…"Honey," she replied. "It's downright sad. I've always thought that there's nothing sadder than a transsexual who's afraid to be who she really is…"

…Not only would my expensive panties stay hidden, but now they were starting to feel like a brand on my ass. It said coward. . .

Although we had stayed up well into the wee hours the night before, we couldn't sleep all that late on Saturday because I had so much to do to get ready for my date with Phil. My God! It was probably easier to plan the president's inauguration. And things started off badly. Right after breakfast, I had to run to the bathroom for the second time that day because my bowels were acting up. This had been a problem of mine since I was a kid. When I got really anxious, I tended to get diarrhea. When I was 12, I took a trip with my class to Washington D.C. and almost didn't make it onto the bus because I couldn't get off the toilet. Although I've only rarely had that problem recently, it was now back. I had to laugh. Going on a date with a guy had regressed me to the emotional status of a 12 year old. And that image of vulnerability made me shiver.

Because of my little problem, we left the house quite late. Our first stop was to the drug store so I could get some Imodium. From there we ran to the store where I got my waist nipper. “What are we doing here?” I asked.

“Just you wait and see,” Rebecca replied as she approached a trim older woman with great posture named Dorothy, who led me to a back room where, Rebecca said, they had a surprise for me. I wasn't sure I wanted any more surprises, but Rebecca, it turned out, had bought me new breasts, sinfully expensive Amoena Tria Plus forms. While I hadn't realized it, I had been measured for them at the same time I had been fitted for my other lingerie. After some very unconvincing objections - I mean I had to seem like they were forcing me didn't I - I lay down so they could be attached to my chest.

When I sat up, I didn't know what to think. They sagged down with a most delightful bounce and even bulged slightly into my arms. I turned left and then right to see how they moved, and sure enough, there was a slight delay before they caught up with my turn, then some overshoot, and then the opposite on the way back. The women both giggled when I looked up with a big, stupid grin on my face. "Oh my," was all I could think of to say.

"Oh my indeed," Rebecca replied, admiration in her voice. "Aren't you something? Let's get your little corset on. I want to see the full look."

This was a serious garment, made of what appeared to be satin, but was also very sturdy. Mercifully, Dorothy only laced me in two inches. But still, who with diarrhea would wear even a small, loose waist nipper? What we trannies do to look beautiful! Even for a date we don't really want to go on!

"Pull it in another half inch in about three hours," Dorothy told Rebecca, just as I was reconciling myself to the nasty thing, "then the last half inch three hours after that." Then turning to me she said, "You should have plenty of time to get used to it and still be comfortable when you are out tonight."

"Uhh, thanks, I think," I replied. Two inches felt plenty snug. If that was enough to allow my skirt to fit, that's where I wanted to stop. I was a little worried about the look Rebecca was giving me though; she looked like she was just dying to squish me down further. *No way,* I thought to myself.

After selecting several new bras, because my old ones no longer fit, I redressed. I was only wearing high-waisted jeans and a stretchy turtleneck top, which now encased a busty young woman with a slim waist. We paid for our purchases, now having spent well over a thousand dollars in this little store over the past week, and headed out to have a light lunch before going to the salon. I was due for a complete make over, starting with my toes and ending with the top of my head. With my new figure I was starting to get excited about the prospect.

I discovered I had little appetite, and was worried about eating anything that might set me off again in any case. Some toast and yogurt was about all I could handle, and it sure didn't leave me feeling satisfied. *Still, better safe than sorry,* I thought.

Sara then drove me about a half hour away to a salon that specialized in makeovers for T-girls. This was a full service operation, almost like a day spa, and they gave me the works, trying to find the butterfly inside my caterpillar. You should have seen everything they did for me. Even though I was nervous, I felt like a princess!

Rebecca had set the whole thing up and left me to enjoy myself, which I fully intended to do. The pampering was as delightful as I had anticipated, and being mixed in with real women, who basically ignored me except for an occasional conspiratorial smile, was fun. The only problem was that I had way too much time to think. It seemed that every time I began to relax, images of me and Phil invaded my consciousness.

The first time it happened, I was just finishing up with my body waxing. The operator, Rosa, had just finished with my bikini line, leaving only the smallest patch of hair above my penis. "You don't want anything sticking out from the edges of your panties, do you?" Rosa asked when I questioned the extent of the work she had just done, as if I could get the hair back.

*Well, no. I guess I don't,* I thought to myself as I simply shrugged to her. And then, as she finished up by massaging a wonderfully aromatic and soothing lotion into my skin, I drifted into a day dream. I imagined myself standing in front of Phil, naked except for my small corset, stockings and heels. My new breasts hung alluringly over the top of the corset, and my slightly engorged penis hung below it. Phil was staring at it.

"You really went all the way for me, didn't you, darlin'," he asked, a bit of lust in his voice as he reached down and tickled my remaining pubic hair with his fingers.

I giggled from his touch, and looked up into his eyes. "Isn't there something else down there you want to get your fingers around?"

"You are just the cutest little sissy," he replied, now hefting my penis, which was beginning to come to life. “Just wait until you see what I have for you.”

"Sara, this isn't very ladylike. Is it for me?" Rosa giggled.

I looked down and could see that the erection I was beginning to get in my daydream was in fact real. I blushed furiously, and could only smile at her with a totally embarrassed look on my face. I sure as hell wasn't going to tell her what I had been thinking, which surprised the hell even out of me. "Your touch is quite lovely," I half whispered, half choked out, trying to somehow recover some dignity. "I'm sorry."

"Oh don't be silly," she said, flicking her wrist at me to show she was just teasing. If this was going to scare me, I sure as hell wouldn't be working here. And we both giggled. "C'mon, I'm done with you. So I pulled my panties back on, admiring, the smooth, hairless skin that surrounded them, wrapped myself in the baby blue robe with pink piping they had given me, and followed Rosa to my next station.

"Big date tonight, hon?" a rather large woman in a crisp, baby blue smock asked me as I settled into her chair.

"Yeah, I guess you could say that," I replied, as I realized that Veronica, which is who her name tag said she was, was no more female than I. But even though she was nearly six feet tall and rather large boned, she had an unmistakable air of comfortable femininity about her. Her long, bright, orangey red hair was worn in large, loose curls that bounced with remarkable body when she moved her head, which she did in quick little motions, like a bird. Her makeup was exquisite, emphasizing her large pale blue eyes and ample mouth, and there just wasn't any evidence that she ever had a beard. Because she talked so much with her hands, it was easy to see that she had gorgeous nails, quite long, with intricate airbrushed art on them. I wondered what those might look like on me, but then shook it off because I had already decided that I wanted my nails no more than a quarter inch past my finger tips, and in a simple deep red that I thought would go with my dress.

As we discussed what my nails should look like, Veronica, who insisted, "Call me Ronnie," said, "What do you think of this color?" She was holding up a pearlescent dark blue polish called Lustre. "I checked out your dress,” she went on, “and this coordinates with it perfectly." And then she pulled out a plummy colored lipstick that didn't exactly match the polish, but complimented it perfectly, and then some earthy-plummy eye shadows. "See?" she went on. "Everything goes together. And I think these colors will be great with your skin. You really should go to a tanning parlor you know. You need more color."

I sat there studying the colors as she applied them to the back of her hand so I could see them together. *What the hell,* I thought. *I would never pick anything like these, but there's no harm in being a little daring.* I smiled up at her, "Okay, I love the idea, let's go for it. But I want my nails to be ovals, just a quarter inch past my finger tips, okay?"

"Oh that's just wonderful," she gushed. "So many of my clients are just too stuffy to try anything avant garde. The men will all be drooling over you and the women will be jealous."

"I guess," I replied, not sure whether that's what I wanted to happen.

"You just relax. I'm going to give you a facial, and while your mask is on I'll do your nails. Your wig is already done, but we’re going to trim and touch up your hair anyway. Then we'll do your makeup and you'll be good to go."

"Sounds too good to be true," I smiled at her, and then lay my head back as she lowered the chair to a more horizontal position.

The feeling of her fingers on my face as she worked on me was just exquisite, and even though she kept up a constant prattle, by the time she applied the aloe-cucumber mask, I was drifting in and out of a comfortable semi-consciousness.

Phil was again in my dreams. This time, he was oohing and ahhing over my beautiful nails as he held my hand in his and lowered his head to kiss it. I shook my long blond hair off my face and looked up at him longingly. His eyes devoured mine, and he reached around my back with his other hand and pulled me tight against his body, kissing me deeply. As I gratefully returned his kiss, I could feel his erection growing against my belly. It was like touching a magic wand, and a warm feeling spread out to the rest of my body from where it touched me.

Then, without warning, he pushed me away and in a harshly cutting tone said, "I always knew you were a faggot, you little sissy." And we were suddenly surrounded by hundreds of people who were pointing and laughing at me, calling me sissy or faggot. I searched for a way to flee, but I was trapped.

I snapped my eyes open and shook my head. I could feel the tightness of the hardened mask on my face, and my heart was accelerating into a range that would give a hummingbird a heart attack.

"You okay hon?" Veronica asked.

"Huh? Oh. Yeah. I think I just had a bad dream."

"Well, let me get you a glass of wine to relax you," Ronnie said standing up and starting to turn away from me.

"No, no," I insisted. "Don't." I was pretty sure my sore little tummy wouldn't be real happy with alcohol right now.

"Oh. You're nervous about your date. How precious," she gushed again (it seemed to be her only way of talking), as her hands fluttered all around her face like escaped butterflies. "Just like a teenager going to a prom."

"Well, maybe," I allowed. "Anyway, I'm okay now, why don't you continue."

So I settled back down and Ronnie picked my hand back up and started in again on my nails. Now, however, I was rattled. All my fears of humiliation were now dancing wildly in my mind.

*How am I going to get through this? I'll come downstairs after Rebecca lets him in, and make my grand entrance as the two of them stand next to each other watching me. I guess Rebecca'll be supportive; she's been great all week. I hope she'll be proud to see what a lovely woman I make. Or will seeing me as a lovely woman threaten her or make her think less of me as a husband, even though she had a big hand in getting me to this point. Aack!*

*And Phil?* He'll think to himself, *What a little sissy. He didn't even have the guts to turn down my little offer of a date. What a pansy.*

*And that's what I'd be,* I thought dejectedly, *a pathetic little pansy. At the rate things are going, I'll probably have an accident right there in my panties.*

And then I thought of Ronnie. *Obviously not a born-woman, but one who seemed to revel in her femininity. She's just herself, even though she's not perfect. Hmmmph. Where does she get her self-confidence?*

I was starting to feel even more insecure, realizing that even with all my intelligence and financial advantages, I didn't have anywhere near the confidence she did, or the courage to just appear as I wanted to, something she had clearly done. *You're pitiful,* I thought, and I almost started to cry. And then, to make things even worse, I could feel my stomach start to cramp up, which, inside my corset felt like the build up to an explosion, and I knew I had to get to a toilet, fast.

So I started to get up again. "Veronica, I need to go to the bathroom, now," I said urgently.

"Oh! Oh! You poor dear. Here let me help you up. It's right over there next to the changing room. She hurriedly escorted me to the restroom and then stayed there, repeatedly asking if I was all right. Actually, this was the easiest it had been all day, and I had a hopeful feeling that this might be the last time I needed to go. Surely, there couldn't be anything at all left.

I emerged from the restroom feeling embarrassed. l really didn't need anyone witnessing the humiliation of my anxiety driven bowels. But Ronnie was right there, looking very concerned and hovering around me like a mother bird at her nest.

"Well," I said. "I think that might have been the last one. There couldn't possibly anything left inside me."

"That's great!" she replied, as if I had just won the lottery. This woman's enthusiasm knew no bounds. "Now you won't have to douche your pussy to get ready for tonight." She really seemed to be pleased for me. "Here," she said, handing me a tube of anti-inflammatory cream. Use this. It'll help."

"Do you have diarrhea a lot?" I asked, surprised that she was so prepared for this particular eventuality.

"No, silly," she said blushing and turning her head down and away in a most fetching manner. "I keep this for when my boyfriend get really hot and poles me till I'm raw."

My eyes widened at the image, but I couldn't be sure if she was putting me on until a moment later when she wiggled her ass at me in a most kittenish way (*What a great move,* I thought. *I've GOT to learn it.*), with a look on her face that was a priceless mixture of pride and embarrassment. After a moment's hesitation, we both started to laugh.

"What are you telling me?" I squealed.

She leaned in close as if we were long time confidants. "Well, honey, don't tell me you're going to all this trouble to get ready for a date and that you don't intend to get laid?"

"What?" I squealed again. "No. I don't intend to get laid! I'm going to do everything I can to avoid it."

"Huh?" Her face fell, and it was obvious that she was truly confused.

"Oh shit," I muttered, raising my hands and dropping them to my sides in frustration. "Veronica, it's complicated. The truth is, I'm a happily married, heterosexual and the guy has promised to be a perfect gentleman."

She still looked confused.

"Ronnie, you seem to be a dear, but I don't really know you, so I'm not quite ready to dish everything. Just know that I love to dress, and this make over is like the coolest thing I've ever done."

Disappointment now shared her eyes with the already present confusion, but she took my hand and led me back to her station. It didn't occur to me till later that I had been holding hands with a guy.

As I sat down, I felt like I had to tell her something, "Ronnie," This is my first real date with a guy, but the circumstances are kinda weird. I mean I've always dreamed of going out on a date just to see what it was like to have a guy treat me like a woman, but..."

"You mean, be careful what you wish for, or you may get it?" she interrupted.

"Exactly," I replied, relieved that I didn't have to tell her any more. "And on top of everything else, I've got diarrhea."

She looked at me, her face grave for about two seconds. Then her hand flew up to her mouth as she tried to hold in her laughter. But it was no use. It came out in gales. And a second later I was laughing too. When you thought about it, it really was ludicrous.

When we had both calmed down, Ronnie got a glass of wine for both of us and we shared a few sips before she settled back down to work, and I settled back down to figure out how I was going to handle the evening. Before I settled fully back, I lifted my head and said to Ronnie. "You know, I'm wearing $100 panties, but I'm not letting anyone see them. Seems, too bad, somehow."

"Honey," she replied. "It's downright sad. I've always thought that there's nothing sadder than a transsexual who's afraid to be who she really is."

She said it wistfully, as if she wasn't talking about me; after all, here I was getting a make over so I could go out on a date. But it stunned me like a slap across the face. Without knowing it, Ronnie had effectively gutted me. A deep gush of shame ran through my soul, and I didn't want to talk about it any more. So I put my head down, saying as I closed my eyes, "Why don't we finish up. I still need to get home before I go out." I grimaced inwardly at how harsh I sounded, but I was too upset to really care.

Lying there, again near tears, I thought to myself, *You're a hypocrite. A hypocrite and a fraud.*

*No, my life is okay the way it is,* I argued back.

*No. You're a wimp, a wimp and a coward. You never commit wholeheartedly to anything. You're afraid to give up being comfortable, even when a little risk will lead to something really fulfilling.* Now I was on a roll, punishing myself. *What you are is dishonest and sneaky. You've pushed the envelope just a little by dressing at home, but you never reveal your true self. You feel embarrassed, shamed even, not only of who you are, but because you sneak around too. You feel humiliated because you're afraid to stand up and be who you are.*

A sob caught in my throat. I tried to cover it up by pretending it was a cough, but Ronnie apparently caught it. "You okay hon?" she asked, her brows going up in alarm. When I didn't answer for a moment, she went on, "Don't be sad that you won't be sleeping with your date. If you two like each other, there'll be plenty of time for that later."

"Yes, yes, of course," I mumbled, trying to avoid a conversation. *Its amazing how she gets things to totally wrong, yet seems to see right through me anyway.*

She looked at me dubiously, so I closed my eyes and she went back to work. I continued to think. *Stop being a fool. Be what you are and like yourself. You're not a bad person. Why do you treat yourself like one?*

I knew the answer, of course. I was projecting onto myself how I thought my family and society would judge me if I let them know about Sara. After all, wasn’t being transgendered somehow an inherently evil thing, like looting damaged stores after a hurricane? Hadn't Rebecca just told me that she had been "absolutely mortified" when Phil handed her the picture of me at Southern Comfort? Why would she be humiliated by that if there wasn't something dreadfully shameful about it?

*Oh shit,* I realized suddenly. *Rebecca's part of the problem. Until this past week, she had hidden Sara at home in the same way that people used to stick their deformed relatives in the attic or the barn, as if they were a stain on the family. I wasn't just my own stain, I was hers as well. We both bought into the shamefulness of my very nature. I never had the courage to face the potential scorn that being an admitted trannie would certainly bring (wouldn't it?), and neither had she.* Not only would my expensive panties stay hidden, but now they were starting to feel like a brand on my ass. It said coward.