Money for Nothing
The party was fun because all my friends were there. Conversations drifted everywhere and someone mentioned idiotic reality shows.
"The worst has to be 'He's a Lady'."
"None of them look even remotely like a real woman."
"That wasn't the point."
"There's that one who looks good."
"Nah. She only looks marginally terrible. In comparison to the others."
"You said 'She'!" Everyone laughed.
"I can't believe anyone would go through all that."
"The winner gets a quarter million dollars," I said.
"Would you do it for a quarter million dollars?" Bob asked. The conversation suddenly took a new focus as normally, the question would have been rhetorical. But Bob had come into an obscene amount of money. 'Dot com' kind of money so a quarter of a million was a drop in the ocean to Bob. "You'd probably be believable Brian," he added.
Except for the music, the party became quiet. The question hung out there as everyone wondered if Bob might be serious. It would fit the prankster in him.
"I don't think so," I said trying to defuse the thing with a laugh. "Not for that kind of money anyway."
"He probably WOULD look good," one of the girls said looking at me with an uncomfortably appraising eye.
"You know, I think he would," another replied. "It'd be fun to see anyway."
"For an even million then Brian? For one million dollars," Bob asked with a twisted smile and his best 'Dr. Evil' imitation, complete with pinkie at the corner of his mouth.
Then John jumped in. "I'll do it!"
Everyone laughed. John was 6' 3", built like a mountain, and would look less like a woman than the guys on that show.
"Don't do this to me Bob," I said.
"Do what?" he asked with that same smile. "It's just for a little fun. Those guys on TV are doing it just to compete for a quarter million."
"Come on Brian."
"This'll be so cool."
I couldn't believe my friends were egging me on, or that I was actually considering it.
"What would I have to do if I said yes?"
Everyone started talking at once. Ideas were excitedly tossed around. A few concepts from the show seemed popular.
Total immersion or pretending to be a woman full-time was big. Bob would spring for an apartment that the girls were only too eager to furnish. Everyone agreed that a big chunk of time and a series of rewards, penalties, and milestones were important too. Without a competition to drive things, they were supposed to be my incentive to really try my best at being a woman. Three months was settled on. Could I play at being a girl for three months? Do this goofy thing and collect a cool million bucks by the end?
"OK. I'll do it," I heard myself say. "When does it start?"
"That'll depend on you Brian," Bob said as he thought. "This isn't supposed to be a cake-walk. You're going to have to be serious if I'm going to fork out a million dollars. I want my money's worth. I want a FULL three months."
"What do you mean?" I asked having second thoughts already.
"Think of it as a qualifying task and the first moneyed mile-stone. You get down to whatever weight the girls pick, get electrolysis, and come back to me. Do those two things and you get the first one hundred thousand dollars. If you've made it that far, the girls can measure and get a wardrobe for you and we'll set up the apartment. The clock starts ticking after a professional makeover, we give you a new name, and you move into the apartment, where you'll have earned the next one hundred thousand."
Bill jumped in, "But he'll have two hundred thousand for just one day in a dress! He can quit right then!"
"That's why I included the weight and the electrolysis," Bob grinned devilishly. "After going through all that to start, Brian'll have done the hardest parts. He'd be giving up the easy money for no good reason."
"OK. OK," I said. "Let's talk milestones and everything else before this is final."
There was another flurry of ideas that someone wrote down. I finally looked at the list in disbelief. Voice lessons, dance lessons, cooking class, sewing class, etiquette, and beautician's school.
"I can't fit all this into three months!"
"Think of it as your new job," someone threw out.
"And its a fucking great paying job at that," someone added to a burst of laughter. The concept of full-time really sunk in. Immersion and feminine 'training' wasn't like some private Halloweenish kind of game. I was going to have to eat, sleep, and BE a woman for three whole months. I'd have to put away my life as Brian completely during that whole time. As terrified as I was, it was hard to keep my thoughts from drifting to what I'd do with a million dollars.
"Let's do it." I said after heaving a big nervous sigh.
So I started my crash diet and showed up to my first day of electrolysis. At 5' 5" the girls picked an insane 105 pounds. Bob's money was paying for the electrolysis and my first day was just that, a day. Normally, the women who endure the pain of permanently zapping away their body hair go for an hour session, no more than once a week so I figured I'd get two months over with in one eight-hour session. Electrolysis hurts like hell and it takes a long time to zap each and every hair individually. I wasn't sure I was going to be able to stand it but the idea that women did this (and the thought of a million dollars) certainly helped. The idea of never having to shave again in the morning didn't seem all that bad either.
"What are you doing?" I asked when she repositioned herself by my hand.
"I'm moving to another area," she said matter of factly. "I don't want to traumatize too big an area at a time."
"But we're just doing my face."
She actually laughed. "My instructions are from head to toe, and everything in between."
"Everything," she said looking into my eyes. It wasn't what I planned, but full-body electrolysis was certainly more of a test than just preventing me from growing a beard. One million dollars. This was for one million dollars.
She took my hand tentatively, not sure if I would let her continue. She finally broke eye contact to bring her equipment to the sparse hairs on the back of my hand and I didn't pull away.
The equivalent of two months of sessions in just one day, and she worked Saturday's too. I got about a year's worth of electrolysis done in that first week and a glimpse of a future without body hair as patches of mosquito-bite-like welts healed. I became somewhat numb to the process, though starting up in the morning (or after a long break) was particularly hard to face.
She continued for two more weeks and she was nearly done. She saved the most difficult and painful areas for last. I hated that she called the area around my crotch my 'bikini line' but it would have been silly to complain. The ever-shrinking triangle of pubes that she could reach by pushing aside or moving my underwear down already looked like a feminine 'bush'. That fourth (and what I thought final) week was a fog. I happily followed her suggestion to be sufficiently drunk for her to do my armpits.
Thankfully, I actually passed out before she did my balls and ass. The worst month of my life had gone by and I felt a wave of relief in spite of what I had done to myself. Being shocked by electrified needles helps keep your mind off food too. I wasn't quite 105 yet, but my near starvation diet had gotten me close. That million was going to be easy after enduring that torture. I couldn't wait to get things started, and then over with. The combination of smooth hairless skin and a girl-thin body did more to feminize me than I was comfortable admitting to myself. I had never even tried on a pair of panties in my life, but I already looked way too much like a woman.
"You're very pretty," she said. "Very feminine."
I was very drunk and barely understood her. "Thank you," was all I that came to mind.
I vaguely remember her saying something about "bonus money" and being upset that I had to come back for a "cleanup" starting two weeks later. Something about secondary growth and young hairs we might have missed. My now frail body endured a disproportionately massive hangover and I woke up on my own couch the next morning with a crumple of paper next to me on the floor. It was a note from the woman who had done my electrolysis. She didn't want me to forget the first of two 'cleanup' appointments in two weeks time.
She also reminded me (correctly) that I might not remember that I would be getting another one hundred thousand of bonus money.
"Bonus money?" I staggered bleary-eyed into the bathroom and saw what the money was for. It wasn't for the large diamonds dazzling brightly from each newly pierced earlobe. It was for the delicately thin, ultra- feminine brows that completely changed my face. With my thinned out, almost dainty, frame and features, those slender arches turned my face into an unmistakably feminine face, a woman's face. And then to my horror, it dawned on me that those utterly feminine brows were permanent!
It was easy getting those last pounds off when I was too scared to leave the house. Even though I hadn't dressed as a woman yet, I knew (by trying) that I couldn't 'pass' as a man! I only left the house for my first cleanup session two weeks later and then my final cleanup session two weeks after that. I was down to 104 pounds, with a completely and permanently hairless body, when I nervously dialed Bob.
"It's me, Brian. I'm ready."
"Are you sure?"
"We'll have a little weigh-in party Saturday. OK?"
"Sounds great Bob. I'll be there."
One of the girls called shortly after. "What do your hips and waist measure Brian?"
"I'm not sure. Aren't you measuring me on Saturday?" I asked.
"We need to get you something before taking the real measurements Brian. Do you have a tape measure?"
"In my toolbox."
"Hips and waist then Brian. I'll wait."
The party on Saturday was a blur. I didn't even care about the gawking as I stood on the scale in my boxers. I was too happy to be actually starting this thing to care how my model-thin body, smooth skin, delicate brows, and dazzling earrings must have looked to them all. I was, after all, going to look a lot more like a woman soon enough. Gawks turned to cheers and congratulations when Bob handed me a check for $200,000. Everyone knew what the bonus money was for.
"The hard part is over," he said shaking my hand. "Good job Brian."
That was the last time anyone called me Brian that night. Even though the clock wasn't officially ticking, they named me 'Stacy' and used it from then on. The little something that needed measurements for my waist and hips was a medievally cruel undergarment that combined a padded bottom for my hips, ass and rib-crushing corsetry.
I could barely breathe after they trussed me into it. My near-anorexic waist was tapered to ridiculously wasp-like proportions, which only accentuated my new womanly curves. Industrial strength Lycra held my already flat tummy firmly while tightly binding any trace of my manhood from sight.
The C-cup bra and eerily real breast forms allowed the girls to take all kinds of measurements for the wardrobe they would pick out for me. Bob was going to send them on a shopping spree and I was almost lost in their giddy excitement. They had one week to get everything for me and to get an apartment ready for "Stacy". Then I discovered that I already had an appointment for my makeover.
I sipped water flavored with a squeeze of lemon that night. Steeling a little private time in the bathroom, I stared at the check before melting into a good silent cry. I still don't know if it was from relief or from some feeling that I was trading more than my dignity for something as stupid as money. Whatever it was, I calmed down and tried to put it behind me.
The party broke up and I left with four of those undergarments (nude, white, black, and red) and those breast forms. There was medical adhesive instead of a bra in my bag of goodies. My next task was as simple as it was clear. Show up for the appointment (as Brian) wearing one of the undergarments and with those breast forms firmly glued to my chest.
I was to wear zippered sweats and a pair of cheap shower flip-flops (that wouldn't spoil a pedicure). The woman's clothes would be provided for me afterward. The week dragged on like I was waiting on death row. I kept telling myself that the hard part was behind me. That next Saturday, I stared at the beauty parlor for twenty minutes from my car before taking a deep breath and forcing myself to enter. There were no other customers.
"Hi. I'm Brian," I said to the woman behind the counter. I must have been beat-red from embarrassment.
"Hello," she said beaming. "My name is Cheryl, this is Amber, Cloey, and Tina. You're going to be in good hands Brian. You are our only customer for the day."
As Cheryl spoke, Tina hung the "closed" sign and drew the blinds. Inwardly, I thanked Bob for the private arrangements.
"Are you ready to become Stacy?"
"Not really." I regretted saying it even as the words escaped. The enthusiasm visibly melted from Cheryl. "I'm only kidding," I said with a laugh. "I'm all yours ladies. Work your magic and make me beautiful!"
Cheryl and the others lit up. They seemed to be looking forward to this unusual challenge. They obviously knew all the details leading up to the moment.
"So you're going to get $100,000 just for what we're doing today," Tina asked as she shampooed my hair.
"Did you really have all your body hair removed?" Cloey asked before I could answer. "Oh I'd give anything not to have to shave ever again!"
They all murmured agreement before asking for details on how long it took and how much it hurt. They asked about how I got to that weight and I happily told all. The irony of discussing diet tips and the societal pressure towards an unreasonable beauty ideal wasn't lost on any of us as Cheryl, Amber, Cloey, and Tina worked to realize those ideals. Talking like I was just "one of the girls" definitely put me at ease and almost made the whole thing enjoyable.
"I guess you're going to find out for yourself if blondes have more fun," Tina laughed as she worked chemical smelling goop into my hair. Cheryl co-ordinated everything. Tina colored my hair before Cloey started the incredibly long process of weaving blonde extensions into my own hair. As Cloey worked behind my chair, Amber started on my nails. It was strange to see and feel beautiful long nails become part of my hands. The glistening polished tapers of my French tips made my thin hairless hands look more than just dainty. They made my hands look beautiful.
With glossy cream-colored polish and a perfect pedicure, my feet looked downright pretty too. Thank God the industrial Lycra held my forgotten manhood from embarrassing me. For some reason, seeing such pretty hands and feet on my own body actually aroused me. Many hours later, after sharing a few bites of a salad for lunch, Cloey finished the extensions. Tina stepped in to bring highlights into my newly woven hair.
"What's this smelly stuff for?" I said wrinkling my nose.
"Something to give a little body and wave to your new hair," Tina smiled. "You'll see. It will be full and beautiful."
Cheryl finally stepped in to give shape and style to it all. She clipped, dried, teased, and sprayed until I felt like I was wreathed in my own hair. She didn't let me see, but I could see excited looks from Tina, Cloey, and Amber as she worked.
"OK," She said. "Now for your makeup."
Cheryl carefully applied makeup to my face, talking about what she was doing all the while. The smells of the makeup, the feel of thickly curled lashes as I blinked, the taste of lipstick on my own lips, all of it made me FEEL feminine. I was more than a little confused at how I responded to that feeling; at it all feeling somehow wonderful; at it intensifying the dull sexual ache I had been feeling in my crotch all day.
Amber took a video of it all, "So you'll know how to do it for yourself."
Cheryl called her team in front of me and I still wasn't allowed to look. "What do you think?"
"She's beautiful," Amber said in hushed awe. I didn't say anything about being called 'she' but my poor trapped penis strained a little harder against its unyielding prison.
"Perfect Cheryl. You've really outdone yourself."
"It's just not fair," Cloey said.
"What's not fair?" Cheryl asked.
Cloey spoke to me as she answered them. "So many real women would kill to look half as beautiful as you do," she said. "It's not fair that you can look that amazing!"
"I can't take it anymore. Can I see now?"
"Sure," Cheryl said with a smile. "We're done."
With that, Cheryl removed the cape that I'd worn to protect my old sweats all day. She swiveled that chair back toward the mirrors in front of me. I stared in disbelief at the incredibly hot looking woman mouthing the words, "Oh my God" in synch with my own voice. The way the light played off her glistening full red lips as they moved made me think of how great they would be to kiss, or how they might feel around my "I don't believe it," I saw the woman say with my voice. "It can't be."
"Believe it Brian, or should I say Stacy. You are one hot looking woman."
Cheryl held two keys on a pretty heart-shaped key chain. "We should go. I'm supposed to take you to your new apartment and wait outside."
"Wait for what?"
"Those clothes you're wearing," she said with a smile.
"Oh," I said with understanding. I was still in shock over just how absolute my transformation had been as Cheryl drove me home in a classic pink corvette. The convertible top was up (to protect our hair) but the look was unmistakable. Strangely, my opinion of Cheryl went down a notch at the thought of her intentionally choosing a real-life replica of a Barbie Doll car. I hadn't bothered to notice the license plate that read "Stacy's Toy".
The building was beautiful, with underground parking. Cheryl waved a pink, heart shaped, card over the security panel to raise the gate before entering. Another wave of the card in the elevator lit a button for the top floor, which she pushed. There was no hallway, only a receiving area in front of a wide double door. The lighting was soft and the walls a soft pastel. There were flowering plants arranged invitingly.
"I'll wait here. I'm not supposed to go inside," Cheryl said handing me Amber's video, the heart-card, and the pretty heart shaped key-chain.
"Yours," she smiled.
"What have I gotten myself into?" I said more to myself.
"A pretty pampered life for a few months it looks like," Cheryl said almost enviously.
"Then why am I scared?"
Cheryl just shrugged. That kind of question deserved either a long answer or none. "I'll wait here," she repeated.
I nodded and turned my attention to the doors. What I saw on the inside blew me away. It wasn't that the apartment took up the whole top floor, or the incredible view of the city, or any of the opulent furnishings. I was struck by the femininity of it all. Pinks, pastels, pillows, and poufs. Lace trimmings, flowers, knick-knacks, doilies, and potpourri. Everything screamed woman so loudly that it was almost comical.
Cheryl chuckled behind me, looking in though the doors. "I take it back," she said. "This might be tougher than I thought for a guy."
Cheryl was soon gone with my old sweats and flip-flops. I stood alone in my new apartment, wearing only that crushing undergarment and with my ample breasts tugging freely on my chest. I knew that the only clothes available to me would be found somewhere in that sea of femininity that was 'my' apartment. I went in search of my new clothes with uneasy nervousness.
This was it. Brian couldn't play anymore and I was going to be Stacy for three whole months. Then I suddenly realized that I was stuck. The idea of 'choice', at least for the short term, was beyond me. In a way, I couldn't avoid being Stacy now. There was simply no way I could leave the apartment as anything but a woman. Clothes or not, the clock was already ticking in my mind.
I found the sprawling bedroom and started to laugh. The expansive heart-shaped bed had pink satin sheets and pillows everywhere. The room wasn't just feminine, it was over-the-top to the point of being ridiculous.
It didn't take long for me to work my way over to the cavernous walk-in closet near the dressing area. I stood there stunned by the sheer volume of it all. I could probably go the three months and not wear the same thing twice! The girls did their job well, too well. It looked like they had indulged every shopping woman's dream while taking the opportunity to dole out some minor vengeance on the men of the world too.
There were no pants of any kind, only skirts and dresses, which came in two lengths, micro and mini! Everything, top and bottom, was tight and fitted and designed to show every embarrassing curve and as much skin as possible. I wouldn't fare better with the wall of shoes either. Not one heel was below four inches!
There was an envelope in the center of the vanity. "Dear Stacy, We look forward to seeing you at your 'coming out' party tonight. There you will receive your third milestone check. If you would like to double it, you might want to start the voice lessons that we loaded into the DVD player. If we think you're doing well enough, you'll win the bonus. Love, Us"
That would be the easiest bonus to win, I thought to myself. I never had a deep voice and could do an astonishingly realistic woman's voice if I wanted to. Nobody had ever heard it before though. It was too embarrassingly realistic for me to even jokingly imitate a woman. I would get to that DVD, but first I had to pick out some clothes to wear.
It was funny how the act of putting on clothes actually made me feel more naked. The sheer black pantyhose covered my lower body, but I didn't feel covered at all. I also decided on a 'little black dress' and the simplest black shoes I could find. The slinky little nothing of a dress clung to every curve and was haltered, being held up by a little bow tied behind my neck. It also exposed my alarmingly delicate arms and back.
No matter how much I tugged it down it only covered the top third of my thighs at most. After everything else though, I wasn't prepared for that feeling of femininity washing over me again as I stepped into and tried standing in the black patent pumps with their four inch heels. There's just something inherently sexy about long legs perched atop a pair of high heels, and it was almost disturbing to see that my legs were no exception.
My model's weight made my slender legs look a mile long in those shoes as they poked out from that incredibly short dress. If the girls wanted to teach me just how much women tortured themselves to look good for men, it worked. Standing perched in those toe-crushing shoes and feeling like a living decoration, I finished getting dressed by putting on some jewelry, spritzing some perfume, and putting my things (lipstick, a compact, my card and keys) into a little black evening bag.
I wasn't on my feet for more than five minutes, but I was already grateful to have a reason to sit in front of the TV. I almost had to repeat the first few minutes of the voice lessons though, because I had been struggling with just how I SHOULD sit. That dress was so short that whatever leg-crossing manoeuvres I tried just didn't hide what I needed to hide.
A little dress-smoothing move that I had seen other women do as they sat seemed to help. With a little tugging, my legs together (crossed only at the ankles), and my hands in my lap, I felt I could finally sit in public. Mentally though, I had already figured that I would probably just suffer on my feet than bother wrestling with this dress just to sit.
The voice lesson DVD was more helpful than I would have thought. There seemed to be so much more to sounding like a woman than just pitch. Some things were obvious. I knew that there were certain words that women used that men didn't. I couldn't tell you the last time I used a word like breathtaking, scrumptious, precious, or yummy. Pronouncing all the letter sounds instead of rushing a word like a guy would was another one, the most obvious being the clear sound of escaping steam for an 'S'. When a guy did it, it sounded gay. When I woman did it, she simply sounded like a woman. There were many others that weren't so obvious, like actually trying to pronounce the 'H' sound in words with the letter combination 'WH', like 'when' and 'whether'. The DVD said to think of it as a woman's accent. I quickly discovered that, like most guys, I also had only about three levels to my 'range' (normal, a little higher, and a little lower).
Women use a more varied, almost sing-song range, with many levels higher and lower and with no real 'normal' to land on. Women also spoke more passively than men. Where a man would be direct, a woman would defer, often asking a question instead. Instead of saying, "I think that blah blah blah," she would say "Don't you think that blah blah blah?"
Even just working a little of the tips into my already realistic voice seem to take things to almost alarming levels. My voice wasn't just womanly, it was becoming downright pretty.
"Aside from being the prettiest thing a woman can wear," the DVD also said, "smiling forces a more pleasant tone to come through."
Putting it all together turned my voice into something that went beyond pretty. I actually had a sexy woman's voice and shuddered to think how good it would get after three months of practice. The rest of the DVD talked specifically about how to speak to men, or really how to keep them interested. At first I didn't pay much attention but then remembered that I was going to be judged by the whole gang later that night. It dawned on me that knowing this stuff might be just the kind of total buy-in that they all wanted to see out of me! Not wanting to lose what seemed like an otherwise easy bonus, I paid close attention. The DVD advised to do more listening than talking, and then to speak more to ask questions about the topic or the man himself.
It said to elevate the smile to a laugh at even the simplest of jokes. It told when to make eye contact (which was often) and when to look away coyly. I felt stupid studying the section, and even stupider actually practising what I could. But I thought of it all as 'my job' now and so did it anyway.
The private elevator and driving alone made it easier to leave the apartment. Somehow, I made it into the party. Bob opened the door, Cheryl from the beauty parlor was nearby with a few of my friends. Heads turned from across the room and I recognized the woman who gave me electrolysis too.
"Robert!" I beamed, mincing in and kissing his cheek.
"Oh my GOD Brian," someone said in stunned amazement. "Is that you?"
I didn't respond, pretending not to hear the Brian reference.
"Oh shit. I mean, Stacy! You look incredible!"
"Thank you Billy. You look wonderful too. How are you?"
Everyone was astounded but played along as if nothing was strange, as if I always was their friend Stacy. It was the hardest night of my life, being 'on' all night, like some kind of performer constantly on guard for a missed line or miscue. As much as I wanted to talk about the latest game or politics or even the women with the guys, I followed the DVD advice instead.
I realized the name for it pretty quickly. It was called flirting. The strange thing was just how oblivious they all were to what I was doing and that they all seemed to enjoy being talked to that way! My friend Greg even excused himself during a conversation. I pretended not to notice the awkward swelling in his pants for both of our sakes.
"You little vixen!"
"That's Rachel's Greggy Stacy! You keep your hands off!"
After a good laugh, I found myself surrounded by the girls. They were too excited about what I had picked to wear that they didn't talk about much else for a while. I found myself weirdly engaged in genuine girl- talk about the clothes, about my diet, about the electrolysis, about the makeover, about how sorry Greg would be after Rachel got through with him for looking at me like that.
"My feet are really starting to kill me," I moaned at one point.
"Why don't you sit?"
"In that dress?" someone said for me to a round of giggles.
"Oh wait. Here comes Bob."
"Hello ladies," he said dramatically. "Can I borrow Stacy for a moment?" I giggled with the others as he led me away. "Your attention please! Please. Everyone. Tonight we got to meet our good friend Stacy for the first time. Does everyone agree that she deserves a reward?"
Cheers from everyone made me grin even wider in spite of myself.
"And the bonus. Does our beautiful Stacy win the bonus?"
The cheers were even louder from everyone (except Greg, who was getting glares from Rachel next to him).
"So be it," Bob said with a flourish. "Two hundred thousand dollars."
I was truly giddy as he handed me the check. After all that I had done to get there, the clock was finally ticking. It was hard work being 'on' as Stacy all night, but it was so much easier than everything leading up to that point. It was surprisingly fun as well. I had more than survived this night that I had dreaded so much. I was going to be able to do this! I was on my way to a million dollars, and even more with bonuses!
"Oh thank you Robert!" I said practically flinging myself toward him. I didn't quite lose my balance, but I needed to lean on Bob's chest as I rose on the toes of one foot to kiss his cheek. I instinctively bent my other leg back at the knee for balance in an unplanned move that I knew looked a lot sexier than I would have wanted.
"Ooooooooooooooooooo," many said as I left lipstick marks on Bob's cheek.
"She really should be a woman," I heard Greg say to Bill out of Rachel's earshot.
"She really should," Bill replied. I had pulled away from Bob but knew that he heard those comments too. There was that look in his eyes again.
"Attention everyone. Please. One more moment before we all turn into pumpkins tonight. Please. Thank you." He looked at me in front of him. "Though Stacy will have a full three moths to learn many things," he started saying, "she will still have a hard time showing I.D.'s or a driver's license."
Everyone was quiet.
"So following Greg and Bill's suggestion, I'm offering this grand bonus. If Stacy can legally change her I.D.'s to show her name and gender, I'll give an extra million dollar bonus!" This didn't go over as well as Bob had hoped. There was silence, interspersed with a few murmurs.
"I'm not talking surgery people," he said a little annoyed. "Just legally changing the license and other I.D.'s"
I actually heard someone say, "Whew!"
The murmurs grew into excited chatter. Would I do it? What was Bob trying to do here? Though he surely wouldn't miss the money, things suddenly started to be a little extreme, even for Bob.
The party eventually broke up and I ended up back 'home'. It felt great to kick off my heels. I must have rubbed my feet for a full twenty minutes before slipping into a long satin nightgown and under my equally soft sheets. Though I had a lot to think about, I was asleep in no time.
I started my real classes on Monday but found time to see a lawyer in between. "I'd like to change my name," I said after some small talk in his office.
"That should be a fairly simple process," he said as he reached into a drawer for some forms. "I'll need to ask you some questions, routine really, and to see your current I.D. Is it because of a marriage?"
"No," I said nervously. "I. I'd like to change my name to Stacy."
"But isn't that your name already?"
"Not exactly," I said handing him my driver's license. He stared at it for a moment before making the connection.
"Oh," he said. "I see. Well that's a little more complicated," he said as he closed the drawer. "I'll need medical authorization before I can do anything."
"From a psychiatrist or gender specialist confirming that you are indeed a woman. It's more common than you think. The designation is a psychological one Stacy, regardless if you're being pre-op, post-op, or anything in between."
Sometime after etiquette (or "charm school") the next day, I found myself in the office of a psychiatrist specializing in gender issues. Though I did not tell him the real events that brought me there, he seemed very influenced by my look, my voice, my weight, and the extreme steps regarding my body hair and eyebrows.
"I think you will be a particularly good candidate for gender reassignment," he said. "I'll need to see you for some time before we do anything drastic, but I expect things will proceed very quickly."
"How quickly doctor?"
"Well, typically a minimum of a year is needed before anyone can recommend full corrective surgeries," he mused. "But there are a lot of things we can do before then."
I apparently had skipped ahead a few steps by living full-time as a woman, by having gone through (in his mind) advanced voice training, and by having taken steps to modify my body through diet and electrolysis. The doctor actually seemed surprised that I had not begun any hormone therapy or had my name officially changed yet.
"That's actually why I'm here doctor."
"Good. Good. Well, no time like the present."
This was going better than I expected. It looked like I was going to get the papers I needed for the lawyer in no time! But instead of papers, the doctor had gone to a cabinet for some medications.
"This first one will neutralize your male hormone production," he said while loading up a syringe.
"Ummm, Doc?" I asked nervously.
"The effects will be fairly slow to take hold," he said, incorrectly guessing my line of questioning. "You probably won't notice much of anything in the first month or two, and then very little in the third month, if at all. Unfortunately, the biggest change will be in your moods Stacy. I'm afraid you're going to have to face the emotional roller-coaster that can be a woman's puberty."
Little or no change in the first few months. Perfect. Maybe I could play along with no effect.
"What about the name change?"
"Soon Stacy. Though it won't take a year, I can't rush a diagnosis either. We can't have people running around legally changing their sex so easily, can we?"
"How long?" I persisted as he walked closer with the first needle.
"With you," he said pausing to look into me, "probably no more than three months, about the same time the hormones start to show some results."
'This could actually work,' I thought.
"Please pull down your skirt enough to expose your hip Stacy."
He was patient and non-judgmental as I pulled down my skirt and proceeded to undo my extreme undergarment enough to comply. The shot stung deep. So did the following injection of woman's hormones into my body.
"This was just an initial dose," he said. "I'll want full blood-work and for you to see an endocrinologist who will prescribe and monitor the proper doses going forward. Do you know your mother's bra size?"
"It'll give us some indication of what to expect with your own breast development Stacy. Breast size is somewhat hereditary, though second puberties like yours usually fall a little short of mom's."
"I'm not sure," I said nervously. "She had a reduction done when I was young. I only knew her as a C-cup."
"Wonderful," he said cheerily. "Then we might expect an excellent response."
My life fell into a strange version of normalcy as I squeezed doctor's visits in between my womanly training. The doctor seemed almost more interested than I was to hear about my cooking class, dance class, sewing lessons, etiquette classes, and the beautician's school where I learned to do makeup and hair like a professional. One or another of my friends was in every one of my classes with me. We couldn't do a party every week, so they would make sure I was holding up my end of the bargain in between things. Some got their own rewards, but mostly they did it for fun.
"Can I interview any of them Stacy?"
"It helps my evaluation."
"It might be awkward," I said. "None really know me as anything but Stacy," I lied.
"I'll be discrete Stacy. They'll never know."
"Still," I said. "I should warn them that somebody will be asking about me."
"I understand," he said. "That would be fine."
I didn't want anything to impact the full-time act with my friends, so I typed them a note anonymously: "Dear Friends, A doctor will be calling you about your friend Stacy. Your memories before her 'coming out' party will be the same, but you never knew her as anything other than who she is now. Edit stories to reflect that. She had no 'relationships' that you know of. She is trying to win a bonus. Sincerely, An anonymous friend."
The weird normalcy of my life returned as the novelty of acting like a woman slowly became routine for me. By the second month, I was so used to walking in skyscraper heels that it was actually painful for me to walk flat-footed, straining my shrinking Achilles tendons. I stood tiptoe in the shower or when I walked to the bathroom at night. My womanly voice had become so second nature that I no longer had to think about it. I did my hair, makeup, and nails expertly. While my mornings took longer in front of the mirror, my makeup and hair had become as routine as shaving had been. My diet was no longer an effort to keep up and I walked, sat, and moved in even the shortest of skirts as if I were born in them. I wore a smile wherever I went and met every milestone and bonus that came my way. Even my friends fell into a sort of routine accepting me as Stacy. I was treated just like one of the girls. There wasn't even an impulse to talk sports with the guys. They just seemed happy to see me, their friend, whether or not any 'flirting' was involved. The forced girl-talk about clothes, Oprah, makeup, soaps, gossip about relationships, a new recipe, or even guys no longer was forced either. It was my life.
"That guy Jordan in dance class asked me out again," I said to Rachel.
"Did you say yes?"
"Puh-leeze," I said giving her the over-the-shoulder fish-eye.
"He's a great dancer but he is definitely not my type."
"Any other Tango Incidents?"
Jordan had sported a hard-on dancing a tango with me once. Rachel, who was in class with me couldn't wait to tell the girls about it and the term stuck.
"He's a little more careful now," I said smiling in spite of myself. "I think he actually binds himself somehow."
"Really? How do you know?"
"Because he moved the wrong direction and ended up straddling my thigh. Something wasn't quite where it should have been," I said.
"You tease that poor boy," someone said.
"I do not," I said dismissively.
"You do too," Rachel said seriously.
Linda started chanting, "Stacy is a cock tease. Stacy is a cock tease."
"Oh cut it out you two."
Talk like that was normal but something started to worry me more than how to deal with some guy with a crush on me. My moodiness was becoming harder to control and my chest was definitely starting to swell. My nipples were sensitive and starting to do things they never did as a guy. I didn't want to blow things with the doctor by seeming nervous about the change, but I had to see him.
"Swelling. Already? That's fantastic! Let's take a look Stacy. Please remove your blouse."
I unbuttoned my fitted blouse and unhooked my bra. My chest was too sensitive to keep the breast forms glued on much anymore. The doctor looked at the tiny swellings and then felt them! It wasn't a grope. It was purely professional and the deep pressing to see what was going on under my skin was anything but sexual. But what shocked me most was my reaction. I was a guy. I didn't have breasts yet. I shouldn't have cared one bit about this guy touching my chest, but I did.
"Hmmm," he said. "You can dress now Stacy."
"I'm pleased to say that you are indeed developing Stacy. Things are moving along nicely. I'd guess that you might experience more rapid development next month too!"
"That's great!" I lied.
"Yes. I'm happy for you. But I'm also a little disappointed Stacy."
"Why?" I asked apprehensively. "Because I've been speaking with your friends these last weeks and you've lied to me Stacy."
Oh shit. Was everything over? Did someone goof up?
"No interest in relationships? Rachel and some of the others mentioned a young man named Jordan. Is he the one you told me about in your dance class?"
"Yes. And that's all he is, a dance partner Doctor."
"I know," he said smiling. "I know. It seems that he's the one with the crush, but you don't seem to discourage him either. Are you sure there's no interest?"
"I'm SURE Doctor."
"Then what about Bob?"
"Robert? What about him?"
"Several of your friends told me of a party where you threw yourself into his arms and kissed him Stacy."
"That was a thank you kiss," I said feeling myself blushing ridiculously. "Nothing more."
"OK. OK, Stacy. No need to get worked up. I'm sorry but I have to admit that I was actually testing you, and you passed with flying colors."
"Yes. A test. You'd be surprised how many people try to get their friends to lie for them in these sorts of situations. Not that I didn't believe you before, but I had to be certain. You have some wonderful friends Stacy."
"I know," was all I could say. "They also convinced me that you've been living full-time as a woman for quite some time now. Two months is too soon for some things, but here." The doctor handed me an envelope. Inside was his certification that I was clinically considered to be a woman and that he recommended my true gender-status be legally recognized. I stared at a million dollar letter.
"Oh THANK you Doctor!" I said throwing my arms around him. In spite of myself, tears started spoiling my makeup.
"There, there, Stacy. Robert will be jealous."
"Oh you!" I said laughing through the tears. I didn't give the other item in the envelope a second thought. Even if it was for an appointment the following month and the surgery to remove my testicles. It didn't matter because it was scheduled for after I would be Brian again.
The gender aspect was more involved than a simple name change for someone getting married. The process was more pervasive, going back to birth certificates, school records and more trails back though my life than I would have imagined. It would take several weeks. During those weeks, my breasts started swelling at an alarming rate. They were big enough to actually be called breasts now. I didn't tell anyone.
Though they made me nervous, I latched onto the idea that my mother had had breast reduction surgery. I knew that I would have to have it done too after switching back to become Brian again. With that thought, it almost didn't mater how big they got before then. Finally, the paperwork was done, with only a week to go.
The lawyer finally pushed some papers my way. "You are now a woman named Stacy," he said grinning as I picked them up. "Take that top one to the Department of Motor Vehicles for your new license."
"Thank you," I said actually quaking in the chair.
"Are you OK?"
"I'm fine," I said unconvincingly. "I'm just so happy."
In spite of the extra million that I had just 'earned', the gravity of those papers hit me. The clothes I wore weren't a costume anymore. To all the world, legally and in so many other ways, I really was a woman named Stacy. This wasn't a joke. I was a woman! The impact hit me just as hard when I went to the DMV and got my license. I looked at it with my new name, and photo. I looked at a very pretty woman.
Name: Stacy. Sex: F. The rest of the week went by as a blur. The final night of the whole crazy deal was going to be a farewell party to Stacy. No one knew that I legally was Stacy and that it wasn't going to be that simple for me to be Brian again. It was a strange party, more like a funeral. I stayed in character, not wanting to blow anything at that stage.
It was if I were going away on a trip. People hugged me. People said they were going to miss me. Some even cried like they were losing a friend. Did people like Stacy better than Brian? I didn't see it that way. Things were just different.
"Attention! Attention everyone, please! Please." Bob was in the center of the room with me at his side. "Stacy has lived up to her end of the bargain and more."
There were cheers for me.
"So with congratulations Stacy, I am proud to give you the final sum of five hundred thousand dollars!"
"Wait. There's something I have to say first," I said. Everyone waited. "I. I, uh. Drat," I said finally, taking my license out of my purse and handing it to Bob. He looked at it slowly, in disbelief.
"Are you serious?" he whispered. I just nodded. "Sudden change of plans everyone. It looks like it might be a little difficult for Stacy's plane to leave us tonight after all!"
With that, Bob started circulating my license. They now all knew. They knew I had become Stacy. Though I could turn myself back into Brian, it might take a while before I was legally anything but a woman named Stacy. The party suddenly took on a festive air though, more festive than could be explained by Bob ripping up the first check and cutting a new one for a million dollars more.
"Attention everyone," Greg suddenly said, with Rachel at his side. "I know Bob's the one for making announcements but everyone's here and I've got great news to tell. Rachel and I are engaged!"
Cheers swelled again, but for the happy couple now. The party clustered into groups and I found myself alone with Bob in the kitchen. "What are you going to do now Stacy?"
"I'm not sure. This has been very strange for me Robert."
"Do you like being Stacy?"
"You know, I think I do. I didn't at first. It was just a job, and 'a fucking great paying job' I think someone said."
He laughed. "You know Stacy. You can stay in the apartment as long as you like. The clothes, the car, everything, I don't have any use for it. Maybe it'll help you ease into things a little."
"Thanks Robert. I just don't know what I'll do."
"Oh Stacy! There you are!" Rachel burst into the kitchen with several of 'the girls' in tow. She continued. "I was just asking people to be in my wedding when it suddenly hit me! Oh Stacy! Would you be my maid of honor?"
I stared at her in utter shock.
"I know it's a lot to ask, and I don't have millions to waive at you, but I can't think of anyone I'd rather be with me on my day. Pleeeeease Stacy. Please say yes." The others just stared at me waiting for me to breath. I met Bob's eyes. His nod somehow made the decision easier.
"You can stay in the apartment as long as you need Stacy. I'll even give you a little monthly stipend to see you through, not that you need it now."
I looked from Bob back to Rachel. I looked to the girls, then to a reflection of myself in a darkened window, and finally back to Rachel.
"Of course I'll be your maid of honor," I said flinging my arms around Rachel. "Thank you so much for asking me!"
I was swept out of the kitchen along with the gaggle of 'other' women. I oohed and ahhhed with the best of them over Rachel's ring and got caught up in the planning. The fact that the wedding would be just over a year away didn't phaze me. Being Stacy was easy for me. With permanently feminine brows, a smooth hairless frail body, and budding breasts that would require surgery to remove anyway, the extra time was oddly no big deal at all.
Unknown to anyone else, my breasts continued to grow. I kept up some of my classes, mainly cooking and dancing, and started feeling comfortable in my role in a whole new way. Without the pressure of money driving things, I was able to relax and just be Stacy.
The idea of having my testicles removed didn't even seem that big anymore, particularly after learning that the drugs I had taken had chemically castrated my anyway. They were essentially useless flesh that only made dressing a little more complicated. My bald little penis looked so out of place afterwards.
No one blinked or thought it odd that I hadn't gone back to being Brian. A year had gone by and Greg and Rachel's wedding drew close. I was completely accepted as Stacy, and it felt great. I saw Robert a little more often too. I insisted on making him dinner (with my new cooking talent) when he stopped by to drop off my stipends. I really didn't need the ten thousand dollars a month, but I wasn't going to say no either.
"You know Robert," I said looking into his eyes across the candlelit table, "some might say that I'm a kept woman." He laughed.
"I guess you are Stacy. A rich man sets you up in a fancy apartment, provides for your needs, and gives you large sums of money just to look beautiful."
"You think I'm beautiful?" I teased. For the first time in my life, Bob looked a little flustered. "You do. Don't you Robert?"
Bob recovered his composure quickly. "You know you are Stacy. You don't need me to say it."
"Yes I do Robert. Every woman wants to hear those words. Tell me I'm beautiful Robert."
Unbelievably, he said it! "You are beautiful Stacy."
"Extremely beautiful Stacy. You are quite possibly the most beautiful woman I've ever had the pleasure to meet."
"Now you're teasing me," I scolded.
"No. I'm not," he said earnestly. "You really are that beautiful Stacy."
Now it was my turn to get flustered. "You are handsome too Robert."
"Now who's teasing?" We sat there in silence for a moment, moving food idly around in our plates. "Do you find any men attractive Stacy?"
I couldn't believe he had asked the question, or that I answered it the way I did. "I said you were handsome. Don't you believe me?"
"Are you saying that you find me attractive?"
"You are a very attractive man Robert."
"But do YOU find me attractive Stacy?"
"Yes," I mumbled into my plate. I kept staring at my plate, unwilling to move or break the silence. Robert moved the center candles aside and leaned close.
He took my delicate chin and tilted my face so that his gaze bored into my eyes. "It's OK to admit it Stacy. I don't know when it happened for me, but at some point you became a real woman for me. I'm sitting here with the most beautiful woman I know right now Stacy. You."
I still couldn't speak.
Bob continued. "You are a woman. It's OK to find a man attractive now."
In spite of how comfortably I wore the skin of Stacy, and how I lived, and all the legal documentation in the world, I realized that some part of me clung to the idea that I wasn't really a woman, that I was playing at something. I hadn't allowed myself to truly BE a woman in my heart. But I truly was a woman. I actually was Stacy. In that moment, with Robert gazing longingly into my eyes, I finally let my old self fall away forever and embraced the real person I had become.
"Oh Robert, you silly man, I DO find you attractive. I always have."
Robert leaned forward and touched his lips to mine. After so many months of complete abstinence, Robert's lips electrified me like I would never have believed. In so many ways, it was a true 'first kiss', thrilling, virginal, and new, yet without the awkwardness. The scruff of Robert's face, the smell of his aftershave, the gentle softness of his lips awakened longings I had almost forgotten.
"Oh Robert," I moaned, mingling our breath. Robert broke the spell only long enough to come around the table and help me up, where his embrace was close and passionate. I was limp in his strong arms, head tilted back as his tongue gently pushed past my yielding teeth. If it was OK to find Robert attractive, it was OK to crave his penis. I put my hand gently on his crotch, only to find just how hard Robert had become. Quickly, I undid his pants, which slid to his ankles. I slowly slid his shorts down and pulled off Robert's shoes and socks while he unbuttoned his shirt. I was stunned at how Robert's naked body and hard penis aroused me. I trembled slightly as he approached. I could see Robert glance at my breasts. His eyes flashed only a flicker of surprise to see the unmistakable press of nipples jutting through.
Reaching behind me, Robert slowly drew the zipper of my dress down. He pulled one delicate strap off my shoulder. The dress slid to the floor after he pulled aside the other. I wore no bra. There were no breast forms. There was no padding below. I stepped out of my panties. Aside from my jewelry, I only wore garters, hose, and delicately strappy high heels, which I kept on. We drank in each other's bodies with our eyes, but I know Robert was surprised.
No one knew that I had stopped wearing padding long ago. I had inherited my mother's curves, top and bottom and no longer needed the padding. No one knew that I had my testicles removed, or that I had my penis turned into a pretty little vagina. I actually saw Robert's penis twitch before he swept me into his arms and carried me to my bedroom.
After all those months, I no longer saw the absurdity of my giant heart-shaped bed. It seemed perfect now as he lowered me onto the soft satin sheets. I felt Robert's power, his masculinity, as he positioned himself above me. His large hands felt electrifying as they caressed my sensitive breasts and gently brought my nipples to undreamed arousal. It was too much. I wanted him. I needed him.
Taking hold of his penis in my dainty hands, I guided it to my virginity. I was wide for him and slick. Once I felt his head against my opening, Robert did the rest, slowly lowering his weight into me, impaling me with that glorious cock! Robert was soon buried within me. I thought I would burst apart but couldn't bear to have him pull out.
Slowly he started moving in and out of me. His tempo quickened and I matched his movements, thrusting my hips to take as much of Robert's penis as I could. Soon Robert was pistoning into me. The sex squeals were mine and brought me even closer. Incredibly, a wave of ecstasy wracked my whole body in a thundering orgasm the like of which I had never experienced before.
I felt my body heave even as Robert's hot cum throbbed into me. Our motions slowly subsided before he pulled out of me. Rolling by my side, we both looked up at the ceiling, wrapped in our own thoughts, even as Robert's cum slowly leaked out of me. I had just been fucked by a man and loved it. If Robert looked, he would have seen the biggest grin in the world. I finally knew who I was in the glow of the after-sex. I was Stacy.
If you liked this post, you can leave a comment and/or a kudo!
Click the Good Story! button above to leave the author a kudo:
And please, remember to comment, too! Thanks.