This is a story from early on in my TG Storytime career. I'm reposting it here because it's still one of my favorites, for some reason.

THE PURSE

It all started with a purse. I don't know where it came from, but that's how it started. One day, I found it on my dresser and for some reason, it never went away. Maybe I held out some foolish hope that it was the purse of one of those chicks I banged last week. Maybe I just didn't care. I don't know. But it stayed there. I didn't really mind that it was there. I hid it whenever I brought another chick over to bang, though, so she didn't ask questions about why some weird purse was on my dresser.

Then one day, I was in my cubicle at work, using my computer, I turned to grab a stick of gum and pulled it straight from that purse. It was sitting there, on my desk. Suddenly, I was horrified. Why was it there? Had I brought it with me? I couldn't have! But, there it was. I quickly stashed it under my desk, away from prying eyes.

I took a little trip to the restroom, slipped into a stall, and as I peed, I sat there thinking. Had that purse come from some chick I'd banged a couple weeks ago? I don't remember most of them (I generally pick them up at bars), but I definitely don't remember that purse belonging to any of them. It did look familiar, but I couldn't peg where it came from. I took some toilet paper and wiped off my cock, pulled my underwear and pants up and flushed.

Never once did it cross my mind that I'd used a stall, sat down to pee, wiped like a chick, or even that I'd used the women's restroom.

I returned to my desk, reached in that purse for another stick of gum, and then checked around my cubicle. Nobody was getting up or even within sight, so I pulled the purse out, making sure to keep it hidden from sight anyway. I found a lady's wallet in one of the pockets, opened it up—and found my own driver's license, social security card and credit cards. I also found a card I'd never seen before: one for breast cancer awareness, with my name on it. Granted, I knew that breast cancer was a horrible affliction, but I was never a member of any awareness group about it. Other than the wallet, my keys, the gum and the $289.21, there was nothing else in the purse.

I was plenty confused about all of this.

THE PANTIES

The purse made many more confusing appearances at my job, and for some reason I was never questioned about it even when it should have been in plain view to the people I was talking to. In fact, I saw several of the gals looking jealously at it as I walked out with it. It was weird.

I was in the restroom one day, two weeks later, and thought something was a little strange as I pulled my underwear up, after sitting to pee (I still wasn't realizing that I was sitting to pee, and in the women's restroom). I ran my fingers along my underwear and thought the material was a little softer than it should have been. I looked down and saw that my men's briefs were really bright pink thong panties. I don't know where they came from, nor did I ever remember putting them on. The material made my dick hard as a rock, and I wondered how long I'd been walking around with that bone sticking out.

I tidied up, put my pants back on and hustled out of the restroom. I quickly got back to my cubicle, spotted my open purse on my desk, and saw what I didn't want to see: Two more pairs of panties awaiting me inside. A pink pair with white polka dots and a flower print pair. On the pink pair, a note read “Change at 2:00”, and on the flower pair, the note read “Change at 6:00”. I looked over at my clock and saw that it was coming up on 2:00. I didn't want to change, but something was compelling me to do so.

I slipped back into the restroom, my purse slung over my shoulder. No one even noticed, nor did I notice that I, once again, walked into the women's restroom. Even Gina, who was leaving the restroom as I walked in, acted like nothing was out of the ordinary. In fact, I must have looked surprised after she asked, “Two o'clock panty change, huh?”

I managed to stutter out, “Yes.” She patted me on the shoulder and we each went on our ways. I walked into a stall and changed my panties and went right on back to work, never even giving it a second thought until six o'clock when I changed into the other pair before heading home.

And no one thought anything was weird. No one, except me.

THE BRA

Another two weeks passed by with no one thinking me strange, even though I carried a purse to and from work every day (which I had done so often now that I actually remembered taking the purse to work from home, and it had become second nature) and changed my panties three times a day (my briefs had been completely replaced by the panties, and I'd been completely unaware).

Many subtle things had changed during those two weeks. My purse was no longer a hidden item for most of the day, and regularly sat on my desk in plain view. I don't know when my behavior about the purse had changed, but at least I recognized that it had. I was a full-time user of the women's restroom and none of my female coworkers cared. In fact, I'd become quite a bit closer to my female coworkers in the past two weeks, routinely having lunch with 'the gals' at one o'clock.

'The Gals' were a group of women who talked together at lunch, around the coffee pot, in the restroom, or in the parking lot. At some point in the past two weeks, I'd become an honorary member. I found that I was quite the chatty woman, and though I'd never watched women's TV in my life, I was quite up-to-date with it. I watched 'Oprah' regularly, apparently, and was always on top of what 'The View' was talking about. We often talked about some of the groups we were in outside of work, and I discovered that I was a regular contributer to a charity that paid for battered women's shelters.

My back was very itchy one day, so I grabbed my purse and ducked into the restroom. I unbuttoned my shirt and started to pull it off, but stopped when I saw the bright yellow lace of a bra. I pulled my shirt off completely and saw that I was wearing a push-up bra, made of silk and matching my panties in style. It was so strange, yet it didn't bother me one bit. Maybe my mind was too far gone at that point, and had decided, “Look, man, you're already wearing panties and carrying around a purse, just go with it.” I simply scratched my back, slipped my shirt back on, grabbed my purse and walked back to my cubicle.

I checked my purse and found matching bras to go with my other two pairs of panties, no surprise. Clearly, I'm one of those women who changes her underwear a lot. Guess it's a good thing I've got close to eighty pairs of panties, and I'll probably find matching bras to go with all of them.

As I drove home after work, I started to wonder what would come next. What other new habits would I form? How long would it be before I was wearing blouses and skirts to work? What else would happen?

All through the drive, I was oblivious to the fact that I had a Shania Twain CD playing.

THE LIPSTICK

“What's that shade you're wearing?” Maria asked me while we were freshening up in the restroom. She'd just finished telling me about how her period started today and about how her husband hated it when she was menstruating. I had told her that it didn't matter what Bob said about her period, it was what her body did and that he should respect her if he wanted to stay married. I don't know when I became such a feminist.

“What do you mean?” I asked, responding to her question.

“Your lipstick,” she said, motioning to my hand and the tube I was holding. I was worried, because I'd never seen it before in my life.

“Ruby red,” I answered, without a thought. I don't know where that came from at all.

“It looks pretty on you,” she said, complimenting me. I then realized that I wasn't taking it out to use it, I was already done. Thanks to the bright red shade, my lips looked fuller and more feminine. Oh, God... I still had no idea what was happening to me. I wore panties and bras to work day by day, still carried my purse, though now I carried it every time I left the house, and nobody ever treated me like I wasn't just an ordinary person, though men were generally nicer to me, and other women treated me as an equal. My life was spinning out of control, and I was just going along for the ride.

After applying the lipstick, I capped the tube off and casually dropped it in my purse. After that, Maria and I went back to talking. We left the restroom giggling like high school kids who were talking about the quarterback behind his back. Again, I was oblivious and again, I should have been concerned, because when Maria and I were in high school, I WAS the quarterback.

THE NAIL POLISH

I first noticed the nail polish when I pulled my nail file out of my purse to straighten up my fingernails. The nail file alone should have caused me suspicion, because I'd never seen it before, but I didn't notice it. I noticed the pink polish on my nails, though, and it matched my lipstick. One thing I was certain of, even through all this confusion, was that I was good at making things match.

I used this as an excuse to duck into the restroom. Something told me that everyone was completely unaware that I was going to the restroom nervously, because no one ever mentioned it. None of the other gals even raised a slender eyebrow at it. Once I got in the restroom, the first thing I did was check my lipstick in the mirror, which I always did now. Just a little touch up, and my lips were again a bright bubblegum pink, which was complimented by my choice of a pale pink shirt over top of my similarly bubblegum pink bra.

My clothes choices were becoming increasingly feminine. Only in color, though, not in the style or even the gender of clothing I wore. So, even though I was wearing a pink shirt, it was still a man's shirt.

I replaced the lipstick in my purse and pulled out another item: a bottle of nail polish. Despite my initial shock at discovering the bright shade on my fingernails in my cubicle, I unscrewed the cap and instantly started touching up the polish on my fingernails. Within a couple of minutes, they were perfect again. I started blowing on them, to dry them, and then I put the bottle of polish back in my purse and went back to my cubicle.

I continued to blow on my nails to dry the polish while sitting at my desk. Anna, my boss, walked past my cubicle a few minutes later. “How's it going?” she asked.

“I'm fine, just drying my nails.”

“Had to do a touch up?”

“Yeah. I hate it when that happens. But, we all have to deal with it a couple times a day, right?”

“It's just the curse of womanhood.”

Of course, I found myself agreeing.

THE PERFUME

I was touching up my fingernails again when Kevin walked in. He passed by and asked, “Are you wearing perfume?”

Perfume? No, no I wasn't. Of course, I answered, “Yes. It's 'field of flowers', and I got it at the Victoria's Secret in town.” Two things were wrong here. One: Kevin was in the women's restroom. While this is something that I've been doing for about three months now, Kevin being here was stranger than anything else going on at the time. Two: I've never been to the Victoria's Secret in town (though a great deal of my underwear comes from Victoria's Secret, I don't ever remember going in there).

“Meeting somebody after work?” he asked, in one of those playful, teenagerish ways that we gals joked with one another.

“No, I just felt like smelling good.”

It was disturbing how automatic my answers were. Maybe my time with the gals was affecting me, or maybe I was just a natural at being a woman.

I don't know which one's worse.

THE EARRINGS

Again, I was freshening up in the restroom, this time Kevin was doing the same beside me. I puckered my lips and put on some ocean blue lipstick, which of course matched my underwear and my nail polish. Kevin had just finished with his mascara as I was about to leave, and he stopped me. “Those earrings are really pretty, hun,” he said. I turned to the mirror and saw that hanging from my lobes were two hoop earrings, each gold. I don't know where they came from, but, of course, I didn't react negatively to them.

“Just something I chose to wear this morning,” I said.

“I was going to wear some today, too, but I figured I was going far enough. Shouldn't tease the boys, right?”

I giggled. “Of course not.”

I walked back to my cubicle and sat down on my pink office chair. I dug out my nail file and did a little real filing before I started doing some office filing. I was never one for office work. It was amazing how I actually got to my position, considering I spent so much time on my appearance.

THE NYLONS AND THE GARTER BELT

It was a month since the earrings showed up that I found something new in my life. I was in the restroom, going pee, when I noticed that I had to pull my panties over something else when I stood up. I didn't get it at all, but I was wearing a garter belt. And, as it probably should be, the garter belt was attached to some tan nylons. I pulled off my shoes hurriedly and found that I wasn't wearing socks, just the nylons.

I slipped my shoes back on and pulled my panties up and then my pants. I grabbed my purse and walked out to the sinks, where I checked out my lipstick and my nail polish. I didn't need freshening up, but I was still out of it from discovering the nylons and the garter belt. When did I get those? When did I start wearing them? I didn't get it. After that train of thought came another: to correctly wear nylons, which I seemed to be doing, I would have had to shave my legs. I DEFINITELY didn't remember doing THAT.

More and more of me was getting screwed up. The gals were going to laugh at me when they found out I was wearing pants over nylons.

THE HEELS

The office where I worked had a desk up front that everyone had to check in at. The floor of the lobby was marble, and so our shoes always made sounds as we walked along the floor. That morning, I heard a strange noise coming from my shoes, but when I looked down, I didn't see anything out of the ordinary. I stopped at the desk, took my ID out of my purse and showed it to the handsome man at the desk, who made his usual pass at me as I walked away. The man adored my butt.

I sat down at my desk, outside Mr. Herbert's office, and started filing. I was lucky I had about ten or fifteen minutes before my shift started, because I didn't want to miss out on any filing. My nails were important to me.

Mr. Herbert came out of his office and patted me on the back. “How's it going, darling?” he asked.

“Oh, fine, Mr. Herbert.”

“New shoes?”

THAT was it. Now I remembered. My shoes were new. I had bought them at Lady Annabell's yesterday, during my weekly shopping trip with the gals. Usually we just hung around lingerie shops, but we went shoe shopping last night, and I bought the cutest little pair of pink shoes. “Yes, sir. I know they're a little flashy for work, but for some reason I couldn't find any other heels on my shoe rack this morning.” Right after I said it, what I said hit me and I looked down at my feet. Pink four-inch heels adorned my feet, showing some of my opaque nylons.

And since when do I have a shoe rack? Those are for women who have at least a dozen pairs of shoes, and I know I only had four. Well, five, now. No, maybe six. Okay, nine. But I swear I remember having at least three pairs of heels, not counting the pair I bought last night.

Mr. Herbert gave me a smile and patted me on the back again, this time he rubbed a couple fingers along my bra strap, which made me giggle. I loved being singled out by Mr. Herbert. Made me happy he chose me to be his personal secretary.

THE BLOUSE

For the briefest second, as I was getting dressed this morning, I thought the buttons were on the wrong side of my shirt. After a second look, I saw that the buttons were on the left side of my shirt, like they always were. I wondered what was wrong with me. I figured it must just have been my fatigue. I have been working hard: getting Mr. Herbert coffee, doing my nails, taking notes, powdering my nose, taking Mr. Herbert's calls, freshening my lipstick, reading Mr. Herbert his emails and taking Mr. Herbert's lips. The gals always tease me about how Mr. Herbert likes me, but I always tell them that it's purely professional. AND, he's built like the Empire State Building, and just as 'tall', too.

I undid the top two buttons on my shirt, revealing the lace of my pale blue bra, which matched my panties, my lipstick and my nail polish. I looked down at my feet and smiled at my cute little toes, each covered in their own polish. I grabbed my purse, and drove off to work.

Mindy Schaffer called me when I got into the lobby, asking me if I wanted to have lunch with her. She was splitting with her husband, and needed to talk to a girlfriend for support. “Of course I will, Min. You know that.” We decided on the coffee shop down on Halpren and Sixth. We'd gone there for lunch ever since we were cosmetics majors in college.

At lunch, we sat across a table, each having a light salad (I, for one, needed to get my weight down; I was pushing 119). “Oh, you wouldn't believe Donald,” she said, finishing off a tiny tomato, “he expects me to have all the dishes down before he gets home from work. How can I do that, keep the whole house clean, AND get dinner done between seven and five?”

“He thinks you're a miracle worker! Gawd, if Wilson expected me to have everything in the office done, I think I'd go crazy. I'd probably break a nail, too.”

“Oh! I hate breaking nails! Yesterday, I got such a run in my nylons that I nearly cried!”

“I'm glad Wilson understands me. He'd be a real asshole if he didn't respect us women.”

“You're so lucky to have a guy like him as your boss. Say, is that a new blouse?”

I nodded. “Yep, bought it just for him. He loves seeing me wearing light blue. I prefer pink myself, but he's the man.”

Unlike any other time something was out of the ordinary, my conversation with Mindy didn't raise any alarms in my head. I didn't think anything of it. I was just talking with an old girlfriend, my sorority sister in college. Things were getting weirder by the second. I was, however, freaked out that I wasn't wearing my favorite silver bracelet.

THE SKIRT

My legs were together as I sat at my desk, doing my nails like usual. On a reflex, I put one leg over the other, and sat there very lady-like. I seemed to feel a bit more of a draft than usual, so I tugged at my skirt to take care of it. That was when I realized it: I was wearing a skirt. When did I start doing that? I wear pants. Except... I don't remember owning a pair of pants. This is Miami, why would I need them?

I stood up, grabbed my purse and walked to the restroom. Kevin and Amelia were both there, chatting over our time at the bar last night. When the gals saw me, they each asked me what was wrong, and I answered, “Nothing, just a little potty break, ladies, nothing to worry about.” I walked into the stall, dropped my panties, pulled up my skirt a little and sat down, never again caring about my unfamiliar skirt.

After leaving the restroom, I returned to my desk, as if everything was normal. I went back to my make up, fixing my mascara and putting on a little more blush. Luckily, my foundation was perfect, as was my eyeliner.

Mr. Herbert opened his door and called my name. “C'mere,” he said, drawing me in with the cliché finger trick. I giggled and let him lead me into his office. He patted his desk, and I hopped up onto it, sitting my round ass down right where his in-box was supposed to be. He ran his hands across by beautiful face, pressed his lips to mine, toyed with my nipples through my blouse and my bra. Mr. Herbert—Wilson—knew exactly how to treat me.

THE DRESS AND THE RING

I unwrapped the towel from around my head and let my long, chestnut brown hair fall freely. A quick memory that I'd never had long hair before in my life crossed my mind, but it went away just as quick. I kept my other towel wrapped around my chest, keeping my modesty intact. As I was brushing my hair, the phone rang. I pranced downstairs and answered it. I smiled with joy hearing Wilson on the other end.

“Hello, Mr. Herbert,” I said in my most playful, little girl voice.

“Please, darling, call me 'Wilson'. Tell me, what are you doing for dinner tonight?”

“Just curling up with a romance novel on my couch and reading by candlelight. Do you have something BETTER in mind?” I was beaming with joy, and had the cord from the phone wrapped around the index finger of my left hand, like a teenager talking to her boyfriend.

“How does dinner sound? I'll pick you up at six thirty.”

“It sounds like a date, handsome,” I purred into the phone.

We hung up and I raced upstairs to my bedroom. It was 5:50 right then, so I didn't have any real time to get ready. I pulled on my sexiest black panties and a matching strapless push-up bra. I slid into a pair of sheer nylons, but decided not to wear a garter belt. I searched my closet for the shortest skirt and sexiest blouse I had, but instead found something new: a beautiful, slick black dress. I don't know when I got it, but I slipped into it right away as soon as I saw it. I then found my highest pair of black heels, which were spikes with no toes, and slipped them onto my dainty little feet. I stood up, six inches taller, and walked in front of my mirror. Boy, Wilson was in for a sweet, sexy surprise when he saw me.

At exactly 6:29, Wilson's limo pulled up and he walked up to my door. I opened the door and watched as his eyes practically popped out of their sockets. His eyes traced my body, going from my red-tipped toes to my spike heels, up my long and hairless legs, to my wide hips and teeny waist, then to my chest, then my beautiful face. After taking this long, sensual look at my body, he leaned in and kissed me, using his tongue to probe my mouth.

He took my hand and led me to the limo, where he helped me into my seat, then sat down beside me. He gave me a glass and poured some champagne into it, which I gladly accepted. Even though all us gals drank, I was by far the worst. Kevin, the little tramp, teased me about this, so did Alan, and Nancy.

We arrived at the restaurant about ten minutes later, but it felt like a lifetime after all the kisses and groping I had to endure from that wonderful man. He led me into the restaurant, where our the waiter tended to our reservation, and we were seated in a wonderful center table, where I felt like everyone's eyes were on me.

It was halfway through our delicious meal that a glass of wine was set down in front of me. Wilson smiled and said in a soft, sweet voice, “Sip it slowly.” I did, and in the bottom of the glass, there sat a gold ring. I felt myself very short of breath as I reached for that gold band with a shaky hand. I held it up, and all the women around me ooh'ed and ahh'ed. As I held it in the light, Wilson asked me, “Jessica Milton, will you marry me?” I was so short of breath that I couldn't even respond with words. I just nodded and cried tears of joy that I hoped weren't ruining my make up. Being Mrs. Wilson Herbert had been my dream since he hired me.

THE SURGERY AND THE TRUTH

I moved in with Wilson the next day, much to the excitement and joy of the other gals at work. Kevin and Anna both helped me move my things, though we needed Wilson's help a lot. It must have seemed funny to him, these three women moving so many clothes out of my little two-story house into his big, seven-story mansion. I felt like a princess.

Six weeks into our engagement, I started having bad coughing fits. Wilson set up an appointment with his doctor, who was very well-paid for his services. He saw me the next day, and told me that hypnosis would be a good way to stop my coughing. He started swinging his pocket watch in front of me, making me extremely sleepy. It wasn't seconds before I was out like a light.

What felt like seconds later, but must have been hours, I woke up on a hospital bed. Doctors and nurses were injecting things into me, my brain was going numb. One of them was drawing on my chest with a marker, while I barely felt another make a mark on my groin. Was I in for surgery? I didn't understand it.

At least, not until just seconds before I went out of consciousness. Then, I remembered. I remembered that when I first went to work at Wilson's office, I was a simple computer tech, and a male employee. Kevin, Alan, Billy, Joe and Mark were all other male employees. Wilson—Mr. Herbert—walked into the office one day and sent us all to a movie theater on the other side of town. I don't remember what the movie was, but something about it changed us. ALL of us. Even the employees who were originally female.

It was two weeks later that I started to notice things, that I started to get feminine. I became a member of 'The Gals' that very day, as well as Mr. Herbert's preferred employee. Six months later, I was his secretary, and only a couple weeks after that, we were lovers.

Just before I passed out, I heard one of the nurses ask a doctor, “So, are all their 'special' employees coming in today, or just his fiance?”

“I don't know,” the doctor responded, “but what's it matter? Will's paying us a fortune to turn his lousy male employees into working women. And on top of all the other stuff he's done to enforce the illusion, he must have spent a billion on these bitches.” The doctor laughed. “All right, is she under? Goooooooo...”

THE EPILOGUE

Wilson and I got married after six months of engagement. I don't know what it was I went to the hospital for, but our sex life greatly improved after that, and my periods became a lot more regular. The Gals and I spent my bachelorette party pampering ourselves like we did in our sorority days, and just like always, I was the prettiest. Maria and Kelly brought the 'special' toys for the night, and we all spent a good amount of time getting ourselves ready for the future, though for me, the future was simply the next day, and I didn't need a toy anymore.

I stayed on as Will's secretary, and unlike when we were dating or even engaged, he never flirted with another woman. I must have been special. He still let me get away with barely doing anything, and I always spent some time in his office, keeping him a happy CEO.

Well, it's been two years since our wedding day, and I'm taking some time off to stay at home and nurse Little Bill, our son. He's two months old, and just the cutest little boy. My memory's fuzzy about the day he was born, but I remember the day we got to bring him home like it was yesterday. Everybody, including Will, says he's got my eyes and my smile, but I'm sure he'll have his father's business skills.

After all, Will did talk me into the ultimate business venture: marriage.