A young man achieves his dream of becoming a model, thanks to an auspicious May Day and the miracle of science.

Author's Note: Please don't be chased away by the sci-fi tag for this story. There's actually very little sci-fi in it. This story is mostly about modeling, transitioning and love.

I didn't intend to enter the May Day contest but I had a vivid dream that inspired this story, and I just had to write it. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Thanks to Puddin' for a little last minute help.

Derma-goo
by Terry Volkirch

PART 1

I was reborn on May 1 only a couple years ago, thanks to a sequence of unusual events and the introduction of a new lotion called Derma-goo. The events leading up to my "birth" would take some time to explain, but the lotion I could describe with three words: Miracle body sculpting.

Derma-goo was new and frightfully expensive. Even on my fairly generous salary as a computer programmer, I'd have to save a long time to afford the multiple treatments I'd need to get the body of my dreams. Of course I started saving every penny I could, and I planned to get those multiple treatments, just like millions of other people around the globe.

Spreading the miracle lotion on the target body area produced a remarkable effect. It softened tissue and bone, allowing it to be reshaped and even compressed. That meant that anyone with enough money could sculpt themselves into a god or goddess. It truly was a dream come true.

It wasn't all good news, however. Besides the high cost, there were other obstacles to getting your ideal body. After using the product, effected tissue and bone would slowly try to revert back to their original shape. They wouldn't revert completely. It was more like a process of two steps forward, one step back, but permanent changes could be achieved after enough consistent use.

Another obstacle came from the need to have a professional do the body sculpting. Not everyone was artistic or familiar enough with anatomy to keep from getting into trouble. After only a few horror stories, Derma-goo salons with licensed professionals popped up like weeds.

When you really thought about it, all the bad news that I've mentioned related to money. More treatments in an expensive salon meant more money. It all came down to money. Thankfully, I didn't have to worry about affording my dream. I had help.

***

Before getting my new body, I was young and only a couple years out of college, doing whatever I could to save money after hearing about Derma-goo. My only exceptions were clothing and my karate class. I couldn't resist a good clothes sale, and I needed martial arts to give myself some much needed self-confidence. I'd always been skinny and weak, and I eventually got tired of being bullied.

At the time, I worked for a small software company that had a couple great products and a fairly generous capital investor. What it didn't have though, was a lot of customers. The company filled a small, important business niche that defied description and frustrated the marketing department.

Normally, when I was at work, I sat in my cubicle, keeping my eyes on the computer screen and my fingers on the keyboard. I remained blissfully unaware of the problems of upper management, but that all changed on a fateful day in early April. A woman cleared her throat to get my attention, and everything slowly fell into place from that moment on.

"Could I talk to you, please?" Ms. Banks asked me, her face and tone devoid of emotion.

We hadn't been formally introduced but I knew Christine Banks to be the marketing director's protégée, and I heard that she took herself very seriously. She dressed smartly in a powder blue suit dress and high heels, with her blonde hair styled perfectly high on her head. Though her hair and heels couldn't quite elevate her to average height for a woman, she added generous amounts of attitude to give a first impression that demanded respect.

"Sure," I said, smiling, hoping to stay on friendly terms with the woman. My friendliness often disarmed those people with serious control issues. "Pull up a chair."

"I meant privately. Follow me, please."

Okay. So much for the pleasant, casual approach. Private conversations usually meant trouble in my experience. So it was with some trepidation that I followed behind her, absently noticing that her hips were as carefully controlled as her appearance and personality. She walked with very little swaying all the way to the director's office.

Ms. Banks led me inside and went over to stand next to her much taller, well-dressed boss, Steve Jameson, who stood behind his desk. She asked me to shut the door, and as soon as I did so, the marketing director's deep voice startled me with his next words.

"I have a proposition for you."

He should've asked me to sit first. I desperately needed a chair after that pronouncement, but the only one in his office was parked behind his desk, so I wavered and leaned back against the door. A couple friends spoke those same words to me right before they asked me to loan them a large amount of money. Naturally, I didn't react well.

The large gray-haired man couldn't help but realize my distress, and he tried to calm me by flashing his best smile.

"Don't worry," he told me. "I'm sure you'll like this. Just give it a chance."

His smile and words didn't help. I knew for a fact that he forced them both. I saw him practicing his smile quite frequently in the men's room when he thought no one could see him. I spied on him through the crack in the stall door. And his words had the smooth quality you only hear from politicians, lawyers and salesmen. Everything about him convinced me that he'd thought out every possible outcome of our conversation and endlessly rehearsed dialogue for all of them.

I tried to dredge up my own smile, but failed miserably, so I opted for one word sentences.

"Okay," I said. I'd give him a chance, for as long as my legs held out anyway.

"Good. Excellent. Christine tells me you're an aspiring writer as well as a gifted programmer. She did a little research on the Internet."

"Oh," I squeaked.

I'd written a dozen or so stories, and from their content and the website where I posted them, I was sure the two frustrated marketing geniuses figured out I was transgendered. Adding my real name to the stories seemed unwise in retrospect, and I fully expected to be fired on the spot.

"Hey. It's okay. Don't sweat it. No one is judging you."

"Okay." He hooked me then. With the mixture of confusion, anxiety and curiosity I felt at that moment, I would've agreed to almost anything. I took a few steps forward, floundering in a perfect storm of words.

"Right. Here's the deal. We came up with a marketing plan that involves a tall, attractive young woman. How would you like to be a model for us?"

Was he kidding? What t-gal worth her salt wouldn't want to be a female model? Unfortunately, a small, rarely used corner of my mind surfaced then. My inner cynic couldn't accept such an absurdity. I had the right height and slender build, but I was a man, with a very masculine face, so I did what I think most cynical t-gals would do in such a situation. I erupted in nervous laughter.

If I surprised or shocked Mr. Jameson or Ms. Banks with my outburst, they didn't show it. I didn't think it possible but they must have either predicted my reaction or just didn't care. They were inhuman.

When my tittering subsided, Mr. Jameson resumed his sales pitch.

"I assure you, I'm completely serious about this. I think I understand your reaction, but surely you're forgetting a remarkable new product that can help us both reach our goal."

I hadn't forgotten. He could only have meant Derma-goo. That was the only possible way to make me look like a beautiful woman. But I thought he was crazy if he expected me to believe that he'd spend so much money to transform me into a model, and my inner cynic begged me to call him a loon. Instead, I chose another word.

"No," I said quietly. I couldn't accept his proposition. I couldn't believe it. Coming from the stuffed suits, it had to be some sort of elaborate prank.

"No? No, you haven't forgotten or no to the proposition?"

He had a puzzled look on his face, and I claimed a small victory. He couldn't handle ambiguity. I'd have to remember that.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm well aware of Derma-goo, but I can't believe you're serious. There are plenty of beautiful women you could hire to model for you."

The instant wry grin on his face made me nervous again.

"You'd think so, wouldn't you," he told me. "Unfortunately, we have limited funds for our project, and according to Finance, only a single Derma-goo treatment is within our budget. It's much less expensive than anyone we'd want to hire. I can show you the numbers if you doubt me."

"No," I said, holding my hand up. "That's okay. I believe you."

I understood that beautiful models would much rather model clothes than be used to sell software. The company would have to pay out an outrageous sum to attract one.

"But what about using a woman here at the company?" I looked at Ms. Banks, and though she was very short, I thought I'd be polite and include her. "What about Ms. Banks?"

Mr. Jameson didn't spare his protégée a glance and didn't hesitate to respond. "Christine is too short and too slender. We considered her and the other seven women here, but they all fell far short of the qualifications we feel we need for our project."

"Right." I fell back to one word answers.

The man oozed confidence, and his preparation far exceeded my expectations. I really couldn't argue with anything he'd said, and I certainly didn't want to. I should've jumped at the chance he offered me. So why didn't I? I'm not sure.

I guess part of me still couldn't believe it. I'd dreamed about being a woman for so long that I couldn't accept having it handed to me on a silver platter. Working for something seemed to give me much more satisfaction than getting it for nothing. If I kept saving at the same rate, I'd be able to afford my dream in little under 10 years, assuming the cost of Derma-goo didn't skyrocket.

If I waited, the change would be permanent, but Mr. Jameson's proposition was only for a single treatment, and the effects would only last a week or so at best before I started reverting back to my original form. I wasn't sure if that would be motivational or devastating. Achieving my ideal form and then watching it slowly melt away might drive me deeper into despair instead of strengthening my resolve to save for the complete transition.

Fear also plagued me. I'd encountered enough intolerant people to know that they wouldn't let me get away with going through the process without at least a flurry of snide comments. And with my temper, those comments could easily escalate to violence. I had far too much testosterone flowing through my veins, and at times, it made me far more aggressive than I liked.

Mr. Jameson's voice finally saved me from mentally spinning out of control.

"Why don't you give it some more thought at home?" he said with his polished smile. "Leave early and sleep on it. We'll still be here in the morning."

He moved away from Ms. Banks and came around his desk to gently escort me out of his office. As I left, he closed the door behind me and I heard the two of them immediately start a quiet discussion. No doubt they were analyzing the conversation we'd just had and were calculating the odds of my acceptance.

I don't know what scared me more, their proposition or them.

***

Leaving early from work had kept me safe. I didn't know what I'd have done if I had to contend with rush hour traffic. My mind drifted far from mundane matters like driving. But traffic was light and I made it home to my apartment in one piece.

I spent the rest of the day weighing pros and cons. My friends accused me of being too analytical sometimes, and they were right. I'd always done well in math and science so I guess it was just a habit, one I'd try very hard to break.

I went for a long walk, nibbled a few snacks and kept thinking about the proposition. The more I thought about it, the more I realized how silly I was being. All of my fears and misgivings were trivial compared to achieving a step towards my dream.

I mean, why suffer? Hadn't I suffered in the wrong body long enough? Even one treatment would mean a slight but permanent change, and it would be that much less money I'd have to spend. Any intolerance I'd experience would be just as likely to occur when I went through the complete process in the future. I had to wait until I finished reverting after each treatment before starting the next, so people would see me in various intermediate states between male and female.

It must have been shock that kept me from thinking straight in Mr. Jameson's office. They'd caught me off guard, revealing my secret and offering me the moon all in one fell swoop. I'd been very confused, waffling between rational analysis and borderline hysteria. I'd just needed time away from work to calm myself.

As I settled down for bed that night, I decided that I'd accept. The rest of the world be damned. I was going to be a beautiful model, at least for a little while.

***

My smile and sunny disposition must have answered for me because Mr. Jameson approached me before I got to my desk to start work the next morning. I'm sure he saw me from his office that overlooked the parking lot. He must have been waiting, along with Ms. Banks.

An image of the two of them popped into my head and I shivered. In my mind, they both hovered like vultures, waiting for me to drop into their world of money and marketing. But that really wasn't so bad.

I'd probably benefit more from the arrangement than they or the company would. After all, what was money compared to happiness and peace of mind? As long as I kept to my principles and didn't let them push me into any compromising position, I'd be fine.

I dropped off my coat at my desk and followed him back to his office where Ms. Banks waited. Then the three of us hammered out all the niggling details of the proposition. It lasted hours but we spent the time well.

I didn't mind that I wouldn't get paid, at least in monetary terms. I accepted the Derma-goo treatment as payment enough. There was only one thing that still concerned me.

"You're sure there'll be no nudity or skimpy, tasteless outfits?" I asked for the third time, even after careful reading of the contract I was about to sign.

"Well ...," Mr. Jameson paused. "Sex sells. There's no doubt about that. But this is software we're talking about. Most if not all of our potential customers are relatively large, conservative corporations. They're too sensitive about having good public relations to cheapen themselves with anything even remotely pornographic."

"Right. I'm just checking."

"It's good to be careful. I admire that." He flashed his polished smile for the zillionth time and I inwardly cringed. "Now how about signing the contract? Let's get on with it, shall we? We have a lot of preparations to make before we even start with the Derma-goo."

I happily signed and went back to work. I still had my programming duties on top of everything else. That didn't change. What did change were my evenings and free time. I started lessons in feminine deportment later that very same day, and time pleasantly flew by.

I'd soon be amazing everyone with my aptitude for most things feminine. I could already walk extremely well in heels and could easily sashay with some of the best models, and putting on all layers of women's clothing was second nature. Only my lack of experience with makeup and hair styling would disappoint my excellent teachers, but that didn't matter so much as I'd likely have my makeup, hair and nails done professionally for me at a beauty salon.

I'd start with hair extensions since Derma-goo didn't affect hair, and that would give me time to get used to having long hair. I'd also start wearing my high-heeled shoes to work.

I'd raise some eyebrows with my new style but I'd find that no one would say anything. The company would gather everyone together for a meeting to explain my situation, and everyone would behave themselves, even if they didn't like it.

I had to agree that Mr. Jameson and Ms. Banks thought of everything to make my brief modeling career a success. I couldn't wait.

***

As I said, I continued to develop software for the company, and I lost myself in both my work and the wonderful world of everything feminine. The few times I got up for a break or stopped to eat and drink, I made sure to practice my modeling walk and feminine mannerisms. The practice always put a smile on my face and recharged me for more work.

I got some nice positive reinforcement from the few women in the office who occasionally dropped by to see me, even Ms. Banks. She really surprised me with a couple compliments, and something else.

"You've really got the mannerisms down," she told me one afternoon. "And from the back, with your long brown hair and your high-heeled shoes, I'd never guess you weren't a woman."

"That's because I am a woman, inside where it counts. Remember?"

"Right. I'm sorry. I haven't known any transgendered people before. Please forgive me."

"Of course," I told her. "It's okay."

Then things got a little strange after I smiled at her.

"Say, would you like to go out to lunch with me next week?" she asked. Her words sounded innocent enough, but the hopeful expression on her face betrayed her.

"Why, Ms. Banks. Are you asking me out on a date?" I half teased.

"No! I mean ... yes, but I just ... I don't know." She blushed and looked down, though I noticed she fixed her eyes on my feet and not her own.

"Wow," I said with a chuckle. "I've never heard such meaningless rambling from a marketing person before."

"I'm sorry to bother you," she whispered and turned to leave.

"Wait a minute. You certainly aren't bothering me. I'd love to go out to lunch with you. I think it'd be wonderful."

"Really?" She turned back to look at me, her eyes wide.

I nodded enthusiastically and smiled again.

"Great! I mean ... good. It's a date ... I mean ... oh, crap. I'll see you later!" With that, she practically bounced back to her cubicle just outside of her boss's office.

Evidently, I'd made her day. I'd have to think about that, and I'd definitely ask her about it privately when I got a chance.

Did she like transgendered men? I didn't think so. She said she hadn't known any. In my mind, that could only mean one thing. She liked women, especially beautiful models. She purposely asked to go out to lunch next week, knowing that I'd be a gorgeous model at that time. My life just kept getting more interesting.

I wish the men in the office acted at least half as friendly as the women. Except for Mr. Jameson, they avoided me like the plague. To them, I must seem like a traitor, or a freak. I didn't understand why they felt so uncomfortable around me.

One popular theory proposed that my transition could somehow make them question their own masculinity. My very existence threatened them so they either fought back with insults and violence, something strictly forbidden by the company, or they avoided me.

It was too bad for them, but I didn't miss the company. Few men could hold a conversation that satisfied me. They either talked about sports, politics or their favorite subject: Themselves. Boring!

Did I mention that I didn't understand men all that well?

***

My modeling and femininity lessons progressed well enough that I graduated in only two and a half weeks, several days ahead of schedule. I'd practiced enough on my own for years, and I did push myself during the training, so it wasn't such a great accomplishment to me. The chance to experience the wonders of Derma-goo really motivated me.

My teachers pronounced me ready to take on the world and couldn't be happier for me, and I'm sure that the marketing geniuses even thought about jumping for joy. Perhaps they did actually jump, privately. They practiced things like their fake smiles when they thought no one would see them, so I wouldn't be surprised if they secretly let loose with a little spontaneous jumping. Anyway, imagining them doing it gave me a smile. It'd be good for them.

With the training over, the date of my Derma-goo treatment was set for the next day, on April 30, and it was scheduled in the early afternoon, the usual time of day for such a treatment. They would work on me all afternoon and into the evening, and I'd have to help by standing, flexing and twisting myself into all sorts of odd positions. They had me practice some of those positions to get used to them, and it felt like a strange mix of yoga and torture. I wouldn't recommend them as a normal exercise routine. They were definitely only for those who were serious about undergoing a full body sculpt.

Between the changes in my body and the exercise I'd be getting, I'd be exhausted by the time I finished. I'd sleep a good 12 hours while my bone and tissue hardened, and when I woke up, I'd be a new person. I'd be a female model ready for her debut.

PART 2

The next morning, I stayed home from work. I got some phone calls from my female coworkers wishing me good luck, and then I experienced that unusual mental calm that preceded a storm of activity.

I didn't do much other than dress in jeans and a sweatshirt and eat breakfast. I couldn't concentrate. I just sat in the dining room and watched the minute hand move on my analog clock. I don't remember anything else.

Around noon, a stretched black limousine came to pick me up to take me to Trés Chic, the Derma-goo salon. Ms. Banks and Mr. Jameson waited for me in back and though they couldn't offer me anything to eat or drink because of the impending treatment, they did offer words of encouragement and thanks. They certainly seemed excited, though probably for different reasons I thought when I saw the gleam in the blonde woman's eyes.

We got to the salon an hour early so I could fill out reams of paperwork. Then the fun began. People tossed me to and fro like flotsam. My own personal storm arrived to blow me into another realm, one that'd I'd only dreamed of for far too long. I met the whole team who'd be working on me, slipped into a short silk robe in the changing room and ended up in the body sculpting room with my head spinning.

The first person to work on me was a large man named Lars, his strong hands and forearms protected by thick rubber gloves. He slowly and forcefully worked the first application of Derma-goo into my feet and lower legs and the effect was almost instantaneous. I first felt tingling and then incredible stabs of pain. Mercifully, the pain never lasted more than a second or two, but I flinched a lot and earned many disapproving clucking sounds from Lars.

"Don't be such a baby," he told me in a dull sounding Swedish accent. "This is nothing."

'Yeah,' I thought. 'It really is nothing ... for you.'

Lars finished his job and I breathed a sigh of relief. I had a much welcomed break, waiting a short time for the lotion to soften me up for the sculpting.

Patricia came in next to compress and fashion my calves and feet, making sure that I could fit into a size 8 shoe. Nothing else would be tolerated according to the specifications worked out by Ms. Banks.

I thought that was a rather small shoe size for my height but I deferred to my benefactors. I actually preferred not to design my own body. I knew I'd have been paralyzed with indecision over the zillions of choices.

As I sat back and did some of the contortions required for my new lower legs, I began to wonder if the short blonde planned the whole thing simply to mold me into her perfect lover. It made sense, but it didn't bother me. I'd be a beautiful woman. That's all I cared about. And I'd have the attention of at least one woman. That was another perk for me.

***

The rest of the day flowed on in much the same way. I'd have Lars come in to torture me with a Derma-goo rubdown on some particular area of my body, followed by a different body sculptor who specialized in that area. I'd do the required movements to help the artist work my muscles and bone into the desired shape, and then I'd get an all too brief rest until the next round.

The salon professionals worked their way from the bottom up and finished with my face. That caused the most pain, at least physical pain. My groin work was actually worse though. It was physically painful too but it also caused more than a little emotional distress from embarrassment.

"Madam," a large French woman said with a thick accent. "Are you aware of the long-term effects of the treatment on that area?"

"Yes," Ms. Banks said, her jaw thrust out with determination. "Of course. I've done extensive research."

"Then you must know, that area of the body is more strongly effected. Erectile tissue changes shape much more easily with the Derma-goo. This man's penis will never be close to the same length again!" The French woman gasped as if it would be crime if my penis was any shorter.

"I don't care!" the blonde huffed and then quickly caught herself, taking a deep, calming breath. "He's transgendered. He'd prefer the treatment exactly as I described it to you." Then she turned to thoughtfully include me in the conversation. "Isn't that right?" she asked.

I just nodded and tried not to blush. I had so much going through my mind at that moment that I couldn't possibly have managed to speak.

I really didn't think they'd have to change my groin, but thanks to Ms. Banks, they did it anyway. She insisted that we not take the chance in case I wore anything that might reveal a masculine bulge between my legs. I never heard her be so forceful and passionate, and it did nothing but reinforce my belief that the sculptors were molding me into her sexual fantasy. It also led to a little fantasizing of my own. I imagined what she looked like with her hair down, and I wondered what I'd have to do to find out.

***

By the time everyone had finished their tasks, it was after 9 p.m. They'd all worked hard and from all the admiring looks I got, they'd done a very good job. Ms. Banks had certainly seemed to think so. She couldn't take her eyes off of me. For that matter, neither could Mr. Jameson.

I wasn't allowed near a mirror, of course, and I wouldn't get to see myself until after the beauty professionals finished with me tomorrow morning. That disappointed me a little, but I'd live. Oh, would I live! I saw enough of myself to know that I'd like what I saw.

My body still had a long time to go before everything completely hardened. My bones were stiff enough to stand, but I couldn't do much else, and I was too exhausted to try. Lars and another man helped me to a special room where I'd be gently restrained while I slept, and that's what I did. I quickly fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

I didn't consider that day to be the true day of my birth as a woman because I wasn't quite finished yet. That day was more like being in labor, with the body sculpting room at Trés Chic acting as my womb. Tomorrow, on May 1, was the first day that I'd truly be a woman. No doctor would slap me to make me cry, but I might cry anyway, and every tear would be one of joy.

***

I woke up the next morning with a little pain and moderate stiffness. The salon brochures assured me that was normal for a full body treatment, as did Anne, the woman who freed me from my restraints and helped me stand.

"You turned out extremely well," she remarked.

"Thanks," I said, and briefly paused. They did a great job on my voice from what I could hear. I knew it sounded different to other people than it did to myself, but I loved it. "I wish I could see myself in a mirror."

"We purposely don't allow that. Our clients never look near their best so soon after the treatment. But after a light workout, a nice, hot shower and a makeover, I think you'll be quite pleased."

She left the room to give me some privacy to change into a black yoga outfit, but she gave me far too little time to do it before she whisked me away to the exercise room. I wanted to check myself out. Even if I couldn't see my face, there were other parts of my anatomy I was interested in. I managed to cup my perfectly shaped breasts and gasp at my authentic looking, hairless crotch before slipping on my clothes and rushing to start my work out.

"It's important to stretch and work your muscles as soon as possible after the treatment," she told me. "Otherwise, you might never regain your full range of movement."

"Right. I read the brochures."

"Sorry. But I'm required to say that. Some people are never satisfied and will sue at the drop of a hat."

I nodded to show that I understood and began the stretches.

It hurt at first, but after warming up, it got easier and easier and I quickly felt like I was back to being in the same good physical condition I'd been in before the treatment. I normally worked out a lot. That's how I kept myself so slim and trim. That's what made my dream possible.

I started with a little weight training before working up a good sweat with some low impact aerobics, and after 30 minutes, Anne told me I'd done enough. She sent me to the showers, where my long overdue self-examination could begin.

The hot water felt wonderful, as did my breasts and the rest of my body. I didn't have any real breast tissue to work with so they got creative and used a combination of muscle and what little fat they could find to give me the two beauties I had on my chest. The moderately sized breasts looked and felt so real!

I couldn't help notice that my slender arms were even thinner and weaker than before, and my hands were only a little shorter but very slender. They looked like they'd be comfortable running over piano keys. I looked at my fingernails and imagined them with a French manicure, something I'd always wanted. I wasn't sure if I'd be getting one, but I still looked forward to my makeover.

My shapely legs weren't much different other than being completely hairless. In fact, my whole body was hairless from the neck down since they included a depilatory with the Derma-goo. I read that my body hair would start to grow back in a couple weeks, but it might be a little thinner. I also read that after enough treatments, the body hair would become more like a fine peach fuzz, just like a woman.

I pretty much skipped over my last and most obvious feminine body part. I didn't want to even think about getting aroused. I read that it would certainly be possible but I didn't think I could handle an orgasm. Besides, I didn't have time. I was desperate for the salon's complementary breakfast, and a makeover!

***

Ms. Banks arrived to pick me up, in her own car this time. Her hands trembled and her eyes went wide when she saw me standing before her in my short silk robe. She looked like she wanted to tackle hug me but she held back and handed me a plastic wrapped outfit on a hanger instead.

"Here," she said quietly. "Go put this on ... please."

I purposely sashayed back to my room to give her a thrill, and I didn't look back to see if she was watching. I didn't have to. I could feel her eyes glued to my backside.

When I got to my room, I pulled off the plastic to find some light blue sweat clothes. The material was a deliciously thin, soft velour, and it felt very warm, like the outfit had just been pulled from a dryer. I quickly dressed and noted that everything fit like a glove.

My short blonde admirer sat and waited for me in the lobby. She stood up when I walked in and held out a pair of blue and white tennis shoes and some white socklets.

"Here," she said in the same quiet voice. "I forgot to get these out of the car."

I accepted them and tested my balance by trying to put them on while standing on one foot. I managed quite easily, and before I knew it we were on our way to the beauty salon.

***

"You look fantastic," Ms. Banks said, blushing. She'd been stealing frequent glances at me so her words weren't necessary, but they were still gratefully received.

I found that I loved the attention, and I started to like her. She seemed so cold before, but since my treatment, she thawed nicely, skipping spring and going straight to summer. The heat of her desire steamed the windows of her car, made easier thanks to the cold, rainy spring day.

"Thanks," I told her. "I think you look pretty nice too."

She blushed again but didn't say any more to me until much later. We got to the salon and she directed the staff well enough, but she just blushed and turned away whenever she got close to me.

***

The makeover went very well, and everyone knew I loved it because I almost fainted when I first saw my face in the mirror. I didn't see anything of the man I'd been 24 hours ago.

I wore a generous amount of makeup for the evening look that I'd need in the next couple hours. My pouty lips glistened and screamed sex, and a subtle layer of rouge accented my new, high cheekbones. Thick lashes, eyeliner and perfectly blended eyeshadow framed my eyes to complete my new look.

It amazed me that even my eye sockets could be moved. Before my treatment, they'd been a little close together. Makeup could help create an illusion that they were farther apart, but now I didn't have to worry about it.

When I could finally pull my eyes away from my face, I wanted to cry tears of joy when I saw how beautiful my hair had been styled. The French braid made me look both sophisticated and exotic, and the pearl drop earrings I finally noticed completely my look perfectly.

I didn't expect earrings but I forgot that ear piercing was a trivial matter thanks to Derma-goo. A small plastic tool with a rounded tip could be slowly pushed into and through the ear lobe without breaking the skin. All body piercings could now be virtually free of both pain and the possibility of infection.

"Don't you dare cry!" Ms. Banks said, when she saw me staring at my hair in the mirror. "We need to be at the press conference in less than two hours."

"But I'm so happy."

I think I would've cried at that moment but my feisty little companion quite suddenly and surprisingly tweaked my left nipple.

"Ow! What the hell?!"

"I'm sorry, but I had to do something to keep you from crying."

I rubbed my nipple through my sweat top and gritted my teeth.

"Well, it worked. But please, don't ever do that again."

"I won't, but look at that," she pointed to my chest with her eyes.

I looked in the mirror and noticed both of my nipples stood very erect, easily making their presence known through the material of my sweat top.

"Wow," was all I could think of to say.

"Yeah ...," Ms. Banks whispered. "Wow."

She shook her head to compose herself and remembered our mission. "Come on," she ordered. "We have to go get you dressed. I have just the thing too. Your nipples will love it."

I would've laughed but I couldn't believe she just said that. I think I was falling in love.

***

We got to the convention center in short order, and I initially had a little trouble handling all the staring I received from men, having not been used to it. But then I remembered my purpose, and my calling. I wanted to be a model and models lived to be noticed. Once I got into modeling mode, the rest was easy ... and fun.

Ms. Banks led me to a dressing room that she'd already set up, and inside was the most beautiful cocktail dress I'd ever seen. It was burgundy, to match my lipstick and fingernail polish of course, and it shimmered as if it was made of liquid metal. As soon as I saw it, I squealed in delight and rushed to run my fingers over it.

"I see you like it," my blonde companion said, smiling. "Good."

"It's gorgeous," I gushed.

"Just like you," Ms. Banks quickly added.

I smiled back at her and tried not to blush. There was absolutely no doubt in my mind after that. She really did like me, and I made a mental note to talk to her about it when we had our lunch date.

"What do we do about my name?" I asked to change the subject. "I can't use my real name."

"Didn't Mr. Jameson tell you?"

The blank look on my pretty face answered for me.

"Right. We have a complete dossier on your background, ready to be 'leaked' to the press. Apparently," she teased. "Your name is Vata. I believe it means 'wind'. It's really a very beautiful name. I think it suits you."

"Wow. Thanks. You marketing people think of everything. I like the name." I said it a few time to myself to get used to it and make sure I answered to it, just in case.

"Anything else I should know?" I asked.

"I'll fill you in as we go. There's plenty of time for that. First, we have a press conference to attend."

"Right! Let me at 'em!" I laughed, and she joined me.

***

My perky boobs didn't need support so I went braless, and my hair trigger nipples easily made their presence known. I was so excited that most bras wouldn't have completely concealed my erect nipples anyway. Ms. Banks approved and encouraged my choice so I knew I was on the right track.

She went out ahead of me to join Mr. Jameson while I slipped into my pumps and tried them out. They felt a little loose but I managed. I just floated on the balls of my dainty feet.

I stood and fussed over my dress while I waited for my cue just outside the back of the large conference room. The plan was to have me saunter in after hearing the announcement of the company's latest software offering and show a great deal of interest in buying a copy. Then I'd stay and hold a boxed copy of the software next to my face for a photo op. It sounded cheesy to me but what did I know. I wasn't a marketing genius.

The announcement actually started before I left my dressing room, but I knew it'd run long so I took my time. It ended with a loud finale and polite applause so I just listened for that, and when my time came, I took a deep breath and started my power glide.

As I entered the large room, the first thing I noticed was that the overwhelming majority of people in the audience were men, and after the first couple turned their heads to follow the gaze of Mr. Jameson, all eyes were soon on me.

'Good,' I thought. 'I've got their attention. Now let's see if I can keep it.'

I flashed a smile, the genuine kind, and continued my glide towards the podium. I heard a few wolf whistles and murmurs of appreciation, and all I could think of was, 'Is that the best you got?' I should've known better. Those were always famous last words.

Before I got to the three stairs that led to the raised platform in front, two short, stocky arms shot out to block my way. Not having planned for such a possibility, it caught my coworkers flatfooted, but it didn't faze this girl.

I didn't actually plan for it either, but I had instincts that I'd awakened in karate class. My instincts told me that I couldn't outmuscle the man, but I had one weapon at my disposal so I didn't stop. I didn't even slow down, and without missing a step, I kicked back and up with one foot, slipped off my shoe and sharply rapped the man on the top of his head with my heel. I took one shoeless step on the ball of my foot and then casually slipped my shoe back on, and since he quickly pulled his arms back to rub the growing lump on his head, I continued on.

By that point, I was close enough that I heard Mr. Jameson turn to Ms. Banks, who operated a small video camera, and say, "Did you get that? Please tell me you got that."

She responded with a loud, "Yeah!"

I think she answered him and cheered me on at the same time.

The rest of the press conference ran smoothly enough, and the man I hit was a good sport and didn't press charges. That's good because I was just defending myself anyway, and I had a room full of witnesses as well as a video tape of the event. He's lucky I didn't demand an apology from him.

Everyone took pictures of me, a lot of pictures, many without me holding the software box. I think they liked me.

The conference ended, and I couldn't wait for more. I loved the experience, loved the attention, loved modeling. It was in my blood, and I already looked ahead to tomorrow for the next marketing event. We had to take advantage of my limited time as a beautiful woman so I had a full schedule for the next five days. Only on the seventh day of my new, beautiful form could I have a day to myself.

Ms. Banks took me home that evening. She gave me several bags of new clothes that she'd generously bought for me with her own money and left me alone with my head swimming.

I took a long, last look in the mirror soon after she left and reluctantly cleaned off my makeup to get ready for bed. I didn't bother going through the bags of clothes. The long day caught up with me so I just undressed, hung my beautiful dress on a padded hanger, and slipped on one of my overly large tee shirts. I crawled into bed and slowly fell asleep while muttering thanks to the zillions of adoring fans in my imagination.

PART 3

My ringing phone disturbed me early the next morning. Normally, I disconnect it to keep my sleep from being interrupted, but I'd forgotten. Yesterday's events didn't leave any room for such mundane matters. Luckily for the caller, I got enough sleep. I was lying awake in bed and I just got to the phone before my answering machine kicked in.

"Did you see the news today?" I heard an excited Ms. Banks ask before I got the phone to my ear. "You made the headlines!"

"I'm just getting up. What are you talking about?"

"You! One day and you're already famous! How can you still be in bed?!"

"I'm not in bed. I'm standing in the dining room. So please ... have mercy. I'm not a morning person."

"Oh," she finally calmed down a little. "Well, when can you get here?"

"Where's here?"

"You're impossible! I'm at work. Where else would I be on a week day?"

I couldn't resist. "You could be on the moon with all the energy you've got."

She laughed. "Seriously. We want to talk to you about that shoe incident yesterday. It's all over the news and people are buzzing about the video on the Internet."

"Okay. Okay. Can I have two hours? Remember. I'm not a morning person. I normally don't come in for three hours, and our next marketing event isn't scheduled until 7 o'clock tonight."

"I'll give you an hour and a half, and just for your information, that's me being generous."

"Yes, your Majesty," I joked.

"And wear that blue skirt and matching top I got you. You've got to be even more careful about what you wear in public now. You're a star!"

With that, she hung up, leaving me wondering what she was talking about. I didn't read the newspaper and didn't listen to the radio much, so I wouldn't have seen or heard any news about myself. I also didn't touch a computer until I got to work, so there was no chance of seeing a video of myself either.

That made me think. Ms. Banks operated the only video camera I saw last night so she must have posted the video on the Internet. I wasn't sure I liked that but I figured she knew what she was doing.

As she suggested, I sorted through the collection of clothing she got me and found the short blue pleated skirt and top. I also found a package of panties, three bras, a sun dress and several other skirts and tops along with three pairs of high-heeled shoes. What I didn't find was telling. There were no pairs of jeans, no tee shirts and no tennis shoes. Even the sweat clothes that I wore for my first makeover were gone, and I wondered if she'd ever let me wear any casual clothes again.

'At least I have some of my own,' I thought.

Being transgendered with a healthy salary, I already had a sizable wardrobe of women's clothing. Some things wouldn't fit well, like all of my wonderful size 10 1/2 shoes and boots, but I'd be able to salvage most of it. Just not for the next week or so, because for the moment, I had an image to uphold.

***

I didn't like wearing new clothes without washing them first but I respected Ms. Banks' opinion. I sat demurely in Mr. Jameson's office with my legs crossed, comfortably crossed I might add, and I noted that I sat on a very comfortable padded chair in a style that I'd never seen before at work. I felt honored.

I'd dressed as I was told, and had done a very good job applying some light makeup. I'd finished getting ready and had made it out the door in just under an hour, so I'd gotten to work with a few minutes to spare, but that wasn't quite good enough for Ms. Banks. She'd ambushed me in the parking lot and had chewed my ear off so I'd started to listen and believe what she told me. That and all the male faces pressed to the windows as I'd walked up to the building had made a pretty convincing argument.

I truly was famous, and it finally sunk in completely when Mr. Jameson showed me several newspaper headlines. My favorites read, "No S.O.S. Needed for May Day Model," and "May Day Model Saves Herself." I liked the "May Day" angle. It was a clever play on words.

The two of them also showed me the press conference video and I had to admit, it was good. Mostly, it made people laugh, but the none too subtle message of standing up for oneself shone through too. I certainly laughed when I saw the fearful expression on the man's face as I rapped him on the head. I didn't pay much attention to him that night so I didn't notice his face then.

When the hall of fame presentation ended, my ego had a healthy, feminine glow, especially after I saw the number of times my video had been viewed on the Internet. The count was already in the low millions and climbing fast.

At the time, I still thought I was a flash in the pan, but that was until people started pushing and testing me. I used my wit, my charm and a little force in self-defense, and my fame continued to grow, including that very same day when Ms. Banks and I went on a fashion emergency mission to the mall.

***

My blonde coworker drove me in her cute little sporty hatchback and we made it to the mall in under 20 minutes, never mind how many times we exceeded the speed limit. We had a lot of high quality clothes to get for me and only a few hours to shop. To me, that made for a serious emergency, and Ms. Banks agreed.

"You have got to get some more nice clothes, Vata."

I cringed and looked around when she used my modeling name. I expected to be hounded by fans, but I was almost disappointed when no one even looked our way.

She laughed and correctly guessed what my problem was. "We haven't leaked your dossier yet. We're going to do that later today, just before your formal dinner party. Don't worry, hun."

'Hun?' I asked myself. I didn't remember being on such casual terms with her before. Up till the trip to the mall, she hadn't called me by name at all. She just kept getting friendlier, and I couldn't seem to keep up with her. That wasn't like me. I really needed to loosen up.

"Okay. I'll try not to worry."

We exchanged smiles and hit the shops hard, and I really did try not to worry, but I still had a bad feeling.

***

We scoured the racks and bins in several stores and scored several bags of clothes, but I couldn't shrug off the paranoia, and it didn't help when we were approached by two young men. We only had one hour of quality shopping time left, and I was so focused on our next destination that I actually didn't see them, but Ms. Banks did. She immediately placed herself between them and me in a fierce show of defense.

"Can I help you, boys?" she asked them in a loud voice, getting both my attention as well as theirs.

"We were just wondering ...," the taller, dark-haired one said, trailing off. He looked over Ms. Banks though, straight into my eyes.

"Are you that May Day babe?" he finished, rudely ignoring my protector and addressing me directly.

"I believe you were asked a question first," I told the man.

"Huh?" He looked confused.

"So you really do need help?" I persisted.

"You can help me anytime," the shorter man said, stepping forward.

"Okay, you two. Enough chitchat. I've got more shopping to do. Would you like an autograph before I go?"

"How about having our picture taken with you?" said the taller man, holding out his cell phone.

"Sure," I said, taking his phone and confirming that it had a camera. "I don't have a problem with that." I handed the phone to Ms. Banks. "Would you mind taking a picture of the three of us together?"

She looked like she wanted to say something but she shrugged and accepted the phone.

I mouthed the words, "Thank you," to her and went to stand between the two men for a single photo. I didn't put my arms around them, and I didn't let them put their arms around me. The three of us stood without touching, I gave a little smile and it was quickly over.

Ms. Banks quickly handed the phone back to me and I relayed it to its owner. Then I turned to resume shopping, but my good intentions weren't fully appreciated like I'd hoped. The two men weren't finished with me.

"Hey!" the taller man rushed ahead to block my path. "Can I have your phone number? How about a date?"

"I'm sorry," I told him. "I'm not available." I tried to be nice but he began to try my patience.

I stepped around him but the two jerks followed us and they both repeated the same questions as Ms. Banks and I continued to shop. They were starting to attract even more unwanted attention too. I noticed several other young men who suddenly seemed very interested in me, and I was concerned that some of them might follow us out to the parking lot. Things could get ugly if that happened. I had to do something.

I racked my brain, hoping for inspiration, and an idea finally hit me. Just before entering another shop, I stopped and turned to the young men.

"Okay. I give up," I said.

Ms. Banks squeaked in alarm, but thankfully, she didn't interrupt.

"It's about time," the taller man said. "I was beginning to think you didn't like me."

He had the smug look down pat and I wanted to slap it off his face, but I controlled myself and carried on.

"So which one of you is bigger?" I asked.

"Huh?"

The taller man didn't seem very bright so I thought my plan would work. I smiled and continued.

"I'm not dating both of you so I need to know which one is bigger. Size matters. Don't let anyone tell you any differently."

The shorter one got it. "I am!"

"Really?" I turned to him. "And do you have proof?"

The shorter man looked confused then.

"I won't accept anything less than a quick photo as evidence. You both have cell phones with cameras, don't you?"

They both nodded.

"Well, the men's room is just down the hall, that way." I pointed back in the opposite direction of the parking lot. "You go do what you have to do, take a picture and we'll see just who's bigger."

"No way!" the taller man said. He finally understood what I meant.

I barely suppressed a laugh. "That's the deal. Take it or leave it."

"Shit," the shorter man said, turning to go. "I'm doing it. She's worth it." He hurried off in search of the men's room, but the taller man stood his ground.

"This is stupid. Screw him," he said, flipping off his friend. "Just go out with me. I'll show you a real good time."

He went beyond annoying with that, and I almost lost my composure.

"I hate to break it to you, dude," I said. "But you've got competition whether you like it or not. If you really want to date me, you need to follow the rules like your friend. He'll win by default if you don't play the game." I related dating to sports, hoping to appeal to his competitive nature, and I held my breath, waiting to see his next move.

He looked up and thought about it for far too long, but he finally decided before I turned blue from lack of oxygen. Without a word, he turned to hurry after his friend, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

I turned to look at Ms. Banks, and she had this funny look on her face. I saw wonder, some admiration and undisguised lust. I really had to have a talk with her soon.

"Come on," I told her. "That won't hold them for long. You know how young men are." I rushed in the direction of the car and didn't look back.

"Not really!" she shouted behind me, trying to catch up.

***

Once the two of us were safely on our way, we both had a good laugh. It gave us some much needed stress relief so we could think clearly again.

"You were magnificent," Ms. Banks told me.

"Thanks. You weren't bad either."

"But I didn't do anything," she protested.

"Nonsense. You stepped between me and that tall guy. That was very brave."

"Oh. Well, I really didn't like those guys."

"Same here. They were way too pushy ... but you have to admit, it was interesting, and even exciting."

I did get a buzz from the encounter. It was much the same as the shoe incident. I defended myself verbally instead of physically, but the result was the same.

"It was dangerous too," she said quietly. "I was a little ... scared."

"Oh," I matched her quiet tone. "I'm sorry. I thought I did well to get us out of there without making a big scene."

"You did! You did great. But I think we need to find a disguise for you from now on."

"Yeah." I agreed. When I really thought about it, I realized that I got a little lucky, and I couldn't guarantee that someone else's luck might exceed my own someday. When that happened, I'd be in big trouble.

***

We went back to my apartment to sort through my rapidly growing wardrobe, and it wasn't long before all the tags, plastic bags and sales receipts were out of the way. Then it was time for fun.

I got a better look at all of my new clothes, most but not all of which were paid for by my blonde coworker, and started making some difficult decisions. I had to make room for them, and that meant getting rid of some of the clothes I already had.

I looked at my narrow walk-in closet and sighed. "I wish I had more closet space."

"Spoken like a true woman," Ms. Banks said.

She'd been sitting on my bed, watching me, and she hadn't said much until that moment. She'd been making me a little nervous, but it was a good kind of nervous, at least it was before she said that.

It was obvious that she liked me, but it was also obvious that she had trouble thinking of me as being a real woman. She had an inner conflict to work out, and I wasn't sure if I could help her, other than just trying to be my true self.

I smiled at her and picked out several men's sweaters to donate, anything to distract me from her gaze. If only I had the courage and the right words to say to her then, but with her sitting on my bed, all of the scenarios that played through my head led to something that neither of us was ready for yet.

"So what am I wearing for my makeover today?" I asked to change the subject. "I can't find the sweat clothes I had yesterday."

"Oh. Right. I didn't think they'd be good for your image so I donated them."

"What?! But they were perfectly fine! I could've worn them later ... sometime."

"It's too late now," she told me with a stern look. "So don't worry about it."

I really liked those sweat clothes. Blue was my favorite color, and the fabric felt wonderful. But I took a deep, calming breath.

"Okay. Fine then. So I'm back to my question. What am I going to wear?"

Ms. Banks smiled and I knew she was going to tease me about sounding like a woman so I cut her off.

"Hey. I have some cute black jeans that should fit me. Will those do?"

"I don't think so." She went back to frowning, and I wasn't sure if I liked that any better.

"But they're so cute! I could wear a nice blouse with them. Black does go with everything you know. At least let me model them for you before you make a decision."

That got her. I saw her eyes light up. I'd give her a private fashion show and that would soften her up. We had a little extra time since we had to leave the mall early.

"Okay," she relented, and smiled. "Let's see what you've got, girl."

"Now you're talking!"

I hopped out of my skirt and slipped on the jeans in about three seconds flat. I'd already had my eye on the jeans as they were draped over a stool within easy reach inside my closet. The hard part was deciding on a blouse.

As I fussed and waffled between two blouses, I completely let my guard down and left myself open to the teasing that I successfully deflected earlier. I switched back and forth several times, holding each blouse against me, and Ms. Banks couldn't help herself.

"Can't decide what to wear?"

"Ha ha," I said with no humor. "How about a little help here?"

"I thought I was getting a fashion show? Try them both and let me judge."

"Right! Of course. In that case, I'll add another one."

She laughed and I joined in. Between her good humor and my first time having an audience for one of my home fashion shows, my mood went through the roof.

After some quality strutting up and down my hall, we both agreed on the emerald green silk blouse. I replaced my bra with the black camisole that I'd be wearing later under my fancy dress and put on the blouse, taking my time to gently tuck it into my tight fitting jeans.

My elegant casual outfit, as I called it, looked fabulous. My jeans hugged my curves very well, and the green blouse contrasted nicely with the red highlights in my dark brown hair. I could thank a pinch of Irish ancestry for that.

"The green is perfect," Ms. Banks told me and sighed. "You'll be wearing pretty close to the same color dress tonight so that'll make the job easier for the makeup professionals."

"Yeah. Good idea. We should color coordinate outfits for all of my beauty salon visits. Isn't that what a real model would do?" I stuck out my tongue to show I was half joking.

The short blonde smiled at me, but didn't return the gesture. Actually, she seemed to be in a daze. I think my fashion show had a bigger effect on her than I thought it would, though more likely, it was from changing blouses and lingerie. I completely forgot about her sexual preference and changed right there in front of her. It didn't bother me in the least because she was another woman.

I wanted to apologize but I couldn't figure out a tactful way of doing it. I simply made a mental note to be careful in the future and chalked it up to experience, though maybe I didn't need to apologize. From the faint smile on her face, her dazed look had a distinct blend of happiness. She probably lost herself in a little fantasy for the moment, and I hoped she snapped out it soon. She had a lot of driving to do soon.

PART 4

The professionals at the beauty salon did a great job as usual, and I added some of my own money for a very generous tip. They greatly appreciated it, and they let me use one of their back rooms to change. I thought that was nice of them, as it would give me more time to enjoy wearing my dress.

It was a beautiful sleeveless dress, with a long, flowing skirt, wide shoulder straps and a fairly conservative neckline. I was trading a little sex appeal for sophistication since I'd be attending a formal dinner party.

I had a little trouble with the back zipper so I reluctantly called in Ms. Banks to help me, but it turned out well enough. She seemed to have recovered from her dazed condition. She zipped me up with little fuss and we thanked everyone as we left the salon. It was time for the big event.

The president of the company would be escorting me to dinner at a very exclusive country club, where I'd be helping to make important business contacts. Not even Ms. Banks and Mr. Jameson would be there. I had to depend solely on my feminine intuition and a little coaching to make it through the evening. I wasn't concerned in the least though, at least not with the dinner.

"What's wrong?" Ms. Banks asked me after I squirmed on her car seat for the zillionth time.

"Thongs drive me crazy!"

She giggled. "That's part of the price we women pay to look good."

'Wow,' I thought. 'She actually called me a woman that time.'

"Well, I could do without it," I growled.

"Don't you dare!"

She obviously didn't know about my weakness for dares, but she'd find out. I smiled and changed the subject, something I was getting very good at doing.

"I wish our shopping trip wasn't cut short today. I still had a lot of things I wanted to get."

"You could give me a list and I could pick you up some things while you're at the dinner."

"Thanks, but it's not the same. I loved shopping with you today, in spite of the jerks."

She smiled and blushed a little.

"I'm also starting to feel a little uncomfortable with you buying so much for me. Doesn't the company have enough budget?"

"Well, actually, you really don't need everything we've bought, so I didn't think I could rationalize charging the company for them."

"Wow," I blurted out. "Beauty and ethics. I think I'm in love!"

Oops. That just slipped out, though I hoped she'd take it the right way, because I really did think I was falling in love with her.

"You really think I'm beautiful?" she said in a small voice.

Once I got to know her, how could I not love her? She knew I was transgendered, and she still stayed by my side. Away from work, she could be warm and friendly, and she had a great sense of humor. Unfortunately, it wasn't a good time to bring up the subject. If I did, I'd want to follow through and devote a lot more time to it, time I didn't have. I had a dinner party to attend very shortly, and our Mr. President would be upset if I was late. I had to be careful. I most definitely didn't want to hurt her.

"Yeah. I think you're a beautiful person for buying me all those clothes. It's like a dream come true, but you really shouldn't have. I'll be changing back to my drab male form in far too short a time."

There. I said it. I didn't want to bring up the subject of my going back to being a man but I didn't know what else to say.

Ms. Banks took it fairly well. At least I think she did. Sometimes I had trouble reading her.

"Oh," was all she had a chance to say.

We'd arrived at our destination.

***

I didn't have a chance to see the president's eight bedroom house because he was waiting for me in his car. I was sure we weren't late so I wondered what the hurry was. At first I thought he was just anxious, but I eventually figured out the real reason.

He wasn't all that old for a president, being in his mid thirties. He looked more like a professional athlete to me with his strong arms and broad shoulders. No doubt he could be intimidating on a sports field as well as in the board room, but he seemed nice enough to me at first.

He played his role well. He got out of his car and opened the door for me, waiting while I swung my legs in before he shut the door. He got back in and we soon drove off, with Ms. Banks turning left ahead of us on the way out and us turning right to head up to the country club.

The car was an old model Rolls Royce. I knew next to nothing about cars, but I knew it was a Rolls by the flying lady hood ornament and the "RR" emblem. I loved the look and feel of the interior. Even the smell was interesting, and the engine purred quietly and smoothly. It was a great old car, and it appeared to be kept in great condition.

I squirmed a little on the seat, but it was from excitement, not because of my thong. I didn't have to worry about my thong because I no longer wore the irritating underthing.

Ms. Banks had looked away from me and studied the large flower garden when we pulled up, and her inattention had allowed me to quickly and secretly slip out of my thong as I got out of the car. I'd flung it in the back seat just before shutting the door.

She'd probably find it soon enough and have a good laugh, or maybe she'd just sink back into one of her fantasies.

That idea got a giggle out of me.

"Is something amusing you?" the president suddenly asked me.

I knew his name was Jeff. He'd asked me to call him Jeff for the evening, but I couldn't help thinking of him as Mr. Thompson, or Mr. President, or the president. I especially had trouble calling him by his first name when I detected a distinct chill in the air.

"Not exactly," I answered, and wisely told a little white lie to cover for my giggling. "Ms. Banks and I had a little incident at the mall today. I had to handle two male admirers who got a little overzealous." I'd been trained to speak more formally for the evening so I decided to get into character as soon as possible.

Jeff seemed to approve. He nodded and didn't say another word all the way to the club.

I found his silence to be a bit of a disappointment, but challenging, which I liked. I loved challenges. I'd work on him later, and in the meantime, I sat quietly and mentally reviewed what I knew of my dossier. I'd have to use that information while I shmoozed at the country club, so it was important to have my facts straight.

***

I watched Jeff more closely after the way he spoke to me in the car, and I noted a few things. It was obvious that I made him uncomfortable, and I was almost positive it was because he knew I was really a genetic male. Our chemistry was all wrong, and if I didn't do something about that, I didn't have much hope of a successful evening.

We were supposed to be a couple so I tested the waters by reaching for his arm as we approached the club. He flinched and shrugged off my hand, and I don't think it was because I was slightly taller than he was in my high heels.

I wasn't sure exactly what to do so I did the one thing that I knew would normally drive men wild. I played hard to get. I avoided Jeff and talked to everyone else, and I asked lots of questions about my dinner date. I wanted to know all about him so I could try talking to him later and get him to warm up to me. And while I flitted from one conversation to another, I discovered something interesting about myself as well as one important fact about Jeff. There were a few senior newspaper men mixed throughout the club, and I found out that someone had reported my mall incident.

"Is it true then, Vata?" an older gentleman named Frank asked me. He'd flirted with me a little but he seemed harmless enough so I flirted back, and I found that I enjoyed his company.

"Yes, it's true. I didn't want to make a scene so I tried using my head instead of my shoe."

He chuckled and took a sip of his drink. His eyes twinkled over the rim of his glass and I could tell he was a little drunk, but he was harmless.

"Well, my dear. That was a fancy bit of mental footwork," he jabbed.

I graced him with a little polite laughter and smiled. "Thanks. But I consider myself lucky that it didn't escalate into violence. In the future, I may have to travel incognito."

"Ah, yes," he huffed. "And just where is this 'cognito' located?"

His eyes twinkled and I knew he was joking again.

"You are incorrigible," I told him, smiling.

"And you are enchanting, my dear. You can visit here anytime you like as far as I'm concerned. This stuffy old club could use more of your entertaining conversation, as well as your pretty face, if you don't mind my saying."

"I don't mind at all."

I smiled and followed his gaze when it suddenly shifted to something or someone behind me. I turned and there was my date, looking more than a little loosened up with drink. It didn't really concern me until I thought about him driving us home. Then I worried.

"Jeff?" I asked. "Is it time for dinner yet?"

He wrinkled his nose in distaste and turned back towards the bar without a word.

"Excuse me a moment, Frank. I think I need to have a chat with my date."

"Of course, my dear. Take your time," he said, waving me off. "And good luck!" he called after me when I turned to leave.

I caught up with Jeff and hoped that I could use what I learned about him to defuse the situation. I was surprised to learn the real reason he treated me so coldly. His anger and resentment were certainly understandable but that didn't excuse him, and I refused to let him take out his frustrations on me. I made sure I didn't get between him and the bar and made my presence known with a very direct comment.

"Jeff, I'm sorry if I remind you of your ex-wife, but please don't take it out on me. Please." I pleaded with my voice and pleaded with my eyes, and he slowly turned to look at me.

His face softened when a single tear rolled down my face. The situation really did upset me. I never would've agreed to the dinner date if I'd known I'd anger him so much.

"No," he said. "I'm sorry. This isn't working."

"It's not too late to turn it around," I said hopefully. "All you need is a little time and some food in your stomach to sober you up. I'd really rather you didn't drive in your current condition anyway."

He looked down at his feet, ashamed, and I felt a sudden, strong maternal instinct kick in. The poor man needed a woman in his life, and while I didn't think I was the right woman for the job, the least I could do was try to help him as long as we were together that night.

I gently pulled him away from the bar and found some Crepes Suzette hors d'oeuvres to try to soak up some of the alcohol in his system. And I told him about all of my conversations while he ate. That perked him up. I made some nice business contacts, and though most of them were more for myself as a model, anything I could do to get myself noticed more would trickle down to the company and the bottom line.

With his mood improved, I felt safe to leave him. I went to the ladies' room to repair my makeup and I took my time doing it. My reflection still mesmerized me, making it very hard for me to look away.

I couldn't believe I was hobnobbing at a country club as a beautiful woman. It didn't seem real. Nothing seemed real. I suddenly felt an impulse to run and scream that I was a phony.

It wasn't fair that I'd slip back to my former self in a matter of days. I didn't know if I could handle it. I didn't want to think about being a man again but I couldn't stop myself. I hated being male. I hated living a lie, but what was I doing at that moment? I saw my true self in the mirror, knowing that it wouldn't last, and it was all so frustrating!

I finally managed to tear myself away from my reflection, and I hoped I didn't have to use the facilities again any time soon. I'd be mothering Jeff, but who would be mothering me? Ms. Banks might if she were with me, but she wasn't. Still, I thought of my coworker, and friend, and smiled. Just thinking about her gave me the strength I needed to cope.

I walked back to Jeff and we eventually made it to the dinner table. We were two emotional time bombs, defused for the moment but still potentially dangerous.

***

The evening passed much more pleasantly with an excellent dinner and some good company. I didn't think it possible to enjoy myself at such a formal gathering but that was before Derma-goo touched my life. As a young, beautiful woman, I was the center of attention, and I loved it.

While I nibbled on a little chocolate cheesecake for dessert, I vowed then and there that I'd work and fight harder than ever to keep my new body. I was a woman and no one would say otherwise. Not if I could help it.

***

"Vata, my dear," Frank said, catching me just as I was leaving. "Thank you so much for confirming your little incident at the mall. I hope you don't mind if my paper prints it. You've become quite a sensation."

"Not at all, Frank. In fact, I insist on it." I laughed to show I was joking.

He rumbled out a chuckle or two and gave me a big smile as I walked away, arm in arm with Jeff.

"So long, Frank," I called back to him. "And thanks for the conversation."

'Always leave 'em smiling,' I thought, as I indulged myself with my own smile.

***

Jeff brought me back to his stately home and gently but firmly led me up to his porch.

"You could stay ... if you want," he told me. He tried to sound cool and casual, but his eyes gave him away. They pleaded.

The two of us hadn't start out very well, but we'd made up for it and swung back to the opposite extreme. We'd talked like old friends, with him doing most of the talking and me laughing at his lame jokes. We'd even discussed and joked about work. He'd really surprised me with his pleasant personality.

Our casual relationship quickly heated up, and I found it moving towards something I couldn't give him. Still, I thought I had to try. I had to give him a chance. Didn't I?

When he moved his lips towards mine, I didn't resist. In fact, I eagerly waited for contact, and we had a very nice, long good night kiss. But that's all it was, nice. No fireworks exploded. No sparks danced up and down my spine. For me, it was nothing but a genuine "thank you" for a mostly wonderful night. Unfortunately for him, it was much more.

I pulled back. I had to before it went any further.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm just not ... built that way." I tried to find a gentle way to let him down so I indirectly hinted about my original gender.

"It doesn't matter," he told me. "We can get you more treatments. You don't ever have to go back."

'Oh, dear,' I thought. He wasn't making it easy for me.

"Please, Jeff. I meant ... I meant to say I'm not attracted to men. Okay?"

"Oh," he said, looking deflated, but he wouldn't give up. "Still, you'll always be welcome here."

"Thanks, Jeff. That means a lot to me. And thanks for the evening. I had a very good time."

"Me too," he said as he opened his front door. Then he turned and gave me a last hopeful look. "Good night. See you tomorrow."

I gave him a little finger wave and turned to leave, my mind in a pleasant daze.

As I walked down the path, it didn't occur to me how I'd get home that night. I forgot all about a certain someone who was waiting for me, until I saw her car.

'Shit!' I thought. 'She must have seen everything.'

I looked in through her windshield and her body language told me all I needed. She pinched her lips together and folded her arms, telling me exactly how she felt.

As soon as I opened the door and slipped in, she let me have it, but at least she held back enough to give me time to explain myself.

"You had me worried," she said, holding her index finger up with my thong dangling from it.

I snatched the undies from her and quickly stuffed them in my clutch purse.

"Sorry," I hissed. "They were driving me crazy so I 'lost' 'em. Okay? No big deal."

It didn't take me long to slip out of my sophisticated persona to deal with Ms. Banks. She made me feel comfortable, even when she held my feet to the fire.

"Did you enjoy your good night kiss?" she asked, her voice a little shaky.

"A little," I confessed. "But I'm not attracted to men if that's what you were wondering. I just liked the attention, and I thought he deserved a little reward. We had a nice time."

"Oh?"

"That's all! It was ... nice, after he sobered up that is."

She raised an eyebrow and I filled her in on the events of the evening as she drove me home. She laughed at Frank's antics but didn't laugh so much when I told her about my near meltdown. When I confessed how thoughts of her helped keep me from losing it, she sighed, and I knew we'd be okay.

She got me home in one piece, and though I didn't kiss her good night, I wanted to. I just didn't feel ready. I wanted to have a talk with her first, and soon.

I fell asleep without too much trouble that night, and I'm sure I must have dreamed, but I didn't remember any of them. It didn't matter though because I'd soon be continuing a dream after I woke up the next morning. I truly was living a dream.

PART 5

More headlines about me appeared in several newspapers the next day, including the expected one from Frank's newspaper that read, "Vata: Not Just Another Pretty Face."

The story that went along with the headline included the incident at the mall, and it added background about me that pretty much repeated the content of Ms. Banks' fake dossier.

As I skimmed the article, I didn't see anything I didn't already know about my new past. That's because Ms. Banks had been feeding me a steady stream of information to me in bite-sized chunks. She usually divulged something to me when it related to what we were doing at the moment. There was a lot to remember, but her method worked well, and it was fun.

I'd almost felt like some sort of crazy spy last night at the dinner party. I'd adopted a role to infiltrate the world of high finance and brainwash them all into loving me. It hadn't been all that difficult.

I hadn't had many opportunities to talk about myself last night. Most of the men, including Frank, preferred to talk about themselves and just ogle me. That was fine, but when I did mention something about my past, it scared me at how easily everyone bought into it. I had to keep reminding myself that they didn't know who I really was. They just saw me as a beautiful woman, and I sighed happily.

After confirming my skyrocketing popularity and reviewing marketing strategy, the company's next media event had to be expanded, but that didn't concern me. As long as I made it to my beauty salon appointment and got a nice dress to wear, I was happy.

So with some free time to kill, my thoughts naturally drifted to shopping. I still had zillions of things to buy, and I had a willing accomplice to help me. Ms. Banks wasn't to leave my side for the rest of my time as a woman. I was declared to be too valuable to leave alone.

Mr. Jameson also had someone drive my car to a garage for storage. He didn't want to take the chance that someone would link me to my male self through my car's registration. I hated to part with my beloved vehicle but I had Ms. Banks to drive me everywhere I wanted to go, so I made do. I didn't really like to drive anyway.

What I did like to do was shop. I desperately wanted to shop, but my first order of business was to put together a disguise. I could no longer go anywhere in public without scores of people recognizing and hounding me. I wish I could say I liked the excessive attention, but I didn't expect it so I certainly wasn't prepared for it. I had to have a disguise to keep my sanity.

***

Ms. Banks drove the two of us back to my apartment to begin planning. Being late morning on a weekday, there was no one around my apartment complex so it was safe enough for me to sneak in. We camped out in my bedroom and threw around some ideas.

"What about a wide-brimmed hat?" she suggested, sitting on my bed while I paced next to it.

"Uh ... I don't think so. Hats like that aren't very common so it would attract too much attention."

"Right," she said. "That also leaves out scarves and large sunglasses. They just scream 'Hollywood', don't they."

"Yep," I agreed. "What about sweat clothes?" I suggested hopefully.

"You know better than that," she growled.

"Just kidding! Don't take away my allowance. Please!" I gave her my wide-eyed innocent look and she started giggling.

We shot down idea after idea and weren't getting anywhere until I finally thought of something.

"What about the Goth look?" I secretly kind of liked the look, though I'd never before worked up the nerve to try it.

"That might just work. It's girlie enough but not really worn by glamorous models. The makeup is striking and just thick enough that it would probably fool people. Good idea!"

So it was decided. We'd try the Goth look ... after Ms. Banks went out on her own to buy what I needed. That only left us with lunch. We had a lunch date scheduled. The Goth look would take a long time to put together and our stomachs wouldn't wait.

"We could eat in," I suggested. "I could make a sandwich or something."

Ms. Banks wrinkled her nose at that idea.

"What about ordering takeout or a having a pizza delivered?" I asked. I loved pizza.

She shook her head. "I want to go out somewhere. I know you're popular, but I kind of like the idea of going out, just this once. Please? Before you get 'too' popular?"

"Okay. I'm game. What kind of food are you in the mood for?"

We ended up deciding to go to a good Chinese restaurant that wasn't too far away. The service was excellent so we could get in and out quickly if we had to. I just hoped we didn't have to. I wanted to have my long overdue talk with Ms. Banks.

***

During the drive, we were distracted by the nice weather and the details of my Goth look. We also discussed escape scenarios for the restaurant as we got close, so I couldn't fit in my little talk. It disappointed me but I figured there'd still be time enough during lunch.

It was after the busiest part of lunch hour, which meant there were few people in the restaurant. The young Chinese hostess led Ms. Banks and I to a table well in the back, far from windows as we requested. Then we sat and read the menu.

After ordering, I finally had a little pause to start my talk. There was no one around and I decided the time was right. But before I could open my mouth, my blonde companion beat me to it.

"You've changed," she told me.

"Hey. I was thinking the same thing about you."

"Really? Well, I've been wanting to say something for a long time, so please, let me finish."

I gestured to her to go ahead.

"I wasn't sure about you when I first met you but I am now, and I have to confess that I'm very strongly attracted to you."

"No!" I said in mock surprise.

She smiled and lightly slapped my hand. "Hush."

Again, I gestured for her to continue.

"I also have to confess that I sort of ... made you into my dream girl. I'm sorry, but I had the opportunity and I couldn't help myself."

"It's okay. Really."

"It is?" she said, her lower lip trembling.

"Of course. I guessed as much, and I'm relieved, actually. It would've taken me forever to decide on my appearance. Having someone else plan it took the anxiety and stress out of it. It was more like a normal birth when you think about it."

"I don't know about normal," she said shyly. "You're a bit above average."

"Well, let's just say I had two very good looking parents. Genetics was kind to me."

We shared a laugh, just before the food was served and interrupted the moment. But I wouldn't have to wait long to speak my mind on the subject. We shared bits of the three dishes we ordered and finished eating with plenty of leftovers. Then it was my turn.

"I have to say that you've changed ... for the better."

"Oh?" She had that hopeful look again.

"Yeah. Before, I have to admit that I found you unapproachable. You seemed so cold and distant, but now ...," I trailed off because she started frowning.

"Hey! I don't feel that way anymore." I insisted. "You remember when I said you were a beautiful person?"

"Yes," she said, still frowning.

"Well, I wasn't completely truthful when I said you were a beautiful person for buying me so many nice things."

"Oh?" She went back to her hopeful look.

"At the time, I felt I should postpone the conversation until we had more time together so I changed what I was going to say. What I really wanted to say that day was that I think you're beautiful, inside and out, and I'm definitely falling in love with you."

Her eyes went wide and got a little moist, but she remained silent for the moment.

"Well, Ms. Banks? Have you nothing to say?" I teased.

"Please," she said quietly. "Call me Christine."

"Are you sure? Not Chris or Chrissy?"

"No. I prefer Christine."

"Okay. I can handle that. Christine is a beautiful name after all. I think it suits you."

I remembered how she used the same phrase when she told me my modeling alias, so I used it, and she seemed to appreciate it. Her eyes glistened with tears and love, and they begged me to move closer. Her lips called to me to taste them.

As I scooted my chair closer to hers, I could smell her perfume, and it intoxicated me. I had to kiss her then. I just had to. But before I could move close enough, we were both reminded of one of my annoying occupational hazards.

"Look! There she is!" a male voice shouted. "It's Vata! I told you it was her!"

Christine and I both muttered, "Shit," under our breath at the same time.

I quickly stood up to confront three young men who intruded on my privacy, and I had to fight very hard to control myself. They ruined a perfect moment, but luckily for them, they inspired what I hoped would be an even better one.

"I'm sorry, boys, but you're too late."

"Huh?" the nearest one said.

'What is it with men and that word?' I wondered.

"You're too late if you hope to get a date with me," I said, flashing them a big smile. "I'm sorry, but I'm taken."

The three of them groaned in disappointment.

I gestured to Christine to stand up. "But as long as you're here, you can witness my declaration of love. Feel free to take pictures if you like. Just stand back, please."

With that, I put my arms around my new girlfriend and kissed her silly. It was a soul-searing, toe-curling kiss, and it was wonderful. From the moans of pleasure I heard from Christine, she felt the same way.

I vaguely remembered hearing a catcall, but no one dared to try to separate us. We ended the kiss, paid for our meal and were quickly gone before any more fans showed up. It was a grand start to a beautiful relationship.

***

We made it back to my apartment and had a bit of a nervous laugh. Then we got back to what we started in the restaurant. We didn't have a lot of time but we made the most of what we had, and I finally got to see what she looked like with her hair down.

After satisfying our sudden strong desire for each other, we cuddled in silence on my bed. I started thinking about what would happen when my body betrayed me by returning to its male form, and I was sure Christine was thinking the same thing. A palpable tension and sadness filled the air. What would I do in a couple weeks? What would we do? Would we still be together? What kind of idiot would start a relationship that didn't look like it could last more than a few days?

'An idiot in love,' I thought, and smiled.

"Hey, girlfriend," I said on impulse. Sometimes I liked to live dangerously. "Penny for your thoughts."

"Hmmm? I was just wondering how long it'll take us to save up enough money to keep you this way."

"Really?" I started crying.

Christine was so generous, and so in love. We both were, and I was so happy.

***

Christine and I had a little time to start working on my Goth look. She went out and bought most of the makeup that I'd need, but we had to wait until the next day before we could finish the job. Once again, it was show time.

I buzzed through the beauty salon and came out looking fabulous as usual. Then I was rushed to another company media event to boost sales that were just starting to show signs of taking off. My hard work and fame were paying off, for both me and the company.

I had a little trouble concentrating on my work that night. My girlfriend was there, looking mostly conservative as usual, but after I expressed my desire to see her hair down, she left a narrow strand of her lovely golden hair dangling just in front of each ear. She distracted me whenever she was around, which was often.

Jeff Thompson offered another distraction, but I handled him with a single sad smile. He took the hint and backed off, though I noticed he stared at me just as much as all the other men in the room. I didn't mind, and I still felt sorry for him. I hoped he found someone to love soon.

Mr. Jameson directed me well at least, and the job required minimal modeling so everything flowed smoothly. He pretty much just wanted me there as eye candy to court some potential customers, all of whom eagerly signed lucrative, long-term purchasing and support agreements. Another day, another success.

***

Christine and I found pictures of our restaurant kiss on the Internet that night after we got back to my place, but at least I'd thought ahead and turned to block her face, and I'd kept myself between her and the men. No one got a good look at my girlfriend so she remained unidentified. That was good. It meant she was still free to move about unmolested, and it led to a lot of speculation about who she was. That also led to even more curiosity about me and my fame continued to soar.

"I'm still a little upset with you," my girlfriend told me as we cuddled together on my couch.

"Let me guess," I said, smiling. "It has something to do with first kisses."

"What?!"

"Oh, please. I've been thinking a lot about the past three days. How could I not? And how could I not think about all the 'firsts' I've had? It's my first time as a beautiful woman and I've already had my first brush with fame, my first kiss and my first love. Not bad, huh?"

"Oh, you!" She playfully slapped me on the leg. "You're just a good guesser."

"Hey. My intuition is as finely honed as any woman's." I stuck my tongue out but it was a wasted effort. She had her head leaning on my shoulder and couldn't see it.

We sat in silence for a short time, simply enjoying each other's company. But eventually, Christine had to get back to the subject.

"When you said you've had your first kiss and first love, did you mean as a woman?"

"No, I meant ever. I've never had a girlfriend."

"Shit!"

"Tsk-tsk," I admonished. "Such language."

"I'm seriously upset now," she cried. "Jeff stole your first kiss!"

"It isn't that big a deal."

"It is too!"

"Christine," I purred. "His kiss meant nothing. I'm not attracted to men. Remember?"

"It still bothers me," she huffed.

"You're cute when you're jealous."

She growled a little but didn't say anything to that.

"Haven't you ever kissed someone?" I asked.

"Okay. Okay. You got me. I guess I'm being a little possessive. I just really wanted to be the first ...."

"And only," I added.

"That too."

We got through the minor crisis. I turned my head towards her and she turned hers. Our lips met and we forgot all about our conversation. We had several more 'firsts' to explore.

***

The next morning, I enjoyed waking up to having a woman in bed with me for the first time.

'I could get used to this,' I thought, my lovely face breaking into an ear-to-ear grin.

"Morning, Sleepyhead," Christine said. "It's about time you woke up. I've been awake for over an hour."

"Oh. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bore you," I teased.

"Don't worry," she grinned mischievously. "I definitely wasn't bored."

I wondered what she meant by that, but before I could ask, her lips attacked mine. We greeted the day and each other with a fantastic kiss, and a few other activities, and we reluctantly rolled out of bed over an hour later.

***

"Explain to me why we have stomachs again?" I joked, standing in front of my open fridge.

"I suppose people had to have something to get them out of bed before alarm clocks came along."

"Yeah, but stomachs are such a bother now. All they do is tempt us and try to get us fat."

"You're funny," she said, kissing me on the nose as she passed by. "But I've seen the look on your face when you eat chocolate. You're not fooling me."

"Hey! All I need are teeth and a tongue for that."

She purred and I quickly shut my mouth before we postponed breakfast again. My gurgling stomach couldn't be put off much longer.

***

Christine and I wrote a shopping list after we ate. I added a few things that made her laugh, or wonder, but she had to pause after I corrected her about the black-haired wigs.

"Why two?" she asked, looking worried because she already knew the answer.

"Do you honestly think you could hang around with a Goth the way you normally dress? This is going to be a shared experience, honey. Enjoy the ride."

"You're having fun with this, aren't you," she accused.

"I admit I've always wanted to try the Goth look. But don't worry, it won't become a habit. It's more like a special occasion type of thing."

"But why me?"

"Well ... I also admit I've fantasized about having a Goth girlfriend. The idea of two Goth girls kissing is so hot." I'm sure my eyes glazed over as I imagined a steamy love scene.

"Oh, you! You still have a little too much man in you I think."

"Hmmm?"

When I mentally returned to earth, we had a brief but intense discussion about what to do about my hormones. The Derma-goo treatments did nothing to stop testosterone from flowing through my body, it merely masked the obvious external effects.

I compromised by offering to start taking a low dosage of female hormones, but I didn't like the idea of surgery, and the idea of synthetic hormones made me very uncomfortable. They couldn't be as healthy as a natural supply.

"Testosterone is responsible for arousal in men and women," I argued. "You don't want me to lose my libido, do you?"

Christine answered me by biting her lower lip.

"Yeah," I said, laughing. "I didn't think so."

"I suppose you could have an occasional Derma-goo treatment to take care of any male bits that popped up," she said.

I laughed. "You have a good way with words, my Love." Then I quickly turned serious.

I confessed that I still had a few masculine traits and activities that I enjoyed. Would I have to give them up to make our relationship work? Did she only like me as a beautiful model? Basing our love on physical beauty couldn't last. My looks could easily be extended for an extra 20 to 30 years with Derma-goo, but they wouldn't last forever.

"I really liked you long before all this modeling started," she told me. "I could tell you were a nice person from what I saw of you at work, and from your stories. I've read them all, and I think they're very good. I especially like the ones with lesbian romance."

She sounded sincere, but I still wasn't completely convinced, and I'm sure my face showed it.

"Awww," she cooed. "Why do you think I asked you out on a lunch date before you went to the Derma-goo salon? I did it to show I liked you for who you are."

That did it. Happy tears rolled down my cheeks, as the last obstacle to a lifelong romance crumbled away.

We cuddled and kissed, and eventually finished the shopping list. Then she left to collect everything, leaving me to clean up and count the minutes until she returned.

PART 6

Christine and I got carried away with all the black lipstick and heavy eyeshadow, and when we finished with each other, we looked far too scary to step foot in any respectable department store. Christine called it extreme Goth and we both laughed.

As she reached for the makeup remover, I suddenly had a fun thought that I couldn't let go.

"Hey. Hold up, Witchy-poo."

"Yes?"

'She's so cool,' I thought. 'She completely shrugged off my teasing.'

"Let's see how we look with the wigs and clothes. We've got time."

"Sure. Why not."

I dressed myself in a long-sleeved black dress with a long, straight skirt and added short boots with big silver buckles on the side. It was a good choice because it hid my beautiful legs and curves well, making me look downright skinny.

Christine opted for a short skirt with red lace along the hem, and a black velvet stretch top. She finished by slipping into shiny four inch black pumps with stiletto heels.

Both outfits were quite odd but looked to be very well made. I was impressed.

"These don't look like simple Halloween costumes," I said. "Where did you get these?"

"I have my sources."

She smiled and looked up as she said it and I had to smile. She was cute when she acted mysterious so I didn't say anything. I let her have her moment and just shook my head as we continued to fuss a little more with our outfits.

We topped off our look with the black-haired wigs and then had a good look at each other.

"Damn, girl," I said with lust in my eye. "You look hot!"

"I'm afraid I can't quite say the same about you," she said. "But that's the idea. Right?"

"That it is," I agreed. "So does that mean we're good to go?"

"You're not serious," she gasped.

"I most certainly am. Two days from now, after my last modeling gig, I say we dress up the same way and go downtown to check out the nightlife. Maybe we can catch a midnight movie," I mused.

"Or something dreadful," she said and grimaced.

"Come on. It'll be fun. Just try it this once before you say no."

"I don't know ...."

"Please? With you looking so good, no one will notice me at all. It's perfect!"

In the end, she couldn't say no. We'd tone down our makeup a lot for local daytime activities, but we had to try the extreme Goth look at least once. It was too good a disguise to waste, and Christine really did look hot. I just had to see her in that outfit again.

***

My modeling took an interesting detour that night. Mr. Jameson changed his plans and decided to bombard software and business magazines with ads. That meant only one thing: A photo shoot!

He laughed when I asked him how he could get a professional photographer at the last minute.

"You really don't know how popular you are, do you? How utterly charming."

I just shook my head. If he wanted a photo shoot, he'd get a photo shoot. I know I wanted one.

The photographer was a young man with a lot of large cameras. He knew his stuff, and he also knew me, or thought he did. Like everyone else, he spouted off various facts from my fake dossier, trying to impress me. He sounded a little like a stalker but I gave him the benefit of the doubt. He seemed nice, and we worked well together.

The posing was fun and the outfits were fantastic. I wish I could've kept some of those outfits, but at least I got to keep copies of all of my photos for my portfolio. That was a nice bonus. It was a very good night.

Christine seemed to have an even better time than I did, doing her job by staying with me. She watched me work and she got to help me out with my wardrobe. From the gleam in her eye, I think she liked to help dress and undress me more than the camera work. I'm sure it brought back some fond memories from the little private fashion show that I gave her a couple days ago.

I made a mental note to give her another private fashion show on my upcoming free day, and I strongly suspected that it would involve a lot of lingerie modeling.

***

My girlfriend and I filled the early part of the next two days with shopping and dining out. We tried our toned down version of Goth the first of those two days and weren't bothered at all. In fact, most people went out of their way to avoid us. That was great because the easy shopping made up for another boring session of entertaining potential customers that first evening.

The second day, Christine wanted to try something different. We didn't want to lean too heavily on any one disguise in case we were discovered. She dressed us both in suit dresses with low heeled pumps and styled our hair in a bun. After adding glasses with small rectangular lenses, I thought we looked like librarians, but Christine called it her power business look.

At least we fit in well when we shopped in the big department stores. Unfortunately, I was outed after we entered the second store. One of the woman clerks put on quite a show when she recognized me.

"Ms. Vata! Darling. It is you. I thought I recognized you. You've simply got to try this dress over here. It would look absolutely perfect on you."

I rolled my eyes and Christine tried to have a quick talk with the woman, but it was too late. Several nearby customers heard and they all gasped. They also reached for the cell phones and either called someone to tell them I was at the store or they were using the cameras in the phone to snap pictures of me.

I quickly removed my glasses and let my hair down before any pictures were taken. I also removed my suit jacket, carefully folded it and put it in my bag from the previous store, just in case we could salvage the disguise at a later date. The disguise worked well enough in the first store and it worked fairly well in the second one. No one noticed me until the clerk shot her mouth off.

As long as we were already in the store, I figured I might as well take advantage of it. I looked at the dress that the clerk recommended and didn't care much for it. It matched her effusive personality too well for my taste. But I found something I did like and got the clerk to join me in the dressing room for a friendly discussion.

"You're lucky I really like this store," I said. "Or you might have lost me as a customer. I'm having a little trouble adjusting to fame so I've been trying to disguise myself for a little privacy."

"Oh! I'm so very sorry, Ms. Vata. I thought you'd like being recognized. Please forgive me."

"I hope I can count on your silence the next time I come in."

"Of course. You have my word, Ms. Vata."

"Thank you. Now if you don't mind, I'd like to ask you to please go out and try to keep anyone from bothering me in here. My assistant will be bringing me clothes to try on and I'll stay here until I've selected a few outfits. Is that okay?"

"Yes. That's perfectly reasonable. I understand completely, Ms. Vata."

The clerk hurried out and I sighed. She drove me crazy by calling me 'Ms. Vata' but one had to choose their battles.

With Christine's help, I tried on over a dozen outfits and bought almost half of them. They'd really help round out the nicer part of my wardrobe. All I had to do after that was escape the mall with my purchases.

I started to peek my head out of the dressing room but Christine showed up out of nowhere and quickly pushed me back inside.

"Not yet," she hissed. "I'm still looking for a way out."

"Huh?"

'Crap,' I thought. 'Now I'm using that stupid word.'

"Just be patient," she said, and then trotted off towards the escalator.

I tried to be patient, but it must have nearly 30 minutes before she came back.

"Okay. I've got a plan. Let's go."

"Wait a minute. What's going on? Can you fill me in a little before you drag me out of here? Is it really that bad out there?"

"Oh yeah," she said, emphasizing her words by vigorously nodding her head. "It's bad. There's a huge crowd in the mall waiting for you."

"Just great."

"No, it should be fine. I contacted the manager and he'll be escorting us in the elevator and out through the employee entrance."

"The manager is involved? And he has to escort us?"

Christine frowned a little and bit her lower lip.

"You didn't promise him something for his help, did you?"

"No! Well ... not exactly. Just come on."

"Okay." I didn't like the sound of that but I held my tongue for the moment. That is, I did until I remembered why we were there in the first place. "But what about my clothes?"

"They're all paid for and already in the car. I've been taking them out a little at a time. That's what's taken me so long. I figured it'd be better if we weren't weighted down with bags when we made our getaway."

"You're an angel," I gushed, and I gave her a quick kiss.

She seemed torn between wanting more of the same and getting out of the store. The look on her face almost made up for getting into the situation we found ourselves in. Escaping the store finally won out and she quickly pulled me from the dressing room and led me in the direction of the elevator.

The store manager waited inside the elevator and held the door for us. We quickly entered and the door shut with just the three of us inside. So far, so good.

"Thank you very much for helping me, sir," I told the manager. "I tried to disguise myself but someone recognized me. I'm very sorry for all the trouble I've caused."

"Huh? Oh. It's quite alright. Think nothing of it."

The manager was odd. He showed all the signs of being star struck but he pretty much ignored me. Then I realized his true target. It was Christine!

I almost started laughing when I realized he had the hots for my girlfriend. I could laugh because I knew he had absolutely no chance with her. Not only that, she was completely oblivious to his interest in her. At least she seemed to be oblivious.

As I studied her the rest of the short ride to the ground floor, I saw that she stared very intently at the elevator door, like she was willing it to hurry and open. Maybe she did realize he liked her, and maybe she'd already spent some time fending off his advances. It looked like it might be my turn to help out.

When the elevator doors opened, I was ready. I let Christine out ahead of me and then got between her and the manager.

"Would you like my autograph?" I asked him.

"No. No. That's not necessary," he huffed, all the while trying to get past me to catch up to my girlfriend.

"What about a photograph of me?" I tried.

"Sorry. I just ... Ms. Jones! Wait for me!" he called.

'Ms. Jones?' I thought. 'She lied about her name?'

I noticed that Christine already had a good lead and the implications started to bother me. He must have really poured it on thick to get her bolt like that.

I quickened my pace and with my long legs, I soon caught up to her, and I made sure to let her know it was me that was right behind her.

"I've got your back," I told her, and I could see her relax a little. She kept walking fast but she wasn't as tense.

The manager stayed with us and he even tried running around me several times. Whichever side he tried to pass me on, I'd suddenly stick my arm out, point at something and ask a stupid question about it. His desperate, obsessive behavior turned my stomach so I didn't care how stupid I sounded if I could keep him away from Christine.

We made it to the employees entrance and Christine didn't even slow down. She flew through the doorway and I suddenly stopped and turned to the manager to block his way.

"Excuse me, sir," I said. "Thank you for your help but we can take it from here."

His eyes quickly shifted from side to side, and I thought for a moment he might actually push me out of the way and chase after Christine, but he managed to control himself.

"Right then," he said, still trying to look past me for a last glimpse of his blonde obsession. "Please come back again soon. Both of you." With that, he turned and stalked off back the way we came.

'Good riddance,' I thought, as I hurried after my girlfriend.

I actually jogged a little and still didn't catch up to her before she got into the car and locked her door. I also noted that the engine was running as I approached the passenger side. I slipped inside and she peeled rubber out of the parking lot. I didn't think the car had enough power to do that!

I tried to calm her down and just managed to get her to reduce her speed down to the speed limit when she started crying.

"Hey. Christine. It's okay. Pull over ... over there ... into that parking lot. Please."

She did as I asked and parked. Then I hugged her and let her cry into my breast while I thought of how I might torture the man who upset her so badly.

She wasn't too happy to talk about it, but I managed to piece together the events that led up to her breakdown. When she got to the part about having to promise him a certain sexual favor for his help, I stopped her.

"I'm going to kill that asshole," I growled.

"No! Please. Don't do anything rash. I don't want to lose you."

"Okay. Okay." I took a deep breath to calm down. "Can I at least make a voodoo doll of him?" I tried to joke.

"Do you practice voodoo?" She looked like she thought I was serious. That moronic manager really rattled her cage.

"I'm kidding. Sorry. I'm just very angry and I'm trying to find a constructive outlet for it."

"Oh. Nicely done," she said, and she actually smiled.

"Thank you. Now then. Would you like me to drive?"

"Let someone else drive my baby?" she wore a look of mock horror.

When she did that, I couldn't help it. I laughed, and she joined me. The tension melted away and we were soon on our way with her at the wheel.

***

Compared to the nightmare shopping trip, modeling would be a walk in the park, literally. Mr. Jameson reserved a large area in a nearby park and we'd be having a party that he called the barbecue social.

The party would start around 4 in the afternoon and would run late into the evening. There was no script or real strategy involved. It was just an excuse to blow off some stream and celebrate the company's recent success, all thanks to me.

I had to be there of course, for the purpose of drawing a little more attention to the company, but I'd be a little late. Christine and I still had to recover from our shopping trip.

"Are you sure you still want to go to the barbecue?" I asked her.

"Yes! I'm fine."

"Your lips say yes, but your trembling hands say no."

"I just need a little time. By the time we change our clothes and fix our faces, I'll be as good as new."

"Fix our faces?"

It took awhile for it to occur to me that crying and makeup didn't mix. I still wasn't used to wearing it. I saw mascara smeared all over Christine's cheeks and around her eyes and that made sense to me. I watched her rub her eyes enough to create the mess, but I hadn't thought about my own face.

I flipped down the visor to check the little mirror under it and gasped. I hadn't rubbed my eyes but I had several black streaks on both sides of face where tears had trickled down my cheeks.

"Traitorous tears!" I screeched, only half serious. "I look a mess."

"We both do, I'm sure."

***

We went back to my apartment and hurried to change clothes and redo our makeup. Then we were off again. We'd be about 30 minutes late but I just told Christine we could chalk it up to being fashionably late.

She laughed, but her face soon went back to the serious look she'd worn since we left for the party.

"Penny for your thoughts," I said.

She smiled but didn't say anything.

"Seriously, Christine. What's going on inside that pretty little head of yours. Please talk to me."

"If you must know, I was just thinking about how well you did at the store. You read the situation very well and you rescued me from that bastard. Frankly, I'm a little stunned by it."

"Surely you must be joking," I joked with a little play on words and I think she caught it. She grinned a little anyway, but she didn't say anymore so I continued.

"I keep telling you that my feminine intuition is well developed. I've taken several online tests and found that my brain has more in common with the brains of women than those of men."

"I know, and I'm sorry. I guess I'm still getting used to it."

"That's fair. I'm still getting used to this body. Though it's going to be very difficult reverting back in a week or so."

"Oh. Right. I keep forgetting about that. Or really, I keep neglecting to remember. I don't want to think about it. Let's not talk about it now. Okay?"

"Yeah. That's a good idea. We'll deal with it later and take things as they happen."

We drove on in silence for the next couple miles, both of us lost in our own muddled thoughts. It bothered me that she still didn't think of me as completely female, at least inside, where it counted. I didn't know how to get through to her, but I felt it was very important to try. I'd need her sympathy and understanding to get through my impending reversion back to a male body. I said I'd deal with it later but I was lying. I couldn't stop thinking about it as I knew it was going to be a very rough time for me.

I had more than just myself to think about. I also had my relationship. Would Christine really stick by me while I wallowed in self-pity? Would she be able to help keep me sane? All I knew was that I needed her more than ever, and I needed her to understand who I truly was, deep inside.

"Christine?"

"Yes?"

"Do you remember when I asked you if you'd promised something to the bastard, just before we left to go to the elevator?"

"Yes."

"I asked that because I read the emotions on your face. I could see them plain as day. Then you told a little white lie about not promising him anything and my hackles went up. When we were in the elevator, I saw how badly you wanted to get away, and when the door opened, I got between you and the bastard to block him. Remember when I came up behind you and let you know I was there?"

"You said you had my back," she said, and she smiled at the memory. "I was so relieved."

"Yes, and I could see that. I saw some of the tension ease in your shoulders. Then I focused back on the bastard and made sure to keep between you two. I read his movements and kept pointing at things and asking stupid questions to block him."

"I heard some of that. You asked him why the fire hose wasn't a blue color to show that it sprayed water. I would've laughed if I wasn't so upset."

"Exactly! I caught that too. I understood the situation completely."

"Why are you telling me all this?"

"I'm telling you because I want you to think about whether you could imagine a man doing everything I just mentioned. Most men are terrible at reading emotions and body language. You have to spell things out for them. I swear. Sometimes I think they're all emotionally retarded!"

Christine laughed.

"Please. Try to understand and believe me when I tell you that I'm not a man. I'm not!" I started sniffling, but I quickly stopped and immediately covered my nipples with my hands.

"Oh no you don't," I said. "No nipple tweaking in the car. I won't cry. I know better."

"Very good, pupil. You're learning."

"Ha ha."

"You know, you're really more of a teenage girl than a woman. You've still got a lot to learn about being a woman, just like I've got a lot to learn about the transgendered."

"We all have a lot to learn."

PART 7

Mr. Jameson shot Christine and me a disapproving look when we arrived late, but he soon went back to his polished smile when he saw me strut in my short skirt and halter top. He quickly looked around to see if I was attracting any attention and gently nodded his approval.

I followed his gaze and saw several young men looking my way. I pouted a little and hoped I'd have time to eat least have a burger before I was mobbed. I loved barbecues.

The grilling hadn't started yet and several people were helping to unpack everything. My girlfriend and I moved to help out but I was quickly pulled away by Mr. Jameson, leaving me to mouth the word, "Sorry," to Christine.

"I'm sure you mean well," he told me quietly, away from everyone else. "But we can't have you performing menial duties. Let the staff handle it. You're a star."

There was that word again. Was I really a star?

'Must be a slow news week,' I thought.

I still had trouble accepting my fame. It'd happened far too quickly, and I had to admit that I didn't try very hard to keep up with all the latest developments. I hadn't had time.

The latest I'd heard from Christine was that I had a website that was created and maintained by my fan club. I'd finally checked it out last night and I liked what I saw. It'd had nothing but flattering photos and good news about me. The only thing that had made me uneasy was the speculation I saw about me using Derma-goo.

The owner of the website, a young woman named Gina, was able to get in contact with me through the software company I worked for. She emailed account information so I could log in and leave blog entries, and from the several messages she sent me, I could tell she was determined to have me do so. She was also obviously smitten with me because she said as much.

I couldn't say no to her, so I left my first blog entry last night. I told her and everyone else how grateful I was for all the kind words and attention, and I promised I'd drop by to leave messages when I had the time.

Christine had hovered over my shoulder as I typed but she'd liked everything I had to say. She'd told me I was a natural and then gave me a smile that lured me away from everything except her for the rest of the night.

"Penny for your thoughts," Christine said, coming up behind me.

She startled me and I squawked. "Hey! That's my line!"

"Oh, poo. Can't I borrow it now and again?"

I smiled. My girlfriend was so cute when she relaxed. I wasn't sure marketing work agreed with her as it kept her so tightly wound.

"Yes, you can borrow it."

"Thanks. So?"

"Oh! Right. My thoughts ...."

I told her about my concern. There were a lot of questions on the website about whether I used Derma-goo, something that I thought should be kept secret. I was afraid it might hurt the company's reputation if their star model was a Derma-goo user.

"It's pretty obvious you've had a treatment," she told me, gently. "You're simply too perfect."

"Oh," I said, blushing.

"Hey. There's nothing to be ashamed of, and there's certainly nothing wrong with looking gorgeous."

I sighed heavily. I wasn't convinced.

"You know all those people who say how horrible it is to be obsessed with looking good?" she persisted.

"Yeah."

"Do you think they'd back up their words by using Derma-goo to shape themselves into hideous freaks?"

"No."

"You bet your cute little ass they wouldn't."

I gasped at her crude language and she laughed at me.

"I see we still have a lot to learn about each other," she said with a twinkle in her eye. "I'm not all sugar and spice and everything nice."

"I guess not," I said, and smiled.

We discussed human nature for awhile. Jealousy and envy played a big part in society. People could be so petty sometimes. But sometimes, we paid too much attention to what other people thought and didn't listen to ourselves. We had to do what was right for ourselves, and if that meant using Derma-goo to correct my gender, why not make myself beautiful at the same time?

As usual, my girlfriend left me feeling very good, about myself, about her, about us. I smiled and then squealed when she returned and handed me a chicken burger.

"Hey!" I told her. "I didn't even notice they were ready. Thanks!"

"You get the first one, actually," she told me.

"I'm honored," I said quietly.

"Well ...," she said. "You're probably going to be very busy soon, so you need to eat now anyway."

"Oh, thanks." I pouted and she laughed at me.

"Excellent," she said. "You've perfected pouting."

We had a good laugh.

***

I devoured my burger. It wasn't very ladylike behavior but I couldn't help myself. It was delicious and I was starving.

"My compliments to the grill master!" I shouted after I'd finished.

Everyone cheered, including all the young men who'd edged closer to our little party area.

As both Christine and I both predicted, my fans couldn't help themselves. The first few bravest souls asked for autographs and the rest soon followed their lead. I didn't mind, but several of my coworkers seemed to resent the intrusion.

"Excuse me, boys," Mr. Jameson said after I'd signed my umpteenth autograph. "I need Vata for a moment."

The young men groaned in disappointment.

"I think you'll like what we've got planned for her so please stick around," he told them.

Frowns turned into hopeful smiles and Mr. Jameson spoke quietly to me as he led me away.

"How are you at singing?" he asked.

"I'm okay. I'm not a professional but I'm not tone deaf or anything."

"Good. Good. That's perfect," he said mysteriously.

He led me to a small, raised platform where I noticed two amplifiers, a video monitor and a microphone.

It was my turn to groan.

'He can't be serious,' I thought. 'Does he expect me to give a concert or something?'

Mr. Jameson had actually set up an outdoor karaoke system. He had some help testing the sound and video systems and then asked me to try it out. A song title would show up on the monitor and he had me nod if I knew it. If I knew it, it would begin playing, and if I didn't know it, I could shake my head and he'd have it skip to the next one in the queue.

I was a little nervous during my first couple songs, but with them as a warm-up and with the encouragement I got from my audience, I soon got into a good flow and really enjoyed myself. My voice got louder and my smile larger as the night wore on.

I hated to blow my own horn, but my singing was well above average, and my new voice was great. All the men loved me anyway, and they made up the large majority of people in the park. I thought karaoke was supposed to be a shared experience but no one would let me stop so I must have done well.

After I finished singing the last song that I knew, everyone cheered, including my girlfriend. She sat very close and cheered in her own way, staring up at me with love and lust in her eyes.

"I didn't know you could sing," Christine told me with awe in her voice as we walked to her car.

"Thanks," I said, brimming with energy. "I always been able to carry a tune. I just didn't have the greatest voice for it. Now that I have this voice, I'm think I'm gonna use it more. That was great fun."

"You can sing for me anytime," she said with a dreamy look on her face.

"You can count on it," I said. "I'm a pretty good whistler too."

"Oh. That's right. I've heard you in the shower," she said. "You do like to whistle, don't you."

I blushed.

"Say," she continued. "Where did you hear that great old song that you ended with? What was it called again?"

"Fly Me to the Moon."

"Yeah. That one. I love that song."

"Me too. I learned it from a Japanese animated series that I have on DVD."

"Oh my god! That is so 'male'," she teased.

I stuck out my tongue at her and she laughed.

"And that is so 'teen girl'," she countered.

The evening was a complete success. The company and its employees were happy, my fans were happy and Christine was happy. Best of all, I was happy, and the night was still young.

***

Christine and I both needed a night out alone together, and by alone, I meant no fans. I reminded her of my desire to go extreme Goth that night and she surprised me by agreeing with no fuss.

"There's no possible way anyone will recognize us," she stated. "So I say we should go for it."

"Yeah! It'll be fun. You'll see."

"It better be," she growled.

I laughed but I could see she was only half joking. I'm sure she was still upset about the bastard store manager. She needed some fun to help her forget. I couldn't quite let the subject go yet though.

"I've been thinking more about the trouble at the mall," I said.

"Oh?" She frowned, warning me to tread carefully.

"You thanked me for rescuing you but I never properly thanked you in return."

"I ...."

She tried to say something but I cut her off with a very passionate kiss. When I finally and very reluctantly broke away, we were both panting.

"I had to do that ... you know ... before we troweled on all the Goth makeup."

"Right," she said, her mind far away.

Unfortunately, I still wasn't finished with the topic. I had to pull her back for one more go. The kiss was just a way to ease tension.

"Earth to Christine! Earth to Christine!"

"You sure are a good kisser, Earth," she said.

She still had a glazed look but her sense of humor showed that someone was home behind those cute blue eyes of hers.

"I'm sorry to keep bringing this up, but I couldn't help noticing that you used a fake name at the store. That was good thinking but do you think the bastard might still try to track you down?"

"He'll wish he hadn't if he does try it. I have no intention of fulfilling the promise I made to him. It was made under duress."

"Right. You might have to stand in line for a good ass kicking if he shows up when I'm around, but I'm worried. He seemed very determined and even desperate at the store."

"If he comes near me again I'll scream." The look in Christine's eyes told me she'd likely do more than that if he was in range of her foot or knee, but I didn't press her.

"That sounds like a good strategy if there are people around, but not so good otherwise. What if we got a bodyguard?"

"I'm not sure about that. At the rate your popularity is growing, you'll need a bodyguard, but we really can't afford one yet, and you won't need one when ... you know." She hinted at my reversion back to my male body, but I shrugged it off

"Well, yeah. I won't need one in a week or so, but you still might. I'm worried about you."

She gave me a loving smile. "You're so sweet, but we need to save for Derma-goo. Remember?"

I returned her loving smile and cried a little.

"I can't wait to get you in the back of a movie theater tonight," I said after I'd composed myself.

"Me too."

As expected, our extreme Goth look worked like a charm downtown in the big city. We didn't have a lot of options but what we had was blissfully normal and relatively private. We shared a milkshake at an all-night diner and then found a late showing of some movie that I can't remember the name of. We sat in the third to last row of the theater and mostly ignored the movie screen. Instead of watching the actors, we acted on our desire. The few times we managed to notice the movie were during sex scenes. We looked up, took a few mental notes and went back to our acting.

We got home very late that night, and we barely managed to remove all of our makeup and clothing before collapsing together in bed. We had a wonderful night, and morning promised a continuation of our passion. In the meantime, we had our dreams to sustain us.

***

Christine confessed that my seventh day as a woman wasn't exactly a free day. It was more of a buffer in case I started reverting back to male form early.

I didn't mind, and it wasn't just because I stayed my beautiful true self all day. The company had been very good to me, helping me to achieve a dream. Besides, it wasn't in my nature to be spiteful.

I stayed in my apartment all day, and my girlfriend kept me company except for picking up Chinese takeout for lunch and my favorite deluxe Hawaiian pizza for dinner. We talked, listened to music, and she helped me with my makeup. It was a very nice day.

Christine didn't exactly have the day off. She took a day of vacation so she could stay with me, and I more than made up for it with something I'd had planned a few days ago. I gave her an extended private fashion show that started after dinner and lasted until she could no longer keep her hands off me. She did well until I started modeling lingerie. It only took until the second ensemble until she pounced.

***

I'll never forget the next morning for the rest of my life. It went from heaven to hell in a matter of seconds. Christine and I started with a morning kiss, and we came close to moving to a full-blown lovemaking session, but then she pulled back and got a good look at my face.

She tried to hold back, but her eyes moistened, and she completely lost it. She jumped out of bed and pulled on a pair of her jeans and a knit top without even adding lingerie first, and all the while she muttered, "Sorry," over and over.

As soon as I figured out what was wrong, I curled into a fetal position and cried. I was reverting, and my girlfriend was abandoning me.

***

It's not possible to cry all day. I know because I tried.

When the tears finally dried up late that morning, I rolled out of bed to survey the damage in my bathroom mirror.

"It's not so bad," I tried to lie to myself.

It usually took a full week to completely revert from a full body sculpting treatment, but the changes hit hard and fast and slowed to a trickle after only two or three days.

That morning, my jaw line had popped out and my face already looked far more like my old self than Vata. That explained Christine's reaction.

Seeing the reversion hit so suddenly and so fast must have been as hard for her as it was for me. She worked hard and found her dream girl, only to see her slowly disappear. There was nothing she could do about it. Derma-goo was a miracle product, but it was also cruel. What it gave could be taken away, and I had a ringside seat. She, on the other hand, wasn't trapped and forced to watch it. She could avoid the freak show, and that's what she did. She ran away, and I wondered if I'd ever see her again.

I dressed in some casual clothes that I knew would fit me as either gender and wandered out to the kitchen for some leftover pizza. I reheated in my microwave, not caring if it came out limp. I just wanted it hot. It was comfort food, more so than the leftover Chinese still in the fridge.

I hoped what little food I had in my apartment would last me the next couple of days. I couldn't imagine going out for a little grocery shopping in my current state. I had a fairly masculine face with feminine curves, and I'd have my hair extensions unless I cut them out, something I actually contemplated at one point during my rapid downward descent in the pit of despair.

I was an emotional wreck, and I was trapped, alone in my apartment.

***

I avoided looking into mirrors the rest of the day and spent much of my free time at the computer, checking out my fan-based website. I thought about logging in and chatting but I ruled it out. I wasn't in the proper mood for it.

I also tried surfing the Web, looking for any more news about me and was surprised at the huge volume of material. It made me bitter to think that people wasted so much time. They should be out living their own lives instead of paying so much attention to someone else's. The past several days of modeling suddenly struck me as being so self-indulgent and stupid that it made me nauseous.

In spite of my discomfort, for some reason, I stayed on the computer and surfed. Perhaps I thought I could find a way to salvage something of the past seven days. Perhaps I just needed a distraction. I don't know. All I know is that I eventually came back to the Vata website, looking for answers.

I thought of Vata as someone else now. She was a tall, beautiful woman, and I was an average looking, skinny man. I thought about joining the fan club and posting comments using my original name, and the absurdity of that idea almost made me laugh. It cheered me up enough to start reading my blog at least, and I'm very glad I did.

As I read comments on the website, I was pleasantly surprised at all the kind words I saw. People obviously thought Vata was beautiful, but they also described her as warm, witty and charming, and they loved her personality as much as they loved her face, so it seemed anyway.

It took hours, but I ended up reading every comment. Some made me cry. Some made me laugh. But it was all good therapy. I found value in my decision to become Vata, and I was slowly brought back to life.

After all that reading, my eyes were a little tired, but I was never too tired of looking at pictures of myself as Vata. I stared at picture after picture, and I was looking through a photo gallery when I heard knocking at my door.

It was early in the evening and I tried to ignore the knocking, thinking it was probably a religious group come to save my soul. I soon changed my mind though because the knocking didn't go away. Instead, it escalated to pounding. I heard a familiar voice too, pleading for an audience, so I dragged myself out to open my front door.

There, on my doorstep, stood a very sad but fiercely determined looking young woman. I knew her well. She was my ex-girlfriend.

"May I please come in?" she said. "I know I have a lot to answer for but please let me in."

I absently noted that she wasn't wearing any makeup and wondered if that was because her tears washed it all away. Then I stepped to one side and motioned with my hand that she could enter.

She walked over and sat on the couch while I stayed standing by the front door, paralyzed by a confusing mix of emotions.

"I'm so sorry," she told me. "I panicked and screwed up. Okay?"

"Okay," I heard myself say. I felt strangely detached and acted on impulse. "Is that it? Am I supposed to forgive you now?"

"That would be nice," she said, and almost smiled. "But I don't expect you to. I'd be satisfied if you just sat down next to me here and listened to the rest of what I have to say."

Something seemed off to me. My intuition told me she was up to something, but I told my intuition to go stuff itself. I wasn't in the mood for feminine mind games at the moment. I was too busy trying to scratch and claw my way back from the abyss. So without any more thought, I walked over and actually sat next to her on my couch.

"Okay. I'm here. Next." I kept staring straight ahead, not daring to look her in the eye.

"Thank you. Now I'd like you to close your eyes and imagine something for me."

"Is this really necessary?" I asked.

My eyes shifted slightly to the left and I finally noticed the painting that hung on my living room wall. The painting featured an 19th century artist's interpretation of the myth of Pygmalion and Galatea, where Galatea was just brought to life after having been sculpted by Pygmalion. I thought it to be a very fitting commentary on the recent events of my life and wondered why I hadn't noticed the connection before. I had that painting on my wall for years.

"Please. I think it's important or I wouldn't ask you."

Between the faint tinge of desperation in Christine's voice and the painting, I closed my eyes. I didn't want to see Christine's face if she started crying. I didn't think I could handle it. And that painting haunted me. I had to close my eyes to concentrate.

"Thank you," she told me. "Now I'd like to try a visualization exercise. I really think it'll help."

"If you insist."

Her suggestion actually sounded interesting so I didn't have a problem with it.

"Right then. I see your eyes are closed. Good. Now imagine you're lying alone on a tropical beach with your eyes closed. The temperature is around 85 degrees and there's a slight breeze blowing in from the water. The conditions are perfect."

That sounded very nice. I wished I really was on a tropical beach. It sounded much better than sitting in my apartment.

"Now imagine that you feel a cool shadow fall across your body. You open your eyes and you can tell from the silhouette that it's a woman, but you can't see her face."

I did as she asked and I couldn't help it. A few tears escaped my eyes. I didn't have to see the woman's face to know that it was Christine that I imagined. She tricked me again. She forced me to admit, at least to myself, that she was still very important to me, that I couldn't imagine being alone on a tropical beach with anyone but her.

"Oh, dear. Look at that. I made you cry. I'm sorry."

"I'm not," I said honestly, still keeping my eyes closed. "I understand what you're trying to do, and I appreciate it."

"I feel so bad for running out on you. Can you ever forgive me? Can we ever move past this?"

"I'm really not sure but at the moment, I'd have to say no. You really really hurt me and I don't think I could handle it if it happened again."

I started crying again, but I kept my eyes pinched shut, hoping to stem the flow of tears. It must have been a reflex because I didn't have to worry about makeup. I didn't think I'd ever wear makeup again. I didn't know if I could go through another Derma-goo treatment after going through such a disastrous ending to the first one.

"Are you sure you don't want to give me another chance? I really do want to come back. I'll do anything to make it up to you."

"I'm sorry," I heard myself say as I slipped back into my earlier detached state. "But I really don't think that's a good idea. At least not right now."

"Okay. I'm sorry you feel that way but I understand. I only have one more request if I may."

"Go ahead."

"I'd like you to keep your eyes closed and if you can keep them closed until I leave, I won't come back unless you ask me to. Is it a deal?"

"Sure." It sounded a little odd and melodramatic but I'd prefer not to see her leave anyway. It would be like reliving the first time she left, and I was sure it would upset me again.

I heard and felt her get up off the couch. Then I heard a curious clicking sound.

"Oops," she said. "Keep those eyes closed. I just dropped my keys in my purse and want to fish them out before I go out to my car."

"Right." I understood. A girl could never be too careful, even in a low crime neighborhood like mine.

I heard a strange metallic sound that initially sounded like keys, but then it changed into something else that sounded vaguely familiar. I couldn't quite remember how I knew that sound and it frustrated me. I wanted to open my eyes and satisfy my curiosity but Christine kept reminding me to keep them closed or else I'd never be rid of her.

I turned my head away from the sound in case I weakened. At least in that case, I still wouldn't see her and she wouldn't see that my eyes were open. I just hoped she'd leave soon and let me get on with my life. The anticipation was killing me.

"Hey," she suddenly said. "I'm sorry but can I ask one more little favor?"

"Sure," I said, thankful for the distraction from the noises she continued to make.

"I know a kiss is out of the question, but can we shake hands? I know it sounds stupid but it would be like sealing the deal. That's important in my line of work."

I was about to decline but she interrupted to remind me that I'd still have to keep my eyes shut. It started to get ridiculous, but I found it hard to refuse her such an innocent sounding last request, so I gave in.

I held out my right hand for the handshake, and then I got a very big surprise. I finally identified the odd sound when she made it again while attaching something around my wrist, and I opened my eyes to confirm it. She handcuffed me! Not only that, she had us both handcuffed together.

"Oh, dear. Look at that," she said. "You opened your eyes. I'm afraid the deal's off."

"You devious little ...."

"Uh uh uh," she interrupted. "Watch the language please."

"But you cheated. You ... I can't believe you handcuffed us together!"

"You gave me no choice! What did you expect me to do? Throw away and forget about the last several days? That's not going to happen!"

"Okay. This is silly. Where's the key? Unlock us and end this."

"I can't."

I narrowed my eyes. "Can't or won't?"

"I can't! The key to the handcuffs is locked in my car."

"Then we'll go out to your car and get them," I growled.

"That might take awhile. I'm not sure that's a good idea."

"Why is that? Where are you parked?"

"My poor baby is parked far away, where you'll never find her. I'm sorry, but you're stuck with me for awhile."

"Oh! You! This is so ...."

"Cute? Wonderful? Romantic?" she interrupted.

"I was thinking of the past tense of a vulgar four-letter word, actually."

"But you're too much of a lady to say it?" she ventured.

"Don't push it, Christine."

"Really, Vata, I did it for both of us."

"My name isn't Vata. Please don't call me that."

"You'll always be Vata to me. Can't you see that?"

"Whatever. All I see now is handcuffs, and they're the only thing keeping us together for the moment."

"Those handcuffs will keep me from running away again, and it'll force you to deal with me. I don't want to lose you! Please try to understand. I did it for us because I love you!"

'Crap,' I thought. 'She used those three little words again. That's dirty pool.'

I was so frustrated. I wanted to run and scream at the world, but I couldn't. I had a lovesick woman handcuffed to me. So what could I do? I did the only thing I could manage for the moment. I talked.

"You didn't happen to bring any food with you, did you?" I asked hopefully.

"Shit," she answered, and slowly shook her head. She'd planned very well to handcuff us together, but she neglected to plan for what would happen afterwards.

"This is so fucked," I muttered.

PART 8

"I have a small hammer," I said hopefully. "Maybe I can break the chain with it."

"The handcuffs are made of reinforced steel," my girlfriend informed me. "Your hammer would probably break."

"Right. How about a screwdriver then? Could I pry the links apart?"

"The screwdriver would probably just bend."

"Well, why did you have to get such good handcuffs?!"

"Because I knew you'd try your best to get out of them!" she cried.

"Well ... yeah. Of all the things you could've done, why this?"

"I don't know." She sighed. "I guess I was desperate."

"Spoken like a true crazy ex-girlfriend," I muttered.

"Hey! We didn't officially break up. We just had a brief separation."

"Is that you putting a spin on things?"

"No! That's me not letting a beautiful relationship end because of a single stupid mistake. You could try to be a little more understanding."

She was right about that. I could be more understanding. I could also be a little grateful that she came back and distracted me from my reversion. I was sure that we'd both be laughing about the incident in a couple years, but I still had some serious grief to work through.

There was one thing I thought we could work on. It seemed as though our relationship had been fairly superficial up to that point. We felt a strong physical attraction to each other, and we knew a lot of each other's personality quirks, but we didn't know much about each other's history. We hadn't talked about friends and relatives, or where we went to school. There was so much I didn't know about her, and I found that I missed not knowing. That was a good sign.

Christine sat to my right and we had a good long talk. After two hours, I even forgot we were still handcuffed, but I was rudely reminded when I suddenly sprung up off the couch to go to the bathroom.

"Ow!" We both shouted when the handcuffs made themselves known.

"Sorry!" I said. "But I have to go ...." I stopped and blushed.

Having to use the toilet was going to be more than a little embarrassing. I forced my thighs together and felt normal 'down there' at least. There would be two girls in the bathroom, for the moment.

We made our way to the bathroom ever so slowly, and I prepared myself, mentally and physically. Christine stood by the toilet roll and looked away to give me what little privacy she could.

I don't know why but I kept a close eye on the back of her head, like I didn't trust her not to peek. As I stared, I noticed that the back of her neck and ears were bright red. She blushed furiously so I relaxed a little. It didn't look like she'd turn around.

"This is so awkward with one hand," I grumbled.

"Would you like me to move closer?" she offered.

"No! I mean ... no, thanks. I'm good."

We survived the ordeal and just made it back to the couch when we both started giggling. The giggling turned into laughter and continued for several minutes, until Christine suddenly frowned.

"Now I have to go," she said.

We muddled our way through getting ready for bed. We agreed that we could wait to take a shower and climbed into my large, comfortable bed, both of us lying on our backs, side by side. There was no hanky-panky. I still wasn't ready for that. We just talked a little and fell asleep sometime in the wee hours of the morning.

I felt much better about my future with Christine after that. Her little stunt might have been crazy, but it was effective. It definitely kept us together and forced us to work through a very difficult time. I really did love that woman.

***

"Morning, Sleepyhead," my girlfriend told me.

"Déjá  vu," I mumbled, making her laugh.

She didn't follow up with any words so I looked over and caught her staring at me. It made me self-conscious.

"What? What is it? Do I have something in my teeth?"

"No. Nothing like that. I was just noticing that you seem to revert more overnight."

"Oh. Thanks. I guess I shouldn't sleep then."

"Hey. Come on. Don't be like that. I was just making an observation. It's good to know what to watch for so we can better gauge your progress next time."

That made sense. "I guess it might make future reversions easier to handle."

"That's the spirit," she told me.

We slowly slid out of bed together and took turns in the bathroom. Then Christine decided she wanted to get dressed. She still had a lot of clothes that she left behind so she had plenty of outfits to choose from. We both replaced our underwear, though I noticed I had nothing left to fill a bra. I choked down a few sobs over that revelation and bravely continued.

Breakfast was light. That's because I only had two containers of yogurt and some almonds. I wanted to save the Chinese leftovers for lunch.

"We really need to get some food," I remarked.

"What? Really? I thought this was the supermodel diet."

Christine tried to joke but I didn't find eating disorders very funny and I told her so. She apologized and we discussed our options.

"We could have something delivered for the time being?" she suggested.

"That'll work I guess. We might have a little trouble hiding our handcuffs at the door when we pay, but it's better than going out."

My main concern about going out was that people might get the wrong idea about the handcuffs. I didn't have to worry about being recognized as Vata. My face had all but completely reverted to its original male form. The only difference I noted was that the dimple in my chin was nearly gone and my eyes remained noticeably farther apart. And of course my facial hair wouldn't be coming back for another week or two. That cheered me up a little.

***

"Christine," I finally said, after yanking on the handcuffs for the umpteenth time that morning. "Can we call someone to take us to your car and get those handcuff keys? Please?"

"Had enough of the old ball and chain?" she joked.

I had to laugh at that one. "Your humor is getting better."

"Thanks. What about you? Are you getting better? You won't run away if I let you go, will you?"

"If you love something, let it go," I recited.

"If it comes back to you, it's yours forever," she added, and her eyes gleamed.

I didn't chase after her when she ran away from me. Did that count as letting her go? I thought so. And she came back. Did that mean she was mine forever? I hoped so.

"I'm not going anywhere," I told her.

"Neither am I. Let's see about getting those keys."

***

The first person I thought to call was Mr. Jameson. He seemed like a safe bet. I didn't care to explain the handcuffs to my friends and family and Christine felt the same way about hers. We hadn't told anyone about me being Vata. The fewer people knew, the better. We figured we'd eventually tell everyone, but it could wait for the time being.

"Hello? Vata? Is that you?" Mr. Jameson asked.

"Yes, it's me."

My voice hadn't changed completely, but my Adam's apple had started to bulge and my voice was definitely a little lower.

"How's the reversion coming? I hope you aren't too upset."

"I've had a bit of a rough time adjusting but I think I'll be okay. Thanks for asking."

"So what can I do for you, my dear?"

I didn't tell him about the handcuffs. He'd find out soon enough if he came to pick us up. I just told him that Christine and I had a little fight and she needed a ride to her car.

"I'm sorry, but you'll have to leave me out of your little lover's quarrel. I would like to talk to Christine though. Is she there?"

I had nothing to say to that. I bit my lower lip and put her on the phone, and I tried to think of someone else to call while I waited for them to talk.

I tried to ignore the one-sided conversation, but as my girlfriend got more and more animated, I focused solely on her. When she squealed and jumped up and down, my mouth hung open.

"Thank you, Mr. Jameson. I'll tell her right away! Yes. I'm sure she'll agree. I'll be into work tomorrow to help with everything. Bye!"

She ended the call and I attacked her with questions. She gently placed her fingers on my lips to quiet me. Then she told me the great news and we both jumped up and down together.

Company profits had taken off and I was getting two more Derma-goo treatments, free of charge! The company decided it couldn't do without me, at least for little while longer.

"I suspected as much," she told me after we'd calmed down a little.

"And you didn't tell me?" I pouted.

"There you go again. You've still got that pout down, and I swear your lips are bigger than before the treatment."

"Really?"

She distracted me but I quickly got back to the subject. I really wanted to know why she didn't tell me. That knowledge could've helped me get through the reversion.

"There's more to it, actually," she confessed. "We've had many other inquiries about using you as a model. They couldn't find your agent, since you don't have one, so they contacted the company."

"Really? So what's that got to do with anything?"

"You silly. I didn't want to take the chance that it wouldn't work out. I thought it would upset you too much. But everything looks definite now. You'll be able to get more modeling jobs and you'll soon be making a mountain of money. Don't you get it?"

I'm sure I got it but I was too stunned to say it, so Christine said it for me.

"You'll get all the Derma-goo you'll need. You'll be your true self in no time!"

I squealed and then I cried. I cried tears of joy and she joined me. We were two very happy young women.

***

I didn't care about getting a ride after that. I liked to walk anyway, and my girlfriend and I were bursting with energy. We set off at a brisk pace, holding our handcuffed hands together with a tee shirt draped over it. If anyone cared to look, they'd just see two people very much in love.

During the long walk, I found out that Mr. Jameson had hinted that I'd need an agent very soon, after I finished modeling for the company. He also said that he thought Christine would be good for the job. He hated to lose her but he wanted me to have the best. My girlfriend and I had a happy cry over that.

Continuing my modeling career could do nothing but help the company, so they had no problems letting me go, though they did express a desire to have me come back to help them out now and then. I had absolutely no problems with that. They launched my new career after all.

The only hard part was having to suffer through the reversions before starting the next Derma-goo treatment. And I still had some more suffering to do for my current reversion.

I had several more days of changes to go through before my reversion finished, but it actually wasn't that bad, not after the good news of being able to continue the Derma-goo treatments. Having a head start on an awesome wardrobe and a great assortment of makeup helped too.

Christine and I took advantage of the last two days of my reversion by going on several shopping binges. I still had a lot more clothes, makeup and accessories to get, and I had almost no fine jewelry. We couldn't afford the really expensive gemstones but we bought a few strings of freshwater pearls in different colors, and we found some decent rings and pendants. I loved the challenge of finding high quality jewelry on a limited budget.

My girlfriend reminded me that my budget wouldn't be nearly as limited in a few months, but we controlled ourselves just in case something happened to cause a delay.

Christine helped me with the contract for the two additional Derma-goo treatments. Since I'd no longer have time for software development, she made sure I was compensated. I'm glad she thought of that because all I could think about was the Derma-goo. She earned her agent fee, whatever it was, and she'd also continue to work for the software company for the next several weeks. That was important because we'd need the money. We'd be struggling to get everything we thought we'd need and still have enough money for the fourth Derma-goo treatment.

The fourth treatment was the key to launching my new career. The timing and ability to afford it were crucial. I wanted to chew my fingernails off over it, and I would've if I wasn't often reminded about the importance of keeping them well maintained for modeling.

I had a full six day modeling schedule after each of my upcoming two treatments, and I'd be sneaking in appearances to set up additional work during my two free days, while I still held my beautiful form. If everything went well, I'd have at least one modeling job scheduled. Then I could make an appointment at Trés Chic and my full-time modeling career would be officially launched.

***

When my body finally stabilized, Christine and I went over it with a fine-toothed comb, looking for areas that remained feminine. We were pleased to find several. I had been fairly slender and feminine before so it wasn't a surprise.

One thing that did surprise me was Christine's willingness to kiss me, in spite of my masculine face. She also let me pleasure her. She just couldn't return the favor. I understood, and I didn't care. In a few months, it wouldn't matter.

Along with my Derma-goo treatments, I'd be taking low dosages of female hormones to help me develop natural breast tissue and give me soft, smooth skin. The hormones would make the breast sculpting easier, and after a little over a dozen more treatments, I'd be virtually indistinguishable from any other woman.

***

Early on the day of my second Derma-goo appointment, I privately checked one area that Christine didn't care to see and found out I was barely over half the man I used to be. The French woman at the Trés Chic was right. Derma-goo strongly affected erectile tissue. My girlfriend and I were extremely happy about that.

During the afternoon and into the evening on that same day, I endured the full body sculpting sessions. They were just as painful as I remembered.

'But it was a good kind of pain,' I thought, and laughed at myself.

I always thought that phrase was nonsense, but it made perfect sense with Derma-goo.

At around 9 p.m., Christine gave me an enthusiastic thumbs up to tell me Vata was back. Then Lars and one of his buddies put me to bed. It was a long hard day but I slept with a smile on my face.

***

"Morning, Sleepyhead," I heard Christine's voice say.

I turned my head to see my girlfriend sitting in a chair next to my bed, but I was still too groggy to form words.

"And welcome back, Vata," she continued.

I smiled and croaked out a thanks. Then Anne came in to release my restraints and start the light workout session to get my body ready to go. I had a whirlwind life of beauty salon visits and modeling sessions to start. No rest for the beautiful.

***

Modeling for the software company pretty much followed the previous formula except for the initial product introduction. They couldn't develop new software fast enough for any more introductions so they had me fill the extra day by entertaining more potential customers. It was my least favorite type of work but I happily endured it.

My dinner date with Jeff went well. He mostly behaved himself, though he wouldn't give up trying to woo me. It made for good practice fending off men and I got a kick out of it, as did Christine when I told her about it later. She no longer felt threatened by him. She knew she had me.

Christine and I made good use of my seventh day, the free day. We set up two consecutive modeling jobs on the first free day, and both of those jobs would run for two days in the same city. It was perfect. On my second free day, after my third Derma-goo treatment, we even managed to squeeze in a third job in a different, nearby city since it would only last a day. My modeling career was go for launch!

***

It had been a tearful farewell when Christine and I left the software company. We'd had tears of sadness and some of joy. I'd been sad about giving up my original job. I'd miss software development. But I'd always be grateful to the company for giving me my chance at womanhood and modeling, and I'd always be ecstatic that I found true love while working for them. They gave me so much that I didn't think I could ever truly repay them.

Christine kept in close touch with Mr. Jameson. He kept her well informed, and through him, we learned that after six months, the number of employees at the company had already quadrupled. They couldn't be happier, although they did complain about growing pains.

'I could relate,' I thought.

The fashion world treated me roughly for the first several months. Many professionals in the industry resented my lucky break. They considered me a one-trick pony and made it plain that they hoped I'd soon disappear as quickly as I arrived. I wasn't sorry to disappoint them. I continued to put my creativity to good use, and it almost never failed me. It helped keep me both safe and in the news.

I knew I'd made it when my rivals started copying some of my ideas. They'd not only accepted me, they'd actually started using me as a role model. That had tickled me.

One of the most popular of my tricks was a thin leather cord, wrapped three times around the waist. The belt could be quickly unwrapped and used as a whip. I'll never forget the first time I cracked my belt whip in the air because a middle-aged man actually wet himself. My fans quickly learned not to mess with me when I wore that belt.

Another popular trick helped keep the paparazzi at bay. The trick consisted of carrying two or three small squirt guns filled with cheap perfume. The small squirt guns could be kept in a plastic bag inside a small purse and quickly pulled to squirt any obnoxious paparazzi that got too close. For the more aggressive ones, squirting the camera lens worked well. By the time the swearing and lens cleaning were finished, the model would be gone.

My favorite trick was also one of the simplest. That was its beauty. I simply wore a wedding veil. It would sometimes work as a disguise since people focused on the veil and not my face. But it also prevented good photos of my face. I loved frustrating the paparazzi.

My stunts weren't always a form a punishment. I liked to reward good behavior as much as punish bad behavior. Just ask some of the older nice gentlemen who have yet to wash my lip prints from the top of their bald heads.

Considering my outrageous popularity, I did eventually have to get a bodyguard, several actually. But they agreed to indulge me in my creative pursuits, and they even helped me from time to time. It kept us all young.

Last but certainly not least, I loved to use my creative streak to spice up my private life. You could ask my girlfriend if you don't believe me. She wouldn't tell you anything verbally, but if you asked the right questions and paid close attention to her face, her eyes would tell you everything you wanted to know.

***

"Christine!" I called as I entered our penthouse suite early one winter evening. "Where are you?"

"In our favorite room!" she called back.

I dropped my keys on the coffee table as I passed it and hurried down the long hallway. At the end of the hall, I entered the master bedroom, and there was my girlfriend, lounging on our king size bed, the only thing even remotely masculine in that room. She wore a beautiful red satin corselette, silk stockings and red high-heeled shoes. Cascading curls of blonde hair draped over her pale, slender shoulders and her makeup was perfect. I was in love all over again.

I knew I couldn't hide my slight surprise and strong lust, but I had to give her some kind of creative comeback. She was testing me to keep my creative juices flowing. It was a frequent game we played to help keep me ahead of my rivals.

"Looking good," I told her. "And now that you got me in the mood, how would you like to play a little game?"

"What game do you have in mind?"

"I call it, 'Name That Body Part,' and right after I turn out the lights, I'll explain the rules."

"Okay. I'm game."

The last thing I saw was her luscious smile, just before I flipped the light switch.

***

So there's my story. I got my start on May 1, also known as Beltane, a Wiccan holy day, and I wonder if the magic of Beltane didn't have something to do with my success. It might be magic, or perhaps it was just good fortune. Whatever the case, my initial brush with fame blossomed along with my body to give me a new career and a new life, and I've never been happier.

I completed my transition last year and all of my identification shows me as being female. I model full-time and travel everywhere with Christine, who's both my lover and my agent. We make a great couple and an unstoppable team.

My parents aren't happy with me. My mother still grieves for her lost son but hopefully, she'll eventually appreciate and even grow to love her new daughter and daughter-in-law. I'll wait, and hope.

So far, my past has remained buried. Christine and Mr. Jameson effectively broke all ties to my former identity, though I don't expect that to last. Eventually, someone will talk, but it'll be too late even if anyone believed them.

My legal name is Vata now, just Vata. I used to think people with one name were pretentious, but the idea has since grown on me, and no one has yet to call me pretentious. It might be possible that you haven't heard of me, but if you haven't, you soon will. Call me lucky. Call me anything you like. But you can't deny I'm beautiful and rich. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a bikini photo shoot to run to ... in Tahiti. Ta ta!

*** The End ***

 © 2009 by Terry Volkirch. This work may not be replicated in whole or in part by any means electronic or otherwise without the express consent of the Author (copyright holder). All Rights Reserved. This is a work of Fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional and any resemblance to real people or incidents past, present or future is purely coincidental.