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From: tjr <webmaster@midnightx.com>
NNTP-Posting-Date: Tue, 03 Apr 2001 14:28:19 CDT
Subject: {ASSM} Sissy Search Club (ch2)
Date: Sat,  7 Apr 2001 13:10:03 -0400
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<1st attachment, "drkwansisy2.txt" begin>

The following story is the property of Mid-Prod Com.
This story is fiction and contains sexual content. If
you are not of legal age in the state you live in to view 
such material or are offended by such material please
do not read this story. No reprint without permission.
Copyright (c) Mid-Prod Com May 3, 2001                     
Comments to webmaster@midnightx.com


                  Sissy Search Club (ch2)
                              TJR
                    www.Midnightx.Com/
             Illustrated Femdom/fetish stories

(Author's note:  There are three roommate services in 
NYC's Greenwich Village area alone, one free for blackowned
white females.  All have a sissy category and ties with over a
hundred listed sissy training feminization pro and
amateur dommes they exchange referrals from.  
This is one boy's story.)

*NYC Midtown, 1997*   
  
     I  was still reeling from my interview with the coed at
the Sissy Search Club and my mind numbed by
prospects for feminization for  several days. 

 Anyway, I kind of wasted time for a week after that.  I kept going
back to their website, listening to beautiful Tiffanny's voice and 
staring at her photo, but after looking at the competition in full 
mostly passable drag I knew I didn't have any chance even to make
a pitch, and that was when my editor called me in.

    "Tod," she says, "whats the deal on the news story?  It's a hot
national opportunity and all I got was a paragraph of filler?"

    I nodded, trying not to wince.  "Yes, ma'am, but I can't get seem
to get any further into this scene." 

    "Why the hell not?"  Patricia Broadwell was a mid thirties dykish but 
attractive woman with short brown hair and a firm chin.  She was definitely 
letting me know the spot of Date Doctor can be filled by any journalism
grad which is code for trained monkey and a word processor.  

    "Um, well, to get any further, I'd ah, have to go undercover more.
I'd need some special services and all."

     "Mmmmmhummm,  look Tod," she said, crossing her legs, displaying
lots of impatient body language, "I did mention I believe this is a national
interest story.  That we can sell it to the networks if it looks good?"

    "Um, yes, ma'am, you did, ah mention that."

    "And I did mention that national interest stories have a budget available?"

    "Ah, well, yes I believe you..."

    "And this is NEWS.  It may not be NEWS next month or even next week.
I can't expect our competition to be ignoring it."  I nodded, knowing that
if I didn't do it she'd find someone else.

    That night, after staring at Tiffanny's webpage again, I called a woman who
I ran into doing an expose of dating services.  Wasn't enough budget to use
her then, and I had lots of reservations, but,  looking at myself critically in
the mirror, I wasn't having any success the way I was, that's for sure.
I was in not great shape now.  My roommate was leaving in two months,
and I didn't even have enough to pitch in for the first month and deposit
and last month's rent for a closet in the village.  And now my job was on
the line, as well as my social life at zero, which was at least normal.

    Okay, maybe I didn't make much of a male, socially, sexually, and now
even professionally, but it took the loss of an entry level career job to
make this call.  I suspect Emma Manhandle was an alias, but she was a true
professional at sissy makeovers, and  truth was when I did the series on her
a few months back she encouraged me to call back, and maybe it had
been brewing.  For one thing, I learned from that series that a professional
mistress really earned it, because I had also done lots of pieces of amateur
married crossdresser types who made the most ghastly parodies of women
and most didn't even know it.  

    On the way home I was directed by my cock and my emotions to visit
a fantasy place, a place that fascinated and enthralled me if I wasn't careful,
and now, well, maybe I didn't want to be careful any more too much.
No, this isn't some tawdry sex shop or bordello or tea room at the Y.  It
was Pudwell's Yesteryear.  I had a girl take me there once after I said I
admired her clothes.  It was women's fashions, ok?  A women's dress
shop, but kind of retro, when women wore skin tight sheer suits, miniskirts,
high heels, lace bikini panties.  The girl at the counter smiled at me when 
I handed my credit card to her in my trembling hand.  

    I couldn't wait till I got to my small apartment that cost a bundle.
Standing nude in front of the mirror, in my new bikini panties, my balls and
boner projecting out, I sighed deeply.  I made the call to Ms Manhandle
wearing just panties, hard and dripping, with my new black buttplug dildo
inserted.  I knew when I called she wouldn't be surprised, and maybe that
was why I had delayed so long.  I blushed, humiliated at her chuckling.

     "Why Todd, I thought you'd be calling right back after you did that
flattering piece in the Scene.  Well,  I can't take any full time clients
at the moment, but the hourly rates are available, although my young
assistant does most of the actual coaching."

     "Um, assistant?"

     "Yes, Pamela, very nice young lady, strict of course, which you have
to be."

    "Um, yes, ah, of course."

    "So, why don't you come in on Wednesday for an initial makeover?  And
you do remember our rules here, Mr. Hornwell?  And, oh, you know when
I first met you I already had chosen your name.  I just remembered it now.
Prentiss, and we'll call you Prissy.  Do you like it?"

     I was shocked, hadn't even thought of a name.  Of course I couldn't 
call myself Todd in drag,  but Prissy seemed so femme.  However I had
seen her in action and knew better than to contradict her.

    "Um, it's a, well, interesting choice, ma'am."

    Wednesday afternoon came and went, and while I thought about 
cancelling many times,  I didn't.  That night back in my unit, I looked
at the long list of things to do.  Still humiliated and aroused by the 
experience, I waited until I was half dressed in drag before tossing off, 
and then I remembered I wasn't supposed to. 

    That Pamela was a really cute coed, which kind of made it worse.  
It was one thing getting adjusted to a woman in her mid 
thirties training me, but a cute teenager much like
I dated a few years ago, that was another thing.  On top of that
I was also introduced, as if made to curtsy with cane accompaniment 
can be used to express this exercise, to one of their male trainers.
I'm sure Dushawn is one of Madame's muscle types, even though he
wore a black silk suit.  Big and black, thick gold rings on his huge calloused
hands,  he awakened all the black homoerotic submission that I kept
stifled.  It was not possible to suppress that urge any more, let alone
the personality change that came over me when I wore women's clothes.
And I had to strip naked in front of Pam and Ms Manhandle while they
took notes, and pictures.  Sort of a 'before and after' they joked while
I blushed almost head to foot.

     Besides letting my hair go longer, I had to lose 10 pounds, get 34c
breast implants, lose every bit of hair except the top of my head and
eyebrows,  and tongue stud and left nipple ring as well as both ears
pierced.  A tall order before next session, only two weeks away.
I also had to practice a wide variety of walks and gestures.

    I enjoyed reading the positives from their professional appraisal.
I had good skin, light beard line, and was smallish and small boned.
I didn't have a lot of weight to lose.  My arms and chest weren't that
well developed, my adam's apple was not too noticeable, because
that was an operation I really had second thoughts about.
My voice range was okay without attempting to speak like a
cartoon.  That was pretty good actually.  When I think of all the
ghastly tv's that didn't start with that much; we called them 
'big-boned Barbies' at Provincetown.  I was closer than I thought!
So close it gave me a certain chill, both fear and desire.  They
both thought I was definitely a sub, laughing, making me blush.
I'm not sure I liked that as a positive, kidding myself that I might
be a switch.  Maybe I still am, I wondered,  still kidding myself?

    On the negative column I had some things also.  My hands were
too mannish, but those are typical of maids and women who do manual
labor.  Could be hidden by gloves, I thought, imagining myself in
hat and veil, tight mid thigh suit, medium heels.  My genitals!
Too big.  I used too much vacuum pump and ginseng and those
special exercises.  Not huge, of course, more than average for my 
build.Of course that brought up a discussion of how femme to go for.
Some of her clients were pre-ops.  They were gonna lose their 
genitals anyway, and that was up front nothing I had any interest in,
did I?  No, for now at least I want to keep them.  I also didn't want
to use hormones to chemically change my body, decreasing testosterone,
increasing estrogen etc.  Those make male genitals smaller and hard
to get an erection.  So, I was shown sheath straps and other artifices
to conceal nor only genitals, but an erection.  A semirigid nylon
sheath that actually prevents an erection works for some times, 
and a subtle alteration of dress around the crotch totally conceals it.
The good thing about a dress is that things can dangle between your
legs unseen.  However, getting an erection is allowed by flipping
the sheath up, where it at least runs straight and flat against my
belly, which I'm firming up with 50 situps a night.  Concealable
with a busy plaid waist skirt with pleats.  Unless someone dances
close, as Pam explained and demonstrated, leading me.

   Last physical problem was hard to conceal.  My butt was too small.
Besides not being able to buy off the rack,  I needed a certain
roundness where it was now a rectangle.  Madame had a range of
options, but suggested implants again.  I hesitated.  For one thing
I liked the idea of breasts but had not given any thought to my 
butt being feminine.  How was I going to turn this expense voucher
in as it is?  And I wasn't finished.  Madame had made other suggestions.
I didn't think they had a chance with my editor.

     To my surprise I was sitting at my desk at the Scene at 10 am
the next day, having submitted this expense estimate as soon as
I got in at 8, and got a call to come to the editor.  Ms Pat
Broadwell sitting behind her mahogany desk with her associate
editor and 'friend' Edie, or Eddie, not sure which.  I had sent in
the entire package I had gotten from Madame, her estimates
and thoughts on my transformation.  I really hoped Ms Pat
didn't show it to the world.

    "Hi, Todd, been going over your project here with Edie.
Please take a seat while we discuss it."

    "Um, ah, thank you ma'am.  I mean, it's just an estimate you
know, really just suggestions.  I can do without a lot of that
stuff."

     "mmmm," she murmured, ticking them off with a pencil, "well
Edie and I think this story might have legs, if we do it right. No, we
want you to follow the full treatment, Todd, or should I say Priss?"

     "Uh, "  I was very surprised, she had declined a month ago to 
pick up my parking expenses, "thank you, ma'am."

     "Yes," she smiled, "I'm sending it back all checked off.  And we
want to do some extra coverage.   In addition to your logs, we
want to film some parts of the process, not just before and after, right
Edie?"

     "That's right Todd, we'll send a photographer to some of your
sessions.  Also we want you to debrief every day for the camera,
when it's all done we'll edit it."

    My jaw dropped open, and I blushed, which they both noticed with
amusement.  Of course I had no choice, we were talking about maybe
twenty thousand in expenses here.  I murmured an assent but it didn't
stop there.

    "We have," Edie continued, "identified two markets for it.  The 
straight and the kink, so we want lots of detail.   We want the readers
and maybe viewers to see the whole process, up to and including 
your first crossdressing practical experience, right Pat?"

     "Absolutely,  your dancing in clubs, making out,  the boy's reactions,
relationships, everything, and of course your sissy maid service."

    I stammered at that point.  "Ah, ma'am, I don't think I...,  I mean I 
don't."

    Pat turned business then, the smile disappearing.  "Let's get this straight,
Hornwell, your'e asking us for a lot of money and effort here.  The
paper  has to show results for it.  I want your answer by tomorrow,
our way or forget the paper."  I realized as I slumped off she didn't say
forget the story, but also forget about a job

    They basically wanted details of everything, and I didn't think I could
handle the interview with my 'dates' or 'clients'.  So I went home
and looked at my bank acccount,   1460.53,  which didn't even allow me
to move to another closet apartment,  and the estimate, which
was now up to thirty thousand.  They had added the thinner nose, fuller lips,
and cheekbones bringing it up another ten k.

    The next morning I did some hard bargaining, and basically,  I agreed to
all of her terms. (Continued)
<1st attachment end>


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