This Can't Be Happening to Me... This Can't Be Real...

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A game is a game... or is it?

"This Can't Be Happening to Me...
This Can't Be Real..."

by StacyInLove

Copyright © 01/22/2007 by StacyInLove
All Rights Reserved.

 
I looked in my underwear drawer and chuckled to myself. I was in my bathrobe. Beth was still finishing in the shower and missed my reaction.

Instead of my usual mess of assorted underwear and T-shirts, I looked at a dozen neatly folded panties (black, white, and "nude")... and half as many matching bras. A quick pull on my sock drawer revealed a theme, assorted stockings, mostly in an ultra-sheer black... but some also nude. None were pantyhose. Every luxurious thigh-highed stocking had elasticized lace tops.

Beth came into the room with nothing but a towel wrapped around her hair and a mischievous grin.

I laughed then said, "Looks like you've switched drawers on me."

"Depends on your definition of drawers... Stacy."

"I think you have me mistaken for someone else. My name is Brian."

Beth gave me a playful pout, which went very well with her trim nineteen year old body, and which just happened to be naked.

"OK," I laughed in another voice, a breathy sex-kitten voice that I knew Beth liked, a sexy young woman's voice... my Stacy voice. "You caught me. But seriously Beth. There are an awful lot of pretty things here... they must have cost a fortune."

I had bought things for Beth at Victoria's Secret before. Every one of the new items in my drawers were beautiful, but it was hard not to think of the forty-plus dollars apiece I figured that the bras alone went for.

"They did."

"The question that comes to mind then is, 'Why?'"

"Because you deserve some nice things of your own."

"One pair of panties, maybe a bra, would have been plenty Beth," I said still using my Stacy voice.

Beth and I married young, just after high school, and were still adventurous... in and out of bed. I don't know anybody else in real life whose wife even owns a French Maid's outfit or four-inch heels... or higher. Her putting panties on me (or dressing me up more) every once in a blue moon was the least I could do for her. It wasn't often... but it was often enough for her to have named me Stacy, her "best friend".

But "best friends" never crossed into "lesbian" friends. My being Stacy was another of our depravation games... like being tied up and unable to have a "release" in spite of hours of sexual teasing. The sheer number of sexy feminine underthings, and complete lack of my Brian underthings, simultaneously scared and aroused me.

"I thought we might play Stacy," she smiled in nothing but her head-wrap.

"We don't have time to play," I said smiling too in spite of myself.

Beth just shrugged her soft naked shoulders.

"And those stockings are nearly invisible they're so sheer. What about your usual hair-hiding tights?"

"It just seemed a shame for you to have such pretty underwear and no proper stockings Stacy. Tights are definitely out of season anyway."

Beth had always threatened to shave my legs. I didn't even try to hide the bulge in my bathrobe.

"When are the movers coming?"

"The movers are ARIVING at four. When they're coming is another mater."

The innuendo was also arousing. Beth often half-joked about taking me out in public and how I would turn men's heads. It was part of the sexual tease of it all. Even if she shaved my legs and got me into public though, I knew she would never put me in a compromising position.

"What happened to the underwear that's USUALLY here in my drawers?"

"Packed and already on their way... in Jackie's car actually."

Jackie was Beth's sister and the only other person to ever see me dressed up.

"Should I be worried about what's in my closet Beth?"

"Brian might be... but not you Stacy."

It was only 7:15 in the morning. It looked like Beth made sure that there would be plenty of time to "play". By making sure I only had Stacy- clothes to wear on our moving day, she also made sure that hiding at home wasn't going to be an option... which I realized ensured the leg-shaving too. Particularly with the kind of men I pictured movers to be, I didn't want them to even THINK that I might be a guy in a dress. I realized that the whole scenario ensured that I would go along with whatever she wanted to make me look believable... to look pretty. There was no way I was going to let hairy legs spoil the illusion that I wasn't really a woman. The depth of this particular game made the front of my bathrobe twitch.

"You little vixen," I said smiling in defeat.

"Vixen will be your job description Stacy," she said smiling back almost triumphantly.

"Will you be shaving my legs," I asked expectantly.

"Waxing actually."

We were both only nineteen and Beth actually used a razor more frequently than I did. I was runty and never really developed much, which (I long ago discovered) was more than OK by Beth. But while I might have shaved my chin-fuzz once every fourth month or so, Beth liked showing off her legs and seemed to be shaving them all the time, which is why I was surprised when she mentioned the waxing.

"Waxing?"

"Waxing."

"Why?"

"Trust me Stacy. It will hurt."

My bathrobe twitched again. We only dabbled experimentally with pain in our sex-play... but both liked it. The problem was that while we both liked receiving a little pain in the moment, neither of us liked meting it out to really make it work. The pain of being waxed suddenly seemed more erotic than I was prepared for. I was soon back in the bathroom, sitting naked on the toilet lid, while Beth applied a wax strip to my shin.

"I can't believe this is happening," I said in a numb fog-like mantra while ignored beads of pre-cum stretched uselessly to the floor. "I can't believe this is happening... I can't believe this is happening... I can't belieOUCH!"

Beth's breathing was shallow but she silently applied another strip to my leg, ignoring her own arousal too. It didn't seem real. I couldn't be letting her rip my leg hairs out.

"OUCH!" I squealed again, still in my Stacy voice, which Beth wanted me to keep using.

"Women don't cry out like that. We get waxed all the time Stacy."

I didn't yelp when the third strip of wax lifted my poor leg hairs out by their roots. Beth did one leg at a time, which looked a bit freakish until my second leg started to match. All I could do was watch as she next trimmed and then waxed an ever-shrinking area around my deprived aching crotch. I thought that she might actually have taken some skin when she ripped the first little bit from my poor scrotum, but I was mistaken. After my whole crotch was made as smooth as a newborn baby's, the rest of my body was easy... even my pits. Beth finished by doing a facial wax on my fuzzy little chin. The pain was exquisite. It almost didn't matter that my hairlessly smooth body looked so disturbingly feminine already. My arms looked frighteningly delicate. My hands were actually dainty. My slender legs were no longer men's legs but sexy young women's legs.

"I almost wish there was more hair to pull," I whispered in my fog of arousal.

"There is," she whispered with an erotic glaze veiling her own eyes.

"Where?"

"Sit still; tilt your head up; and close your eyes."

I did as I was instructed; trusting her completely, but still flinched when I felt something touch between my brows. My eyes snapped open.

"My brows?"

"Your brows... Stacy."

"Legs can be hidden Beth. Brows can't."

"Close your eyes Stacy."

"Why?" I asked through a fog that was even thicker.

The idea of letting her shape my brows, that she even WANTED to shape my brows, was as terrifyingly thrilling as it was wrong.

"Because we're moving."

The depth of her game drove me almost to the brink of orgasm without even the slightest touch. We were moving because, in spite of our high school education, Beth had gotten a promotion and was going to manage a new store in another town. Even if she wasn't going to be making more than both of us had been before, my nothing-of-a-job was never an obstacle. The plan was for me to find something after we moved and settled in. Beth obviously had a change of plan.

"What about Brian?" I whispered with a very dry mouth.

"Close your eyes Stacy."

Our Stacy-play was always once-in-a-blue-moon. I had never even been out in public or even wanted to be, which made Beth's suggestion even more of an overpoweringly erotic taboo. I actually shivered as I tilted my head and closed my eyes. She spackled between my brows.

Rip.

More spackle went under and around my left brow. I saw nothing with my eyes still obediently closed.

Rip.

My penis, impossibly hard for way too long, felt like it was going to burst. I felt another wax strip being applied to the other brow.

Rip.

Without any other stimulation than the knowledge that Beth had given me feminine brows, my poor penis finally let fly rhythmic arches of white slickery cum in an orgasm that almost made me faint. The world went dark around my eyes and my whole body shook. Beth was panting hard, her naked inner thigh shining from her own juices.

"Let me clean up a few stragglers," she whispered vacantly while pulling out tweezers, "and even them out."

I could only nod, not believing what I had just let happen.

"There," she said finally. "Take a look."

I stood on unsteady feminine legs and turned toward the mirror.

"oh my god," was all I could whisper. "beth... i'm scared."

"You're beautiful."

"That's why I'm scared," I mumbled truthfully.

I WAS beautiful. Even with my boyish mess of hair and bald little wee- wee, I looked more like a girl than a boy. With smooth skin and those thin ultra-feminine arches, Brian was nowhere to be seen. A girl stared back >from the mirror.

"You're even prettier than I am," she added.

"shit," I whispered, unable to disagree with her.

"Black panties," she said almost mater of factly. "Then something matching >from the bottom drawer. Leave off the bra for now."

I went back into the bedroom, glancing nervously into the mirror every once in a while. With my orgasm, my brain was starting to function again and Beth's plan rightfully began to terrify me. But that same terror brought a new wave of arousal. I was just barely able to tuck myself back under my panties before pulling open the lower drawer.

There were six padded body shapers, two of each of the same colors in my "panty drawer". They were heavily boned with dozens of eye-hooks in front of the waist area, which flared out to the heavy Lycra padded hips and ass. I wiggled my way into it and somehow managed to do up those front hooks. I suddenly had a wasp-like waist, womanly hips, tear drop shaped ass cheeks... and my poor crotch looked as flat as a department store mannequin's.

"What am I doing?" I whispered to myself.

"Becoming Stacy," Beth smiled suddenly behind me.

I gulped hard. The word "becoming" made me nervous... but made my poor crotch ache again too.

"What's next?" I said still using my Stacy voice instead of the Brian voice, which suddenly would have felt wrong.

"Breasts. Lie down on the bed."

I did as I was told, feeling my new ass cheeks under me. Beth brought in a box with incredibly real looking breasts... silicon-gelled breasts... large breasts. The size on the side of the box said "C-cup". There was a tube of "medical adhesive" that looked disturbingly like Crazy-Glue.

"Will that come off?"

"Eventually," she said mischievously.

"How long is eventually Beth?"

"Does it really matter Stacy?"

I stared at her. What she was doing was so foreign to me... so over-the- top... so wrong. I was also getting me more turned on than I could ever have imagined.

My trembling silence spoke for me.

"Good girl. Now lie still."

Beth applied the medical adhesive to the back of each silicon breast, holding them to my chest until the glue had set.

"Sit up," she said eventually taking her hands away.

I did. The feel and movement of those breasts tugging on my skin almost made me feel like I suddenly had real breasts. The edges around them showed, and they not-quite-matched my skin color, but the look was strangely lifelike. Some edge-blending gel and a little makeup made all the difference.

"I have breasts," I said looking down at myself.

"Those aren't breasts," she laughed. "Those, my dear Stacy, are tits!"

I joined in her laughing until the doorbell rang.

"Coming!" she called out as she slipped into jeans and pulled a T-shirt hurriedly on herself.

Beth's hair was still damp and she was shoeless, but still looked incredible to me... even as she handed me a satin sleep-wrap to cover myself in. Tying the belting to close it like a bathrobe, the mid-thigh little nothing contoured to my unnatural curves almost too well.

"Your sister?"

"Your stylist."

"My what?!"

"Shhhhhhhhhhhhh Stacy. Don't worry your pretty little head."

I did worry my pretty little head, but could only stand there in our bedroom as I heard greetings just inside the front door. The words "right this way" and "she's in here" made me want to cringe.

The sex-play aspect of what we were doing fell away and a real fear gripped me as Beth led a stranger into our bedroom.

"Stacy. This is Rachel. She will be doing your hair and nails today."

"Pleased to meet you," she said smiling non-judgmentally while extending a hand.

"Hi," I said nervously taking it.

"Well. I'll leave you two to it," Beth said.

"Where are you going?"

"I have some last minute packing and errands to run. This will take a while. Relax. Enjoy it Stacy. It's nice to be pampered."

I shot her a look as she left.

"Maybe we should set up in the kitchen," Rachel said professionally.

I was soon sitting on a chair in the center of the kitchen, with my feet in a tub of warm fragrant water and my mess of hair smelling of chemicals. I knew it was dye even before Rachel told me. But my flash of anger at Beth eventually melted as I contemplated it all. Hair could be cut and dyed back... but it was already too late to save my brows, which had already been done.

So I sat and tried my best to keep up with the small talk with Rachel as she worked. My hair was rinsed, dried, and brushed out straight but not styled before she started on my feet.

Rachel seemed to have a system and budgeted her time well. My hands, specifically my fingertips, were soaking while she cut, filed, buffed, and finished my pedicure with a clear shiny polish. She started on my fingers while my "perfect" little toes dried with foam separators between them. I couldn't believe how pretty my hairless little feet could look. Then I saw the nails on my hands start to take shape. Cuticles, nail tips, filler, silk-wrap, shaping, buffing, and polishing with elegant French tips made my hands look downright dainty.

Rachel took the spreaders from between my toes. My fingers dried as she started on her "real" work... weaving long blonde human hair into my own.

The process was long, but began to take on an eroticism of its own as my hair lengthened while we talked. Four hours suddenly seemed like a blink as she started cutting and styling it. Beth came in just as Rachel was teasing and spraying my new voluminous mane of blonde hair that just brushed past my shoulders.

"You look incredible Stacy!"

"Thanks to Rachel," I said blushing idiotically.

Beth gushed over Rachel's job on me until it became almost embarrassing. Eventually, Rachel was paid and left the two of us.

"I can't believe this," I said not breaking character in the slightest. "I actually FEEL pretty."

"Isn't it wonderful?" Beth smiled like we were both in on a secret.

I was afraid to answer her.

With the sleep-robe still belted around me, Beth brought me to her vanity and had me start putting on makeup under her very particular guidance. She kept getting me to slow myself down to do it right. Liner on the upper lid; a bare hint of shadow; mascara; a little brow pencil to help define my thin little wisps; and a "natural" shade of lip color that was creatively used to plump my lips into a disturbingly inviting pout.

I was trembling again as Beth helped me into turtleneck sweater dress that clung to every eye-catching curve. It was a luxurious charcoal cashmere and fell to just above the knee. Simple black leather calf boots with three-inch choky heels and a matching bag made me look like a twenty something professional in heat. She approached me with a needle and three-inch gold hoops. My trembling progressed to uncontrollable shivers by the time I felt those earrings dangling from my still stinging lobes. Beth strategically dabbed a sultry new scent on me before transferring the contents of my wallet, keys, makeup, perfume, phone, and sundry other items into the bag that she re-slung over my shoulder.

I stared at myself in disbelief. I had been utterly transformed. It didn't seem real, but I had been turned into a woman... and a beautiful one. Too beautiful. Beth got dressed herself; started cleaning up the mess of my transformation; and began putting the final touches on her packing.

"Now what?" I asked.

Now that I was "finished"... it seemed like there needed to be a punch line; an event; something; anything. Our typical dress-up games always drifted into the start of a sexual teasing and maddeningly erotic deprivation. There was none of it now though, only mundane preparations that had to be finished before the movers arrived.

"Why don't you clean out your drawers and pack your new things? I've got my own packing to finish Stacy."

With nothing else to do, I packed my new things into a flowery suitcase that I had never seen before. I was just zipping it shut when the moving van pulled up.

"Holy shit Beth. They're here. I can't do this."

"You can," she reassured me as best she could. "And you will. Besides," she added, "there isn't really much you can do about it right now anyway."

I gulped and nodded, knowing she was right but wanting to crawl under the floorboards all the same.

The movers were four blue-collar hulks that started dismantling and carting our paltry belongings in an impressive blur. Couches, the beds, vanity, and other large pieces may have been made of Styrofoam the way those me easily handled them, which made me feel even more maddeningly feminine in comparison... even if they weren't constantly trying to catch glimpses of me and Beth.

"See?" she whispered to me while trying not to laugh. "You really DO turn heads."

"Are guys always that blatant?"

"Not all of them, but don't knock it. The very fact that they ARE checking you out, my little hottie, means that they think you're the real deal."

"That one guy, the college-aged one with the T-shirt and jeans, does it so much though."

"Stop that!" she whisper-scolded.

"Stop what?"

"Don't keep looking at him looking at you Stacy! He's going to think that you're... oh shit... here he comes... Hi. Is there anything wrong?"

"No," he smiled broadly at both of us. "I was just wondering if I could get a drink of water or something."

"I'll get it," I said wanting an excuse to get out of there.

I went to the cupboard out of habit and remembered that we had packed the glasses. I found some bottled water in with the miscellaneous things we were taking with us in the car.

"I'm sorry," I said handing it to him. "The glasses are packed and the ice is empty. Is this OK?"

"Anything would be fine coming from you," he said with a disarming smile.

I didn't mean to return the smile, but the fact that he was even feeding me a line made me do it in spite of myself as I blushed.

He went back to work, swaggering away from us as he swigged the water.

"You shouldn't have been so eager to get it for him."

"I was not eager!"

"He DOES have a cute ass," Beth tittered.

I went to give Beth a little play-punch in the arm but couldn't make a fist with my long nails. My girly little hit seemed so pathetic that we both ended up laughing... making the men look up and smile.

The truck was packed and drove away. Beth and I stuffed sundries into the car and did a quick final pass with a dust mop before putting keys on a kitchen counter and locking the door behind us. The distracting whirlwind of commotion was over and we settled into our thoughts as Beth began the long drive.

"What are we doing Beth?" I said in my Stacy voice still.

"Playing," she said with a mischievous smile.

"This seems like more than just playing," I said looking down at myself.

Her smile only broadened.

"Does it matter?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean... that I like keeping you guessing... that I liked you letting me change you into this... that I'm turned on by the very idea of you being stuck as Stacy... and I think that you are too. But if you don't want to play, I'm sure we can undo everything before anyone meets you. We can even figure out a way to deal with those pretty little brows of yours. Just say the word."

I stared into the night.

"I didn't think so," she smiled warmly.

I started trembling again, but felt the familiar straining in my crotch too. What was I doing? Why was I letting her take things so far this time? Why was I so sheepishly unable to resist? Why was it all so maddeningly erotic to me?

Beth suddenly exclaimed, "God I was turned on seeing that mover hitting on you!"

There was nothing I could say in reply.

"Don't you think the whole picture was so HOT Stacy? Wasn't it a thrill being pretty to someone? ...sexy? ...an object of someone's desire? He WANTED you Stacy. Isn't it delicious to be lusted over? You do you like feeling pretty, don't you?"

"Yes," I murmured after a long pause... it being pointless to deny it.

She smiled and kept driving.

We eventually came to our new apartment, 7B. I hadn't seen the place before and was surprised at its size, which couldn't all be explained by the upscale location. It seemed too small... even without all our stuff, which would arrive the following day.

"How is this going to work Beth?"

"It's not as small as it looks."

"I've got eyes. This is simply too tiny for us."

"It WOULD be too small if we just had 7B," she tittered excitedly.

Beth then showed me the door in the wall to 7A before telling me about the couple who had the two apartments before us. A neighborly romance led to a marriage... but instead of finding a larger place together, they opened the wall between them and put in the door. One apartment became the bedroom, kitchen, and main bath area... which they could close off from the living area. In the other apartment, the second kitchen became a storage closet; the second bedroom a den.

"I wasn't going to take the one because of the size too... but got a silly idea that I just had to try," she said in a giddy voice. "The other apartment was vacant too, so I took them both! If things didn't work out like they did this morning, I thought that we could always live like the prior couple... but I just couldn't help thinking about the chance to play like this either."

"You want me to live in the other apartment?"

"Just for show... Stacy. No one needs to know that we keep the door open. Which side do you want?"

Beth's excitement was disturbingly contagious. I couldn't help but wonder what might happen if I went along with her temptingly crazy notion.

"We can't really do this," I said trembling but excited at the same time. "We'll never get away with it."

"We will," she said with certainty.

"Are you sure?" I said with a quiver.

"Which one do you want?" she said holding up our sleeping bags.

I took the red one, leaving her with the blue. She brought mine through the door into 7A and spread my red bag in the middle of the floor. She unrolled hers in the middle of 7B.

Beth and Stacy were not lesbians... and would be sleeping apart. The delicious ache of being unable to relieve the sexual tension was unbearably erotic. The idea that our depravation game might last through the night and into tomorrow made it even more so.

There was no TV and nothing to really do but unpack. The car didn't fit much and most of what we brought was quickly brought into "Beth's apartment". The contents of that flowery suitcase and a few other things were unpacked into "my apartment" in 7A. "My" bathroom soon had my own Stacy-toiletries and makeup. "My" closet had my very own Stacy-shoes on the floor and components of my new wardrobe hanging in it. Everything else stayed in "my" opened flowery suitcase in the corner of 7A, waiting for the movers to bring the rest of our things in the morning. There were keys to 7A on the counter by the sink.

Beth eventually started getting undressed and changed into her pajamas, which consisted of an old T-shirt of mine and a pair of my boxers.

"Did your sister drop off my things?" I asked looking around for more.

"No."

I looked at Beth closely. Her sister, Jackie, supposedly had my regular Brian-clothes with her and should have beaten us to the apartment. My things should have been there.

"Will she be dropping off my things Beth?"

"Your things are already here," Beth said, meaning my new Stacy-things in the suitcase.

"What am I supposed to sleep in then?"

"Hmmmmmmmmm," she said in a mock-thoughtful pose. "Maybe I have something for you here somewhere."

I expected her to pull out another of my T-shirts and boxers for me, but she didn't. Beth held up a creamy satin new nightgown instead. After making me take off everything except my panties and curve-making body shaper, I raised my arms and let Beth pour the silky fabric over me.

It was long, almost brushing the floor, and caressed my curvaceous form closely. The ruffled hints of sleeves were barely more than straps, which could easily be brushed aside with the back being open to the last rib. The neckline in front was a shallow scoop that allowed my ample breasts to jiggle and slide freely underneath in a way that was incredibly erotic. There was a long side slit on the left side, rising to mid thigh, that made the fleeting hints of my slender bare leg that much more sexy.

Being immersed so completely in a woman's sensuality made me want Beth like I had never wanted her before. But I didn't say anything to break the illusion or ruin the most incredible deprivation game we had ever played. After removing my makeup like Beth insisted upon, we made small "girl talk" until it was time to retire to our respective sleeping bags. All tucked in, we looked at each other with conspiratorial grins through the door between apartments.

"Good night Stacy."

"Good night Beth."

"I had fun today," she said.

"Me too."

Beth smiled even more broadly before getting out of her bag. She started walking towards me. Depravation games aside, I started getting excited about the idea of Beth coming to "my" apartment for a little fun. But instead of crossing into 7A with me, she stopped by the door in the wall between us.

"Good night," she whispered again... as she gently shut it.

There was a click, like a deadbolt turning, and a delicious panic knowing that I didn't have any keys for that door or 7B. I stared at the ceiling, wondering for the hundredth time what we were doing, basking in the delectable terror of knowing that I was temporarily stuck as Stacy... and that there was nothing I could do to change that for the moment.

Morning was even stranger... waking up in a woman's body and clothes. There was a note under the door: "Dear Stacy. Please be ready before knocking. Friends forever, Beth"

It took a long time for me to get ready. After my shower, I pulled on fresh underthings before a cute white top that had long off-the-shoulder sleeves, and which created a straight neckline across my bare skin. White tights; a short denim miniskirt; and fleece-lined suede "Ugs" boots made me look like a sexy little coed even before I started on my hair and makeup. I finally knocked on the door between apartments.

"Oh you look adorable Stacy!"

"Thank you," I said blushing... stupidly proud of my effort.

"Come in! I was just making coffee. Would you like a cup?"

What I wanted was to kiss my wife good morning. What I wanted was to relieve the familiar dull ache of my rapidly returning desire for her.

"I'd love a cup. Thanks."

I stepped in just as there was a knock at the front door of 7B. Beth quietly closed the door between the two apartments before answering it. She gave me a soothing look that did nothing to put me at ease, and turned the doorknob anyway.

"Hello," said to a middle aged woman in the hall.

"Hi," Beth replied.

"My name is Julie Taylor, in 7E down the hall. I heard that new people were moving in today."

"I'm Beth. Come on in Julie," she said with a smile. "You're not the first though," she added while indicating me and closing the door. "I just met Stacy, who is moving into 7A today too."

"Hi Stacy. Julie Taylor in 7E."

"Pleased," I said taking her hand and hoping that my own terrified smile looked sincere.

Beth said, "I was just putting on some coffee. Would you like some Julie? I don't have many places to sit yet but..."

"That would be nice... and don't worry about chairs. Let me lend you some folding chairs until your things arrive. I'll be back before the coffee's ready."

"That would be lovely," Beth beamed. "Thank you so much."

"It's nothing," Julie dismissed before trotting off to 7E and leaving us alone.

"This is crazy Beth!" I whisper-yelled. "I can't DO this!"

"You're doing fine Stacy. Really. You look fantastic."

"It's not the look that's worrying me. We're meeting people. I'm the girl in 7A!"

"That reminds me. Go get your bag and your key."

"What?!"

"Your purse. Your key. Get them. We don't want people to think we're sharing!"

"We don't?"

She just gave me a look and a little nudge toward the door. I did as I was instructed and came back just before Julie came with enough folding chairs for all of us... some of which were carried by two other people.

"I didn't want to intrude, but Bob and Jack wanted to meet you too. Bob. Jack. This is Beth. Stacy is in 7A next door."

"Bob. 6C."

"Jack. 7C."

The "game" suddenly started to feel like it was out of hand... beyond my control. All I could do was pretend that nothing was wrong at all, and that I really was Stacy, the new girl next door. I was getting very worried about how we were going to unravel our little game, which was getting deeper by the moment. What was worse was that I caught both Bob and Jack sneak glances at my left hand. My dainty hand with the sexy long nails didn't have a ring. Either did Beth's.

I didn't have any time to speak with Beth alone. We were drinking coffee with several more of our new neighbors when the movers came... and started setting up all of our things in "Beth's" apartment in 7B.

"I think someone's knocking on your door Stacy," the gentleman from 9A said.

"Really?"

"It's about time your movers came too," Beth said with an uncomfortably knowing look.

I went out of Beth's front door to indeed see movers in front of 7B.

"Can I help you?"

"Stacy Smith?"

"Yes?"

It was surreal. Beth had clearly bought some things for me in advance. It didn't seem real as I directed the movers to put a new bed, dresser, couch, chairs, vanity, and a whole new apartment into "my" space in 7A. I didn't know if I was more scared by the distinctly feminine touch to it all... or by the commitment to this "game" we were playing. Just the day before, I was worried about the expense of a week's worth of women's underwear for me. The sheer expense of the new furniture scared me now. A separate set of dishes, cookware, and even more clothes to add to the wardrobe was meant for more than one day's fun playing dress up.

"What are we doing?" I said to Beth when we finally were alone that night.

"Playing," she said a little guiltily.

"You bought an extra bed Beth! We don't need two sets of dishes, pots, dressers, or any of it. What's going on?"

"I... I thought you LIKED this Stacy," she said with a surprising mist in her eyes. "I thought we were having fun."

I ignored her continuing to use my play-name. I couldn't blame her. Unable to look like anything but a woman anyway, I couldn't get myself to even use my real voice.

"We were... we are Beth... but don't you think it's all a little extreme?"

"But that's what makes it so fun... that's what's so exciting about..."

Beth started crying.

I was thoroughly confused. The extremeness of it all was EXACTLY what made it so exciting. The taboo of what we were doing was so erotic that even something like walking across a floor brought me close the point of an orgasm, which was agonizingly just out of reach. But if I thought all of Beth's planning (and spending) might have meant something more, something deeper, her reaction seemed genuine... like it was all just the game she said it was. Suddenly, I felt guilty for tearing it all down... for making Beth think that she really HAD wasted time, effort, and way too much money on it all.

"You aren't trying to tell me something?" I said testingly.

"No Brian," she sobbed, using my name for the first time, "I'm so sorry."

"Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh," I said trying to reassure Beth now... and still in my Stacy-voice. "There's nothing to be sorry about. This IS fun. I AM having a wonderful time. I was just a little surprised. OK?"

"Are you sure?"

"It would be a shame to waste all that money you spent," I joked.

"Oh Brian," she smiled through her tears.

"Stacy," I corrected.

"How long do you want to do this?" she asked simply.

I shrugged; not sure how long I could go without my wife's touch.

"We'll see."

The sparkle in Beth's eyes made me fall in love with her all over again. As crazy as it all was... this whole thing was for us. Things resumed a strange kind of normalcy as we hung out together the rest of the night. Though I had played dress up with her before, I still needed some practice just being a woman. Beth gave me little lessons to help me. Eventually, we said goodnight, with little cheeky air kisses not to ruin our makeup, before drifting to our separate beds in our separate apartments. I felt more feminine than ever in my frilly new sheets and satin nightgown... surrounded by my feminine new apartment.

The next morning was the strangest of all. It was a work day, Beth's first day at the new job that brought us there in the first place. After I got myself dressed and made up, I had nothing to do... no one to talk to.

I sat there, alone in my apartment, with my pretty legs crossed in a little black skirt, a belted cranberry sweater, and sexy low sling backs.

I heard Beth come home hours later after finishing work. I quietly knocked on the door between apartments. I still didn't have a key.

"How was work?" I asked.

"It was wonderful," she said before launching into an excited recap of her day.

She ended by saying, "And how was your day? What did you do Stacy?"

"I practiced some of the things you showed me for a while, but got bored. I figured that if I'm going to be stuck like this for a while, I might as well see about a job."

"A job?!"

"Yeah," I laughed with her, "Can you believe it? Anyway... I didn't get one."

"Why not?"

"I.D. Everyplace asked for an I.D. People talk about illegal aliens getting all these jobs. I don't know how they do it. I couldn't even get a waitressing job without it."

We were talking about everything and nothing when there was a knock at my door.

"Shhhhhhhhhhhhhh," she said needlessly as I crept back to my apartment as quietly as I could in those heels and closed the door between us.

I looked through the peephole and saw Bob from 6C.

"Hello Bob," I said pulling the door open.

"Hi Stacy," he said nervously as he looked into my apartment.

I suddenly was happy that the place wasn't a mess, which struck me for a moment. As Brian, I wouldn't have given it a thought. As Stacy though, I knew it was expected that the place be tidy and clean.

"Won't you come in?" I said suddenly remembering my manners too. Then, "What brings you here?"

"Well," he started. "I was actually going to see if you might want to go to dinner some night. That smells fantastic by the way."

"It's Beth, next door," I said truthfully. "It's the door. The smells come under pretty easily. Fortunately, Beth seems to know how to cook... unlike me."

I was thinking how deftly the topic had moved from Bob asking me out when he glanced to my own empty kitchen.

"You're not cooking? What were you doing for dinner tonight then?"

"I was just going to grab something."

"What?"

I shrugged.

"I don't know. Chinese maybe."

"I know just the place," he beamed. "Would you like me to show you?"

"That would be sweet," I started to say, but never completed my excuse.

"Great! I'll be right back. Let me grab a jacket."

He was gone before I could say a word.

Beth had been at the door, which she cracked open.

"Oh my god Stacy!"

"I know! What am I supposed to do?"

"Nothing. Eat some Chinese."

"Are you serious?! What about your chicken?"

"Forget what I was making. He'll be back any minute. Like it or not, you just made a date."

"A date?! Holy shit Beth!"

"Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! He's coming back!"

Beth closed the door quietly, leaving me alone with my panic.

I looked much cuter than I wanted to look in my little suede half-jacket as I was being escorted out of the building by Bob. The little click- click-click of my sling backs sounded prettier than I wanted them to sound on the sidewalk. The smell of my perfume smelled more alluring than I wanted it to. I silently cursed having done my makeup and hair so well that morning... and how disturbingly sexy I knew I looked.

I tried hiding my sheer terror behind a smile, but I needn't have worried. Bob was a perfect gentleman and the Chinese food (which he insisted on paying for) really was delicious. He was quietly funny and disarmingly "charming" without trying. It didn't feel like a date at all. My hidden fears melted as his unassuming way gently put me at ease in spite of myself. Before long, I found myself laughing and smiling for real. If I had met him as Brian, I'm sure I would have been friends with him.

With a hand suddenly on my crushed little waist, Bob steered me around some cracked pavement on the walk back. Though every molecule of my awareness was on that hand, I didn't know how to break away from it either. But what was truly confusing was how my body reacted to that hand. I wasn't gay. I didn't want a man's hand on me like that. I didn't want to feel to so utterly feminine being led by Bob's firm touch. I didn't want to feel aroused.

But I did feel aroused. Whether I wanted it or not, my poor bald wee-wee strained against its Lycra prison in vain, each step threatening to release an orgasm that had been building for days. Suddenly, we were in front of "my apartment".

"That really was great Chinese," I said trying to fill the awkward silence as he faced me.

"I knew you'd like it Stacy. I had fun tonight. I really enjoyed your company."

"I did too," I said to fill another uncomfortable quiet... but cringing inside as I said it.

"I'd like to take you somewhere else. Saturday. Do you like seafood?"

"Yes."

"Great. I'll stop by at seven then."

When I stood there at a loss for words, he added, "Good night Stacy."

"Good night Bob," I answered, still wondering about where in the exchange I had agreed to another dinner.

But while I was wondering, Bob bent toward me. Before I could react, his lips gently touched mine. It wasn't a deep or passionate kiss, but it was not a cheek-kiss between "friends". It was a kiss that suddenly brought the entire evening back to being what it was... a "date".

It was a kiss that pushed all of the Stacy-play over some invisible edge. My poor hidden wee-wee was already straining from the walk in his arm and the jolt of Bob's soft lips on mine suddenly felt like a true "first kiss". I wasn't prepared for how the taboo of it would utterly grab my body. I didn't want and wasn't prepared to feel the sexual exhilaration that washed over me like a tidal wave. I wasn't prepared for the unexpected orgasm that suddenly shuddered through my body as a warm wetness spread within my silky panties.

I didn't at first realize that the feminine little gasp came from my own glistening lips as the hidden throbbing under my skirt continued.

Bob parted with a disarmingly warm smile. There was no hiding it. He knew that I had cum.

"Saturday," he said, already backing down the hall.

Beth was in my apartment and made me flinch when she opened the door for me.

"Oh my god Beth. You scared me!"

"He was smooth," she whispered in awe ignoring me. "You didn't stand a chance."

"You were watching?"

She nodded. She had been looking through the peephole.

"What did you see?"

"Everything. God Stacy. That was the hottest thing I've ever seen in my life."

"I didn't mean..."

"I know. I know. It wasn't your fault. I can't believe you came though!"

"How did you know?" I said deeply ashamed.

"I didn't... until now. Oh Stacy. I'm so sorry. It doesn't mean anything though. It doesn't mean that you're gay or anything."

"I've got a date with him this Saturday," I said dejectedly.

"He was smooth," she nodded.

"What do I do?"

"Go. Just be aware of him this time though. Don't let him surprise you or slip something by you... like getting you to say yes to another date. Be prepared and you can let him down easy. And learn to cook."

"What?"

"You wouldn't have gotten into this mess if you had something on the stove Stacy."

I tried to put the whole thing out of my memory the next day, but I couldn't. It was too distracting. The fact that my job-hunt kept getting thwarted by my I.D. made me feel like even more of a loser.

The next day found me in a hounds-tooth miniskirted little business suit and a lawyers office for a receptionists position. When the I.D. issue came up again, I mentally gave up caring.

"I don't have an I.D. My name is really Brian... and I'm a guy."

There were open stares and a quick glance or two up and down my figure. But instead of dismissing me, my interviewers left to briefly conference.

"Bring in your real I.D. and you can begin working here on Monday Ms. Smith. We are an equal opportunity employer and do not discriminate on any basis."

I sat there, slender legs crossed in ultra-sheer nude stockings, not believing my pierced ears. With my I.D. still a topic, they enquired about my legal status and said they could help me with legally changing my I.D. if I wanted.

"A real job?" Beth later bounced excitedly that night.

"They can help with the I.D. too," I added.

"You can legally become Stacy?" she hushed in awe.

"If I can get a psychiatrist's certification."

"Saying what?" she asked with a worried look.

"That I am a woman. No big deal though. People change their names all the time. I can always change it back."

"Can you?"

"I don't see why not," I laughed. "Do you?"

"No," she drawled uncertainly. "I guess not."

I showed up at a gender-specializing psychiatrist's office the next day. I wore my charcoal cashmere sweater dress again, and looked just as stunning. I particularly liked the way my dazzling blue eyes stood out in that dress, which seemed to captivate the doctor as well. The appointment went well. Too well even.

"What's wrong?" Beth said later that night, eating the breaded flounder and mixed greens that I had made in my kitchen.

I burst out crying uncontrollably... just like a woman... which made me cry even harder. Beth tried comforting me, but I eventually calmed down on my own enough to tell her what had happened.

"Hormones?" she whispered in stunned disbelief.

"Right there in his office," I sobbed. "I didn't know what to do!"

There had been two shots; one to block my body's testosterone production; the other was a dose of woman's hormones. He was encouraged that I was beginning treatments at my tender young age of nineteen... and by the fact that I wasn't really shaving yet. He didn't want to lose any time.

After more sobs, I continued my confession to Beth.

"I felt too deep to say no to him. He said there wouldn't be any noticeable changes in the first few months. Oh I'm such an idiot Beth!"

"No you're not."

"He wants me to come back every week."

"For more shots?"

"No those are monthly. It's the head stuff that gets the certification. I think he's convinced that I really believe I'm a woman inside... but he can't just go by one visit."

I was calm enough to speak without a hitch. I could see the wheels turning in Beth's mind.

"When will he certify?"

"I'm not sure. It didn't seem like it was going to be long."

"Well if there are no more shots, you might as well keep up the visits... at least until he can certify your I.D."

I looked at Beth and realized that she was right. The damage was done. Nothing was going to change the fact that those body-changing drugs were coursing through my body. I might as well get the I.D., which had somehow become a goal in itself. Though I didn't need it for a job anymore... driving, banking, credit cards, and a host of other basic life-functions depended on it.

Saturday night. I paced my tiny apartment with a dozen well-practiced lines that I wanted to use on Bob. I wore a casual little black dress with three-inch pumps, ultra-sheer black stockings, and a matching bag.

But I never had the chance to use my lines. After a dinner in a Japanese restaurant that had us sitting around a show-like grill with eight other strangers, we ended up at a movie where there was no talking at all. We sat close, with Bob's arm around my shoulders for the entire movie. I didn't know how NOT to sit like that with him. After being held close all evening, I didn't know how to avoid being in his arm as he walked me back to my apartment either.

My confused little wee-wee had been straining uselessly again. Thinking that Beth was watching through the peephole, I wanted to avoid the kiss that my body seemed to long for.

"Would you like a cup of coffee?" I asked Bob as he drew closer.

"That would be great," he said, happy that I was inviting him in.

I heard a gently click and knew that Beth had just retreated to her own apartment.

I knew I was giving Bob a signal by it, but it was also going to be my opportunity to finally "talk" to Bob... to use my lines... to let him down and stop this insanity. After I unlocked the door, he followed me in.

"How do you take..."

I had turned to ask him how he took his coffee, but he had been right behind me. Now inches away in front of me, I felt Bob's strong hands take my waist as he bent forward. His lips prevented me from finishing my question.

But if the last kiss had done little more than establish his intent, this kiss had an intensity that took me completely by surprise. I felt my body responding to his lustful passions even as my inner Brian silently screamed. I felt my breath shorten and my pulse throb in our impossibly mingled breath as Bob's tongue pushed through my teeth and into my mouth. The smell of his aftershave; the tenderness of his lips; the gruff of his face, all made me feel so submissively female in comparison to his imposing masculinity.

I wanted to pull away. I wanted to say my lines. I wanted not to feel so aroused by what we were doing. But instead of drawing away, I found my own tongue unbelievably, even if tentatively, pushing forward to probe his mouth in return.

Bob drew me closer to him. I felt his hot bulge pressing against me through our clothes. My mind reeled at what was happening, though I was unable to stop it. I was getting another man hard... and loving it.

I couldn't stop his large hand gliding over my stockinged leg if I wanted to, which I didn't. It felt so amazing gliding over my smooth skin... over the silky fabric. His hand rose higher, under the hem of my dress, and found the lacy top of my thigh-highs. I felt his bulge twitch against me and was thankful for the layers binding my own straining wee-wee.

"We have to stop," I said finally pulling away before his hand rose higher.

"Why Stacy?"

"I. I just can't right now."

"I don't understand. Did I do something wrong?"

"No. Nothing. I'm the one who's doing something wrong Bob."

"I'm confused."

"You're not the only one," I had to laugh. "Bob. Promise me you won't get violent with me."

"Violent?"

"Just promise."

"Shit. You're married. Aren't you."

"Just promise."

"OK. OK. No violence. Now just tell me."

I was terrified but didn't know how else to stop this whole thing we were doing. In spite of being let down by girls in the past myself, I hadn't figured out a way to let a guy like Bob down. But it went beyond that. Part of me almost needed to confess this lunacy to him. Remembering how surprisingly well the truth worked in landing the job, I hoped it might work with Bob too.

"I AM married Bob... to Beth next door."

There was a barely audible gasp from the door dividing our apartments. Bob looked at the door nervously and back to me in silence.

"It's true," I whispered in my breathy little voice.

"You're lesbian?" he said, with a look of relief on his face.

"No."

"Then what are..."

"Beth is my wife Bob."

I stared at him with my captivating blue eyes through thickly curled lashes. His face contorted from disbelief to shock to outrage to disbelief again.

"You can't be a guy."

"Beth likes to play dress up with me. This wasn't meant to involve you... or anybody."

"You just can't be."

"Beth. I know you're listening."

Beth came in with a sheepishly guilty look on her face.

Bob cringed when he looked at me and remembered his kiss.

"OHMYGOD! I KISSED YOU!"

"We're sorry," Beth said.

"Just answer me this," he said to me. "Are you gay?"

"I never even thought of kissing a guy before. I only went out with you tonight so I could break up with you."

"But did you like it? Did you LIKE kissing me? Because you sure as hell seemed like it."

"Yes," I said not breaking eye contact with him... partly to avoid looking at Beth.

"Well I did too," he mumbled. "Too damn much actually."

I didn't know what he meant by his words, but he continued.

"You got excited KNOWING that you were kissing a guy, but I never knew. The problem is that I'm looking at you now... and still feel aroused."

It was impossible for me not to glance at Bob's crotch, which he didn't bother to hide. If anything, the strain on his pants seemed stronger than ever.

"I'm sorry," I said looking back into his eyes.

"I need to know something Stacy, or whoever you are... and the only way to find out is to kiss you."

"But..."

"You owe me this."

I looked over to Beth, who had a strange look in her gaze as she nodded.

"OK," I mumbled in my little sex-kitten voice that I couldn't help anymore.

Bob came forward and took me in his powerful hands again. In spite of all that had happened, I found my lips yielding to his. I found my mouth parting to accept his probing tongue. I felt the world drop away as my universe became Bob's kiss.

"Oh god," he said with a quivering voice as he parted from me. "Why?"

A timid voice came from the side of us.

"don't stop... please don't stop..."

Beth's face was slack from her own lust. She had a hand buried inside the boxers, my boxers, which she now slept in. Her orgasm looked imminent.

"This is wrong," Bob said staring into my eyes with a lust of his own.

"I know," I whispered with my head tilted up to receive his soft lips.

His hand slid over my stockinged thighs and over the lacy stay-ups. I felt Bob's hand glide over the last inches of smooth skin and palm the flat of my tightly bound crotch. My knees went week as I moaned simultaneously with Beth.

"Oh god," I whimpered into Bob's mouth as he started to rub my flattened crotch.

His other hand found mine, which he simply placed on his twitching bulge. Even if through clothes, I couldn't believe that my long nailed fingers were actually holding another man's hard penis.

"take his pants off," Beth whispered from the side.

Unbelievably, I undid Bob's pants and let them slide to the floor. Bob's hidden hand couldn't continue under my dress as I lowered his underwear to his ankles. I stared at Bob's naked erection in amazement, not from its size, but from how it was turning me on. I reached out my long nailed fingers and wrapped my dainty little hand around it. I was holding another man's cock.

"lick it," we heard from the side.

I couldn't believe that I wanted to obey her. I lowered myself to my pretty little knees with my mouth level to Bob's crotch. The three of us may have been inwardly screaming for different reasons... but we all wanted the same thing to happen nonetheless.

I put my lips to the tip of Bob's penis, which was slick with his precum. I kissed him, seeing the long string of glistening precum stretch from my lips as I pulled away.

"Oh god Stacy. That's so fucking hot," Bob said with heavily lidded eyes as I put my lips unbelievably to him again.

I parted my glistening lips and took his penis into my mouth. I felt it on my tongue and suddenly touching the back of my throat. I hadn't burst into flames. I didn't die of shamed embarrassment. I felt a strange feminine power from being able to make Bob feel so good inside my hungry mouth. I felt wanted, sexy, submissive, powerful, and a host of conflicting emotions that made me almost cum right there.

I felt how close Bob was to cumming and didn't want it to end. I slowly withdrew, alternating between sucking, kissing, licking, and even blowing on his delicious penis so that it was perpetually on the brink or orgasm without going over the edge.

But I felt my own orgasm approaching without any stimulation at all. As I felt it getting closer, I pushed my mouth further onto Bob, taking his penis into my throat. I squirmed; managing only choked little moans, as he started pulling out and pushing back into my gullet, fucking my poor throat.

"Oh god Stacy... ohgod...I'm going to... ohgod... ohgod... I... can't... hold...oh... oh... oh... cum with me! Oh God cum with me!!"

My own imprisoned sex erupted in my panties as gobs of Bob's cum throbbed deep into my gullet. Unable to breathe, my throat convulsed on him as it swallowed what was being deposited inside me. When the last throb ended, I pulled off of him like a drowning person gasping for air.

The three of us looked uncertainly at each other before I started pulling up Bob's shorts. There was a little drop of cum on the tip of his penis, which I dutifully and eagerly consumed before putting his underwear into place. I pulled up his pants and slowly redid them.

"Next Saturday?" he said simply to me.

I nodded without looking toward Beth, who had just coached me to suck another man's cock.

"Seven?"

I nodded again.

I didn't blame him for not kissing me goodbye. I wouldn't expect a real man to want to taste cum on my breath.

I didn't say a word to Beth after Bob left. We just looked at each other for a long moment. With a silent mutual nod, she went back to her apartment, leaving me with confused but oddly satiated feelings. Part of me was scared beyond reckoning. Another part of me was proud of a blow job that was oh so amazingly wrong. I drifted off to a sleep that you only get after an incredible sexual release.

I woke up on Sunday and stared at the ceiling. In the light of morning, shock over what I had done gripped me. A part of me didn't want to believe that I even kissed a man... no less given him head. But the part that shocked me the most was the disturbing realization that I liked it so incredibly much.

I was married, happily married, even if for a short time in our young little lives. I was also a guy. Why then was I thinking so much about Bob's kisses? Why was I so excited thinking about his penis? Why was I thinking about him at all... and with a happy little grin while I did it? Why was I thinking about ANY guy like a love-struck teenaged girl?

I eventually got dressed. I wore the denim mini; white off the shoulder top; and black pumps. It was cool enough to need my half-jacket, but I decided against stockings or tights. Beth and I had planned on shopping for some work clothes for me at the mall and I wanted to keep things simple. My bare legs looked so pretty, but I was OK with that.

"Good morning Beth."

"Good morning Stacy. Would you like some coffee?"

"That would be lovely."

We made small talk, avoiding any mention about what happened the night before. But something was different. I had been pretending to be Stacy long enough that it felt almost natural to be dressed like I was... but there was a change as I sipped coffee with Beth in her apartment. For the first time, it didn't feel like I was playing a kinky kind of game with Beth. In a way, it felt like I wasn't dressing up at all... and that we really were two girlfriends, living in separate apartments instead of just pretending to be. There was no sexual game of deprivation as I sat across from Beth either. If anything, I felt more like I was dating Bob than Beth, my wife.

The feeling of really being Stacy was only reinforced as I shopped for my own outfits as her. Just trying on skirts, tops, and dresses in the dressing rooms, or trying on shoes, made me feel "real". The clothes weren't costumes. They were just clothes... my clothes.

My own job started that Monday. I was dressed in another miniskirted business suit... a navy number with a cream colored camisole under the sharply tapered jacket. Three-inch pumps and ultra-sheer nude stockings helped finish the little office-vixen look that I was actually going for. No one but the interviewers knew my little secret. But instead of being freaked out by all the male attention I was getting, I couldn't help putting it all in the context of my experience with Bob. I basked in it even.

"How was work?" Beth asked.

"Wonderful," I beamed truthfully. "I couldn't believe all the guys who flirted with me!"

"And that was wonderful?"

"Yes. It was kind of like a game in a way. The attention was a little weird at first, but after Bob, well, you know, it kind of seemed harmless. They can be funny actually."

"Who are they?" she laughed because she knew the answer.

"Men," I laughed along with her, realizing that I had just lumped men into the category of "they".

It would have been a good time for either of us to take a step back and revisit just what we were doing with this whole Stacy thing but we didn't.

Neither of us intended our "game" to take on the life it had, but neither of us seemed particularly bothered by how it had progressed either. My actually getting a job as Stacy... and the whole Bob thing... were exciting developments that were still playing themselves out.

And work really was fun. Aside from witnessing an almost comic parade of men being idiots around me, I was taken in as "one of the girls" too. The gossips, and cliques, and conversations about makeup, fashion, beauty tips, relationships, men, and the entertainment world of the rich and famous were all so ridiculously cliche that it was hard not to get caught up in it all.

As the receptionist, I had plenty of time to read magazines like People, Oprah, Us, Cosmo, Vogue, and a host of others laid out for waiting guests who didn't want to read the business, legal, or sports magazines also laid out. It was easy answering phones in my eighteen year old breathy little sex-kitten voice. Greeting visitors; signing for packages; taking deliveries; managing the conference rooms; keeping the coffee room stocked, clean, and the pot full; and making travel arrangements kept me busy enough without being too busy. Being a receptionist seemed like a cake-job that anyone would love.

My next visit with the psychiatrist was almost a non event. He seemed pleased that I had gotten a job as Stacy and was already living full-time in the "correct" gender.

"When will I be able to change my I.D.'s doctor?"

"Soon enough Stacy. Soon enough. These things can't be rushed."

He took some blood and did a very thorough check-up. I left with nothing more than some literature on "transitioning" that detailed all of the steps through an eventual Sexual Reassignment Surgery.

The job made the week fly by in a blur. It was Saturday before I knew it, and I was nervous. Bob told me to wear something very casual, jeans if I had them. He was taking me bowling of all places. I rewaxed my body without Beth's help or knowledge.

I wore a simple pink collared top with short sleeves and peg-leg jeans that I had bought for the date. They weren't cut like any of my old jeans. I had to wiggle my way into them they were so tight, which helped make my padded bottom look even more natural if that were possible. With my bald little wee-wee completely smoothed out under all the tight items, there was no hint that I was anything but a curvaceous young woman. I wore pink little socks turned down on my ankles and girly new sneakers.

"Hi Bobby," I said nervously after not seeing him all week.

"You look amazing Stacy."

"In these rags?" I only half joked.

"Definitely. Are you ready?"

"Let me get my jacket and purse."

And with that, Bob led me out of the building with his arm around me. I was prepared for it to feel weird, to feel awkward now that Bob knew. But it felt better than ever to be walking so close to him... being held by him. There were no secrets now. What we were doing wasn't pretend. I was with someone who knew everything and wanted to be with me anyway... or even because of it all.

Since I couldn't be with Beth, who was no "lesbian", I realized that this intentional get together with Bob was a very real "date".

Bowling was comic. I was never that good to begin with, but with long nails that I didn't want to ruin, I could barely hold the ball at all. There was no such thing as spin for me and I rolled the lightest ball painfully slowly down the lane... or gutter. But the score didn't matter. The laughs were as real as the smiles. It couldn't have been a more perfect date.

We didn't go back to my apartment. We went to 6C on the floor below. Though I wasn't ready for more, there was a repeat of our prior date. In an oversized T-shirt and Bob's boxers that he lent me, I fell asleep in his bed... and arms. It was the first time I wore men's underwear in a long time... and I couldn't look like less of a man if I tried.

It was late when we eventually woke up. It was even later by the time we left Bob's bed. I got dressed and straightened myself up as best I could before going to my apartment. I was actually worried about what Beth was going to say after I had gone missing for the entire night.

"How was your date?" she said with a bright and genuine interest... like I was a real girlfriend about to dish some dirt.

"It was nice."

"Nice?! You didn't come home until this morning," she teased. "Tell me everything. Why didn't you come back here?"

"Bob knows you have the key for that door. As much as last weekend worked for all of us, he didn't want risk you busting in on us if we..."

"If you what?" she smiled knowingly. "Seriously. He has a problem with that door?"

"That's what he said."

"Then maybe we should let the super wall it over like they were originally going to do?"

"But this is our apartment," I said waiving my dainty hand broadly over the two spaces... but not believing my words any more than Beth was.

"We've had two separate apartments from day-one Stacy. The door only lets us visit a little easier. So we take three steps in the hallway instead. No biggie."

"But why?"

"Because I don't want that door chasing you out of your apartment Stacy. And besides... why not?"

The door issue seemed settled, in her mind anyway, and she started grilling me for date details. But as I started giving her the real "dirt", the parts about Bob's kisses, his hands, and his penis... it suddenly felt wrong.

"Why'd you stop Stacy?"

"I don't know. It doesn't seem right."

"But its sooooooo hot listening to you talk about him like that. You have no idea."

I shrugged but didn't give her more.

"That's OK," she smiled. "It's more than enough to get me off. See you in a while."

And with that, Beth left to masturbate. I showered and got changed into a comfortable calf-length peasant skirt and pull-over sweater. I was stepping into my "Ugs" boots when I heard a knock on my door. It was the super, who took door and hinges from between our apartments and pried off the framing. Beth had gone out, but the super seemed more than happy to have me watch and to talk to while he worked. He cut and hammered new studs in the hole before fastening some wallboard. Tape and spackle quickly covered the screw holes and joints. He has made a wall.

"I have to do the other side Ms. Smith."

"Stacy," I said for the fourth time.

He smiled and finished by saying, "Please don't touch it. It needs to dry overnight before I can sand and paint, which I can do while your at work tomorrow. OK?"

"OK."

"I won't have much sanding, but you might want to cover some things up anyway. It might get a little dusty."

"OK. Thanks."

"No problem. Well, see you Ms... Stacy."

He smiled before leaving to start taping and spackling on Beth's side.

I looked at the new wall, which seemed like more just a physical thing. It was painted over by the time I came home. You couldn't tell that there had been a door there at all. Beth knocked on my outer door.

"Hi Beth."

"Amazing isn't it? Door one day... wall the next. I can't tell at all on my side."

She looked at my side without coming in, which seemed odd.

"Come on in," I said.

She did, which made me realize that she was waiting for me to ask her. It REALLY felt like separate apartments now.

"What are you making?" she asked.

"A sautéed tofu and rice dish one of the girls brought for lunch today. She gave me the recipe. Would you like some?"

"No thank you. I ate on the way home. Tofu though?"

"Yeah," I admitted sheepishly. "I saw a weight chart for a woman my height and figure I need to loose nine pounds."

"Seriously?" she chuckled.

"Well there was this top I saw..."

Beth out and out laughed, but I didn't take offense. I wasn't overweight by any definition, quite the contrary, but thin and "girl thin" are two very different concepts. The chart only showed that I needed to loose four pounds actually, but to fit in that top, I figured that another five couldn't hurt.

We talked and hung out. Beth left earlier than she usually did, like a friend who knew when to leave before wearing out their welcome.

Work was fairly routine the next day, except for the bouquet of roses that came for me. The note simply said, "Thinking of You". The other women gushed about them... though some of the men seemed to have been deflated to learn that I had a "boyfriend".

I went to 6C after work and heard the TV on through the door. I knocked.

"Hi Stacy," he said smiling. "Come on in. What brings you here?"

I was wearing the hounds tooth miniskirted suit that I had interviewed in. Bob definitely seemed to like what he saw.

"A dozen long-stem roses," I said stepping into his apartment.

"Did you like them?"

"Like them? I LOVED them! No one ever gave me flowers before in my life. I never knew how wonderful it could be to get them."

He smiled even wider if possible.

"Thank you Bobby," I said lifting up on my toes to kiss him properly.

It was a thank-you kiss that suddenly became something more. I pulled away and lowered myself back on my heels.

"But it was a dirty trick too," I mock-teased. "What were you doing? Staking a claim on me?"

"What do you mean?" he said a little flustered.

"I mean that every guy in there saw that someone sent me roses! I'm off limits now. I'm somebody's girlfriend already."

"I never thought of it that way," he said sincerely. "I just thought you might like them."

"You were just thinking about me Bobby?"

"Yes."

"Oh Bobby... You're so sweet," I said lifting up on my toes again to kiss him.

This time, I didn't pull away. I felt his hands on my tiny waist and his tongue entering my mouth. We found ourselves on the bed soon after.

"What time should I wake you?" he said as I came out of the bathroom a whole lot later in another of his T-shirts and boxers.

I told him.

"That early?!"

"A girl has to allow time to make herself pretty."

He set his alarm and we drifted off to sleep together. I felt a warmth, a comfort, that I hadn't felt for a long time sleeping apart from Beth. But in a way it was even deeper than what I had felt with Beth. As Brian, I had been the man, the protector. As Stacy, I felt protected. I felt safe curled next to Bob's imposing masculinity with his hairy arm draped over me.

Thankfully, Bob didn't see the tears rolling down my face in the dark. I didn't know why I was crying and tried to chalk it up to the hormones. But deep down I felt a sense of loss in Bob's wonderfully comforting arms. I suddenly missed Beth... even as I realized just how more "right" it felt to be in Bob's bed than it used to feel with her.

Bob and I started seeing a lot more of each other after that. It wasn't every night, but it was close. The next visit with the psychiatrist was strange in that I wasn't freaked out by his talk about removing my testicles. I had no plans of actually doing it, but it was easier to play along with him in our talks if just "talking" might get that certification sooner. Seeing Bob meant not seeing Beth, which was compounded by the girls at work taking me out with them for a happy hour or two.

"You're working," she said one night. "Doesn't it seem right that you start paying your own rent?"

"Sure Beth," I said quickly.

It made sense. But instead of just giving Beth the money for my half, there was a new lease for 7A in my mailbox three days later. One month's security and the first month in advance. I didn't have it. I had spent it on my ever-growing wardrobe. I just couldn't go to Beth for it though... so I went to Bob, who fronted the money for me without a blink.

Life went by quickly. I stood outside of the psychiatrist's door for ten whole minutes before going in. I knew it was a monthly "shot" visit... hormones and testosterone blockers. I had been Stacy for over a month. On one hand, it felt like it was no time at all. On the other, the complete immersion made it feel like I had been Stacy forever.

But there were still no visible effects from the hormones in that first month... and his certification for a new I.D. seemed so close. He had told me that there shouldn't be any visible changes for the first few months. With a deep breath and a final smooth of my pink little housedress, I went in and took my medicine.

He talked about the castration again. Unbelievably, I found myself actually starting to think about it too. Even if I were to go back to being Brian again the very next day, I liked being Stacy enough to want to be again to "play" whenever I wanted to. Even if I stopped taking the female hormones before anything showed, it would be nice if male hormones never deepened my voice; chiseled my body or face; or gave me facial hair. I started thinking that kids, the only real reason not to do it, were wrong for me anyway.

My life with Beth seemed to be drifting too far apart. I had fallen in love with her... and still did love her. Determined to spend more time with her, I tried getting her to go out with me and the girls from work on some of our happy hours. I thought it would be fun for her.

"OK," she said reluctantly.

Beth enjoyed coming out with us. She seemed to get a real kick out of seeing guys trying to pick me up and started having fun again. If anything, we started being "best friends" again, but from a whole new perspective. We weren't girlfriends because we had to be. We were friends again because of the fun we had together.

"Where's Beth," I said to a work friend after a particularly long line for the ladies room in a club we had started going to.

"Over there, with that guy."

There was a tall, handsome, guy leaning close to Beth by a corner near the dance floor. The music was loud and it looked like he still had to shout close to her ear. She was clearly liking the attention. He leaned over to kiss her. She tilted her head up to receive that kiss.

It was short, but they broke with a new twinkle in their eyes. Taking her by the hand, the guy led her to the dance floor, where they stayed for a good five songs.

I wasn't sure how I felt watching them. Anger was the best word, but I was angry with myself more than anyone... for not feeling jealousy or anger toward Beth. If anything, I was actually happy to see Beth so happy. Her smiles and laughter only reminded me of how long it had been since I had seen them. I was angry for being too chicken to venture onto the dance floor myself too, but I was most angry at myself for feeling relief... like Beth kissing another guy somehow made it alright for me to stop feeling guilty about being with Bob.

"Do you like him?" I asked her later when the guy, Peter, went to buy drinks.

"I don't know," she said with a sheepishly guilty look.

"It's OK Beth. You're allowed to like him you know."

"I know," she said surprisingly, "but it still feels a little wrong."

"Why?"

"Well... you know... us," she said almost apologetically.

"If you haven't noticed Beth, we've kind of taken a break from THAT kind of us."

"I know."

"I've got Bob," I said.

"Do you love him?"

"I love you Beth."

"I know, but do you love Bob?"

"Yes," I said surprising myself as much as Beth.

"And he loves you?"

"Yes."

She looked toward Peter buying us drinks on the other end of the room and then back to me. Her guilty expression melted into a fun mischievous little grin.

"Well I guess if you have a boyfriend... then why can't I?"

I laughed because it seemed like the thing to do. Until Beth had said the words though, I never really thought of Bob as my "boyfriend". It was true though. There was really no other description of what Bob and I were to each other. The disquieting part of that realization was knowing that the flip was true too... that I had actually become somebody's "girlfriend".

My telling Beth that Bob and I loved each other was oddly timed. He used the words the very next day. We weren't doing anything special, just watching TV on his couch, when I noticed that he had been watching me more than the television.

"I love you Stacy."

"I love you too Bobby," I said before tucking myself in closer to him.

Beth and Peter started becoming an item even as I received my next month's hormone shots. Bob and I double dated with them every now and then, which was truly strange at first.

The doctor's talk of the castration procedure seemed so immaterial. I agreed to it... but it didn't seem real. The appointment at the surgical center seemed like it was made for someone else.

Neither Bob nor Beth knew what I had done. One of my work friends drove me to and from the surgical center on Friday afternoon for what I told her was a procedure for "woman's problems" that I didn't really want to get into.

It was an outpatient procedure, but I stayed in my apartment... and away from anyone all weekend. I took Monday and Tuesday off of work to recover as well. It had been done. My bald little wee-wee looked even more out of place without his two little friends next to him. But he looked prettier too, which made me oddly happier.

It was around this time that the effects of those hormones started to show too. My next visit to the psychiatrist focused mainly on how I felt about the castration... but also centered on my swelling nipples and sensitive knotty flesh forming under them.

"Your breasts are starting to come in," he said matter-of-factly. "Are you excited Stacy?"

The idea that breasts were starting to grow on me was both terrifying and thrilling at the same time.

"Oh my god... yes doctor."

"Here you go Stacy," he said handing me several clipped papers.

"What are these?"

"Papers certifying that you are a pre-op transgender. They say that you are a woman Stacy."

"They do?" I said staring at them in stunned disbelief.

Though all those visits were to get those very papers, holding them still didn't seem possible. But after all those months of being Stacy; of having a hairlessly smooth body; of no longer having testicles; and of having real breasts starting to bud on me, I felt like those papers were not conned out of the doctor either. They seemed to validate how I had started to really feel... like I really was Stacy.

I started to cry.

The doctor comforted me gently but professionally.

I didn't go through the attorneys at my office. I brought them to another firm specializing in these matters. After all the time waiting to be able to change my name and I.D., the reality of it was a little frightening. It went much deeper than just getting a license that read Stacy. I spent a half hour sifting through, sorting, and signing changes to my birth certificate, license, school records, medical records, bank records, passport, credit history, and a host of other things that I never considered before. I was legally changing my name... and my sex. It was something that I wasn't going to be able to undo as easily as I originally imagined.

Paperwork kept coming into my mailbox over the next several weeks before I was able to go to the Department of Motor Vehicles in a flowery summer dress and white strappy sandals. My forced smile fortunately hid my trembling. The photo was prettier than I could have hoped for. My license read Stacy. Next to the word "Sex:" was the letter F.

I was legally Stacy. I was a woman.

"Oh my god Stacy," Beth said when she saw it. "It's legal?"

"I'm really Stacy now," I said with a dry mouth.

"Oh my god," she repeated.

"Yeah," I agreed.

"What does that make us now? Are we still married?"

"I'm not sure. I think so."

"Oh my god Stacy. I'm married to a girl."

The I.D. didn't change my day-to-life as much as I would have thought. I was able to open a bank account and get credit cards as Stacy, but other than that, there wasn't much difference in how I was already living. But legally being a woman named Stacy played with my thoughts and emotions as the reality of it truly sank in. It had been months since Beth and I had started this extreme game... but the drift from being a "game" to something different was a gradual process that never seemed quite "real" either. And while we coasted along in what started as an intense charade, it was never meant to be a permanent thing. We never talked about when it was supposed to end... but there was always the thought that it would. With no testicles and with breasts continuing to blossom on me, I was confronted with the idea that I might not be able to go back.

The change seemed to affect Beth too. In some ways, I felt closer to her than ever before... but not as her husband. Our "friendship" became deeper, but I could see her heart drifting ever closer to Peter too.

Instead of the days or weeks ticking by, the months started sliding past me. Breasts and other curves continued to develop as I marveled at an accelerated puberty that was slowly making my body match my I.D. It was making me a woman.

The world had seen me with "breasts" from the first day of our game, but I was still nervous wearing my new top for the first time. I wasn't close to my breast-form c-size yet, but the push-up bra and inserts made it look that way. The low v-neck dress was a flouncy black mini with short sleeves and a sexy little bow on the side... but neither the dress nor the four-inch fun pumps were what caught the eye. I had cleavage!

I felt naked going out in the world so "exposed"... but I knew that there was nothing unusual about my dress. The dress was simply a dress. The plunging v-neck was something that was perfectly normal for a woman to wear. Beth was stunned... Bob was enthralled.

"Did you... you know?"

"Hormones," I blushed sheepishly under his stares, "and some creative padding in my bra."

"May I?" he said as he was already brushing aside the fabric of my dress.

I watched almost outside of myself as Bob put his hand on my flesh and pushed it between the bra to free it.

My breast, my real breast, was in his hand, exposed with its rapidly puckering nipple to his hungry eyes.

I didn't move, I couldn't, as he lowered his head and ever-so-gently kissed my hardening nipple with his soft lips.

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhnnnnnnnnnnnnn.......... Bobbbbbbbbbyyyyyyyyyyyyyy........" I moaned in my breathy little voice.

We spent the next hours on his bed, exploring new sensations for both of us. I was a little late to my psychiatrist's office.

The doctor looked very serious behind his desk instead of the examination table.

"It's time we started talking about SRS Stacy, whether you decide to go through with it or not."

"Will I still be a woman if I don't do it?"

"Stacy, you are now and always will be a woman. What's dangling between your legs is a matter of plumbing... nothing more. The final surgery USUALLY brings a woman like yourself to a more fulfilled body image of themselves... but not always. SRS is not a decision to be taken lightly. There are risks involved. Some of them significant."

I nodded. I had seen literature on it already. We had talked about it in generalities. But talking about details was something new.

I didn't make any decisions in his office. I went home and stared at the walls. Being a woman certainly didn't scare me since (planned or not) I had been living as one for so long. But I WAS scared about loosing the ability to be Brian again... to be "me" again. I even wrestled with who I meant by "me" anyway. I felt so complete as Stacy now. As hard as I tried, I didn't feel any connection to the long-missing Brian. There may have been a nostalgia about that part of me... but no craving or desire to be him anymore.

Part of me reflected on my relationship with Beth too, which had already moved to new places. I also thought about Bob and that, as crazy as it sounded, we really had fallen in love with each other. But in the end, I realized that whatever decision I made couldn't be for anybody else but me.

I hadn't gone to Bob's apartment as planned. When there was a knock on my door, I thought it was him. It was Beth though, who looked nervous or even guilty standing with her hands clasped behind her outside my door.

"Come in Beth," I said pulling her in. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said, but unable to look in my eyes.

"What is it Beth. You can tell me."

"I... I..."

"It's OK. Take your time."

"Oh Stacy," she sighed. "Peter... well..."

Beth lifted her left hand instead of saying anything more. There was a ring on her hand... a diamond ring. It wasn't the ring that my mother gave me to propose to Beth.

"What did you say?" I said in stunned disbelief.

I didn't need to here her say it. She was already wearing his ring. She continued as if I hadn't said a word.

"He doesn't know that I'm married... even if we ARE still married. He doesn't know about you... or any of it."

"We have to get divorced," I said simply.

"Really?"

"I don't know if it already happened when... well... you know... this..." I said waiving a hand at myself and my cleavage. "But we should make it official anyway."

"Oh Stacy!" she said flinging her arms around me and bursting into tears. "Will you be my Maid of Honor?"

"Of course," I said through choking tears of my own as we had a good cry together.

Bob came over in the middle of everything. He seemed worried about our teary faces when I let him in.

"Is everything OK?" he asked with lines of concern in his rugged face.

"Beth and Peter are getting married," I said as Beth held up her ring as evidence.

"But aren't you two..."

"We'll make the divorce official as soon as we can," I said cutting him off.

"I'm so happy for you," he said, though his face couldn't hide how happy he was for himself.

Beth saw it too and after a short while made a polite exit to leave us alone. There was mostly small talk about Beth and Peter before Bob took me out for dinner.

His eyes couldn't help drifting to me cleavage over the sushi.

"Hello. Earth to Bobby," I laughed. "I'm up here."

"I know. I'm sorry Stacy. It's just that they're so beautiful."

"Thank you," I said blushing like an idiot as he looked back into my captivating blue eyes.

"You really should go natural. You don't need to pad them. They're perfect the way they are."

"They might be perfect to you," I started, "but the world has seen me as a c-cup. How do I explain a reduction?"

"I guess you're right," he said with a surprising frown.

He suddenly added, "But what about having them enhanced to what the world thinks you are? You wouldn't have to have the padding anymore."

"I'm touched that you're so concerned about my breasts," I laughed at him. "While I'm at it, why not go bigger too? Right?"

"Well I wouldn't complain," he said laughing right back.

"Men!" I said only half-jokingly, which made him laugh even harder.

Talk drifted everywhere and nowhere... but mainly circled back to Beth and Peter's plans.

"I'd like you to meet my parents Stacy," Bob said out of the blue over desert.

"Why Bobby?"

"Because they've heard so much about you. They really want to meet you Stacy."

I made some lame protests but didn't really have a reason to say no. I eventually agreed but started feeling very distracted as Bob babbled about something or other to do with a draft pick he had heard about on TV. A lot of thoughts were racing in my head as we made it to my apartment. I needed to be alone.

"I'm sorry Bobby. I have a lot on my mind tonight. Would it be OK if I just went in by myself tonight?"

"Sure Stacy."

I felt guilty and felt the need to elaborate.

"You know... Beth and Peter... my first time showing these... the psychiatrist."

"Did he say something that bothered you?"

"No. Just something that I have to think about."

"What?"

"SRS."

"What's that?"

"Sexual Reassignment Surgery. The doctor calls it corrective surgery."

"You're thinking about it?" he said.

I tried not to notice the bulge swelling in Bob's pants.

"I can't believe it Bobby, but I am. I have to go. OK?"

"OK."

The kiss goodnight was sweet but thankfully short.

Bob found me crying the next night as well.

"What is it?" he said stepping into my apartment as I clung to him, wetting his shirt with my tears.

"I told the doctor that I wanted to go through with it."

"That's good... right?"

I nodded, unable to talk through my sobs against Bob's broad chest.

"Then why are you crying?"

"Do you have any idea how hard it was coming to that decision Bobby?"

"No," he whispered.

"It was the hardest thing I ever did... but when I told the doctor, he started talking about the details, the surgeons, everything."

"And?"

"He started talking about the cost! Oh Bobby! I'll NEVER be able to afford it! I wish he never started talking about it! I wish I could have avoided even having to THINK about it!"

My crying took over and I just wept in his strong arms.

"How much?" he said quietly.

"Too much. I could never ask you to pay for... I could never take that money >from you Bobby."

"But I love you."

"I know you want to help but..."

"It's not just helping you Stacy. I'm selfish. I want this to happen for me just as much as I want it to happen for you."

I stared into his eyes.

"You're serious... aren't you?"

"How much?"

I told him then added with a chuckle through my tears, "There's a discount if I get my boobs done at the same time."

"The c-cup?" he asked innocently.

"Or bigger if you want. You ARE paying for them," I half joked.

Plans were made. There were more doctors and endless consultations. Divorce papers were spread on the table along with all kinds of medical releases, authorizations, and checklists.

A week later, the nurse wheeled a single woman named Stacy on a gurney into the operating room. I felt loopy from the pre-anesthetics. I felt cold. I was shivering. There was a mask and a his of gas.

I awoke in a fog of painkillers. There were tubes and machines everywhere, but I mostly focused on the pain. My heavily bandaged face felt like it had been in an accident and my lips attacked by bees. The bandages on my chest looked impossibly bulky but, in spite of the binding, my breasts felt stretched, like they were about to explode. But the pain that truly blurred the rest of my universe started in my crotch. With ugly tubes draining out of the thick bandaging, it felt like I had been impaled on a burning railroad spike. The pain started at my crotch and went deep into the core of my being... with a pain radiating from within. I was in too much pain to even cry and welcomed the welcoming dark of drug-induced sleep.

Whether I believed I would or not, I slowly healed as the days slipped by. Bandages and tubes came away. The pain began to fade. I was brought to a toilet to pee as a woman for the first time. I looked at the swollen mangled vagina between my legs as my pee tinkled into the water. I cried not knowing what emotion caused it.

Beth brought me home from the hospital. I didn't want Bob seeing me like that. I avoided him for the next several weeks, spending hours on the phone together when we were only a floor away.

My girlfriends from work came by to see how the "work" I had done on me had gone. They thought it was for a boob job and some little things to my face. Except for the big thing I never told them, they were mostly right.

I didn't want to change too much to my face. I still wanted to mostly look like me. The girlish puberty meant that I didn't really need to undergo a real "facial feminization". As the swelling and bruises subsided, my eyes were just a little rounder and more doe-like; my little nose actually looked dainty; my slightly fuller lips looked more invitingly kissable. But my breasts were what caught your eye. If c-cups looked large on my tiny frame, the d-cups I now had were massive.

"It's a shame no one's going to notice those pretty eyes of yours anymore," one of the girls joked.

Everyone one laughed because they new it was true.

Bob was the first to fall under their spell. While he looked in amazement at the changes to my face, his eyes kept drifting down. I couldn't blame him. I couldn't help showing them off and wore tops that were more revealing than they should have been. I even found it hard not to stare when I looked in a mirror.

My new vagina healed the slowest. The remaining bruising on my face could be covered under makeup so I could go back to work. But like a newly pierced ear, my new vagina had to be filled to keep it from simply closing up as it healed. The "packing" to keep my vagina dilated acted like a bandage that had to be changed. Ironically, I needed to wear heavy panty liners during the weeks that followed as my increasingly pretty vagina healed. The bandage-like packing was eventually replaced by a latex version that looked way too much like a kind of medical dildo.

It would be many weeks before I would be healthy enough to let Bob try to dilate my new sex himself, but he could wait. My breasts were the best present he ever cold have bought for himself... and my plump lips weren't just better for kissing either.

I wore a loose turtleneck sweater and a knee-length skirt the first time I met Bob's parents. The two-inch high pumps were the lowest heel I had, which I had bought specifically for the meeting. I was terrified. Bob's dad was all smiles, and like son, seemed to have a hard time looking away >from my chest. His mother was a sweet woman who almost immediately recruiter me to help in the kitchen while the men watched a game on TV.

"He's very much in love with you," she told me as I stirred a pot of gravy. "He talks about you all the time."

"I love him too. Bobby is so generous and kind."

The love-fest for Bob continued as we prepared and served the meal. I couldn't help but insist to help clean up with her afterwards.

On the way back in his car Bob said, "That wasn't so bad. Was it?"

"No. They're really nice people. I liked them a lot."

"Well they sure liked you!"

"They did?"

He laughed and told me about how they kept going on about me whenever they got him alone. Somewhere along our drive though, I started thinking about my own parents. I started thinking about how I seemed to have "divorced" them too as I considered what might happen if I showed up... with or without Bob. We were never really close. They never really approved of me and Beth marrying so young and basically never talked to us.

But I felt a need to reconnect. My life was wonderful as Stacy. I wanted it to include them.

"Dear Mom and Dad," I started writing in a handwriting I had all but forgotten. "Beth and I are divorced but still the best of friends. My life has gone through a lot of changes since we last spoke, and I miss you both. If you have a free weekend, I'd love to visit."

I wrote "Love, Stacy" in my flowing feminine handwriting out of habit before crumpling up the letter and starting fresh. It felt strange to even write "Love, Brian". It felt just as strange to get a letter in my box addressed to that name.

As much as I didn't want to shock them, I didn't want there to be any doubts either. Instead of the loose sweater, conservative skirt, and two- inch heels that I wore to Bob's parents, I had a cranberry V-neck sweater that showed enough cleavage to hold a deck of cards. The simple black miniskirt was too short to have a slit, but really worked with my four- inch black patent sandals to make my slender long legs look sexy and unmistakably feminine under the sheer nude pantyhose.

"How do I look?" I asked Beth after I finished touching up my makeup.

"Like a tart. Isn't it too much? What about the more sensible outfit you wore to Bob's parents?"

"I could just imagine my dad poking my breasts to prove they're not real. I'd have to lift that sweater to prove it to them anyway. This way, there's no doubt."

"Still..." she drawled doubtfully.

But my mind was made up. With a long black purse slung over my shoulder, I drove. I was terrified but determined. I must have stood in front of their door for a full ten minutes before bell though. I was trembling when my mother swung open the inner door.

"Can I help you?" she said.

"Hi," I said smiling like an idiot as Dad showed up alongside her... with his eyes briefly flickering to my over-exposed chest.

"Yes?" he chimed in. "What can we do for you?"

"It's me," I said nervously. "Brian. Well not anymore. It's Stacy now," I babbled stupidly.

They stared at me. Dad spoke up again.

"What? Is this some sort of joke? We were expecting him today. Did Brian put you up to this?"

"No. Dad. I AM Brian... or at least was. Can I come in?"

"You're not my son," Mom said definitively, "and I don't know what you're playing at young lady... if I can even call you that dressed as you are. Good day to you."

With that, my dad started swinging the door closed.

"No. Wait!" I said somehow forcing out a voice as close to my old Brian's voice as I could manage. "It's me. It's really me!"

The door opened up again and they both stared. There was no pretext of modesty as they stared up and down every inch of my curvaceous young body.

"I'm a woman now," I said in my natural Stacy voice again.

"Come in," my mother whispered to me uncertainly.

"No," my father said firmly. "I don't have a daughter. I have a son. If you are who you say you are, Brian is dead to me. I will not have an abomination like you, a tramp and a whore, step into my house. Good day to you Stacy, or whatever you want to call yourself."

"Frank!" my mother said turning to him.

"Good day to you miss," he said ignoring her.

The door swung shut. I heard tears from both of them on the other side... and on mine. I somehow minced my way though tear-blurred eyes to the car and sped home.

There was a quiet knock on my door as my crying got under control. I let Beth in as I blew my tiny nose.

"What happened?" she asked quietly.

"I should have worn the other outfit," I said before falling into her arms in another bout of tears.

Somehow I survived the ordeal. The weeks went by and Beth's wedding plans started to take a life of their own. Having been married once before, she wanted a small private affair with a modest gathering afterwards. Peter had never been married before and, in spite of his own desires, his family had been expecting a more "traditional" wedding. What could have been pulled together relatively quickly though soon included a hall, a band, flowers, photographers, videographers, catering, limos, and everything else associated with the wedding machine.

There were pressures put on me as her Maid of Honor too. Though Beth could avoid a second bachelorette party, Peter's mother, sister, and aunts expected a bridal shower. Beth laughed when I told her but she happily walked me through what needed to be done and arranged.

While all this was happening, my follow up visits with the various doctors ushered me into a new phase of my life. The latex "dilator" was no longer needed. My reconstructed genitalia had fully heeled into a pretty little vagina that I still didn't quite believe was part of me. I was down to only my psychiatrist, whom I would continue seeing for years.

"You may engage in full sexual activity now Stacy, though I would suggest you approach it cautiously at first. You don't want to stretch or tear yourself."

"OK."

"Is your boyfriend, Bob, particularly large?"

He knew about Bob from our many sessions together. Though my doctor knew we had a physical relationship, he had never sought details. His question made me a little uncomfortable.

"Not really. I'd say he was average."

"Then you should have nothing to worry about. As we talked about before, your vagina should function exactly as a genetic woman's Stacy. Sexual arousal should moisten you appropriately. Your labia should relax around your vaginal opening when sufficiently aroused. Your clitoris has the appropriate nerve endings and is not just cosmetic. You should be able to experience normal orgasms Stacy. Have you masturbated yet?"

He was a doctor and the questions were certainly relevant to the situation, but I was increasingly nervous to be talking about these things.

"No," I said unable to look at him. "I didn't know that I could."

"I'd recommend that you self-explore your new genitalia before engaging in actual intercourse Stacy... to learn what to expect and how your body will react."

"OK."

I had mixed emotions when I was finally alone in my apartment. Though I had masturbated often enough as Brian, the idea of masturbating, of fingering myself, as Stacy seemed strange. My "drive" had changed with the hormones too. Where Brian could do it at will, it seemed like I needed to be "in the mood" as Stacy.

It was cliche, but I found myself soaking in a warm scented bubble bath with candles and soft music. It felt wonderful and certainly relaxed me, but it didn't turn me on in itself. It wasn't intentional, but I started thinking about how my "first time" with Bob might happen. My nipples started to pucker and harden, which felt incredible when I touched them with my soapy hands. There was a familiar ache between my legs that I now could explore.

My long nailed finger moved under the concealing bubbles to my crotch. After maneuvering it through my labia, I touched myself. Though I was extremely cautious and gentle, that touch gave me a jolt of pleasure that I wasn't prepared for. With one hand slowly rolling a nipple, my other hand was gently fingering my virgin sex.

It had been a long time, too long. An orgasm suddenly gripped me without any of the usual buildup. My pretty new vagina became abruptly too sensitive to keep touching, which made me start to cry. I worried that if I came too quickly with Bob like this, I might not be able to keep going for him.

So I forced my fingers back to my suds-hidden pussy and my still-hard nipple. But unlike my experiences as a guy, the arousal quickly came back. I was softly moaning and squirming to my touches in no time, lost to my self-lust, which was more sensual, more erotic, the second time around. My next orgasm did build... deliciously slowly... and made my whole body convulse by its power. Where the first orgasm was an almost mechanical twitch, the second orgasm felt like it came from deep inside my being as much as from within my body. I could keep touching myself, which maintained the flutter of my orgasm longer than I ever experienced as a man... rising and falling in fresh waves of continuing pleasure.

I almost melted into the scented bubbles when it was finally over. My experience was more intense; deeper; more utterly fulfilling than any orgasm I had ever experienced or imagined. The relaxing setting was perfect as I basked in the afterglow of my newfound womanhood. I cried again... this time out of joy.

I'd like to say that my first encounter with Bob was as well planned or the result of a particularly romantic setting. Beth's wedding was months away. Bob and I had special dates along the way... but none were "the perfect" occasion to loose someone's virginity to. It just "happened" instead.

I was over at Bob's apartment downstairs and spending a wonderfully boring evening with him. We ate in. We watched TV on the couch. We drifted to bed. Bob had gotten me a red satin nightgown for me after the surgery. My recovery, packing, dilating, and a generally long healing time meant that I had never gotten around to actually wearing it though. During those long weeks and months, I continued borrowing his boxers and oversized T-shirts, leaving that sexy little nightgown forgotten in the bottom of his drawer.

But Bob had been out of town on business and hadn't done laundry. He had no boxers for me to borrow in his drawer. While he was still brushing his teeth, I took out the satiny nightgown, which felt so soft to my touch. I undressed and poured that little confection over my smooth arms as it slid into place.

It actually FELT as sultry as it looked on me. My ample breasts spilled over the intentionally undersized cups, beneath the sexy little spaghetti straps stretched over my otherwise bare shoulders. It hugged my hourglass curves in ways that were intentionally flattering as it fell only several inches below my unpantied crotch.

I couldn't help striking a sexy pose waiting for him on his bed. I laid invitingly on my side, propped on one delicate arm, with my long blonde hair cascading to one side of my titled smiling head.

Bob almost tripped as he came out of the bathroom and saw me waiting for him. I can't begin to describe how it made me feel to see his boxers rapidly tent forward from just looking at me. But instead of coming to bed first, he stepped out of those boxers, letting his erect naked penis point his way toward the bed.

The feel of Bob's hands on that satiny fabric, on my skin as he traced those delicate spaghetti straps, made my shudder with anticipation. His hands caressed my inner thighs even as I took his penis into my long nailed fingers. His kisses were more erotic, the touch of my nipples through the satin more electrifying, than ever. We both quivered to the unspoken anticipation that gripped us.

Bob's hand continued to move up my thigh. I didn't stop him. He touched my virgin sex and I trembled.

Our relationship always had an intense physical aspect... but Bob had been patient. It had been countless months before he first touched a real breast instead of silicon forms on me. And while I had gotten to be quite expert at pleasing him orally, Bob, at most, might rub my mannequin-like crotch if it were sufficiently flattened by layers of the tight binding I used to need. I think neither of us wanted to spoil the illusion of me being a woman. Though I might have toyed with a finger around Bob's sphincter on a rare occasion, "anal" was never an option.

There were no binding layers of panties or anything else now. Bob's touch was so gentle yet so much more erotic than mine ever could have been in that bath. I quivered as his finger brushed inside my moist labia; whose slickness I think surprised both of us.

"My god Stacy," he said with a little tremor in his voice.

I'd like to say there were hours of foreplay, but I couldn't help myself. With my fingers around his straining penis, I gently guided him toward his long awaited prize. I felt it pressing against my sex and was surprised by how large the head of his penis seemed as he slowly began to lower his weight into me.

"Be gentle with me Bobby," I whimpered slightly.

He nodded as our eyes remained locked and he continued to let his weight push against my virgin sex. His penis forced my folds apart to accept it as its head slowly press into me, filling me in a way that the dilator never could. Slowly, relentlessly, he buried himself within my body until I felt his pelvis against my own. I had taken him completely inside of me.

"I love you Stacy," he whispered with our gaze still locked as he slowly withdrew himself above me.

He lowered himself slowly as his penis, lubricated by my juices, fell back into me.

"I love you Bobby."

Bob's penis continued to slide in and out of my hungry little pussy. I felt so wonderfully submissive to my Bobby as he claimed my virginity beneath him. I felt so complete... so whole with him inside me.

I felt an orgasm rushing toward me. It was too soon. I wanted the moment to last forever.

"I'm going to cum Bobby. I can't help it."

He didn't answer. I could see in his eyes that he was just as close.

I felt him explode within me as my body convulsed down on his penis. Unlike my first mechanical orgasm in the bath, this orgasm put all others to shame. I felt wave after wave of it grip and flow through me as Bob's pace slowed and he lowered himself to rest motionless inside me. I felt so filled... so utterly satisfied with him buried within me.

I actually felt a sense of loss as he finally pulled off of me and rolled to his side of the bed. I laid there, staring at the ceiling, as his love slowly leaked between my thighs and toward the bed. I rolled over toward him, snuggling under his arm and using his hairy chest as a pillow. He gently kissed my head and slowly drifted into a sated sleep.

Though I was equally sated and relaxed, I just couldn't fall to sleep. My mind raced. Bob, a man, had just made love to me. The last vestiges of a game, the last inkling of "pretending" to be Stacy had fallen away completely. I felt truly and utterly like the woman I had become. In a strange way, my father was right. Brian was dead. I was Stacy now.

Beth's wedding went off without a hitch. Jackie hadn't seen me in months and almost didn't recognize me. But it was truly strange "meeting" a select few of her old friends, who were in the old wedding party as well. None recognized me. Not even Beth's parents. Shopping for; getting fitted for; and dieting for bride's maids dresses was strange but wonderful. The silliness of the shower was oddly fun too. There was a rehearsal and then, suddenly, Beth's big day finally arrived.

Beth looked stunning in her wedding gown, which was new. We stood in the back of a church, me in a peach ankle-length bustier dress and matching satin pumps... like the other bride's maids. She stole a brief moment with me somehow.

"I'm so happy you could be here for me Stacy. This means so much to me," she whispered.

"I'm so happy for the two of you Beth. You'll be wonderful together."

"Thanks. Are you SURE you're OK with this?"

"There's nothing I want more than to see you happy."

She smiled warmly and gave me a hug.

"I love you Stacy."

"I love you too Beth," I whispered in my breathy little Stacy voice. "Just promise me one thing though."

"What?"

"No panty games with Peter."

She laughed and gave me another warm hug before others came by to break up our private little chat.

With a swell of music, I was suddenly being led down the isle on the arm of the tuxedoed Best Man and the eyes of everyone. The wedding was beautiful. The words "I do" seemed to close another chapter of my life as a new one was opening for Beth. Whether it was my feminine sensibilities; the matching hormones; or something else, my excuse to the other Bride's Maids was that I always cried at weddings.

The reception was simple but beautiful too. I was expected to dance, but didn't have to do more than sway in the Best Man's arms. Bob was able to sit with us though he wasn't in the party. I swayed with him on the dance floor the rest of the night.

Bob proposed to me three weeks later. The diamond was ridiculously big and flawlessly beautiful. The bent knee and puppy dog look in his eyes were more heartfelt than the ring could ever be though.

But while Bob and I had almost the identical pressure to throw a big wedding... the fact that I had no family or a large network of friends allowed us to kept things small. Beth was my only Bride's Maid, my Maid of Honor. Bob's father was his Best Man. There were fifteen of us for the ceremony and the restaurant reception afterwards. Bob insisted that I wear a full wedding gown though. He wore a tux.

Though it was a tiny wedding, I still felt like a princess in the flowing wedding gown. The bustier top was tightly fitted and crusted with beautifully intricate beading. The skirting was a gossamer-like cloud of layered netting and silk that covered my four-inch satin pumps. My simple headpiece barely covered my face to just above my plump red lips. Long satin gloves felt so luxurious as they clung above my elbows. It was even wonderful to have the little bouquet of fresh flowers to hold onto.

"Do you, Stacy, take Bob to be your lawfully wedded husband... in sickness and in health... for richer or for poorer... in good times and bad... to love... honor... and obey until death do you part?"

"I do."

"And do you, Bob, take Stacy to be your lawfully wedded wife... to cherish, honor, and protect... in sickness or in health... in good times and bad... until death do you part?"

"I do."

"Than in witness before these people around us and in the eyes of the state... I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Bobby turned to me. I was smiling as he gently turned up the wisp of veil and lowered his lips to mine. We both quivered to that kiss, almost unaware of the applause around us.

I was still in a state of quiet disbelief as Bob carried me across the threshold of 6C... "our" apartment together. 7A had been rented to someone else already, but I hadn't lived next to Beth for months anyway. She was with Peter in a house of their own together.

Though Bob and I had already had sex many times, there really was something special about that night. There was something indescribable about how he slowly undid the scores of tiny buttons behind me... about how I rose from the cloud of that gown in my sexy bridal underthings... about how I slowly undressed Bob and he carried me to the bed, our bed. There was something about our being married that carried its own intensity as he gently took me as his wife and consummated our love.

My life was perfect. A part of me still couldn't believe that I was actually married to a man, that I was actually someone's wife, but I wouldn't have had it any other way. My psychiatrist was pleased about everything that came out of our discussions.

"Bob and I would like to have children."

"You know that's biologically impossible Stacy."

"I know," I laughed. "We're talking about adoption. Do you think there might be any obstacles... you know... with my history?"

"Your history, my dear Stacy, has been altered. No one needs to know except those whom you confide in. There will be no obstacles... about THIS part of your past anyway."

"We'd love to have a newborn."

"I have no control over that Stacy. You know that. That is entirely up to whatever adoption process you two decide upon."

"But you don't think that will be an issue?"

"Stacy. What are we really talking about here?"

He knew me too well, which was good in this case.

"We'd like to breast feed the baby."

"That should be fairly simple... given enough lead time."

He went on to describe the hormone regimen and physical stimulation necessary to induce my breasts to lactate. He gave me some pamphlets and pointed me to other nursing resources like the Le Leche League for additional information and guidance to prepare for the actual nursing.

He did advise against "faking" a pregnancy. Other women adopted babies and opted to nurse in a similar way. There would be nothing to gain from faking a pregnancy and a lot of problems if the lie were exposed. He thought it would be an unhealthy start to what should be a wonderful experience, motherhood, as well. Though he did his best not to be judgmental, I felt a little foolish for even bringing up the idea.

The adoption process was long but not as arduous as we originally believed. We were paired with an unwed teen, who wanted a better life for both her unborn baby and herself. Bob and I were looking for a new home even as I was introduced to new hormones in anticipation of the birth. Though Bob was eager to help, I did the majority of the nipple stimulation and breast massaging that I was instructed to do on a particular schedule.

Bob's reaction to my milk finally coming in was a little strange. Though he seemed to love seeing milk erupt from my engorged breasts, he had no interest in trying it or suckling on me.

"They're for the baby," he said as if he would be waiting for my nursing to be over before seeing my breasts as truly sexual appendages again.

The new house was almost lost in the anticipation of the baby. It was a darling little three-bedroom split in a good school district. It was about five miles from Beth and Peter's new house.

We were there for the birth of Crystal, who was beautiful beyond compare. It was a planned c-section. Crystal's birth-mother was unconscious for the birth and would never hold her baby... our baby. Instead, Crystal was brought to me, still dripping, and placed on my chest, skin on skin, with a newborn's hospital blanket draped over both of us. A nursing coach helped little Crystal latch on to me.

"Ooooo!" I squealed out of surprise.

"What?" Bob said.

"She's a lot stronger than I was ready for."

"Does it hurt?" the coach asked.

"Not quite... but it might in a bit. Do they all suck this hard?"

"Yes," she chuckled kindly. "The two of you will take some time to get used to this. It's a learning process for both of you. In a couple of weeks, you'll enjoy nursing her."

"I hope so," I said beginning to have doubts.

But however uncomfortable that little mouth might have felt sucking on my sensitive nipple, it was wonderful in ways that I couldn't begin to describe either. I actually felt sorry for the unwed girl who we would never see again. There was a euphoria I never could have imagined as my milk "let down" and an emotional connection... a closeness... to little Crystal overwhelmed me.

"Oh Bobby," I said starting to cry. "She's so beautiful..."

He was tearing as well and unable to speak. Bob just held me as Crystal continued to feed at my breast and we stared at her in rapture.

But being a parent was as terrifying as it was wonderful. After in- hospital classes on how to change, bathe, and care for the stub of "cord" still clinging to Crystal, we were sent home.

We watched her sleeping in the car-seat that we placed in the middle of the living room floor. We didn't even know if we should wake her to put her in the waiting basinet upstairs... and simply watched her with a "now what" question in the backs of our minds.

But we soon fell into a hectic but wonderful new routine. With Crystal, I felt closer to Bob than I ever did with Beth. With a child, we were a family. When Bob eventually exhausted his leave and went back to work, I was left at home to be "Mommy"... and homemaker.

My former work friends, Beth, and my helpful in-laws came by often enough to visit, but it was actually harder to see them than not in the beginning. As the woman of the house, there were expectations of clean floors and tidy bathrooms. There were expectations about making coffee or offering food... to visitors and family alike. If the floor wasn't vacuumed; dishes piled in the sink; or dust on the furniture... none of it would fall on Bob... except as a reflection of his derelict wife, which I wouldn't allow.

Neither of us planned it, but with Bob earning a living for us, we almost couldn't avoid falling into the oh-so-familiar gender roles allotted us. Aside from his job, Bob was the one pushing a mower on weekends or swinging a hammer where needed. I changed diapers; played with Crystal; cooked; cleaned; washed; folded; ironed; sewed; shopped; and fell into the countless unsung labors people usually sweep into the category of "women's work".
 
 
Being Stacy, being a woman, went so far beyond the clothes or my body. But I wouldn't have had it any other way. Whatever tasks, big or small, we did to make a life together work; I was someone's adoring wife, I was a precious little girl's mother... and the happiest woman on earth.
 
 

THE END

 
 



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Just lovely!!!

ALISON

What started as a game became reality but with a happy ending except for Stacy's
homophobic and bigoted father.Thank you for a great story.

ALISON

Jezzi Stewart's picture

Sorry, but ...

... when I reached this ...

** We only dabbled experimentally with pain in our sex-play... but both liked it. **

... you lost me. I had a mistress (not mine!) try to explain it to me once, but I guess I will never understand the whole liking and being aroused by pain thing. (not to mention the same for bondage or humiliation)

"All the world really is a stage, darlings, so strut your stuff, have fun, and give the public a good show!" Miss Jezzi Belle at the end of each show

BE a lady!

Only Reason...

...that seems to be in there is to justify Stacy's willingness to have a complete body-wax job before learning how long-term his wife's plans are. I don't believe anything beyond that is described.

Don't know if the story's up your alley -- as for me, I enjoyed the story more before it headed toward places where Stacey's stories often lead -- but I'd suggest that you and others who were turned off by the line you quoted might want to read further before deciding.

Eric

You Lost Me...

...at the locked door. That's the point, that for me, where what seemed like some sort of honest, loving foreplay turned into emotional abandonment. And, when the economic divorce ("pay your own rent") occurred, that drove a stake through the heart of any potential reconciliation. I was actually quite baffled by the premise that the wife found femming up her husband to be "hot," but soundly rejected any hint of lesbian play. It seems like a contradiction, unless the hotness is entirely based on a form of sadism and humiliation play. (Except, this wasn't "play," it seemed for real.)

Obviously, for those who share similar fetish/fantasy/wish-fulfillment desires, this story is right up their alley, and seems to be well-written. For other readers, who like me don't subscribe to the forced femme/humiliation/slippery-slope theme as a primary story goal/treatment, it was disappointing. I wanted to see the emotional bond of their relationship strengthen, not disintegrate in the second act like a weak mirage.

___________________

If a picture is worth 1000 words, this is at least part of my story.

This story is just a whirlwind of events

that move way too fast. First of all, it was Beth's plan to turn her effeminate husband into a female. She started with the drawer full of lingerie and the closet full of dresses, and had her sister take Brian's clothes and get rid of them. Then she made sure that Brian/Stacy met Bob who's approach was to have Brian/Stacy have oral sex with him before he would think about whether or not he like kissing Brian/Stacy.

Then the psychiatrist just automaticaly assumed that Brian was transgendered.

None of this story can be real and I agree with the title. This Can't Be Happening To Me ... This Can't Be Real. For sure this is not real, and even as a fictional story there are gaps that keep losing the reader. And no post-op would go to their parents after SRS and introduce themselves dressed like a prostitute on Sunset Boulevard. The only real thing this story offered was Stacy's homophobic bigoted father. Other than that, this story is fantastically surreal in it's image and dialogue.

"With confidence and forbearance, we will have the strength to move forward."

Love & hugs,
Barbara

"If I have to be this girl in me, Then I have the right to be."

"With confidence and forbearance, we will have the strength to move forward."

Love & hugs,
Barbara

"If I have to be this girl in me, Then I have the right to be."

StacyInLove is a great authoress!

Can't help but believe that Stacy is much better off Bob then she was with Beth who basically gave up on their marriage, causing the events here to happen

    Stanman
May Your Light Forever Shine

Another story...

...where the guy is getting the heave-ho! Dude go with your gut instinct! This story is just painful to read. I feel so sorry for this guy.

I don't understand this penchion in these stories that have men basically always in a daze and unable to make rational choices when these circumstances arise. It seems authors that have even a regular respect for men and their mentality and thinking capacity are in the minority.

Ok, it doesn't seem he was getting the heave-ho though you can't blame him for getting that impression. I still feel sorry for the guy; even moreso now that he wasn't forced. Divorces are just bad news to me.

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