The next time I managed to revert even marginally to my senses we were in a different store. I presumed it was Macys but didn't recognize the area which I immediately presumed was Women's lingerie and more. I didn't shop for my things here, but I guessed that was going to change in the near future. Looking about I noticed a large number of small packages surrounding me presumably either some of which just having been or still awaiting purchase. Just then the strait jacket I was only beginning to realize was wrapped around me made it’s presence known by cinching a little tighter. I discovered upon inspection that it didn't reach all that much above the nipples of my breast forms. I also both noted the increased difficulty in breathing and the stark contrast of my old breast forms against my chest.

“I hope we purchased some of these which match a great deal better than these.” Near 'flesh tone' contrasted very nicely with my skin which was nearer a light olive due to my Italian ancestry.

“Yes, you did. They should arrive Friday and be available for you to pick up Saturday morning.”

“Good, because these are a bit obvious.”

“The new ones will be a much better match but probably still off just a bit. It’s okay if they are a bit lighter since even in a bathing suit they would normally be covered so they would not be as tanned as the rest of you.”

Tanned?

I was just beginning to think about how I was dressed when I discovered one other little problem, my chest was uncomfortable. Uncomfortable hell, my chest hurt. I reached down to reposition the forms only to find they were now glued on.

“Stop fidgeting, Lynn. I need to tighten this a little more.”

“This is uncomfortable,” I complained.

“You'll get used to it in twenty minutes or so. You better, because it’s your support for under the gown.”

I looked down, where the breasts were being squeezed together while pulling on my chest. It was about that time that I realized everything lower down was different as well. I was wearing all the things I needed to wear to make the gown look good and hang properly while on me. As I glanced around I saw an Emerald Green gown hanging nearby. It looked a bit like my Powder Blue gown at home except ... Aw crap, it was strapless. A few of the conversations from the past hour were beginning to filter back into my conscious mind as I realised what was happening. I was going en Femme for three weeks. At this point I did what any red-blooded American male would do... I panicked.

“Oh, shit!” At least I said it in a feminine tone of voice.

“Lynn! That's three times in less than two hours that I've heard you swearing. Get a grip, Girl. There, I think that will work.”

“Is this supposed to prevent me from breathing?” I asked facetiously, having never been in a strapless gown before.

“Yes,” she swatted my hands which were trying to pull up on the bustier in an effort to better cover ‘my’ breasts.

“Behave.” she said accusingly.

Just then a sales lady barged into the room, took a look before nodding her head, “The courier you called has arrived.”

I looked curiously at Nicci.

“Ralph needs to take the refund check back to finance so she can properly adjust the books. She wanted proof that the check hadn’t been and wouldn’t be cashed. Then she needs to set the ledgers right again so there are funds credited against the Thompson job. You put it in your purse when we were leaving.”

Nicci exited the changing room, leaving me with the saleslady, as she carried an envelope out to the courier for delivery to Ralph. Meanwhile, the saleslady took the gown off the rack to begin helping me put it on. After several minutes of my fussing, it was on and fastened.

Next she took a pair of white pumps from a shoe box and handed them to me one at a time, “Put these on, they are low enough that you will be able to dance without killing your feet. If they fit, we will dye them later while your gown is being altered. You will need to come in again Thursday or Friday to try on the Burgundy gown when it arrives. Hopefully it will be here late Wednesday but call first, as our deliveries have been a bit late, which is normal this time of year.”

“Will there be enough time to fit it?” I was beginning to come around again.

“I think so. You might need to pick it or both up on Monday morning, especially if it doesn't arrive until Thursday or Friday. This looks good. Let's go see what your friend thinks before we begin marking for alterations.”

She started for the doorway, opening the curtains before walking out of the room, expecting me to follow. I did, for a moment, then suddenly decided how exposed I happened to be and how many other shoppers there were out there. I immediately got cold feet.

“Well, come on. The light is better out here. We can't fit you in the changing room.”

Just then Nicci returned from her dealings with the courier, whom I saw high tailing it toward the elevators. She grabbed my hand and almost dragged me the rest of the way out of the changing room, pausing only when we were what seemed like a mile or two away from the room. I felt self-conscious, a bit like a fish might when it is out of water; and I was probably breathing just about as well. She lifted my hair, some of which was caught in the gown then let it fall again across my bare back which caused me to recoil slightly.

My back, I suddenly realised, had nothing between it and my hair. Wearing a strapless gown was nothing like the clothing I usually wore as Lynnette. Normally I would be covered neck to knees or sometimes even lower. Now I was covered ankles to chest, barely, and I felt terribly exposed. I again began trying to pull the gown up higher.

“That looks good. Stop fidgeting,” she slapped my hands again.

“Yes, Mommy,” I replied.

She scowled then went back to inspecting. The saleslady returned with another lady following her. This one must be the person who did the alterations since I saw she had a measuring tape and small container of chalks and pins.

“Turn,” my new tormenter commanded as she moved her finger in a circle indicating the direction she wanted me to move. I began a slow spin as she watched. “Walk to the counter, and return.”

To prove I could follow inane directions, I did so.

“Well, she isn't a model but the gown seems to be hanging well. It could do with a little lengthening and some minor adjustments. You have long legs.”

She stooped to lift the edge of the gown, inspecting the hem to see how much material was available, nodding her head to herself as she checked, “Good.” Then she released the gown stepping back to view the whole thing before directing me to once more, “turn slowly.”

Once she had me stop again, she examined the hem all the way around as she had me turn in small spurts, following her gestures so she could continue to check it all.

“Stand straight, pull your shoulders back,” she gazed at me with a critical eye, then began fussing with the bodice. Throughout this entire fiasco she had been making notes on a small pad which was on a wrist band while she plopped a pin into the gown or made a small chalk mark using one of several different colours. She sighed a couple of times as she fussed with the waist.

“You're cinched in pretty tight, if we let that out a quarter inch or so, the gown would fit better and you would be able to breathe a little easier. Would you rather I take the gown in to this size or allow you the breathing room?”

“Breathing room,” I gasped, a little in jest but not entirely.

She smiled, giving me a knowing nod, “I thought as much. Looks good. I have my notes,” she turned to the saleslady as she began to leave, “Send it up tomorrow morning and we will have it finished by Friday. Is there anything else? I thought you said there were two gowns?”

Our sales lady explained the second gown had just been ordered and might possibly be in by Thursday, so I would likely need to come in for another fitting then.

The seamstress scowled, “Does it need to be ready before next Monday?”

“Unfortunately,” was the reply.

Sighing again, she shook her head before pursed her lips in thought. “If we don't do the fitting until Friday we will need an overtime authorization in order to finish it by Monday. Are there shoes and a handbag to be matched as well”

Our saleslady nodded her head.

“We must have everything immediately after the fitting. You will need to obtain the overtime for my people.” She began to walk away.

I suddenly remembered something and panicked, “Wait. I have a problem.”

They both turned to look at the gown trying to see what could be amiss now, as I hurried toward and then into the changing room. I grabbed my purse nearly colliding with them as I was on my way out again. When I hadn't immediately returned they had followed me into the changing room. I backed up to allow them to enter further.

“I will need fast access to my handgun,” as I pulled out the Beretta showing it to them.

Nicci raised her head, “I'm sorry Lynn, I forgot about that.”

The ladies looked at me like I just become a two headed snake, backing away but unable to go very far since Nicci was blocking the doorway having followed them as they had followed me. I pulled out my ID and showed it to them while explaining, “the gowns are for me to wear during a security detail. I will be accompanying our principal so I need to be armed. I also must have somewhere to carry my identification, permits and the firearms and spare ammunition.”

At first they tried to say I could simply carry them in the matching clutch, but Nicci shot that down with a simple statement which nearly caused me to faint.

“So what does she do when she is dancing? She won't have the clutch with her, and there might be no time to go find it. And I’m not certain but the clutch might be too small and it certainly would look strange to have several pounds of weight in it. It couldn’t just hang from her wrist while she was dancing.”

Now the possibility of a smaller weapon was discussed and also shot down almost as rapidly.

“The 9mm isn't my first choice but it’s as small as I'm willing to go. Anything smaller and I may as well be using a slingshot.”

Now the possibility of carrying it under the gown and the petticoats was raised, considered, and rejected as impractical due to lack of speed in an emergency as well as becoming a target versus providing protection during the time it would take to pull it out from under everything.

“If possible, I would prefer to have a .45 but it doesn't happen to fit in my purse. I also have three spare magazines I will need to carry.”

The ladies looked at each other then at the pistol and its magazines.

“Could you call upstairs and ask Cynthia to come down here?” the seamstress asked of the saleslady as she began to heft one of the magazines frowning as she did so.

“They’re heavy, aren’t they?”

“They get lighter as I use the bullets.” I made a brief try for levity but I think it was lost on her, she just gave me a look that was a combination of horror and confusion.

The Saleslady left the room to place the call while the seamstress continued to ponder the problem, frustration evident upon her face.

I explained to her, “I hope you can solve this. If you do, then I will send the other three women over to purchase gowns and to have them altered which will allow them to carry as well. Could we also have a small hidden pocket in which we could carry our Identification and permits?”

I gently reminded her of that little necessity. We have to stay legal now, don’t we?

“Any other surprise requests? A gown really wasn't meant to allow for this sort of thing. They are supposed to be nearly form fitting. I'm coming up with all sorts of ideas, but I find reasons they won't work almost as quickly. If you dance, or run, then we have a problem keeping everything in place. Cynthia might have some ideas when she gets here. She's a member of a shooting club, but I don't believe any of them are wearing gowns when they are shooting.”

A few minutes later, another lady arrived. I presumed she was Cynthia. She took a quick look at the gown, “Looks pretty good. What's the problem?”

I stepped aside and she saw the 9mm plus it’s magazines and my ID and permits on the chair behind me. Her smile dropped as I said, “Those - need to go in here,” pointing with both hands to the gown I was wearing.

Her eyes went back and forth a half dozen times, as her eyebrows rose almost to her hairline. After a few more seconds, “Why don't you carry a .45?”

“You could do that?” I considered the offer then reason prevailed, “I think I would really prefer to stick with my two Berettas, and their spare magazines. That way if one weapon jams or is disabled then my ammunition is still good for the other.”

She looked at me like she was trying to decide if I was joking or not, “Turn,” she spun her finger in a circle, “slow.”

What's wrong with these people? Their sentences seemed to be mostly monosyllabic. I made a complete circle as she indicated with her finger that she wanted me to do it again in the opposite direction.

I completed my second spin before she indicated I should do it again ... “slowly”. Halfway around she grabbed my waist while I was facing away from her, “stop here.”

She picked up my 9mm, deftly ejected the magazine and then the round which was in the chamber. She placed them on the chair with the three spares before she brought the empty Beretta over behind me.

“Are you right-handed, or are you left-handed?”

“Right.”

Now she began to hold it in various positions against my back, low enough that I could reach back for the grip. “Okay, try it again. Do it as though you are reaching under some loose material to get to it.”

Wow, a complete sentence.

“Are the two weapons the same size? Are they able to share a holster? Not at the same time obviously.”

“Yes, they are identical weapons.”

“Put your blazer on over the gown for a few minutes, then return to stand with your back to me again.”

I looked at her as I tried to fathom what was going on in her mind even as I pulled on my blazer. The clash of colours wasn't too disgusting. I felt her holding the Beretta up under the blazer in the spot she had previously selected, and which I had proven I could easily reach.

“Reach for it.”

My hand tangled in the blazer. After nearly a dozen tries I was getting the hang of it and with a slight change of position of the weapon I found my reach for it to be comfortable and fairly rapid.

“Release it.” then she asked the saleslady, “would you hold the blazer up out of my way so I can mark the location with chalk?”

I let go of the weapon, drawing my arm out from under the blazer as the saleslady came over to hold the blazer up so Cynthia could examine the spot she selected for the weapon. She made some faint chalk marks before she pulled the weapon away from my back. As I turned to face her I noted she was deep in thought. I think it was the grimace on her face that gave it away.

“I'll need to think about this. Could you come in again tomorrow morning?”

“I have business meetings in the morning, but I could come in for most of the afternoon, say about two?”

“Okay. When you come in go directly to the third floor and ask for me, Cynthia. Bring both your weapons, spare magazines, all of this,” she pointed at the 9mm and it's magazines, “and the holsters for both.”

“I can do that. Will you need me to do the same for the second gown?”

Her eyebrows rose again as she looked around the room. The saleslady quickly explained once again that the other gown wouldn't arrive until Thursday or Friday then added, “It is in a Burgundy.”

“That could be a problem. I suppose we could trim it in black or maybe white or beige fur,” Cynthia remained thoughtful for several seconds. “That just might work out. Be a bit expensive though.”

“If this works out, then I'll send the other girls to have gowns altered so they too may carry during special events. They can select the gowns, but the company will pay for everything.”

“I'd appreciate it if you only send one in at a time. The alterations and additions will add a lot to the cost and will require a lot of time. If we are even able to do it while still keeping the gowns looking good and uncluttered. I hope you know this is going to require a lot of overtime and will be expensive.”

“I'm becoming accustomed to the idea.”

She turned to the saleslady, “could you send these things up right away? We will need to begin working on it immediately so it will be ready for another fitting session tomorrow.”

She shook her head, “I'll need to talk with the girls about this.”

Her expression changed and after a brief pause she turned back to me, “Do you have the time to come upstairs right now so the others can see this?”

“Give me access to a phone and I can have the other weapon sent over along with it’s magazines and both holsters. They could probably be sent by messenger and be here in less than 30 minutes.”

“Good. Then we can go on up to the third floor now, just as you are. That would help a lot, and it will let everyone see what we’re up against.”

She muttered under her breath as she was walking away, “I needed this challenge like another hole in my head.”

I borrowed the use of a phone and placed my call telling Ralph about the problems and my need for my other weapon, magazines and holsters. After I gave him the combination to the gun safe in my office, he told me he would have a newbie rush right over with everything.

“Tell him to bring it to the third floor then we will release him to leave as soon as he delivers everything.”

Now we paid for my purchases before going up to the third floor where five ladies surrounded me all jabbering about the nice gown and then several nearly fainted when the 9mm automatic came out. Cynthia, again, was holding it in the location she marked with chalk, still not satisfied with the location. We had a conflict with the zipper.

The newbie arrived about 7:30 and I sent him on his way after signing for my weapon and ammo. We had just over an hour to come up with a solution. Cynthia was still wrapped up in finding the best spot for the 9mm. If she could growl, she probably would be doing so... if she took the time to even think about it. Her mind was going a mile a minute trying to decide how they could solve this problem.

The second 9mm defied our attempts to place it in the same area where the first one managed to be tucked away so very nicely. One good thing, I didn't need to explain to Cynthia the need for a backup weapon nor with my need for two weapons since she was firearms literate.

“Why don't you just carry a .45?” she finally repeated, facetiously.

“It wouldn't fit in my purse. Besides, the grip is too wide and I can’t control it well enough.”

Again, she gave me a look as though she was trying to decide if I was joking or not. I wasn’t, by the way. The idea for placement of the second 9mm was altered a bit before becoming workable, the first 9mm still trespassed well into the region upon which the zipper had prior claim. The first did seem to be comfortable for me at that location. I could reach it without excessive obstruction and it didn't dig into my back.

In order to give the gown some balance in appearance as well as in it’s weight distribution she placed the three spare magazines on both sides just above or below the 9mm. The locations were not quite as comfortable to reach but, with practice, were accessible. The zipper was now close to completely inaccessible for the lower third of it’s path. I was beginning to wonder if she was going to sew me into the gown as a permanent part of my daily wardrobe. The second 9mm and it's magazines finally found an out of the way location beneath the petticoats, no other location having turned out to be attractive.

Time, meanwhile, had been marching inexorably forward and it was nearly 9:00 and closing.

She finally told me to “remove the gown and petticoats, you may dress in your suit again. I think the next steps are ours to take until you come in tomorrow afternoon. Please bring your armory with you tomorrow as well.”

Jokingly, I asked, “Oh! Will you have room for the two grenades as well?”

She turned pale, “How large are they and how much do they weigh?”

“Don't worry ... I was joking.”

She gave me a crooked little smile which said she wasn't all that certain I was actually joking. I continued to change to my skirt suit as she made notes on her pad of paper, her mental wheels turning the whole time.

“I'll bring everything in again tomorrow when I come to purchase my fur. We can continue this then.”

“What kind of fur?”

“A white Mink.”

She made more notes on her pad as she mused out loud, “okay, so we can still trim in black or in white. Black would be better, look good stand alone and not clash with the fur. Yeah, black trim if we need it. Mink to match the texture of the white fur.”

Nicci and I gathered my purchases then found our way out.

As we were leaving the shopping center she asked, “Lynn, how many business suits do you have?”

“Just this one. Why?”

“Lynn ... You can't show up everyday in the same suit.”

My face fell. I hadn't given that a single thought. As I have only dressed en femme for business for a day or less and much less than once every 90 days or more, I had only one suit. It was all I needed. More business clothing was the furthest thing from my mind.

Nicci grabbed my arm guiding me to her car, “Too late now, hun ... Tomorrow morning, er ... afternoon, we need to take you shopping for a few more skirt suits, perhaps some pant suits, or combinations so you can mix and match for a number of good office outfits. If you have a nice blouse and some good jeans, you could wear them to the office tomorrow since it will be a working day and then we will leave soon after lunch to purchase your wardrobe before we go for your additional fitting session. How are you fixed for jewelry?”

“Jewelry ... ”

“Lynn ... You need jewelry to wear with the gowns. The real stuff. You know Rubies and Diamonds and Pearls, oh my. Not to mention Sapphires and Emeralds. Then you need some really good everyday jewelry to wear with your suits and other clothes. Oh, you'll need sweaters, blouses and probably a half dozen nice blazers for mix and match with your everyday clothes or jeans.

Remember to wear these undergarments with your jeans tomorrow since we will be going for another fitting with your gown. Have you given any thought to a crash course in dancing so you don't fall flat on your face? I mean that literally, as well as figuratively.”

No, I hadn't. Just then she grabbed my earlobe dividing her time between looking at my ear and looking at the road.

“ Your ears aren’t pierced.”

I didn’t know if that was a question or a statement, “No, they’re not. Is that important?”

She looked at me like I was crazy. I don’t know, maybe I was. Then she continued our previous conversation without missing a beat.

“He'll probably want to dance at the evening functions especially since you will be in a ball gown.”

Great. Just abso-fucking-lutely Great. Pardon my French ... What else could go wrong? No, don't tell me, it’s better that I don’t know and just continue to live in ignorance. That way it won’t hurt as much as it builds up to when it happens.

“Don't look so disgusted at me, Lynn. I'm just calling a spade, a spade.”

I rolled my eyes, as I looked away from Nicci saying, “a shovel by any other name.”

“Don't be like that with me, Lynn. We've known each other for too long and are good enough friends that you know I'm right on all counts. You're cute and he'll want to dance, I know the type.”

“I'm cute? I know I can pass as a Female but, I'm 'cute'?”

“Don't look at me like that, this was your idea. I'm just glad I finally got to meet you as Lynnette. It's kind of nice having a female boss.”

“Nicci, I'm NOT Female.”

“Wow ... not Female ... Let's see ... You look like you're Female,” she sniffed my perfume, “You're wearing a perfume which is normally only worn by a female. You have Female ID. You act Female ... ”

She cocked her head and grimaced for a second, “ ... most of the time, anyway ... You sound Female. Let's pull over and ask that cop if you're Female or not.” She began to head for the curb.

“Let's not. All right, Nicci, knock it off.”

“Oh, you're just upset because you have to buy more clothes and wear that scrumptious strapless gown, and go dancing with a handsome, witty, smart and rich client. Who kissed you, by the way, on the lips.” She started laughing.

“Nicci, did you have to remind me of that? Knock it off. This isn't funny.”

“Are you trying to tell me to have finance give him his money back, and call off the job?”

“I ... don't know. I just didn't envision getting sucked into all this.”

“Lynn. You're a pretty girl. It's only for a few weeks and then if you can't stand the heat you can change back if you want to ... Why can't you just go with the flow and enjoy it for those few weeks? You afraid you might like it?”

“Nicci, that is exactly the point. I do like it, but I'm NOT a girl. I'm scared sh ... to death. Not only that but when I'm wearing that gown,” my voice dropped almost to a whisper, “I feel like I'm undressed.”

“Hardly undressed. We'll buy you a bikini tomorrow then you'll know what undressed feels like,” she smiled as she said it.

I knew she was just kidding ... On second thought, I think she was just kidding ... “I hope you're just kidding.”

“Not exactly. We do need to purchase you a swimsuit, even if it is a one piece. What if he wants to swim in the pool and starts to drown. Are you going to jump in while wearing a skirt in order to pull him out?”

I was in no way, shape or inclination to think about that, so I didn't bother to answer her.

All characters in this work have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relationship whatsoever to anyone or anything bearing the same name or names. The characters contained herein are not even distantly inspired by any specific individuals known or unknown to the author. All incidents described or alluded to within this work are pure invention. No affiliations, involvements or gender assignations due to the use of any images contained within this work are to be implied, intended or inferred.

Cover image copyright Maps.com and shown for clarification of area in which the story begins it’s evolution.

DUTY CALLS, L.J. Stevens Vol. One Copyright  © 2012 USA, Earth by R. A. Dumas.

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