true to Gayle?

How had she heard of that!? "I turned him down," I said, 
before I realized I'd confirmed the rumor for her.

"You turned that one down and then regretted it?" 
Gretchen said. "And then never went trolling for 
another?" She sounded incredulous.

I was silent.

"I've seen you dance and flirt with guys when we're out 
together."

"It's what's expected!"

"But fun, too?"

I was silent.

"So do you know what you are really? A little boy with a 
crush on a girl who'll do anything to please her. A 
natural submissive. She gets you to act out until you 
can convince yourself you're a genuine wannabe woman, 
maybe. Maybe even a gay man still in the closet, hiding 
out even from himself? You know, maybe I'm wrong about 
you, Allie. Maybe you're sincere after all. Sincerely 
confused! Let's have one more of these things and then 
find the restaurant." 

She ordered a third double Margarita for each of us. For 
both of us. I was starting to come unfocussed. I shook 
my head a few times to clear it. It didn't clear. I told 
Gretchen.

"Too much stress, I'd say. Too much fear. You're a guy 
who'll soon be meeting Gayle's parents and lots of other 
strangers while wearing panties and a bra and all the 
fittings out in the open, with his hair done up to look 
pretty. A guy because all you've ever really done that 
real women do is shop and get your hair done. And that's 
not being a woman."

"Thass not so," I said. "Talk to lotsa women 'n girls 
all a time. Like a girl."

Gretchen didn't relent. "But this time you're in person, 
not just over the phone, not just voice to voice. You 
may think you're expressing your true self through your 
make-up and clothes and voice and all, but it's all 
stage costume. What you're really doing is hiding! Sure 
you're nervous. Here, take one of these."

She handed me a teeny white pill. "While you're here 
you'll need some of these. I'll decide when. It's kind 
of like Prozac, but stronger. You won't feel less 
confused but you'll worry a lot less. Go with the flow. 
That's what we want." She watched closely while I 
swallowed it. "There. Add alcohol to that pill and stir 
and you'll find you're a little suggestible too, 
inclined to say 'Sure, why not,' whenever anyone wants 
you to do anything. But that's the point, isn't it?"

What point? I nodded. And I don't remember too clearly 
all of what happened after that.

She led me into a restaurant and we had dinner with wine 
and I couldn't slice my meat because my knife and fork 
kept getting mixed up in the wrong hands. Gretchen came 
around to my side of the table and said never mind Allie 
you're a dear anyhow, just suck on them. So I did, lying 
there on my back on the bed with my breasts exposed to 
her hands and they were feeling so wonderful, so very 
wonderful, her hands, with my hands tied to the bedposts 
and her breast in my mouth. Then mine in hers, first one 
then the other, and my nipples so luxuriously responsive 
and erotic that my whole body went into a kind of 
orgasmic spasm. I was a single tense clenched bundle of 
glory until she stopped fondling them. I opened my eyes 
to see her perched over my crotch. 

When she saw I was finally focused she said 
deliberately, "You love Gayle, don't you Allie."

"Mmmmmmm!" I told her. She was naked. That wasn't right. 
But I was too.

"And you're always faithful to Gayle, aren't you. No sex 
with anyone else!" 

"Always!" And tears came to my eyes. Gayle was 
everything to me.

I was hers.

"Of course, always!" she said smugly, and she fitted my 
erect pole into the opening of her pussy and slowly and 
carefully slid herself down onto it. I sighed. It was 
warm and wet and slick, like coming home to Gayle, only 
to Gretchen.. When she got all the way down, she 
wriggled and touched my nipples, and again involuntarily 
my hips rose up to push against her crotch, my whole 
body stiff and tense and extended into ecstasy. Then 
when she lifted herself up I saw my cock emerge 
glistening. Then she came down again. Then up. I was her 
personal dildo.

It felt good. I wanted to help her, so I began to move 
with her. Faster, all the while she watched me steadily 
to time my orgasm with hers, faster and faster until I 
screamed out "Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!" and she closed 
her eyes satisfied as I spurted and spurted into her. 

"Oh, God!" A wall of remorse suddenly fell on me! A 
whole building! What have I done? How could I do this?

Gretchen smiled satisfied and said, "There we are, 
Allie. Now you're no longer a virgin in your own mind! 
Your first night away from Gayle and you fuck her best 
friend! Welcome to Infidelity City."

Oh, God! "I didn't want to. I didn't want to," I said 
despairing, over and over.

"Tell me about it. I'll put my pussy on your mouth. Tell 
my pussy all about it. Persuade my pussy that you didn't 
want to. See if it listens."

She wriggled forward until her crotch was directly over 
my mouth, then lowered herself and clamped her pussy 
lips onto my lips. She was slick with the flavor of my 
cum, familiar to me from Gayle's usually telling me to 
lick myself back into me to rejuvenate myself. But she 
was slick with the flavor of her own juices too, deep 
and musky, not Gayle's. She was trying to anoint me with 
them, to make me hers. I closed my mouth tight. That 
amused her. She looked down at my face, still twisted in 
agony over my betrayal of Gayle, and she pinched my 
nose. A moment later I opened my mouth to gasp air. She 
sat down firmly and squeezed her thighs on my head, and 
I was clamped to her, and then she squeezed something 
inside her and a large glob of semen and pussy juice 
passed from inside her vagina directly into my mouth. 
She continued to pinch my nose, and I was choking. I 
swallowed it.

"There now. Now eat the rest of your dinner, Allie 
sweetheart, all of it. Lick it all up. Persuade me not 
to tell Gayle."

To my shame, I tried to lick up all the evidence. To 
persuade Gretchen not to tell. I spend the next half 
hour slurping her juices and mine out of her. She 
enjoyed it and she enjoyed her triumph over me, both, in 
orgasms she celebrated each time by urging me to suck 
and lick even more dedicatedly! I felt defeated. By my 
own desire to suck on her. By my own body's betrayal of 
me. By my own faith in the purity of my feelings for 
Gayle, too. As we finally separated to sleep, by mutual 
consent we turned our backs on each other, and Gretchen 
uttered a judgment. 

"Allie, as a man, you're all right. I can see why Gayle 
wanted to harness this loyalty of yours, make it jump 
through hoops and sit up and beg. But as Gayle's new 
woman? As a man-turned-woman who wants to marry her? 
What do you think you are now? Could she possibly want 
to marry you? An available slut? Any woman's cuntsucker? 
Answer me! Go back to being a man!"

My eyes were shut, tight shut to hold back tears. "I 
shouldn't have done it. I don't deserve her!" I began to 
wail. "I'm ...!"

"No, that's true," Gretchen interrupted. "You don't 
deserve her! And she was never going to marry you. Don't 
think we're done, yet, sissy-boy. There are lots of 
things you need to know and she needs to know you know! 
Here, take another of these, it'll help you sleep." And 
she handed me another pill. Demoralized, I swallowed it. 
And slept.

*

The next morning I still felt addled, as if I hadn't 
slept much at all. All that alcohol and guilt. Guilt for 
what? And then I remembered. I started to cry. And once 
I began crying I couldn't stop.

Gretchen heard my strange racked whining, and I suppose 
it woke her up. When I lifted my head for a moment I saw 
her propped on one elbow and staring at me, her bed 
partner, a supposed woman who now lay next to her with 
her shaking and sobbing. I lifted my face to stare 
tearfully at the ceiling, as if beseeching help, and 
then flung myself down again. I couldn't stop, This was 
not me! But it was me! One long anguished wail!

"It's time to get up, Allie," Gretchen said. Her voice 
was gentle, subdued, surprisingly compassionate. Did she 
sympathize with me? "There's more for you today!"

"Why? Why? Why? Why?" I cried out in terrible grief, 
beating my pillow with my fist with each as if punishing 
myself or punishing Gretchen for doing this awful, this 
terrible thing to me. 

"Because!" was all Gretchen would say. Considering what 
she had just done, done to me, her voice sounded 
sorrowful. That seemed to me odd. I looked at her.

She saw and her eyes glazed into impassivity. Then, 
"What's your problem, sissy boy? You got a good fuck, 
and you gave as good as you got! Get up and pull 
yourself together! The big Thanksgiving Dinner is 
gathering at Gayle's parents house. We've got a way to 
go, so take your medicine like a man and let's get 
started!"

When I went into the bathroom I saw she meant it 
literally, another little white pill lay alongside my 
birth control compact and make-up kit. I took it and 
soon felt better. Whatever had happened, whatever would 
happen, it wasn't my fault and it didn't matter. I was 
smiling vaguely when I returned to lay out my dress and 
other things, the black silk two-piece Gayle and I had 
decided was exactly right for the Minister's table. 
Gretchen was wearing dark purple, and I told her the 
color suited her. She kissed me on the cheek and smiled 
too.


CHAPTER VIII

Gayle's family lived in a large half-timber parish house 
across the street from the Church, and cars had already 
assembled when we arrived -- their driveway was crammed, 
and Gretchen took the last available space on the 
street.

A cheerful and garrulous woman met us at the door. 
"Well, Gretchen, it's been a while, you've been such a 
stranger, but my dear, you're always very welcome, and 
aren't you looking just lovely. And Allie, you must be 
Allie! How wonderful to see you at last! I'm Gayle's 
mother, of course you've guessed that. Let me introduce 
you right away to everybody, so you can feel at home! 
All members of our family, like you!" She smiled for 
both of us at her little joke. I smiled back. There were 
dozens of people there. I felt a little dazed. It was 
just as well.

She led us both into their living room, a great wood-
paneled reception hall used by different bible-study or 
church social groups, she said, fit for serving coffee 
and cake to hundreds. Comfortable chairs and divans were 
arranged in different conversational groups. At one end 
was a wall of books, and far away at the other a grand 
piano, taking up no more space than it would in a hotel 
lobby. 

A plump, bald man in a clerical collar was leaning 
forward in his chair and holding forth to a fascinated 
group of eight or ten people gathered around him, also 
leaning forward to hear him better. He paused in mid 
gesture as we approached, and with bird-like 
attentiveness he waited for his wife to speak. "Dear," 
she said, "You remember Gretchen. And this is Allie, 
Gayle's friend. They live together. We talk by phone. 
They've been looking after each other." She was cueing a 
faulty memory, I realized.

I uttered the appropriate words, and Gayle's father said 
"My dear, how good of you. Any friend of Gayle's. You're 
even prettier than your voice. A genuine pleasure!" And 
he warmly shook my hand and peered intently at my bosom. 
"Genuine!" he repeated as if reaching a judgment. 

I couldn't correct him about my voice -- we'd never 
spoken on the phone -- nor about my breasts. So I barely 
uttered an audible "Thank you," and he returned to his 
spellbinding anecdote, something about how St. Paul had 
agreed, the Fiscal Security Bank's 22% Visa interest was 
rent people pay for money they borrow, not usury. I 
stood listening politely while he took up gays in the 
military, willful sinners who undermine and sap our 
national moral fiber. Then we moved on.

Another short man held sway in the next group, sitting 
regally as if on a throne with plump thighs wide apart, 
surrounded by three older women in thin pastel chiffon 
flounce dresses. Before Gayle's mother could say 
anything he looked at me and his eyes narrowed. "Yes, 
Allie, of course. Gayle's Allie," he said. She sings 
your praises, says you're quick with telephones or 
computers, a quick learner, good people skills, always 
ready to try something new. Isn't that so?" 

I nodded.

"I'm Ben. Of 'Mercantile Enterprises,' you know, the 
plant here? I hear you know marketing and customer 
service and don't mind relocating. Well, I need good 
people with good ideas who can expand with the business. 
Call me and we'll talk!"

He whipped out a card and handed it to me. Relocate? Me? 
I'd done that already, not long ago. He had the rest 
right, though. I took his card and mindlessly tucked it 
into my clutch purse. 

"Gretchen, still drawing pictures?" he asked, 
uninterested in a reply. Then he turned his attention 
back to his three ladies, all three looking wide eyed at 
him as women do when they are playing little girl to 
attract a man.

We rounded the piano and there was Gayle! I have never 
been so happy to see anyone! She was so beautiful! But 
she glanced at me as if scarcely noticing! This time she 
was the one deeply absorbed in talk. A young man sat 
half-listening across from her, and at his side a girl 
who was paying no attention at all, her eyes wandering 
the room and passing listlessly over the three of us. 
Gayle finally looked at me, and I stepped forward to 
give her a peck on the cheek!

Then I was dumbfounded! She turned away before I could 
reach her, and continued to talk animatedly to the 
couple before her!

My God! She knew! About me and Debbie! She was punishing 
me! I felt wrenched by guilt. Yet oddly unconcerned at 
the same time, bemused, indifferent. Gretchen's pills, I 
didn't doubt it. It seemed only fitting that she glanced 
at me as if I were part of the furniture, no more. I 
mean, I was her beloved, and she meant to welcome me to 
the cradle of her girlhood, a home rich with memories. 
But I'd ruined the purity of our dedication to each 
other! There was now a poignancy in the pleasure I took 
in the way her hair fell over one eye. 

"Allie, Gretchen, glad you could make it," she said when 
she saw that we were still there. Then she resumed her 
conversation. We were dismissed.

"Gayle, if I may for just for a moment," her mother 
said. Gayle stopped for a moment and waited, impatient. 
"Allie, you don't know Sue, I think, and you haven't met 
Chris either yet. They're the oldest of our family 
friends, and I must say, I'm as delighted as they are 
that it's finally happening. After years and years of 
expectations, a wedding! This very Sunday!"

"How nice," I said to Chris. "Congratulations!" Chris 
was one of those beefy types I'd gotten to know and 
dislike in college, a frat boy, self-confident with 
nothing to justify it. He looked me over with more 
interest than was appropriate for a nearly married man. 
"Best wishes," I said to Sue, who didn't seem to hear. 

"Yeah," he said. "There's lots to do I guess. Sue'll 
fill you in. She wants you in the procession, there's a 
shortage of girls or something. Some special thing, she 
needs to pick some out-of-towner who won't make the 
other girls jealous they weren't picked. You're it. Also 
you're supposed to go to their hen party tomorrow and 
scream with the rest of them. My bachelor party too, if 
you're up for it!" He leered. 

I glanced at Gayle. She was waiting for him to finish, 
maybe for us to go away and stop interrupting her. But I 
thought I saw her watching me with her peripheral 
vision. Maybe it was my uneasiness that gave that 
impression. 

"I'll be happy to do whatever's wanted," I said. "Just 
tell Gretchen when and where and she'll get me there."

Sue spoke up almost tonelessly, rapid-fire. "Good, I'm 
glad, you'll need to have your gown fitted tomorrow 
afternoon, we'll meet here for lunch to go there, and 
then there's the girls' get-together at Kirstie's at 
nine tomorrow evening." 

"We'll be there," Gretchen replied. I smiled vaguely.

My peculiar detached mood lasted the rest of the day. 
The next room was as large, with a massive dark oak 
dining room table, and I saw the turkey was already 
carved in several huge platters on the sideboard. It 
turned out this hospitality was catered, institutional, 
not the family reunion around a family dinner I'd 
anticipated. It was more like eating in a restaurant. No 
drinking, not even wine. I was seated well away from 
Gayle, who made conversation with the half dozen people 
in her vicinity, Chris and Sue sat next to her and 
Chris's father and her mother were opposite. The family 
up there, the guests down here. Gayle seemed animated 
enough, but she didn't glance at me even once. I smiled 
at whoever said anything to me. Gretchen, several seats 
away, looked on amused.

Driving back to the Inn that evening I told her how 
impersonal it had all seemed. How Gayle didn't seem to 
recognize me. 

"Should she, Allie? Are you the same person she dropped 
off here yesterday? The boy she made into a girl, her 
personal fucktoy? What'll you do with those boobs now 
that it looks like she's quit with you? Keep them 
anyhow? I bet -- you wouldn't want to give up that 
pleasure you feel whenever someone touches them, now, 
would you? That means you'll have to keep wearing bras 
too so they won't sag. That means you'll have to keep 
wearing blouses and dresses and make-up and getting your 
hair done, because your chest isn't a man's any more. 
That means now you're a man who'll live like a girl for 
the rest of your life, doesn't it? A queer girl, a 
lesbian. Or maybe a queer guy, a femme gay who lives 
like a girl, if you decide you'd like to feel hot meat 
sliding into you. Either way, Allie, from now on, you're 
queer. Get used to it."

"What's eating you, Gretchen?" I asked. "Gayle asked me 
to trust her. I trust her. I don't know why she's 
behaving like this!"

Gretchen was silent a moment. Then, "I told her about 
us, Allie!"

"What?!" My face suddenly flamed! Shocked! My God! Not 
that I wanted any deception between us, I'd have had to 
tell her, but only when we got back and into each 
other's arms again. "She knows? What did she say?"

"She said that I'm welcome to you. I can have you. She 
said I should feel free to hand you around."

My heart sank. "She said that? Bitterly?" If she felt 
bitter, maybe I can woo her back, I was thinking. It 
would mean she cares! I've hurt her, but all sorts of 
penitential acts might bring her back. What might I do 
for her I haven't already done?

"No, she scarcely heard me. I don't think she cared, 
especially. Why should she? She's putting all sorts of 
things behind her now."

Dazed, we headed for our room. "Here," Gretchen said. 
"Take this pill and let's fuck! That much you're good 
for. Being as how you're still a man, even though Gayle 
turned you into a fetishist. You're so suggestible. You 
can't imagine what I want to do with you tonight!"

I guess I did take the pill. And I guess we did fuck. 
Because I remembered nothing the next morning, but when 
I woke up I was naked, and my face and hair and whole 
body was covered, sticky and stiff with cum and pussy 
juice. I asked Gretchen what in the world we'd done.

"What do you think? You bad thing you! Touch one of your 
nipples and you're flat on your back begging, wriggling 
your hips as if a long cock was already deep inside and 
working in and out of you. Should I tell you how 
insatiable you get? Should I tell you I hired a Rent-a-
Stud and you wore him out? Should I tell you I did no 
such thing? Would it matter? Clean up and put on a 
pretty slip. You have a fitting for your gown today, 
remember."

I did. No pill, and gradually I became more and more 
despondent. Life with Gayle as I knew it was ending. 
She'd distanced herself from me. I deserved it, I was 
having sex with her best friend. Or rather, her best 
friend was having sex with me. But she'd turned 
indifferent before she could possibly have known that! 
And she'd arranged earlier for Gretchen to look after 
me, she must have known! Gretchen was her trusted 
friend? What was happening? Was this a kissoff? Was this 
Gayle's kink? Make me into a girl and make me like it, 
let her girlfriend have a taste, then goodbye, have a 
good life, enjoy yourself? I sat staring through a 
window at the bleak late-fall landscape until Gretchen 
told me it was time for our ladies' luncheon, then for 
the bridal party to go for its final fittings. That 
cheered me some. I wondered what kind of bridesmaid I 
might make?

Lunch was really very nice. Gayle wasn't there, I 
suppose she was with her family. The other girls asked 
me what I did, and I told them, and they were 
fascinated! Some wanted to know more about our product 
lines, was it true that our Goddess panties were so sexy 
they could bring a man to his knees, and was our 
Everstay line as cock-suck proof as they claimed in the 
ads? "Because I do love cock," this crinkle-haired 
blonde explained to me. "But I also like to look proper 
when I get home and my husband asks where I've been."

Some of the girls confessed that in high school they'd 
belonged to a Sluts Club in their Junior year, competing 
to see who could get laid by more boys in one set month, 
then to a DomTrixters Club in their Senior year, 
competing to see who could humiliate more boys more 
completely on a single day. Gayle came in second in her 
Junior year, I learned, a respectable 39 guys had been 
in her long enough to cum. "But the winner was really 
serious," I was told. "Julie, her name was. She just 
laid down on the first of the month and didn't stand up 
again till midnight on the thirty-first, just as the 
127th guy pulled out of her. Then she turned pro, and 
never did get off her back. It's nice to find out what 
you want to do with your life while you're still young. 
She runs her own service now, hires lots of high school 
girls and housewives part-time. Just like you."

"Who won in your Senior year?" I asked.

"The humiliation contest? Oh, Gayle," a dark girl with 
bobbed hair replied solemnly. "Easily! At half-time our 
last football game, the whole school was cheering, and 
these four foxy cheerleaders, the cutest you've ever 
seen, they all suddenly danced out on the field in the 
skimpiest yellow spangled skirts you've ever seen, with 
the most gorgeous figures, and they pranced around 
together making the most seductive girly moves you've 
ever seen in perfect coordination, they must've 
practiced them together for weeks! The same curly blonde 
wigs and bright red, pouty lips, they looked gorgeous! 
Then they finished by mooning everybody with the most 
luscious rear ends you've ever seen, skirts held high 
up, they'd been wearing no panties at all the whole 
time. And before the Principal could get down on the 
field to stop it they turned around and flipped up the 
fronts of their skirts, and lo and behold, they were 
guys! The whole time! Everybody just roared! And then 
they danced off the field all together sideways, holding 
hands crosswise, their penises bobbing up and down." 

All the girls giggled at the memory. The dark-haired 
girl went on. "Of course they were expelled immediately. 
Which was unfair, because none of them knew where they 
were or what they'd done. All they remembered was going 
to an audition for a school production of 'A Chorus 
Line' a month earlier, and Gayle telling them they'd do 
just fine. It seems Gayle had hired some hypnosis expert 
to help them learn their dance steps, a graduate student 
psych major, a girl with a sense of humor. They learned 
all right."

"Whatever happened to them afterward?" I asked. It 
worried me. 

"Oh, they're fine," she said. "One's a secretary over at 
ME I think, and one's managing a Starbuck's downtown. 
They're both still very pretty, very popular. One was 
grabbed by his parents and brainwashed and sent out of 
town, I hear he's finally a guy again. Married a 
classmate, one of Julie's best girls as a matter of 
fact. They say he's devoted to her, takes care of the 
house whenever she's out busy with clients, that he does 
everything she asks the instant she asks. I'm not sure -
- whenever we invite them over she tells us her 
husband's all tied up. And then there's Lacey, she was 
the team quarterback until that moment. She never did 
get to play in the second half of the game, of course. 
But she got her high-school equivalency anyhow and went 
on to college and I hear she was on the Mid-Central 
Girl's Soccer Team that won the State championship. 
She's finished law school by now I suppose. Gayle never 
mentioned any of this to you?"

"No," I said. "I suppose she'd put it all behind her by 
the time I met her." 

Gretchen had been listening, watching my face and the 
expressions that had played across it. "Well, it's time 
to move on into the future," she said. "Allie, you'll 
come with me? Or with one of the other girls? I can take 
two more in my car!" 

The Wedding Gown Boutique had a luxurious pink and pale 
yellow reception area and then a series of private 
fitting rooms, each equipped with a smooth, suave, 
impeccably groomed woman to help with the fittings. A 
little the way I'd always imagined brothels were fitted 
out. "Bridesmaids this way" the Madame suddenly 
announced. Gayle hadn't yet arrived, but the other 
bridesmaids were all there chattering with each other. 
When I attempted to go with them she stopped me. "Oh, 
no," she said. "You're Allie, aren't you? You aren't a 
bridesmaid. You're the Maid of Honor! We've had your 
gown made up specially. This way." 

I waited seated on a slipper chair until a one of those 
enameled women entered bearing high on a hanger an 
exquisite pale blue satin gown with a full length full 
skirt swooping up to a tight waist and a fitted bodice 
with a princess neckline, each breast cup's edge curved 
around visible cleavage. The sleeves were slightly 
puffed at the shoulder and then fitted to snug tight on 
the forearms. Grand, regal, and daring, all at once. It 
was too gorgeous!

"That's marvellous!" I said, staring at it in awe, 
breathless. 

"The loveliest gown I've ever seen!"

"Isn't it?" the woman said, smiling, with a glance up at 
it. "It's you I'm sure, very feminine yet self-assured. 
I'm told you advise many other women how to negotiate 
difficult and intimate places in their lives. This is 
for such a woman. We need to see about the hipline, 
though. Your measurements as we were given them seem a 
bit narrow for your waistline and bust."

She measured. "Yes, that's what you are. Would you like 
to try this dress on now?

I nodded. She held it high up, and I raised my arms. It 
slithered over my head and settled on my shoulders, and 
she hooked it up in back. The waistline hugged me, and 
the fabric snugged against my hips. I twisted my hips 
left and then right. The full, billowing skirt swung 
free and then gracefully curving, reversed direction. 

"This is the most comfortable dress I've ever worn," I 
whispered, awed. "And yet so carefully tailored! So 
intricate!" I looked in the mirror, and swirled the 
skirt again. I've never felt so feminine! So sexy!

"Comfortable because carefully tailored, dear," said the 
woman, pleased. "The bride specified that this dress 
should be made like hers, so the girl who wore it could 
imagine herself also a bride on her wedding day. You'll 
have a bouquet to carry in the procession, pale blue to 
reflect the dress, pale pink to match the bridesmaids' 
dresses, and white to harmonize with the bride herself. 
You look lovely, my dear. And of course you'll continue 
to look lovely in this gown for years to come. It's a 
classic style, suitable for all sorts of grand balls. 
And after the ceremony this Sunday, it's yours." 

"Oh?" I hesitated. "Please thank Sue for me. It's a rare 
privilege, invited to be her Maid of...." 

But the woman was already gone, carrying the dress away 
for wrapping. I now owned a stunning gown. My heart 
sang. I didn't understand why I should feel so 
delighted, but I did. When I emerged from the dressing 
room, I saw that Gretchen had returned to the reception 
area and was waiting for me.

"Are you also a Maid of Honor?" I asked her.

"No," said Gretchen. "It's a long time since I was a 
maid. You're the maiden in this scenario, as you are in 
real life. You won't be truly a woman until some man has 
barrelled down deep inside you and left his spermy 
calling card there. Not until you've wrapped your legs 
and arms around him so tightly you hope he can never 
escape. But he does escape. And then maybe he returns. 
That's when you'll feel the way women feel. How Gayle 
feels. That's why she's doing this for you!"

"Doing what, Gretchen? It's Sue who asked me to fill in 
as her Maid of Honor." 

"Never mind," Gretchen said. "Here's your gown coming 
now, wrapped and ready for Sunday. Let's go shopping for 
matching shoes and then go home. I have a single pearl 
strand I can lend you, and with a pearl button in each 
ear you'll be ravishing. We'll have your hair done again 
Sunday morning just before the ceremony. But that's not 
till Sunday. You aren't ready for Sunday just yet. You 
have a way to go."

The Hen Party that Friday night at Kirstie's wasn't at 
all what I'd expected, a sedate girls' night out and 
gossip before the big event. Gretchen told me to dress 
whorish, the way unmarried girls in the town did to 
attract men, so I did. Heavy eye makeup of course, and a 
tight lycra and satin blouse that lifted and aimed my 
breasts like a pair of automobile headlights. 

"Use your indelible lipstick, Allie," Gretchen advised. 
"There's a good chance those lips of yours'll be wrapped 
around some man's tube before the night's out, isn't 
there, when you're dressed like that. You'll want the 
color to last at least as long as he does." 

"Gretchen, I don't appreciate your mockery. I don't do 
men," I said.

She didn't reply. I'm not sure she heard.

Kirstie's turned out to be a Gender Club, some nights 
Lesbian and some Gay, any of them Transgender, with 
suitable entertainment for each. Tonight was an All-
Girl's Hetero Night. The Stallions, a five man dance and 
strip group, was booked to perform, and the tables 
closest around the small stage were all reserved for 
women of the bridal party. There was Sue, and some of 
the other women I recognized from lunch. They smiled and 
waved at me as we came in. I was one of them. And there 
was Gayle. This time she came over when she saw me.

"Doing OK?"

"Yes, thanks," I replied. But I felt uneasy, addled. 
Guilty that I'd been unfaithful to her and she knew it, 
but also a little resentful that she'd pretended not to 
know me on Thanksgiving Day. I started to say something, 
but choked it off. 

"I hear," she replied with a broad smile. "Sweetheart, 
you have a lot to learn, but you're learning fast! Enjoy 
it all! All of it, no inhibitions, no regrets! At home I 
go by my parents' rules, I told you! But in this place 
there are no rules. Just do what the other girls do and 
go with the flow. Be as feminine as your heart desires. 
Love it! OK?"

"OK," I replied doubtfully.

"By Sunday night you'll be a different person, you'll 
see." 

And she breezed away, stopping to chat animatedly as she 
went, with some of the girls I now knew had been her 
schoolmates.

Gretchen took the chair alongside a little table and I 
squeezed into one immediately in front of the stage, the 
table at my back. The room was jammed with perhaps a 
hundred women, young and middle-aged, the older ones 
wearing expensive dresses and jewelry, the younger ones 
dressed hot and tight like me. 

Inside of a few minutes I knew I was in trouble. The 
lights went down, a thumping music began, and five 
bronzed and muscled guys pranced and slithered into a 
spotlight on the small stage, each dressed in a 
different macho outfit, soldier, fireman, lumberjack, 
something like that. It didn't matter what because ten 
minutes later, the music pounding louder than ever and 
the women crowding the room now hooting and screaming, 
they were stripped down to shiny Speedo jock strops, 
their muscles prominent and their hips squirming as 
obscenely huge bulges thrust and rolled on the front of 
their crotches. They fanned out and moved toward the 
edge of the stage, until each was bumping and grinding 
not a foot from the face of the woman closest to the 
stage at each table. And I was one of the five. I stared 
at the bulge in front of me. The thin dayglo green nylon 
covering that cock and ball package outlined them like 
shrink-wrap. I looked up at a handsome, craggy face and 
saw it was looking mildly down at me. Then I looked 
again at that package waving provocatively in front of 
my nose. Then up again. He raised an eyebrow 
inquiringly.

"Ladies," shouted a voice over the speakers, just barely 
audible over the big beat and the whining guitars. 
"Ladies, in honor of the bridal party with us tonight, 
if we encourage them, the Stallions tonight will show 
all!" 

A huge din came up, women shrieking in an ear-splitting 
cacophony, that soon leveled into a repeated war cry 
syncopated with the pounding percussion, "Show all!" 
"Show all!" "Show all!" I looked around and saw that the 
other girls seated in my position at the other tables 
were staring at their men eagerly, eyes shining, 
transfixed by the sight of all that heavy male meat 
moving immediately in front of them. Moving closer to 
their faces! The rhythms intensified, and I realized 
that some women were now shouting "Off! "Off!" "Off!" 
while the others continued to scream "Show all!" I 
looked up again at the man in front of me. His eyes were 
closed. I looked at his crotch, which was now shifting 
and pitching and rolling and yawing and heaving directly 
in front of my nose.

Suddenly it was naked! No more nylon shielding! There 
were his huge balls, hairless! A monster-sized prick, 
now no longer contained but out in the open, plump, 
proud, already swollen huge, awesome, and yet nowhere 
nearly fully erect. And now the rhythmic beat from the 
music and a hundred women's throats was deafening, and 
every woman in the room was chanting a command to the 
five of us closest to these hunks, those cocks, "Do it!" 
"Do it!" "Do it!" Unrelenting! Overwhelming! I saw in 
the corner of my eye that two of the girls had leaned 
forward, and that their men were now thrusting their 
cocks toward their mouths, then away, each time closer! 
Then between the lips of the girl closest to me. No 
hands. Then into her mouth! She slid those lips forward 
and three, four, five inches of that prick disappeared 
into her face -- it was now a rampant, stiff tower with 
this young girl trying to swallow it at one end, joined 
to that man at the other! 

I looked at my man's cock, now filling my vision, with 
an enormous, swollen pink helmet mounted on its peak and 
a single short slit in its center, glistening, now not 
an inch from my mouth. All those women were now 
screaming a tumultuous, rhythmic "Do it!" "Do it!" "Do 
it!" at me, it seemed. I looked up at that craggy face 
once again, almost prayerfully, and saw that his eyes 
were still closed but that he was now smiling, as if in 
anticipation. Again I looked at that bulbous cock head. 
It looked like a larger version of Gayle's dildo, the 
one I loved to feel in my mouth. But more real. A real 
man's! I felt a strange urge.

And like the other girls, I leaned forward. My lips 
closed over that warm rubbery globe, and with a 
gentleness I hadn't thought possible given all that 
writhing musculature, it began to move deeper into my 
mouth until it pressed against the back of my throat. 
Then out a few inches, and in again, sliding between my 
lips. With tears in my eyes, I began to suck. Then 
harder. Then to bob my head up and down on it in cadence 
with the audience's throbbing chant, now changed to 
"More!" "More!" "More!" I was transfigured, beside 
myself, a creature of the pulsing sounds that drowned 
all my senses, an avid moist mouth and tongue with 
pursing lips eager to suck cock forever! I couldn't have 
stopped if I'd wanted. In and out of me that prick 
thrust, and down and up I bobbed, deeper and deeper it 
went each time, my mouth the instrument of the will of 
every woman in that room as I sucked that man's cock in 
and out in a frenzy of devotion! More, more, more, and I 
pulled and sucked and lipped and sucked on that fat tube 
more 
and more and over and over until that man's meat swelled 
up and expanded to fill my whole mouth and seemed to 
grow hot, then gushed and gushed salty sweet slick stuff 
down my throat while I swallowed and swallowed, my eyes 
tight shut, absolutely out of my mind! 

I knew what cum tasted like of course, my own when I 
sucked it out of Gayle's cunny, but I didn't know that 
straight from the tap it was so much more dense, even 
ropy. It coated my mouth like liquid nylon. I licked my 
lips. The lights went on, the show was over, and I 
checked my make-up. The Everlast lipstick had held up, 
but I added more anyhow, and smiled. I felt girlish, I 
don't know why.


CHAPTER IX

Gretchen was elated, rapturous. She never said a word, 
but all the way back to the Inn, whenever she looked at 
me sideways her shoulders would start to shake, and at 
one point she had to pull over to the curb until her fit 
of laughter passed. I didn't dare say anything to her. 

I learned the next day I'd had a narrow escape. That on 
evenings when the Stallions were showing all there was 
an understanding, the girl who brought her man off first 
got to be taken into a back room and fucked all night by 
each of the five in turn. 

"They're absolutely unbelievable," one of the 
bridesmaids-to-be told me at breakfast, congratulating 
me for having brought my man off second and 
commiserating that I'd missed out on the night of a 
lifetime by only eight seconds. "I won last year. And I 
went home the next morning ready to divorce my husband. 
And I would have, too, but he was crying and sobbing, 
and in the end he agreed to let me take men into our bed 
once a month, as many as I wanted, while he went to a 
motel. I advertised for them and found some great hunks, 
and now we're all happy. I even trained my hubby to 
watch. I think he likes it now, at least to judge by the 
way he sits there and beats his meat while those men are 
plowing me into the bed one after the other all night, 
and I'm shrieking. I know I love it. And when I'm sore 
afterward, he's very considerate of me down there. Very 
satisfying. Very!" She smiled to herself, remembering.

I told her that if only I'd known that it was a contest 
I'd have tried harder. She consoled me that it was a 
considerable accomplishment, what I'd done, though it 
was a shame I had to miss out by only eight seconds. 
"You were way faster than number three," she pointed 
out. "Just keep at it, you'll get there. You've got a 
real natural talent!" 

"It seems so, but she needs more practice," Gretchen 
replied for me. "We're working on it!"

I smiled modestly and said nothing. I could feel that 
Stallion's sperm still coating my mouth and lips. It 
wasn't too bad. 

Gayle called that afternoon while I was getting ready to 
go out with Gretchen to do the sights and visit the ME 
plant. It was now Saturday.

"Gayle, I'm so ashamed," I started in when I recognized 
her voice. 

"I don't know what came over me. I won't ever...."

"Oh, don't apologize, angel," she said. "You looked 
darling, sucking so solemnly on that big lollipop. And 
then gobbling all of it down! You wanted to be a woman, 
didn't you? Well, this is all part of your education as 
a woman. And I know you enjoyed it! I saw you, you know! 
It looked as though you couldn't ever get enough of him 
into you! You need more opportunities, more men, you 
know that baby?"

I decided not to say anything. "I guess," I said 
finally. 

"Gretchen keeps saying so." Could it be that I had 
enjoyed it? 

Was it that obvious to everyone else?

"Allie, I need to ask you for a big favor," Gayle said 
next. "There's a stag party tonight, Chris's last night 
as a bachelor, you know. The usual, the guys getting 
together to kid him, horse around, look at porn movies 
maybe. They can get pretty raucous I hear, and I know 
it's not your thing, and as it wears on it can get 
pretty rough I guess, the way they talk and the jokes 
they tell. Nothing you haven't heard before I'm sure, 
but lots of the girls here would be shocked to know what 
lots of their guys really think of them, how they talk 
about them. I thought I'd best not ask any of them to 
help out."

"I know about guys like that," I said. "I never was much 
good at it myself. I'm glad to be out of that kind of 
thing altogether. Thank you."

"You're a doll, Allie! That's so very sweet! But these 
guys do need someone to serve them while they play their 
practical jokes on each other. You know. Prepare the 
platters and serve the food, refill glasses, keep the 
liquor flowing, do whatever seems to need doing. Justine 
volunteered, but she's sick and can't make it. Would 
you? Sweetheart? Please? It should be fun, and it's a 
social occasion, a chance to try something different. 
Just go there looking your prettiest, and take care of 
things while they do their things. 

I hesitated. I hate that kind of male frat bash, and I 
dislike the kinds of men who went to them. I always had.

"For me? For you too? Then I can forgive you for 
anything, you'll see!"

My heart melted. I was still her sweetheart! "Anything," 
I said. It was a chance for me to make it up to her! To 
prove my dedication! "Whatever you say, Gayle. Where?"

"The President's Lounge at the ME plant," she replied. 
"Eight tonight for as long as it lasts."

"We were just going there," I said. "Sightseeing. 
Gretchen says the plant is something no one who comes to 
town should miss."

"That's right. That's good. It's Saturday, but Ben'll be 
there, he always is. I'll phone and tell him you're 
coming. He needs to talk to you about a job."

"Gayle, I've got a job. A lovely job! I don't want to 
move down here."

"Oh, honey, of course, I couldn't tell you until now, 
but you don't have a job. Ben's bought us out! I just 
heard this morning that it's final. My holding company 
and all of its subsidiaries, including your marketing 
firm, all of our operations are moving down here. Connie 
and Meg too. You know that you three women can do your 
kind of work anywhere at all, sit in any office anywhere 
and talk to sales associates in any city in the country. 
Ben's really impressed with what you've done re-
organizing things in just the few months you've been 
there. He wants you and Connie and Meg to set up and 
train other similar groups in other cities, to franchise 
them nationally in fact! At double your salaries, not 
that you care a lot about that, but Meg will, she has 
expensive tastes. Especially in men."

I was silent at this news. Then, "You'll be moving back 
down here? 

Back to your parents' house? To live under your parents' 
eyes? How can we continue...?"

"That's right, baby. Not to their house, to a place of 
my own. And you'll have your own. You're almost ready 
for it now. You'll see. It'll be fine. You'll love it. 
Even though it won't be at all what you've been 
expecting!" 

The bottom fell out of my stomach! "Gayle!" I said.

"Trust me!" she said. "I want this for you!"

"I trust you," I replied. But I didn't. She seemed too 
flippant, too manipulative now. Too commanding, even. 
Too much was too new! Move down here? But did I have a 
choice?

"None!" Ben said. Now we were sitting in his leather-
lined office in the ME main administrative building. 
"You come down here and work for me or you get out of 
this line of work altogether! It's in your contract, 
standard clause! You must have read it. It's in this 
contract too. Sign it now, or leave and don't look back. 
Your old office is closed for the Thanksgiving holiday, 
and it won't ever re-open. Gayle's apartment is already 
sublet, and your things are already on the way down 
here. Removal expenses all paid by ME, of course. You've 
got nowhere to go. Here's a pen!"

I took the pen he held out. For a moment I looked out 
the window, but then I signed the contract he'd placed 
in front of me. Gretchen, sitting across the way, seemed 
amused.

"I hear you've got a remarkable talent, young woman," 
Ben said, his narrow eyes fixed on me as he took the 
contract back and placed it in a folder, and the folder 
in a drawer, and locked the drawer. "But second best 
isn't good enough here. I expect you to be number one in 
everything! I'll want to assure myself of that 
personally!"

My God! I thought. What have I signed? 

Gretchen broke in at that point. "I'm sure you'll be 
happy with Allie in that respect and every other, Ben. 
Gayle will see to it. Don't concern yourself!"

He showed us out, and as I passed through the door he 
patted my fanny. I didn't like his proprietary attitude 
toward my body, whatever was in that contract I'd just 
signed, and I told Gretchen that as soon as we were 
alone. I was also worried that I'd be exposed as a man 
if he tried to get too intimate. I mentioned that too.

She looked at me pityingly, or very nearly. "Allie," she 
said. "Trust me. Or if you can't, trust Gayle! You have 
no worries on that score. All he wants is for you to 
suck his cock now and then. It's no big deal. You've got 
a talent, remember?"

What could I say? I had to believe her. It wasn't as if 
for the first time. Not anymore.

The plant was even more enormous than it had looked as 
Gale and I drove into town. It had its own mini-shopping 
mall, with its own stores for its employees, even a 
unisex beauty shop. Just above it were the offices of 
Phone Marketing Surrogates, PMS, my new employer. 
"That's who I work for now?" I asked.

"That's where you work," Gretchen corrected me. "You're 
the systems and personnel expert, so it's yours, you're 
the Boss. Connie knows the business, so she's your CEO. 
From here you'll train up other Allie's and Connie's and 
Meg's in other cities. Meg's in charge of the original 
pilot company now -- she'll have to hire two more 
consultants. She's thinking maybe she'll convert an old 
boyfriend to do the work, the way Gayle converted you. 
Whatever works."

"Who named it 'PMS'?" I asked.

"Gayle, of course. She thought you should be able to say 
sincerely that sometimes your PMS can be hard to cope 
with, same as every other girl's. More seriously, to 
remind you every day which side you're on now, that you 
live and work in a woman's world and that there's no 
turning back."

And that night when I was getting ready to go help out 
at that bachelor party as Gayle had requested, she 
repeated that statement. "Especially after tonight, 
there's no turning back, Allie," she said. "You'll be 
the girl Gayle has always wanted you to be, make no 
mistake. The girl you need to be. Use your Everstay 
makeup again, and slather it on, but don't worry about 
your dress -- they'll give you a uniform to wear when 
you get there. Oh, take a pill to ease any stress you 
may feel. Here."

It was just as well. Gretchen dropped me off by the main 
entrance, and when I arrived through by the delivery 
door another girl was already in the kitchenette laying 
out cold cuts, and I could already hear loud male voices 
and laughs from the next room. I thought she hadn't yet 
gotten dressed. She was wearing black stockings, black 
lace hi-cut panties, a garter belt, and high stiletto 
heels, and not quite covering her generous breasts and 
nipples was a thin fringed black ribbon.

"Your Gayle's friend? Justine's replacement?" she asked. 
"I'm Julie. I'm so glad you could make it, I'll need 
help with these guys, and all of my girls have been 
booked elsewhere for weeks. Here's your uniform. Same as 
mine, but you get the split crotch panty girdle to keep 
your unmentionables tucked in but your asshole 
available. Real boobs? Beautiful, honey, you've got to 
tell me who did them! These guys will love you! And 
that'll take a lot of the pressure off me." 

"What! What is this?" I asked, a little shocked, as I 
realized what she was saying. Not a lot, the pill was 
taking effect.

She was amused. "A bachelor party, love, what did you 
think? We're serve the food and drink, and we're the 
entertainment. Be sure to keep track of every blow job 
you give and every fuck up the ass you get tonight, 
honey, because I charge my clients piecework rates. 
Anything they do to your boobs is free. Gayle tells me 
that one touch on your nipples and you're on a rocket to 
the moon, insatiable. Which is just as well with this 
crowd. Here, put that potato salad into this bowl and 
set it over there, would you?"

"You know Gayle? Gayle told you that?" I didn't feel 
quite as betrayed as I should have, but this didn't seem 
right.

"Gayle and I go back a long way, Allie. We were 
classmates all through high school, though I beat her 
out in a contest in our Junior year, and I don't think 
she's ever forgiven me. I'm here personally as a favor 
to her tonight. She wanted me to look after you, to see 
you enjoyed it."

"Enjoyed what?" I asked, already afraid I knew the 
answer. 

I did. "The fucking and sucking, sweetheart. The sucking 
and fucking. This is your rite of passage. Tonight you 
become a woman. What's not to enjoy? Tonight you're 
going to discover for yourself why it's a good thing to 
be a woman. Tonight you'll be glad that's what you are. 
Do you know how to tap that keg over there? The one in 
the other room must be nearly run out, to judge by the 
noise level."

I changed into the costume she'd handed me, and feeling 
both naked and obscene I went into the other room 
holding up a platter of sliced pizza with both hands. My 
breasts lay across the platter, almost naked. Each of 
the men who took a slice contrived to rub his hand on my 
nipples, and despite myself I began to feel a familiar 
yearning build in my crotch. As more of Gretchen's pill 
took effect, I cared less. God, it felt good! I smiled 
at the next man to cop a feel, and set down the platter, 
then smiled again at him. 

The next thing I knew it was yesterday night all over 
again, but over and over! I was gobbling away at his 
stiff pole and trying to push it all the way down my 
throat. Just as he came and I was swallowing, that 
wonderful slick feel of jism coating my lips and my 
teeth again, that delicious salty taste, someone cupped 
both my tits from behind and I felt a soft, probing knob 
push against my rear end. Whoever it was tweaked both my 
nipples at the same time, and I shrieked aloud in joy, 
and thrust back, just as I felt something hot and wet 
slide into me. Oh God, it was like Gayle's dildo, but 
smoother, brawnier, more ... robust! And much longer! In 
and out, while I climbed to the stars, and then they 
exploded in my head and in my belly all at once.

"There you are, Allie, you sweet thing," I heard over my 
shoulder. "Now you won't need to worry about lubrication 
for the rest of the night. You're as slippery as you 
need to be now, and you'll only get more so. You're so 
wonderfully tight still! Gayle told me I'd be your 
first! Am I?"

I turned to look at him. He was a thin young man with 
blond hair and a sharp chin but gentle eyes. And a great 
cock, that I already knew. I liked him. I smiled and 
nodded. 

He kissed me. "I'm glad. Well, you have things to do. 
I'll be back later."

Another cock came weaving toward my face while I was 
still on my knees, and I grabbed the owner around the 
thighs to steady myself, then tucked his sweet thing 
into my mouth. Another slid effortlessly up my ass. Both 
felt like satin. I felt pure joy, rapturous, at both 
ends! When they finally throbbed and squirted and soaked 
me, another set replaced them. I lost count despite 
Julie's one instruction. So delicious! So very 
delicious! All these men intent to make me happy!

At 4:00am I felt someone shaking my shoulder. The same 
young, blond, pointy-chinned man who had first taken my 
virginity. That dear man! I smiled at him again. 

"Everybody's gone," he said quietly. "Even Julie. I've 
been watching you sleep. You've had quite a night. You'd 
better get home though, so you can get some more sleep 
and then get dressed for Church. There's a wedding, you 
know." 

"Yes, Chris, he's getting married!" I croaked. My throat 
seemed so sore! Too many cocks in and out of it? "He's 
getting married," I repeated. "I didn't see him."

"Well, he saw you, honey-cheeks. Quite a few times. Can 
you stand?"

I wriggled luxuriously, and then turned to lie on my 
back. There he was. He bent over me. I took him around 
the neck with both arms. "One more for the road," I 
whispered to him. "Please!" The intensity of my desire 
surprised me!

Out came that long, long cock, I could see it this time. 
I raised my legs to his shoulders. "I want to watch," I 
said. "I want to watch your dear, dear face when you 
cum! Tell me your name, lover."

"Steve," he said, and he plunged into me. I could barely 
feel him this time, there was so much cum inside me, and 
so much jism all around me, and I was stretched so big. 
But he must have felt me, because he came in only a few 
minutes. I moaned in pleasure as he stroked in and out. 
He kissed me, once on each nipple -- I was bare breasted 
by now, of course -- and I had an orgasm then and there! 
My ass clenched on him, and he throbbed and came too! I 
felt his hot spunk fill my guts! I saw his face strain, 
and then turn blissful.

"Thank you, Steve," I said dreamily. 

"Thank you, Allie," he replied. "Here's the dress you 
came in, and the topcoat. Can you stand up now? You may 
be a little sore."

I could. I was. And it felt as if the ocean of cum 
sloshing around inside me was beginning to leak out and 
down my legs.

"Do you have a tampon?" Steve asked in his always-gentle 
voice.

"Probably in my purse," I said sleepily. "Gretchen will 
have put one there. She thinks of everything."

She had. It stopped my leaking long enough for Steve to 
help me to his car and drive me home. He saw me to the 
door. I threw my arms around him one more time and gave 
him a long, passionate, languorous kiss. Then went 
inside.

"A lovely, lovely man," I crooned to myself as I 
stripped off my panty-girdle and stockings and crept 
into bed next to Gretchen, who woke just long enough to 
see my condition, my hair a hopeless mess, cum-soaked 
from head to foot, my breasts mauled.

"You mean Steve?" she asked. "The one who drove you home 
just now? Yes, he is. They all are. You know that now, 
don't you, now that you're finally really a woman."

"Mmmmm," I replied, and I fell asleep again.

The next morning I felt even more sore, but after a 
long, hot, soaking bubble bath the world looked bright 
again, and I could sit up cheerfully while I tried to 
brush my hair into a semblance of order.

"You're a dear!" I said to Gretchen when she came back 
from breakfast to see how I was getting by. "But you're 
so sneaky! You knew all along what was going to happen, 
didn't you, and you didn't tell me, not a word! Isn't 
that so?" 

"That's right, Allie," she said, her face quite serious, 
relaxed, even friendly. I realized that she'd never 
really spoken to me as a friend before. Previously there 
was always a hint of mockery in anything she said. "It's 
nothing anyone can tell anyone. Before, you were a man 
playing at being a woman. Of course it's fun, 
delightful, being a woman! I wouldn't have it any other 
way. Of course you followed Gayle's suggestions and 
decided that you wanted to be a woman. That's a no-
brainer, given a choice. I certainly would! You did it 
to please her, though, didn't you? But now you have your 
own reasons. Don't you. And they have to do with the 
quintessence of being a woman. The pleasure a woman can 
take in sex. The ways she can use men while men think 
they're using her. The glow we can feel when we've been 
well and truly fucked by a lovely, lovely man. Like 
Steve."

"Yes," I said. "Like Steve. Will he be at the wedding 
today?"

"I hope so," Gretchen said. "He's the Best Man. Just as 
you're the Maid of Honor, though now you're no more a 
maid than I am. But stop fussing with your hair, Allie. 
The hairdresser will be here in a half-hour, and she'll 
make both of us look as beautiful as we can be, you for 
your Gayle and your Steve, and me for myself. Doesn't 
that prospect fill your heart, you dear? I thought so. 

But you'd better lay out all your under things now, and 
your gown. I'll find those pearls for you to wear."

At noon we were both ready to drive to the Church for a 
brief rehearsal before the main crowds began to show up 
for the 2:00 pm ceremony. I looked so beautiful! I had 
never felt so happy! It was just wonderful! 

Gretchen saw and understood. "You've been fucked to your 
heart's content, for once. For the first time. It's like 
being in love, honey." Her voice was low and 
sympathetic. "Like first love, now for the first time 
falling in love with someone you've just found out you 
really are. Someone far more satisfying than that man 
you thought you were, that uptight nerd who trapped you 
inside himself just a few months ago. More satisfying 
even than the woman you thought you were yesterday, 
before you found out for yourself how marvelous it is to 
be a woman desired by many men. Before you found out 
your power over men. The fact that they want you means 
that you can use them to please yourself."

"Yes," I said. I skipped a step, twirled, and primped. 
"It's wonderful! Gretchen, it feels so very good!" 

"That's what Gayle has wanted for you all along. Because 
she loves you. Now you know!"

"Yes," I said. "I didn't know. But now I know."

En route to the Church, Gretchen wearing a severe black 
beaded cocktail dress and me in my pale blue satin and 
tulle gown alongside her, we passed a fairly large 
mansion on an acre or so of grounds, visible and 
accessible from the road. Tudor half-timber in 
construction, but solid, modern, prosperous, 
comfortable. She paused and looked it over.

"Interesting," she said.

"What is, honey?" I asked her. I was feeling no pain. 
Life was beautiful, and I had just been born.

"This house. This is where Chris will carry his bride 
across the threshold after they're married and return 
from their honeymoon."

"So?" I asked, wondering what was so interesting about 
that. "He's the son of the richest man in town. His 
father owns Gayle's whole family, and Christianity too 
from what I overheard about how St. Paul chooses Visa 
over its competitors. And now he owns Gayle and me too. 
Though if he wants to pat my bottom again the way he's 
planning it's going to cost him stock options, and if he 
wants a blow job he'd better plan on getting it from a 
President for PMS who's on the board of the whole ME 
conglomerate." 

Gretchen glanced sharply at me, but said nothing. Maybe 
she hadn't realized how quickly I'd understand the 
meaning of my attractiveness to men. "No," she said. "I 
don't mean that. Look at the house. There are two main 
entrances. One on either side. It's a private estate, 
but it looks set up to be two separate apartments for 
two families."

I looked. "So it does," I said. "Odd."

"Yes," Gretchen said. "Gayle mentioned last summer that 
the place was being renovated this way. It's a landmark 
house. They had to get approvals. They got them, of 
course."

The topic wasn't very interesting to me. "Maybe Chris 
wants to live in half the house and rent out the other 
half to cover the mortgage." The idea that the son of 
Mr. Gotrocks could worry about a mortgage was briefly 
amusing. His father held all the mortgages there were in 
this town.

"No, but I can think of another reason why they'd have 
renovated the house this way. That's what's 
interesting."

"I suppose," I said. "But let's not be late for the 
rehearsal. I need to change my tampon." I was still 
leaking cum from the previous night's delicious 
debauchery. And I had a secret desire at least to slip a 
tampon dispenser tube into me again, then push another 
tampon into my vitals, and pull the tube out. It felt so 
good!


CHAPTER X

Two hours later I was standing by the altar in the midst 
of the ceremony, still daydreaming in the indolence of 
my new complete femininity, overjoyed to have discovered 
who I really was despite who I thought I was. It was 
lovely. 

And then with no warning came the worst moment of my 
life. 

The wedding guests were seated, and the pews were 
decorated with white ribbons and pale yellow bows. The 
bride's processional party had gathered behind, waiting 
for the organ cue, Gayle's father was in full regalia up 
front among the baskets and sprays of flowers, his 
embroidered and gilt-woven ministerial gown looking more 
Givenchy than ecclesiastical. Chris as the groom and 
Steve as his best man arrived up front in full morning 
coat and cravat and stood waiting. The music began, and 
I walked down in stately procession and took my 
indicated place. And I smiled at Steve, the dear, dear 
man, and he smiled back at me, and we smiled at each 
other serenely while unnoticed by either of us the 
groomsmen in black and bridesmaids in pink arrived and 
lined up behind us. I was on the girls' side, one of 
them, one of the lovely girls in a beautiful gown, like 
Gayle I supposed, feeling very special. As I'd been 
instructed, I handed my bouquet behind me, and someone 
took it. 

There was a pause. The audience hushed.

Then the organ began playing a loud but solemn "Here 
Comes the Bride," and all heads turned to watch. 

And a little flower girl in pink with white socks and 
sensible white Mary Jane's, smiling self-consciously, 
someone's seven year old cousin, came sprinkling flower 
petals. 

Then all alone came Sue, all white, a hooded and deeply 
veiled vision in white, carrying in her arms a huge 
white bouquet, white roses, snow drops, baby's breath, 
slowly treading forward on the white petal-strewn 
carpet. The bride proceeding to her sacrifice, her 
ritual deflowering in due time by the groom who stood 
there waiting for her. Chris, his plump and florid face 
seeming a little choked by his wing collar, was watching 
Sue move slowly forward. Steve told me I'd had him last 
night. In my mouth? In my ass? A few times, both? No 
recollection -- thank God for those pills Gretchen had 
fed me until I'd finally learned how to live without 
them by accepting myself as I am. Beautiful. Feminine. 
Desired. Myself.

Sue reached the altar and stood next to me, and her 
groom stepped forward to stand next to her. They both 
faced Gayle's father.

"Dearly beloved," he began. And as always happens when I 
hear a religious liturgy intoned, I stopped listening 
and began daydreaming. About my own wedding some day to 
Gayle. No longer myself in a morning coat or tails but 
now in a full resplendent bridal gown, my face and hair 
done exquisitely, much as they were now. Modestly, 
sweetly holding both of Gayle's hands while words were 
uttered over us that would weld us into one flesh 
forever. 

Chris and Sue had decided on a double ring ceremony, and 
Sue handed me her bouquet to hand on when the moment 
came for the rings, each one separately blessed, to be 
placed on each finger. As was done. "With this ring I 
thee wed," each of them told the other in a barely 
audible voice. Gayle's father intoned more sounds while 
I sank back into my happy thoughts, that I was beautiful 
and beautifully dressed, and that the girl of my dreams 
loved me for what I had become for her, the girl of her 
dreams.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife," Gayle's father 
declared aloud, his voice resonant, speaking for God, as 
God, echoing God's edict. "And what God hath joined, let 
no man nor woman put as under!" There was a noticeable 
stir among the audience. It was done. No one would dare 
put it asunder. I wondered if Gayle, one of the 
bridesmaids behind me, would feel tempted by the example 
before her to seek to be pronounced wife and wife with 
me. Soon. Not by her father, anyhow, I thought. Should 
we both wear white? Or pink for her and blue for me? 
Maybe this very dress, it fits so beautifully.

There was handsome, beefy Chris looking at me 
expectantly, and I realized I had just heard the 
Minister tell him "You may kiss the bride." There was an 
awkward pause, and I remembered that at this moment I 
was instructed to reach over the bride's shoulders from 
behind, lift the veil over her head, and drape it behind 
her, her face now that of a married woman, finally fit 
to be seen. I smiled, reached across, and did that. Sue 
stepped toward her beloved, and they took each other in 
each other's arms, and they kissed deeply. 

The congregation applauded as with a radiant smile they 
separated and turned to face the aisle to begin their 
recessional. I saw then that the bride was not Sue. 

The bride was Gayle. She had become Gayle. Was I still 
dreaming? A nightmare! I shook my head! She was Gayle! 
My Gayle! My Gayle had just married Chris while I had 
stood by calmly and watched! She was married! This was 
Gayle's wedding! Not to me! 

Gayle was standing next to Chris beaming her joy as I 
took all this in, astonished! Then they took each 
others' hands to proceed back down the aisle, and the 
organ churned out Mendelssohn's joy in utter 
abandonment. For a moment Gayle just stood there. She 
looked at me with a wide smile. I heard her say, "Thank 
you, Allie. Thank you for everything! You're a pet! I 
love you!" 

Then the two of them ran down the aisle away from me 
together.

I was dazed. I don't know how I got to the wedding 
reception at the town's largest hotel, or to the dinner 
and dancing that followed. I braced myself against the 
wall while others dashed here and there, every few 
minutes blotting my mascara and taking deep breaths to 
keep from sobbing. I have never felt so utterly alone! 
So utterly betrayed! Deeply hurt, enraged, I thought of 
rushing back to the Inn and tearing off my beautiful 
full skirted dress with its bodice fitted to my breasts 
and its lovely flounce and ... but I couldn't! I 
couldn't just put on pants again and just be a man again 
and leave town! The gown was so very lovely! My breasts 
were so lovely! And there was nowhere for me to go.

Gretchen came to stand next to me as we both watched 
Chris take my Gayle by her hand and lead her into their 
first dance, the first dance of the rest of their lives 
together. A sob escaped me.

"All women cry at weddings, Allie," Gretchen said 
softly. "Go right ahead."

"Oh, Gretchen!" I started to say in response to her 
sympathetic voice, and I almost broke down. But then I 
realized that Gretchen must have known about this all 
along. Together with Gayle she'd manipulated me into 
becoming what I was, a woman, unalterably a woman, a 
hopeful woman, and now a lost woman! "Gretchen, why?" 
was all I could get out. Not angrily. Broken-hearted.

"Because, Allie!" Her voice was low, solemn.

"No, that's not an answer!" My voice became high, 
shrill.

"Don't you trust her, Allie?" she replied. "Don't you 
trust that she has her reasons?"

"What good are her reasons now?" I managed to gasp out 
between my suppressed sobs. "I've lost her!" And I began 
to wail.

Gretchen spoke sharply, and brought me up short. "Do you 
regret anything she's done till now? Do you really 
regret what you are now?"

I paused. I had to answer honestly. "No," I said. "I 
regret nothing!"

"You don't regret that she's betrayed you repeatedly 
since you drove here together? Setting you up to fuck 
me? Setting you up to suck your first cock ritually in 
front of a hundred cheering women, and like it? Setting 
you up to get screwed fore and aft and sideways all 
through last night by maybe two dozen guys, until the 
pleasure and the power of it overcame any feelings of 
violation, and you felt honored to be used like a woman? 
Proud of your woman's body?" 

I had to shake my head forcefully. "No regrets!" I said.

"You're still filled with jism. Doesn't it feel good to 
remember that your tampons are still soaking it up?"

I nodded. I couldn't speak. I should have felt 
humiliated. But instead, my morale rose. I still wanted 
to be everything she'd made me. I no longer felt 
betrayed. Rather, abandoned. Forsaken. Terribly alone.

"Then be happy for Gayle. Be grateful to her. She's just 
made the marriage of the century for this town, probably 
for the whole State, and she's remade you into something 
you're proud of, and she's set you up in a whole new 
career. Even set you up with the most powerful cock in 
town to suck on now and then. You wanted to marry her. 
Well, marriage is founded on love and trust. Love her 
and trust her even though you feel you're an utter fool 
to do so!" Gretchen paused. "That's what you've done 
until now, and you know now that in the early days you 
really were an utter fool to trust her."

I thought back to those days, when Gayle was teasing me 
out of my masculinity step by step, turning me into a 
girl step by step with my consent but without my 
realizing it. I'd been her creature. Now I was her 
creation. I had to trust her.

We stood together a while longer, watching all the 
powers of the town enjoy themselves, all the older 
respectable wealthy folk circulating and slapping each 
other on the back and kissing each other's cheeks, and 
preening, and watching all of the younger ones go off to 
dance or as happens at weddings, go off to do other more 
private things in the upstairs hotel bedrooms. They were 
my social set now. I'd been Gayle's Maid of Honor at the 
wedding of the century. Everyone would feel honored to 
know me. I wondered where Steve had gone. I wanted him 
to ask me to dance. I watched Gretchen take a husky hunk 
by the arm and chat him up, and move him onto the dance 
floor, and then when I looked again they were nowhere to 
be seen. She'd done with me whatever Gayle had asked her 
to do with me. Seduce me, and thereby disabuse me of any 
possessiveness I felt for Gayle. Or I might think Gayle 
felt for me. Prepare me to share her. Prepare me to let 
her go.

When the time came for Gayle to throw her bridal 
bouquet, I was chatting with a few of the mothers and 
their daughters, asking them about some of the men I saw 
wandering the edges of the dance floor. I didn't notice 
at first that Gayle had come up right in front of me. 
All the other girls massed alongside and behind me, 
shrieking their delight, and Gayle then tossed her mass 
of flowers -- straight at me! It couldn't miss! It 
filled my arms! She smiled at me and disappeared. It was 
a last sweet gesture. Maybe a message of some kind? 

Eventually Gayle and Chris reappeared wearing travelling 
clothes and waved to everyone, and everyone threw rice 
at them and followed them out to the front of the hotel, 
and they looked happy and waved yet again, and then got 
into a car parked by the curb. They were headed for the 
airport and the Virgin Islands for the next two weeks. 
Two weeks spent in each other's arms. 

The car was pasted with pompoms and soaped with "Just 
married" signs and trailing a few plastic pop bottles 
and a soup can tied to a rear panel. They drove off. I 
stood out front in my beautiful gown in the early 
evening chill, and watched them drive away, the soup can 
rattle fading into the distance and then disappearing. 
They were gone.

I had been deserted. I knew she'd be returning. But not 
to me. She'd live with Chris in that large house with 
two entrances, and we'd see each other on social 
occasions, maybe at dinner parties in that very house, 
and we'd smile at each other for old time's sake. But I 
was alone. I would sleep alone. I stood by the curb 
thinking, I don't want to go back to the party. I want 
to go to the Inn and change, and then fall face down on 
my bed and cry my heart out.

"Allie," a man's voice behind me said gently. "This 
isn't easy for you, is it?"

I turned around. It was Steve. He had already changed to 
an open necked sport shirt and a brown tweed jacket and 
a neat pair of brushed suede pants. 

"No" I replied. "Not at all."

"You miss her already I bet."

"I do. She's gone."

"In a way. Would you like to go somewhere quiet for a 
drink and some conversation? A wedding can be so 
depressing afterward for friends of the bride and groom 
who aren't themselves married. We always wish them well, 
but...."

I looked closely at him. Men in brown tweed always seem 
understanding and kindly disposed, I thought to myself. 
It was still early.

"Yes, Steve, I would like some company. But can you take 
me to the Inn first? I need to change into something a 
little less demanding." I fluffed out the layers of 
tulle and ribbon and satin that rocked back and forth 
from my hips to the ground like a giant bell, my legs 
the clapper. He nodded and went to get his car. While I 
waited, I fluffed out my hair.

We were both silent on the drive to the hotel. Steve 
wanted to respect my mood, but he also seemed to share 
it. He indicated silently a parking space where he'd be 
waiting for me, and when I got out I stood and watched 
his car pull into that space and then ... wait. He 
didn't mean to abandon me too. That was reassuring. But 
also there was no escaping it, I would need to be 
sociable a little bit longer. 

Once in my room I cast off my voluminous dress and 
tossed it on a chair, then on impulse I changed out of 
the corset that had trussed me into that gorgeous gown 
and sustained me through the ceremony, and instead put 
on the sexiest black lace bra, panties, and garter belt 
I owned, and then rolled on my stockings with lacy tops. 
Because I'm an attractive girl, I told myself 
determinedly -- men can't wait to be intimate with me! 
And I stroked heavy eyeliner on my eyes, and with a 
fingertip stroked shine on my eyelids. I'd at least feel 
desirable to me! Then I changed into a short decollote 
cocktail dress, one I'd brought with me even though it 
was way too flirty for Gayle's parents' ever to see, and 
I touched my hair. And then went down to the car.

"Wow!" Steve said when he saw me. "Allie, you are the 
most beautiful girl I've seen since I arrived back here! 
And you know there were lots of lovely girls there this 
afternoon."

Wow yourself, I said to myself. Maybe it was a line, 
though he seemed sincere. I'd find out. And anyhow, if 
we were headed for a bar somewhere, at least I could get 
plastered. I checked the long list of "don't say" words 
I'd been given during my long journey through femininity 
to arrive finally here, in a car with a man who'd fucked 
me sweetly but I scarcely knew. Yes, a woman can get 
"plastered," or "sozzled." Men can get "pissed" or 
"shit-faced." 

"I intend to get tiddly," I told Steve as we drove to 
whatever destination.

"I know," Steve said. "So do I."

Now what did that mean? 

Steve then surprised me. He said. "You miss Gayle. And I 
miss Chris. They both knew we'd feel this way, and the 
last thing Gayle told me as they drove off was, "Get to 
know Allie. You'll find she's well worth your knowing. 
And let her find out the same about you."

Gayle could talk like that. Polite meaningless-seeming 
words that were freighted with important meanings 
nevertheless. "Do you know what she meant by that?" I 
asked Steve.

"Yes, I think so, Allie. Wait till we get where we're 
going and we each have something alcoholic in our hands.

I was surprised when we arrived. The bar was subdued and 
well appointed, not crowded, but comfortably filled with 
well-dressed and well-behaved people. Young people much 
like ourselves. As my eyes got accustomed to the gloom I 
could see a small dance floor in the middle distance. 
There were people dancing to muffled, tasteful music. We 
picked up drinks at the bar and Steve led me to a booth. 
I sat where I could still see the dance floor, while 
Steve sat with his back to it, facing me. Little by 
little I made out couples dancing. Men with women, Men 
with men. Women with women. 

"This is a gay bar!" I said aloud. Another? Like 
Kirstie's, only for dancing and companionship, not for 
entertainment? Two of them in the midst of this 
straitlaced town?

"And lesbian. And bi. And transgendered, yes," Steve 
replied calmly. He leaned forward. "This where we all 
come to meet our friends."

I listened wide-eyed, silent now.

"Allie, I'm gay." 

I waited.

"And you're newly transgendered, a new girl. I know. And 
to complete this round of re-introductions, so we both 
know everything, you need to know this too. My roommate 
Chris, the man who just this day married your roommate 
Gayle, he's gay too. Well, really bi I guess. He'll park 
his thing anywhere, but he's always willing to 
reciprocate, to let others park their things anywhere in 
him. So we get on just fine, Chris and I. We always 
have, ever since eighth grade when we first found out 
what we especially like about each other." 

I just stared. 

"There are bars like this in every town, meeting places 
for people who're different. Even in this town, The 
Minister of All Souls Church doesn't know, of course. He 
never comes here. He doesn't believe that people should 
consume alcoholic beverages in public, so he doesn't 
think they do. He preserves his innocence. So of course 
he knows nothing about Chris, or about me. Any more than 
he knows anything about you."

"Wow!" was all I could say, dazed by what Steve was 
saying. It had enormous implications. 

Suddenly I found my voice. "When was this wedding 
planned? Why?" I made sure I sounded gentle, curious, no 
way resentful. It was easy. Because unexpectedly, that 
was how I felt. 

"Last summer. Chris and Gayle had no choice. A family 
obligation. Ben wanted the marriage for respectability, 
once and for all to quell the unfounded rumors about his 
son. And for Gayle's father the marriage was a union of 
the secular and the sacred. All Souls Church would 
finally find financial security, and the owner of ME 
enterprises would secure a strong voice to plead for him 
in the hereafter, when he'd surely need one. It was a 
match made in heaven. But it needed additional 
arrangements."

"You know I'm sure that it's customary for the bride to 
give her Maid of Honor some special gift, a token of 
appreciation for all she's been though on her friend's 
behalf. A gift of love, as a matter of fact. Just as a 
bridegroom does for his Best Man. Well, she didn't 
forget her gift of love to you, Allie. She left it with 
me."

"Oh?" I said. Now it was coming.

"You're very lovely, Allie. Chris is a bull, and he's a 
fine man, and I enjoy being with him, and I look forward 
to many years yet when the two of us will enjoy each 
other just as Gayle is enjoying him, probably, right 
now. But I've missed being with gentler people. I've 
missed delicacy, and beauty. I've missed the femininity 
of some of my partners before Chris and I decided to go 
steady. So he and Gayle worked it out. A solid marital 
arrangement. Fifty-fifty. Chris and I will be together 
half the time, and if you're willing, during that time 
you and Gayle will be together."

I hadn't touched my drink, but my head was swimming. 
Steve reached for my hand and held it. And didn't 
release it. He had very large hands. His touch was warm 
and gentle.

"Gayle told me to tell you that you aren't altogether a 
woman yet. That you'll need to know the love of a real 
man before you can be a complete woman. Someone you can 
love too. To love to feel him inside you. To want to 
feel him inside you. To know that he wants you, and you 
want him! To have the supreme confidence that comes from 
knowing you're desirable and loved! When that happens 
you'll complete the journey Gayle planned for you. When 
you've been as intimate with a man as you and Gayle have 
been with each other, in the same ways, and as loving, 
and have learned to love it. Perhaps even to love it as 
much.

I looked up into Steve's eyes. They were as soft and 
warm and kind as his hands. His temperament seemed to be 
as tweedy as his sport coat. He really was rather 
handsome. And he knew that I was beautiful. He'd said 
so. As he held my hand, I felt especially beautiful. It 
was a warm feeling. Special. And I have to admit it, the 
idea that I was still under Gale's tutelage aroused me. 
This man she had prepared me to accept over these past 
months, without my knowing it, aroused me.

"Allie, I'm the little personal gift Gayle wanted me to 
give you as her beloved Maid of Honor and dearest 
friend. And now that I've seen you and spoken to you, 
I'm delighted and honored that she thinks so highly of 
me." 

The more I saw of this wonderful man, the longer he 
spoke, the more I felt the same way. But I indicated 
nothing. A girl should never seem too easy. 

"Chris already had me. What to do? He knew that while I 
love him dearly, he's a rare exception in my life. That 
I've always preferred femme men, gay transvestites or 
transsexuals, men who want to be women or believe that's 
what they are. So he wanted me to have such a lover for 
the times he's with Gayle. He wanted me to be happy even 
when we were separated. And Gayle needed someone to be 
with when she wasn't with Chris, someone devoted and 
companionable, preferably also with a stiff cock. Best 
of all would be some one person willing to become what 
we both needed. Someone bisexual, intelligent and 
passionate and loving but also delicate and beautiful."

I listened. I realized that Gayle must have known this 
moment was coming all along. From the moment she'd 
approached me in that coffee shop after class, she'd 
known there would come a time when the woman she wanted 
to bed down with, formerly a man, would need to be 
abandoned so she could be with her husband. And that the 
man her husband bedded down with would be feeling 
equally deserted.

"We looked, but there aren't any such men. Gayle was 
near despair when she first saw you in that business 
school class. But she told Chris after talking with you 
in some coffee shop that it might all work out after 
all. Then when she went jogging with you, and then went 
to bed with you, she knew it. Her word for you as you've 
developed your potential and then realized it, as you've 
moved from being a clever, decent and compliant young 
man to becoming a passionate and sensitive and beautiful 
young woman has always been the same. Each time she's 
spoken to Chris to reassure him about your progress, 
she's called you 'Perfect.' Perfect in every conceivable 
way. With you as you are, Chris's and Gayle's parents 
will never need to guess what their son is, or what I 
am, or you once were, or what we've been planning, or 
why. They'll preserve their innocence. If you want to be 
what you are, we can all be happy."

Here it comes, I thought. I felt somehow deeply 
satisfied.

"Allie, if you're willing, Gayle and Chris agree that 
you'd be perfect as the rare, delicate, precious gift 
that Chris would like me to have. If you'll have me." 

I knew I should feel annoyed to learn that I've been 
taken for granted, used, for this. But I didn't feel 
annoyed. I felt privileged. Cherished. Cared for. Tended 
as carefully and tenderly as a beautiful flower raised 
for many months to become the grace note of a single 
beautiful occasion. I wouldn't ever have Gayle for my 
own exclusively, I knew that now. That had been a dream. 
I'd have settled for a half a loaf. But all along Gayle 
had wanted me to have more than half a loaf. She'd 
wanted me to have two half-loaves. 

With that realization, I knew I should be blushing with 
pleased embarrassment. But I wasn't. Instead I was 
remembering that on impulse earlier this evening, I'd 
put on my sexiest black undies. I wondered if Steve was 
responsive to sexy black underwear. Did he ever secretly 
wear any himself? Something in his politeness, his 
gentleness, the fact that he was the chosen and faithful 
partner to a massive bull of a man, told me that he 
might welcome surrender to a either a man's or a woman's 
domination. Especially a woman he persisted in thinking 
was still in some sense a man.

I thought too about Chris. What was there in Steve that 
paired them so well? If I liked Steve, was it possible I 
might enjoy Chris too? Gayle did. And Gayle and I had 
always enjoyed the same things.

"And I want you to know right now," Steve told me. "Now 
that I've met you, I agree with Gayle. You're perfect. 
My head is swimming at my incredible good luck that 
we're here now, tonight."

I suddenly realized that logically, inescapably implicit 
in all this was a proposal of marriage. Respectability 
would require that we live as separate married couples, 
no doubt in that house Chris and Gayle had prepared for 
us, the one with two entrances but inside, almost 
certainly, no dividing walls. But I would not be taken 
for granted. I decided immediately that Steve would have 
to propose to me properly, formally, on his knees. And 
once I had him on his knees, I was sure I could find 
other uses for him. 

Enough speculation, I told myself. Time to find out some 
answers. Steve was still gently holding my hand in his 
two large hands. I placed my other hand on his and 
carefully lifted them both to one of my breasts, its 
upper curves warm and bare. His eyes widened, and then 
he closed them again, the better to concentrate on the 
erotic sensations sent all through his body by his 
fingertips. I let those fingertips brush my erect nipple 
in passing, and a yearning sensation pierced me from 
that nipple all the way through to my groin. Steve 
moaned slightly as he felt what I felt. He too was 
beginning an erection. Perfect.

I stood up, still holding both his hands. "I think I'm 
lucky too, Steve," I said, staring steadily into his 
gentle eyes, never taking my gaze off him, until finally 
he looked away, a bit embarrassed. Was it Steve who was 
blushing this time? "Both of us are lucky. We've both 
lost the loves of our lives, in a way, but we've both 
found something too. We've found each other, haven't we? 
And we need each other. I'm still feeling lonely, and 
I'm sure you are too. I want to be held tonight. Held 
close. I need to be held close. Would you like to 
dance?"

END

(c) 2001 by Vickie Tern. May be copied to free archives. 
Any others, ask (VickieTern@aol.com).

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex
with others outside a monogamous relationship. But it
isn't okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people
other than a trusted partner. 4-million people around
the world contract HIV every year. You only have one
body per lifetime, so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 80