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Message-ID: <43813asstr$1060420204@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Me" <1234miss_gennie@myway.com>
NNTP-Posting-Date: Fri, 08 Aug 2003 22:53:14 CDT
Subject: {ASSM} RePost TG: ManMaid Parts 1 - 7
Date: Sat,  9 Aug 2003 05:10:04 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

If you would like to see this story continued please let me know @
miss_gennie@myway.com

The following story is meant for a mature audience. If you are under the
allowable age wherever you live then you are not allowed to read this. If
you are looking for a 'hot' story with lots of sex, don't bother to read any
further.  This story was designed to express a favorite fantasy of mine
about how a self centered man is taught to appreciate the softer side of his
personality.  Unwillingly forced into cross dressing by his wife he....

Man Maid
By gennie TV   miss_gennie@myway.com

Part 1 ---- July 1997


I woke up that morning after having another of those knock down drag out
fights with the wife. I was feeling a bit odd but, believing it was just a
hangover, I started to get out of bed and realized...

*******

The fight was really about nothing important. All I said was that since she
has nothing else to do during the day (a dangerous statement in itself) the
least she could do is wear a dress for me now and then. Maybe with that nice
lacy corset I bought her for Valentine's Day last year. She still hasn't
even tried it on, "too lacy" she said. I ask you how could anything so
feminine be "too lacy"? She claimed I should know by now that she doesn't
like the kinds of skirts and dresses I want her to wear. She wanted to know
why I couldn't wear a dress for her since they were so sexy and comfortable.
She argued that the summer would be a great time for me to show off my 'nice
ass' in a pretty skirt.

"Since you don't have anything else to do for the summer, no papers to
grade, no lessons to plan, you could get into a dress and panties until
school starts again. You can even sleep in that nice lacy corset you love so
much."  Don't you just hate it when they use your own words against you?

I laughed at her. "Me!? In a dress? Ha! Get real, I'm a man."

She just smiled (not a good sign) and purred: "But, DEAR, you are so-o-o-o
fond of tight skirts and dresses, high heels, and lacy corsets. You should
wear them now while you have the time. It's OK dear, you don't have to feel
inferior just because you're a man, and it's OK for men to look good too."

Of course I came back with the famous, but lame line: "I'm not a woman, and
men don't wear dresses. And besides, even if I wanted to we don't have any
dresses, corsets, or high heels in my size." she just grinned, as if she had
just won the lottery or something.

"OK, Mr. Macho, no problem. Here have another beer." Her final words before
going off to bed, alone.

I should have caught on that something was up, but I was so upset I gulped
down the beer and went to bed. Another chilly night, sleeping back to back,
I fell immediately into a deep, sound sleep, my lovely wife, apparently had
not.

*****

.... that there was something wrong with my chest. I was still groggy but, it
felt as if some heavy weight had been attached to it. I could have sworn
that my chest moved after I did, almost like slow motion. As my mind worked
through the fog I became aware of the fact that while I was asleep my wife
had somehow attached a pair of the biggest tits I had ever seen onto MY
chest. They looked real; they felt real, hell they even bounced when I
moved.  They were HUGE, and those nipples... (So, OK maybe they weren't THAT
big but, when they are suddenly attached to a normally flat male chest they
sure look big.)

She told me later they were only D she wanted larger but they were not in
stock, thank the Supreme Being for small (D small?) blessings. I looked
around for my wife but she was nowhere to be seen. I tugged on the
monstrosities on my chest, felt pain, decided to leave them alone, and
headed off to the bathroom to take care of business. When I pulled down my
silk boxers ... (What? Lots of men wear silk underwear) ...I got my next
shock. She had actually attached a chastity device to my cock and balls! It
looked to be made of heavy leather covered in pink satin, with straps
between my legs attached to a band around my waist; I could feel small
padlocks under the satin on the front panel. It was designed to allow me to
expel both solid and liquid wastes without removal, but would not allow an
erection, and I would have to sit to pee! How could I have slept so soundly
that she could have done this to me? Was I that drunk last night?

I did what was necessary, feeling very humiliated at having to sit, and
headed back into the bedroom. I went to my dresser to get some fresh boxers
and the drawer was empty! Empty except for a note from the wife that is in
it she explained that the chastity was locked on and the key was with her.
That the breasts would eventually fall off when the adhesive bond broke
down, shouldn't take more than a week or so but, if I cooperated she might
share the adhesive solvent sooner. Of course, I could try to pull them off
but would likely take some skin with them (I could imagine her giggling
knowing that I would have already tried that). Her note went on to say that
since I was now a woman, (dear you have tits and have to sit to pee) and
since, it is so easy to wear a corset, dress, stockings and heels (my words
coming back to haunt me again) I would now have a chance to see what it was
like first hand. She explained that all of my "male" clothes were in storage
at our u-store-it locker on the other side of town. I was instructed to
dress in the "uniform" I would find in the closet. And that when I finally
got myself dressed ... (finally? Yes dear, you will find getting dressed
today a bit more of a challenge than your normal jeans and T-shirt) ... I
should clean the house and do the laundry. Do as instructed and she might,
might, release the chastity later that nite.... maybe.

My mind was racing, I was feeling dizzy. Me in a dress, unthinkable!
Dresses are for women! How could she even consider doing such a thing to me?
Why should I suffer just because she doesn't "feel comfortable wearing a
dress"? She's a woman, and women should wear dresses to look good for their
men.

Her words from our argument began to echo in my mind. "Dear, as I've said
before. I don't wear 'your kind' of dresses or skirts because they are so
restrictive. While wearing one you have to be constantly aware of how you
bend and sit. Getting in and out of a car with any degree of modesty,
especially in those short tight skirts you want me to wear, is nearly
impossible. If I wear a longer skirt, you insist that it be 'nice and
tight', so that it shows off my 'nice ass'. Do you have any idea at all what
it's like to wear a long tight skirt? What it feels like to have people
staring at you as you attempt to walk but the best you can manage is kind of
a mincing two-step?  Of course you don't, if you did you would understand
and stop insisting."

"You have no concept of what it's like to even try to do simple things like;
get into a car; go up or down stairs; walk up or down a hill; why, even
using the toilet is an adventure in those tight skirts you are so fond of.
Simple everyday tasks become difficult, cumbersome chores, in a short tight
skirt and are nearly impossible in a long one. And then to top it off you
want me to wear high heels with those bondage skirts! Get real! Have you
ever tried to even stand in a pair of high heels? Even short ones? Oh no, of
course you haven't. High heels are for women, so that they can look good for
their men. Isn't that what you are so fond of saying? It's not the
inconvenience of the dresses once in a while that bothers me so much, it's
that damned attitude you have toward women."

I'm a man damn it! She can't do this to me. Its one thing for her to tease
me about my hair (it's only a few inches past my shoulders for goodness
sake) lots of men have long hair. And she even encouraged me to let it grow
out.  So what? And my pierced ears, that was just a college lark, my
girlfriend at the time dared me to be a little wild, teased me that I didn't
have guts enough to get my ears pierced. So what? Lots of men have pierced
ears. That's no reason to wear a dress. I'm a man! I'm all man! I'll simply
refuse, I'll show her!

Feeling better I thought I should at least read the rest of her note:
"Knowing you as I do, you have just gone through a tantrum and decided that
you will not dress as I have instructed, no matter what. You are feeling
very "manly" and full of yourself right now.

So answer me this: Since you have no "male" clothes, don't bother with the
hamper I got those too, beautiful tits, and what looks like satin panties
attached to your waist, how are you going to get out of the house? Call one
of your buddies to bring you clothes so that he can get close enough to see
the pictures I have posted outside on the garage door? They are really quite
lovely, you look so content with one hand full of your own breast and the
other on your crotch, no one would ever believe you were unaware of your
situation. (Better hope I get home soon and take them down hunh?) No, my
dear sissy husband, you will not risk allowing anyone to see you as you
currently are. Even if you should decide to try and wait until the adhesive
breaks down on your pretty new breasts, you'll never get that "panty" off
without the key, at least not without hurting your precious little jewels.
You are stuck love. Go to the closet now.  You will find further
instructions there."


I thought I would faint. I was trapped and I knew it. I knew that if I went
along with her plan that eventually she would relent and give me back my
clothes however, in the meantime I had little choice but to obey. So it was
with trembling hands and Jell-O-like knees I opened the closet door and
started my new life. True to her word all of my clothes were gone, the only
pants available were my wife's and they would never fit me. She had even
removed her sweats and T-shirts, my only other hope. Looking at my side of
the closet revealed a zippered garment bag that I had seen before. It had
appeared in the closet, on her side, about a week before school ended. When
I asked her about it she said that she needed something to keep her evening
gowns in. It didn't occur to me at the time that she had not worn an evening
gown in years. (I had just realized that she must have been planning my
transformation for some time, and that last night's argument was simply her
way of setting me up.) On the floor below the garment bag was a large box
with "start here" stenciled across the top. With trembling hands and
jiggling tits I took the box to the bed to examine its contents. What a
shock. I couldn't help being impressed with what she had chosen for me to
wear. It was beautiful, but as I was to learn beauty is only skin deep. That
beautiful lingerie would soon encase me like an unyielding prison.

Inside the box, lying on top and labeled number one was a panty-girdle-like
thingy that looked way too small for me and was very heavily padded on the
rump and hips. To give me a proper rump the note said. Next, labeled number
two, were some shimmery flesh colored pantyhose. These had a note that they
were designed to cover even the heaviest leg hair, and that by the end of
the day I would be begging her to help me shave my legs. (Ha, like I would
ever beg her to help me shave my legs.) Labeled number three was the most
beautiful corset. It was pastel lavender, made from silky satin, frothing
with lace, the bra cups were under-wired and huge, it had a zippered front,
six lacy garters, and what looked to be very stiff stays. Number four was a
pair of sheer white hose with lace tops, they were so fine and silky it was
almost as if I was holding air in my hands. Further down in the box I came
upon label five, a wonderfully silky, full slip, made of satin it flowed
though my hands like water when I picked it up. It matched the corset
exactly with wonderful little lace insets at the bodice, and a ring of lace
around the bottom. This was all so beautiful, so soft, so silky, why would
any woman want to refuse to wear such finery, I couldn't enjoy wearing any
of this of course because I was a man. At least that's what I kept telling
myself. The final item in the box almost floored me, a pair of panties, not
ordinary panties that would be too easy. These panties were of the same
color as the corset & slip, and were made of satin and lace, lots and lots
of lace, rows and rows of lace across the butt. The note said that they were
special sissy panties, for her special sissy.

With the box emptied and it contents laid out in front of me, I took a deep
breath and began. The fanny panty surprised me in that it was very stretchy
and I only had to wiggle a little to get it on. I don't know what the
padding was made of but must have been a gel of some kind because now my
butt jiggled almost as much as my tits, what an experience, instant T & A.
The pantyhose was another story, I eventually remembered that my wife had
always gathered the leg together in her hand and then put her foot in and
pulled them up from the toe to the hip. They felt very sensuous sliding up
my legs the room light reflecting off of them making them shimmer. I tried
to get hard but the chastity prevented that quite effectively. My legs felt
as though they were encased in silk stretch bandages, I could not move
without the hose moving with me.

What can I say about that corset? My corset, so soft & silky, it felt so
light, I would never have thought that anything so beautiful could be so
difficult.  After what seemed like hours, I was finally able to contort
myself enough to hold my breath, get the zipper together and pulled up, and
get its cups around my breasts and its straps over my shoulders, all at the
same time. When I finally finished with the zipper it was as though a great
weight had been lifted from my chest, finally those humongous orbs were
under control. My relief was short lived however, for as soon as I tried to
take a deep breath and relax my stomach and back I found that beauty could
indeed be crushing. I couldn't take a deep breath, I couldn't relax my
belly, and I could barely bend my back. Getting the stockings on was
definitely not easy, but not too bad they felt so wondrously sensuous going
on but, those back garter tabs were sheer hell. I was so worried that I
would rip the delicate fabric, and I had no desire to find out how my wife
would handle that. Overall the slip was definitely the easiest part. I found
that raising my hands over my head posed yet another challenge in that ever
restrictive corset and I again feared that I would rip my delicate lace
stockings the garters pulled so tight. The slip felt so slinky sliding down
across my nylon clad body, landing with its lace hem just above my knees. It
was as if I had put my finger into a light socket I had so many tingles of
electricity running through my body. Oh it was so wonderful. I knew deep in
my mind that I would want to wear these clothes again, but my manly self
could not yet face that reality. Looking in the mirror
I was female from the neck down of that there was no doubt. I slowly slid my
panties up my nylon clad legs, my hands shaking, my body quaking, I had
never felt such intense sensations from clothes before. The sight of me with
my massive chest jutting out, lifting my slip and pulling my panties into
place I almost fainted from overload. My wife was right wearing a corset was
uncomfortable, but the body shaping and satin caress could almost make
anyone forget the severe constriction, almost. And if nothing else it made a
great back brace. It took me some time to break the spell I had come under
and bring myself back to my contrite attitude. "I'm a man damn it! I DO NOT!
I WILL NOT! Enjoy wearing WOMEN'S' clothes! I'm only putting these things on
long enough to figure out how to get what I need from my wife."

Walking from the bed to the closet was almost more than I could handle. Of
course I blamed my dizziness on the corset and the fact that it would not
allow me to take a proper breath. I could not admit to myself that the
clothes I was wearing were bringing back long suppressed desires. Desires
that as a child I had been forced to repress.

****

I wanted to know what it would be like to dress in my sisters' silky nylon
under things. "Why should they be allowed to wear such pretty colors and
soft fabrics, when all I was allowed to wear were plain white BVD's and
pants? It's just not fair I want to be able to wear pretty things too!" I
had thought to myself all those years ago.

Had I simply thought, instead of acting on those thoughts, I would not have
been caught in my older sister's bra and garter panties with a pair of her
sheerest nylons, and my younger sister's dress. It was a sun dress made of
light cotton with a flaring skirt and fitted bodice it stopped about three
inches above my knees, and would bounce back against my thighs when ever I
moved. I must have spent hours just twirling around, watching the dress
spread out and then fall back against my young nyloned legs. The bra and top
of the dress holding tight against my young chest, a constant reminder of
the forbidden fabrics encasing my young body the panties rubbing against my
groin and butt I felt like someone had plugged me into a light socket and
turned on the power, I was too young to understand what that feeling meant,
but wearing those clothes felt, well, right somehow.

Then one fateful day I was so engrossed in those new and unique feelings
that I did not hear my sisters come home. They watched me for several
minutes before they could no longer contain themselves and broke into
hysterical laughter. I was so embarrassed. All I wanted was to find a hole
to crawl into and pull in behind me. They started making fun of their cute
little sissy brother. They said they thought I was cute and should stay
dressed as I was to show our parents, but my embarrassment was so great I
ran to my room and changed back into my BVD's and jeans, thankful that it
was only my sisters that had seen me.

That night at dinner my sisters would start to giggle every time they looked
in my direction, which of course started my dad wondering what was going on.
So they told him, since they saw nothing wrong with me wearing a dress, they
did not think that his reaction would be any different than theirs. I
thought my dad was going to have a stroke right there at the dinner table.
He made it very clear that men wore pants and that only women and perverts
wore dresses. He screamed at my mother for allowing such an awful thing to
happen in his house and set about training me to be a "man".  After that
incident he never missed an opportunity to explain to me how women were put
on Earth to please their men; to cook and clean and dress pretty so that
they could keep their men happy. I now know that out of fear of my father's
wrath and disapproval I suppressed that day and those heavenly feelings,
suppressed and not thought about, but not completely forgotten.

 *******

All I could do as I walked to the closet was wonder why I felt so good. I
could not understand why the sound of my nylons rubbing against each other
caused images of women with tight sweaters, short skirts, high heels and MY
face to form in my mind. Nor, why I would get a shiver up my spine each time
my nylon encased legs came in contact with my slip. I was still trying to
convince myself that I was a man, all man, and men do not wear dresses.  Men
do not enjoy the sensations caused by satin rubbing on satin while encasing
their bodies. I had to pause at the closet to catch my breath before I could
get to the garment bag and see what further humiliation my wife had planned
for me.

With trembling hands and closed eyes I pulled down the zipper on the garment
bag that held my uniform. I had no idea what to expect, but I felt that if I
could just keep my eyes closed long enough the bag would be empty.

I took as deep a breath as my satin prison would allow, and opened my eyes.
My "uniform" consisted of: A high neck, long sleeve, cream colored silk
blouse with lots of ruffles and very loose fitting sleeves with lace trimmed
cuffs; a knee length black satin pencil skirt; a barrette with a huge white
satin bow with ribbons for my hair, and pair of black patent leather pumps,
with 3" heels. I felt a sharp pain in my groin as my entrapped manhood once
again attempted to rise to the occasion. There were no instructions from
wife with my uniform, so I decided that it would be best to start with the
blouse and then move on to the skirt.

I removed the blouse from the hanger and realized that all those shiny
little pearl buttons ran up the back of the blouse. I was so absorbed with
the slippery feeling of the silk and the contortions needed to button my
blouse I barely noticed how it seemed to make my newfound breasts stand out
even further from my chest. After what seemed an eternity, with my shoulders
sore from being bent in such unnatural positions, I finally got the last
button buttoned. (Why did she have to choose a top that buttoned in back?
One with a zipper in the back at least would have been much easier to handle
than those itsy back buttons.) After all that exertion I felt I had earned
myself a break and decided to walk over and see what a real man looked like
in a blouse and slip. I gasped the blouse! It was not only driving me wild
rubbing against my slip and corset; it not only made me feel like I had a
'71 Cadillac attached to my chest; it was almost transparent! There was no
doubt what color my slip was underneath, the lovely lavender and all the
pretty lace showed through in all its glory. So I promptly did what any red
blooded American male would do under these circumstances. I fainted.

I don't know how long I was out, could have been minutes, and could have
been hours, time was totally out of sync for me at that point. Working my
way back onto my feet was an experience in itself. Between the corset not
allowing me to bend and my stockinged knees sliding against my slip I almost
wanted to just stay on my knees and crawl back to the bed to get my skirt. I
felt so weak and humiliated by this time. My wife had not only made me look
like a woman, now I even fainted like one. What next?

I was able to get the skirt on without further incident even though the
button and zipper were also in the back. Doesn't anything besides that damn
corset fasten in front?  Wow, was that skirt tight. With my padded ass and
nyloned legs though, I thought I looked great in that skirt. I didn't yet
realize how hard my beautiful new outfit would be to move in because with
what little thought I had left I had positioned the shoes so that I was able
to step right into them. (Why did I do that? That's not like me. Was I
thinking like a woman now?) The restriction of the skirt actually kept me
from falling over when I first stood in those shoes. A few practice steps
informed me that, restrictive as the corset and skirt were, walking in heels
had its own restrictions. After a few minutes of practice however, I learned
to take steps even shorter than what the skirt would allow, that way each
step would place one foot directly in front of the other, thereby allowing
me to have my toes land before my heels. I found that in this way I seemed
to have the best balance and most graceful stride. (If I was going to wear
these clothes I wanted to look good in them.) I was very self conscious
however, of the fact that walking in such a way also made my ass and hips
sway in a very feminine way. But I could find no alternative. I think an ape
dressed in that outfit, with those shoes, would have had to have had a sexy
sway to his walk. I couldn't help it. Honest. At least I would be able to
mince around the house without breaking an ankle. I hoped. My next lesson
came when I attempted to sit at my wife's vanity table. Being the "man" that
I was I was accustomed to a rather ungracious plopping down motion when
getting into a chair, spreading my legs for balance and comfort.
This time however, not only did I not plop, I didn't even sit! I found that
in order to sit in a tight skirt required a grace and balance unknown in the
normal male world. Keeping my back straight (what choice did I have?) and my
knees and ankles together (yeah, like I had any choice again) I folded at
the hip and carefully lowered myself onto the chair where, just like a
proper lady I sat with my back straight and knees together. When I looked
into the mirror I was appalled at the image that greeted me. From the neck
down was a beautifully shaped, well endowed, heavenly dressed woman. From
the image presented to my eyes there was no doubt that the body I was
admiring, (who wouldn't, it reminded me of Mae West) was 100% pure human
female.  From the neck up however was the exact opposite. Perched upon that
heavenly shaped (even if man maid) body, was a face that could stop a train.
Scruffy beard, untrimmed mustache, bushy eyebrows, and soft blue eyes (so I
have nice eyes, what can I say?) formed into an expression of complete
horror. I had never thought of myself as ugly before, and I really am not,
but to have that furry face attached to that body was just too much. I had
to do something with that face! Of course I rationalized my decision as a
need to do things properly, I could hear my father's words ring in my mind:
"Son, if you are going to do something, then do it right or don't do it at
all."  Well my wife said she had always wondered what I looked like without
a mustache, I guess this would be her chance to find out. So with my mind
made up, I planted my feet and ever so graciously (well it felt like I had
some grace) keeping my knees together arose from the chair and minced into
the bathroom. A trip that for my normal stride would have been maybe seven
or eight steps now seemed to take hundreds.

The sight of my furry face in the medicine cabinet mirror only strengthened
my resolve. As I watched my hand reaching up to open the cabinet I thought
how much better, more feminine, it would look with a proper manicure. I
heard myself saying out loud, "What a strange thought, men shouldn't have
such thoughts. Stop it now!" I sounded weak and unsure even to myself. I
continued pulling the door open, I started to reach for my shaving gear, but
it wasn't there! In its place was a bright pink, make-up bag with an
envelope dressed to "gennie" attached to it. I almost fainted again. Time
came to a halt, long suppressed memories returned in a rush. Feelings so
long repressed, so long denied, engulfed me in a tsunami of released
emotion.  How could she know? Was that why she was doing this to me? To help
my sisters get even with me for the way I treated them after that awful day?
It wasn't my fault, my fear of and respect for my father made me assume that
macho persona. He made me believe that my sisters should be treated as less
than equals because they were just weak females. I loved my sisters, I would
never have done anything to hurt either of them had I known.

With my heart pounding in my ears, and my mind numbed, I reached out with
trembling hands and carefully removed the letter from the make-up bag.
"gennie" was the name my sisters had used to help humiliate me all those
years before. It was a derivation of my middle name of Gene, they thought
that Jean was too strong a name for such a sissy boy, and Gene was a man's
name, so they agreed on gennie. They made sure I understood that the first
letter was lower case to reflect my status as less than a real woman. I just
stood there for what seemed an eternity, holding that letter, thoughts of an
ended marriage running through my head. I was convincing myself that Debbie
(my wife) was doing this to me to teach the pervert (that's me, hey I was
not rational at the time, I was still stuck in my father's imposed mind-set)
one last lesson before divorcing him. What other reaction could she possibly
have had? I finally fumbled the envelope open, convinced by now that I knew
what it would say, and withdrew my wife's note to "gennie".

My eyes were tearing and my hands were shaking so much I had to sit down and
brace my arms on the bathroom vanity before I could even attempt to see what
she had written. What a sight I must have been, a flowingly curvaceous
female form, awkwardly attempting to fold herself into a sitting position,
with masculine hands clutching a piece of paper as if it were gold, topped
off by a scruffy male face. It took some time but I was finally able to
focus enough to read Debbie's letter to gennie:

"Dear gennie,

You are undoubtedly wondering why I would do what I have to you. By this
time you have convinced yourself that I am out for revenge; that this is my
way of getting even with you; that I'm trying to humiliate you before I
throw you out on your ear; that I am working with your sisters so that they
can also get their revenge on you. Well dear in some ways you are absolutely
correct. You have been, on frequent occasions, a... ahhh.... oh what can I
say; An inconsiderate ass:  A chauvinistic pig: Or perhaps a petulant
little, over pampered, princess? Yes, that's it you've acted like a spoiled
little princess.  Always whining and complaining until you get your way.
Just like a 3 year old, a three year old little girl. Well now my spoiled
little sissy princess of a husband gets to not only act, but dress the part
s/he fits so well.  Yes, I have talked with your sisters; they told me all
about how much you loved dressing in their clothes. How they named you
gennie, and how sweet you were to them during the time you were dressing in
their clothes. Yes, dear they knew of your experimentation with their
clothes long before they confronted you. They disliked you borrowing their
clothes but they liked how gracious, and humble you would become after each
session. That's why they always left certain clothes out where you could
find them easily. They also told me that your personality changed
permanently for the worse, and your dressing adventures stopped after your
father humiliated and belittled you for your harmless little adventures.
Well dear as I told you last night, I am fed up with your attitude toward
women, as are your sisters. We know why you act the way you do and feel that
that is no excuse. We have put up with it long enough. It is time to put an
end to it once and for all. We want the real you to emerge not the silly,
nasty, arrogant, "manchild" that you
have been acting like for far too long. We all believe the old adage about
walking a mile in another's shoes before you can judge them. That is why my
dear gennie, (better get used to that name, it's the only one you have until
school starts, perhaps longer) you look as you do now, so that you can walk
a mile, or two, or three in proper high heeled shoes. Having fun in your new
clothes yet? Any trouble walking? Think you can do that mile yet? Aren't
your new tities just to die for? Having trouble seeing your pretty new shoes
when you look down? Don't you just love the way your chest gets there before
you do? Be careful going through doors dear, you don't want to hurt your new
self. Oh gennie, you'll be so happy to know that your sister Susan helped me
get your new breasts and the surgical adhesive just for you. She was so
excited to be able to be of help. Don't forget to thank her when you see her
next.  Anyway, by now you should have experienced several episodes of sexual
arousal because of your pretty new clothes. Sorry about the chastity but it
was necessary. Susan helped get that also. She says it's custom made and
based on the Tolly Boy design, with a steel band between layers of rubber
and leather around your waist, and a metal plate over your precious jewels.
The padlocks are special tempered steel, attached so that the shank is
covered by a metal button. It would take a surgical team with a cutting
torch to get it off without the key, and I don't think you would want that
would you? Yes dear before you ask it was very expensive, and took us almost
a year to receive after ordering. But the result was well worth the wait and
expense.  Don't you think so gennie? We decided that the chastity was
necessary for your own peace of mind. With it you will not have to worry so
much about forgetting to sit when you pee, standing would be so un-gennie
like. You don't have to worry about that unsightly bulge under your pretty
skirts or dresses (pants are forbidden of course). And best of all it will
help keep your panties from getting soiled from that all that nasty cum that
would ooze out of your cute little clittie without it. Doesn't Susan come up
with some of the sweetest ideas ever?  Why I'll bet that by the end of the
summer you will shudder at even just the thought of men's trousers, shirt &
tie, adorning your body. You may not realize it yet gennie but you are a
transvestite: A man who loves enmeshing himself in his feminine side;
relishes the silky feel of satin and lace caressing her ah his body. No
dear, being a transvestite has nothing to do with being gay, nor being as
your father so hatefully put it, a pervert. It has to do with a desire, a
need actually, to express a part of yourself that our society deems
feminine, and not appropriate for men to feel or express. Donning the attire
of the opposite sex is not necessarily an expression of sexual identity, but
much rather an expression of your complete identity. By becoming gennie, you
are able to express your self as a whole. Not "man" or "woman" but human. A
combination of the traits that make all of us what we are and so few of us
are willing to express or accept. Now you have an opportunity to experience
that fulfillment.  You will not have to feel guilty for wearing a dress, or
painting your nails, ever again. You will not have to worry about what your
family or wife thinks of you in a cute little mini-skirt. You will be
allowed to express your feminine self and wallow in the depth of the release
of emotions that gennie will allow you, all because you have no choice in
the matter. No guilt, no regrets, no choice. What more could you ask? You
gotta love it!  After years of trying to get you to loosen up some on your
"I wear the pants in this family" attitude I realized that you would never
let yourself go enough to accept the "gennie" in you until you either
exploded from repressed emotions, or were forced to face gennie and learn
who you really are.  Unbeknownst to you my dear little sissy husband, I've
known your sister Karin, since High School. It was with her help that I
snagged you. It was Karin that told me about gennie, and how your father
treated you. She told me long before we were even married. I told her about
my brother, (yes dear, Sharon was/is my brother not my sister) and how much
better s/he has felt since s/he has been able to appear on the outside
how s/he felt on the inside. Sharon is different than you though my love.
Sharon was born with the mind and feelings of a female in the body of a
male; she is a trans-sexual dear, something few people actually know about
her. She was lucky, our parents understood, and accepted that their son was
actually their daughter. They allowed him to start hormone therapy and live
as Sharon starting on his 16th birthday, and he underwent SRS on his/her
19th birthday. That's why I know so much about the difference between a
Transvestite (you) and a Trans-sexual (Sharon), I have had personal reasons
to research the subject for years.  It was Karin's idea to pretend that we
barely knew each other. That way she reasoned, we could talk about you and
you would never suspect. She really loves you and wants you to be happy as
much as I do. That's why when all else failed we resorted to our current
methods. I have watched stress added to stress without release build up in
you, and it gets worse every day. gennie will help you to release that
stress, allow you to become whole once again as you were all those years ago
in your sisters' bedroom.  So "gennie" inside the attached make-up bag you
will find a pretty pink razor; feminine shave cream; a pair of tweezers
taped to a pair of plastic templates to help you get just the right shape to
your eyebrows; a pretty pink lipstick and matching nail polish; and of
course a pair of nice dangly earrings for you to complete your look. Shave
your face twice dear, we will take care of your arm pits and legs later.
Karin will do your hair, make-up, and nails properly tomorrow. Get to work
girl! I'll be home by 2:00.  I Love you my little gennie, grant me my wish
and be ready before I get home.

Kisses & Hugs,
Debbie

Hair, make-up, and nails tomorrow! That would mean that she expects me to go
to Karin's salon! That can't be! No Debbie would never carry this little
game of hers that far. She must mean that Karin will come here to the house
tomorrow. Of course, that's what she means, Karin will come here tomorrow.
Just as well it will give me chance to tell her what I think of a sister
that shares such intrigues with a MAN's wife. And Susan too! How could they?
Yep, all three of them are going to get a major piece of my mind!  If I have
any mind left by the time I see them that is.

Using the shave cream my wife had so thoughtfully supplied, I set about the
task of removing the excess fur from my face. I was surprised that the shave
cream felt so good, it didn't sting at all like the menthol stuff I was used
to, a real man's shave cream, a little sting on your face in the morning
helps to wake you up. This stuff smelled like the perfume counter at the
local department store, but since it was all I had...

Tweezing my eyebrows hurt even more than I had expected. Using the
self-adhesive templates my wife had so generously supplied, I pulled out
each uncovered hair one at a time. I didn't realize how little would be left
by the time I was done. My efforts left me with thin arched brows that any
man ahh, I mean, woman would be proud of. My brows felt like someone had
used hot little pokers all around my eyes. "How does Debbie put up with this
ritual every week? It HURTS. Why if God had intended us to tweeze our eye
brows s/he would have had us born with tweezers in our hands. But I'm a man.
I can take it." Yeah right, my eyes would tear more with each plucked hair.

My first attempt at applying lipstick made me look more like Bozo than a
human female. I learned quickly to be conservative, and apply in layers,
removing the extra with a tissue. Licking my lips for the first time with
lipstick on was a memorable experience. I could feel my lips but at the same
time I couldn't, it was really strange. I found that in spite of myself I
enjoyed the slight adhesion caused by the lipstick when I pressed my lips
together and that sweet smell right under my nose that wouldn't go away. It
amazed me how something as simple as some colored goo on my lips could be
such a major reminder of my current situation. Were my sisters and wife
correct?  Could I possibly be a transvestite? I had to admit that the
clothes and lipstick felt good, even if I wanted so badly for them not to.

My efforts at applying nail polish were only slightly less successful than
my first attempts at applying lipstick. I learned quickly that if I wanted
to wipe away excess polish I had to be quick. That stuff gets sticky real
quick but takes forever to dry. I found that I could do a reasonable job of
covering my mistakes with a tissue by using enough coats of polish to
plaster the stuck on tissue piece to my nail under the polish. If only
Debbie had left me with some nail polish remover, I would have done much
better. "Just because a man does not usually polish his nails doesn't mean
he can't, anything that a weak little woman can do a man should certainly be
able to do even better. (Except of course having babies, but that doesn't
count.)" I was still determined that I would not admit I had a feminine
side.

I used the time it took my nails to dry to try and reflect on the events of
my morning. My head was spinning so fast. So much had happened to me
already, so much to adjust to, so much to digest, and it was barely 10am,
more than 2 hours to get dressed and I still wasn't done. My skirt would not
allow my knees to separate the way they wanted to. The corset kept me from
any kind of slouch I had to stretch my neck to its limit in order to see my
hands around my massive faux mammaries. I couldn't even slide down in the
chair to give my butt some relief. I could sit with my back straight and
knees together, or I could stand. I tried that too, found out that if I
stood too long my ankles would start to wobble and my feet would hurt. The
slippery, sliding feeling I kept getting from the lack of friction between
my satin panties, slip and skirt, kept giving me the impression that I would
slide right off of my chair. My encased manhood continued to cry for
attention. Several times I reached for my crotch to offer myself some relief
only to hit a wall of reality reminding me of my new station in life.

Was I going crazy? I was taught that men do not enjoy soft feminine
clothing; that men are not to be caught dead wearing satin and/or lace. The
idea of a man in a skirt should have been repulsive to me, only Women and
perverts wear skirts, my father had pounded that message into me over and
over, frequently physically with a switch from the tree in the back yard.
Yet here I was, in a form fitting skirt, with tits that would make Loni
Anderson jealous, sitting at my wife's vanity table waiting for my nails to
dry. I had to sit to pee, my eyebrows were narrow and arched, I was wearing
lipstick and I wasn't screaming my lungs out. What was happening to me? How
could I be so calm, my wife couldn't be right, I'm not a transvestite, am I?
At this point I had two choices. Stay where I was and dwell on what was
happening, what my wife and sisters had said about me, and go crazy (ier).
Or I could get up and do as instructed, clean the house and do the laundry,
show them that I, a man, could function just fine no matter how I was
dressed. In essence keep busy enough that I would not have time to
consciously think about all that was happening to me.

Part 2 --- July 1997

Changes were happening so fast. Just short hours ago had anyone asked me I
could have told them that I was a man, all man, and nothing but a man. But
now...

At last I was ready to get started on my day, my new life. So it was with my
emotions in an uproar, my body tightly encased in its satin & lace cocoon,
and my mind on hold that I minced my way out of the bedroom to the top of
the stairs. The short trip to the stairs helped to reinforce my earlier
perceptions on the difficulty of navigating in heels and a tight skirt, but
then I was a man and not accustomed to wearing skirts, women were
biologically formed to wear skirts, so it is easier on them. (Be careful
'gennie' thoughts like that are a big part of why you are dressed as you
are.) But I was, in my own small way, beginning to appreciate what Debbie
had said about the restrictions of wearing a skirt. For no matter how
wonderfully sensuous the caress of that skirt was around my nylon clad legs
and thighs, its ability to restrict even the most basic of movements, was a
constant reminder of my limited freedom. In spite of the constant reminders
however, the restricted breathing, the short mincing steps, and the constant
arousal of my confined manhood my automatic actions were still intact.

When I finally reached the stairs my feet and body started out in exactly
the same way that they had been trained to do by years of descending stairs
on two feet. My right foot went out and down, my body leaned forward, and my
left foot started to lift and move forward. At least that's what my mind
thought they were doing. Had it not been for the rail I would have gone down
the stairs head over high heels. The simple act of walking down stairs is a
very much more complex action than we generally give it credit for being.
(Like tying your shoes right? Try writing instructions for tying shoes and
see if it is not a very complex task. Almost as bad as trying to buckle thin
little ankle straps with inch long finger nails while in a corset, but more
on that later.) I was brought to the sudden realization that I count on
being able to see my feet and move my legs freely as I walk down stairs.
With my newly enhanced chest, I could not see my feet, and my beautiful
shiny skirt would not allow me to open my legs. I would never have guessed
how much of an adjustment that would be. To add insult to injury the design
of my new shoes with the high open instep and tiny little heel did not offer
the same platform for my foot to land on as I was used to. When coming down
stairs in high heels it is possible to have your heel land on the stair and
the rest of your foot land in mid air, very conducive to broken, ankles,
legs, arms or even a neck.  Not at all like flying down the stairs in
jogging shorts and running shoes.

Through careful experimentation I learned that if I turned my body somewhat
to the side and slowly lowered my foot to the next step down, I could have
my toes land first for stability and not feel like I would fall. The only
problem was that because of my restricted stride my other foot had to be
right on the edge of the step above, putting most of my weight on that tiny
little heel. I even tried pulling the hem of the skirt up so that I would
have more freedom  of motion, but it was designed in such a way that it fit
my proportions exactly and would not move up even on my slippery legs. (It
did not occur to me to take the skirt off to get down the stairs, thank the
Supreme Being once again.)  I was however, beginning to suspect that the fit
of the skirt and blouse like the fit of the chastity was no accident, that
my 'uniform' as my wife had called it was also custom made (so I'm a bit
slow on the uptake sometimes).  After what seemed like an hour but was
actually only minutes I reached the bottom of the stairs and almost fell
again. It did not dawn on me that thick pile, heavily padded carpet, would
take a whole different set of balance and ankle muscles in order to be
walked upon in high heels. What an experience, I felt as unsure of myself as
a baby just learning to walk, not a comfortable feeling for a virile, self
sufficient, self centered, MAN. Fortunately (surprisingly, actually) after a
few seconds I learned my new balance center and hobbled my way into the
kitchen.

Ahhhhh wood what a relief to have a solid floor beneath my feet. I found
that my beautiful wife had set up the coffee pot, which I promptly turned
on, and left me another note, on the kitchen table. After all that I had
been through I should have been suspicious of her generosity but I needed my
coffee and she had been nice and set it up for me. (How was I to guess that
she had put a diuretic into the coffee grounds? I knew she wanted me to
learn first hand what it was like to wear a skirt and corset before I would
be allowed to 'ask' her to wear one, but to make me need to pee every ten
minutes just to enhance the lesson was going a bit far I thought.) I picked
up her note and was surprised to discover that my hands were no longer
shaking and my knees didn't rattle so I began to believe that I might
possibly survive the entire day.  I was beginning to adjust to my new role
and requirements and I didn't even realize it.

"Dear gennie,

So nice of you to finally make it downstairs, have any trouble coming down
the stairs? Oh no of course you didn't you're one of those tough I can do
anything (wo) men, aren't you lover? You have undoubtedly already started
the coffee I made it special just for you, so feel free to drink the whole
pot if you are so inclined. It's a new blend let me know what you think of
it. Susan recommended it; she said she was certain you would love it.  Oh by
the way, while I'm thinking about it. Just in case you decided to cheat and
come down to breakfast less than fully dressed... you remember how you
insisted that we have that fancy security system installed. Do you remember
how excited you got when the salesman suggested that we could put a camera
inside the house in case someone got in while we were out, it would increase
our chances of identifying a burglar?  It was you who suggested that we
could mount one just above the front door behind the track lighting and
another just above the kitchen door behind the plants. They would have a
good view of most of the downstairs and being hidden we could just forget
about them when we were home. You do remember doing that don't you dear? We
of course would only need to activate them when we were out of the house.
Well dear I'm out of the house and guess what? Yep!  You guessed it! Smile!
You're on gennie camera. I feel obligated to inform you that I will review
the tape this evening and if I see you under-dressed or there is evidence
that the tape has been tampered with, I may just forget where I hid the keys
for your pretty new under-panty. Maybe I should invite Karin over to review
it with us we can make a party out of it. Have some popcorn, a few beers,
and lots of laughs.  By now it is no doubt late morning, perhaps even close
to noon, and I am certain you want to get some food and coffee into your
slightly compressed stomach. I have left you a grapefruit in the
refrigerator and two slices of bread for toast, dry no butter. For your sake
I would suggest that you eat only half of the grapefruit, and one slice of
toast and that you go light on the coffee, but of course the choice is
totally up to you. However, before you begin to consume your health
conscious breakfast, go to the laundry room and start a load of wash. That
way it will be washing while you are eating. I have already separated the
loads for you. You will find that the clothes that need to be washed today
are yours. We have done some shopping for you at the Goodwill store and feel
you should wash the clothes before you wear them. Read the labels carefully
dear before you try to dry anything, you don't want your new sweaters
shrinking any do you?  Some of them may be a little tight on your beautiful
bust already without shrinking. Enjoy your breakfast dear. When you have
finished breakfast you will find the vacuum in the hall closet and the
bathroom cleaner
is the under the sink in each of the bathrooms, be sure to remove all soap
scum from the shower doors, and scrub the toilet, sink and tub. I thought
about having you hang the wet clothes outside to dry but Karin suggested
that that might be too much for you on your first day of womanhood, and
convinced me that you should be allowed to use the dryer for today. Now
remember dear, safety first. Always lift objects from the floor with your
knees not your back. Bend your knees keeping your back straight and lift
with your knees. Oh that's right! You can't bend and lift any other way can
you? Oh silly, silly, me! Well be sure you don't run up or down the stairs
with your laundry, we don't want you to trip. Oh, hash, that's right, I
forgot you're in a skirt. Makes running kinda hard doesn't it? Or does it?
After all you're the one that thinks tight skirts and high heels are so
wonderful that they should be worn all the time. Oh don't look so unhappy
dear, after all this was all your idea. Sorta. Why thanks to your sisters
and I you now have a chance to enjoy wearing the clothes you love so much.
See you latter my little gennie,
loves & hugs
Debbie

PS: Be careful you don't wait too long when you feel the urge to pee.
Remember you will have to be able to sit. No more of that nasty
gag-me-with-a-spoon action of whip it out, let it leak, shake it off, and
shove it back for you, no ma'am. Be sure to wipe carefully when you are done
too. Enjoy your coffee.
D.

What does she think I am a little girl? I mean boy. She did say earlier that
I was acting like a spoiled little girl, but what does that have to do with
instructions on how to use the toilet? And what was that bit about what I
should have for breakfast? I am a grown man (looking down though I did have
some doubts) and I will have what I want for breakfast. Grapefruit,
umph I don't even like grapefruit. I felt though that I should follow her
advice on getting the laundry started, I didn't want to give her any excuses
to increase her revenge on me. I had no idea what she would do if I was not
done when she got home and I had no desire to find out. I was almost afraid
to look in the laundry room. With what I had been through so far I was not
sure I could stand anymore. But she did say that she had bought me some
clothes at Goodwill. The thought occurred to me that maybe, just maybe there
were some pants or maybe some shorts, in those piles. Yes! I'll bet she
bought me at least one pair of pants even if they are women's it would be
better than this skirt. (Yes, the skirt was beautiful, it felt wonderful,
and I loved it's caress, but I couldn't walk, I couldn't sit, and if I stood
very long my ankles would wobble.) That's it! I rationalized this is her way
of letting me off the hook at least a little. She must have bought me at
least one pair of pants.

Now excited I minced as quickly (which was actually quite slowly) as I could
out to the laundry room, my ass swaying like a palm tree in a hurricane, my
tits bouncing like Michael's basketballs, I didn't care. I again thanked the
Supreme Being for having the laundry room on the same level as the house,
even though it was in the garage. As I walked past my car I instinctively
tried to put my hand into my pocket to be sure I had my keys. All my hand
found of course was a smooth tight satin plane that even if it had had a
pocket, it would have been incapable of holding keys let alone my hand in
its limited confines. That's when the realization that I had not seen my
keys hit me like a wall. I had not to that point thought about my keys or my
wallet with all of my identification. They are the kind of thing a person
takes for granted, s/he assumes that certain items, like keys, wallets,
toothbrushes, (at least my toothbrush was where I had left it) will be where
s/he left them when they went to bed. In my case that was in my jeans which
were no where to be found (I know I looked). A wave of complete helplessness
suddenly engulfed me. I felt so small and vulnerable, just like the little
girl my wife said I had been acting like. I realized that while I hadn't
brought it to the surface I was confident that in case of emergency, I
could, if I absolutely had too, get into my car and drive away. I now knew
that even if I could get into my car, and somehow get it started, I had no
money, no credit cards, no identification of any kind. If I went somewhere
and was stopped I had no way to prove who I was and no reasonable
explanation of why I was dressed as I was. I had this awful vision of me
standing before the judge in all my confined and translucent glory saying
"yes your honor I am your 14 year old daughter's teacher". (No matter what,
the risk was just too great!)

Then suddenly, without warning the flood gates opened, the emotions that I
had been fighting so hard to maintain control of for so long released
themselves in an explosion that would have rivaled that of Mt. St. Helen's.
Years of repressed emotion, fear, desires, cravings, started pouring forth
into my consciousness, and once begun I was helpless to stop or even slow
them.  With my carefully crafted safety net removed I found myself starting
to cry. I tried to stop (men don't cry), but the harder I tried the harder I
cried. My body tried to take in deep breaths to aid my crying, but the most
my corset would allow my diaphragm to pull into my lungs were short sobbing
type breaths, my enhanced chest heaving, threatening to break through the
thin silk covering of my blouse. Vivid images of my father's chastisements
and humiliations filled my mind. Visions of my childhood, memories of how I
had felt while dressed in Susan's and Karin's clothes, how right it had felt
to wear a dress, came flashing through. My attitudes towards my sisters,
mother, and wife, and how I must have hurt them all came rushing at me, I
tried to hide, but with my wall of safety gone there was nowhere for me. I
was again without choice, I faced those emotions and I cried. I could not
remember ever having had such a tremendous release of so many emotions at
one time. I couldn't move, I just stood there next to my car and cried for
what must have been close to an hour.

When I was finally able to catch my breath and compose myself somewhat, I
realized that my feet, ankles, and calves were very sore. I no longer cared
whether Debbie had left me any pants in the laundry room or not, I needed to
get my weight off of those shoes, fast. My only focus was to get the clothes
into the washer, and get back to the kitchen so that I could have my coffee
and attempt to settle my thoughts. Avoiding another look at my car I made my
way into the cramped confines of the laundry room. On the floor alongside
the washer were three piles of clothes: One consisted of what looked like
lingerie by the pound; another that looked like a cross between an aerobic
teacher and ballerina's wardrobe; and the third consisted of blouses,
sweaters, skirts and dresses. The piles were marked with a 1, 2, & 3 in
addition to what wash cycle and temperature setting each should be washed
in. "I can handle this, no problem." I started to bend over to retrieve the
clothes from the floor and was quickly returned to reality. Bending at the
waist was just not to be allowed. I instead followed my wife's instructions
and bent my knees and kept my back straight and found that I could not pick
up the clothes that way (from straight on) either. Between my tits getting
in the way and a tendency to feel as if I would fall on my face, I just
could not proceed in that manner. So gathering my tattered pride, I stood,
made a quarter turn and squatted again. This time I was able to retrieve
clothes from the floor with my right hand and hang them over my left arm for
placement into the washer. I actually felt a surge of pride at my
accomplishment when I started the washer. Isn't it amazing how the mind
adapts? Just a few short hours ago I was a strong willed, self absorbed male
that would have cringed at the thought washing clothes, now feeling a sense
of pride because I was able to get some clothes into a washing machine and
get it running. By this time however my body was screaming COFFEE! I WANT
COFFEE!! I WANT COFFEE NOW!!! I NEED COFFEE NOW!!!!

I somehow made my way back into the kitchen, the smell of the coffee drawing
me closer...closer until I was finally at the pot, mug in hand pouring that
life sustaining nectar into it, raising it slowly, savoring that wondrous
perfume, taking that first invigorating sip, my body shudders its thanks for
at least that small sip of normalcy. Pulling the mug down from my frosted
lips I note the fine detail of the imprint my lipstick has left on the edge
of the mug. I look down at my hand and note how much nicer fingers look when
properly polished. I look down to see if my toes look as good and meet with
a  lavender vision of satin and lace, barely covered by the sheerest of
silk, my feet forgotten in the dream of my obscured vision being a reality.
I could almost feel the ache in my nipples as they increased in size and
hardness, in lust for the vision my eyes now beheld. I sigh, and think;
"Poor old Dad would turn over in his grave if he even suspected the thoughts
I was just having." But there must be something wrong with me to feel this
way. I am fantasizing about what it would be like to have real tits, I want
my hands properly manicured, I feel right, if even a bit trapped in a skirt
and heels. I must be crazy or gay. Oh Debbie... Karin... Susan... what have
you done to me? Too much to process, no matter how hard I try to imagine it
sex with a man does not interest me, my vision of sex is still with me in
the male role with Debbie, but I'm the one in the frilly nightgown. During
these ruminations, without even realizing I had done it, I have poured
myself another cup of coffee and sat down at the table to drink it. How did
I do that?  I sat down without thinking! Without realizing that I had done
it! Was I becoming that accustomed to sitting in satin already? I sipped my
coffee in silence looking for answers. Answers that I feared would cause
even more questions.


Part 3 ---- August 1997

I finished my second mug of coffee thankful for the time to simply be lost
in space for a short while. The familiarity of the action of sitting down to
a morning cup of coffee, cherishing the sweet aroma, was enough to help me
regain some control of my frazzled nerves. Never have I experienced so much
in a single morning. Had someone suggested to me that my wife would
femininize me while I slept, tell me she did it for my own good and then
demand that I clean the house for her I would have called them at best,
crazy.  I would never have believed she had it in her, and then to have my
sisters help her...

"Well 'gennie' my dear, time to get up off your pretty little (little?)
ruffled and padded ass and get to work before your wife comes home and
really gets upset with you." (I tend to talk to myself sometimes, especially
when stressed) I filled my coffee mug one last time and decided to forgo
breakfast.  "Maybe I should wear a corset more often if I could always fill
up on two cups of coffee I'd really lose some weight." I minced and swayed
my way out to the living room to start my first day as a man maid satin clad
doll.


I was so amazed at the constant sensations caused by even the minutest
movement of my body. Earlier, as I was getting dressed and learning to
navigate in skirt and heels my mind was in a fog, focusing on the fine art
of survival, but after my mini-breakdown my focus shifted to the sexual
frustration of my entrapped manhood. With every push of the vacuum the silk
of my blouse would slide against my arm, the straps of my corset and slip
would tighten against my shoulder causing the corset to pull up on it's
garter straps producing a gentle tug of nylon against my legs, enhanced by
the lace hem of my slip rubbing against those nylons, so that my trapped
member would scream for a release that I was, for the first time in my life,
unable to give it. Pulling the machine back would reverse the process, and I
would shudder again. But that was only a part of my troubles, vacuuming
carpets in high heels is not a recommend method. In spite of the near
constant stimulation caused by my satin prison, I found that if I allowed
myself to focus on them, I could not maintain my focus on my feet and keep
my ankles straight on the plush carpet. I did discover that if I could keep
my weight on the balls of my feet my ankles would wobble less but my calves
would hurt more. Then on top of all of that, it seemed that every move I
made with my arms my "lovely" new tits would be there to greet them, no
matter how I  moved my arms there they were. I couldn't win for losing. But
I couldn't give up either.

How I was able to vacuum the carpet, wash and dry the laundry (I did not
iron, fold, nor put away any of it) and almost finish the bathrooms before
Debbie got home is beyond me, especially since I must have had to pee at
least ten times during that whole ordeal. The first time the urge hit was as
I was getting the vacuum from the closet, fighting with the tangled cord (I
couldn't say much it was tangled in my golf clubs I had thrown in the closet
a few days before instead of putting them back in their bag after a trip to
the driving range, a man's right, I was late for the basketball game on the
tube.) I almost fell getting it out and felt no need to rush. I was a man
and men are quick in the bathroom, if you don't believe me just check which
rest room lines are the longest at any public event, sports, plays, opera
.... so I finished my endeavor before heading off to the bathroom, where my
automatic male reflexes once again took over.

Stepping up to the toilet I lifted the lid and pulled down my zipper, ahhh
in my mind that is, years of training do not die in a single day. My mind
simply did not immediately accept my unique circumstances. I almost peed in
my skirt. Coming to my senses I realized that even if I was in a position to
pull down my zipper I still had to sit. So in order to pee I would have to
pull up my skirt and slip, and pull down my panties, pantyhose, and girdle.
No problem, until I tried. The skirt was too tight to pull up, so I had to
reach behind me and undo the button and zipper, and pull the skirt down,
hard enough without those huge melons getting in the way. I then had no
problem getting the panties down, but then came the realization that I was
wearing  stockings attached to garters hanging from a very restrictive
corset, OVER the  pantyhose and girdle I needed to pull down before I could
sit and pee. There was no way I could get the pantyhose down without taking
off either the corset or the stockings. In order to remove the corset I
would have to remove my BUTTON up the back blouse, my slip, and then unzip
that godawful corset zipper that I almost didn't get zipped in the first
place. I went with the stockings removal. I could see the whole process in
the bathroom mirror and would have laughed at my contortions trying to undo
those hellacious back garters, had not the need to pee increased
dramatically by that time. Once I got the garter tabs undone I had to get my
fingers up under the corset to catch the waist band of the pantyhose and
girdle, with some twisting and turning I finally got them down, and landed
with a plop on the toilet, just in time.  Whew! What a relief. It was so
wonderful being able to spread my legs again, even if only for a short time.

Getting re-dressed was as much of an adventure as getting it all off was. I
wanted to wear the girdle and pantyhose over the corset but then the garters
would've been inside and I would not have been able to wear the stockings at
all, and I didn't dare risk leaving out any part of what Debbie had left for
me to wear. So I learned to tuck the pantyhose and girdle back up under the
corset and finished getting re-dressed. I found that I did not get any
better with practice each time I needed to pee I had to go through my
awkward contortions in the limited space of the downstairs bathroom watching
myself  the whole time in the wall mirror. Lusting over my new form I found
my self wondering how I would look with proper make-up, a nice hair style
and a proper manicure, I would turn sideways and admire my ample rear and
bust, or pucker my lips to see how they looked in kissing mode with lipstick
applied. However, at the same time that part of me was fantasizing about
what kind of woman I would make a little voice inside my head kept reminding
me how wrong it was for a man want to look like a woman. I tried to convince
myself that my wife was wrong. She had to be wrong. I couldn't be a
transvestite. My father and mother, even my priest told me that men should
only dress and act like men, to do or feel other wise was wrong, perhaps
even sinful. Even if Debbie was right how could I ever overcome a lifetime
of conditioning against anything trans-gendered? How much better I would
have felt had I been able to jerk off while I was there. Why did she have to
find such an efficient chastity for goodness sake? Long before she got home
I had convinced myself that I would do whatever she wanted so that I could
get some relief. After I gave her a good piece of my mind that is, I was a
man and had to stand up for my rights. (yeah right, you bet buddy, your
rights as a man, look at your sissy self)

I was just finishing cleaning the sink in the downstairs bathroom when I
heard a key rattle in the front door lock. I lost my breath, my heart jumped
up into my throat and started to tango with my tonsils, and my knees rattled
in time to my heart. I couldn't move. I couldn't speak. I knew it had to be
Debbie, but what if it wasn't? What if someone got her keys somehow, maybe
stole her purse and was now going to burgle my house, what could I  do? I
was helpless. I remember wondering to myself if this is how a woman feels
walking out to her car alone, late at night, and sees a man twice her size
walking towards her? I just stood there and waited, my massive breasts
heaving with each restricted breath I waited. Within seconds that felt like
years, I heard a familiar voice sing "Hi honey I'm home." If I had been able
to expel enough air from my lungs I would have sighed and relaxed my body,
but of course the most I was allowed was a short uggghh and the inability to
relax my body because of the corset. My prepared scream for my beautiful
wife came out as a pathetic little whimper that a puppy would have been
ashamed of. It was however, apparently enough to be heard, for when I
stepped out of the bathroom there she was, my beautiful wife Debbie grinning
from ear to ear, and standing right next to her was my traitorous sister
Karin. I must have turned seventeen shades of red in the few seconds I stood
there before them, my humiliation greater than I could ever have imagined. I
wanted to speak but my mouth would not cooperate, I just stood there opening
and closing my mouth like the idiot I felt, with nothing coming out.

My wife and sister were, by no means, at such a loss. Karin was jumping up &
down clapping her hands squealing with delight. My wife stood there with her
hands clasped in front of her mouth, her eyes wide, and giggled like a
little girl. I was so humiliated that I thought I would pee in my
pants...ahhh I mean skirt. Between giggles and squeals they communicated
that they wanted me to turn and give them a fashion show "Show off that nice
little ass in that sexy skirt there baby. Yeah, mama! Look at the caboose on
that sweet thing." they chorused in unison.

"Uggggh."

I of course did my best, but my best just wasn't good enough... My heel
caught in the carpet tilting me off balance and sending me straight to the
floor. But true to form for the day I couldn't just fall, oh no, not me. On
my way to the floor I had to reach out and try to stop my fall and in the
process caught the corner of the table cloth, which in turn upset the vase
in the center of the table spilling water over the edge, so that it could
run off and land square in the center of my face. Between belly wrenching
peals of laughter the love of my life did manage to ask if I was OK; if I
hurt anything more than my tattered pride. My sister had to sit down she was
laughing so hard.

What a scene that must have been. A grown man (wo-man) dressed in silk and
satin, big white bow in her, I mean his hair, sprawled out on the floor at
least as sprawled as my (my?) skirt would allow, water dripping off the edge
of the table into his/her face, wanting nothing more in the world than to
find a hole to crawl into, being fussed over by two women that could barely
breathe because they were laughing so hard at their pseudo-male's
predicament. When they had finally settled down enough to breathe normally
they did at least offer to help me up off the floor. What a fool I felt.
There I was, me, an adult male, dressed in the loveliest prison of satin and
silk, hobbled by a tight skirt and high heels, dripping water from my face
onto my artificially enhanced chest, sexually aroused by the slightest
movement, and totally unable to do a thing about it. The two women standing
before me, appraising me as they would a new dress on a shopping trip, in
total control of my life, and enjoying every humiliating minute of it.

It was my sister that spoke first. "Oh gennie you look so wonderful, I never
would have believed that you could look so good. Such curves, and you did
such a great job on your eyebrows, I'm so impressed big brother, I mean big,
(and oh yes they are big aren't they?), sister."

"gennie, my love, I am so happy you decided to follow my instructions so
well. Did you get all of the cleaning done dear? Have any trouble with your
pretty skirt? I must say it does show off your cute little (well maybe not
so little) rounded ass very nicely. That should make any inconvenience
worthwhile, isn't that right dear? Have any trouble with the toilet? Did you
remember to sit like a good little girl always does?  Isn't it so much nicer
to sit like a proper lady than that nasty whip it out and pee everywhere but
in the toilet routine that those nasty men, yes like you used to be, do?"

The more my wife taunted me the angrier I became. I was a man, and what's
more I was the man of this, my house. I was not some wimpy pervert that
wanted to be a woman. I was born male and males are meant to rule the world,
not wear skirts and clean house. I pursed my lips, and set my fists on my
hips with my arms akimbo, and attempted to look mean. I don't think it
worked. Karin giggled harder and Debbie just smiled.

"Oh gennie, don't look so glum. You look as though you haven't enjoyed your
first day of femininity. Or is it my questions? Are they embarrassing you?
Well dear think back on all the times you have taunted me and your sisters
about our status as females. As if our only purpose in life is to please a
man. Your belief that just because we are women we should wear restrictive,
revealing, embarrassing clothes, so that you can sit back and gawk at us as
we bounce our tits and wiggle our asses, is more than just disgusting it's
insane. By the end of the summer gennie my love, you will have had a full
spectrum of experience in the life of a well endowed, sexily clad, woman.
Our goal is not to punish or embarrass you, although those are very
favorable side effects, our goal, your sisters and I, is to educate you. As
I said in my note to you earlier, we know you are a transvestite and we are
going to help you realize it as well."

My reply was not as forceful as I had intended, but hey I was under
tremendous stress at the time. My toes hurt from the pointed shoes they were
pressed into, my calves hurt from the unnatural stress placed on them by
those spike heels, my encased cock screamed for release, and my ankles
wobbled more than ever because I could not look down and see my feet, only
tits.

"OK 'girls' (a bad choice of words as I quickly discovered) you've had your
fun, now get me out of these clothes and that torture device around my
waist. I've done what you've asked of me, or rather demanded, and have
learned my lesson. I admit that it takes a different set of motions to
navigate, that a person must be more aware of his, ahh... her actions prior
to taking them, such as descending or ascending stairs, or sitting down in a
chair, or walking even. I can now say that I have experienced life in a
skirt and I will be more understanding and tolerant when Debbie says she
does not want to wear a tight skirt. And I am sorry for asking her to wear
tight skirts that show off her 'nice little ass' (even if she should); she
has a nice ass and should be proud to show it." I certainly succeed in
digging myself an even deeper hole with my (I thought innocent) statements.

Both Karin and Debbie replied in unison, almost as if they had practiced.
"GIRLS!! UNDERSTANDING!! TOLERANT!! WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE! GOD's
GIFT TO HUMANITY?!"

"Whoa, I only meant..."

"We know what you meant brother dear, and we don't appreciate it. We have
barely begun to dent that awful condescending attitude you have toward us.
By the time we are done with you, you will truly 'understand' what it means
to be an equal, and how women are treated as anything but. Any doubts I had
about what we are doing to you, any worries I had about your reactions, have
now been erased. I want my sweet, caring, considerate brother back, and I am
now convinced that the only way to do that is to force you to look inside
and release the human inside you. The 'gennie' that you have suppressed for
so long is now being released, and if we get a little revenge and you
experience a little discomfort in the process, so be it. It will help you to
never forget what you have done to us for so long."

"I agree totally with what Karin just said dear. You have not learned much
of anything yet. I brought Karin home with me so that she could fix your
hair and do your make-up for you before we attend your support group meeting
tonight."

"What do you mean, 'support group meeting'? I'm not going anywhere dressed
like this. Karin doesn't need to fix my hair, its fine the way it is.  What
Karin needs to do is go and get my clothes so that I can change back into
something decent, while you give me the key to that godawful thing you
locked around my waist. Now!"

I wanted to stomp my foot for emphasis but I couldn't raise my knee high
enough in that skirt to be effective.

They looked at each other and just grinned, as if I had once again reacted
exactly as they had expected. It was my wife that spoke first. "Yes love you
are exactly right, you are not going anywhere dressed as you currently are.
'Decent' clothes as you call them are in the shopping bags in the back seat
of my car. You'll need to go out and get them. Although I doubt they will be
what you had in mind. As for the key to that 'godawful device' around your
waist, there is no key (I gasped, and went white, Debbie's grin just got
bigger knowing I was misunderstanding what she was saying) your training
corset has a front zipper, so that you can get it on and off easily. We do
have a nice heavy corset that you will just absolutely love, and that one
has a lock on it for our convenience for when you have misbehaved, but that
will come later."

The look of horror on my face must have really delighted her, for she again
started to laugh and went on. "OH! I'm sorry you meant the key to your
chastity device. Well dear by all means here." She dangled a key in her
outstretched hand waiting for me to take it.

So I excitedly grabbed the key only to notice that it had a logo of some
sort stamped into it, and it was much too large to fit the lock on my
chastity.  "What's this?" I asked. Such an intelligent question deserves an
equally intelligent response, and my lovely wife just loves to have such
opportunities to get even with me.

"Why it's a key dear. Haven't you ever seen a key before?" How could anyone
so diabolical, respond with such an innocent expression on her face? Karin
elaborated. "gennie dear, it's a key to a safety deposit box here in the
city. You hold in your hand the key to your freedom, all you have to do is
figure out where the box is and whose name it is in. The box is setup so
that you have full access, under your real name, looking like you do now,
anytime you wish. In case of emergency, you become pregnant or something,
both Debbie and I have each have keys. Debbie may decide to use hers when
she wants to use what's locked away in there, I of course, don't care if you
ever get loose. So I would suggest sisterbrother dear that you go out of
your way to keep us happy.

Part 4 ---- October 1997

"All I have to do is figure out where the box is located, and whose name
it's in, and then go in, dressed as gennie, and I have my freedom. That's
it? No problem. You bet sis. A daunting task dressed as myself with access
to my car, nearly impossible in my current state, hell I can barely walk let
alone chase around the city trying to find a safe deposit box. Not to
mention that I would be the laughing stock of the city dressed like this." I
tried to sound as sarcastic as possible as I replied to my dear sister.

"Oh I see. Debbie did you hear that? 'Little gennie' thinks that people will
laugh at her if she goes out wearing a skirt. She thinks it looks funny to
wear a skirt. Then that must mean that all the times she has harassed you
about not wearing a skirt, and trying to coerce you into wearing one, was so
that she could have people laugh at you. She didn't want you to look pretty
for her she wanted to make fun of you."

"gennie is that what you think? Yes it must be I heard you with my own ears.
Oh dear how could you? All this time I thought your motives were simply a
post adolescence fantasy of what a woman should look like, but now I find
out that you wanted me to wear skirts so that you could laugh at me! When
did you first have this desire to humiliate me?"

"But... but... that's not what I meant... Why are you turning everything I
say around into a slam against women?"

"Because dear, everything you say is a slam against women, you just don't
realize it. Now dear, if I were you, I would shut up and head out to the car
and retrieve those packages from the back seat so that I would have
something to wear this evening. You have insulted Karin and I quite enough
for one day. Any more noise out of you and I just might take Karin's advice
and forget where I put my copy of your chastity key for a very long time.
Would you like that dear?"

To add emphasis to her final question she approached me, threw her arms
around my neck and pulled me against her beautifully curvaceous body
planting a long sensuous, tongue filled kiss onto my painted lips. Her soft
warm hands slowly sliding down the back of my body, lingering briefly at my
shoulders, her long fingernails outlining the straps of my slip and corset
through the silk of my ever so sheer blouse, my shoulders quake at the
sensation, my mind screams YES! My own fingers seek out the same target on
Debbie but find no target, just smooth shoulders and back under her shirt.
Debbie was braless!
Into my mind sprang an image that I would never have believed: Debbie and I
in bed, tit to tit, me in a sheer shimmery bra and matching panties, Debbie
in her naked glory straddled atop me, leaning over to kiss me, her hands on
MY tits. I wanted to rebel against that image, but it only became stronger
as her delicate hands made their way further down my silk covered back.
Slowly, ever so slowly, her hands slide across my back, silk against two
layers of satin, her fingernails never missing an opportunity to outline the
stays of my imprisoning corset, my whole body feeling the indescribable
sensations that only true sexual play can bring. Her hands continue their
mind boggling journey until finally reaching their destination they grab and
begin to massage my well padded ass. Her kiss continues, my first experience
with a lipstick to lipstick kiss (I knew then I would not want it to be my
last, would you?), a kind of sticky, slippery sensation that felt like our
lips were being glued together at the same time that they were sliding
apart, our lips each with their own distinctive aroma. You know, that scent
that only lipstick can provide, intensified two fold because you are both
wearing it. Her foot sliding up my nylon encased calf. The feel of my legs
being rubbed through sexy sheer stockings sending electric tendrils directly
up my legs into my groin (me wondering: If this feeling is this intense with
those heavy pantyhose on under my stockings what must it be like with
smooth, silky, hairless legs, and sheer silky stockings held up by only the
laciest wisp of a garter belt?), my trapped member struggling against its
confinement. Her knee pressing into my groin, my own imprisoned leg
attempting to wrap around her beautiful body, my mind caught in a whirlpool
of emotion swirling deeper into its own imprisoned state. Thus one more
brick broken from my carefully constructed wall protecting my innermost self
from the "manly" persona inflicted by my father for exhibiting any trait or
mannerism that "HE" (my father) considered even the slightest bit feminine.
All combined to cause my weakened mind to withdraw further from Dan and move
inexorably one step closer to gennie. My knees went weak, my breathing quick
and shallow, as my body shuddered in what felt like an orgasm without
ejaculation, I thought I would faint again. The sensation of all that satin
sliding around on my ass and body, combined with Debbie's more than ample
tits pressing into my
own well padded chest, caused the corset to pull up against my waist as my
own tits were pressed up into their bra cups the sliding satin sending
sensuous, sexy tendrils of electric shock though my abdomen and groin. The
intensity of the would have been orgasm so great that I feared my cock would
get hard in spite of its awful confinement and cause damage to my poor
encased little precious. I was lost to her will at that moment and she knew
it.

Karin stood on the sidelines cheering her encouragement. "Yeah bro-sis, go
for it. What a hot little number you are. All right, with passion like that
you'll have every guy at the ball wanting a piece of that sweet little ass
of yours."

Any other time I would have been upset with her taunts but Debbie tasted
sooo good and the electricity coursing through my body held me in its
embrace so thoroughly that I was barely even aware of her presence.

Upon breaking her embrace Debbie asked, "Well sweetie still in the mood to
argue? Ready for Karin to get started on your face now, or do you still want
to rant and rave about your poor "little precious" and its cute little
prison? (How did she know I call my cock little precious? It really is small
in its flaccid state and I have been self conscious of it since puberty, I
was taught that just like big tits made for a real woman, a big cock made
for a real man.  Since I did not have a big cock I had to make people think
I did. I must talk in my sleep, yes that's it, I talk in my sleep. How else
could she know? What other of my secrets does she know?) My original plan
was to let it out for a short time tonight so that I might play with it but,
the way you have been acting I guess I will just have rely on my vibrator
instead, perhaps you would like to borrow it too, it's sometimes a girl's
best friend you know."

"Debbie...I...I...I...  I guess I'll go get the packages from the car. But
how can I go out dressed like this? What if I'm seen by someone who knows
me? I'll never be able to live this down. I'm a man and everyone knows it,
and men just don't walk around in tight skirts and transparent blouses.
Can't I wear something at least a little less revealing? Maybe a jacket or
something? This blouse is so sheer it's almost like it's not even there. And
the way my ass wiggles when I walk in this skirt, I will draw everybody's
attention straight to my ass just walking out to the car. I don't know if I
can go out dressed like this."

"But dear if it was me in that outfit you would not think twice about
sending me out to the car to bring something in."

"But you're a woman, you're supposed to dress like this. Women were designed
to have their asses stared at. (Would I ever learn to keep my mouth shut?)
I'm a man. I'm not supposed to wiggle when I walk, but in this ...outfit...
I have no choice."

"There you go with that double standard attitude again. Welcome to the real
world gennie. You really don't understand that it is just as embarrassing
for a woman to be stared at in that kind of an outfit as it is for you, do
you?"

"Well if it's so embarrassing for women to wear sexy clothes, why do it?
Nobody is forcing them into it. (oops, there I go again) Don't women want to
look good for their men? Dress a little sexy to show off their bodies like
they were meant to be seen? (ever deeper I dig my own hole) OK I admit to
the inconveniences of a skirt and can understand why you don't want to wear
a nice tight skirt to do the house work. If I promise not to ask you to wear
tight skirts anymore will you release me? I think I've learned my lesson."

The smoke curling from her ears should have been an indication of what she
thought of my reasoning. "RELEASE YOU?! LEARNED YOUR LESSON?!  I thought we
just went through this. You will be released when you have come to grips
with what you have become, and when you can finally allow yourself to be the
person you really are. No more posturing or false bravado. It's exactly that
attitude that has built the glass ceiling and made it so hard for women to
be treated as equals in our society. Sexy clothes are just one of the things
we girls have to live with to survive. We don't put up with being stared at
because we ask for it or like it, we put up with it because we have to. And
now you have a chance to see what it's like. Isn't it fun gennie?"

Reaching into her purse she pulled out a pair of dark oversized sun glasses
with roses at each of the top corners, and said, "Here wear these, with
those big tits and sweet round ass even if someone did see you they would
only see the woman you now are, and the glasses are big enough to cover your
face so no one will ever recognize you. Go look in the mirror if you don't
believe me, you won't even recognize yourself."

There was no need to look in the mirror I had been doing just that all day.
Every time I struggled out of and back into this satin prison I would look
up and briefly wonder who the sexy chick with the big tits and nice ass was,
before I would realize that that sexy chick was a man...me!

*******

By this time my options were limited to say the least. I knew in my heart
that my wife and sisters would not do me any permanent physical harm. I also
knew that I loved my wife dearly, and would do almost anything for her.
Perhaps if I had rebelled at the beginning just sat down on the bed and
refused to get dressed. I would have been in a better position to protest
when she got home. But let me tell ya guys, it is very disconcerting to wake
up with certain additions and losses to your normal anatomy. I was not
really awake when I started, and Debbie's notes seemed so well thought out
that I just could not at the time think of any alternative but to cooperate
and hope that she would relent within a few days. I guess I could have tried
hiding and when she got home attack and demand that she release me, but then
if I tried something like that and failed... Or I could have called the
Police and ended not only my marriage but my career as well. Not to mention
the fact that I had been raised with the belief that a man solves his own
problems and does not let others, especially public officials, know what
they are.

No, I was stuck and I knew it. My personal priorities of family, home and
career were more important to me than what clothes I would wear on any given
day. I could play their game for a while, I could pretend to become whatever
they wanted me to become, and they would never know the difference (my only
fear was that I would stop pretending and allow myself to enjoy the
sensations that had been coursing through my body all day). And then there
was that kiss that Debbie had just planted on me. Talk about confused
feelings, the sensations of all that satin, the helplessness I felt while in
her arms. The total release of myself to her will, it all felt so
liberating, so right, but of course I knew that I was just lost in the
moment, I was a man and as such would never allow myself to give in to such
feelings, it was all just the result of the stress of the day. There was no
way that I could enjoy being dressed like a woman. Because I was a man I
could never in a hundred years be the submissive partner in a relationship,
could I? I mean it felt really, really nice just then letting Debbie be the
aggressor for a change. I know that if mom was still around she would tell
me it was OK to feel that way. Why did she have to be the one with cancer?
Why couldn't it have been him instead? Mom understood people, she knew that
sometimes everyone, even males, have a need to be soft and gentle, to allow
themselves to crack that hard manly shell that our society demands of men.
HE never understood that, he was so locked into his men are superior by
right of birth mindset that he never could have understood that. He believed
that any expression of emotion from a man was a sign of weakness, and there
was no way he was going to have a "weak, wimpy" son, no matter what it took.
And he didn't, I learned my lesson well. To be called a "male chauvinist
pig" I considered a compliment. My bearing was more of swagger than a walk,
my comments toward women rude and derogatory, my tolerance for anyone or
anything even the least bit different from the norm was nonexistent, and my
treatment of my girlfriends through high school, and early college was one
of me Tarzan, you less than Jane.

Then I met Debbie. Ahhh Debbie!  Five, seven, 135 lbs., big beautiful blue
eyes, long dark wavy hair, full sensuous lips, 'C' cup tits, and the
roundest, firmest, softest, (does that make any sense?) sweetest ass I had
ever seen. I first fell in love with her body, then with her. She was two
years younger than I, the same age as my sister Karin. She seemed to
understand me, to be interested in me in spite of the way I acted (I was not
used to a "girl" sticking with me for more than one or two dates before I
would scare them away). Debbie helped return me to being human (at least
somewhat), she got me to mellow in my demands on her, re-trained me to say
please and thank you, when I was addressing her, she even got me to let my
hair grow out from the buzz cut I had worn for so long. She seemed to
understand me as no one ever had. She had patience with me, something I was
not used to from anyone. I fell and remain still, head over (spike) heels in
love with her.  Standing there pleading with her to let me at least wear a
jacket, with Karin taunting me from the sidelines, I finally began to
understand why she seemed to know so much about me, she had been friends
with my sister since high school and was interested in me then (who knows
what attracts people to each other, I have no idea what Debbie saw in me,
but she decided then that she wanted me), and my blabber mouth sister told
her EVERYTHING about me. Debbie knew me, knew all about me, the real me
before she even met me.

********

So it was with wobbling ankles, mincing steps, and swaying ass that I headed
for the front door and the outside world. My wife and sister behind me
taunting me with whistles and cat calls. Making comments about my swaying
ass (I guess I did bring that on myself) and how my skirt made it stand out
so well. I couldn't see my face but I am sure, judging from its temperature
that I was blushing the brightest shade of crimson that could be imagined.

I had never before realized how safe and warm the inside of a person's home
could be, nor how scary the simple act of walking out of the house sometimes
is. In my mind I knew that no one could see me walk from the house to the
car, between the wall and the hedges no one could even see the house from
the street let alone someone walking from the front door to the driveway.
But knowing something in my mind and convincing my racing heart and
trembling hands were two entirely different things. Oh be still my racing
heart...

Part 5 ---- June 1998

 It was as if I were in the theater watching a movie, the camera closes in
on the heroine's silk clad arm as she slowly stretches her red manicured
fingers towards the doorknob. The frills on the sleeve of her almost
transparent blouse obscuring all but her delicate fingers as they wrap
around the knob. In my turbulent mind that hand is reaching out and gently
grabbing for my imprisoned cock, causing it to stir to life, to become ready
for its intended purpose a purpose that would once again be thwarted by its
all too restrictive prison. As my cock hardens, the pain begins, I gasp as
my mind attempts to continue in its fantasy, but my body requires a return
to reality.  The fantasy gone, the pain becoming severe my little precious
returns to sleep mode as I pull the door open and hobble out into the bright
summer sun. Again I have to remind myself that I am a man and that I am
dressed in skirt and blouse through no choice of my own, and that I do not
enjoy wearing women's clothes.

 "I'm a man! Men don't enjoy wearing skirts!" I cried aloud to myself but,
it seemed I was becoming ever more difficult to convince. Encountering the
heat of the outside after the comfort of our air conditioned home was like
walking into a wall. I would never have imagined that so much sweat could
flow from my body in such a short time, but between my sweet satin corset,
my whisper light satin slip, and the heavyweight pantyhose, perspiration was
immediate and profuse. I swear I could feel the sweat running down my nylon
encased legs, into the heels of my torture shoes, snaking down the incline
of my arches, and pooling in the pointy little toes at the end of my shoes.
The wetness spreading throughout my corset, eliciting a nearly unbearable
itch that no matter how hard I tried the best I could do was to rub satin
against satin which not only did not help, it served to make matters worse.
The more I attempted to scratch the more aroused I would become. The wobble
out to car seemed to take forever, one short little step after another, a
walk that should have taken seconds, in my heightened state of arousal and
extended sense of time, took hours and nobody will convince me otherwise. In
my mind I was convinced that people were there at bushes watching me hobble
around, laughing and making fun of the sissy in the tight skirt and high
heels with the swaying ass and bouncing tits. With every mincing step I
heard the click of my heels on the cement. The sound assailing my ears
convincing me that someone would soon call the police because of all the
noise. But I was on a mission I could not afford to stop, I had to get to
the garage door and get those pictures Debbie had said she had posted. I
should have known they would not be there by the time I got there instead I
found remains of tape and another note from my loving wife.



 "Dear gennie,

 You silly girl did you really think that I would leave valuable pictures of
my precious little sissy out in the open where they might get damaged? Of
course we took them down as soon as we got home; Karin still thinks we
should post them on the job board at the supermarket. What do you think? It
might be fun to have you stand there as people look at the pictures and see
if they recognize you. Karin has some wonderful ideas sometimes don't you
think? Are your pantyhose feeling a little warm yet? How about your shoes
are your feet sloshing in your sweat yet? Oh and I'll bet that corset has
started to itch something awful by now hasn't it dear? Oh the little
inconveniences that we 'girls' must endure to look good for our men. Don't
you just love it?

 Times-a-wastin' darlin' best get the packages out of the car and into the
house before we think that you decided that you've had enough and tried to
run, ohhh oops I mean, mince-away and we lock the door. By this time Karin
is ready to do your make- over and style your hair so that you are
presentable at your meeting. So hurry dear, wiggle that cute little ass of
yours and get back in the house.
 Love,
 D.

 Again she has predicted my actions. I had actually forgotten about the
itching under my corset, and the hot and sticky feeling of the pantyhose
against my legs until it was mentioned in her note. Now the itching hit
again with a vengeance. Attempts at scratching that ever pervasive itch
yielding the same erotic results as my previous efforts and I was again
reminded of my chastity. I had little choice but to continue on my errand
and retrieve the packages from her car. I still hoped that the sooner I got
the packages and got back into the house the sooner I could be released from
my portable prison.

 With a sigh limited by the restriction of my satin prison I hobbled to the
car to retrieve the packages my lovely wife had sent me for. I thought
little of my situation as I opened the car door. The polish on my nails
glinting in the sun; My new tits jiggling as moved out of the way for the
door to open.  My feet now somewhat accustomed to the height of the heels
and my restricted gate, my movements were on autopilot as I attempted to
reach into the back seat of the car to retrieve the packages. My hands and
arms were reaching but my waist was not bending as my nose made a gallant
effort to keep my face from coming in contact with the roof of the car. I
came to the immediate conclusion that simply bending over and reaching into
the car would not work. Rubbing my damaged nose I turned my back to the car
and bending at the hips I stuck my padded and oversized butt into the car
and sat somewhat ungraciously (more like fell) onto the back seat of the
car. I was then able to raise my feet, knees together of course, and swing
them into the car. Taking time to catch my breath I realized that I had just
entered the car in the same manner that I had watched Debbie do on those
rare occasions that I could get her to dress as a woman should, short tight
skirts and high heels.  Was this one of those simple movements that was made
"difficult" because of a skirt and heels that she had referred to in her
note to me earlier? Well it was certainly awkward, but nothing that should
keep a woman from dressing properly (of course at that time I had only done
it once and had not yet tried to exit the vehicle, what a difference time
and experience make in a person's attitude).

 Resisting the urge to search through the packages I gathered them together
in my hands and attempted to get up out of the car. My attempt to swing my
right leg out the door was of course unsuccessful the skirt demanding that I
move my left leg at the same time. I found that I would have to scoot my
butt to the edge of the seat and swing both legs out simultaneously, once
again knees together in a very feminine manner. My attempts to rise however
were anything but feminine. I tried to stand with my hands full of packages,
but without the ability to bend my waist or spread my feet for balance the
best I could accomplish was a slight rocking motion. I thought about putting
the packages back on the seat so that I could use my hands but the pain in
my nose reminded me of the futility of that idea.

I finally came to the realization that my only way out was to sit and wait
for the "girls" to take pity on me and come out and help (which I knew was
not going to happen) or find some way to get the packages out of the car so
that I could pick them up from the ground. So at the risk of damaging what
was to be my new attire I threw the items out onto the driveway and used my
hands to grab the frame around the door to pull myself up. What I sight I
must have been. My arms outstretched, my hands groping for the door frame,
my newfound tits jutting proudly from my chest swaying like a Jell-o mold
with every movement. My satin clad butt sliding against the satin of my
whisper light slip, sliding against my nylon clad legs sent shivers up my
spine and caused my hands to tremble. Only my determination to prove that I
could succeed kept me going. Struggling to an upright position, my knees
wobbling, my breath coming in short restricted gasps, I felt as though I had
just done a hundred pull ups. Almost unconsciously I used my open palms to
smooth my skirt back into its intended position. My mind elated with my
accomplishment, my whole body alive with the electric sensations elicited by
my satin prison, I hurriedly squatted to collect my new packaged wardrobe
and began my trek back to the safety (safety?) of the house.


The walk (mince) back to the house, my arms loaded with shopping bags from
department stores and lingerie shops, my mind filled with images of my
father's disapproving visage, and my body alive with the sensations of my
attire, was entirely too brief a time for me to prepare for what I was about
to encounter.

Part 6 ---- December 1998

My entry into the house must have been as much of a spectacle as my exit
from the car. My now well endowed female form fumbling with bags and boxes,
shimmery nylon encased calves flowing from the hem of my (my?) form fitting
skirt tapering down to ankles wobbling on sexy spike heeled shoes, my well
padded rear swaying seductively as I try to turn the knob on the door, such
a site would have an effect on a eunuch let alone a normal, already sexually
aroused, human male with a raging imagination and entrapped cock. My male
mind protesting less with each new sensation, the memory of my father's
condemnations fading with each new caress of my slip against my panties, I
again began to wonder why it should be such an awful thought for a man to
want to wear such pretty, sexy clothes as I was now wearing. Such softening
of thoughts however, could not go unchallenged. For if I gave in, if I
weakened, my wife and sisters, mere women, would have beaten me, me a man
(current situation excluded), bested by a woman, a totally unacceptable and
intolerable thought. So while my resolve may have weakened, and my fear
abated slightly I was still far from giving in.

Upon opening the door my first impression was that my sister and wife were
tickling each other to the point of seeing who would pass out first so loud
and racus were the giggles emanating from the living room. With all the
noise they were making I was sure they could not be aware of my entrance, so
I stumbled my packages through the door stacking them in the foyer and went
back to close the door. It was then that the temperature difference between
the oppressive heat and humidity of the outside and the cool dry air of my
air conditioned home became glaringly apparent to my sweat soaked, nylon
clad body. The sweat that had caused my satin prison to cling to my body and
drive me to distraction with itches that I couldn't scratch had suddenly
become a very cold and clammy second skin that I could not escape. How could
something so soft and delicate as my beautiful satin slip
and panties become such a torturous monster? Was I experiencing more of what
Debbie meant about the difficulties of wearing sexy lingerie and skirts? I
mean how often would a woman, properly dressed (skirt, heels, hose) have
occasion to go outside for a workout and then return to an air conditioned
house? Certainly not often enough to use as an excuse to never wear a skirt
and hose. No, she was not going to get me that easily. I would refuse to
tell her how uncomfortable I had become I would smile and pretend that
nothing was amiss with my mind or my attire. (Well at least I could dream
that I could pretend that well) With such thoughts in mind I ventured forth
into no-man's land to see what the "girls" were giggling about. (Hope they
don't see that 'girls' reference they would again explain to me: "That's
exactly the type of condescending garbage that got you into this predicament
in the first place.")

Gathering my packages, with my resolve set to deny any discomfort or
pleasure I minced my way into the living room and nearly fainted. There in
front of me in all of its 52inch projection screen glory was the image of a
well endowed young woman prancing and posing for herself in front of a large
mirror which just happened to be identical to the one hanging in my foyer.
She could be seen rubbing her hands across her skin tight satin skirted
rear, admiring her voluptuous breasts from different angles caressing them
with her red nailed hands obviously proud of the endowments nature had
granted her.

"Oh my God!" I squealed.

I had been so wrapped up in the events of the day I had completely forgotten
about the security cameras inside the house. (Yes, yes, I know Debbie
mentioned them in her note but I didn't take her seriously, I didn't think
she even knew how to operate the system.)

My outburst of course alerted my wife and sister to my presence, temporarily
interrupting their reverie. Pausing rather than stopping the VCR, so that an
image of me slightly bent with my rear out one way and my chest out the
other and a hand on each cheek (not my face) was frozen on the screen, they
turned to look at me, gasping for breath and teary eyed they "welcomed" me
back into the house. I searched for a hole to crawl into.

"gennie, dear! We were just reviewing the wonderful show you produced for
us. I knew you would eventually enjoy your new wardrobe I just didn't think
it would be so soon."

"Oh, sisterbrother dear could you do that bent over pose for us live? Oh,
you look so adorable I can't wait to see you in your next outfit."

"I...I...that was just playing around, when I first came downstairs,
I...I...was stressed...it...it was a joke. I wasn't enjoying myself.
I...I...wanted to see if I could pass in case someone came to the door,
that's what I was doing. It's not like I enjoyed myself in front of the
mirror all day like women do. (oops) If you watch the rest of the tape
you'll see I worked all day and now I'm ready for this game to end, you've
embarrassed me enough for one day."

"Oh gennie dear, you have not yet been embarrassed...much anyway, and we
have just begun. Obviously you have learned little about your offensive
attitude toward women so far. '...in front of a mirror all day like women
do.' Well dear we'll see just how much time YOU spend in front of a mirror
in the next couple of months. Now quit being such a baby and come in and sit
down so that Karin can get started on you."

I did as instructed, more or less. I sat down as gracefully as I could under
the circumstances, in my favorite overstuffed recliner and immediately
realized that it would be next to impossible for me to get out of it without
help or a pair of scissors to cut open my skirt so that I could use my legs.
The "women" just giggled more when they noticed how my face registered my
dismay. Karin wasted no time, taking my chin in her hand she turned my head
left, right, up down, looked at my eyes, examined my ears commented that
they could take another piercing or two without problem, examined my hair,
felt my face, and then studied my hands. I began to feel like a horse at
auction. What was this examination all about? And her comment about another
piercing, what was that all about? I was afraid to ask.

"S/he will look very nice with just a few adjustments. I can do a light trim
and some simple make up for today and then we can do a more complete
transformation at my salon tomorrow. You take her upstairs and help her get
cleaned up. I'll follow and setup what I need in the bedroom."

"What gennie dear? Don't look so worried. Karin just wants you to look your
best for when you meet your new friends tonight."

"You keep referring to my meeting, and my new friends, what is going on? You
must realize that I am not going anywhere in a dress. This whole thing has
gone far enough, I admit that wearing a tight skirt has its problems, and
I'll never ask you to wear one again. I'm sorry if I have been "insensitive"
to your "womanly rights" and "dignity" and promise that I will be better in
the future. You claim to have photos of me in bed holding my new breasts,
and now you have that God awful video of me making a fool of myself acting
like
a vain air headed woman, you have my assurance that I will behave, what
choice do I have?" (I think the sarcasm helped to make matters worse but I
was upset, I couldn't stop myself.)

"What choice indeed dear? If all we wanted was to control you we could have
done that easily, long ago. But as we have explained before we want you to
come to a deeper understanding of who you are. Of what being a hu-MAN is all
about. You'll see. By the end of your experience you will understand. Of
course you will cooperate dear, and it will be because you want to, not
because you are forced into it. The choice is always yours dear, you know
that, it's what you teach your students every day, it's not that you can or
can't it's that you choose to do or not do, always the choice is yours. Just
wait and see if you don't agree with me that what we ask of you is not more
pleasant than refusing."

Somehow while talking her hands had made it to the back of my neck and under
my skirt to my knee. The longer she talked the softer she talked, gently
pulling my head forward towards her luscious full lips, her other hand
caressing my nylon clad knee, her nails gently scratching the back of it;
her hot breath against my face drawing me closer and closer, her hand moving
to my ear, tickling around my earring; my breathing heavy, the sensations
from Debbie's hands sending messages directly into the pleasure center of my
brain, Our lips meet, the heat seeming to melt our lipsticks together, the
scent of her perfume filling my senses, the electricity igniting my body
from within, I have no will of my own, it is as though she has me in a
trance, I never want this moment to end. I find myself agreeing to go
upstairs and await my new future.

Taking pity on me Debbie and Karin helped me out of my chair with at least
some grace and no broken ankles. With Debbie leading the way I mince my way
to the stairs for the long trek up. I was once again reminded of how
restrictive my tight skirt was. Taking them one at a time it seemed to take
forever to get up the stairs. I found myself envying my wife for the ease
with which she ascended the stairs in her jeans and sneakers.

"Come along dear we need to get you out of those clothes so that Karin can
do your hair and make-up. Time for you to make a choice: Do you want to get
undressed on your own? Or would you like me to help?"

What choice would you make? There was my beautiful wife offering to remove
my glorious satin prison, the opportunity to have her against my satin clad
body once again. Giving me the opening I would need to show her how much I
loved her, and how much she needed the attentions of a man and a man's
equipment. I had my chance to convince her to remove that damn belt.

"How could I refuse such an offer? Of course I choose to have you help me."
The smile on my face rivaled only by my wife's.

"So your choice is to have me help you get ready for your next step, is that
right gennie?"

My head was nodding so hard it felt like it was going to fall off.

"Well then let's get started."

Had I been capable of a hard on, and been able to move my feet more than a
foot at a time  I think I would have had her down on the bed with her jeans
and panties off in less than a heartbeat. As it was I just stood there in
the middle of the room awaiting her commands, just like a good little gennie
should.

As she slowly approached my position she started to purr about how much fun
we were going to have from then on. I was instructed to do nothing until she
indicated what I needed to do, that she would take care of everything, to
just relax and enjoy. The more she purred the deeper I feel under her spell.
She started nibbling my ear as she wrapped her soft wonderful arms around my
shoulders, again forcing our breasts together, slowly sliding her hands to
the first button on the back of my blouse, my body on fire. I wanted so
badly to just take her there and then, only her soft purring voice invading
my lust. It must have taken her 5 minutes to get the buttons of my silk
blouse undone. Each button an erotic experience, her long nailed fingers
lightly scratching against the silk of my blouse and the satin of my slip
and corset. Finally reaching the point where she could slowly, oh so slowly,
oh so gently, slide her hands inside the shoulders of my blouse. To glide
her hands over my sensitive shoulders, stopping just long enough to play
with the corset and slip straps; her hands finding their way down to my
waist, feeling the constriction of my corset. Her full painted lips purring
how sexy it felt to have me so hard; pulling my blouse forward, allowing the
silk of the blouse to caress my arms as it was pulled forward off my body. I
wanted her so badly, needed release so desperately, my male mind screaming
'take this woman' my body shivering in anticipation, my wife purring in my
ear, relaxing me, making me want to wait, to extend the pleasure as long as
possible.

Dropping the blouse to the floor her hands once again find their way to my
restricted waist. My breath comes in gasps as she slides her flattened hands
across my belly, causing the satin of my slip to rub against my corset, the
stiff fiber of the corset enhancing the sensation of her hands upon me. I am
so caught up in her trance that by the time she reaches my breasts and
begins to knead them, just as I had done to her so many times before, I feel
the warm caress of her hands, the compression of my breasts against my
chest, the heat of her breath in my ear giving me sensations I have never
before felt.
Of course I would do whatever she asked of me I was hers and she knew it.
Moving her hands under my arms and down my back brought her chest once again
tight against mine. The sensation of her hands following my corset stays
down to the button on my skirt intensifying the pressure of her very real,
very firm yet soft, ever so perfectly formed breasts against my own. Her
warm soft lips again finding mine. I'm lost in an embrace so heavenly my
mind is not my own. She fiddles with the button until it is undone my body
shivers as if in orgasm, the moment so intense. Slowly she lowers the
zipper, the restriction of my satin prison gradually abates, I feel her
hands under the waist band pushing my skirt down over my hips, my well
padded rear being released, the satin of the skirt sliding smoothly over the
satin of my whisper soft slip. Her hands reaching the garter tabs holding my
stockings as my skirt flows into a puddle around my high heeled ankles.
Taking time to pull gently on my garter straps, allowing me to feel the tug
of sheer stockings against my aroused legs, my slip again playing a part in
that arousal; Debbie purring another reminder into my mind about how sexy my
new clothes are and how lucky I am to be allowed to wear them; my mind
drinking in the sensations and suggestions.

It was then time for me to part with my whispery soft slip, so light, so
silky, so smooth upon my body its light lavender caress so sensual. Debbie
reaches up to my shoulders and pushes my slip's straps down across my arms,
activating the fine hairs along the way, making my hands shake, a moment of
regret that my thin yet strong covering is being peeled away, exposing my
true self for all the world to see. Debbie's hands again on the move, under
the bodice if the slip she is now able to slide it delightfully slowly down
my corseted frame. The electric tendrils coursing non-stop throughout my
body, my heart pounding in my ears, never in my life would I have dreamed
that anything could be so erotic or pleasurable.

Stepping back she holds her hands out to me palms up so that I may have
support in stepping out of the remains of my satin prison now pooled about
my feet. My mind and body so quickly conditioned to the restrictions of my
skirt my leg refuses to lift more than the few inches that had been allowed.
Realizing my folly I lift first one and then the other foot high and step
forward leaving a puddle of satin on the floor behind me, a twinge of regret
tugging at my senses. Debbie leads me to the bed and motions for me to sit.
Coming towards me pushes my shoulders back so that I'm laying down my feet
on the floor, she lifts my legs, removing my torture shoes in the process
and places my feet on the bed. I want so badly to reach out to her. To hold
her sweet body next to mine. To combine our bodies, our souls in loves
embrace. Her whispering arousing me at the same time restraining me, telling
me there is no rush, to relax and allow her to finish. Never would I have
believed that a body could be so aroused for so long without sexual climax,
I found myself never wanting this "ordeal" to end.

Debbie continued to undress me, her little gennie doll, in the same slow,
sensuous, manner as she had started. Holding my left foot in her hand she
began to stroke my leg with her wondrous long nails, along the inside of my
thigh, down under my knee, along my calf back to my foot. My whole body
quaking as she methodically repeated the process, releasing one garter tab
at a time, one with each stroke of her manicured fingers down my leg, until
at last she is able to remove my silky sheer stockings, nylon rubbing
against nylon rubbing against my legs, releasing a delicious sensation with
a direct connection to my brain. A feeling so intense I am still unable to
describe the power and eroticism it released within me. My reactions are not
unnoticed by my wife as she continues her ministrations upon my body. Her
whispered voice assuring me that what I am feeling is only the beginning,
that she will take me to heights unimagined in my macho male mind, all I
need do is relax and accept.

With garters freed it was possible to remove my corset. Putting a hand to
each shoulder she forces me to fall back onto the bed.  Feeling totally
spent and with deep anticipation I watched as Debbie climbed herself up onto
the bed, climbed over me and straddled my corseted torso with her knees.
Resting her perfectly rounded posterior upon my well chastised male
equipment she reached down to the bottom of her shirt and pulled, exposing
her beautiful bare breasts. Throwing her shirt into the puddle on the floor
she gently raises my hands to her breasts, the warmth of her flesh heaven in
my hands, she leans forward her lips again finding my own, her hands
massaging my corseted chest. She slides her hands slowly, firmly to the
zipper at the top of my corset. With maddening slowness she lowers the
zipper one notch at a time, my mind reliving a vision from earlier in the
day.
Finally, she reached the bottom of the corset releasing me from its
confinement. My first real breath since putting it on, Debbie massaging my
belly and chest, my sense of relief at freedom curiously countered by a
surprising feeling of vulnerability at my freedom. How quickly I had become
accustomed to being held sung and secure. Perhaps feeling my mixed emotions
Debbie, my beautiful Debbie, laid down next to me and held me in her arms,
tit to tit, skin to skin, her warmth reassuring to my overwrought senses I
promptly fell to sleep. A sleep filled with dreams of satin and lace, of
corsets and petticoats; of lipstick and eyeliner; dreams of beauty salons
and evening gowns. Dreams of peace and fulfillment, I wanted to dream
forever, to be allowed to be the real me, gentle and loving, but first I
would need to overcome my fears of what people would think of me, I needed
to learn to accept myself.

******

 Readers: Sorry for the long delay. Health problems have precluded me from
getting much writing done at all. My greatest fear is that I'm moving too
slow with the story line and that people will lose interest. I find this
story quite different from most I have read on the web and that is where my
concern is rooted. Please let me know what you think

With warm pink fuzzies
Luv gennie TV



The following story is meant for a mature audience.  If you are under the
allowable age wherever you live then you are not allowed to read this. If
you are looking for a 'hot' story with lots of sex, don't bother to read any
further. This story was designed to express a favorite fantasy of mine about
how a self centered man is taught to appreciate the softer side of his
personality.  Unwillingly forced into cross dressing by his wife he ...

Part 7 ---- January 1999

I could have remained asleep, held in my wife's loving embrace the warmth of
our bodies comforting to us both, forever. Unfortunately, my wife and sister
had different ideas.

"Time to wake up sisterbrother dear, can't sleep the whole day away."

As I slowly brought myself out of my dream state I actually thought that it
was still morning and my skirted day had been a dream. I tried to convince
myself that I had simply been feeling guilty for having had another major
fight with my wife and that guilt had brought on my confusing dreams.

"gennie! Time to wake up! Debbie is downstairs with Susan updating her on
your wonderful progress so far. I'm sure she will be as excited as we've
been. I can't wait to hear what Susan thinks of your little video
production, you were sooooo sweet swishing around in front of the mirror."

"Mmmmmgggmmmhhh." Well it sounded like go away to me.

"gennie! gennie!" Karin had been getting progressively louder while shaking
my bare shoulders.

Why was she calling me gennie? She hadn't called me that in years. I
stretched my hand down for an early morning scratch and woke up immediately.
No more thinking the day was all a dream, no more wondering why Karin was
waking me up instead of Debbie. As soon as my fingers came in contact with
my silky sissy panties, feeling the hard unyielding steel of my chastity
belt, I sat bolt upright. My mind cleared and my chest jiggled. I
unconsciously pulled the sheet up to cover my chest in a very feminine
manner.

"gennie dear, there's no reason for such modesty between us girls. I've seen
your bare chest before as a matter of fact I helped make it what it is
today."  She was giggling so hard she had to sit down at the vanity to catch
her breath.

When she finally caught her breath she instructed me: "Time to get cleaned
up sweetie. Head on into the bathroom and get out of your panties, hose and
girdle. Just throw them in the hamper, you can wash them later. The pink
cover on training belt will just pull right off so that you can take a
shower. Be sure you wash your face thoroughly and use the blow drier on low
to be sure that you dry completely between your legs. Don't forget to wash
and condition your hair, you will find everything you'll need on the
counter. Now get in there and get it done." Landing a good hard slap on my
butt as I walked past her.

Walking to the bathroom seemed so strange. With each step I found myself
expecting to have restrictions to my stride that were no longer there. As I
stepped forward my legs would expect resistance that was no longer there so
I would overstep my stride and nearly stumble forward. My feet would land
toes first so that on the first couple of steps I would almost fall sideways
expecting my heel to stop inches above the floor, instead of traveling on
down to the floor. I'm sure Karin was again laughing at me but I didn't
care, I just wanted to get out of those sticky pantyhose and jump into the
shower.

I spent my time in the bathroom trying to reassess my position. It felt so
good to get those damn pantyhose off my legs, they may be shimmery. They may
be sexy. And they may hide any leg hair but, lord amighty they are hot and
tight. I would have attempted to shave my legs then, but the ladies had
removed all the razors. (I found out later they wanted hair on my legs so
that they could insist that I continue to wear the heavy pantyhose. That way
I would be more accepting of my stockings, and I could beg to have my legs
shaved, just like Debbie had predicted I would.) The shower was heavenly I
don't know how long I was in there. It felt like hours. I was hoping that
perhaps with enough hot water the adhesive bond on my new tits would weaken
and they would fall off. Then I had a frightening thought: What if all this
hot water caused my chastity belt to shrink? What would I do then?  (Yeah I
know, a totally irrational thought, but it still scared the daylights out of
me.)

Apparently Karin heard the water shut off because as soon as I stepped out
of the shower she was yelling more instructions through the bathroom door.
"gennie dear, remember that to protect her delicate skin, a lady always pats
herself dry after a shower. Leave you hair wet, I'll take care of it when
you come out. And don't forget, there is box of bath power chosen especially
for you next to the sink. Be sure to get your whole body, paying special
attention to the inside of your training panty it will help prevent chafing.
When you finish, put on the robe hanging there on the door and come on out.
I'll do your hair and make-up and Debbie will come up and help you get
dressed."

Bath powder indeed, I remembered seeing my Gold Bond and Right Guard under
the sink earlier that morning. "I may look female but by God, I'll stink
like a man."

Just about that time I heard Debbie's sweet voice coming through the door.
"gennie love, I figure you've been in there just long enough to decide that
the bath powder we selected for you isn't good enough, and you are going to
play the macho man and use your own powder from under the sink. After all it
was there this morning, wasn't it? That's ok dear go ahead and get it out,
surely by now you must know that we are not going to overlook something so
obvious. Both the powder and deodorant are empty. So hurry up and finish in
there dear, Susan is anxiously waiting to see how you look. Oh and by the
way she just loved your video, wants to know if we can send it to America's
Funniest. I'll be downstairs if you need me, otherwise I'll be back as soon
as Karin finishes with you. Be good and cooperate and maybe we can have some
of the same kind of fun getting you dressed that we had getting you
undressed. Bye babe."

How could I be so predictable? So easily set up? So easily manipulated? Each
minute that passed I doubted myself more. I remembered dressing in Susan's
and Karin's clothes, and I remembered how good I felt while doing so. I also
remembered being taught that it was wrong for a man to wear such things but,
I did not and do not remember being taught WHY it was wrong. While I could
never have admitted it to my ladies, I did at some level, enjoy my day. The
soft sensuous feel of the lingerie against my body, the feeling of security,
as if being hugged constantly by my soft silky skirt, I could not and still
cannot, understand why such feelings should be denied to men. Obviously not
all men would want to experience the right to dress in silk, lace and
skirts, just as many women would not be caught dead in a skirt or pantyhose.
The difference is that women have the choice to dress as they wish. Few
would think twice about seeing a woman dressed in jeans, a shirt, and boots,
while just as few would not stare in judgment at a man in a ruffled blouse,
denim skirt, pantyhose and strapy high heeled sandals. Why should the
clothes that a person chooses to wear make such a difference to anyone other
than the person wearing the clothes? Questions without answers: Sensations
never to be felt: Fantasies never to be realized. Time to check out the
Right Guard anyway just in case.

Of course I knew what I would find, knew that I had been outsmarted once
again, but I had to check, I had to try.  True to her word Debbie had
emptied both containers, just one more little humiliation to show me who was
in control, why cooperation was my only option. With a weak promise to
myself not to give in too easily, I finished drying and dusted myself with
the sweet smelling powder as instructed. With one last glance in the mirror
and with a deep sigh of resignation I reach out and take the soft pink satin
robe into my hand. The satin felt so light and smooth in my hand, the color
so feminine, the length short but it should at least reach mid-thigh. At
least that's what I thought before I put it on. When guessing at its length
before putting it on I failed to take into consideration the size of my
recently enlarged chest. By the time I got the robe wrapped around my
substantial breasts it was barely long enough to cover my butt if I stood
real still. No matter how I pulled or tried to stretch the unyielding fabric
I could not get it to cover all that needed covered.

"Ahhh Karin, could you come over here please?"

"What can I do for my sweet cheeked, older than I, little sisterbrother?"

"I, ah, this ah robe, it's ah, it's too small. Can you get me something
larger?"

"In what way is it too small dear? Can't you get it over your shoulders?"

"Well ah, no the shoulders and arms fit fine."

"Then it doesn't fit over your breasts. Is that the problem?"

"No it's not that either. It's just that the robe is so ah... so... short. I
mean it's hard enough to have you see me the way I am, let alone in a skimpy
little robe that almost covers my ass."

"Too short!? Is that all you're worried about? 'Too short, how could
anything like that be too short?' Isn't that what you told Debbie when it
was her instead of you wearing it? What's the matter little sisterbrother or
is that sissybrother, not wo-"man" enough to even face your little sister?
Feeling a little exposed are you? Maybe just a bit vulnerable with all that
open air between your toes and tush? Not feeling embarrassed about being
bare assed are you? Like I said before dearie there's no need for modesty
between us girls, you haven't got anything I haven't seen before. Now quit
whining like a baby girl and wiggle your cute little ass on out here."

I was stuck, she was using my own words against me again, and I had no
grounds upon which to fight. She had hit the nail right on the head I was
feeling extremely embarrassed and vulnerable in my skimpy little robe. Its
satin hem hitting my bare ass with even the slightest movement, my recently
acquired tits jiggling and swaying in time with my breathing, acting as
constant reminders that my summer vacation would most definitely be a change
of pace from my ordinary routine.

What choice did I have? I couldn't stay in the bathroom forever, and besides
even though I could not admit to it, even to myself, I was curious to see
what they would dress me as next. Karin was waiting for me hairbrush in
hand, motioning me to sit at the vanity so that she could get to work.
Debbie's little backless chair having been replaced with my executive type,
overstuffed, office chair so that she could turn me whichever way she needed
without effort. I sat and nearly stood right back up, I never realized how
cold leather could be on a bare butt and thighs. Karin just stood over me
and grinned as I
sat and fidgeted, tugging at the hem of my robe, trying to wish it longer,
pulling at the lapels trying to keep my faux breasts covered, nothing I did
however, seemed to help my situation. Enduring my antics for as long as she
could, Karin decided that it was time to finally get started.

 Ever the efficient one, she went right to work with her brush. First
brushing out all the knots, and then trimming the ends to even them out, she
talked about how lucky I was to have such healthy hair, and how nice she
would make it look the next day when I visited her salon. She combed most of
my hair to each side from a part down the center of my head and then pulled
a small amount forward over my face. Trimming it  that it covered my
forehead landing just above the top of my eyebrows, giving me very feminine
bangs and an appearance that I would not have believed possible had I not
witnessed it myself. Her next step was to add rollers to each side of my
head, using the biggest curlers I had ever seen. Their size was substantial
enough that she could only fit three on each side and used up all of my
hair. She explained that for tonight I wanted (I wanted?) to have nice wavy
curls instead of the cute little curls that my hair naturally dried into. I
wondered but felt it best at that point to say nothing.

Her next endeavor was to repair the messy job I had done on my finger nails.
Chattering away about how I was going to love the look of a proper manicure,
how clean and feminine my hands would look with pretty fashion length
acrylic nails. Using nail polish remover she quickly removed the polish I
had put on earlier, replacing it with a very light red, almost pink polish
which she also used on my toes. With instructions not to move or touch
anything so that I would not smudge my polish, she set about the task of
drying my recently set hair.

With my hair and nails dry it was time to remove the curlers, causing my
hair to bounce in huge curls on each side of my head. I looked shocked.
Karin looked pleased. She redefined the part down the center of my head and
brushed each side into the soft wavy curls that she had predicted. Gathering
all the hair the left side of my head she pulled it all together, very
tightly, to a spot near the top of my head just above my ear. Wrapping an
elastic hair tie
Karin made a pony tail high on the side of my head. She then quietly and
efficiently copied the procedure on the other side. My complaints about it
being too tight and little girl looking feel upon apparently deaf ears. As
if wearing a pair of pony tails high on the sides of my head was not little
girlish enough she then added insult to injury by tying a large red ribbon
with attached bow on each side. Putting my hands up to confirm the reality
of my new hair style I couldn't help but notice that my pretty new hair
ribbons matched almost exactly the color of my nails.

Visions of little Bo Peep and Alice in Wonderland started to flow through my
head. There could be little doubt that my new outfit would consist of lots
of frills and crinolines under a gingham or velvet dress with short puffy
lace trimmed sleeves, and either mid calf or butt length lace trimmed hem. I
easily envisioned pink fold over ankle socks with lots and lots of lace and
flowers or little animals, with single strap, patent leather, Mary Jane
style shoes, as if my previous outfit had not been humiliating enough. They
were going to dress me as a little girl and take me out in public, to a
meeting of some sort, meaning I would have to face strangers dressed like
that. Sending shivers down my spine however, was the realization that with a
little girl outfit could go diapers and plastic pants, with ruffled rumba
panties over that. While the fantasy of being diapered and refused bathroom
privileges intrigued me, the thought of diaper rash and stinky baby wipes
combined with loss of home turf scared the living daylights out of me.

It was an unmistakable subdued click with a bright flash that broke my
reverie. Opening my eyes I was surprised to see Susan standing across from
me with MY Leicaflex in her hand and my wife standing behind her, huge grins
on both their faces. Just what I needed more pictures of my transformation
and with my own camera no less!

"Oh gennie! You look fantastic! Karin has done an outstanding job on your
hair and make-up. You look so sweet in that sexy little robe. It's the same
one you gave to Debbie last Christmas isn't it? I hear you think it's too
short for you to wear but felt it was plenty long enough for your wife, is
that true? Personally I think it's a perfect length for my little
sissybrother. Now let Karin get your lipstick on so I can get another
picture. Better yet I'll get pictures of her applying your lipstick that
will be so hot! Maybe we can sell the pictures to one of those magazines of
yours Debbie said she found hidden in the garage."

I had been so lost in thought that I didn't even realize that Karin had
painted my eyes and face. Looking at myself in the mirror my mind could not
believe what my eyes told it. Sitting there in my office chair was a young
lady in a pink satin robe with large doe-like blue eyes. Her hair was done
up in little girl bows and pony tails.  The make-up on her face had been
done with such perfection that a person would have had to look twice to
realize that she was even wearing make-up, so subtle were the highlights.  I
must have been sitting there with my mouth open because I felt the chair
turning and Karin's hand on my chin pushing it closed. Putting on a show for
the camera, much to Susan and Debbie's delight, Karin skillfully applied
lipstick to my still male lips, enlarging them into a sexy pout, using the
same shade as my ribbons and nail polish. Karin's final touch was to replace
my earrings with dangly little, light red enameled, combined male and female
symbols just like
I had seen at the TG web sites I had visited (hey I never said I didn't know
anything about TG/TV/TS). At least I was color coordinated.

"Well gennie dear, are you ready for me to get you dressed yet? I'll bet the
curiosity is driving you crazy to see what you'll be wearing tonight. Not
wanting to keep you in suspense any longer your new outfit is right over
there on the bed."

Looking over at the bed all I could see was another large garment bag and a
rather large looking shoe box.

"Gee dear it's lovely. I don't think I can wait to get into it all. And look
at those shoes do you think they're big enough?" I just could not resist the
sarcasm fortunately the ladies let that one slide.

Emptying the contents of the bag onto the bed I was both shocked and
relieved at what was set out. Much to my relief there was no evidence of a
lacy little girl dress, yet there was a pair of ruffled panties in the same
red as the rest of me and another pair of those hated heavy duty hair hiding
pantyhose in a color she told me was called nude. My hopes of having fun
with Debbie while getting dressed died when she handed me the first garment,
another Classic Curves girdle with the padded butt and hips and my sisters
made it clear that they would make no move to leave the room on the contrary
they collaborated on getting pictures of Debbie helping me get dressed. Once
I wiggled my way into the girdle Debbie handed me what she called a waist
cincher. It was shimmery red satin and seemed to continue the color
coordination theme. She explained to me that it was like a short corset
without garter tabs or built in bra. Much to my dismay I found that it was
even more heavily boned and restrictive than my previous corset and had the
disadvantage, at least in my opinion, of lacing in the back. An option my
dear Debbie delighted in taking full advantage of. Before capturing my
quivering boobs in the matching Wonder Bra, Debbie had to pause so that I,
yes I, could change the film in my camera.

I was then handed a white satin camisole and white shirt. Yes I said shirt,
not blouse, at least I thought it was a man's shirt. It looked like an
ordinary long sleeve, white dress shirt with a button down collar. At least
until I went to do up those buttons and realized that the button holes were
on the wrong side and that the shirt had darts that allowed it to fit snugly
over not only my well endowed chest, but also tapered down to form fit over
my restricted waist as well. There was little doubt by that time that it was
unlike any dress shirt I had ever worn before. The next items handed me were
those awful pantyhose, a flared white satin half-slip and the ruffled red
panties. I found once again how difficult bending can be with a steel band
wrapped around your waist, at least that's what it felt like. Debbie took
pity on me though and helped with the pantyhose and panties. The slip I
managed to get on by myself. Throughout the entire ordeal there were Karin
and Susan making comments and clicking off pictures from every angle they
could think of. My new skirt came next, a wool blend pleated skirt, red and
black plaid with suspenders that to my somewhat untrained eye appeared to be
about three inches long, with a waist diameter big enough to fit a pencil.
Debbie held it open at ankle level so that I could step into it, her hands
"accidentally" rubbing my legs as she drew the short skirt up to my little
waist. The skirt wasn't as short as my robe had been, but then that's not
saying much.

I wanted so badly be allowed to turn to the mirror, to see what I looked
like in my new outfit. Did I look as ridiculous as I feared? Would everyone
know that I should not have been wearing these clothes? On the surface I
knew that Karin had made me into an innocent looking young woman with a face
that was not all hard to look at. But in the deeper recesses I just knew
that no matter how good I looked people would be able to see through me and
know that I was not as I appeared. I was told that the mirror was a reward I
would receive as soon as I got my shoes on and my stockings straight.
Opening the shoe box I wasn't exactly sure what I thought of the shoes, my
new shoes.
They looked like old style saddle shoes with the black and white leather
uppers and white shoe strings except that they each had a very chunky 4 inch
heel and a 1 inch platform on the sole. Ankle breakers Karin called them I
found that I agreed even before trying to walk in them. But before putting
on the shoes I had to have socks of course, in this case white opaque
stockings that ended in a band of lace and bows on my lower thighs just
above my knees.


"Ok love now you can look in the mirror. As a matter of fact you will likely
need to use the mirror so you can tie your tie."

"Tie, my tie! What are you talking about?"

"It's part of the look dear, the white button down shirt, the suspenders tha
t hug your breasts right across the nipples, and the over the knee
stockings, and of course that adorable hair do Karin designed for you. Why
you look just like a pretty young high school senior ready for a day at
school, just don't try to run away from the boys in those shoes, and be
careful not to bend over in that cute little skirt unless of course you want
everyone to see your sweet little sissy panties."

"But a tie? Debbie you know how much I hate wearing ties. Do you have any
idea what it's like to be strangled by a tie all day? How uncomfortable it
is to have to put up with that knot under your chin all the time?"

Their only response was to stare at me and grin until it finally made it
through my thick head that I was saying to them exactly what Debbie had been
saying to me about wearing a skirt. Could I possibly dig myself any deeper?
I must admit though I did find my new look very, very, sexy a fact I don't
think I hid very well from the women folk.

 Readers: Please let me know what you think.

With warm pink fuzzies
Luv, gennie TV :)
Part was posted earlier and part 9 is on the way. Any comments, suggestions,
questions don't hesitate to contact me at     miss_gennie@myway com

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