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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 did 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 night 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. It's 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 too. 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 a
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 humongus 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 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 it's 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, 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. 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 conscience 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 it's place
was a bright pink, make-up bag with an envelope addressed 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 towards
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 oooze 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 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 <Surprise!>.
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
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 it's 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.
gennie :-)
Man Maid --- Part 2 --- July 1997
gennie TV
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
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, haha, that's right, I forgot you're in a skirt. Makes running kind a
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 <even though I
refused to admit any of that even to myself>, 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 it's 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 liked
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.
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 transgendered? 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 of 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)
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
arroused 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, <giggle> 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 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? <giggle> Isn't 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 more angry I became. I was
a man, and what's more I was the man of this, my house. I was not
some whimppy 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. Karen 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 myself, 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, it's
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.
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.
Love,
gennie :-)
Man Maid ---- Part 4 ---- October 1997
gennie TV
**********************
"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."
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! <sigh> 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
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 J-ello 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.
-miss_gennie@hotmail.com
Love,
gennie :-)