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PrestO ChangeO GirlO

LAKESIDE

“Geez, Sam - would you stop staring at my tits?”

The slender, Scandinavian-looking man jerked out of his mild daze, his fair skin showing red as his eyes flicked away.

“I wasn’t staring.” He protested - rather lamely.

Linda snorted. “Riiight - you weren’t staring at all. You just happened to be looking in my direction... and drooling.”

“Hey!” Sam said, an embarrassed grin riding on his lips. “So I might have been staring - inadvertently, of course - but I wasn’t drooling!”

“Uh huh.” Linda said, her face screwing up into an exaggerated expression of doubt. “Then how come you look like you need a bib?”

Without waiting for a response (which Sam didn’t have anyway), the tall, athletically feminine woman turned away and finished carrying the last of her luggage into the small cabin by the lake, leaving Sam alone with himself.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid!” Sam said, slapping himself on the forehead. Slumping onto the bumper of his Jeep CJ, the platinum-blond youth berated himself for his behavior. “What the hell’s wrong with you, anyway?”

Samuel Vogelmann and Linda Corwin were as inseparable as a pair of Siamese twins - but it wasn’t anything romantic or sexual. The same age - 22, - the two had met when they were in grade school, when Sam’s parents had moved into the house next door. Back then, Sam had been a pale, scrawny little kid with a shy nature and a slippery grasp of the English language, and Linda had been the tall, gangly tomboy next door. Both had received a fair share of taunts at the hands of their so-called peers, and had found themselves becoming best friends.

Then they’d grown older - and Linda had matured into a stunning beauty. An avid outdoorswoman, she had a lithe, toned body that was tanned to match her tawny blonde hair. She had a somewhat athletic figure, but it suited her - and in no way detracted from her femininity. With large, firm breasts and long legs that would make a monk have impure thoughts, she had the powerful grace of a lioness - and the easy, friendly nature that defused the ‘standoffish’ air that many classically beautiful women inadvertently generated.

Sam, on the other hand, had grown into - a slender, pale, somewhat shorter then average man with fair skin and a shyly humorous personality. By the time he’d become aware of the miracle of girls, and had found himself remarkable attracted to the young woman Linda had become, Linda had already developed a ‘taste’ in men - the big, athletic, outdoorsman type of guy.

About as far from Sam as you could get, in other words. Though he’d told her of his attraction to her - causing a few weeks of discomfort between them before it blew over - they had finally decided that their incredibly strong friendship could withstand the burden of the gender-created friction between them, and had remained inseparable friends to this day.

Which didn’t meant that Sam was able to simply ‘turn off’ his attraction for the golden goddess Linda had become. Instead, he relied mainly on her understanding and unfailingly cheerful good-nature to allow his occasion ‘mistake’ to slip through without causing any problems.

Which, normally, would have been fine - as old friends, they’d grown comfortable with the situation, for the most part.

However, things were a little different at the moment - and that’s why Sam was sitting on the big chrome bumper on his Jeep and resisting the urge to bang his head against the side of the vehicle a few dozen times.

“You must be some sort of fuckin’ genius, Sam.” He told himself, shaking his head. “Your best friend in the whole world rents a cabin to surprise her boyfriend with a romantic weekend getaway - and when she tells him about it, he reveals that he’s been cheating on her with her best girl friend, then dumps her on the spot - leaving good old Linda with the contract for the cabin. Which she can’t pay, because she was counting on Mr.-now-ex-boyfriend to pay half. So, instead - she invites you along if you’ll cover the other half of the cabin, and so that she can be away from the apartment while he and his new girlfriend move his stuff out. So what do you, the oh-so-reliable-and-caring best friend do? You stare at her tits while she’d going through one of the worst times of her life.” He sighed and shook his head again. “Some fuckin’ genius, Sam.”

Sighing, Sam shouldered the last of his luggage and carried it up the weather planking of the deck and through the screen door into the small cabin.

“I hope you don’t mind - but I’m stealing the bedroom.” Linda said, coming out of the room in question and jerking a thumb over her shoulder to it’s interior. “I’m not trying to be the ‘bad guy’ hear - but...”

“No problem, Linda.” Sam said, following her hand gesture in the direction of the couch - the couch that would have been extremely cramped for her, with her being a good six inches taller then his own five-four. He dropped his luggage at the end of the faded plaid couch, his back giving a mental groan at the though of spending the weekend curled up on it - but it was a sacrifice he was willing to make, figuring that it would do as penance for his previous - and possible - slips.

“So, I guess that’s everything.” Linda said, walking over to the kitchen that formed a corner of the large main room. “What do you think - put this stuff away, then grab a swim before dinner?” She smiled at Sam, hands spread questioningly.

Even if you didn’t know Linda very well, it wasn’t hard to see how hard she was working at being her usual cheerful self - and part of it was him, Sam knew.

The cabin was supposed to be a romantic getaway - and, instead, she was spending the weekend here after being dumped. She could have avoided coming - Sam would have still paid the other half of the cost, regardless of whether she, he, or anyone used the cabin. But that would have meant facing her ex-boyfriend while he moved his stuff out, so she’d taken the cabin - and ended up in a dilemma.

She didn’t want to spend the weekend alone, not in her emotional state - yet the one ‘close’ female friend she’d had had been the one that cheated on her and stole her boyfriend. Which ruled her out.

So she’d turned to Sam, and he knew that she really appreciated his being there for her, in theory - but having a man who was so obviously attracted to her around at such a vulnerable point wasn’t exactly ideal, either...

“Actually - I thought I’d take a stroll through the woods.” Sam said, making up his ‘plan’ on the spur of the moment. “Like the guy at the gas station said, this land was fought over by the French, English, Spanish - and, of course, the Indians who were here first. You never know what you’ll find.”

“Okay.” Linda agreed - almost too readily. “I think I’ll take a quick dip and a hot bath, then make some dinner - say, about an hour?”

“Sure - sounds fine.” Sam agreed. Slipping on a light jacket, he headed out of the cabin while Linda disappeared into her bedroom to get changed - and he knew that she hoped that he was gone before she emerged, not wanting to be ogled in a bikini that would make her very ogle-able to Sam.

So, picking a direction at random, he tromped off into the woods before he could succumb to the temptation to stay and ogle.

* * * * * * * * * *

“Perfect timing, Sam.” Linda said, turning from the stove. “I was... what the heck is that?”

“I have no idea - I found it while I was out walking.” Sam replied, placing the item in question on the table and peeling off his coat. “I think it’s an Indian... something.”

One hand over her mouth to hold in a surprised giggle, Linda drew closer to the item on the table for a better look.

It was wood, and obviously quite old. Hand carved, it was rather rough-hewn - but was still ‘recognizable’, as some sort of mythical creature that had the body of a man but the head of an animal - a wolf, perhaps, or maybe a coyote. From it’s jaws extended a tongue that was obviously supposed to be a snake.

“That’s... weird.” Was the best description Linda could come up with. “I wonder if it’s worth anything?”

“I don’t know.” Sam said, sitting down at the table and eyeing the carved image. “Maybe - it depends...”

Sam had lifted his eyes to look at Linda as he was talking to her - and now he flushed and looked away. Having come from a warm bath, she was dressed only in a bathrobe - and, leaning over to look at the carved item, a mouth-watering amount of her firm, round, DDD-cup breasts were inadvertently on display.

At the way he stopped talking, Linda shifted her gaze from the strange item to Sam, who was blushing and staring at the floor - then realized why. Her own face turning red, she straightened up and wrapped the robe more tightly around her trim, tanned body.

“I’m sorry, Linda.” Sam said, embarrassed. Not wanting to meet her eyes at that moment, he picked up the small, graven totem and idly rolled it in his hands nervously. “I really...”

“No, no - it wasn’t your fault.” Linda said, sympathetically, sitting down in the chair across the table. “You didn’t plan that - just like I didn’t realize that I was... displaying myself.”

Sam sighed. “Maybe - but it’s things like this that make it so difficult sometimes.” He shrugged. “You know - I just wish there was a way I could make this easier for you...”

The words were hardly out of his mouth when time seemed to come to a screeching halt.

Everything around him - and he himself - stopped moving. It was as if God had hit the ‘pause’ button, freezing him into place, and the rest of the world as well.

Then Sam began to feel a strange tingling sensation in his hands.

Because he’d been staring downward, unable to meet Linda’s eyes, he was able to see most of himself through the frozen viewpoint his immobile eyes provided. So he was able to watch as the carved item he held began to glow with an eerie, inner light, turning the warn, weather gray wood into a rich, silvery light.

A light that spread rapidly down his arms.

If he’d been able to react, he might have screamed, might have thrown the carved totem away from him - but he was locked into position, only able to watch as the translucent glow enveloped his body.

Then, through the glow, watch his body begin to change.

Emotions flooded through him, hot on the heels of one another - shock, confusion, horror, fear. The emotions ran the gamut as he watched his body’s contours alter in a way that left no doubt as to what was happening. Throughout his entire, immobile form, he could feel the strange tingling sensation take over as his skin began to become softer, smoother...

...more feminine.

He’d never been all that hairy to begin with, and his platinum-blond body hair against his pale skin was hard to see in any case. But that didn’t keep him from noticing the way his body hair became finer, silkier, even less noticeable against his softer, smother skin - as the body that skin enveloped altered as well, also becoming undeniably feminine.

It wasn’t just his body that was changing, though - it was his clothes. As he watched helplessly, his chest began to bulge outwards underneath the simple white cotton work-shirt he wore - but rather then grow tight over the rapidly swelling breasts, the shirt constantly altered to keep up with them - and then some.

As his burgeoning bust passed Linda’s own mouth-watering mounds in size, the buttons of the white cotton garment undid themselves, revealing the white ‘wife-beater’ shirt he wore beneath it - and a ‘delectable’ amount of milky, smooth cleavage from his swelling tits.

The shirt then somehow tired itself off under his swelling breasts, as the undershirt writhed and changed, becoming a white spandex crop-top that encased his now-massive tits. They had finally stopped growing - but were easily the size of basketballs, and strained the white spandex to taut curvature over them, displaying a modest-yet-delightful amount of cleavage.

The shirt had also altered to become sleeveless, though it retained it’s collar. Now it bared his slender, feminine arms from slender whist to smoothly feminine shoulder.

His hands had become dainty and feminine, each slender finger tipped with a long, red nail. His heavy, metal ‘Navigator’ style watch writhed and changed, becoming a small gold-toned watch with a blue face, mounted on a slender brown-leather strap.

The rest of his body was also changing, though he couldn’t observe those changes nearly as well. He could feel his hips and ass filling out to - most likely ‘delightfully’ - feminine proportions, while the jeans he wore altered style slightly to become a pair of women’s jeans that hugged his new hips and ass tightly. His legs were also undergoing some sort of change, as where his feet - and the shoes that enclosed them. From the sense of tingling, Sam knew that his face was also changing to match his rapidly female form - and everything else was, as well.

Then the glow vanished, and as time restarted, she held the horrified certainty that she was now female in every single respect.

“Just being here is more then... what’s wrong?” Linda asked, as Sam screamed and twitched, the totem dropping from nerveless - and utterly feminine - fingers.

“I’m a woman!” Sam half-shouted, hearing the words emerge in a hysterical feminine voice. “I... I’ve got tits! Huge, monster tits!”

Her slender hands flew to her crotch... “And a cunt!”

With a stunned, confused expression, Linda rose from her chair. “Sam? Sam - what...? What are you shouting about? What’s wrong?”

Sam gaped at Linda incredulously. “What’s wrong?” She asked, stunned. Her dainty hands rose to her chest and hefted her huge, weight new tits. “Look at me!”

Linda looked deeply concerned and slowly came around the table. “Sam - I don’t understand. Is there something wrong with your tits?”

Sam blinked. “Wrong with them?” She asked, Linda’s actions and words beginning to seep through his confusion, horror and fear. She took a deep breath and forced herself to gain some measure of control, however tenuous. “Linda... do you notice anything different about me?”

Linda frowned. “Different? I... no, I don’t think so. What’s... what are you asking me?”

Sam frowned in confusion. “You.. you didn’t see the totem... glow?”

Linda’s concerned eyes flew wide in surprise. “Glow?”

“Yeah - we were sitting, talking, and I said that I wished there was something I could...” Her voice trailed off as stunned comprehension began to set in. “Wait a second.. I wished...”

Staring sidelong at Sam in confusion, Linda bent and picked up the carved piece of wood, turning it over in her hands. “Glow?” She repeated, confused, then sighed. “I wish I knew what the hell is wrong with you, Sam...”

Then she made a strangled screaming sound, and the totem dropped from her hands as she took three steps back and stared at Sam, who was gaping back at her.

“You... you were a guy!” She said, pointing one shaking hand at Sam. “But... You.. I...”

That made the tenuous idea that Sam had been considering solidify. “You know!” She shouting, standing up and taking a step towards Linda...

...who shied back, wide eyed, shaking her head in denial.

“Linda?” Sam said, surprised.

“I.. you...’ Linda stopped and took several deep breaths, then slumped against the couch and stared at Sam. “You were a guy - then you made a wish on the totem, and it turned you into a woman so I would feel more comfortable around you, and could discuss ‘girl’ things with you.”

Sam relaxed a bit. She had realized that Linda hadn’t noticed anything strange about her transformation - until she’d ‘wished’ on the totem...

“Linda - do you know what’s going on?” She asked, slumping back into the chair. “I mean - my God! I’ve been turned into a woman. It’s just a little... confusing.”

Linda swallowed. “Tell me about it. Right now, I remember you as being Samantha Vogelmann, by best friend since grade school - yet I also remember you being Samuel Vogelmann, and making a wish on the..” She swallowed. “I mean... which one’s real?”

Sam took a deep breath - glad to know that she wasn’t going insane. “I only remember me being male, and then getting turned into a woman - apparently by making that wish, though I had no way of knowing that would happen.” She swallowed - then hesitantly asked the question that she desperate for the answer to, while being terrified at what the answer might be. “Do... Do you know why it made my wish come true - and... can I change back?”

Linda had been staring, wide-eyed, at the totem - and now she shook her head and looked at Sam in deep compassion. “Oh, my good - I didn’t realize...” She swallowed. “Part of me still thinks of you as Samantha, and I didn’t think...”

“Linda...” Sam said, as gently as possible under the circumstances.

“Oh! - Yes, you can change back.” Linda said, realizing what the wait for an answer would be doing to Sam. “Sorry - I’m still trying to.. cope. Anyway - anybody who holds that totem gets three wises, if it’s... ‘charged’.”

“Is it?” Sam asked, fearfully. “Charged, I mean?”

Linda nodded. “Oh, yes - it’s been sitting, undisturbed, for nearly a century - it’s got enough ‘[juice’ to give us each our three wishes, though it’ll need a good fifty years after that before it’ll work again.”

“Thank God!” Sam exploded, slumping in relief.

Linda bent over and picked up the fallen totem, handling it as gingerly as if it were a live grenade. “If... If you want, I’ll wish you.. uh.. ‘back’.” Linda offered, obviously still having trouble seeing Sam as the man she ‘really’ was, other then the life-long girl friend she (and the rest of the world) currently knew her as.

Sam started to agree - then stopped. Now that the urgent question had been settled, she was no longer panicked and horrified. Indeed, with the initial shock and horror fading, she found herself...

...intrigued.

“Wait a second...” She said slowly in her sweet, trilling new voice. Rising from the chair, she walked slowly across the room towards the bathroom.

Now that her mind wasn’t swamped with powerful, negative emotions, Sam could pay more attention to her new form a bit more - and was aware of the way she was moving. Along with the body and ‘past’ of a woman, the wish had also given her the moves and habits to match. She’d just mentally commanded herself to walk - but, from there, her body took over, and it was walking in a decidedly feminine way without any ‘prompting’ from her male mind.

Which was a good thing, she thought with a wry grin - as she’d have no idea how to walk in the white leather sandals she was wearing, complete with the three-and-a-half-inch wooden ‘block’ heels.

Reaching the bathroom door, she swung it open and stepped to the side, allowing herself to see the reflection of her new body in the mirror mounted on the back of the door.

A stunningly sexy, beautiful - if outrageously over-endowed - platinum blonde woman stared back at her.

She was slightly on the short side - but most of that diminutive height was obviously from her long, slim legs. Although hidden under the taut cloth of her faded jeans, Sam had no doubt that the legs were absolutely spectacular - because that would match the rest of her new body.

Her hips were a trifle on the slender side for a woman’s - though much wider then the had been as a man. The ‘slim’ hips, however, were made to look wider by the amazingly slender waist that her tied-off sleeveless blouse displayed.

A waist that lay in the shadow of her massive, firm tits, which were definitely out-sized for her svelte frame. Wonderingly, Sam again hefted her huge new endowments, feeling their weight and mass in the dainty hands that didn’t come close to encompassing her basket-ball sized spheres. She knew that some men would find these tits absolutely spectacular, but even if she wasn’t burdened with their heavy mass she would have found them ridiculously out-sized - her own breast appreciation was such that she found Linda’s large tits on her athletic frame to be not only perfect, but the maximum size before staring the down-slide of ‘too much’ - and these chest-melons were considerably larger then hers.

Her shoulders and arms were slender, feminine, and milky-smooth - as was the rest of her body. Her coloration was very close to what it had been as a man, but now it was softer and smoother.

A long, slender neck lead up to a stunning face. A combination of sexy, beautiful and cute, it boasted large, bright blue eyes, a pert nose and full, soft lips.

It was also simply, yet attractively, made-up, complete with gloss-red lipstick. The wish had been so comprehensive as to have altered reality itself, with the exception of her own sense of self. In the altered history, the female Sam had done what would have been expected of her, and applied make-up this morning.

Which was also why her clothes matched her form.

Her platinum-blonde hair was the same shade it had always been, but now it was much finer and silkier. Fairly short, the hair was nevertheless styled in a feminine manner, hanging almost to her collar at the back and on the right side, where most of it was swept over from the left side, just above the ear. It was a ‘do that managed to be both sexy and - somehow - ‘perky’.

“Geez - I’m a babe! A massively over-endowed babe, granted, but a babe...” Sam breathed in stunned surprise...

...then blinked. “Hey, wait a second!”

“What?” Linda asked, coming up behind her - and stepping back when Sam whirled and stared at her.

“You’re still sexy, too - but I don’t find us... ‘arousing’!” Sam said, frowning. “I mean, I’ve always found you really sexy, and I should be drooling over my new body, but...”

“That’s just perverted...” Linda said with an exaggerated look of distaste - then shrugged. “At least, to me - having my old friend Samantha suddenly being attracted to me.”

“Yeah - but think how your old friend Samuel feels about suddenly being... gay?” Sam retorted, frowning.

Linda shrugged. “Besides - your wish was to make me feel more comfortable - so, obviously, you’d have to be sexually uninterested in me to avoid... problems.”

Having a clear memory of already ‘being there, doing that’, Sam had to grin in wry acknowledgment. “Yeah.”

“So - should I wish you back?” Linda asked. “It’ll feel weird for me top do it - but as long as I make sure to specify that I remember everything being the way it was, then I won’t feel weird once you’re ‘back’ to being a guy.”

Sam was still frowning - but now it was in thought. “Actually - I thought I’d wait a bit.”

Linda blinked. “Really?”

Sam nodded, blushing. “Yeah - it feels weird, and all - but how often does a guy actually get a chance to see life from the other side? Besides...” His blushed deepened. “I was serious about wanting to make this weekend easier for you. If being female for a couple of days is what it takes - well, I think I can handle it.”

“You’d actually do that for me?” Linda asked, surprised. “I mean - the male you? I know the Samantha I remember would do something equivalent, but...”

“Yeah - it’s okay. Like I said - it’s not just for you. I have to admit that I’m... curious.” Sam admitted - her beautiful face afire. “Besides - it’s not like anyone’s going to know.”

“Except you and me.” Linda said.

Smiling weakly, Sam reached out and took the totem. “Actually - not quite. The only way for this to work is...”

“Hey...!” Linda started to protested, startled, as she saw where Sam was going....

“I wish that I was back outside the cabin, and that Linda would not only have any memory of anything that happened since I came in, but that she won’t find anything I do unusual or ‘out of character’.” Sam said....

...then the world seemed to waver around her, and she found herself standing outside the cabin, the totem in her dainty hands.

She took a deep breath, wondering if she’d made the right decision - on both counts. She knew that, for Linda to feel completely comfortable, the original wish Sam had made had to be fulfilled - Linda had to ‘remember’ only Samantha.

Still - Sam couldn’t believe that she was actually staying female for a little while. The other side of the coin, of course, was that if she didn’t do this, she’d spend the rest of her life wondering what it would have been like.

Besides - if it got to being too weird, she would use her last wish to change back. It was that simple.

Thinking about that, she walked up the steps and pushed open the door to the cabin.

“Perfect timing, Sam.” Linda said a bit sarcastically, turning from the stove. “You’re fifteen... what the heck is that?”

“This is why I’m late - I found it while I was out walking.” Sam replied, placing the item in question on the table...

* * * * * * * *

It was a fantasy come true...

...sort of.

With awry grin, Sam smiled down at Linda’s face, bathed in the golden glow of early morning sunlight where it spilled in the window and over the peaceful repose of her face.

Carefully, so as not to disturb Linda, Sam wiggled out of bed and rose to her feet, stretching mightily. As she pushed her hands as high as she could, the sensation of her huge, firm tits shifting on her chest - under a pink silk negligee, no less! - caused another wry grin.

Shaking her head at the absurdity of the situation, Sam padded out of the bedroom and towards the bathroom, feeling her huge tits sway slightly with each step, causing a distracting, pleasant sensation as the smooth fabric moved over her firm mounds and large, thick nipples - fully engorged in the cool air of morning and poking impudent dents in the sheer fabric.

“Man - this is just a leee-dle weird.” Sam said to herself - and the sound of her trilling, feminine voice made her giggle.

Which only made her giggle harder.

Starting the tub running, Sam peeled off the negligee and posed in front of the mirror, eyeing her altered body. It was about fourteen hours since she’d first been ‘transformed’, and she was still trying to get used to all the differences between this body, and the male one that nobody in the world remembered her ever having - except her, of course.

Of course, there were the obvious differences - like her gigantic tits. They were huge and firm and round, with a considerable heft to them that gave them quite a bit of inertia when she moved - making her grateful for her new body’s inherent ‘habits’ of motion. If she’d just gotten the body, without the magically ingrained skills, she would have ended up on her ass a dozen times over when the unexpected inertia of her new endowments took over.

She was also surprised by how sensitive her new tits were - especially the nipples. Though she hadn’t quite worked herself up to open, unashamed ‘fondling’ of her new body, she’d had enough ‘chance’ encounters already to know that her nipples were remarkably sensitive.

She was sure that her new cunt was at least as sensitive as her cock had been - but that wasn’t something that she’d put to the test. She had enough trouble just going to the washroom and wiping herself afterward - it felt dirty and perverted to touch herself there. though, intellectually, she knew this new body was ‘hers’, it somehow felt as if she were ‘peeping’ on a woman, touching her, doing things that she shouldn’t be doing.

Then again, she mused as she climbed into a tub of warm water, there was the decidedly strange-feeling shift in her sexual orientation - although she was only experiencing the ‘female-negative’ side of it. the mere thought of actually being in a situation where she’d become aroused over a man was enough to make her shudder.

What she was going through was weird enough. She knew that she had found Linda sexy before, and could still see and acknowledge all the things about Linda that had turned her on, as a man - only, now, it felt... different. Kind of.. ‘empty’. In a way, it was kind of like steak - she didn’t particularly like steak, though she didn’t dislike it either. She knew that other people would go out of their way for a good steak, would pay extra to get it, and so on - but she’d always been able to take it or leave it, with the emphasis on ‘leave it’.

Now - it was the same way with Linda. She no longer had any urges about her, although she could remember having had them, and could still see Linda’s sexuality. It wouldn’t feel half as weird, if it weren’t for the fact that she knew that she’d be male again before long, and was now consciously making an effort to file away the things that she knew would fuel her fantasies when she was male - but that didn’t ‘do’ anything for her now.

All in all, though - she was finding the whole situation interesting, if weird. To see how women lived their lives, from the inside, was definitely informative.

Like some of the ‘girl-talk’ last night. Only the fact that she’d wished Linda wouldn’t fins anything unusual in her action had kept her from running into awkward questions by the shock she’d shown by some of the things Linda had discussed so freely - Sam had no idea women could be so... descriptive and open when they were by themselves. Not rude, or crude - but Linda had been willing to discuss things unashamedly that men would have blushed, or run away screaming, at hearing in conversations, even ‘just among the guys’.

Continued in the site...

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TOMORROW'S WOMAN

THE GYM

Humming to himself, Barry headed down the steps towards the gym’s entrance. Today was his first day at the new gym - and he was looking forward to it.

Because it had taken him six months to get the court to let him join.

Even after all the headaches, the muscular, handsome lawyer still got a kick out of the whole thing. It had first started as a joke - the tall, broad-shouldered lawyer had been looking for a new gym when his old one closed. He’d gone through the Yellow Pages, copying down addresses to check out, when he’d come across the add for ‘Miss Fit’s Health Club’ - an overly-cute title for a women’s only gym.

That’s what had gotten Bartholomew Robert McNeil thinking. After all, women had challenged all-male gyms, and won. So, he decided that he was going to fight the system for ‘Men’s Rights’ - and he had won, too. The court had decreed that the gym had no choice but to allow Barry a membership, if he so choose. And, just to piss of the dykes and bitches who used an all-female gym, he’d done just that.

Now, feeling cocky and smug, he stepped through the doors to the gym where he was now a member and took a look around.

Empty.

The entire building appeared to be empty, from what Barry could see. Not just the gym area, seen through the set of double glass doors at the end of the lobby, but the entire building itself. There was no sign of employees, patrons, custodial staff - not a single living person except himself.

Barry grinned slightly to himself. The Fema-Nazis who ran and used the place had obviously decided to make his victory a ‘moot’ one. If he had the right to ‘intrude’, then they were going to deny him the chance to ogle them.

However, the joke was on them - Barry really didn’t care. After all, most of the patrons of a women’s only gym were lesbians and feminists, and he really didn’t find hairy, mannish women attractive. The point of this little exercise hadn’t been to ogle their unlovely flesh - he just wanted to teach the damned bitches a lesson. If the end result was that he got to use the gym by himself, so much the better.

Heading into the change room, Barry tossed his gym bag onto a bench and slowly stripped down, eyeing the faintly feminine decor of the room. He had to admit that, if nothing else, this gym smelled better then the ones he was used to.

Pulling off his somber black suit in favor of a pair of red shorts and a white T-shirt, the muscular, russet-haired man slid his bare feet into a well-worn and faded pair of Nikes and headed out to the main are of the gym, where several thousand dollars worth of machine gleamed under the fluorescent lights, idle and almost antiseptically clean. For the first time since the broad-shouldered man had gone to a gym, there was no delay whatsoever to use any machine - he actually had a pick of what he wanted to use, in what order.

He began to wander through the various machines, surprised to find very few that he was familiar with. It wasn’t just the brand-names were different - it was the fact that each machine had been designed specifically for women, and so had differences that ranged from subtle to confusing. There was even one or two that completely mystified him.

He walked over to one of the completely unknown machines, a strange device in chrome, pink and white. He tilted his head and read the lettering running up the side of the machine in ‘futuristic’ italic letters.

“The Body Bender,” He read aloud, a hint of amusement in his deep, rumbling voice. He leaned closer to make out the smaller lettering beneath. “The Complete Full-Body Workout Machine to Re-Shape the Figure from Head to Toe.”

Shaking his head and snorting, Barry straightened and eyed the odd-looking machine. Moving around, he could see that it had a computerized LCD display and controls that were labeled as to a complete workout session. Shrugging his massive shoulders, Barry awkwardly slithered into the embrace of the complicated machine, having to shoe-horn his massive frame into a design that didn’t consider such a figure being placed in it. Finally, he managed to get fairly comfortable in the white-and-pink vinyl padding of the chair that lay at the center of the machine.

Reaching out with a thick, blunt finger, Barry hit the big green button marked ‘Init.’ Immediately, there was a rising hum and various parts of the machine moved slightly in preparation. Startled, Barry almost leapt from the machine as the seat he was sitting in suddenly came alive, shifting beneath his massive form...

...and around it. The padding moved until it formed a headrest at the top that gripped his head and held it lightly in position. More padding lifted, shifted and moved, and Barry - who, bemused, let the machine do it’s work - soon found himself strapped into the machine, basically held in it’s embrace.

Then the machine let out a muted beep - and went to work.

Just as Barry felt an odd prick in the base of his skull, a recorded voice began to issue from speakers somewhere. He recognized the voice as belonging to the bitch who owned the gym - Terri? Tommi? No - Teddi.

“Mr. Martin - you stupid, stupid man.” Her recorded voice said with contempt - and he felt a stir of anger.

The next words turned it into a stir of fear.

“We bet on the fact that you’d be stupid enough to use a machine that you knew nothing about at some point during your workout - and here you are, caught in the web of our revenge. You didn't think I’d just quietly let you get away with this, did you?”

Barry tried to extract himself from the whirring machine - and discovered, with horror, that not only couldn’t he move his body - he couldn’t even feel it. There was no sensation at all in his body.

“Don’t bother trying to struggle.” Teddi’s voice said, smugly. “You’ve already been injected with a combination paralytic agent and anesthetic. We briefly considered leaving the anesthetic out completely - but nobody deserves to feel the agony that what comes next would cause.”

Now Barry was truly scared - what the hell was going on?

“Even though you can’t feel it,” the voice continued, “right now your body is being cut into by a thousand precision-controlled lasers. These lasers are cutting away skin and fat and muscle, tissue of all sorts - even bone. However, they won’t even singe your nerves, organs, veins and arteries. No - you’ll still be alive when they finish cutting you down to almost nothing.

Barry was horrified by what he was hearing. It didn’t seem possible - they couldn’t really do that to him...

...could they?

The sickly-sweet odor of burning flesh almost sent him over the edge in full-blown panic.

“Oh - don’t worry.” The voice continued. “We’re not going to leave you as a set of disembodied organs.”

A minute or two passed, then the odor faded a bit. Barry realized that his hearing had changed, becoming less distinct, and that he was no longer blinking at all.

Because he no longer had ears, or eyelids. His eyes and eardrums were now completely unattached from their anchors.

The voice continued.

“By now, you are nothing more than your exposed brain connected to your organs. Everything else is gone, and the little that is left is being held in place by special bursts of air, carefully regulated with the right humidity and content to avoid any damage. To an onlooker, you’d be a gruesome sight, disembodied organs apparently floating in mid-air.”

The machine’s humming took on a different tone.

“Now a skeleton is being created in place around your organs. It’s made of a synthetic poly-carbon polymer that is both lighter and stronger than naturally occurring bone - and is filled with living bone-marrow that matches your blood-type.”

Barry was now listening to those words as a sort of life-line to keep him from mindless insanity. He was hovering right at the edge of complete break-down, and only the effort of deciphering the word - as horrible as the message was - was the only thing keeping him barely sane.

“Now - a layer of synthetically created muscle tissue is being added, as well as other tissues. Certain organs and nerve endings are also being moved and relocated to fit the profile of your new figure.”

There was a couple of minutes, during which all Barry could here was the odd sounds of the machine at work.

“Now, the final work is being done. Artificial skin is being applied, new glands are being emplaced, and artificial hair and nails are being created. Which means that it’s time to do the other part of our little vengeance.”

Before Barry could even wonder what that meant, a screen of some sort dropped into position in front of his immobile eyes. Strange colors and patterns began to swirl on the surface...

Too late, he realized that they were, quite literally, hypnotic. More than that, an unfelt needle was dumping large amounts of a hypnotic agent into his bloodstream. Before he even realized what was going on, he was in a deep trance, his mind disconnected from reality as new information was fed directly into the unguarded depths of his subconscious mind.

* * * * * * * *

“nnnn.....”

The groan was low and deep, made by somebody lost in the depths of a nightmare that refused to break.

“Nnnooo...”

Definition and coherency began to form as the figure stirred, nearing wakefulness.

“No!”

The scream was ripped from his throat as he struggled to sit bolt upright, heart pounding in his chest and eyes open wide at the memory. But even as the denial was torn from his throat, he knew that it wasn’t a denial he was capable of making.

Or rather - that she was capable of making. Because the scream came out in a rich, undeniably feminine voice, and even as she truly began to register her surroundings, new sensations assaulted her mind, proving that this was no nightmare - but that the horror was real.

With a tremendous burst of energy provided by adrenaline, she forced herself upright against the heavy, padded restrain across her chest, feeling new sensations flood her as she tried to come to grips with the realization of what had been done to her. She looked down...

For an instant, her mind went utterly blank as she stared at the incomprehensible sight of the most massive pair of tits she’d ever seen - thrust from her chest. that was the ‘padded weight’ that had hindered her movement, and now she merely gaped down at the huge, firm breasts, the size of medicine balls, that thrust proudly from her chest. They were a rich, yellowish-bronze color, and tipped by enormous, dark nipples that were swollen in the cool air. The weight of them pulled forward at her slender body, despite the fact they were incredibly - impossibly - firm. They were the most unbelievable pair of tits she’d ever seen, as big as some of the hyper-inflated silicone orbs of ‘big-tit’ men’s magazines, and they were attached to her chest.

“No...” She sobbed, shaking her head in vain denial. “Please, of God.. no...”

She heard the words come out in a high, almost girlish soprano, and that only made her useless denial that much pathetic. The motion of her shaking her head caused a sensation on her shoulders, like a fine silk being drawn across them, and she realized that it was the touch of her new hair across her shoulders. Nothing her body was experiencing was ‘right’, from sight to sound to touch - everything conspired to prove to her that she was no longer who she’d once been. She was now a woman, right down to the huge, firm tits she’d been sentenced to life with. She was no longer...

Her panicked horror mingled with confusion as she tried to summon the thought. She no longer resembled her old self...

The horror and panic began to redouble as she realized that she couldn’t remember who she was. Or, perhaps, who she had been, as she no longer bore the same identity. She knew that this body wasn’t hers, that she had been a man who’d been transformed into a woman at a gym, by the vengeful owner... but she couldn’t bring to mind which gym - or even which city the gym was in. She couldn’t remember what her ‘real’ name was, or what ‘she’ had looked like, or done for a living. Although she knew that this was all wrong, the opposite of what had been, no detail of her old, male life would come clearly top mind.

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MY FIRST DRESS

Knowing What You Have

The emptiness engulfed me as I walked through the doorway. A room once filled with the love of two people who were close enough that it seemed we read each others thoughts now seemed barren. Not devoid of the materialistic trappings of life in this age. The sofa and matching love seat, the entertainment center, the wine rack and shelves of knick-knacks, all the things were there. But the love was gone and I didn't believe it would ever return.

I thought back to the day weeks earlier, when I had shoved that love right out through the doorway of our home. Now my home. Mine alone, for now and probably forever. When I had called the one man that I had come to love more than anyone else on Earth, more than even myself, "sick and twisted". When I had sent him from our home in tears, a suitcase in his hand and hissed at him to "go and keep your sick, pervert self far the hell away from me."

The tears flowed moments after the door closed behind him. I'd been so self-righteous. Filled with anger at what I perceived as a betrayal. A breech of trust that nothing would ever seal. Loathing a man whom hours before I'd thought the world of. But when the tears began to flow, they started etching a void within me. And like the trickle of a tiny stream flowing down a wall of granite, that small void widened with each passing drop of water. Every tear intensified the loss I felt and now some weeks later, I wondered how I would go on.

I'd had trouble with everything from the moment he walked out the doorway. The next morning, I'd cried when I had gone to the dresser to get lingerie to wear that day at work. After seeing the man I loved wearing my lingerie and masturbating himself, I didn't know how many other times he'd done it. I didn't know if he'd worn any of the things in my lingerie drawer. The thought disgusted me.

That morning I threw every single pair of panties, hose and bra out into the trash. On the way to work I stopped at the convenience store and bought hose. At lunch I ran to the nearby department store and bought enough new lingerie to get me through until I could make a real shopping trip. After two days of crying most of the time, I finally sought help. Even in choosing a therapist to see, I was guided by the image of what I'd seen my man doing. So I chose a therapist who specialized in gender disorders.

Lucille Alton-Michaels-Jones was a name that I'd chosen from an ad in one of those weekly newspapers. She was able to get me in the day after I called. "Hi Rachel. Call me Lucille." Her office was a quiet place, a converted apartment in a building that had become office spaces. I followed her through what had once been a living room, into what had probably been the master bedroom. There was a chair and a sofa and I practically flung myself down on the sofa, squirming and moving around until I felt comfortable. "Good, you look like you're comfortable. Now why have you come here?"

I took a deep breath before answering. "I can't stop crying since Daryl left." "Okay. How about some background about who Daryl is, and why he left?" "Daryl and I have been together for eight years now. We never married, but we'd talked about it. I threw him out a few weeks ago when I came home and found him wearing some of my lingerie." "I see. So did you choose me as a therapist because I do a lot of work with gender-conflicted men?" "That was part of it. I was hoping you could help me understand this." "I probably can, but let's explore what happened prior to this incident. Had you seen or thought that Daryl was wearing your clothing before you found him that time?"

It took me a moment to review our eight year history. Not once did I ever see or imagine that Daryl was wearing any of my clothes. "Not that I remember. Things had been good." "What about your sex life? When was the last time you and Daryl made love, before the time you found him in your lingerie?" I didn't hesitate to answer that question. "The night before. It was great. At least I thought it was great. He seemed to enjoy it. Then we cuddled and I fell asleep on his chest." "Had your sex life been satisfying to both of you up until this incident? As far as you could tell anyway?"

Again, reflection. Review. Daryl never complained. I was always ready and willing. Anywhere and everywhere. We'd made love in the back of cars, on board a plane, in his office, in my office. We'd had a terrific sex life and I couldn't think of a single reason for him to be dissatisfied. "It was great. We both enjoyed making love and did our best to please one another. There was nothing wrong with our sex life." "How often did Daryl masturbate?" "I never saw him doing it before then, so I don't know."

She questioned me about our sex life for almost half of our one hour appointment. Then she finally began to explain a little about what she referred to as "gender-conflicted men". "There are as many levels of what I refer to as gender-conflict as there are floors in a tall building. At the very top is the transsexual who knows without doubt that he is a woman trapped in a male shell. At the bottom floor is the normal, heterosexual male, who may be aroused by wearing panties. Those are the extreme ranges in the tower of gender conflict as I refer to it. Now what we don't know is on which level your Daryl's conflict resides."

"Does anyone ever leave this tower of yours?" "Yes. Some resolve their conflicts, decide not to touch their female sides ever again, and walk out completely. Others walk out through the top of the building after having transitioned into living full-time as women. Those who go out through the top leave after their sex changes are complete." "So how would I know about all these levels and find out where Daryl is?" "You could ask him." "I don't know where he is, and even if I did, I don't know if he'd talk to me." "We'll talk more about it next week. Our time is up."

I spent a lot of the next week thinking about my sex life with Daryl as a result of that hour I spent with Lucille. No matter how much I thought back, I couldn't remember a time where Daryl wasn't totally satisfied. I also tried to recall any event where he'd been involved in my clothing. Aside from times when he bought some lingerie for me as a gift, he'd never really taken any interest in what I wore.

I did get a call from a friend of Daryl's that week. He wanted to come by and get some things of Daryl's. I asked him if he would give me a phone number or address for Daryl, and he said "sorry, he doesn't want to talk to you right now." "Why not? I need to talk to him." "Rachel, you need to respect his wishes right now. After all, you're the one who threw him out. Give him time and maybe he'll want to talk to you. I'll tell him you asked about him."

Daryl's friend took some of his clothes and books that had been left behind. The house seemed even emptier after those things were gone and it got worse the following morning. Daryl's friend called again. "Hi, it's Tom. Can I come by and get a few things I missed yesterday?" "Yes. Did you talk to Daryl about talking to me?" "Yes I did. I have a note for you. Can I come over now?" "Please."

Tom had a pickup truck this time and he proceeded to take every single thing that was clearly Daryl's. The note was not typical of the man I loved with all my heart. He'd never been terse with his words. This note was just that.

"Rachel,

Tom will collect the rest of what's clearly mine. Make me an offer for what was 'ours' and if it's fair, I'll accept it and time payments. I'm not interested in talking to you at this time. Maybe when I've had more time to deal with being called sick and perverted by someone who I thought loved me.

Daryl"

"Tom, what if I gave you a note for him, would you take it to him?" "No. The only message he's interested in right now is a number. A number for his half of the furniture and other stuff that you're keeping." "Dammit Tom, I want to heal this rift between us and you aren't helping." "I think I am. I am trying to keep it from getting worse while he heals. Now if you aren't ready with a number, just call me when you are." "Fuck that, I'll write him a check."

I sat down at the computer and added up the prices we'd paid for the furnishings of the house. I also used the mortgage amortization program to calculate how much equity we'd acquired through the years of payments. Then I pulled out the checkbook and wrote a check. "I have to call and make a transfer to cover this but I'll do it today" I said as I wrote out the check for the full amount. In the advice section I wrote "I love you. Forgive me. Rachel." Then I signed it and handed it to Tom. He folded it up without looking at it and put it in his shirt pocket. "I'll give it to him when I see him today."

"And that was the last I'd heard." "Rachel, what if Daryl can't get over those things you said and you never get another chance with him. Can you accept that?" "I may have to someday. But not yet. I love him and I'm not giving up on it just yet." "Fair enough. When and if the day comes where you get another chance to talk to Daryl, just how do you intend to approach the subject of his dressing up?"

I didn't like it that Lucille could make me think so easily. I'd come here for comfort and succor and instead was having to use my brain to think. "Well I hope to be able to tell him that I've researched the subject and understand it better." "Good. I will give you a list of books and websites to check out. What else?" "I don't know what else" I said after another moment of reflection. "I want you to consider something. There is a group of cross-dressers that meets here once a week. This group happens to be made up of men who either don't have a female significant other, or are in a relationship with a woman who doesn't accept their dressing up. They would love to have a woman help them to look better. If you were interested, I'm sure they might help you better understand their desires regarding wearing women's clothing. Want to come to one of their meetings?"

I didn't know what to expect. A 12 step group trying to lose their compulsion to wear pantyhose or a room full of sissified men in their girlfriend's undies. Lucille didn't normally attend their meetings, but she came to the start of this one, to make sure they wanted me there. I waited outside feeling like an actress waiting for an audition. Lucille came out to talk to me. "They would love to have you. Just go in and introduce yourself and then listen to what they have to say for awhile. They will eventually start asking you to help them."

I went into the meeting room and found five men dressed completely as women. They all looked at me and I felt embarrassed. An outsider. A member of a club that they all wanted to join, but never could. "Hi, I'm Rachel and Lucille told you why I'm here, at least I hope she did." "She did Rachel and you are welcome here. Sit down while we introduce ourselves. I'm Marcie. We go by our femme names during meetings and use female pronouns in our conversations and hope you'll do the same with us."

Marcie was clearly the leader of the group. "She" was also the least likely to ever pass for a woman. As she sat back down I observed that she had to be at least six foot five without the spike heel shoes she was wearing. She had broad shoulders and a thick neck and I wondered where in the world she'd found a dress to fit her proportions. It dawned on me that she might have been a football player once. "Rachel, I'm Alice. I'm so glad you're here, so much I'd love to ask you."

Alice was sitting next to Marcie. She looked to be about my height and scarier still, my weight. She needed a bit of work, but with it, she could probably pass for a woman. She was fashionably attired, a pleated skirt, soft sweater, dark tights, and a pair of Sam and Libby chunky heeled shoes with the laces tied in big bows. A pair of shoes just like one I had at home. "I love your shoes Alice, I have the same pair."

"Rachel, my name is Kristin." Kristin was short, and not fat, although there was the beginnings of a male pot-belly visible beneath her silk blouse. She could also have passed as a female, except for the incredible amount of hair on her body. I saw it beneath the silk blouse, both in front, and as she turned to adjust a cushion on the sofa before reseating herself, on her back. Still, with some depilatory, a maybe.

"They call me Daphne and I would appreciate it if you do the same" the blonde next to Kristin said. She was wearing a bouffant blonde wig and looked a little like Dolly Parton at first glance. Short, with big bosoms. But as I looked at her more closely, I realized that Daphne was much too squat to carry off the impersonation. I didn't know what she was trying to do, but she looked silly.

"My name is Diane" said the final member of the group. I had to do a double take when I looked over at her. That was because she looked like a real woman. She wore a cotton print skirt with a black blouse, black tights and a pair of chunk heeled loafers just like the pair I was wearing. As I looked her over, I was amazed at how feminine she looked. Tiny stud earrings in her ears, long hair with a clip pulling it back from her ears and a charm bracelet on one wrist.

"Thanks for making me feel so welcome. Lucille said you would go on with your meeting for awhile while I sat in and then you all might want to ask me some questions." "Yes, that's what we thought would be best. When you came in, Daphne was just talking about her experience in buying that wig she's wearing."

"I was so pissed at this woman. Making such a fuss about me buying the wig. I was paying good money, cash even. And this bitch started doing her best to embarrass me. I was so angry that if I hadn't really wanted this one, I'd have walked out of the store right then and there." "Why didn't you" Marcie asked. "Because I wanted the wig." "So you let her insult you and you still spend your money in her business. That's one of the things we need to work on. Our self-esteem and positive image. We do not need any of the things we want to wear badly enough to allow others to degrade us. There is nothing wrong with dressing and we shouldn't let anyone try to dictate to us that there is."

Powerful words I thought, sitting there, soaking it all up. Marcie was right. There wasn't really anything wrong with a man who wanted to dress up in women's clothes. That act, in and of itself, wouldn't harm a soul. I sat through the rest of the meeting silently, listening to how these men encouraged one another, helped each other deal with the problems they'd encountered and were willing to share. Towards the end, Marcie turned to me. "Rachel, what do you think? Can at least some of us pass out in the world?"

I paused for a moment. "I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings, so please forgive me. Some of you can, and some of you probably can't. I'd be more than willing to help all of you improve your feminine appearance, but I won't lie and say all of you could eventually "pass" as women.

The meeting ended with the appointment book in my purse heavy with the weight of six new meetings. Between now and the next meeting of the group I would spend an hour with each of the five "ladies" of the group and then I would return for the next session of the group.

I hadn't intended to meet with the "ladies" of the group in any particular order, but somehow we had ended up with it arranged that I would meet with them in the order in which I'd met them in the room. Coincidence or merely the fact that I'd started with Marcie and then gone around the room to find the times to tuck into my book. Marcie and I would meet the following evening, at my place. I'd told her to bring a few of her things and that we'd do the best we could.

"First thing I'm going to suggest is that you stop wearing big high heels, Marcie" I said as I invited her into the house. "But the heels make me feel feminine and that's an important part of the experience for me." "Lower heels would accomplish the same and appear more realistic. How tall are you Marcie?" "Six foot four." "Right. And a woman who was six foot four wouldn't want to exaggerate that fact by wearing four inch spikes. She'd feel conspicuous enough already about being taller than almost all other women and most men. She'd want to minimize the differences and wear lower heels." "I do have a nice pair of flats."

I ended up spending far more than the scheduled hour with Marcie. Part of the time was spent working on ideas and ways to draw attention away from his broad shoulders and thick neck. Either draw the attention away, or camouflage them. But most of the time was spent trying on different shades of makeup. It was like my first slumber party all over again, although it was with only one other girl. She loved playing with makeup. I did try once to start a conversation about Daryl and where his interests might lay and when I did, Marcie said a very insightful thing. "You have to ask him, Rachel. Just because we're both men who have worn panties doesn't mean I know anymore about what he likes and dislikes, or wants than you do."

Trying a different tact, I asked Marcie about her own motivations and just how far up the elevator in Lucille's building of the levels of gender-conflict would she ride. "Good question Rachel. Maybe the key question for any of us. The answer is that I love pretending to be a woman, but I'd never go through with the surgery. But I do fantasize about it, and it excites me. The dressing up works to a degree, but it's when I can close my eyes and in my head I see me as a real female that I get the best satisfaction." "So you masturbate to these fantasies?" "Yes. You seem shocked. Shocked that I'd admit it?" "Not at all. Shocked that it is such a turn-on." "Different things turn different people on, Rachel."

Alice invited me to come to her home. When I asked if it was alright, worried some of her family members might object to my presence, she assured me that no one would mind. I found that not only was Alice there, but so were her wife and daughter. "Rachel, I'm Sheila, Alice's wife and this is our daughter Monica." Monica was a teen and clearly in love with her family. "You're going to help my Dad dress as Alice?" "Yes Monica. Does that bother you?" "No. I think it's cool. My dad is so great, he helps with my homework and all that, but he listens. Not like my friend's dads do. I think his dressing up makes him easier to communicate with." "Wow" I thought. "Out of the mouths of babes."

I spent an hour with Alice in the spare bedroom of their comfortable home. Again, we did a lot with makeup. But a lot of what we were doing was sitting and walking, once we got Alice dressed. She went through several outfits before deciding on something. A long skirt, below the knee, in a print pattern, with a black blouse and black tights. She wore the same Sam and Libby shoes and I assumed they were her favorites. "Why those shoes" I asked innocently enough. She smiled disarmingly. "They are just like a pair my daughter owns. We bought them together."

When we emerged from the bedroom, Sheila and Monica applauded Alice. She looked radiant. She looked terrific. She also looked alarmingly female. I doubted anyone would be able to detect her impersonation without a close physical examination. "You look good, Alice, really good" her wife said. "Yeah Dad, and you're wearing our shoes. How cool!" "Rachel, would you like to stay for dinner?" "Actually, I am hungry, but it seems a shame to keep such beauty as Alice's locked up here at home."

Where had that come from? Now not only was I helping these men to dress up like women, I was going to take one out and show 'her' off in public? Where was my brain going with this? I didn't care. I saw the look of fear on Alice's face and moved to deal with it. I'd worry about what was motivating me to do what I was doing later on. "Don't fret, Alice. No one would ever suspect that you're not just another pretty girl in a dress. Tell her, Sheila." "Honey, Rachel is right. This is the best you've ever looked. Come on, let's go out to dinner."

The restaurant was a bit crowded but not too bad. We had to wait a few minutes for a table. I watched as Alice and Sheila sat together on the sofa in the foyer of the restaurant. There must have been a nervous moment, because I saw Sheila take Alice's hand in her own and squeeze it for a moment. Then Alice relaxed, crossed her legs at the knee, and seemed to almost fall deeper into femininity at that moment. It was like something within her had shifted ever so slightly on the gender scale and she'd moved closer to being a woman than before.

Dinner was a great success. Alice managed to disguise her voice enough to order her own meal and she delighted in that fact. But the highlight was when she and I went to the ladies room near the end of the meal. I was in the stall when I heard the restroom door open. I finished my business and as I exited the stall, I saw Alice standing at one mirror, repairing her lipstick, while some woman I didn't know stood at the other. The other woman turned to Alice and said "I love your dress. Where did you get it?" "You'll laugh, but my daughter gave it to me as a gift." "Well, she obviously has good taste, must have gotten it from her mother." The woman left just as I sidled up to Alice. "Did you really get that from Monica?" "Yes, it was a gift from my daughter. A Father's Day gift."

If Alice's family was the textbook example of a family accepting a man's desire to dress as a woman, Kristin's was the textbook example of failure to accept it gracefully. She called on the day of our scheduled meeting. Her wife's car had broken down and she wanted to know if I could either pick her up, or meet with her at her home. I asked her which she preferred and she said she would like it very much if I'd swing by and pick her up. Since she didn't live too far from my house I agreed.

"Oh, so you're the one encouraging my Steven to dress in drag?" "My name is Rachel. You are?" "I'm Toni, Steven's wife. I refuse to call him Kristin. He isn't a woman and he shouldn't pretend to be one." "If this bothers you so much, why do you stay with him?" "He and his faggy friends don't do anything but dress up, and I guess they aren't harming anyone except themselves and their stunted masculinity. But if I ever find out he's going any further with this than dressing up, I'll divorce him in a New York minute. And don't you dare shave off any of that hair on him, I love my man furry like a bear."

With that, Toni was off to work at her job as a nurse on the night shift. Kristin came downstairs in her male garb, carrying a suitcase of things. "We have a rule, no dressing in the house. It was one of the accommodations I made when she discovered my hobby. We had some major fights and then we went to see Lucille. Once Toni was convinced that I'm not a TS, she was willing to allow me to dress up, but not be involved with it, and not let it take place in our home. And she has other rules. No shaving, no ear piercing, and so on." "So what do you want to accomplish when we are dressing up at my place?" "Nothing really. I just wanted a chance to dress up with a real woman who accepts me as I am. I don't think I'll ever get Toni to, and I wanted to see if the idea of having a GG involved is as wonderful as I think it is."

We spent a very pleasant two hour interlude in my house, with Kristin trying on a number of outfits. We talked about matching skirts and tops, and how shoe selection was important, but Kristin didn't really care to improve her appearance. She just wanted someone female to accept her as she was and I didn't mind. I could also see how excited doing this was making her. "Kristin, I think you might want to visit the powder room upstairs and check your makeup or something." "What do you mean?" "Well, that bulge in your skirt is decidedly unladylike." She actually tittered before excusing herself and going upstairs.

I noticed something had changed when she came downstairs. She seemed downcast and it didn't take long before she wanted to climb back into her male garb and go home. I tried to draw her out to talk about it, but she wasn't having any of it. Rather, he wasn't having any of it. "Kristin, we can do this again if you'd like." "That would be nice, Rachel. I hope you work things out with your husband." "Oh we weren't married. But thanks."

I saw Lucille the next afternoon and described what had happened. "Well, Marcie said something strange to me. She said that she fantasizes about really being a woman and finds that to be erotic, but she also said she'd never consider changing sex." "That's Marcie alright. There's a relatively new concept among people in my field, and those who believe in it call it Autogynephilia." "What is that?" "Just a concept. Simply put, the original theory was that no one who was a true transsexual would be erotically aroused by the idea of becoming a woman. Now there are some who think that autogynephiles are transsexuals who also find sexual stimulation in the process. Marcie may or may not be a TS, but that's really something she'll have to decide for herself."

"What about Alice and Kristin?" "Ask them, Rachel. I can't go into the specifics of their cases. Marcie gave me a waiver to discuss her situation with you, because she really appreciated your help. I haven't asked the others to do that and I'm not going to. But you can tell me what you think. I may or may not be able to comment, depending on what you say. But use what you've learned and try to determine for yourself." "I'll try, Lucille."

I stopped for a moment, collecting my thoughts. "I think Kristin is a cross-dresser, who gets her rocks off on the dressing." "Why do you say that?" "After she was all dressed, she went into the bathroom and masturbated. At least I think she did. Then she wanted to put on her male clothes." "She was experiencing the post-masturbatory guilt that many cross-dressers experience when they've had their orgasm and they find they are still dressed." "So Daryl could have been going through the same thing when I found him that day?" "Quite possibly, although until we finally get to talk to Daryl about these issues, we won't know for certain. What about Alice?"

Alice wasn't clear to me. "I don't know. She seemed to enjoy the clothes, but she also enjoyed passing as a woman in public. She also loved the fact that her wife and daughter were involved in her dressing and supportive. But I'm not sure if she wants to go beyond just dressing up and I didn't ask her." "Good, Rachel. You're learning. A lot of what goes on with these men who have gender-conflict issues cannot be understood without examining their own feelings and motivations. Next time you're alone with Alice, ask her. Her answers might surprise you."

Cravings are a part of my life and when I got home that evening after my session with Lucille, I was struck with one. A craving for cashews. I'd hidden a can somewhere for this eventuality some time ago. Daryl had a bad habit of eating my craving foods and so I'd had to hide them. I searched and searched and found the cashews. They were behind the laptop case in the linen closet. "Wait a sec" I thought. My laptop and case were in my office. What was this? I opened it and discovered it was Daryl's spare computer.

I started to call Tom to come and pick it up and then decided to see if I could learn more about Daryl by searching the hard drive of this computer. Yes I was invading my former lover's privacy, but my motive was pure. I wanted to win him back. To find out what I had to do to make him happy and do it. So I booted up his laptop and began to explore.

The files I wanted were in a hidden directory and had themselves been hidden. I unhid them and sat down to read. Long past the hour when I would have eaten dinner, I was still reading the stories that my former lover Daryl had downloaded from the internet. Stories about men being forced against their will to dress as women. Stories about men being magically transformed into women. Stories that ran the gamut between the two. There were so many. But the one that finally gave me a couple of the insights into the man I loved was there. It was one he'd written. One that had a character that was obviously him. A story where I was also obviously the model for another character. If this was what he wanted, what he needed to make him happy, I would give it to him. Given another chance that is. I still had to figure a way to get that second chance.

I didn't tell Lucille about my discovery at our next session. Instead I related the story of my encounters with Daphne and Diane. In excruciating detail in one case and in amazement in the other.

"I went over to Daphne's house to meet with her. She was supposed to be alone, but her wife Michelle had decided to stay home. I wondered about this at first but the reason became obvious. She didn't want to take an active role to help Daphne, but to ridicule her efforts. But that wasn't the strangest part. It took me awhile to understand, but Daphne doesn't want to just dress up like a woman. She wants to dress up like specific women. Famous women." "Any in particular?" "Dolly Parton is one, Pamela Anderson is another." "What did her wife do while you were coming to this conclusion?" "Well, we were going through her wardrobe and I was trying to talk about toning it down and Michelle was just sniping at her the whole time. Disparaging remarks about her insistence on dressing as women she couldn't impersonate. The worst part was that I think if Daphne would accept just dressing up as an ordinary woman, Michelle might have been willing to participate. But Daphne won't let go of impersonating specific women."

The story of Diane was not complicated at all. She lived alone in a small two bedroom apartment. "In one bedroom was Diane. Her clothes, everything. It was furnished like a woman's bedroom. In the other bedroom was her male alter ego, Ralph. What was so weird was that she seemed so uncomfortable as Ralph and so comfortable as Diane. She was dressed as Ralph when I got there, but changed into Diane clothes right afterwards. She stayed that way the entire evening. We went out to dinner and a movie, and she functioned easily as Diane the whole time. There wasn't anything she needed me to teach her about being a woman."

"I'd guess what she wanted from you was acceptance. Being accepted as a woman by another woman means a lot to a gender-conflicted male. She was probably just happy that you accepted her as Diane." "I think that was it. But I also think she might be going to the top of the gender-conflict building to become a transsexual." "Perhaps, but what will have to happen first?" "She will have to decide that she's a TS and make the first move." "Excellent. You are really learning after all."

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