shoes. I had no excuse now and so pulled them off and tip-
toed over to the case and put them in. I looked briefly at the
note and wondered. But that was to be answered later, hope-
fully. when I got to the lab.
Now that I was barefoot (no, I do not wear socks to bed
and had just put my feet in them when I got up), the pants
were definitely too long. I rolled them up and walked back to
the bedroom. I decided to put on some different pants, so
that the rolling upwas not so evident. Pulling these off, I was
stopped cold half way down. I was not wearing my shorts but
a pair of Marge's lacier panties. I quickly pulled the pants
back up in case Marge came in. Wearing the shoes was one
thing, the panties was another. I had put them on, not notic-
ing. Now I rubbed my buttand felt what I had missed all
morning, the smoothness of the panties under my pants.
Well, I put on a pair of shoes and went out again, debating
whether or not I should change my shorts too. But no one
was to see, so I just let it be.
Marge suggested that maybe we should go shopping for
some new pants. I looked down and sort of had to agree.
These really did not At me anymore. Granted they were not
my smallest, tightest pair, but they were the usual. They
were long in the leg and tight in crotch. I did not tell Marge
of the last mismeasure, but it was true. They were getting un-
comfortable when I pulledmy belt tight at my waist. And so,
we spent most of the day shopping; Marge could go shopping
at the drop of a suggestion.
Well, we had problems from the word go. We went to a
mall and into a men's shop. Marge rattled off my size to'the
salesperson who took me to a rack of slacks. I chose two of
them and went to the changing room. I put one on and found
crotch. When I went out wearing them I mentioned the tight-
ness (the puddling Of the pants legs about my feet of the legs
was evident in itself).
It puzzled both the salesperson and Marge for a bit until
Margo sort of lit up and told me to change back and we'd go
lookingson. elsewhere, much lo the displeasure of the salesper-
son.
She then dragged me into a large department store and
to the women's clothing section where they had slacks. She
looked through one of the racks a bit and then selected two
pair, held them up to me and then pulled me back to the
changing room where there was actually space enough for
the both of us, and so we both went in. She hung the pants
up and told me to strip as she pulled one down and started
to take it off the hanger.
Meanwhile I had forgotten even Iiom the last store what I
was wearing under my pants and had dropped them without
looking before I remembered. Well, she sort of remembered
for me.
"Fred, whatever have you been wearing under your
pants?" She smiled broadly, no doubt recognizing them. After
all they were hers, right? "Hmmm, those are not your
shorts are they? Not unless you have been out shopping with-
out me, though you seem to have, uh, my taste in panties."
I must have blushed muticolors. That which I had
wanted to keep secret fiom her, since it is inappropriate for a
man to wear his wife's lingerie, was now all too evident as
she smiled again at me.
Is she smiling at my discomfort or because she likes Lohat
she see? Damn! This is SO embarrassing!
"Uh, I seemed to have drawn from your drawer this morn-
ing and not, uh, mine. I did not notice until much later and
then it was too late. I tried to look her in the eye and made
another discovery that I did not mention.
I looked down.
She was wearing a pair of her higher heels.
My discovery was that now, instead of looking down at
her, that I was actually looking up at her. My new shortness
was apparently catching up with me in a very embarrassing
way.
She could end up being taller than I was. I must have
gulped a bit but continued as best I could.
"Well, they seem to lit you all right. Let's see how these
slacks fit." She handed me the pants.
That was as calm a reaction as I ever would have hoped
to have. I would have expected more exclamations, but not
that calmness. I said no more but took the pants and pulled
them on. And, they fit! Now they were a bit more loose at the
hips but were comfortable and did not bind.
She looked me over and made up her mind.
Well, looks like you are changing, Dear. We'll have to get
some more. Maybe some to fit your new shoes? You want
that we buy you another pair of shoes?"
There was that smile again.
"You know, with tall, thin, towering high heels? Maybe
some like mine? That would be fun."
"I don't know whatever for." I must have blushed again.
"They are your shoes, anyway."
"Oh no, they are not. I remember that you had to sign for
them specifically, and you paid for them," she was counting
on her fingers now, "and he gave them to you. They really be-
long to you even if I found them and originally wanted them.
I did not know you liked to wear such tall, high heeled shoes,
dear. "
"Neither did I. Uh, and I don't; that pair, however, is re-
ally comfortable, incomprehensibly comfortable," I fessed up,
"they seem to fit all too well. You saw that this morning, I
had even forgotten that I was wearing them."
"Yes, Dear, I certainly did see."
I wondered what she meant by that and why the odd
stress on did when she said it. Again, she had smiled when
she said it. Whatever is going on in her head over these
shoes, the panties and now these women's slacks that fit me
so well? I may be in real trouble!
We went out of the booth and looked in the mirrors. The
sales lady came up and made some comments on how well
the slacks fit.
When Marge said we would take the two pair, she asked,
"Would you ladies like to buy anything else?"
I know I must have blushed but kept my tongue and let
Margo do the talking.
By the time we left the mall, we had visited several differ-
ent shops of different Specfaltles and generalities. I now had
five pair of slacks, ladies slacks, and for them a dozen pair of
panties, all of which were similar to the pair I was wearing or
more so. They were fancy and lacy and most feminine, equal
to or more feminine than those that she owned and I knew
her to be a very feminine woman!
I don't know why she bought them for me (no I didn't
buy any of them), but I had mixed feelings. I was totally
aghast at what she had done; yet, a small part of me was
somehow pleased, Where had that part come from?
These actions and in particular these purchases, how-
ever, were not leading me in the direction back towards man-
hood, but to the contrary! I had never seen this side of Margo
nor even suspected that it might exist. What manner of
woman was I married to?
To stress this question, one of the stores we visited was a
shoe store. There they fitted me for a pair of "real" stiletto
high heeled shoes like the ones that she always wore. I said a
firm no but she just smiled and we left without them.
See what I mean? ... about worrying about her?
We spent the afternoon in several other malls. This time I
was a bit more firm and only ended up with two more pair of
slacks (but STILL ladies slacks), but also with some satin tap
pants, some very soft and lacy camisoles some elegant hose
(I had mentioned the knee highs and she had sort of implied
that they were, somehow, not appropriate enough or some-
thing) and several very lacy and elegant garter belts. And
that was after turning down a lot more!
Yes, Marge was a shopping fool, Bend, or fanatic, take
your choice, and I turned out to be a perfect subject for her
to shop for as I "had nothing to wear". Also, every time she
bought something and I protested, she simply said that if I
did not want it, she would take it. The only thing that I tried
on that she probably couldn't wear were the shoes, but all
else, well, she probably could.
It got to be a stale argument before the day was over.
Knowing her wardrobe, I knew that there was only one place
that this stuff would be stored, in my partially full (or empty,
depending on how you wanted to look at it) dresser drawers.
I had always had lots of space, but no more now!
After dinner, she talked me into putting on one of the gar-
ter belts and a pair of hose. I had to admit that they were
some of the softest and most sensuous things that I had ever
pulled up my legs. I put on one of the pants I (weil, she, re-
ally) had bought, one of the softer pair, and I felt that I was
being assailed by softness that I had never experienced be-
fore. Then I slipped into the shoes as easily as one pours
water from a glass. There was an easiness in it all, I again
had visions, and I guess my face must have shown it as she
pursued it.
"My, you must really like that, Fred. Tell me, what are
you thinking and feeling?"
I sort of blurted out my answer before I thought of what I
was saying. I had seen these images before when I had put
on the shoes but never quite as strong as this time and she
somehow managed to get it out of me.
"I see softness all about me, miles of long, fluffy and also
stiff petticoats, a firm corset tightly lacing my waist in to the
limit, pantaloons. my high heels, a voluminous dress with
lace trim and long hair to my waist." Then I snapped out of
the dream. "Uh, I mean, well, uh..."
"All of that? My goodness. I wonder where we could ever
get any of that get up?"
"No need to get anything, uh. .. Marge. It was fust an im-
age. You asked what I saw and I guess I got carried away.
"Yes, Dear, I'm sure you were. I could see it clearly writ-
ten in your face.
"Oh?...You could, huh?...Well, it has passed. These
clothes are really very comfortable, but I should not be wear-
ing them. I also should not even be wearing these shoes.
These are all women's things and, I am a man."
"At the moment, Dear. But, if the doctors are right, then
these things could be yours on a daily basis, you know."
"Tomorrow I'll go talk with Grace. Maybe she has a more
open mind than those quacks at the hospital. I'll see if I can
get some testosterone from her. That should stop this non-
sense."
With that, I got up and went into the kitchen and got
some cheese and a diet pop from the frldge and some crack-
ers. I went over to the TV and turned it on and sat down to
watch. It did not even come to my consciousness that I was
belying myself by still wearing the cinch, panties, hose,
women's slacks, and, of course, those red, towering heels. I
did know that I was calm, cool, collected and very comfort-
able.
0-0-0
I left at 8:30 for my appointment. Strangely, Marge did
not ask to go with me. I thought she would have wanted to
since she had asked so often before. But, I left and got there
in more than good time and the length of my wait was meas-
ured more in my earllness than Grace's lateness.
I was called into an examination room after the obliga-
tory measurements and was joined there shortly by her.
She had my regular patient folder and another thicker
folder that looked quite thoroughly read and reread. She sat
down at her desk and looked at me.
"Well, Fred, what can I do for you? I've looked over the
hospital's findings and tend to agree with them. I got a copy
of their report when I told them that you were a patient of
mine and that I was going to see you. They still want to
study your condition, you know.
"Look, Grace, I am no lab animal and refuse to be treated
as one or even considered for a hint of such. I'm here be-
cause Marge insisted that I giveyou a second chance, and I
already had the appointment set up. I know that your spe-
cialty is now gynecology, but I don't really see how that can
help me. I don't want to be any more like a woman; I want to
be and remain the man I grew up to become!" I tried to put
some force behind these last words as it is what I wanted (to
be).
"Well, you don't seem to sound as much like a man as be-
fore, your voice seems to be changing too. Again, it is against
the normal laws of nature and man. Well, let's take a look
again." She gestured to the paper covered examination table
which I hopped up on, taking off my shirt as I did.
She then probed, listened and thumped and all, doing a
cursory examination. Then she spent what I thought was an
inordinate amount of time with the still growing lumps on
my chest. I then had to get up and pull off my pants. She
pulled down my shorts and examined my crotch quite care-
fully, pulling, poking and prodding. Then she told me to get
dressed. As I dressed she sat at her desk, watching me. No
writing this time. I guess there was nothing new to write? Or,
maybe she would write it later.
When I was dressed, I again went to the chair I had first
occupied and sat down.
Only then did she speak.
"As far as I can see, there is no abatement. Your breasts
are growing like a young girls, however, a lot more rapidly
than theirs grow. What could take a number of years for
them to develop you have already developed in under a
month if this pace continues. Your penis appears to be re-
tracting and your scrotum is still tight, though it does seem
to have attached down the central axis of your body. Your tes-
ticles are nowhere to be felt. I feel that they have probably as-
cended even further up into the body cavity. You probably
don't know it, but your testicles have the same tissue type as
ovaries and your prostate the same tissue type as a uterus.
They are not the same of course, but if there was to be a
change, they would then not have to grow all new tissues if
they were properly positioned."
"My balls are gone?" I shuddered visibly. "Can't you give
me a shot to stop this mess? I thought of testosterone. I need
to be a man!"
She ruffled through the hospital's Book of Fred for a few
minutes. Then shook her head and looked back at me.
"According to these blood and urine tests, you have a
fairly reasonable estrogenic hormone count. .. for a woman.
I could give you a shot of testosterone, but it would not do
what you want it to; that I can almost guarantee."
"What would it do?"
"Testosterone is like the ultimate steroid. The steroids
you hear about are usually testosterone derivatives or the
drug itself. Think of what steroids do to those that take
them. Mostly they are taken by athletes to put on bulk mus-
de and make the man even more manly or the woman
manly. Testosterone might increase your hairiness a bit, al-
though I have my doubts since your hair growth seems to
have gone into some sort of remission. Almost certainly it
would cause you to be irritable. It might increase your sex
drive, but that is something that might not be advisable in
your current inter-sex status where there is no drive, or per-
haps better said, nothing to drive. It could even be danger-
ous. Most likely, however, it would eventually be swallowed
up by the estrogen. On a one to one basis, estrogen will over-
whelm testosterone.
"Women have, on occasion, used testosterone as a sort of
aphrodisiac but often suffer side effects by becoming hairy
and having their voices deepen. They start turning into men.
Men may be the stronger sex physically; however, women
have the stronger hormones. Such a shot would be a drop in
a bucket that would make you uncomfortable and irritable
and probably even more frustrated before it was swallowed
up. If you were a woman and wanted to be more manly, then
it could be done, especially if you were a female to male
transsexual. But in your case, with your changing physiog-
nomy, it could be outright dangerous. A series of testoster-
one shots would do the same, only on a more prolonged ba-
sis. I would advist against such shots.
"What can I do? I can't just sit around and grow tits and
like it. I am a man; I must be a man.
She pondered a bit, looking down while deep in thought.
"I could refer you to Dr. Johnstone," she said looking up at
me.
"Who is that? What does he specialize in?"
"She is a psychiatrist. She might be able to help you to
adjust to what is happening in your body. It is ..."
"I'm not going to a shrink," I said quietly.
"It is only a suggestion, but it is an option that you
should hold open. Marge may be able to help you a good deal
if she is up to it, but Mary could possibly help in a deeper ad-
justment. I would like to track your condition, If you'd let me.
This is not as a lab animal, Fred, I would just record the
changes as they progress.
Well, so much for Grace's position. I thanked her and
went home. I was feeling tense and upset. I wanted to be a
man, had to be a man. How was I going to do it, though? I
had a fiown on when I came into the house.
Margo looked at me and did not ask.
I went to my bedroom and pulled on the hose and garter
belt and the same panties and soft pants of the night before.
Going to the case I pulled out the shoes and put them on.
Suddenly, the weight of my problem seemed to lift. As I
looked down at the shoes, I noted, could not miss, the protru-
sions on my chest that were now the size of apricots. Now
they did not seem so out of place. but I somehow felt that
they should have been. I went to my den and sat at my com-
puter for a while but could not do anything. I walked back
out and looked briefly at Marge. She looked back at me but
did not say anything. I was glad of that.
At dinner, I finally told her the outcome of my visit to
Grace. I was now totally off of doctors. I seemed to continu-
ally scratch at my expanding chest, but she said Rothing
about it.
Again that evening we watched TV, going to bed late. I
now routinely put the shoes next to bed. After shucking
them, it felt a bit strange to take off my garter belt, hose and
panties, but even stranger to walk bare foot. The discomfort
that I had felt earlier seemed now to be concentrating in the
back of my heel. I tended to walk for a bit on tip-toe until it
eased up and I put on my "real" slippers.
By now my pajamas were way too long and required roll-
ing up. Grace offered me one of her gowns, but I steadfastly
refused it. My slippers now felt funny and out of place. What
was happening to me? It took a while for me to drift off to
sleep that night. I didn't even approach Marge.
0-0-0
In the morning, I had to note that my breasts were get-
ting quite large and now seemed to hang a bit and quiver.
The hardness under the nipple had expanded and become
softer but was nonetheless there, pushing my chest out.
They now seemed to have also surpassed the apricot size and
poked my top out almost provocatively.
Again I played the lazy dog and lay in bed, staring at the
ceiling with occasional looks down at my chest.
After Marge had left, again without saying anything, I
slowly got up. I had to roll my pajama legs up as they had
rolled down during the night. My slippers still felt a bit alien
but I had no muscle problems as I padded into the bathroom.
Again I sat, not even noticing it. But when I looked into
the mirror, I noted not only how much my breasts were grow-
ing, but that my hair on my head seemed to be following
suit. I hadn't noticed it before. It was now longer than ever
before. I now knew another part of what it was that had
looked odd the day before when I had seen, but not seen, so
to say, my longer hair. I thought briefly of getting it cut, then
vetoed the idea. If it were growing faster I'd just have to cut it
more often. If I let it grow until this fracas was over, then I
could get it cut just once, once it stopped growing. It could
be a problem, however, but I'd let it be. .. for the time being,
that is.
When I went out to get dressed, I pulled on the same leg
accouterments of the night before. For the first time I also no-
ticed that my finger nails seemed also to have grown as they
protruded noticeably past the end of my fingers. I decided to
also let them be, again for the time being.
In my dressing this time, however, I went to the closet
and pulled out my one nylon shirt. I must say that it felt nice
against my almost hairless skin. Then I noticed that the hair
had retracted even more. I how had an almost dewy soft fluff
that barely raised above the Skin on my arms and legs and
body, except for my arm pits. My pubic hair had also thinned
and now was just a tight triangle at my loin sort of framing
my now also noticeably diminished penis. I had seen enough
to know that this was the typical and characteristic pattern
of a woman.
Damn! Even my hair was changing into this pattern.
Looking again at the hair on my head, I clearly saw that
it too was going with the rest of me in that it had grown con-
siderably. It was down to a ways below my shoulders but still
seemed to manage to keep out of my face. I was definitely be-
ginning to be turned into the image of a woman. Mentally
cursing the process, I went off to see about breakfast.
At breakfast I asked again for bacon and eggs. When I
spoke, Marge looked at me almost surprised. Then I realized
why. My voice had risen even more overnight. I was now be-
tween tenor and alto, possibly closer to alto in pitch. I
pitched it lower on purpose, but it rose again when I relaxed
my control. Now, as Grace had said, that was not in the
books on puberty. Indeed, something strange was going on.
Of course, with the shoes on, it seemed to be all right,
well, almost all right. There were sides that I was still fight-
ing, but it seemed to be easier to go with it when the shoes
were on. I started to worry if there were also deeper changes
going on, changes in my mind. I needed to be a man but was
finding these things most pleasant and comfortable if not
comforting to wear. It was something to worry about.
Margo still did not say anything about my wearing the
shoes, but I was well aware of the fact that she could not fail
but notice.
Could you if your husband walked into your kitchen
wearing bejeweled, red, very high heeled shoes?
I know she couldn't.
0-0-0
About mid-morning, George called to remind me of the
appointment with the lab. I had almost forgotten it totally
with ah of this other stuff going on. When I spoke to him he
asked me what was wrong. I said nothing, then realized my
voice change.
The result was that he insisted in coming over.
With reluctance I agreed and hung up to go to my com-
puter to do some more work (actually I only played, my con-
centration just wasn't in it).
In the meantime, Marge went off to do some shopping.
When the door bell rang, I was not paying attention until
the third ring, and then I remembered George and where
Margo was. I went to answer it.
I opened the door to George.
"Come on in," was all that I satd.
"Hi, Fred! What took you so. . ." His voice never got to the
word "long". He had stopped and was staring at me.
"Don't just stand there. Come on in."
"Who are you?"
"Come off it, George." Then I realized my voice was
pitched up. I pitched it back down closer to my real range.
"You know who I am as I know who you are. Quit clowning
around and come in or I'll leave you out there."
"Fred? Is that really you? What's going on?" He came in
but was looking me up and down. Then he stopped on one of
the down swings. "I recognize the shoes, and, I guess the
face, but the Fred I knew did not have long flowing hair and
tits."
"Come on, I'll get you a beer. "
I must have blushed at his comments as I led him into
the kitchen. I got him a beer and took another diet coke for
myself. I seemed to have lost most of my taste for beer. After I
had opened it I realized that I was not all that wild about diet
drinks, but I had certainly been putting them down lately.
After he had taken a long pull on his beer, he looked me
over again and continued.
"What have you been doing with yourself? Damned if you
don't look like a woman, especially with those high heeled
shoes on. What gives? Why are you wearing them and how
come your voice has changed and what do you have on un-
der that shirt? You aren't weaning a padded bra or some
such thing are you?"
We sat down at the dining room table and I explained all
that had happened over the week or since I had last seen
him. As I explained each thing he looked and there was the
appearance of disbelief, but he slowly got the picture from
my side. I had to open my shirt to show him my breasts.
Even to him, I could no longer call them swellings. They were
breasts and seemed to be growing at an alarming rate. They
were conical and had begun to hang and to quiver and shake
when I moved. As I buttoned my shirt back up, he finally
commented.
"So, you are taking on all of these charactenistics all of a
sudden, but you still feel that you are a man and there is no
explanation for it all...Hmmm...You aren't a closet trans-
vestite who has decided to come out, are you?"
I gave him as dirty of a look as I could.
"Don't be silly, George. You have known me long enough
to know I have no leanings in that direction. I have even less
now, but I may have to find some.
"You never know, Fred. I have known closet TV's before
and you could never tell anything about them in that respect
unless they wanted you to know. He sat back and looked at
me. "On the other hand, you are looking way too womanly to
be a TV. Are you a transsexual?"
"Hey, you want to insult me again in my own house? If I
had wanted anything like that, I could have just gone on a
hollday and had a chop job done and that would be that.
This is something else. Something or somebody is doing me a
job and nobody seems to know how, who or why.
He sat quietly for a while looking me over, taking an occa-
sional draw on his beer. He was as well off as I was, finan-
cially, but he was still down to earth enough to drink his
beer from the bottle instead of pouring it into a glass as some
of our other Mends were wont to do. He studied me as I
sipped my cola. Finally he shook his head and looked out the
window.
"I can't get over it. You look like a woman, you sound like
a woman, and you're even acting like a woman by the way
you walk and drink your coke. He looked back at me.'With
some make-up, some jewelry and a skirt, no, the skirt
wouldn't be necessary though it would help, you would make
a rather good looking woman."
I started to make a reply but he cut me off.
"No, I mean it, Fred. You have a complexion that is better
than a lot of real women that I know. Your hair is long
enough to be sort of ultra mod on a man but great on a
women with a bit of curl and such. And your tits," his eyes
went to my bulging cfiest, "are too obvious for a man, but, if
what you say is true, they will probably get bigger before this
whole thing is through for you, whatever it Is."
There was a pause.
"My sympathies if it is not what you want or congratula-
tions if you want it. I guess it is sympathies unless you
change your mind."
It was my turn to stare out the window.
"Yeah. I don't know what to do. The hospital wants to
study me since they can't figure out what's going on. My fam-
ily doctor says that I have to let it run its course. Even Marge
seems to be going along with it. These pants." I looked down
at them and pulled them a bit taut, showing clearly one of
the garter belt straps and the nubbin holding the tops of my
nylons, "were bought by her for me. She said it all fit me
now.
"Hey, uh, they look, uh, good. I'm afraid I could not help
but notice the, uh, garters? You wearing women's nylons
with those shoes?"
"Yeah, it seems to feel right, to do it that way.
"But, why wear the shoes in the first place? I would have
thought you'd try to wear combat boots or something similar."
I laughed, my voice going up high, almost tinkling. "Well,
to begin with, they seem to be the most comfortable shoes I
have, believe it or not."
"After seeing you wear them last week, I can believe it.
You looked then like you were born to wear them. How are
they to walk in novbr? Has it changed?"
I got up from my chair and walked out to the edge of the
living room and then turned and walked back. "They feel bet-
ter than any other shoes I have ever worn. It is weird, but
true, believe it or not."
"Yeah, and I'll bet none of your other shoes cause you to
wiggle, either." He was grinning, almost leering.
"What do you mean by that one? I don't walk any differ-
ently in these shoes." I tried to defend myself.
"Oh, but you do. You have a real sexy wiggle, one you
didn't have the last time I saw you. Maybe the pants are help-
ing you along, or are you wearing a girdle too? Whatever it is,
you do have a sexy walk. Not manly at all, if that is what you
were hoping for. The more I see you in those shoes, the more
womanly you seem to me. Sorry, if that hurts your mascu-
line pride, but a man does not go traipsing around in high
heels, women's pants, and nylons with a garter belt, and
come across as a man, especially if he also has tits."
I sat down heavily. "Damn, I'm afraid I don't have any ar-
guments to that one. The devillsh thing is that I feel comfort-
able in these clothes. It is like somehow the changes are al-
most like correcting what I had been to what I should be. ...
But through it all I know that I am a man and want to re-
main a man!"
"Better take all that stuff off then, Fred."
"In a way I can't."
"What way?"
"I seem to have changed in other ways. Stand up."
He stood up and i walked over to face him directly. I
found my eye level was at his chin, He looked down at me
with an odd look in his eyes.
"My goodness, I see what you mean. You've shrunk! I did
not see it at the door, but like this, yeah. You must have lost
at least three or so inches. But how?" He sat again; it was
his turn to sit rather heavily and I followed suit in my chair,
draining my cola.
"Beats me. And, it beats the doctors too. None of my
clothes fit. Marge bought me these from the women's section
as the men's pants were out of proportion, while these fit. If
this continues a bit more, I will be able to wear her things.
Before, even the thought of such a possibility would have
been ridiculous. Now, ... well, ... Row it is not so ridiculous
any more."
"Well, she does have some pretty dresses that would go
with your. . ." He stopped when I glared at him, almost snarl-
ing. "Ok, it was a joke. I guess one of the changes is the loss
of your sense of humor?"
The anger left me.
He was right.
"Sorry, George, but this is getting to me and I find it par-
ticularly hard to joke about it. Let's change the subject."
"Okay. Have you gotten anything further on that note
that was in the shoe?"
"I got a few more letters, but nothing to add any more
meaning to it. The lab gave me hope that the rest might be re-
couped."
With that, my femininity and effeminization was left as a
topic and we went to other things.
Our housekeeper/cook came in and started dinner, mak-
ing no comment aboutmy odd footwear, my hair or my semi-
obvious tits.
At 5:00, Marge returned with a lot of stuff that she had
purchased.
We went out and helped her bring it all in, dumping most
of it in our bedroom and then went to dinner. Apparently
George had a "night out" or had called Martha when I was
out. In any case, he ate with us and stayed longer.
After dinner I talked with Geo'ge and Marge went off to
the bedroom to look after her purchases. I presume. Around
eight George left. I wondered what Martha had done in his
absence.
Whatever.
That night at bed time, I found that my pajamas were
just not really wearable any more. Marge, had less of a prob-
lem getting me into one of her night dresses. I must say it
was quite a shock to feel the softness around my body and
see and feel my breasts pushing that soft cloth out where I
should not be pushing it. I was exhausted.
0-0-0
When I awoke in the morning, I felt the softness of my
night dress,...well, Margo's. And easily got up, and just as
easily slipped my feet into my red jeweled slippers, my regu-
lar slippers just weren't around. Those shoes seemed to have
multiple uses. Granted, they did not fit as easily barefoot as
when I was wearing nylons, but they fit.
When I sat to pee, I was more concerned than ever as my
penis was diminishing in size. I realized that as short as it
had become that I now had to blot as some of my urine had
gotten on my pubic hair. What a mess. In the mirror, I noted
my lengthening hair. In fact, this morning, as I looked down,
it fell off of my shoulder and got in my way. It was now down
well below my shoulder. Instead of reaching for the shears to
cut it off, I swept it back and, well, just did not look down
that way again. Of course this meant a lot of looking in the
mirror. My breasts seemed somehow to be doing a good job
in taking to the form of the gown. For sure they now had a
definite movement tall their own) when I moved.
When I came out, Marge looked me over and then laid
out some clothing for me on the bed. Before she went into
the bathroom to do herjob, she handed me a hair brush and
told me to brush my hair very well as it needed it.
When I tried to run the brush through it, I found out
what she meant, It looked good but the new, longer length
had "invited" a lot of snarls that took time to get out. I hadn't
gotten them all out when she came out.
She came over and helped me, more or less wordlessly
taking the brush from my hand and finishing the brushing.
It was an elegant feeling: to have someone else brush my long
hair. Then I went to the bed and started to dress as she
started to take her hair out of the rollers she had put in the
night before.
On the bed were hose, garter belt and panties, all of
which I put on, first taking my "sllppers" off then putting my
"high heeled shoes" on. When I noticed anbther garment. I
balked, holding it up by its end like I had a venomous snake
by the tail.
"Whatever is this doing here for?"
She looked over at me where I sat semiclad on the bed.
"It's for you, Dear. I don't know ifyou've noticed, but you
are at a point when you could use some support."
"But only women wear bras. I am not a woman and so I
won't wear it." I was about to toss it back when she sort of re-
peated herself.
"If you take a look, you'll see that you will need some sup-
port. I suggest you put it on. I'll help you if you get stuck."
I looked down at my chest. Yes, there was more there
than yesterday and even noticeably more than had been
there even the night before. But I had had more than enough
the night before and this was too much. Those damned
things just seemed to keep growing, regardless of what I did.
I shrugged my shoulders, though I probably shouldn't have,
as it gave more proof as to why I should put the bra on, for
my breasts vibrated and shook every which way but loose, as
the saying goes.
I sighed and looked again at the bra. It had lacy cups and
was virginal white. From the feel of it, I knew that it was
new. Looking at the tab I saw that it was 36B; Marge was
36C, so it would be too small for her, but for me?
I suppose I could have figured that one out myself any-
way, as it was too small for Marge and was just a bit big for
me in reality. Anyway, I started to put it on, getting stuck, as
she said, trying to close the hooks and eyes in back. She
came over to me.
"That's all right dear. I remember when I first learned to
put mine on. Itjust takes patience and a bit of planning.
With one hand you can feel the eye and with the other, you
just put the hook under your finger, like this." She posi-
tioned my hands. "Then just drag the hook under your finger
over where you know where the eye is, like this. My, your
nails are getting long; we should attend to them before too
long."
I ignored her comment and moved as she suggested.
Again there was a bit of motion and it hooked.
"Then the rest of them are simple." And they were in spite
of my now quite long nails. Fortunately or not, I then forgot
about them when I looked at the resuits.
When the bra was on, the cups were not full, but they
did tend to hold down the wobbling. Of course, they also
tended to make my breasts stand out. It was definitely not a
minimizing bra. Of course, at that time I only had minimum
anyway.
She then showed me how to adjust the straps for comfort
and to position it for best fit so that the elastic was not sit-
ting on top of my breasts nor too far below.
It was a lesson I would never ever have dreamed of hav-
ing. But when all was said and done, it fit nicely If a bit
snugly, from pulling the chest flesh in a bit the cups were
reasonably full, and my chest was appropriately tamed if not
a good bit more noticeably uplifted.
I went to my closet for a shirt and found a series of
blouses were now hanging among my clothes. I looked over
at Marge and she looked back, smiled and just nodded her
head "yes". I did not have to ask what that meant. I decided
to try a plain white one on and reached in for it, noting when
I snagged it that there was a, skirt hanging next to it.
Whatever did Marge have in mindfer me?
I looked again in her direction but she had "lost interest"
and was doing her make-up, oblivious to what I was now do-
ing.
Looking at the blouse in hand, I saw that it was plain.
But it as also obvious that the darling when in front, so put-
ting it on, I zipped the zipper up the back with a bit of bend-
ing and pulling of cloth. I was determined NOT to ask Marge
for help on this one. One request a day was enough for my
dressing.
I used her instructions earlier in hooking what was an ob-
vious closure at the neck just above where the zipper ended.
I hadn't noticed it when I put it on but.found it when the zip-
per finally closed at the top. I almost pulled it off, thinking of
how crazy it was to begin with that I should put on a blouse
in the first place. Then I looked at the blouse that enclosed
my upper body, I noted that it had a semi translucency that
let the bra in all of its strappy glory show through.
Oh, you couldn't see the stitching and count the seams
in my bra, but where it touched the plain front, you could
see the laciness of the bra cups which were doing an admira-
ble job of pushing the front out, a lot more than I would have
liked, and you could even see the little ring at the top of the
cup where it attached to the strap running over my shoulder
and, because of contact, you could even see the strap length
adfuster. Well, you could see overwhelmingly enough of it to
know without any trace of a doubt about what it was, not
that there could be any doubt. I had the feeling of being semi-
nude with that blouse on, The only problem was that it was
damnably comfortable even without, or maybe because it
was without, sleeves butjust a circle lined lightly with a deli-
cate lace at the armhole.
When I walked over and peered into our full length mir-
ror, I decided that I looked really ridiculous with my panties
and garters showing beneath the hem of the blouse, but it
did look good, othervise!
Of course, that look took me to my dresser where I pulled
out a pair of pants. I noted that the number of pants in the
drawer had diminished drastically. Now there were only the
ladies slacks that I had bought, or in reality that she had
bought for me, plus some other, newer ones, Some of were in
vivid colors like she often wore and which looked even more
terribly feminine. I wouldn't be weaning any of those soon, I
hoped. But I put the pair on that I had gotten. This was a
new pair for I discovered too late that there was just a seam
up the front and the zipper was located at the side.
Oh well, I knew I would have to pull them on anyway.
Once they were zippered and comfortably in place, I looked
again in the mirror.
The image that I saw was disturbing. It was not the an-
drogyny that I had kind of hoped for. Somehow my facial fea-
tures seemed to have softened in an indefinable yet notice-
able way (to me, at least). It seemed to still be me, but that
person was definitely feminine. As I posed this way and that,
the image did not change, nor lose one iota of its femininity.
The high heels sparkled and shone and called attention
to themselves. The pants went up what seemed an incredible
distance to my hips and then turned sharply in at my waist.
Above it was the blouse, with its plain front free of any deco-
ration at all other than two darts, it almost seemed to show-
case the bra so evident underneath to say nothing of the just
as obvious set of bumps that the darts allowed again so obvi-
ously to stick out In front of me, Looking over my shoulder I
was appalled by the obviousness of the strap around my
chest and those two matching lines that descended to meet it
from over my shoulders. Except for the zipper that descend-
ed from my neck down two thirds of the way down my back,
I could almost see where the hooks and eyes closed my bra
in the back.
It was all too utterly feminine!
Above the lace lined, oval scooped neckline at the top of
the blouse was my face, slightly feminine looking, and sur-
rounding it, a larger than life (well as I remembered it) mop
of hair that seemed to disappear behind my shoulders as I
tried to keep it swept back. Again from the back I could see it
now going a short ways down my back, half way to my bra.
These were strange images and they all spelled one thing,
woman; yet, I knew I was a man! ... wasn't I?
By now, Marge had also gotten dressed and was putting
on a final touch to her light make-up.
I declined, naturally, when she offered to do my make-
up for me.
Sheese, what an idea. I really didn't need any more of
this feminine crap; that's for sure, and I'm not about to start in
now. It was bad enough as it now stood.
On her, the light make-up she put on was just right and
emphasized her better qualities as a woman. It did not nor-
mally take her long, and, well, as I said, it looked good.
But none for me, thank you.
So I left shortly before her and went to the kitchen where
I was starting up the coffee as she came in.
She asked me what I wanted and I decided on a soft
boiled egg and toast. She started the water and I started the
toast. Then it occurred to me that she usually made break-
fast, all of it. Oh well, why not. It was not hard. She looked
at me and smiled but said nothing.
I wonder what she is thinking behind that silent smile?!!
Just as breakfast was finished, the phone rang and she
went to answer it.
I knew in the first Ave words that it was Martha calling. I
heard them yakking and tuned it out and just finished my
breakfast and the newspaper and then took the dirty dishes
and rinsed them and put them in the dishwasher. Again, a
sort of out of the ordinary move, but again, it was easy to do.
I heard her hang up and go off the bedroom as I Bnished
loading the washer and then wandered off to my den, but I
did not really get anything started. Every time I looked down
I saw those white encased mounds and was thoroughly dis-
tracted.
I was still trying to think of something to do when the
door bell rang.
Marge asked me to answer it, not an unreasonable re-
quest as she could well be doing almost anything in the bed-
room, so I got up and went to the door and opened it.
There stood Martha and George. Martha had an obvi-
ously shocked look on her face and George had a sort of half-
smile as if to say, "I told you so."
I asked them to come in and got a further reaction fiom
Martha and even some from George. Only then did I notice
that my voice was now definitely in the alto range. Marge
had not moved, nor had she said anything. Well, in an ob-
tuse way, it was like being caught with your hand in the
cookiejar. I invited them in again, this time trying to lower
my voice, but not succeeding in reaching anywhere near my
old tones but at least getting down to a high tenor again, al-
beit somewhat forced.
As George more or less pushed Martha in, she looked me
up and down and back again saying, "I didn't believe you
George, but now I see what you mean. Are you sure that this
is Fred?"