TG: Trust Me! 2 by Vickie Tern, femdom, wife, M/F, M/M 

Vickie Tern's stories are archived at 
http://library.gaycafe.com/nifty/transgender/
by_authors/Vickie_Tern

She appreciates any kinds of comment on any
of them,  and usually replies in kind.






If you shouldn't be reading this, don't!



     
                                 TRUST ME!
                               by Vickie Tern



                                II.

     The next day she quit work early   When I returned from an
errand in the early afternoon I saw Monica's car in the driveway,
heard noises upstairs, and went to investigate.  There she was,
just completing a fast shuffle through the guest-room closet where
I kept my skirts, blouses, and dresses.  I looked questioningly at
her, but she merely looked up, appraised me at once in a single
glance, and said, "No, you're no way ready.  You have some nice
things, dear.  I'll bet I could wear some of your smaller dresses
right now, and you can certainly borrow some of my loose-cut
blouses and jumpers.  But you do need to diet.  And anyhow you
can't quite pass safely yet.  We'll have to do it in stages."  

     "What?" I asked her, again nearly incoherent.  Her talk about
sharing clothes, again like girlfriends or sisters, filled my heart
with joy.  But her reference to passing frightened me.  Did she
mean for me to go out on the street?  To be seen?  

     "Darling, to do womanly things one should feel womanly, and
move with a woman's self-assurance.  So right now just put on a bra
and panties and a short slip, and these slacks -- no one will
notice there's no fly, and this over-shirt -- it's loose enough to
hide your breast forms, I think.  Are those sneakers unisex?  Close
enough for now.  But no socks -- peds if you have any.  Then let's
go!"                                       

     "Monica, go where?" Again my voice rose with a rising
hysteria, this time sounding almost flute-like.

     "Why, to get your ears pierced, love.  So we can share our
jewelry and things.  You'll love wearing some of my bangles and
dangles.  And you don't need to worry at all about offending me,
not any more.  I'm loving the idea already." 

     She went back to our bedroom, and I began to undress, in order
to re-dress myself entirely in women's clothes, as Monica had
ordered, though the outer garments were indistinguishable from
men's.  Nearly.  In order to go out.  Out into a world of men and
women.  In order to get my ears pierced.  I felt excited and
terribly apprehensive, both at the same time. 

     Almost at once she returned.  Or so it seemed.  She had
changed from her businesswoman's tailored suit to a tight sweater
and a mini skirt, for Monica rather sexy apparel.  I could see her
breasts push out and sag into the sweater's support in the most
seductive curves -- could it be she wasn't wearing a brassiere? 
Then her nipples showed in profile, and I knew she wasn't.

     "Are you going out like that, Monica?" I tried to ask
casually.  

     But she knew what I meant.  She shook her shoulders at me and
her breasts bobbed up and down deliciously.  "Just want you to be
reminded that it takes more than a bra to make a woman, Andy love. 
Though that is a very pretty bra indeed, I must say.  A lovely
place to keep breasts when you've got 'em."

     I blushed, embarrassed.

     "Just remember, it's what's inside that counts the most, pet. 
For now, just put in your breast forms and hurry.  Have you been
admiring yourself in the mirror again?  What's keeping you?  I've
changed completely and you're still only halfway there."

     I hurried into my slacks, sockless shoes, and oversized
T-shirt, and as she predicted, looked merely unisex.  I felt a
little uneasy about the pants, which were form fit along my calf
and snug on my ankles, and made a tight V at my crotch, neatly
dividing my balls as if they were labia.  But the T-Shirt covered
the crotch, with its smooth frontage, so I slipped into my sneakers
and declared, "Ready."

     "Well, not quite," said Monica.  She hauled out a lipstick and
began dabbing at my mouth.  

     I could feel a waxy substance slipping onto my lips and
coating them, and was shocked.  "Monica!" I cried aghast.  "What
are you doing?"  

     "Oh, stop worrying, baby," she said, "You know perfectly well
what I'm doing.  It's pale pink, nearly invisible.  Did you think
I want to appear in public with a man who wears lipstick?  You know
better than that!  No, you won't get to wear proper lipstick until
it becomes you as a woman.  Sooner than you might think.  But with
this, you can feel you're wearing lipstick, and get used to how it
feels.  Never leave the house without it.  I'm sure you already
feel much more womanly because of it, don't you?"

     I did.                                                      

     "All right, we're going to be out for some time.  Visit the
bathroom, would you honey?  And sit down when you do it, just for
practice -- you'll need to pull down those pants and your panties
anyhow.  Then let's go!  I'll wait for you in the kitchen."

     In the kitchen she handed me a small whisky on rocks.  She was
just finishing hers.  "Here, dear.  You seem nervous -- this'll
calm you down."  She went away while I sipped and swallowed.  The
whisky tasted like cheap stuff, but she'd put away the bottle so I
couldn't see the brand.  I prefer vodka.  She returned.  "Ready?"

     And she swept us both out the door and into her car.  "Just
sit there, now, dear.  I'll drive."          

     She did, to a rather nondescript part of town where she parked
in front of a beauty parlor.

     "I'm not going in there," I said, now genuinely frightened. 
It was one thing to be an imitation woman in privacy, and enjoy the
illusion.  But this was authentic woman territory, and I was not
one of them.  To go in there, I thought superstitiously, might make
me more of one of them than I wanted.  It seemed terribly risky. 

     "Oh, Andrew, don't be silly.  Do you want your ears pierced by
some teenager at the earring bazaar in the middle of the mall, in
full view of everyone passing by?  Or here, privately, by a
professional?"

     "You're right," I replied morosely.  "But Monica, I haven't
yet worked out how I'm going to explain pierced ears to clients and
people like that.  Shouldn't we think these things through a little
more?"

     "Andrea," she replied.  "That's what I'll call you from now
on, because that's who you enjoy being, and have always enjoyed
being.  I suppose ever since you were a little girl raised up to be
a boy.  Isn't that so?  You told me all about that a few years ago,
and I've read a lot about it since.  Now Andrea, stop being
nervous.  You've thought about this all your life, haven't you? 
Now it's time to live your fantasy, and become the woman of your
dreams."

     "Monica," I replied. "I never said I thought I was a little
girl.  I said I was a little boy who liked to imagine he was a
little girl, and sneaked his mothers' panties now and then to help
with the imagining.  That's all. There's a difference."

     "Andrea, please, let's not quibble.  I saw you dressed up to
look like a woman, and I've been through your wardrobe.  You love
being Andrea.  Your need to be Andrea almost cost us our marriage
a while ago.  All I'm saying is, you should be the best Andrea you
can be.  The prettiest.  That's what we're here for."

     "What is it we're here for?" I asked, now genuinely
apprehensive.  To play by myself was one thing, and to play with my
wife in the privacy of our own home was so much more.  But Monica
sounded serious.  And this salon was serious woman space, not a
mirror in my bedroom.

     "Oh, pooh!  Look here.  If you want to be Andrew now and then,
you can always brush your hair longer to cover your ears, or wear
just one earring the way most men do, or if you must, remove them
both temporarily.  But if you want to be sincere, truly yourself,
wear whatever earrings you enjoy and show them to the world.  I've
got some wonderful chandeliers and cascades you'll love, for going
out formal.  Now, we're going in!"

     A large, somewhat well-curved woman walked smiling toward us
past three or four chairs, each with neatly arranged rollers,
curlers, and hair driers in little pastel plastic bins.  The walls
were lined with mirrors.  There were plastic bottles and sprayers
everywhere, marked with elaborate French names in impossible
scripts.  "Monica!" the woman said.  "How lovely to see you again. 
And you must be Andrea! I'm Joellen!  Yes, Monica is right, you
have wonderful possibilities.  Just sit right here.  You can see,
Monica, I've cleared my appointments until closing time just as you
asked."  I was relieved, a bit.  The place looked empty.

     As I sat down where she indicated, she and Monica went over to
a table with different boxes and bottles on it.  Joellen showed her
some, and they began looking through some picture books, talking
animatedly in low voices, nodding frequently.  After a moment they
stopped, and both of them looked at me and smiled.  "Look here," I
said, "I'm here to get my ears pierced, because that's what I once
thought I wanted, and because Monica sees advantages, and I can't
deny there are some advantages."  I didn't want to confess to a
stranger that the thought of wearing Monica's earrings really
turned me on, and had carried me here despite my apprehension. 
"But what do you mean, I have 'possibilities'?  Just the ears are
daring enough for me right now."

     "Oh, Andrea, that's what we're talking about," said Joellen. 
"You'll also need a hairdo that can cover your ears when you want
to hide them, isn't that true?  And show them off when you're
wearing something especially pretty.  So I need to cut and set your
hair.  It's nice you've let it grow out, it gives me something to
work with.  I think enough.  Enough after your perm, anyhow."

     "What perm??!!" I shouted, and started to get out of the
chair.

     Monica came around and stared directly at me.  "Andrea,
behave!  I told you this would have to be done in stages.  If I'm
going to be continue to be married to a man who likes looking like
a woman, he will have to look like a presentable woman.  And that's
that!  I think you get my meaning!"             

     I did.  I quieted down.

     "I tried ignoring you and pretending you were the man I
thought I married.  It didn't work.  Not for long, anyhow.  Now
you're going to be the woman I also married, and I want you to be
an even better woman than you've been a man.  But in stages, so you
can get used to things, and learn them.  Understood?"

     Not really, but I didn't dare do anything other than nod my
head.  

     "My dear," Joellen added in a quieter voice, gently.  "I
thought you knew.  A perm makes hair much more manageable.  Then
you can set it any way you want. Swept back like a man's might even
look cute, with your face.  All right?"

     What could I say?  I nodded to her too.

     Three demoralized hours later, Joellen whisked the last of her
pink cover-sheets from around my neck and said "There!  Now that's
just lovely!  Nothing freakish about you at all!  I think you can
go anywhere you wish, and Monica will be proud to accompany you." 


     Monica was herself sitting in another chair at the far end of
the salon, reading a magazine and glancing at my progress now and
then.  She looked up and studied me, then nodded. "Yes, wonderful! 
That's perfect, Joellen.  Really lovely.  Thank you.  Andrea, I
think we'll move the schedule ahead and go to the next stage
tonight.  You need more self-confidence.  Looking the way you do,
I think  you'll finish tonight feeling pleased with yourself.  Just
look!"

     I looked. Oh, my ears were pierced all right, and there were
little gold posts poked through the holes until the skin could heal
over.  For the rest of my life there would be little pieces of
metal on my ears, I realized, or else little tell-tale dimples.  
The thought should have been depressing, but to my surprise I
didn't much mind.  Not at all.

     Moreover, my hair was cut and curled up and back, into cute
waves softly framing my face.  Oddly, now that it was curved and
waved and shaped it looked shorter -- it occupied more space around
my head, but my neck was now visible.  And Joellen was right, if I
wanted to hide my ears it was now a simple matter to comb some of
the side curls back over them.  I could even do it with my
fingertips, fluff out my hair a little the way she showed me.  Not
too bad.  Of course I'll have to try to brush it straight back when
I get home, I thought, so it looks less...well...feminine.  I'd
wondered how women got that "big" hair look.  Gels, sprays, and a
body perm underneath it all, Joellen had told me.  I supposed that
gels and sprays could also return some semblance of a manly look. 


     More troublesome were my eyebrows.  They were plucked thin and
high and arch, giving my face a refined and delicate cast.  Neat,
well-groomed, but definitely not a man's brows.  I would have no
trouble passing as a woman with that hairdo and those eyebrows. 
The problem would come when I tried to pass as a man.  With my face
as it is, I would look like a girl wearing a suit and jacket, I
thought.  I'd always had a "weak" chin, implying a lack of manly
determination  But now it just looked small.  Cute.  Just right. 
Maybe I should grow a beard, I thought?  But no.  I've never had
much facial hair, and a beard would ruin the effect when I was
dressing in private anyhow.  But even this thought didn't depress
me.  All this was what I had wanted, more or less.  And it was
certainly what Monica wanted. 

     "Monica," I said a little helplessly.  

     "A little eye-makeup, Joellen?" Monica said to her.  "Just a
touch.  I think we'll celebrate Andrea's new face by going out to
dinner.  A casual dinner, we're not really dressed for anything
fancy.  But we don't want anyone to think she isn't who she is,
now, do we."

     This last was for my benefit, reminding me I had better act as
ladylike as I could, or else suffer the embarrassment I dreaded. 
I also registered that it was the first time Monica had ever called
me "she".  It seemed so casual and natural as she said it.  Joellen
made a few quick strokes on my eyelids, and while she was at it she
added a few strokes of dark red lipstick too.  "There!" she said. 
"Just lovely!"

     I looked in the mirror, and couldn't disagree.

     "Come on, dear," Monica said, picking up her purse.  "I know
you love to admire yourself in the mirror.  But if you're going to
be a real woman you'll have to learn to use mirrors just to be sure
you look the way you wish, and let other people do the admiring."

     As we left the shop I protested, "Monica, this is too fast. 
I'm not going to be a real woman.  Where did you get that notion?"

     "Why, from you, dear.  Isn't that what you've been dreaming in
secret, dressing up all those years?  But now that you're on the
sidewalk looking like a woman, remember that people can see you. 
Stand straight and hold your head high, and push out your breasts. 
Young girls can slouch, but not women.  You have a lot yet to
learn.  You need to do more than look like a woman.  You have to
behave like a woman, and move like one, and feel yourself to be a
woman in your heart.  Or you'll fool no one."  

     "Monica, after all these years, why all of a sudden are you
encouraging me?  I don't understand."

     "You will, dear.  Before too much longer.  Meanwhile, why
don't you count your blessings?"