Posted by: Admin on Tuesday, July 30, 2002 - 01:05 AM 
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My wife's plan suited me but would her suits?
The Fortune Teller
By Lorna Samuels
with deepest gratitude and thanks to Sarabeth Sipple for her loving friendship, encouragement, and editorial contribution to this project.
This is an original work of 'adult' fiction, for the entertainment of persons of mature age (+18yrs). It contains scenes and descriptions of 'intimate' marital activities, feminization and transgenderism, not intended, which some may be objectionable to some. Any resemblence to persons living or deceased is purely coincidental. This work was originally published by Empathy Press (POBox 12466, Seattle, WA 98001) in their books "Guys in Gowns 72 & 73". All applicable copyrights are held by the author and publisher. Any reproduction is strictly forbidden except by express consent. The publisher makes provision that no pay-for-access website is allowed use of this material in any form. In all other cases, by consent and permission of the publisher, the author is sole controlling agent with full copyright authority regarding posting of this work on the World Wide Web (aka Internet).
When my beautiful wife told me what she had in mind, I nearly fainted with shock, fear, joy, and anticipation, all at once.
Out of nowhere, Angie handed my dearest desire to me on a silver platter, totally unaware that she was fulfilling my favorite fantasy. Nor did either of us ever dream how drastically both our lives would be altered by her desire to attend that party.
"We can pull it off too, Honey," she bubbled enthusiastically. (My frown of indignation was only maintained with superhuman effort.) "We're close enough to the same size that we could make it work. And that whopping five thousand dollar prize will do wonders toward financing that honeymoon we never had." She eyed me critically then continued when I said nothing. "But maybe your big fat macho ego is too delicate to risk on such a venture, eh?" she chided, raising an eyebrow in that coquettish way that drives me so crazy.
I bristled (but snickered instead) while externally maintaining the macho/chauvinist image I had so carefully cultivated for so long to cover my "hobby". I thought, 'Babe, if you only knew', recalling the silken texture of her nylon panties and sheer pantyhose on my skin as I attended the most recent meeting of the local TV/TS support group. X gasped at the possibilities my beautiful wife had just opened up for me, for us.
"Look," I countered, hoping my fluttering heart would slow down soon, "I'm not that hung up on this macho bit. You know that as well as anyone. Weren't you the one that took me to that aerobic dance class?" She nodded. "And didn't you insist that I learn how to use your sewing machine so I could mend my own shirts instead of bugging you to do it?"
Again a grinning nod. "Yes, yes, I know," she replied. "But that look on your face isn't exactly a positive expression either, now is it? I just asked you to consider my suggestion. Ok?"
My amateurish acting was apparently holding up by her desire to move up the ladder" at the studio? Not for more than an instant did I believe she was solely interested in using the prize money to help finance our aborted honeymoon plans.
Angie's voice pulled my meandering mind back to the present when she called from among the metallic clatter of dinner's progress. "Well, Jase?"
"I'm still considering," I dodged, joining her in the small kitchen to start the salad. "What's all these plans you've made with those friends of yours at work anyway?"
"I would think that was obvious. Their expertise is Makeup and Wardrobe within 'Special Projects'. That'll be the source of our costumes and disguises. I've put in my time in those departments too, you know."
I shrugged.
She repeated, "Well? Will you do it? Your ego isn't so rock-hard that it can't stand your wearing a dress and heels, is it?"
By now my effort at keeping up appearances was decidedly difficult, but I also had to say 'yes' eventually. I simply had to! "Suppose I was to agree to this bizarre request of yours? What then? What do you have planned?"
Her face brightened with hope as she sensed my impending consent. "Like I said, we'll go in reverse roles, you as a dance hall girl like Kitty on Gunsmoke, me as a cowboy, maybe a marshal like Matt Dillon. It'll all be terribly ordinary, really, like most of the other costumes I've managed to find out about, but with the essential difference that none of the men there will be wearing petticoats, and none of the women will be sporting a moustache and six- guns. (Heehee')"
I considered stringing my charade out for a while longer, then figured I'd waited long enough. I shrugged indifferently and, affecting as neutral a response as could muster, muttered, "Ok, I'll do it."
"Whoopeee!" she squealed, jumping into my arms, her full ripe body pressing against me, her moist red lips rushing to meet mine. She was wearing strawberry flavored lipstick. She tasted great "It'll be so much fun," she purred when we finally case up for air. Angie gazed thoughtfully into my eyes. "Remember the other night while we were making love? You said you wished we could trade places so we could understand each other better?"
"Uh, yea," I answered hesitantly past flushed cheeks.
"Oh, please darling, don't be embarrassed," she pleaded. "I've thought the same thing often enough. That's partly why I came up with this costume idea. Now we'll both get the chance to really see how the other half lives, even if it is just for a little while." Angela slowly untangled herself from my eager grasp and stood. "After dinner I'11 tell you what I've got arranged. We can even start working on some of it tonight." With that she strode off toward the dining room.
The subject of the Party was not discussed at all during dinner. Instead, Angie seemed eager to know what I had been doing that day. Being what I prefer to term a 'specialist', a movie lab technician, there weren't all that many places outside Los Angeles where I could find work and still stay in The States. So, when the studio was 'between projects" or the project I was on got held for some reason (weather, technical delays, script rewrites, location problems, or, more often than not, the tantrums of an egocentric star) I would end up watching soap operas at home for days on end, or tinkering with my car. That is where I was now, on "hiatus", waiting for something or someone to get the shooting going again so I would have "dailies" to run through the lab for some director.
For Angie's benefit and piece of mind, I described some fictitious problem I had had with the wiring in my '39 Chevy Coupe that day. I hated myself for lying to her since I cared for her so much, but I could hardly tell her the truth, that I'd lounged away most of the day in front of 'the tube' in her blue bikini briefs, pantyhose, a skirt and blouse. My desperate need to share my 'anomaly' with her was a continuous source of frustration and anxiety. The deeply ingrained terror of discovery which I had developed over many years, along with the rejection it might bring about kept me silent and secretive, regardless of my desire to share my feminine side, my transvestitism, with the one person I loved most.
Now, incredibly, Angie was openly offering me that opportunity herself! I was both frightened and exhilarated by the prospect of being completely and professionally dressed up and attending that party, going out in public that way, all with Angie's full and enthusiastic support and approval I was ecstatic!
When dinner and its leavings had been cleared away, we sat down together in the living room. I realized I was showing a bit of my inner excitement when Angie noticed the wry smile on my lips.
"Ah? A penny for your thoughts."
I reddened. "Well, ..uh.., I was just imagining what a ridiculous drag queen I'll make. Are you sure we can pull this off?"
Angie's laughter was followed by a fiendish sort of grin. "You bet, honey. And now's as good a time as any to get started." She jumped up, grabbed my arm and yanked me from the sofa.
"What's the rush? We've got three days," I balked. "What do I have to do for this whingding that'll take that long?"
Angie is only two inches shorter than me at 5'S", so her low heels allowed her to look cc straight in the eye. "You've gotta learn to act like a woman, that's what! And I'm gonna teach ya."
"W..What?"
She seemed slightly upset by my resistance. "Look! If we're going to win that Five Grand, we gotta fool everyone. That means we both have to be thoroughly convincing in our costumes. Ok?" she asked, hands on hips, glaring at me.
"Uh.., it sounds like you've been taking method acting lessons. Or are you bucking for a teaching job at some acting school?" I chided good-naturedly.
"No," she responded with a broad smile. "I just want us to win so we can have a proper Hawaiian honeymoon, is all. Isn't that a good enough reason?"
"Up," I agreed eagerly, not wanting to mention the other possible reasons that might be motivating her actions on this matter. "But I still want to know what's coming."
Exasperated, she sat us both backs down on the couch. "Ok. We both have to be as believable as possible. We have to be who we appear to be, right?" Nod. "To do this right we both have to learn our parts, just like actors would. Until we reveal our true identities at the proper time and in the proper place, you must BE a woman in a calico gown and I must BE a man in a cowboy outfit. See?"
"I'm 'between gigs' anyway so there's no problem with my having the time to devote to this little project. But, Angie, you're working. What are you gonna do?"
"I can get Friday off, but that's all. That means you'll have to practice on your own during the day, for tomorrow at least. But I think the one-day will be enough for me. It'll probably be tougher for you, anyway."
"How's that?" I countered.
"Well, we gals can wear mannish clothes so I won't have any trouble with my costume. You, however, will have to dress, act, and look completely against your nature. Gals can wear pants but guys don't wear dresses, at least normal guys don't." That comment stung, but I tried not to show it. She gave me a once over, then batted her big baby blues. "Honey, for the next three days I'm going to teach you how to be a woman. You're gonna learn to dress, act, walk, and talk so perfectly that you'll be totally believable."
"Oh boy!" I gasped, then added a theatrical gulp and a pause. "Well, I can handle most of that, I suppose. Except for one thing."
"What's that?"
"Well, the clothes are no big deal if you can get some that fit me. But how in the world will I ever look female. That would take some really painful major surgery on my body, and I'm not about to let it go anywhere near that far!"
"And neither will I, dear. That's why I've enlisted the aid of my friends at Special Project. They've got some stuff that can work wonders. In fact, I've got some of it here already, and we've also got a couple of appointments with them early Friday for our makeovers. But I want that part to be kind of a surprise so, well, you will just have to wait and see."
I watched Angie's expression very carefully for a moment, then reached and pulled her into a long lingering kiss. As we separated, I said, "Honey, I want that honeymoon money as much as you do. Maybe more." I figured that might be the easiest explanation for my quick approval. It certainly covered my real motivation nicely. Yawning and stretching suggestively, I added, "But it's kinda late, ya know. Whatcha say we hit the sack?"
Angie waved me to a halt. "Not so fast, my love." She wagged a menacing finger at me. "We've got to get you ready."
"Yea? Well, I was about to do that, wasn't I?"
She wagged her pretty head. "Not yet, my dear, this is special. The sooner we get you started the better since you've got a long way to go, ya know."
"How's that?"
"Come here and I'll show you," she instructed.
Had I known what the next few hours and days were going to do to me personally, physically, and psychologically, even being a die-hard TV might not have been enough to convince me that $3000 and steady work was worth the price I was about to pay for them! Having fantasies is one thing; living them in the real world is a whole different ball came. But ... well the events speak for themselves.
In the bedroom where Angie had led me, I followed her instructions and stripped while she went into the bathroom. When I arrived there she had started filling the tub and was liberally dumping the contents of two or three bottles into the steaming water.
Knowing the answer, I still pointed and asked, "You want me to get in that?"
Angie nodded, grinned. "Climb in. You've got to smell pretty to be pretty."
The aroma of lilac assailed my senses as a thick layer of blue-green foam formed in the tub. The water was almost tolerably scalding when I stepped in, and sitting down was not a pleasant experience at all. Still, I'd never taken a bubble bath, at least not in recent memory, and it turned out to be rather pleasant once my body acclimated to the temperature. While I soaked, relaxing in the aromatic suds, Angie fetched her own shampoo and conditioner and proceeded to wash my longish hair. Cleansed, conditioned, and combed out, the moist strands reached just below the level of my shoulders. It struck me as odd that she used water from the sink to rinse away the shampoo, and later did likewise with the conditioner, but I thought little of it, at the time. The soothing rhythmic motion of Angie combing out my wet hair had me dozing in no time so I hardly noticed her stop and leave for a moment. Next thing I knew there was something cold dripping down my neck below my right ear.
"I choked.
"Don't move!" Angie commanded, "and before you ask, I'm just doing what has to be done. Now hold still for a second." There was a very cold pressure at the base of my ear, then a quick sharp sensation. "Now turn your head this way." I did, seeing two ice cubes in her hand which she placed against my left ear. After a short wait, she removed the ice and dropped it into the tub, then picked up a large sewing needle with a heavy thread attached and I felt the same sharp pressure on that side.
I realized what she was doing, but my mouth just pulsed like a goldfish and Angie was done before I could get the words out. "Hey!" I finally barked, sloshing sudsy water over the lip of the tub. "Did you just do what I think you did?"
"Yup," she smiled smugly. "Every young lady in today's world has her ears pierced, and with this salve they'll be healed in no time too.' She rubbed a thick white paste on my newly punctured earlobes before putting some more on a pair of silver star-shaped studs. She removed the strings from the new holes in -each lobe, replaced them with the earrings, and set the clasps to hold them in place.
"There, that adds just the right extra touch, don't you think, darling?"
"Mmm...!" I grumbled glumly. This was already getting me far deeper than I had ever imagined.
When Ange pulled the drain plug I climbed out of the tub and got another of many shocks. I was naked! I mean totally denuded. All my body hair was floating in the tub, and I mean ALL of it! I glared at Angie wordlessly.
She simply shrugged. "Girls don't have all that hair, now do they?"
"They at least have crotch hair!" I seethed through clenched teeth, glaring and frowning as I dried off my satiny smooth skin. There had to have been some kind of bath oil in there too. My flesh felt exceptionally smooth and soft, not really feminine soft but the combination of depilatory, hot water, bath oil, suds, and who knew what else, had given my normally rough hairy hide a sleek soft pinkish texture that was far more feminine than not.
"Well?" I blurted in disgust, feeling extremely exposed and naked as I wrapped the sodden towel about my waist. "Now that you've made me feel totally ridiculous, what other little gems do you have hidden in that scheming little mind of yours?"
Angie pouted mockingly. "Ah! Don't be such a poor sport, Jase darling. Just remember you agreed to this. Now, as of this moment you are female." With a flourish she doused me with a floral scented powder.
I recognized the scent as her favorite, but my expression didn't change as I slunk another notch toward total humiliation. She wrapped my wet hair turban fashion in a second towel "The bath was only the first step. The work really starts now, so let's go." Grabbing my wrist firmly, she hustled me off into the bedroom.
Looking around, I decided I must have dozed longer than I had thought. There were now a variety of packages lying about on the bed and piled on the floor nearby.
Pointing toward the various parcels, I said, "By the looks of your preparations, you've been working on this Party idea for some time."
"Sure have.' She was opening one of the larger parcels. Approaching me with a strange looking flesh-colored object, she directed me to remove the towel from my waist and sit on the bed. "Some of this stuff is really hard to find," she remarked, indicating the various boxes and sacks. "The studio's resources sure can be handy." She noticed me quizzically eyeing the item she held. "This is just a padded girdle, Jase. But its color is designed to match your own skin tone. It'll fill out and add the needed girth to your hips and thighs." She guided my feet into it then began pulling the contraption up my legs. When it was up to my crotch she pointed out a tight little pouch built into the latex-like fabric into which I had to insert my 'equipment'. Through our combined efforts, the apparatus was finally pulled up and over hips.
Realizing that certain 'restrictions' were inherent in the device, I protested. "Hey, Ange, with this on it'll drastically deter any sort of fun and games later."
"That'll wait 'til after the Party, dear, 7" 1 was less than pleased with the prospect, to say the least.
She stood back. ".... There, that'll do it. What do you think, eh?"
The effect was incredible. The padding added several inches to the expanse of my hips and the half-length legs were padded too, giving additional width and fullness to my thighs while producing a smooth line from hip to knee. I was further shocked to find the crotch appropriately adorned with a small inverted triangle of curly pubic hair.
When I saw what Angie was pulling from the next box, I could only stare at her in mute wonder and obey as she asked me to lie down on the bed face up. She applied some strange smelling salve or ointment to my chest. Then very carefully, she placed an amazingly lifelike silicone-filled breast to each of my pectorals. They had flared edges, which turned very soft and pliant as the material reacted to the salve. With great care, Angie smoothed the edges out all around each globe until the goo had set. The edges blended so smoothly into my own skin that I couldn't tell where I ended and the breasts began. The two-inch disk shape of each light brown aureole and the half-inch nub of each nipple were perfectly simulated. It looked like I had suddenly sprouted two very natural looking breasts! She then spread some of the goo over and beneath the thin edges of the flesh-colored "girdle" at my waist and knees.
"My God, Angie!" I exclaimed as I sat up, the new weight pulling at my chest and shoulders. My arms brushed against their bulging sides as I rose. "They look so real!"
"Yea, aren't they fabulous. And look at this!" She quickly discarded her blouse, bra) shoes, skirt, and panties, then pulled me up so that we stood together side-by-side facing the mirror. "See!"
Lord, did I see! From the shoulders down we were identical twins! Our height matched closely enough that it didn't matter. Our hips now appeared almost exactly the same flaring width. Even the area between our legs matched, with my genitals pulled down and back beneath the 'girdle' so that, in combination with the small patch of curls centered over it, my crotch appeared fiat and smooth, but with a slight bulging that hinted at the presence of vaginal lips beneath. Yet, most amazing of all were the breasts! I had always loved Angie's full firm C-cup bosom, often staring at them in open admiration for long moments as she slept, even covered as they usually were by her standard sleepwear of a nylon baby-doll. Now, I had a set of knockers that matched hers exactly. Even the size, shape, and location of the nipples was identical! My waist was much fuller, but that didn't seem too important at the time. It was, though, as I soon learned.
"To get it just right, I modeled so they could match them exactly," Angela stated evenly to my unspoken question. "Aren't they just incredible?" She didn't wait for my answer. "You're gonna look so much like me no one will ever suspect you aren't Angela Taylor."
I reached up and gently hefted each of my new breasts. "They feel so real to the touch! You really went whole hog on this, didn't you?"
Angie grinned toothily. "You Bet, bucko. And like the man said, 'you ain't seen nuthin yet'", she quipped, pointing at the remaining boxes. "Shall we proceed, sweetums?"
"Awe, what the hell," I shrugged. Trying to suppress my growing excitement, I spread my arms and shimmied my shoulders. "Sock it to me, baby," I camped. The swaying and tugging of the masses now bulging from my chest sent subtle shock waves through my whole system.
I thought maybe I'd shown part of my inner soul too soon when Angie gave me quick arched-brow glance, but it disappeared instantly as she laughed at my antics. "That's it, honey, get into the spirit."
She reached for another box. "Ok, doll You asked for it," she slurred Bogart-style.
It was my turn to laugh, albeit with somewhat less enthusiasm.
The next half-hour was spent jetting my padded frame dressed. I stepped into a pair of powder blue nylon panties that clung tightly to my expanded derriere. Next, Angie produced a white satin waist cincher that she insisted would help give me a more womanly figure.
"You'll need to wear it constantly to train your middle," she announced as I felt her secure the reinforced band snugly about my waist, then proceeded to take at least six inches off my midsection. The pressure was like a giant hand wrapped about my stomach and squeezing as though my torso was a tube of toothpaste. Whew! It was uncomfortable, but bearable, just barely!
The next item she unpacked was a pale blue lace bra. Wordlessly I took it from her, trying to appear resigned and obedient while inwardly ecstatic at what she was doing to me. I made a big show of examining its workings, then stuck my arms through the straps and drew the cups up against my ersatz bosom. Straining to reach back between my shoulder blades, I purposely made a mess of fastening the hooks under Angie's watchful gaze. As I anticipated, she smiled indulgently, shaking her head in amusement as she realigned the hopelessly twisted straps and hooked it up evenly. The half-size cups barely covered the nipples, and pushed the orbs together to display a firm deep cleavage. I was still somewhat dumbfounded and truly amazed at the way the breasts blended so perfectly into my own flesh. Even up close, I could no longer distinguish where I ended and they started. They were a part of me, though lacking any sensation, except their hefty tugging against my chest.
Angela moved around in front and glanced over my transformed frame approvingly. "Good," she declared. "Now let's do something with your hair." She ushered me over to her vanity where I sat while she used a blow dryer and hot rollers on my longish locks.
She nodded approvingly as she checked over the results. "We'll take care of the color later. It'll b~ easy to change your light brown to match my auburn. But that's low on the priority list right now, ok'?'
"Yea, sure, I guess.' I swallowed hard while staring at the mirror's image of a man's face stuck atop a female body and framed 1y that new feminine hairdo. I now had a full head of thick curls that hung just past my ears, but still much shorter than Angie's gloriously long waves.
"A manicure seems in order," she murmured. Examining my stubby nails with mock disgust, she spent a few minutes cutting and filing, but after several fingers she stopped and shook her pretty head. "Tsk tsk, Jase, this will never do. Your nails have to be long and pretty, not stubby and ugly." She took a small box from one of the vanity drawers that I knew held an overwhelming variety of nail care materials, polish and the like. "That beautician's course I took after high school is finally gonna come in real handy, eh?" she asked as she began to meticulously match and glue then shape and file long artificial acrylic nails to my fingers. With interest, I noted her use of super glue instead of the little sticky tabs in the package, but held my tongue. Somehow it just didn't seem all that important, considering everything else that had been done to me so far. Soon I had very long shapely nails painted a flashy fire engine red. While waiting for the polish to dry she gave me a pedicure too, painting my toenails the sane brilliant crimson.
"Honey?" I asked after an extraordinarily long silence. "Couldn't we just do all this Saturday before the party? Why all this trouble tonight? After all, its only Wednesday."
Angie never stopped working on my toes. "Look silly, we've already been over that. You've gotta be totally completely absolutely believably female. That means you have to even think female, at least for a few hours. Your walk, talk, body, everything, must appear unmistakably feminine. So you've got to practice.
"But I can do that without us going to all this trouble so soon," I insisted.
"Maybe you could," she conceded, "but I'm not taking any chances. If your body looks female it will make you feel and therefore think more like you look, like a woman. That's why all the trouble now. With that dong of yours hidden away and all that padding, you can hardly think of yourself as male, now can you?" I shrugged my agreement. "No one who saw you, even now, would believe you're not female. With those breasts and all the other changes, you'll be able to really BE a woman, and that will help us win that fat cash prize." She blew on the last polished toe. "Ok, let's hit the sack. We've got a long day tomorrow and we'll have to start early."
"You want me to sleep like this?" I stammered.
"Of course, silly! You're a gal now, remember. Besides, I've only got enough solvent to remove those breasts and hip pads once, so you're stuck
"..heehee..."," she sputtered, "... with them until after the party. They'll help you learn your role, anyway."
"This is really crazy, Ange. If you're going to so much trouble to get me this way, why aren't you doing the same?"
"Oh, I will, I promise. For tonight though, you're wearing one of my nighties and I'm wearing your shorts and pj's."
"Oh, big deal," I scoffed. "With that bod of yours you can hardly be much of a guy."
"True, but that's the best I can manage at the moment. Now quit stalling and let's get ready for bed."
True to her word, we wore each other's nightclothes. I slithered into her favorite slinky, pink silk nightgown, the knee-length number with the low cut V-neck that reveals such a wide expanse of creamy soft bulging flesh. It slid over my hairless skin so sensuously I shivered.
I was greedily considering the interesting possibility of a night in bed with Angie in my present condition when I got my first really major disappointment of the evening.
Angie insisted on us sleeping apart! "You take the bed," she suggested. "I'll use the hide-a-bed in the living room."
I could guess her reasons but I asked anyway.
Because it's late and we both need to rest," she insisted. "We've gotta rise early since you'll need help getting ready, and you'll need a makeup lesson before I leave for work." My effort to mimic a hurt girlish pout must have been successful judging from Angie's reaction. "Ha ha, you look so adorable! Not after a bit of kinky sex, are you?" My startled expression and blush of anticipation were mistaken for embarrassment. "Well, dear," she chortled, "you'll just have to be disappointed tonight."
After a short trip to the bathroom, she handed me a large oval pill and a glass of water. Take this. It'll help you sleep."
I objected. "You know I hate pills, Ange. Besides, I won't have any trouble sleeping."
"Oh yes you will You're waist is going to ache something fierce, and your ears are probably hurting a bit by now anyway.
I'd entirely forgotten about my newly punctured lobes which, now that she mentioned it, were throbbing as dull pain surged through each ear with every heartbeat. And the pressure bearing in on my stomach and lower ribs was decidedly unpleasant. Chalk up another point for the powers of suggestion. By now I was really uncomfortable. I took the pill, pulled down the spread and crawled beneath the covers.
Meanwhile, Angie stripped bare and trotted into the bathroom. The shower ran for only a few moments before she was out, dried, and back in the bedroom rummaging through my dresser. She grabbed some white cotton briefs and pulled them up over her flared hips. They fit her a lot more snugly than they did me. Then she stepped into a pair of my pajama bottoms.
"My jammies never looked so good," I smirked groggily.
"I'm sure," she retorted as she crossed to her own bureau. "This will help our little illusion until I can get something better." She held up a black knit tube top which I had always disliked since it's tight cross-weave design flattened her gorgeous bust, turning her mounds into nondescript hillocks, barely more prominent than a well-muscled man's pectorals.
After a curt nod at her reflection, she crossed to the bed, pulled up the sheet and comforter and tucked them firmly about my shoulders, then leaned over and -- gave me what I had to call a motherly peck on the forehead.
"Pleasant dreams, sweetums," she cooed with a self-satisfied smile before turning out the light.
I mumbled an incoherent response.
Listening to the sounds of Angie setting up the sofa bed, I lay there in the dark, trying to come to terms with the evening's events. My earlobes throbbed intensely. My waist felt like that giant's hand was clenching even tighter. Yet, despite the various discomforts, I was still getting turned on! Erotic sensations resulted as I caressed my artificial breasts, or rubbed my hands over the expansive hips beneath the smooth nightgown. The silken material of the panties and gown against my sensitive flesh was also terribly exciting. I even got goosebumps just by staring at my flashy flame-colored over-long fingernails in the dim light.
My restrained manhood was trying valiantly to react from within its latex prison, but unsuccessfully. I reached down to liberate it from its cramped quarters, or at least make the attempt, but it was there to stay, at least for a few days. The sheath was built into the apparatus, and its tip aligned with a small hole that I assumed would be the means by which I could urinate. Even more interesting, however, was the presence of vertical 'tissue' folds flanking a really fantastic discovery. Probing carefully, I found that I had been given a simulated vagina that penetrated back into the latex between my legs. Experimenting, I found it to be pleasantly functional and promptly rubbed myself into a pseudo-climax, one hand between my legs, two fingers buried therein, the other set of fingers busy at my pseudo- breasts.
WHEW!!
Eventually, in spite of my discomforts, I slept soundly.
Angie's voice came to me from far away, along with the gentle prodding of her hand at my shoulder.
"What a weird dream," I groaned, then was brought fully awake with a start by a wave of physical sensations. I looked down at myself then felt the studs in my ears.
"Oh damn!" I gasped.
Angie was grinning broadly in the half-light of early dawn. "Let's get it going, beautiful ... gotta long day ahead."
"Okay, okay, ...ARGH.P" That last escaped my throat as I saw the clock. Five o'clock!" I collapsed back onto the pillows, my senses reeling at the sensations of swaying breasts, curly hair brushing my ears and neck, constricted waist issuing dull complaints.
'Come on, Jase, my pretty. Lots to do, ya know."
I was exquisitely aware of my 'additions' as I crawled from bed only to be greeted by the astounding reflection of my physical appearance in the large vanity mirror. I looked in every way like a young woman just rising, nightgown askew, hair tousled, puffy faced, but all very feminine.
My mouth gaped open. "(GULP!)..It weren't no dream, was it Ange?" I groaned sheepishly. Trying to wipe the sleep from my eyes I almost poked one out with a long sharply filed fingernail. Those nails were gonna take getting used to.
Angie's grin widened. "Quit ogling that great new hod of yours and come over here." She sat me down at the vanity where a thick paperbound volume was placed on my lap. "This is your project for today, Jase, dear. I'll do your face for you this morning, but I want you to read and study this thoroughly," Her slim digit tapped the book.
"Makeup, The Art of Feminine Beauty," I read.
"Now, Jason, I want you to use whatever of my cosmetics you require to practice. I'll show you the basics this first time, but you must learn to do it yourself. You're free to try my clothes too, if you wish."
I stared at the confusion of feminine 'necessities' spread out before me on the vanity. Granted, I had dabbled in this stuff a few times, but never to this extent by a long shot.
"Yea, I suppose."
"Good. First we'll do your eyebrows." Tweezers materialized in her hand.
"Hey! Isn't that just a bit too permanent? It'll take forever to grow them back." Then, before she could answer, I said it for her. "I know.., it'll make me more believable." I shook my curls in dejection. This was getting way over my head!
The pleased smile on Angie's lips showed approval as she plucked at my brows, the sharp little pains bringing tears to my eyes. It seemed that she would never stop either. When next I checked my face, the once thick bushy brows had been reduced to finely arched pencil-thin lines above each tear-blurred eye.
"When this is over," I mused, "I'll have to wear false eyebrows for at least a month."
"No big deal," my beautiful wife said as she ran her hand over my chin. "Oh dear, you better shave before we continue, and use this." A small bottle was placed in my hand. "It's a special shaving cream they gave me to help our efforts."
I didn't even ask why it was so 'special'. I just took the can and silently headed for the bathroom. With Angie's willing assistance, I discarded the tight cinch, bra, and panties then took a quick shower, exploring the luscious latex curves I'd been given. Afterward, when the need arose, I discovered the pee hole functioned exactly as I'd expected, but, of course, it required me to sit, or get it all over myself and the floor.
Standing before that mirror shaving with that well-shaped woman's body reflected back, I was a very strange sight indeed, long flashy-nailed fingers plying cream and razor. Weird! The cream had a strange astringent odor but it seemed to work quite effectively since I noticed that the blade slid along smoothly through my thin but tough stubble. When finished, I couldn't even feel the light abrasive texture that was always there even immediately after shaving. My face was baby smooth.
"Hey, what is this stuff?" I asked as I handed the can back to Angie.
"Mmmm, very nice, and quite smooth," she purred, slim fingers caressing my smooth chin. "A doctor that does consultant work at the studio recommended it. It's supposed to have a depilatory effect along with the normal shave cream function. He said lots of professional women use it, mostly models and actresses. Here, put these on while I get the cinch." She handed me a conservative pair of ladies' white cotton panties and a plain white bra. Retrieving the cinch from the bathroom while I worked on the bra, she soon had it firmly secured about my waist.
"Now let's do your face."
Obediently, I sat at the vanity once again while my lovely bride began the masterful but confusing process of turning my male face into a woman's.
Stretching a wide elastic bandeau over my head, she used it to pull back and hold my hair out of the way. "That book," she indicated the nearby volume, "will give you the details, Honey. For now though, I'll just show you the basics. And nothing goes on until your face is thoroughly clean."
"I thought it was, after that extra-close shave I just got."
Ignoring me, Angie sifted through the various jars, selected one. "We'll start with a moisturizing cleanser." The white cream was dabbed on chin, cheeks, forehead, and nose, spread evenly, rubbed in, and then wiped away with tissue. I was amazed at the amount of dirt that came off with the cleanser.
"See how much you missed?"
"Uh huh," was all I managed.
She selected another jar and handed it to me. "Put some of this on now, just like I did with the cleanser, only use more of it."
"I thought you were gonna do this for me?" I objected.
"Don't be silly. You're not helpless, are you?" She was rummaging through the feminine paraphernalia on the vanity, selecting items and pushing others aside. She pulled makeup from a couple of the smaller drawers as I hesitantly spread base coat on my face. But when I picked up the tissue box she stopped me.
"What are you doing?"
"You said 'do it just like the cleanser'," I retorted matter-of-factly.
"Silly! That's your base coat. It stays on. Just rub it in real good until it's even and fills in the rough spots. Besides smoothing out your complexion, it allows your makeup to go on better too."
"Oh," I grunted. Despite my dabbling in transvestism, my activity had never at any time delved into this phase of womanhood. I was in unexplored territory. Watching Angela do her face was one thing, having to do this to myself was a whole different matter. Even though I thought I'd done a fair job, Ange still went over it, pointing out places I'd missed like my neck, eyelids, and upper lip.
The lesson progressed, and it's a good thing Angie had gotten me up early. It seemed to take forever, and she had to be at the studio by 9:00 am.
My left cheek was reddened as Angie instructed.
"Use your finger tips to apply the rouge in a sweeping motion, like this.... Now you do the other." I did.
She opened a small box with a clear lid: false eyelashes! "You'll need these," she declared, showing me how to apply- the glue, then stretch the lid and work the lash up against the line of my real lashes from the inside corner outward. I did the second one, not badly either, I hoped.
Next, my eyelids acquired blue shadow. "This can be tricky, Honey. Don't use too much, and be careful to spread it evenly from lash to brow, and cover the whole lid.
I often wondered why women didn't poke their eyes with mascara brushes. They do! At least at first. I know! After the lash glue set, Angie layered a heavy coat of black mascara on one side, upper and lower, then handed - the minuscule wand. I slopped the stuff all over my lid when I poked myself and blinked at the resulting tearful sting, (tears don't help mascara ya know.) which didn't endear me to the stuff at all. But, with Angie's insistence and patient instruction, it got done. If the mascara brush was dangerous, that eyeliner was downright life threatening! Yet, when shown how to stretch my lid sideways to provide a straight line of application, it was easy. My efforts weren't quite up to Angie's, but not bad, the brow penciling was simple by comparison, needing only highlights to the thin high arch left after her recent tweezing. Next, the whole 'project' was 'fixed' with a puff of powder applied generously everywhere, the excess lightly brushed away.
Finally, Angela selected a dark red lipstick that matched my nail polish. "It's good that you're lips are so full," she complemented while coloring my mouth.
"They'll look much more natural." She had me press tissue between my lips, then added a second coat. Press. Gloss sealed the color.
During most of this process, I had been looking away from the mirror, using a magnifying hand mirror held by Angela to do my eyes, which allowed little opportunity for observation of her (our?) progress. A fleeting and very unsatisfactory glance was all I got as she turned my back to the vanity, pulled the bandeau off my head, and took a brush to my hair. As stiff bristles touched my ears and neck, I reached to feel the softness of loose curls, and was reminded of the studs in my lobes. Funny, I'd hardly even remembered them until that moment.
Finally, the brush stopped. "Okay, Honey, wanna look?"
I nodded sheepishly. Turning slowly, eyes downcast, I faced the vanity mirror, took a couple of long deep breaths that jiggled my heavy bosom and strained the waist cinch, before eventually building up the nerve to view the reflection.
She was really pretty! The thought brushed quickly by that if I'd known I could look that good, I would have tried this long ago! Granted, she wasn't gorgeous. My squarish maleness showed through too much. Oh, the wonders that could be accomplished with the judicious application of a few chemicals, paints, and curlers!
Ange was pleased, too. "You really are pretty," she gushed.
"Yea, I guess so," I croaked, trying my best to act embarrassed while being genuinely awestruck.
The image that stared back at me was barely discernible as my own. I examined every detail of curled hair, earrings, full crimson lips and smooth creamy complexion, arched brows and long thick lashes, and her high rosy cheekbones, realizing that I was using femme pronouns to describe myself.
Angela must have been on the same wavelength. We stared silently at my newly altered image for several dozen heartbeats before she broke the heavy silence. "This masquerade is going to be even easier than I'd hoped. Especially if what we're seeing now is any indication." She glanced at the clock nearby. "Oh, good grief! I've gotta get cracking! Jason, you'll have to help yourself to my clothes. I'll be late if I don't get ready now."
"Whatdaya mean, help myself? I thought you were gonna help me with that too? And what about this padding and waist thing? I had this stuff on all night, ya know, and it's really uncomfortable," I pleaded.
"I know it is, babe," she mused, shucking my pajama bottoms and the tight bandeau top she'd worn overnight as she headed for the bathroom. "Check that big green box on the chair while I shower. I'll only be a few minutes," she called before the door closed and I heard water running.
Deterred somewhat by the board-straight posture forced upon my spine by the cincher, I tore my gaze from the mirrored femme-male image. Crossing to the overstuffed chair near the bed where Angie often did her late-night reading, I found a large lime-green box tied with white satin ribbon and a huge green satin bow. A bit garish, I decided, while struggling to loosen the fancy ribbon, encumbered considerably by extra-long nails which hindered my dexterity to virtual helplessness. Finally, ignoring caution, I tore at the bow and wrapping. Just as the shower stopped, I lifted the lid and turned back the gossamer-like tissue protecting the contents. Beneath lay a dazzling profusion of satin and lace which, when removed, proved to be a heavily boned corset of pure white satin with a pronounced hourglass shape reminiscent of Victorian days.
Drying herself vigorously, Angie appeared. "Like it?" she asked with a hearty smile.
"Uh.., yea, I suppose," I faltered. "But what's... oooh, part of my costume for the Party, right?"
"Wrong," she insisted.
"B. .But I thought."
"Yes, I know what you thought," she interrupted. Discarding the soggy towel to reveal her beautiful charms in all their glory, she continued to talk while assembling her normal working apparel: cotton briefs, socks, canvas shoes, denims, bulky peasant blouse, and a "flattening" bra (all to "discourage unseemly male attention" she always explained whenever I asked). "While I was in Wardrobe selecting our costumes, I found a few items that'll help you acclimate to female ways, like what you've got there." She pointed at the heavy corset in my hands. "That's your trainer."
"My what?" I gaped.
"Your trainer, Dear. Wearing the cincher overnight was only the first step. Your body has to match mine as closely as we can manage. That means plumping out your hips and chest, which we've done admirably." She smiled widely and leered at the girth of my ersatz hips and chesty expanses. "Your waist is another matter since it must be gradually whittled down to the required twenty-four inches. Pulling you in seven or eight inches all at once could cause internal dosage, and we don't want that, now do we?" The grin brightened even more as she took the corset from my limp grasp and held it against my body. "We'll get you into this, then take it in a few inches at a time. By Saturday, you should be ready for the costume. Okay?"
I nodded numbly, recalling the masochistic corseting endured by women a few decades ago to achieve the idealized wasp-waist figure demanded by fashion of the times. Angie had that framework naturally. I didn't, of course! So how was I to achieve it, even artificially, despite either of our desires to do so? My concern (dread?) must have shown.
Angela's tone was sweetly conciliatory. "Look, honey, it won't be so bad, really. That cincher wasn't that uncomfortable, was it?"
"It hurt last night, but its not too bad now., tight and restrictive, but not unbearable."
"See?" she encouraged. "It probably pulled you in a few inches too." Angie gave the corset a close inspection, released hooks and loosened laces. "Get out of that cinch and we'll put you in this beautiful corset."
"Now? I thought the cinch would be enough for a while," I rebelled, eyeing the heavily boned satin monstrosity.
"Not hardly. Now unhook and let's get this on you," she ordered. "I'm late already."
When dew sweet Angela uses that particular tone, you don't argue. Unfortunately, my efforts at releasing the cinch were less than successful due to the ungainly presence of one-inch red spikes on my fingers. They were pretty, flashy and ultra-feminine, but not very functional, at least not at my current level of expertise.
With an exasperated "harumphf" and mild frown, Angie intervened by opening the hooks, despite her own long nails. I tried to figure out how she accomplished what I could not with similar appendages, but only got an impression of sideways pressure and a different approach to the leverage needed, that was going to take practice, for sure.
The corset's severely pinched waist was really narrow, being fully attested to by the fact that it could not be persuaded past either set of pads. Envision, if you will, trying to crawl through a pipe several inches smaller than your chest and you have a small but adequate notion of what I endured. Now picture yourself getting stuck! Followed by a fleeting hope that it won't fit, thereby saving further unpleasant physical distress. But don't forget Angie's determination either! Loosening the drawstrings to their utmost, she had me lean over again as she guided the fabric down my arms until the waist area caught on the silicone breasts dangling from my chest. Then, straightening me up, my arms were aimed at the ceiling (I was even on tiptoes for some reason), while she grasped the flared lower edges and yanked. I thought the sudden jerk would tear my 'breasts' loose and take some flesh with them, but the glossy smooth satin material saved my hide as the corset slid over the firm twin peaks, aided too by the jolt of inertia caused by my heels' jarring connection with the floor. (Witnessing this activity, one might be inclined to write a testimonial as to the effectiveness of the adhesive that kept my 'chest' in place.) Still, further work was required since a couple more inches of downward progress were needed to properly position the waistline and get breasts arranged in the general area of the half-cups provided. Besides, the lace encrusted upper edges were still slightly above armpit level, which held my arms aimed skyward and totally useless to the effort.
The strain was costing Angie. Panting prettily, she considered the problem for a moment. "Bet up on your toes again," she commanded, wiping perspiration from her upper lip. As I mutely followed instructions, trying to ignore the crushing squeeze of ribs by a slightly padded steel vise, she got a good grip and yanked again, HABD.
"Whoof!" I exploded. As one, arms freed, breasts popped into semi-adequate cups, and there was a noticeable release of pressure on my ribs that had temporarily suspended the life-sustaining act of ventilation.
However, subsequently, my valiant effort at sucking in all the air in three counties fared somewhat better than my bruised ribs which were still being compressed, albeit less painfully, necessitating short rasping breaths rather than deep thorough gasps of sweet oxygen. My stomach was ~o less pleased with the situation although somewhat more easily molded by the corset's engulfing pressure. The whole was almost bearable.
Then Angie began to tighten the laces! At least, that's what it felt like at first.
The male Homo Sapien has his own uniquely masculine method of respiration. He tends to take long deep pulls that fill lungs and stomach with air. Thus, we men tend to breathe as much with our gut as our chest.
The instant that corset located its 'natural' positioning just below my ribcage and above my navel, I suddenly lost the ability (but not the desire) to breathe as my nature dictated. Try changing a lifetime habit in a few seconds, especially one as instinctive as your mode of respiration! I did. I HAD TOO! Even with the laces 'loosened', my gut was so densely packed into such a narrow girth there barely seemed room enough for my spine, skin, and maybe a few vital organs. Now the laces were pulled and the corset gradually narrowed my girth even MORE. If my stomach was still there, it was most certainly a mere ghost of its former self with whatever was left being well displaced downwards into my already cramped arid aching abdomen and pelvic region. And that was only the slack! (according to Ange).
Of course, Angie noticed my blue face. "Breath with your chest, silly!" she chided.
"Yea, sure," I gasped, immediately regretting the loss of precious oxygen as I followed her suggestion. (Was there any choice short of suffocation?) The reward was almost instantaneous, while not totally satisfying. The blue tinge of my skin faded toward pale rose, which wasn't much Improvement in my mind's eye. Nor was the shocking case of "heaving bosomitis" my panting lungs produced.
Angie snickered, eyeing the piston action of my half-exposed mountains. "Cute," she smirked, her gaze finally inspecting the balance of my feminization.
My lackluster response amounted to a breathy groan and a sultry scowl.
"Well, Dearest, I really have to be going." She pulled something from the closet and tossed it on the bed. "You should fit into that now, ...and these.." Three-inch black leather pumps joined the blue-green stripe cotton housedress. "You can use a pair of my knee-highs too. We'll work on the rest later."
"I gotta wear high heels too?" I asked dejectedly.
"Yup, why not? I always dress 'to the nines', don't I?"
I only nodded, avoiding with great effort the prospect of the concurrent pains about to be so generously endowed upon my person by high heels AND that horrendous corset. I wondered if there was a full bottle of heavy-duty aspirin available, because I'd probably need all of it by the end of this day!
Angela gathered up her purse. "See you after work," she called over her shoulder, "and don't forget to practice your makeup." The Wicked Witch of the West would have cackled derisively in. her position. Sweet Angela just chuckled smugly, carefully closing and locking the door as she departed for the studio.
[You, dear reader, as an interested party (or you wouldn't have read this far in the first place), are almost certainly wondering at this point why I, as an acknowledged died-in-the-wool TV, was not orgasmically ecstatic. Well, my friend, the TV part of me probably was, but other factors held sway at the moment. Frankly, I was scared SHITLESS! And my ribs and gut hurt like hell beneath the awesome pressure they were enduring. At the risk of repeating myself, a TV's fantasies are one thing, their accomplishment in reality is a whole different matter! And I didn't have to pinch myself to believe this was reality. It already hurt!
The sudden and unavoidable prospect of exposing myself in my present condition to anyone but Angela was, at best, terrifying. Despite her comments to the contrary, I didn't think I looked that good. Certainly not good enough to pass for what, ultimately, I would try to be at the Party. And in my present state, even the most extravagant effort on my part to be either my old male self or to impersonate Angie was well beyond me. I could deal with phone calls, of course, but anyone at the door would have to be ignored out of pure necessity. And if the place caught fire? (God forbid!) Well, life IS generally worth living, if you can get over the embarrassment.
{continued}
Read Part 2 or Part 3 or Part 4
Note: TG body suits appliances attached stuck
Read Part 1 or Part 2 or Part 3 or Part 4 |
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