I
In the early days of June, the barely warm breeze of summer whispered across a secluded cottage nestled deep in the woods. Inside, Pat and his wife, Judy were preparing to leave after a week-long getaway—a retreat that had done little to rejuvenate them after the tumultuous semester they’d just endured.
Judy perched on Pat’s suitcase, bouncing up and down on the bed to force it shut until the stubborn zipper finally relented. She then sighed, remembering the promise she’d made to take extra care of the place during their visit. Her sister, as generous as she was, had a reputation for being obsessively particular about her property—including this magnificent hideaway, lent to Judy and her husband for the start of their holidays.
Two good months of rest stretched ahead of them—one of the few perks of their teaching jobs—but Judy was already lamenting the lack of greenery back home. The cottage had offered her a refreshing escape: hiking trails, climbing routes, and every obstacle Mother Nature could throw at her. As a PE instructor, the fresh air and physical challenges were just what she needed.
Pat, on the other hand, had spent most of the time there nestled in a porch rocking chair, his nose buried in book after book. Each time Judy invited him to join her outdoors, he waved her off dismissively, mumbling something about finishing “just one more chapter.”
Judy accepted his reluctance begrudgingly. A literature teacher to his core, he seemed to approach his leisure reading with the same fervor he did in classes. She, on the other hand, certainly didn’t miss the rowdy teenagers she had to discipline daily in detention. Among her colleagues—Pat included—Judy was the only one tough enough to teach them manners, a badge of honor she wore with pride, even if she didn’t always love the role.
Now, as they prepared to leave, Judy moved through the cottage, inspecting every room to ensure it was as spotless as they’d found it. “Ugh!” she groaned, spotting a faint ring left by a coffee cup on the kitchen counter. Grabbing a cloth, she began scrubbing furiously, calling over her shoulder for Pat to start loading the suitcases into the car.
Pat shuffled down the hallway, grumbling as he hoisted one of hers. Judy knew he wasn’t exactly athletic, despite her constant encouragement to build some muscle, but she figured the basic strength he’d gained during puberty would suffice for a couple of suitcases. Apparently, she’d overestimated him. His face flushed beet red as he strained under the weight, breathing heavily with every step.
Judy giggled softly, listening to his struggles from the kitchen. Peeking out, she caught sight of him wobbling under the load, his arms trembling as he tried to maintain his balance. For a moment, she considered offering him a hand but quickly dismissed the thought. Pat needed his small victories for his male ego—what little of it there was. As pedantic as he was, maybe he’d be more comfortable tacking on the cleaning while she handled the hard work.
Suddenly, a loud thud reverberated through the rooms. Judy rushed out to find Pat sprawled on the floor, the suitcases tipped over, their contents scattered across the hallway.
The sight of one of her bras draped conspicuously over his chest sent her into fits of laughter. “Oh my God!” she wheezed, clutching her stomach.
Pat swatted the offending garment off, sitting up against the wall with a resentful glare. “Did you break a nail, sweetie?” Judy teased, extending a hand to help him up, her laughter barely subsiding.
“Cut… that… out, you... bitch,” Pat muttered, batting her hand away.
Judy’s laughter stopped abruptly. Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Excuse me?!”
“I said,” Pat repeated, using all fours to push himself up, “Cut it out!” He jabbed a finger in her direction. “You know how much I hate it when you talk to me like that! Say it again, and you’d better prepare to have your butt kicked!”
For a moment, Judy stared at him in stunned silence. Then, as if on cue, the corners of her mouth twitched upward. The combination of his indignation and his attempt at intimidation—clearly borrowed from the eighth graders he taught— was too much. She tried, and failed, to stifle another laugh.
“Knock it off, woman!” He barked, his voice deeper than usual.
The command might have made another woman tread lightly around her husband’s wounded masculinity. But for Judy, it was almost endearing. She tilted her head, smirking as rolling up her sleeves. “Au contraire! My butt is right here—ready to be kicked,” she said, assuming a playful wrestling stance. “What about yours?”
Pat muttered something under his breath, waving her off as he turned to start crouching to gather the spilled clothes. Before he could retreat, Judy grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back with ease. Pat squirmed and struggled, helpless against her strength, letting out an unintelligible squeak.
“A bit moody this morning, aren’t we?” she teased, her tone honeyed. “Is it your time of the month?”
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about!” Her husband squealed, twisting unsuccessfully in her grip. “You keep calling me a girl!”
“And what’s so bad about being a girl?” Judy asked innocently.
“I am NOT a girl!” He shouted, his face redder than ever.
“Well, you’re not much of a man either,” Judy shot back, tracing an imaginary circle over his chest with her free hand. “A real man would’ve put me in my place by now.”
Pat’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, she thought he might actually fight back. But instead, he deflated, his shoulders slumping. “This isn’t fair!” He cried, a sharp tone escaping in his complaining. “You caught me off guard!”
Sensing he was near his limit, Judy released him, allowing him to stumble back. Pat quickly massaged his aching wrist, glaring at her warily.
“No more excuses, missy,” Judy declared, grinning. “I’m gonna beat your ass fair and square!” She resumed her stance.
Pat held up his hands in surrender. “Wait, wait, wait! I don’t want to fight you!”
“Why not?” Judy asked, her blood still pumping. “I’m not letting any husband of mine call me a bitch with no consequences!”
“Look, I’m sorry, alright?” Pat stammered. “I was just mad—”
"Because I called you a girl!" she interrupted. "Well, you are a girl! Such a dainty girl who couldn’t even carry his own wife’s suitcase! Gosh! Maybe I should get myself a real man and get rid of you!"
Pat’s eyes widened, stunned by her barrage of insults. They both knew he wasn’t exactly the macho type, but this was the first time she'd openly expressed her discontent about it. "I asked you to do one simple thing!” She continued, “What a pansy husband I’ve got, Jesus! I should’ve gotten a maid instead!"
“Judith, that’s enough!” he shouted, stomping his foot against the hardwood floor. “You think you’re the only one dissatisfied here? Maybe I wish I had a maid too instead of some butch growling about kicking my ass!”
Judy’s smirk faltered. For a moment, she softened. Then, a smirk crept across her lips. “Looks like we’re both in need of a servant,” she mused. “And since we can’t afford one, tell you what: if you manage to kick my butt, I’ll be your maid for the rest of the summer.”
Pat blinked, caught off guard by the sudden offer.
“How does that sound? Huh?” she cooed, holding him by the shoulders. “You’d love me prancing around in a maid costume and heels, wouldn’t you?”
Pat frowned, brushing her hands off. “I’m not going to fight my own wife,” he said firmly.
"No actual hits. Just a friendly wrestling match," Judy negotiated. For Pat, the offer was tempting. A servant—a maid, as she herself mentioned—for the rest of the summer. Besides, watching Judy be humbled in such a degrading uniform would certainly knock her down a peg.
He glanced at her outstretched hand, considering the offer. Finally, he shook it firmly, deciding it was a deal worth taking. “Deal!” he declared, mirroring her stance as he prepared himself.
Judy let him do the countdown and before he could finish pronouncing “three”, she dropped low and swept his feet out from under him, sending him crashing onto his back with a surprised grunt. Before Pat could recover, she was already on him, trying to pin his arms. He twisted, managing to slip free, only to find himself tackled back to the ground moments later.
Judy straddled his chest, her knees pinning his arms. “Come on, Patti. Is that all you’ve got?” she teased, leaning over him.
Pat growled, reaching up and grabbing a handful of her hair, pulling her off balance. Judy yelped but retaliated immediately, twisting out of his grip, growling with fury. Within seconds, she had him face down on the cottage floor, his arm twisted painfully behind his back.
"Judy, cut it out! He shouted, wincing as she applied more pressure. “You’re gonna break my arm!"
"Aww, don’t be such a baby," she teased. "This is Wrestling 101—my school team could manage without all the whining."
"Judy, please!" he pleaded, completely at her mercy.
"You’d know how to escape if you didn’t spend all your time hiding in the library," she taunted, tightening her hold.
Pinned under her weight, Pat twisted helplessly, his movements as futile as a mechanical bull trying to buck its rider. Judy chuckled, leaning down to whisper, "I’m going to love having such a dainty little maid for the summer."
"What?!" Pat’s eyes widened in alarm.
"A deal’s a deal, sweetie," she said, her smile smug as ever.
"But I never agreed to—"
"We both wanted a maid, didn’t we?” she interrupted. Her grin widened as she added, “And it’s about time you proved just how much of a man you are—by tottering around in a sexy little dress and high heels.”
Pat’s heart sank. He had agreed to serve as a helper, sure, but the title of maid—and everything Judy seemed to be implying—was an entirely different matter. Her tone, half-serious and half-amused, made it clear this wasn’t just some joke.
"I won’t be your stupid maid," he hissed, thrashing beneath her. “Let me go, you—”
"Ah, ah! That’s not the kind of vocabulary I expect from servitude," she scolded leaning closer, her face nearly touching the floor beside his. “Unlike you, I can do this all day,” she whispered with a smirk. “So, you can serve me as a chair... or as a maid. Either way, you’re not chickening out of this.”
Pat groaned inwardly, regretting ever accepting this ridiculous challenge. He should have known better than to bet against his wife’s tenacity—or her strength. They should’ve been on their way home by now, but instead, here he was, lying on the floor, being "convinced" to submit to a summer of servitude, as a female.
“Come on, I know you can do it, sweetie,” Judy cooed mockingly.
“Alright, I’ll do it!” he cried out, tears springing to his eyes from the pain.
"Do what, Pat?" she pressed, still holding his wrist firmly.
"I’ll be your damn maid! Just let me go!"
"And what will you wear?" she demanded, her tone still playful but unrelenting. The pain was unbearable.
“Anything you want!” Pat sobbed.
“I want you to wear a dress.”
"A dress! Fine, I’ll wear a dress!"
"And high heels?"
"Yes, high heels too! Just stop!"
"And some dainty little panties?"
"Yes! Yes! Panties too! Just let me go already!"
A beat passed before Pat realized the pressure on his wrist had disappeared. Judy had let go, standing up and crossing her arms as she looked down at him, clearly satisfied. “There, now. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” she teased.
Pat didn’t respond, gasping for air as he lay motionless on the floor.
II
Pat struggled to his feet, wincing as he massaged his sore wrist. Judy was already moving toward the hallway, picking up scattered bits of clothing from their luggage. She gestured for him to follow her toward the nearest bathroom.
Still reeling from the humiliation, Pat reluctantly trailed behind. He figured it was best to play along for now; his male pride had taken enough hits for one day, and he didn’t want to provoke her further.
Judy had already laid out a selection of items on the towel bar when he entered the bathroom and closed the door behind him. Turning to face him, she gestured toward the pile. “Don’t just stand there—strip,” she commanded.
“Ah, come on, Judy. A joke’s a joke, but let’s not get carried away.” He called, massaging his lower back, “You’ve made your point, and I already apologized. Can’t we just call this whole thing off?”
Judy turned to face him. “Listen, Patti,” she began, deliberately emphasizing the feminized name she had come up with. “You lost. Fair and square. I kicked your ass—just like you said you’d kick mine.” She pointed a firm finger at him. “I’m sure you wouldn’t hesitate if the roles were reversed, now would you?”
Pat opened his mouth to respond, but Judy didn’t give him the chance. “So unless you’d like me to teach you another lesson,” she continued, a dark shadow casting on her glance, “you’ll do as you’re told and put on your pretty new things.”
Her tone left no room for argument. Pat hesitated, his pride screaming for him to resist, but the memory of her “lessons” was still fresh, and he feared a repeat. With a reluctant sigh of defeat, he unbuckled his belt and let his pants fall to the floor. One by one, the rest of his clothes followed—shirt, socks, and finally, shoes—until he stood awkwardly in his boxers. Judy crossed her arms, one eyebrow raised expectantly.
“All of it,” she said, gesturing at his remaining clothing.
Pat attended, his hands instinctively guarding his modesty, but Judy was relentless. She picked up a pair of panties from the towel bar and held them out to him. “Here you go,” she said with mock sweetness. “These won’t pick out of your skirt.”
With a deep breath, Pat took the delicate garment, staring at it as though it might bite him. “What are you waiting for?” Judy teased, snapping him out of his trance. “You seemed so eager to try them on when I had your arm twisted behind your back.”
Reluctantly, he stepped into the panties, pulling the silky waistband up. The snug fit of the fabric clinging to his body made him feel smaller, more exposed. Judy wasn’t done, of course. She motioned for him to lift his arms, and moments later, the straps of a bra slid over his shoulders. With deft hands, she hooked the clasp at his back, then stuffed the padded cups with rolled-up socks for exaggerated effect.
Now trembling in his wife’s undergarments, Pat sat on the cold toilet seat as Judy approached with an assortment of makeup. “Alright, let’s see what we can do,” she said cheerfully. “First, we need a nice base complexion—foundation and cover-up will work wonders.”
Pat sat stiffly as she worked, applying layer after layer—foundation, concealer, blush. The latter barely seemed necessary given how flushed his cheeks already were from sheer embarrassment. Judy moved quickly, mindful of the clock. They were supposed to have left half an hour ago, so she stuck to the basics.
When they finally emerged from the cramped bathroom, Pat was in a completely different state than when he’d entered. He followed Judy’s lead, walking on tiptoes. Even though they were alone in the cottage, the sensation of prancing around in women’s underwear and makeup made him feel utterly exposed.
Judy wasted no time rummaging through their luggage, dismissing her own clothing options one by one. Pat allowed himself a brief sigh of relief, knowing she wouldn’t find a dress. After all, she hadn’t packed anything impractical for hiking and climbing—certainly not high heels. Still, the final outfit she settled on was no reason for him to smile.
She helped her husband into a pair of her baby-blue capri pants, which, to his dismay, fit unnervingly well. A light blue and white blouse completed the ensemble. Pat struggled with the buttons, fumbling clumsily until Judy’s patience wore thin. “For God’s sake, just hold still,” she snapped, fastening them herself before sliding white summer sandals onto his feet.
For Pat, it was impossible to hide his discomfort. It was unsettling how well he fit into his wife’s clothes. They were roughly the same height, but he had always assumed their body shapes would differ more. Judy, meanwhile, topped off the look with a floppy summer hat.
“There we go,” she declared. “Ready to start your new summer job.”
As she left to start the car, Pat bent down to gather their scattered clothes. He froze mid-motion when he heard her chuckle behind him.
“You’ll need to learn how to bend like a lady,” she mused, clearly enjoying the sight of him in the snug capris. “Don’t worry, we’ve got a whole summer for me to teach you.”
The two-hour drive home felt like any other trip—at least for Judy, who took on the driver’s role as usual. “Patti” sat quietly beside her, his hands folded neatly in his lap, the faint taste of lipstick lingering on his lips. The road was mostly deserted, only the occasional passing car reminding him of his predicament. Every time another vehicle appeared, he shrank slightly into his seat, acutely aware of his improvised disguise.
Judy, however, remained as amused as ever, letting out the occasional scold when she caught him failing to mimic proper feminine behavior.
“Keep your knees together. Ladies don’t sit with their legs apart, even in pants,” she corrected, shooting him a brief glance before refocusing on the road. “You wouldn’t want to flash your panties when you’re wearing a dress, would you?”
Pat shifted uncomfortably. “No, Judy,” he muttered.
“And sit up straight,” she continued. “And for Pete’s sake, stop fidgeting with your chest. Seatbelts go between the girls, not around them. You’ll just have to get used to it, like the rest of us.”
Even if he wanted to protest, this was not the time to let his male pride take over. Instead, he let himself be dominated by his almost too-amused wife, adjusting his posture and movements according to her instructions.
Once they arrived home, Judy stepped out of the car and headed inside, leaving Pat to unload the luggage. Still self-conscious, he scanned the neighborhood, relieved to find no prying eyes. Having already learned the consequences of overestimating his strength, he took his time hauling each bag inside, his sandals flip-flopping against the driveway.
After sorting the soiled clothes into the laundry room as Judy had directed, Pat finally allowed himself a moment to catch his breath. But his reprieve was short-lived.
“Dinner’s not going to cook itself, Patti!” Judy’s voice rang out from the kitchen, summoning him.
Grumbling under his breath, Pat tied on an apron—its lacy pattern unsettlingly fitting with his current ensemble—and got to work. Judy’s constant interruptions didn’t help; she would call him over just to ask when dinner would be ready or tease him about how great her clothes looked on him. Each time, she punctuated her remarks with a playful pinch to his cheek before allowing him to return to the spaghetti and meatballs.
When the meal was finally ready, Judy seated herself at the dining table while instructing Pat to eat at the kitchen counter, making a deliberate show of separating herself from “the help.” Even as he ate, she continued her lessons, calling out corrections between bites.
“Patti!” Judy called again, dabbing her mouth with a napkin before rising from the table. He was just getting tired of that hideous name she came up with.
“You did very well for your first day as my little helper.” She said, smiling at him. “I think I’m going to love having you around like this all summer.”
She strolled away, leaving her plate for him to clean. As she disappeared down the hallway, she added, “Sorry I haven’t prepared a proper schedule for you, but I didn’t expect to have a maid all of a sudden.” She turned back just long enough to meet his unamused glare with an impish grin. “I’ll need breakfast at nine o’clock sharp tomorrow. Don’t forget to set an alarm—unless I change my mind.”
Pat opened his mouth to ask what she wanted for breakfast, but she was already out of sight.
His wife had seamlessly settled into her new role, making it easy to forget that until this morning, he had been the man of the house. Now, he was something else entirely—a maid, a servant, and, in her eyes, a female servant.
The message became crystal clear when, after removing his gloves from washing the dishes, Pat found their bedroom door locked. He wasn’t even allowed to sleep beside her anymore. He jiggled the handle, but the latch wouldn’t budge.
With a sinking feeling, he retreated to the guest room. The bed had already been prepared for him, disturbingly so. A delicate nightgown lay neatly on the covers, and the bedside drawers were now stocked with the kind of underwear he’d never worn until today.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, he stared at the items before him, a deep sigh escaping his lips. This was his new reality—for the summer, at least. And judging by Judy’s satisfaction, it was going to be a long one.
III
The shrill buzz of the 7 o’clock alarm marked the end of their first night sleeping apart. While Judy remained in deep slumber, sprawled luxuriously across their matrimonial bed, Pat barely stirred from the restless half-sleep he’d endured on the lumpy guest mattress. He had hoped to wake up from what seemed like an absurd nightmare, only to be hit with a harsh dose of reality as his eyes fell on the dainty nightgown draped over his frame.
Though he’d reluctantly played along with Judy’s little games before, this felt like crossing a line he hadn’t realized existed. Cooking for his wife had never bothered him; in fact, it was one of the few things that relaxed him. But that sense of comfort had been stripped away now that he was forced to do it dressed like this. Worse yet, banished from their shared bed, Pat could feel his place as her husband—and as a man—slipping further and further out of reach.
He lingered in bed for a few minutes longer before resigning himself to the day ahead. Opening the small closet, he found his outfit waiting for him. As per Judy’s instructions: it was a dress—one he had seen her wear countless times, a worn out long-sleeved V-neck black number. On the floor sat a shoebox containing a pair of black leather pumps with at least a three-inch heel, judging by the sight. Pat stared at the ensemble with a sinking feeling in his stomach, wondering how much more of this absurdity he could endure, but he resigned himself to take the punishment like a man—or rather, like a woman.
Sighing, he slipped off the nightgown and changed into one of the many sets of lingerie he could dispose of. Pantyhose seemed like a requirement for the outfit, but after a frustrating, failed attempt to pull them on, he abandoned the idea. The heels were another story entirely—just the mere attempt to stand on them made his ankles ache preemptively. For now, he would settle for bare legs and slippers, resolving to endure the rest as best he could. He headed back to his work station, the kitchen, passing by what used to be their shared bedroom, moving especially carefully to avoid waking his mistress/wife.
By the time sunlight streamed through the window, breakfast was ready: eggs and bacon arranged neatly on a plate, orange juice poured, the table set. He placed everything carefully and glanced at the clock: just before 9 a.m. Judy, however, didn’t emerge until after 10:30, barely acknowledging the effort as she took a sip of juice before rushing out the door. Her only remark was a disapproving glance at his bare legs, but left without saying a word.
Judy’s absence gave Pat time to tackle the daunting list of chores she had left on a crumpled piece of paper. He mopped the floors, dusted the living room, did the laundry, and ironed—specifically, only her clothes—ensuring every corner of the house was spotless. There were plenty more tasks he hadn’t managed to get to, either because they involved stepping outside, like washing the windows or taking out the trash, or because he ran out of time before he heard the car parking outside.
“Patti!” Judy’s voice called from outside. Peeking through the window, he saw her stepping out of the car, arms overflowing with shopping bags. More bags spilled onto the passenger seat.
“Don’t just stand there. Help me with all your new things!” she shouted irritably, catching him watching from inside.
Pat swallowed hard, glancing at his reflection in the window. He regretted not making an effort to put on any makeup earlier. Now he’d have to step outside in just a dress, painfully aware that Mrs. Robbinson was nearby, watering her roses as usual.
But his wife didn’t give him time to dwell on their nosy neighbor, who only managed to sneak a peek before they hurried inside with the bags.
“Patti, what’s this?” Judy asked, dumping the bags unceremoniously onto his guest bed.
“What?”
“The bed, sweetie. It’s unmade. And I’m assuming mine is too,” she scolded, letting out a long sigh before continuing in a much sterner tone. “This is unacceptable. If you can’t even keep your own room tidy, how can I trust you with the rest of the house? Don’t ever think I’m going to be lenient just because it’s your first day. I expect the best from my maid.”
“Judy, don’t you think you’re getting carried away with this little game of yo—” A sudden slap interrupted his protest, coming straight from Judy’s furious hand. His cheek burned red as he looked up at her in stunned silence.
“Don’t you ever talk back to me again, you hear me?” she shouted furiously. “Only yesterday, you were practically begging to be my maid. And now you can’t even handle the basics?” Crossing her arms, she gave him a pointed look. “Do you need a reminder of why you’re doing this?”
Pat quickly shook his head, thoroughly intimidated. She held his gaze for a long, tense moment. Then, as if a switch had flipped, she turned her attention drifting to her recent purchases. A small smile escaped her lips before she looked back at him. “That dress is supposed to go with pantyhose. Didn’t I leave you a brand-new pair to wear?”
“Yes, but—”
“But what?” she interrupted sharply.
“B-but I… couldn’t put them on by myself,” Pat stammered.
She accepted his excuses, admitting those undergarments would have been itchy to wear with all that body hair. She glanced at his legs, then reached into one of the shopping bags, pulling out a can of shaving cream and a pink razor.
“Here,” she said, handing them to him.
Pat opened his mouth to protest, but Judy cut him off with a sharp look.
“Don’t even think about it,” she warned. “Female servants don’t have hairy legs, and neither will you. Go shower and shave. Now.”
He hesitated.
“What now?!” she barked, then quickly softened as she noticed him fumbling with the zipper on the back of his dress. Giggling, she stepped forward and unzipped it smoothly, letting him wriggle out. “Go on,” she urged, giving him a playful swat on the backside.
Pat opened his mouth to protest, but Judy cut him off with a sharp look. “Don’t even think about it. Female servants don’t have hairy legs, and neither will you. Go shower and shave. Now.”
He nodded, hesitating to leave.
"What now?!” she barked, but quickly softened when she noticed him fumbling with the zipper on the back of his uniform. She giggled and helped him, smoothly unzipping the dress and letting him wriggle out of it. “Go on,” she urged, giving him a playful swat on the backside.
As he stepped into the shower, razor in hand, Pat couldn’t help but wonder how things had escalated so far. Was this ridiculous bet hiding some darker intentions? One supposed friendly match between them had apparently cost him more than two months of servitude. Was he just supposed to forget that she had slapped him moments ago? Surely he couldn’t, unsure of how he’d reclaim his place as her husband once this whole thing passed.
Twenty minutes later, Pat returned with a towel wrapped around his waist.
“Tsk tsk, Patti. That’s not how you wrap a towel,” Judy tutted, stepping forward to yank it up under his armpits, knotting it snugly over his chest. “There. Much better,” she declared with a smirk, her eyes dropping to his freshly shaven legs.
“See? Doesn’t that look so much more appropriate? I expect you to look the part—flawlessly.”
Reaching into one of the bags, her grin widened. “I brought you some things today that will help you look much more professional.”
One by one, she handed him each item from her selection, ordering him to slip them on.
First came the underwear: black lace panties that clung uncomfortably compared to the boxers he was used to. Then, a matching black lace bra. “Here,” Judy said, holding it up. “Hook it around your waist first, then pull it up into place. That way, you won’t need me to help next time.”
Pat fumbled with the clasp, his hands trembling slightly, but eventually managed to secure it. This time, the cups didn’t hold the rolled-up socks he had reluctantly used before. Instead, Judy handed him a pair of breast forms, chuckling as she positioned them into place.
“There we go,” she said with a teasing snap of the bra strap. The forms felt disturbingly real, mimicking not just the shape but the weight and subtle bounce of natural breasts. Pat shifted uncomfortably, the foreign sensation making him acutely aware of every movement.
Judy, however, wasn’t done. She tossed him a package of sheer, off-black pantyhose, watching closely as he struggled to pull them on. The thin fabric caught on his fingers, his fumbling attempts resulting in one ruined pair after another. By the fourth try—and after a few slaps to his trembling hands—he finally managed to get them up properly. The silky texture against his freshly shaved legs made him shiver. He wiggled his toes inside the tight fabric, the enclosed sensation both bizarre and unsettlingly intimate.
Judy’s eyes lit up with amusement as she surveyed him. “My, my, Patti, who knew you had such sexy legs?” she teased. Pat flushed crimson, feeling utterly exposed as he stood there, now clad in nothing but lingerie. The delicate lace clung to his body in all the wrong ways, and he hated how vulnerable it made him feel. Judy, however, was clearly enjoying his discomfort, giggling as she rummaged through the remaining bags.
"So, how’s my little servant doing?" she teased, her voice laced with false sweetness, "Do you like your new lingerie? Feeling pretty yet?"
“I feel ridiculous,” He muttered.
Judy waved off his protest dismissively. “Oh, you’ll get over it,” she said breezily, pulling out the last items to complete his look, sighing dramatically as she revealed she couldn’t get her hands on an actual maid uniform.
Not that Pat was particularly upset about that. The thought of wearing one of those frilly, over-the-top uniforms was more mortifying than the lingerie itself. Yet, as Judy had pointed out, such costumes weren’t exactly sold off the rack. And, fortunately for him, custom tailoring was well outside their budget.
For now, though, they had to make the most of it with Judy’s leftovers and complement accessories.
The black dress slid over his body more easily this time, with the assistance of his wife, the zipper was pulled snugly onto its end. Then, the heels he had briefly escaped earlier found their way onto his now silk-covered feet.
Kneeling before him, Judy steadied her wobbling husband as she tied a half-white frilly apron around his waist, finishing it off with a large, fluffy bow at the back. The apron strings cinched tightly against his midsection, emphasizing the hourglass silhouette she had forced him into.
Pat’s trembling hands found themselves encased in silk gloves, positioned on his lap as Judy sat him at her vanity. “Now, just relax,” she said, pulling his head slightly back.
What followed was an excruciating hour of makeup application. Judy took her sweet time, unhurried, relishing each step. “Close your eyes,” she instructed, and Pat complied, feeling the cool brush of foundation being applied to his face. She worked with precision, adding blush to his cheeks, eyeliner to his eyes, and a generous coat of mascara to his lashes. Every stroke of the brush felt like another piece of his dignity slipping away.
She had never been particularly skilled at applying makeup, especially on a man, but with her husband’s naturally soft features, she didn’t need to be. With no beard to conceal or square jaw to reshape, the makeup only enhanced what was already delicate. She had often teased him about his long lashes or naturally rosy cheeks—traits that now worked in her favor.
His short hair, pinned back with barrettes during the makeup process, was now tucked away beneath a thin cap. “Hold still,” she murmured, carefully adjusting a short, curly brunette wig onto his head. The bouncy bob framed his face perfectly, the soft curls bounced lightly as she adjusted it to sit just right.
Stepping back, she admired her handiwork, a slow, satisfied grin spreading across her face.
“And to think, I was worried you’d be difficult about this,” she mused, brushing a stray lock from his forehead. “You’ve taken to it quite naturally.”
Pat’s stomach churned at the thought. Nothing about this felt natural.
He dared to glance at his reflection and barely recognized the person staring back. The soft waves of his styled hair, the delicate pink hue on his lips, the perfectly blended eyeshadow—it was like looking at a stranger, a cruel joke taken too far.
Judy clapped her hands together with dramatic flair. “And voilà! Ze maid is here!”
Pat, however, wasn’t nearly as amused.
“For your first time fully dressed, you really do look… good,” she admitted, tilting her head in genuine surprise. “Honestly, I don’t think anyone would guess you’re not a woman.”
Even Judy hadn’t expected such impressive results. It had only taken one harmless display of her strength to get her husband to submit entirely to her whims, even if it meant shredding every last vestige of his masculinity.
Circling him, she smoothed out any wrinkles in his skirt and adjusted his posture slightly straighter. She could see the discomfort in his wide eyes, the way they darted away from her gaze, his painted lips trembling slightly with each shallow breath the tight attire allowed him.
He was terrified.
And she knew it.
But his fear also kept him obedient, too scared to voice his humiliation.
And so the expectation of a well-deserved rest morphed into harder work than Pat had ever endured as a high school teacher. He spent the following weeks cooped up indoors—just as he might have planned—but under circumstances entirely different from what he had envisioned. Gone were the 9-to-5 shifts; Judy had him working from dawn until dusk.
The headaches began early in the morning only by the intense fights he found himself involved against the dresses’ zippers, only to intensify by each item of the endless list of chores she demanded.
None of the unruly students he managed in class compared to how difficult Judy had become in her new role as his "mistress." Dusting, vacuuming, cleaning every room, making the beds, doing laundry—Judy delegated all of it to him. She had him ironing all of their clothes, which she’d never bothered to press herself when housework fell under her domain. Of course, having a maid allowed her to aspire to have a house flawlessly maintained to the minutest of her specifications.
Over time, Pat learned to prioritize any tasks that required him to step outside—like taking out the trash or sweeping the porch—before their neighbors stirred. Unlike him, they were probably enjoying their holidays by sleeping in, oblivious to the strange goings-on just meters away.
Though pool and lawn maintenance weren’t part of his duties, Judy always made sure her maid served refreshments to the workers hired for those jobs. Bringing cold beers to the men under his wife’s watchful eyes was humiliating enough—but the knowing glances, the barely concealed smirks, and the occasional wink from the workers made it unbearable. Still, Pat found some solace in the small mercy that none of them seemed to recognize the man hidden beneath the feminine guise.
Judy, meanwhile, enjoyed her days to the fullest. She never lifted a finger, her meals prepared, the house cleaned, and her outfits ready for any outings she had planned—whether with friends or solo adventures on the weekends.
Pat soon gave up on any idea of catching up on his reading, as all of his books, especially the thick ones, were now used to balance on his head during the training his wife put him through to walk, stand, and sit like a true lady.
His modest closet was now overflowing with Judy’s hand-me-downs. Dresses, skirts, and blouses—all carefully selected to ensure he could take on the role of a female servant properly. Even if he tried to avoid them, his male clothing had been locked away in their old bedroom, completely out of his reach.
Even when he wasn’t actively serving his wife, Pat was still expected to perfect every aspect of his feminine facade. Mornings were dedicated to mastering his makeup application and brushing up his wig, and he soon managed to maintain his appearance without her assistance. While the lonely nights were spent adopting a routine of applying face masks, oils, and nail polish on both his hands and feet in the few minutes he had before getting some sleep, which wasn’t easy to come by, not with the silicone forms she insisted he kept on nearly 24/7—removing them for just one hour every third day to let the skin breathe—nor the frilly negligees and baby dolls he only had to sleep in.
As Pat hurried inside, barely finishing with the window cleaning as the sharp screech of Mrs. Robinson’s Porsche echoed from the driveway. Judy, catching sight of the elderly woman through the freshly cleaned glass, smirked to herself, considering aloud whether she should lend out her little helper to assist with watering those roses of hers.
A harmless joke, Pat dared to hope.
As much as Judy enjoyed her games at his expense, public exposure still felt like a line even she wouldn’t cross. At least, that’s what he told himself.
IV
It was late on a Monday morning, three weeks into Pat's new role as his wife's maid, when Judy called him upstairs. He had just finished the breakfast dishes and immediately obeyed, as the sound of his high heels clicking on the wooden staircase confirmed, echoing through the house. Though still a little wobbly, her husband had made remarkable progress in maintaining his balance and even a hint of grace, all thanks to Judy’s relentless coaching.
When he stepped into the bedroom, his eyes landed on several of Judy’s dresses spread across the bed. The sight struck him as odd, considering she was already dressed and ready to leave. Before he could ask why, she shot him a playful smile, and without warning, reached for the zipper of his maid uniform. A quick tug, and the black dress slipped from his shoulders, pooling in a heap at his feet.
Judy wasted no time. She guided him into each outfit, one by one, adjusting and critiquing as she went. Some were too tight, others too loose, a few just not right. After a series of dismissals, she finally settled on a white sleeveless dress adorned with red and pink floral patterns. But she wasn’t finished.
Kneeling before him, she peeled off his pantyhose, replacing them with delicate garter belts and ultra-sheer taupe stockings, clipping them into place. Pat barely had time to register the change before she was already slipping his feet into a pair of matching three-inch sandals, completing the look. His makeup, though flawless, was deemed too dark for the sunny day, nothing a few adjustments couldn't fix.
Judy finished with a bright red coat of lipstick on his lips. Pat had learned to comply silently, finding it the best way to deal with her relentless demands.
“There,” she declared clearly, stepping back to survey the final result. “You’ll certainly do well today.”
Pat’s stomach churned at her words, a familiar knot of anxiety tightening in his chest. “What are you planning now?” he asked cautiously, already fearing the answer.
Judy’s grin only widened as she met his wary gaze. “Oh, honey, it’s been three weeks. Don’t you think it’s about time you got out of the house?”
Pat’s eyes widened. “Out of the house? Like... out-out? In public?”
“Of course!” Judy laughed, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You’ve been cooped up here far too long. Geez, you’ve always been such a shut-in!”
“Wh-why would you... I mean, I don’t... I-I…” Pat stammered, struggling to find the words to express his obvious objections to stepping out in public dressed as a woman.
“Patti, I think I’ve been very understanding of your... adjustment period.” She turned toward the mirror, adjusting her earrings, before looking back at him with a smirk. “But it’s time for you to give a little too, sweetie.”
Pat shook his head, exasperation bubbling up. “Give in? I do everything around here! I’ve practically become your—" He stopped himself just short, but the word slipped out anyway, "—slave!"
Judy’s expression immediately darkened, her smile evaporating. “Patti…” she said warningly, her voice dangerously low.
“Sorry, sorry,” Pat quickly backtracked, his courage deflating under the weight of her stare. “I didn’t mean... I was just... I mean, you’ve been asking so much of me."
“First of all,” Judy began sharply, “you’re not my slave. You’re my maid.” She let the word hang in the air for a moment before continuing. "And don’t kid yourself, you don’t do everything around here. Who does all the grocery shopping? Certainly not you. What good is having a maid if I can’t even send her out to run a few simple errands?”
Before Pat could argue, Judy pulled a bright red kerchief from a drawer and held it up. “Now, now,” she said, her mood softening as she draped it around his neck, “I’m not going to make you prance around town in your little maid uniform, if that’s what you’re worried about—though I’m sure you’d turn a few heads.” She smirked at his panicked expression, tying the knot snugly at the front.
“And as much as I love sharing my wardrobe with my sweet little girl, it’s time you found your own style.” Judy declared, giving a playful tug to the ends of the kerchief, making Pat gulp. “So it’s off to the mall for us gals today,”
“Judy, I really don’t think this is necessary—”
“Oh, but it absolutely is,” Judy interjected, with a higher tone.
“But... what if someone recognizes me?"
Judy rolled her eyes, letting out an exasperated sigh. “Patti, relax. No one’s going to recognize you. Look at you!” She gestured dramatically toward him. “I’ve done a pretty damn good job transforming you, haven’t I?” She didn’t wait for a response. “And honestly, who’s going to be looking for you at the mall like this?”
Pat turned to the mirror, barely recognizing the person staring back at him. The face looking back was carefully made up—soft, feminine, although the worried expression didn’t match well. His wig, styled just right and the red scarf around his neck perfectly concealed the subtle outline of his Adam’s apple.
“Now quit worrying and get your purse,” Judy ordered, already heading for the door. “We’ve got a lot of shopping to do, and I’m not letting you chicken out.”
Pat stood frozen for a moment, his legs refusing to move. Every part of him wanted to rip off the dress, wipe the makeup from his face, and forget this whole thing had ever started. But what choice did he have at this point but to comply with his wife’s demands, who at least had taken the effort to polish every aspect of his forced femininity before presenting him to society?
With a deep breath, he grabbed the purse off the bed and followed her.
"Good girl," Judy praised, glancing back over her shoulder with a satisfied smile. "You’re going to feel fabulous by the time we’re done. I promise."
The ride to the mall felt like a slow descent into dread. Pat sat stiffly in the passenger seat, staring out the window as the world passed by, his heart pounding harder with every mile that took him further from the safety of his own home. Judy, however, seemed completely at ease. She hummed along to the radio, chatting about fashion, a new boutique that had just opened, and how fun it was going to be for the two of them to spend the day doing something "girly" together.
When they finally pulled into the mall parking lot, Pat’s stomach dropped. Judy parked the car, slid out of her seat, and then turned to give him an expectant look. “Well? Come on,” she said, waving him out of the car like a mom ushering a kid off to school.
Pat hesitated, but he knew there was no point in stalling. The sooner they started, the sooner this whole thing would be over. He swung his legs out of the car and carefully stepped onto the pavement, the click of his heels echoing in the stillness of the lot.
As they made their way toward the entrance, passing by shoppers, clerks, and window-browsers, Pat’s nerves were on high alert. He could feel every step, every awkward shift in his balance. He braced himself for stares, whispers, maybe even laughter. But to his surprise—and immense relief—nobody seemed to care. People glanced at him, sure, but only in the casual way you’d notice anyone passing by. To them, he was just another woman out shopping on a sunny day, and that somehow made it even more unsettling.
Judy moved through the mall like she owned the place, practically dragging her husband along in her wake. She was in her element, breezing in and out of shops, barely glancing at displays before yanking him into the next store. Pat stumbled behind her, unsure if this was her usual shopping style or if she was just enjoying herself at his expense. Unlike the other husbands sitting idly on benches, looking bored while waiting for their partners, he knew they were in paradise compared to him. He was carted around with armfuls of clothes—not for Judy, but specifically selected for him to wear.
“Try this,” Judy called out, thrusting a lavender dress with a flared skirt into Pat’s arms. Before he could react, she added a floral sundress to the pile, her grin widening as she rifled through racks, pulling out tops, skirts, and notably few pairs of pants. "And this... Oh, and definitely this one. You’re going to look adorable in it."
Pat glanced down at the growing heap of clothes in his arms, his face flushing. “Judy, I’m not sure this is—”
“Ah, ah, ah,” she interrupted, wagging a finger at him with a teasing smirk. “No complaints. We’re here to have fun, and I’m definitely not letting you back out now.”
“But do we really need all of these?” Pat asked, trailing behind her. “I mean, when am I even going to wear them? Can’t we just pick a couple—”
“Absolutely not,” Judy cut in, balancing another skirt on top of the pile, followed by four dresses, a few blouses, and those capris she’d been eyeing. “This isn’t just about picking out something cute. We’re finding the perfect fit. And the only way to do that is to try everything on.”
Pat glanced nervously around the store, feeling his cheeks heat up. “Wait, you mean... right now? Like... in the store?”
“Of course, silly,” Judy said, rolling her eyes playfully. “But not right here in the middle of the aisle.” She pointed across the store, past a row of mannequins posed in cozy autumn styles, to the dressing rooms. “Over there, by the sales rack.”
“I can’t go in there!” Pat hissed, glancing at the sign above the curtained stalls that clearly read Ladies.
Judy arched an eyebrow, her lips tugging into a smirk. “Well, you can’t exactly waltz into the gents looking like this, can you?” She gestured at him, clearly amused. “Trust me, sweetheart, this is the only option.”
“Judy, please,” He pleaded, his hands trembling as he clutched the clothes. “Can’t we just buy them all and I’ll try them on at home?”
“Nope,” she said, her tone firm but not unkind. “Women’s clothes aren’t that simple. Sizes vary, cuts are tricky, and not everything fits the same. I’m not about to waste money on something that doesn’t suit you. Besides…” She leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I thought you liked playing dress-up.”
“Shhh!” He hissed, glancing around the store in panic. The idea of someone overhearing this—especially here—made his stomach churn.
Judy’s playful smirk shifted into something sharper. “Now,” she said slowly, “I really don’t want to cause a scene. But if you keep making a fuss…” She let her words hang, savoring the moment. “I might just have to tell security I spotted a man dressed as a woman sneaking around the store.”
Pat’s heart leapt into his throat. “You wouldn’t,” he called in the highest tone he could murmured.
“Oh, wouldn’t I?” Judy considered feigning innocence, clearly enjoying the flash of panic on his face. “How long do you think it would take them to find you, huh? Surely less time than it’ll take for you to try on these lovely outfits.” She punctuated her words with a playful swat to his backside, nudging him toward the fitting rooms. “Now, let’s get moving!”
Pat let out a deep breath, trying to steel himself as he stepped reluctantly toward the dressing area. The space was mostly empty, just a row of curtained stalls with full-length mirrors flanking the walls. Slipping into one, he hung the clothes on a hook and tried to calm himself. It’s just another part of the game, he told himself. Just play along, and it’ll be over soon.
Stripping down to the bra and panties he’d been wearing underneath, Pat felt awkwardly exposed there in a public establishment only protected by a thin wall of cloth. He reached for the lavender dress first, carefully slipping it over his head and fumbling with the zipper. After a bit of struggle, he managed to get it on, but the fabric clung awkwardly to his chest, and he could already tell it wasn’t a great fit.
Peeking out from behind the curtain, he called, “Okay, it fits. Can I change into the next one now?”
Judy stood just outside with her arms crossed, a disapproving click of her tongue. “Oh no, no, no. That’s not how this works. Step out here properly and let me see.”
Reluctantly, Pat shuffled out, eyes glued to the floor as he emerged from behind the curtain. Judy’s eyes lit up as she scanned him from head to toe, lips curling into a thoughtful smile. “Hmm, it’s cute, but see how it’s a little tight around the bust?” She reached out, adjusting the bodice pinching under his arms. “That’s not flattering at all. We need something that fits better.”
And so it began.
Outfit after outfit, Pat tried on everything Judy handed him—skirts, dresses, blouses, and more. Every time he thought he was done, she’d toss something new over the curtain. It felt like an endless fashion show where he was the unwilling model, and Judy was the ever-critical judge stationed just outside, ready to scrutinize every detail.
The fitting room turned into an endless loop of outfits, each one piling higher and higher as she discarded the rejects and held onto the "maybes." Pat was exhausted, physically and mentally. His patience wore thin with every passing minute that stretched into hours, but he didn’t dare argue. Not with the way Judy was so… invested.
At one point, Pat found himself struggling with the zipper of a leather mini-skirt, his long, manicured nails—another of Judy’s delightful insistences—getting in the way. He fumbled helplessly until Judy, sighing in exasperation, finally intervened, smacking his hands away and zipped it up herself
"You’ve gotta get used to this, Patti,” she scolded, giving him a stern look. "There’ll be plenty more trips like this, and I won’t always be here to help zip you up."
Pat couldn’t suppress the eye-roll or the sarcastic smirk that crossed his face. As if he’d ever willingly subject himself to this kind of shopping spree again, especially without her dragging him along. But the way Judy spoke, so matter-of-fact, like this was their new normal, planted a seed of doubt in his mind. She was enjoying this far too much to just stop. If anything, her amusement seemed to grow with each new addition to his ever-expanding wardrobe of women's clothing. What on earth would stop her from attending?
Before he could dwell on it, Judy’s voice pulled him back to reality. “Pay attention, Patti!” she barked, tugging at the hem of the skirt to adjust the fit. “We’re here to find what suits you best, and you’re not making it easy.”
Judy’s excitement reached a new level when he stepped out in a sleek black top paired with a red pleated skirt. Without warning, she pulled the curtain wide open, showcasing him to anyone who happened to be passing by. “Oh, this is perfect!” she practically purred, scanning him from head to toe. “It’s like it was made for you. The fit is spot-on, and the skirt shows off those lovely legs of yours,” she added, gesturing at the mentioned, which were indeed on full display. “We have to get this one.”
He let out a small sigh of relief when Judy finally headed to the register, only for his heart to skip a beat when he noticed she was using his credit card. He said nothing, just watched as the transactions went through, thankful that neither his signature nor ID was required.
But the day wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.
As if determined to enter every establishment specifically directed at women, Judy seemed to have traced a tour along the mall that included at least one visit to every boutique, shoe store, jewelry shop, and fashion outlet taking plenty of souvenirs from each.
By the time they sat down for a coffee break, Pat could barely keep track of what he’d bought—or, rather, what Judy had bought for him. They had completed what it felt like the 100th parade with him struggling to pass through the door frame, weighed down with plastic bags filled to the brim with dresses, blouses, tops, pumps, sandals, hats, earrings, skirts—denim, pleated, and mini—short shorts, hair products, cosmetics, and more clothing than he’d ever imagined he’d wear in a lifetime, let alone in the next few months.
"Great," he muttered, collapsing into the chair opposite Judy. "We’re all set, right? Can we go home now?"
“Oh, Patti, don’t be silly,” Judy teased, sipping her caramel frappe. “We’re far from done. There are still a few more places we need to hit.”
Pat sighed, stirring a dollop of cream into his dark coffee. He briefly considered whether an equally sugary drink would have better matched the expectations of his current role, but he’d never been one for such sweet choices.
“What’s the rush? The laundry isn’t going anywhere.” she added with a playful pinch to his flushed cheek, as if his eagerness to leave had anything to do with the house chores. “Think of today as your day off. No dusting, no scrubbing—just us, out and about. Try to have some fun for once, will you?”
Before any response, Judy downed the rest of her drink and shot up from her seat, ready to move on. He scrambled to down the rest of his drink, tossing the lipstick-stained cup into the trash, and rushed to catch up with her brisk pace.
Judy slowed just enough for him to catch up but kept her stride fast enough to keep him on edge. As he drew nearer, she caught sight of two men at a nearby table, who’s gazes followed the sway of her husband’s hips, which he was unconsciously exaggerating on his attempts to speed up. The men exchanged a knowing smirk, and Judy couldn’t help but let out a quiet laugh.
"You know," she said, glancing sideways at him, “you’re really getting the hang of this.”
“The hang of what?” Pat asked, still struggling to match her pace.
“Of being a woman,” Judy replied matter-of-factly. “You’ve got the walk down, the voice is coming along…” She gave him an appraising look up and down. “And, honey, you wear that dress like you’re doing it a favor.”
Pat’s cheeks turned bright red, unsure whether to take it as a compliment or another one of her teasing digs. "Uh, thanks... I guess?" he muttered awkwardly.
Judy smirked, giving him a playful nudge. “Oh, don’t get too comfortable. You’ve still got a lot to learn.” She steered him toward another store, one he instantly recognized despite never having set foot inside. The bold pink sign above the door read Victoria’s Secret.
Inside, Pat felt utterly out of place, surrounded by rows of delicate, lacy undergarments that made the ones he currently wore seem downright modest. Being here would have been awkward enough as a man, but as a man dressed as a woman, it was borderline unbearable. His discomfort was equally inverted to the enthusiasm his wife mustered onto each piece, commenting on how they would bring out the hidden woman in him.
Meanwhile, it was the hidden man that was struggling to keep the facade, not having the stomach to pretend he was eager to try on the revealing items Judy thrust in his direction.
Judy disappeared into the racks briefly, returning with a dainty, lacy thong in hand. She held it against Pat’s waist, tilting her head as if she were envisioning him wearing it. “Aren’t these just divine?” she mused. “I wonder if they have a matching bra. Why don’t you ask the salesgirl if they’ve got a 36B?”
Pat’s face went pale. “Judy, please,” he whispered urgently, “I can’t do that.”
“And why not?” she asked, clearly feigning ignorance as she held the delicate garment closer to his hips.
“I just… I can’t,” he insisted, his voice barely audible. “Please don’t make me.”
Judy sighed, shaking her head as if scolding a child. “Oh, Patti, you’ve got to get over this embarrassment already. The staff here are used to women who feel shy about indulging in a little sexy fun. Trust me—they’ll know just how to help you.” She gave him a gentle push toward the counter. “Now, go on.”
Pat hesitated, but the subtle tilt of her head and sharpness in her gaze left no room for argument. Reluctantly, he shuffled toward the salesgirl, who greeted him with a cheerful smile.
“Hi! Can I help you find anything today, miss?” she asked, her tone warm and professional.
Miss. She had called him miss. This complete stranger didn’t see him for what he was—not that it was surprising, considering the floral dress, styled hair, and makeup.
“Uh, yes,” Pat stammered. “I was wondering if these panties are part of a set? I’m, uh, looking for a 36B bra to match.”
The salesgirl nodded, tapping a few keys on her register. “You’re in luck! We do have a matching bra. Let me grab it for you,” she chirped before disappearing into the back of the store.
As Pat waited, he caught sight of a group of teenage girls walking past the storefront. He turned away, hoping—praying—that none of them were his students. Thankfully, they were just a bunch of girls too engrossed in their conversation to notice the anxious “lady” in the lingerie store.
Still, the mere thought of being spotted sent a fresh wave of nausea rippling through him. How could he ever face his class again if word got out that their teacher had been spotted shopping for lingerie—for himself? The possibilities churned in his mind, each scenario worse than the last.
He imagined the girls in his classroom snickering behind their hands, openly commenting on his manicured nails while he fumbled through a lesson with impossibly long, painted tips. The boys’ mocking whistles at the sight of his panty-clad rear when he bent down to pick up a dropped marker during a test.
The seniors huddled by their lockers, loudly taking bets on who could lift his hem the highest as he walked past. Told you he was wearing a thong, dude! Pat could almost hear Tommy Mickelson’s triumphant shout, followed by the sound of high-fives and jeering laughter.
No stern glare or authoritative tone would stop them from reveling in his humiliation. My wife made me do it, as an explanation, wouldn’t deflect their ridicule—it would only amplify it.
He wondered, not for the first time, how on earth he’d allowed things to go this far. Then he glanced over at Judy, who was rummaging through a display of lacy teddies with a grin that could only be described as wickedly amused, and he remembered exactly why he didn’t have a choice. Those kids and he shared the same fear of the P.E. trainer he happened to call wife.
“Here you go,” the salesgirl chirped, snapping Pat out of his anxious daydreams as she returned with the bra he had requested. She handed it to him, and he couldn’t help but try to mimic the same inspection gestures he had seen Judy do—feeling the fabric, checking the size, even holding it against his chest to gauge the fit. The salesgirl stifled a giggle but remained professional. "We actually have a few more pieces in this set, if you’re interested," she added, gesturing to a nearby display and taking the liberty of guiding him over to it.
"There’s a lovely garter belt and a coordinating camisole," she offered, inviting Pat to check the fabric. He nodded at the blush-pink lingerie as if seriously considering it. "It really pulls everything together for a special night," she added, evidently suggestive.
The implication made his cheeks flush hotter, and he could barely manage a polite smile before she stepped away, her demeanor reverting to businesslike efficiency as she moved toward the register.
Pat didn’t dare look directly at her, afraid of what he might see—pity, amusement, or worse, a knowing smirk. Instead, he focused intently on the lingerie, pretending to admire the intricate lacework. Just as he was about to place the bra back on the rack, Judy sidled up beside him, nudging him lightly with her elbow. “See? That wasn’t so bad, was it, Patti?” she teased.
Pat didn’t dignify her comment with a response, pretending instead to be engrossed in the rest of the set. Judy, noticing his glance lingering on the camisole, grabbed it from the hanger and held it against his chest.
“Oh, I think this would look amazing on you,” she said, stepping back to survey him. “Don’t you agree?”
He muttered quietly, “The cashier called me ‘miss.’”
“Of course she did,” Judy cooed, delighted. “You look far too young and cute to be taken already.” She pouted mockingly as she checked the price tag. “Honestly, you’re pulling off this whole look way better than I ever imagined. You could easily pass as my little sister—or maybe a cousin. Anything but my husband.”
Pat’s face turned an even deeper shade of crimson, and he cast a nervous glance at the salesgirl, praying she hadn’t overheard. But the young woman remained at her post, maintaining a polite, professional smile, perhaps enjoying the spectacle of a customer too embarrassed to admit she was buying an outfit designed to entice men.
When they finally approached the register, the total rang up, and Pat’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “When am I ever going to wear any of this, Judy?” he hissed, leaning in and trying to keep his voice low.
Judy waved off his concern with a casual flick of her wrist. “Oh, don’t mind her,” she said airily, turning her attention to the cashier, who mirrored her amusement. “She’s just nervous she can’t afford it with her meager wages as a maid. But don’t worry, Patti. My dear husband will be covering this one.”
The cashier chuckled, glancing between them with a knowing smirk. “Well, that’s very thoughtful of him,” she said, sliding the card into the reader.
“I’m going to need your signature here, please,” she asked, sliding the receipt toward Pat. He sighed and took the pen from her hand, scribbling on it.
“You’ve got nothing to worry about,” she added, her tone matching Judy’s as she handed the card back along with his purchases contained in a glossy pink shopping bag. “I’m sure you’ll find plenty of reasons to wear these.”
And just as their hands met while handing over the bag, she added, “Surely Mr…” She glanced down at the receipt. “Mr. Patrick will appreciate it. Won’t you, dear?”
Pat froze, his hand hovering midair. His heart skipped a beat as he stammered, “W-what?”
The cashier stifled a laugh, covering her mouth with a polite wave. “Oh, I meant, are you happy with your purchase, miss?” she clarified, leaning into the word miss with a playful wink.
He nodded stiffly, snatching the bag in a rush, ready to leave the store as quickly as possible. But as he turned, the cashier called after him, “Excuse me, the pen?”
Flustered, Pat spun back around, hurriedly placing the pen on the counter. His grip slipped, and it clattered to the floor. Mortified, he crouched to retrieve it, catching the cashier’s increasingly amused expression as she fought to maintain her composure.
Without saying a word, Pat bolted from the store, his heels clicking against the floor in hurried staccato. Judy followed at a leisurely pace, laughing under her breath, thoroughly entertained by the scene.
V
True to her earlier promise, Judy decided to treat her husband to a quick meal at a chain restaurant nestled in the mall’s food court. For him, it was a brief reprieve, a chance to catch his breath after a day that had tested him in more ways than he’d anticipated.
By this hour of the evening, the place was beginning to empty, unlike the chaotic crowds they had endured earlier in the day. For the first time in hours, Pat felt his racing heart begin to slow as he nibbled on a simple sandwich, grateful for the momentary lull.
He had just finished the last bite and was gathering the trays to return them when a loud, surprised voice elevated from the humming to cut through the court.
“Judy Platt?! No way! Is that really you?”
Pat turned just in time to see two men approaching their table, one of them looking especially thrilled to see his wife. Judy’s face brightened immediately, and she sprang to her feet, clearly just as excited.
“Tom? Tom Rizzo?” she squealed, throwing herself into the taller man’s arms. “Oh my God, I can’t believe it! I haven’t seen you in forever!”
Her enthusiasm struck Pat as a bit over-the-top, and he found himself hanging back, unsure whether to join them or fade into the background.
Tom, broad-shouldered and dressed sharply in a tailored suit, hugged her back before taking a step back to look her over, his eyes shamelessly scanning her from head to toe. “Wow, Judy. You haven’t changed a bit. Still as gorgeous as ever.”
“Oh, stop it! You’re still the same smooth-talker you were back then.” Judy laughed, playfully swatting his shoulder. “You haven’t changed either—still looking exactly like my old college boyfriend.”
Tom’s grin widened as he leaned in a little. "Oh really? Do I look like your new boyfriend too?"
They both laughed at the banter, but Pat, watching from the sidelines, couldn’t help but bristle at the sight of another man openly flirting with his wife.
“Oh, Judy, where are my manners?” Tom finally turned to the man standing beside him. “This is Mike Harris, a colleague of mine. He gestured toward the slightly shorter, dark-haired man with a smooth demeanor. "Mike, this is Judy Platt—an old friend from high school."
Judy flashed a mischievous smile. "Oh, we were definitely more than just classmates," she joked, giving Mike a friendly nod. Then, as if suddenly remembering Pat’s existence, she glanced over and waved him toward the group. "Oh, and this," she added with a too-sweet smile, "is my cousin, Patti."
Pat, stiffening at the introduction but knowing he had no choice, forced a smile. Gathering what little courage he had left, he approached and extended his manicured hand toward the two men.
Tom’s handshake was firm and businesslike, but when Pat turned to Mike, something different happened. Mike took Pat’s “Patti” hand and, to his horror, raised it to his lips, pressing a light kiss on the back of it. "Charmed," Mike murmured, his eyes lingering on Pat for just a beat too long, sending an uncomfortable shiver down his spine. Judy, of course, giggled at the sight.
The initial introductions quickly gave way to an extended conversation, with Tom and Judy dominating most of it, reminiscing about their college days. Mike chimed in occasionally, adding a comment or two, but Pat stayed mostly silent, half-listening as they swapped stories he’d never heard before.
After what felt like an eternity, Tom casually brought up the inevitable. “So, what do you say? Feel like grabbing a drink and catching up some more?”
Pat, silently hoping Judy would decline, felt a wave of relief ready to wash over him—until she answered.
“Absolutely,” she said, not even a hint of hesitation. “We’d love to. Just give us a minute to freshen up,” She hooked her arm through Pat’s, ignoring the way he stiffened, tugging both of them toward the restrooms.
Once inside the ladies’ room and safely out of earshot, Pat’s composure cracked. “Are you serious, Judy?” he whispered harshly, trying to keep his tone low in case someone else was there. “What are you doing? You can’t just invite us to drinks with them!
Judy barely acknowledged his outburst. She was already at the sink, pulling out her cosmetics for a quick touch-up. “Sweetie, relax,” she said, calmly tracing the outline of her lips with a fresh coat of lipstick. “It’s harmless fun, catching up with old friends. What’s the big deal?”
Pat threw his purse onto the counter, closing the gap between them. “The big deal is you were practically flirting with him right in front of me! Are you out of your mind?”
Judy shrugged, daring to joke even now. "No, I’m not. But I’ve surely been out of the dating scene for a while. I’m a little rusty," she teased, her smirk meeting his eyes in the reflection as she tapped her lipstick back into place. “Oh, come on. It’s fun to catch up, to play around a bit.” She assured, given Pat’s resistance to share her sense of humor. “Tom and I are reminiscing, having a good time. You can handle Mike for a while.”
Pat’s heart pounded. “I don’t want to handle Mike,” he said, his voice louder than he intended. He glanced nervously at the bathroom stalls, praying no one was inside to overhear them.
“And who do you want to handle then?” Judy asked, feigning innocence. "Because I'm warning you, sister, Tom is all mine." She held the warning a bit too long, threatening Pat with the opposite of her makeup pencil, stifling a laugh as she leaned back against the counter, clearly amused by his distress.
“This isn’t funny, Judy,” Pat pleaded, recuperating Patti’s tone. “This—this stupid game never involved you seeing other men like this. I’m your husband. I’m supposed to be your husband.”
“You’re really making a scene over nothing,” she complained, with a dismissing flick of her fingers. “It’s just a drink. Mike seems nice, and he clearly likes you." She turned back to the mirror, carefully wiping a smudge of mascara from under her eye. "You should be flattered."
"Flattered?" Pat nearly choked on the word. "Flattered that some guy thinks I’m—" He paused, struggling to find the right words. "This is insane! I didn’t sign up for this."
Judy’s playful demeanor suddenly shifted, her eyes narrowing slightly. “No, you didn’t.” She held his gaze in the mirror, her face unreadable. “You don’t have to stay. But just so you know..." She tapped her purse, producing a metallic jingle from within. "I’ve got the keys to the car and the house right here. So unless you feel like walking home and waiting for me on the porch all night, I suggest you play along, sister. I mean, cousin."
Defeated, Pat slumped his shoulders and let out a resigned sigh. He had no choice but to follow her lead. Moving to stand beside her at the mirror, he grabbed the lipstick from his purse and began fixing his makeup, while Judy dabbed perfume on her wrists.
A few minutes later, they both emerged from the bathroom looking like two well-put-together women. Judy linked her arm through Pat’s, giving it a little squeeze as she led him back toward the booth. “Come along, Patti,” she teased, “We don’t want to keep the boys waiting too long, now do we?”
If it were up to him, he’d make those "boys" wait a lifetime before sitting down with them again, but with no power in the matter, Pat forced himself to follow her lead, their heels clicking against the floor as they returned to the restaurant-bar.
"Ah, there they are!" Tom said, signaling the waiter to come over. “I was starting to think you’d gotten lost.”
“Nope, just freshening up,” Judy replied breezily, sliding into the booth next to Tom. She motioned for Pat to sit next to Mike. “You know how us ladies are, right?”
The cozy booth seemed smaller now that they had rejoined the men. The drinks that had initially served as bait to catch his wife’s attention were ordered. While Tom and Mike decided to share a pitcher of domestic beer, the “ladies” were served a couple of sugary cocktails, their low alcohol content barely enough to dull the humiliation of watching his wife openly flirt with another man. At least the conversation was lively enough that no one expected him to participate much. Still, Mike’s lingering glances sent shivers down his spine every now and then.
The group spent much of the evening catching up, reminiscing about their shared past before diving into what they had been doing in recent years. Tom, as it turned out, had done well for himself, running a successful local gym franchise. Judy praised him with such exaggerated enthusiasm. No exaggeration was needed when she casually dropped a bombshell.
“Me?” Judy said with a casual wave of her hand when the attention turned to her. “Well, I got married about five years ago, but I’m currently separated.” She paused, savoring a sip of her drink before continuing, “Actually, Patti and I became roommates shortly after my separation, which, believe me, is a much better arrangement!”
The so-called “roommate” swallowed hard, feeling a mix of anger and embarrassment at how lightly she denied their relationship right to his face.
“Oh, sorry to hear that,” Tom said sympathetically, his hand finding Judy’s arm and lingering there a little too long for Pat’s liking. “But hey, I’m glad things are working out for you two girls.”
Pat forced a smile, his jaw clenched as Judy leaned in closer to Tom, resting her head on his shoulder. “Yeah, She’s so easy to live with, and we have so much fun together!” she said with exaggerated cheerfulness. “My dear cousin here is the perfect roommate. She handles everything—cooking, cleaning, organizing. You name it, she’s got it covered. Real housewife material.”
She winked at Mike, her gaze drifting her resentful husband, who was far from finding it as funny to have become the slave—correction, maid—of his own wife, let alone of this man in any future.
“Oh, and you know what else is great about living with her?” Judy continued, tilting her empty glass toward the waiter for a refill. “We both love shopping. Just like earlier today—she picked out the most adorable set at Victoria’s Secret. Didn’t you, sweetie?”
Pat’s face flushed a deep red, mortified. "Judy!" he hissed under his breath.
Judy dismissed his protest with a wave of her hand, laughing. “Oh, don’t be shy, Patti! I’m sure Tom and Mike aren’t interested in seeing your unmentionables."
Mike leaned in, his grin sly. “Well, not in the bag, at least.”
The table erupted in laughter, everyone but Pat joining in. He swallowed hard, forcing another bitter sip of his drink, the mere thought of wearing the skimpy lingerie for this Mike guy making his skin crawl.
As the conversation drifted on, Judy steered it toward recounting her supposedly ex husband's failures during their five years of marriage. She spoke with the ease of someone recounting a mildly amusing anecdote, not the litany of disappointments about her marriage that had clearly festered in her mind. She lamented his sedentary lifestyle, his lack of interest in sports, and his general softness, both with his students and in life.
"You like this little number she has on?" Judy wouldn’t stop, now giving the hem of Pat’s dress a teasing tug. “Well, that’s mine. One of the perks of living with Patti here is that we can share clothes—since we’re the same size and all.” she said with a flourish, holding up her glass as the waiter refilled it.
Pat could feel the weight of everyone’s attention pressing down on him, his cheeks burning as he tried to maintain a neutral expression. Judy, however, wasn’t about to let him off the hook. She was just getting started.
“You know,” she added, her gaze fixed on her husband, “I used to borrow Pat’s shirts now and then, but nothing beats slipping into a tight dress that hugs all the right curves. Isn’t that right, Patti?” She raised an eyebrow, clearly daring him to play along.
Pat barely caught the cue, mumbling an agreement as convincingly as his embarrassment allowed. “But I guess that’s something you boys will never experience,” she quipped, waving a hand at Tom and Mike as taking a leisurely sip of her freshly refilled drink. “I mean, I could never borrow a blouse or a pair of pantyhose from my husband, now, could I?”
Tom chuckled at the thought. “He wouldn’t be much of a husband if you could borrow those things from him, now would he?”
Judy laughed along with him, placing her hand on his. “No, he wouldn’t be much of a husband—or much of a man—if he was prancing around in women’s clothing,” she declared, bursting into a loud laugh.
“Could you imagine,” she asked her husband between chuckles, “Pat strutting around in a dress and pantyhose?”
The table erupted in laughter again—everyone except Pat, who forced a strained smile, draining the rest of his drink in one long gulp. It took every ounce of his self-control to play along, especially when Judy’s words felt like a dagger twisting in the wound she had so expertly opened.
“Oh, Judy, never. That would be hilarious, though,” Pat said, his voice trembling with forced humor. “Especially with those hairy legs of his.” Under the table, he crossed his freshly shaved legs.
It was painfully obvious to everyone present, including the waiter discreetly dropping off the check, that Tom’s interest in Judy had skyrocketed the moment she casually mentioned her supposed single status. The last round of drinks had emboldened him, and as they stood to leave the restaurant, Tom smoothly sidled up next to her, his hand slipping around her waist as they walked toward the car.
“So, Judy,” Tom began, his fingers lingering just a little too long on her hip, “what do you say? How about you and I grab dinner sometime?”
“Oh, Tom,” Judy replied with feigned surprise, though the subtle way she leaned into his touch suggested otherwise. “I’m flattered, really. But I’m not sure I can. I wouldn’t want to leave my cousin all alone at home.” She glanced sideways at Pat, who stood awkwardly a few steps behind them.
Tom still pressed, leaning closer. “Well, how about a double date then? Patti can join us. Mike, you’re in, right?”
“Absolutely!” Mike grinned broadly before Pat could muster any objection. He beamed at Pat. “Sounds like a blast!”
The so-called "cousin," could almost hear the quickening thud of his own heartbeat beneath the silicone breast forms strapped to his chest. His stomach churned under the rose-patterned fabric of his dress, and it wasn’t from the sugary cocktails they’d indulged, but rather from the sheer horror of what was being suggested. The thought of spending an entire evening as “Patti” on a double date with Judy, her ex-boyfriend, and Mike—who seemed a bit too eager—was unbearable.
Every instinct screamed at Pat to protest, to stop this insane charade before it went any further. But, as always, what choice did he really have? The decision wasn’t his to make. Judy sealed it with a bright smile before he could utter a word.
“Perfect!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “Let’s make it Friday night, then.”
With that, the night drew to a close. Ever the gentleman, Tom closed the trunk of their car with the effortless strength only a man could provide. Meanwhile, Pat—despite being a man himself—was relegated to the role of a damsel, allowing the guys to assist with the mountain of shopping bags filled with women’s clothing. Clothes that, humiliatingly, were now his.
The bittersweet taste of the cocktail lingered on his tongue as he swallowed hard, watching his wife laugh and share little jokes with a man he’d never even heard of until tonight, their excitement palpable as she and Tom finalized the details for their upcoming date.
Pat shifted uneasily, the silk kerchief Judy had tied around his neck earlier in the day tightening uncomfortably against his throat. She had promised him he’d feel "fabulous" by the end of the day. In this moment, though, fabulous was the last word he would use to describe his current state of mind. Humiliated, emasculated, and utterly defeated were more fitting.
Forcing out another strained chuckle at one of Mike’s cringe-worthy puns, Pat stole a glance at Judy sliding effortlessly into the driver’s seat. Her casual ease, as if she hadn’t just orchestrated the most mortifying evening of his life, sent a wave of resentment surging through him. When she caught his eye and giggled, the sound was like nails on a chalkboard.
But his bubbling rage was interrupted when Mike leaned in, feeling the liberty to plant a soft kiss on his cheek. The gesture sent a wave of nausea down Pat’s spine. He stood frozen, rooted to the spot, counting the agonizing seconds until it would be acceptable to pull away without seeming rude.
“See you soon, Patti,” the daring man called, before finally sauntering off with colleague, both men undoubtedly basking in the glow of their respective conquests.
Touching his recently kissed cheek, the absurdity of it all hit finally Pat like a ton of bricks. The humiliation. The helplessness. The sheer ridiculousness of being reduced to a prop in Judy’s twisted little game.
Marks of his long red hails were left along the rabbit hole he had been dragged into by the superior force of Judy where he was no longer her husband, but a mere wingman—or rather, a wingwoman—supporting her shameless attempts to catch another man’s attention.
After a few sputtering coughs, the engine finally roared to life, and with it, Judy’s teasing resumed. “Well, that was fun, wasn’t it?” she asked, glancing at Pat with a grin that bordered on mischievous.
“Fun?” Pat echoed, his voice barely a whisper before his anger erupted. “You call that fun?” He growled, fists clenching in his lap. “Pretending we’re separated so you can flirt with that Tom guy right in front of me? Do you even have a shred of respect left for our marriage?”
Judy, unfazed, let a bemused smile curl her lips. She laughed—a fit of carefree giggles that only made Pat’s fury burn hotter. “Oh, honey,” she gasped between chuckles, “you’re so helpless.”
“You must’ve been terrified when those men approached, weren’t you?” she continued, wiping a tear from her eye. “But you handled it like a champ. You played the perfect lady.” She reached over and pinched his cheek. “I’m so proud of you, Patti. My little girl’s all grown up!”
Pat sat rigidly in his seat, gripping at the edge of his skirt—her skirt—as the engine gave another small hiccup. “I—I’m serious, Judy,” he stammered, his gaze darting toward her.
“Oh, I’m sure you are,” she replied flippantly, eyes fixed on the road ahead.
“You humiliated me!” Pat’s voice cracked as it rose again. “You paraded me around like some kind of—of pet! Do you have any idea how degrading this is? I’m still your husband, in case you’ve forgotten!”
Judy snorted, barely suppressing a laugh. “Oh, sweetheart,” she said, “anyone would forget that, seeing you in that sexy little dress.”
Pat’s cheeks burned with shame. “I didn’t sign up for this!” he snapped. “I’m not your pawn so you can play the field with other men!”
“Let’s get one thing straight,” Judy interrupted, glancing at the traffic ahead as she searched for an exit. “You did agree to this. I didn’t force you to do anything.”
“You’ve been threatening to expose me all day!” Pat shot back.
"Okay, sure," Judy admitted with a shrug, "I may have… encouraged you, but did I physically force you to come? Did I drag you from the car to try on each of your brand-new dresses?" She paused, letting the question linger before delivering the punchline. “Believe me, I could’ve. But you chose to play along. You chose to smile and bat your lashes for those men who would never believe what’s hidden beneath that skirt.”
She scoffed. “I mean, did I ever care to introduce you as my cousin instead of my maid? Or even my husband at that? That’s how much I respect you.”
Pat’s breath caught in his throat, his anger mingling with a deep-seated fear.
“And what exactly are you so pissed about? Huh?” Judy continued, given the absence of a response. “That you’re being treated to a romantic dinner you don’t even have to pay for? Oh, boo-hoo. Poor baby,” she mocked, adopting a whiny tone. “You signed up for this the second you let me zip you into that dress.”
“I may have agreed to be your maid,” Pat admitted, his voice barely audible now. “And God knows you’ve squeezed every moment of it dry. But what I won’t stand for is your attempts to cheat on me.”
Judy’s laughter bubbled up again. “I mean, it’s not really cheating when you’re fully aware of it, is it?” She asked mockingly, raising an eyebrow.
That was it. Pat felt his last thread of patience snap, his self-control unraveling. “I’m your husband, damn it!” he roared. “And you’re making a fool of me—right in front of my face! This isn’t some playful game anymore, Judy—this is you crossing the line, and I won’t stand for it! I’m done!”
Without hesitation, Pat reached up and yanked the silver earrings from his ears, tossing them onto the dashboard with a sharp clink. His hands flew to his head, ripping off the wig, which landed next to the gearshift in a frizzy heap. “I’m not your damn doll to play with anymore!” he shouted. “That date will never happen!”
The red glow of the traffic light washed over the windshield, highlighting the tension in Pat’s clenched jaw and the momentarily surprise in Judy’s eyes. She leaned back in her seat, arms folded, watching him struggle with what was left of his dignity. He looked ridiculous—his short, masculine haircut clashed violently with the flawless makeup covering his face. His long, fake lashes drooped as he stared numbly ahead, and the shameful sight of the seatbelt slashing between his artificially enhanced breasts.
“Oh, Patti dearest…” She leaned toward him, her elbow propped against the center console, and plucked the curly wig from where it had fallen to the floor. “I know this must be a lot for your little head to handle,” she teased, her hand reaching out to stroke his cheek. “But you don’t have to worry, sweetie. You know why?” Her tone turned playful, almost sing-song, as she forced his face toward hers. “—Because you don’t get a say in this, darling.”
There was a moment—a fleeting second—where Pat nearly smirked, comforted by the familiar touch. But reality hit him hard again as he heard the unmistakable click of the passenger door unlocking.
“Judy… what are you doing?” he whispered, fear tightening in his throat.
Judy didn’t answer. Instead, she leaned across him, her hand shoving the door open with a sharp push. The married couple promptly recreated the scene from the cottage, as Judy grabbed his arm, twisting it behind his back with an ease that sent a sharp jolt of pain shot up his spine, forcing a gasp from his lips.
“What’s wrong, baby?” Judy cooed, her tone syrupy with mock concern. Her grip only tightened as she pulled him closer to the open door. “You seemed so moody I just thought you could use a little fresh air. It’s such a beautiful night, don’t you think?”
Pat winced as the strands of his wigless forehead flutter in the cool breeze. It was late—probably around 11 p.m.—and the cars lined up behind them at the intersection. The flickering pedestrian light blinked to its end, its accelerating rhythm synchronizing with the pounding in his enhanced chest.
“Stop it!” Pat tried to pull his arm free, but Judy’s grip was ironclad. “Don’t do this… not here, not like this.” He rasped, his voice cracking under the weight of fear, actual fear. Judy’s smirk grew wider as she glanced at the green light now glowing at the intersection, ignoring the honking cars behind them.
"This is your chance to show me how much of a man you are, Pat,” Judy taunted, deliberately using his male name for the first time in weeks. Her free hand twisted the key in the ignition, and the engine rumbled to life without a hitch. Even the car seemed to mock him, deciding this was the perfect moment to function flawlessly.
“I’m sure no man would ever be caught dead stepping out in public wearing a little dress like that,” she continued, catching a glimpse of his bent panty-clad rear. “You’d be the manliest of them all!”
His eyes darted toward the side mirror, catching a glimpse of himself. Objects in the mirror may not appear as convincingly feminine as they used to.
His throat tightened as the reality of the situation hit him full force. His reflection stared back at him—lips painted red, mascara running slightly from his teary eyes, his short-cropped hair and his once carefully crafted look now falling apart at the seams. “Please, Judy,” he practically begged. “Don’t make me do this… don’t leave me here, dressed like this.”
“Those are your clothes, Pat,” she declared, cold and distant from inside the vehicle. “Technically mine, but those are the kind of clothes you belong in. This is who you are now. Whether you like it or not.”
The cars behind them blared their horns in unison, the drivers growing impatient with the stalled vehicle in front of them. But Judy remained calm, her focus entirely on the trembling man beside her.
“Judith, stop!” Pat pleaded, his voice edging dangerously close to hysteria. “This isn’t funny!”
“It is for me,” she shot back, her grip unrelenting.
Pat’s gaze darted toward the street, the horrifying reality of what was about to happen crashing over him like a tidal wave. This wasn’t just a cruel prank anymore—this was something far worse. The rumbling engines and honks from behind them were the soundtrack to his worst nightmare as Judy readied herself to push him out of the car and into the humiliating spotlight, her grip threatening to break his arm rather than his leg.
His mind raced, trying to think of a way out, but every option seemed impossible. Even in the midst of all this chaos, Judy was still careful not to ruin his freshly manicured nails. The role of "Patti" wasn’t just a disguise anymore—it was a prison, and Judy held the keys.
“I can’t,” Pat cried, in a low, breaking tone. “I can’t do this, Judy. Please…” His words trailed off, drowned out by the shrill beeping of the open-door alarm.
“Shhh… shhh… shh…” Judy cooed calmly, patting his back. "That’s your male pride talking. Knock it off. You won’t be needing that anymore."
Pat felt his knees begin to slide across the seat, his high heels catching on the edge of the door frame as he was pulled closer to the brink. “I can’t make people do things, Pat,” Judy’s words darkened, now thick with sadistic delight, “You have a choice to do this and I have a choice if you don’t.”
Rivers of dark mascara-stained tears streamed down Pat’s rosy cheeks as he choked back sobs, struggling to summon the voice that could deliver the words she wanted to hear. He took one last, deep breath—the longest sigh he had ever taken in their marriage—and let out a defeated whisper.
"Alright, Judy," he finally murmured. "You win... I’ll go on that date..."
The fresh breeze from the city air stopped abruptly as Judy, completely satisfied, tugged him back into the car with a sharp tug. The honking diminished as they sped away, disappearing into the darkness of the night, replaced by the echoes of Pat’s self-imposed sentence, and the realization that this nightmare was far from over.
VI
The rest of the week ticked by like a countdown, each day slipping away faster than the last. Pat had been on double dates with Judy before—plenty of times. They’d dined with fellow professors or joined Judy’s sister and her husband for casual catch-ups. But back then, it had always been the norm for Judy and Pat to show up as a couple. Friday night, however, promised to obliterate that norm.
Tom and Mike had no idea what they were walking into, but Pat did. And so did Judy. In fact, she seemed almost too excited about it, her eagerness to attend this particular outing borderline alarming.
By Tuesday morning, Judy was practically floating through the house. There was a lightness to her, a bounce in her step that hadn’t been there in years. She hummed a playful tune, her hips swaying to a rhythm only she could hear. Gliding into the kitchen, she danced around Pat as he tried to mop the floor, brushing against him in teasing little ways that sent the hem of his dress swishing with every pass.
The upcoming double date had put her in an unusually sweet mood—sweeter than she had been in a long time, ever since the balance of power in their marriage had shifted.
If Judy was riding high, Pat was sinking fast. The casual run-in he had barely survived now felt like a prelude to the ordeal that awaited at the end of the week. A romantic dinner with two men—one for Judy, one for him. All the effort he and his wife had put into his transformation had to pay off in what promised to be the ultimate test of his newfound femininity, regardless of how much he despised it. He didn’t just have to look like a woman—he had to be a woman. And worse, he had to act like one open to the idea of romance.
Three days. That was all the time Pat had left to prepare for this ordeal. Physically, at least, the transformation was complete—there was no denying that.
He saw it as he stood in front of the mirror on Wednesday night, carefully removing his makeup before applying an avocado mask. The features staring back at him were hardly those of a man anymore. His cheekbones had softened, his eyebrows were expertly shaped, and his lips looked fuller, swollen from the constant application of gloss and liner.
Even his body betrayed him. Stepping out of the shower, he couldn’t ignore how his hips swayed naturally or how his posture had adjusted, instinctively pushing his chest forward even when he wasn’t wearing those loathed mamas. The outward transformation had taken root, but it was the internal shift that frightened him most.
His mind still clung desperately to the last remnants of his manhood, but with every passing day, it was being forced to adapt. Judy’s watchful eye ensured that even his mounting anxiety was subdued—helped along by the “relaxing” pills she lovingly handed him to stay calm.
By Thursday morning, Pat was already deep into the exhausting routine of trying on every possible combination of skirts, blouses, heels, and accessories that Judy had laid out. Each outfit was carefully examined, only to be dismissed with her exasperated sighs and frustrated shakes of her head. After what felt like hours of wrestling with zippers, buttons, and garter belts, Judy finally lifted him from his duties—declaring that the only solution was another shopping trip.
But this trip felt different from the other, even before they arrived. There was no leisurely browsing, no hunt for everyday clothes. As they stepped into a high-end boutique downtown, Pat knew what Judy had in mind. She was after something bold, something unforgettable—an outfit that would turn every head in the restaurant, especially those of Tom and Mike.
“What do you think of this one, Patti?” Judy called from behind a curtain, stepping out in a little black dress.
He blinked, momentarily stunned. For years, Judy had favored a casual, tomboyish style. She lived in hoodies, sneakers, and jeans. But this dress—it was the opposite of everything he had ever seen her wear. The fabric clung to her body like a second skin, hugging her figure in ways that made Pat uncomfortable for reasons he couldn’t quite put into words. The hem was scandalously short, her long legs on full display, and the neckline dipped just low enough to hint at her cleavage without being overtly vulgar.
“Too much?” she asked, flashing a knowing smirk as she spun around, the hem of the dress lifting just slightly, teasing him.
“N-no, it’s just…” Pat stammered, the words stumbling out awkwardly. “I’ve never seen you wear something like that.”
She smiled, clearly amused by his reaction. “Well, darling, I think Friday night should be one to remember. Don’t you?” Turning to the mirror, she ran a hand along the fabric. “Besides, I’m not the only one who needs to look the part.”
Pat swallowed hard, the implication of her words settling in. If Judy was dressing like this, what would she expect from him?
This wasn’t just about looking good for dinner. No, this was about Judy showing off—to Tom, to Mike, and maybe even to him. Pat’s mind drifted back to their first date all those years ago. He remembered the nerves, the way his words had tangled on the way out, how desperately he’d tried to impress her. If only she showed even half that enthusiasm for him now, maybe he wouldn’t feel so lost, so desperate. But Judy had never gone this far for him—not back then, and certainly not now.
That first date felt like a lifetime ago. Back then, he’d worn an ill-fitting black suit—something dug out from the back of a closet, likely borrowed from a relative. His patent leather shoes were a size too big, and the tie he’d bought just for the occasion was wrinkled from his anxious fumbling. He had been a mess, sure, but at least he’d been himself. Now, standing under the harsh fluorescent lights of the boutique, he felt like a mannequin, parading around in dress after dress, each skimpier than the last, all at Judy’s command.
Five years ago, he’d been choking on the knot of his tie. Now, there was more than enough room to breathe, thanks to the plunging necklines from Judy’s selections. The tailored black pants had been replaced by nothing at all, as those skirts were so short they barely reached the tops of his thighs. Each outfit was more revealing than the last, designed to flaunt every curve he wished he didn’t have.
Back then, despite his awkwardness, he’d gone home feeling like he’d made an impression on Judy. Tonight, after hours of being poked and prodded, he returned as the not-so-proud new owner of a ruched, mesh bodycon dress—one that he would be expected to wear in less than twenty-four hours.
The day of the date arrived, and Judy wasted no time dragging Pat out of the house. He barely managed to gulp down his breakfast before she was pushing him into the car, her excitement palpable as they headed to the salon for a full day of beauty treatments. The staff had apparently cleared their schedules for this moment, as if the entire universe had conspired to help Judy push him further down the path of forced feminization.
There was a time not long ago when he would have been mortified to even set foot in such a place, let alone sit through the hours of pampering. Now, however, Pat felt a sense of relief as he settled into the salon chair, knowing the calm that preceded the storm awaiting him that night.
As the manicurist finished his French tips, Judy removed the wig from his head and brushed aside his concerns with a casual wave. To his dismay, none of the other patrons seemed to notice—or care—that there was a man beneath all the makeup. The salon staff worked on him as if he were just another woman in need of a little beautification.
After his little tantrum in the car, Judy had decided it was time for Pat to fully embrace the role, and that meant no more shortcuts or half-measures. His natural brunette hair had grown out sufficiently to allow the stylists to work their magic. Aluminum foil crinkled around his head as they applied hair dye, strands of his hair meticulously wrapped up in plastic tubes before being placed under a machine that felt designed to brainwash any remaining vestiges of masculinity, though it only managed to increase his temperature, leaving an echo of buzzing on his toasty scalp.
When he finally emerged from the establishment, his appearance radiated a femininity so complete that it felt as though it seeped from his very pores. Linked arm-in-arm with Judy, who looked equally stunning, he resembled a perfect reflection of her—two elegant women stepping out into the evening light.
At 7:27 p.m., they finally returned home. Judy wasted no time disappearing into the bedroom, eager to add the finishing touches to her appearance. Meanwhile, Pat was left to iron their respective outfits for the evening. His fingers fumbled with the iron, daydreaming about scorching it or tearing it up—accidentally, of course. Anything to keep Judy from seeing Tom tonight.
He knew better than to try and ruin the night she had been anticipating all week, which tragically included his own attendance. Certainly, Tom would be far less inclined to go on a date with Judy if he knew her husband would be present, even if Judy had gone to great lengths to ensure Pat looked anything but her spouse.
She may have had her grievances about their marriage, and truthfully, Pat had his own. He wasn’t particularly fond of her insistence on turning him into a woman; but forcing him to sit front and center while she paraded herself in front of another man—making him not only witness but actively participate in her betrayal—all while being matched with his own “date” was a cruelty he hadn’t anticipated.
Mike, Judy’s choice for him, seemed decent enough—someone Pat might’ve shared a beer with under different circumstances. He was tall, confident, the kind of guy women naturally gravitated toward. But tonight, as he smoothed the wrinkles from his gown and thought about what awaited him, one glaring truth burned in his mind:
He wasn’t a woman. No matter how Judy dressed him, no matter how much makeup they applied, Pat was still a man. At least, that’s what he kept telling himself.
Judy, now more matchmaker than partner, descended into the living room, her perfume announcing her arrival before Pat even noticed her. A heavy silence hung between them at first, broken only by the faint rustle of her dress as she adjusted it with a self-satisfied smile.
“Where do you think the guys are taking us tonight?” she asked finally, her fingers gliding over the smooth silk of her outfit. “Remember that elegant place we went ages ago?”
“It was two years ago, Judy,” Pat clarified, setting the iron down with a thud. “And it was our anniversary, in case you forgot.”
"Oh, right," she complied absentmindedly. A playful smile danced across her lips as she glanced down at the short hem of her dress. “I guess these little numbers wouldn’t exactly fit the dress code anyway,” she giggled, giving a quick twirl that sent her skirt flaring out around her thighs. “But wherever they take us, I hope there’s a dance floor. Feels like I haven’t danced in forever.” She spun gracefully, teasing him with the image of her enjoying the night.
Pat’s stomach knotted, a heavy sense of dread twisting inside him. The mere thought of Judy—his Judy—swaying in another man’s arms, her laughter ringing out as they spun together, made him nauseous. But it wasn’t just that. The helplessness of knowing he’d be there too, awkwardly paired with a man himself, was almost worse.
“What about you, Patti?” Judy’s voice broke through his spiraling thoughts. “Feel like dancing tonight?”
Pat swallowed hard, barely able to meet her gaze. “Not really,” he muttered, just loud enough for her to hear.
“Well,” she said, straightening a wrinkle from his own dress, “you can dance if you want to. Or maybe just chat with Mike. Either way, you’ll be a good little date for him and let me have my fun, won’t you?”
“I-I… I can’t, Judy,” he blurted out, gripping the ironing board for support. “I can’t let you do this. I feel like I’m going to faint.”
At this, Judy let out a little laugh, stepping into his space. “Well, lucky for you,” she purred, her lips curving into a sly smile, “you’ll have a strong man’s arms to catch you.” She chuckled again, her amusement deepening as she caught the flash of panic in his eyes. “Relax, Patti. It’ll be good for both of us.”
“What’s good about going out on a date with you and two guys?” Pat’s voice cracked as he threw his hands up in frustration. “There’s no way I should be going out tonight dressed like—like this!” He gestured at the skimpy outfit she’d insisted he wear. “You can go if you want—I’m not going to stop you—but please, don’t make me go.”
“Aww, Patti,” she cooed, pouting theatrically. “You know I can’t do that. What would the guys think if I showed up alone? They’re expecting two ladies tonight. They’re expecting us.”
Pat clenched his fists, frustration bubbling up inside him. “But I’m no lady, dammit! You can’t expect me to—”
“Oh, but I do,” she interrupted, stepping in closer. Her gaze turned sharp as she traced a finger along his jawline. “I expect you to play your part, Patti.”
“I… I can’t…”
“You can,” Judy corrected, as she tilted his face toward hers. “And you will.”
She began circling him slowly, her fingertips trailing lightly across his shoulders, down his arms, and resting briefly on his waist. “I know this might be a little… difficult for you,” she acknowledged, her lips brushing against his ear as she leaned in from behind. “Thinking this is about losing who you are—about being ‘less of a man.’” A soft, knowing chuckle escaped her lips, sending a shiver down his spine. “But it’s not. It’s about being ‘more of a woman.’”
Her hands slid down to his hips, pulling him close until he could feel the warmth of her body against his. “You’re almost there,” she murmured. “You’ve been dressed like a woman from head to toe for weeks now, doing the chores I used to handle, like a good little wife.” Her eyes roaming over the spotless room.
"Not many men could boast about how well you’ve learned to apply your own makeup, not that they’d want to." She smiled knowingly as Pat’s cheeks flushed red, his eyes darting away from hers. “Earlier, you went to a beauty salon, hardly a common place for men to gather, and had your hair and nails done, just like a woman does." She ran her fingers along his freshly polished nails, "What’s one dinner with a couple of guys compared to everything you’ve already done?"
Pat opened his mouth to protest, but his words failed him. She was right—infuriatingly, maddeningly right. Step by step, she had pushed him, and step by step, he had complied.
“Should I remind you,” Judy added, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead, “that all that pampering today was to catch the attention of one of your own kind—a man?”
“That was your idea!” Pat cried out.
“Maybe it was,” she conceded, leaning on his shoulder. “But you went along with it. You could’ve said no at any point—but you didn’t. You’ve taken every step, Patti, and now, here we are.”
She leaned in further, brushing her lips against his cheek and leaving a faint smear of lipstick behind. “You walk like a woman, you hold yourself like a woman…” She trailed off, planting a soft kiss on his other cheek. “And tonight, you’ll be treated like one.”
Pat’s breath hitched as her hand drifted lower, grazing the curve of his hip under the delicate fabric of his dress. “Let me paint you a picture,” she murmured, smooth and deliberate. “You’ll step out of this house, heels clicking against the pavement, head held high. You’ll be on the arm of a man who won’t be able to take his eyes off you.”
“He’ll pull out your chair, pour you a glass of wine, hang on every word you say. You’ll smile, laugh, and do whatever it takes to keep him interested."
Her smile turned wicked as she continued, her breath warm against his neck. “And at the end of the night, he’ll lean in and whisper in your ear just how beautiful you are. Maybe… if you’re lucky… he’ll even steal a kiss.”
“N-no, that’s not happening,” Pat stammered, jerking away from her touch, though his trembling legs failed to back up the defiance in his tone.
Judy’s expression darkened, her playful smirk replaced with steely determination. “Or,” she said, her fingers brushing against the hem of his skirt, moving lower until she cupped his entire manhood firmly, “I’ll make sure everyone in that restaurant knows exactly what you’re hiding under this pretty little outfit.”
Pat’s heart stopped, hitched by the touch. There wasn’t any real choice—not if he wanted to preserve what little dignity he had left. Judy had made her expectations clear. He was going, with or without his compliance.
Satisfied, Judy released him, letting her hand trail away slowly as she turned to retrieve her attire and moved toward the stairs. “It’s up to you,” she said with a faintly mocking smile. “But don’t worry, dear husband,” she called over her shoulder, a wicked glint in her eyes, “I’ll be right there beside you—with my very own man.”
Pat watched Judy disappear into the confines of their bedroom, the door clicking shut behind her. He lingered in the hallway, staring at the door as though it might offer answers to the whirlwind of thoughts swirling in his mind. A sigh escaped his lips, deep, as much as the tightness of his current outfit would allow, and resigned himself to his fate. With slow, deliberate steps, Pat made his way to the room that had long since lost the tag of 'guest'.
Tonight was going to be his first official date as a “single woman,” even if he wasn’t single in the traditional sense. Sure, legally, he was still married, but emotionally? There was little left of the man who had said "I do" all those years ago. Pat could at least be certain of one thing—there wasn’t much about him that still resembled a man. Judy knew it, he knew it, and tonight, he could only hope that any remnants of masculinity still lingering within him would be overshadowed by his newly crafted femininity.
Stripping off his clothes, Pat stood bare before the mirror, studying his reflection. The weeks of transformation were all too clear, the evidence etched into every detail of his body. His waist had taken on an unnatural hourglass shape, his legs were smooth, hairless, and perfectly toned. His chest, once flat, was now home to a pair of full, round breasts that would soon be squeezed into the lingerie Judy had picked out earlier that week.
At the time, Pat had little expectation of wearing it anytime soon, if wearing it at all, not having a clue about the circumstances that would require such sexiness. Piece by piece, the rest of the set found its place along his body—the thong disappearing between his buttocks, the lace garter circling his torso snugly, and nude stockings that slid smoothly over his freshly moisturized thighs.
His eyes shifted toward the closet, where his outfit for the evening hung—a dress that could only be described as dangerously sexy. It was the kind of thing you’d expect a confident woman to wear when she wanted all eyes on her. Not on him. But Pat had learned over the time that his body could easily be shaped into the image of that woman.
No other piece of clothing he had worn over the past month compared to this bodycon dress. Even if he swore to never wear women’s clothes again after tonight, this getup would forever be burned into his memory, a painful reminder of how far things had gone.
He swallowed hard, trying to push down the rising tide of panic. With shaky hands, he stepped into the dress, tugging the hem down over his hips. It clung to every curve in all the right—and wrong—places, the skirt barely reaching the tops of his garters, and the thin straps sat delicately on his shoulders, doing their best to keep his breasts from spilling out of the low-cut neckline.
Pat ran his hands down the smooth fabric, unwillingly acknowledging just how well the dress fit him. Too tight in the chest, perhaps, but it more than made up for that with how it highlighted his legs, which looked undeniably stunning. He gave himself one final glance in the mirror and knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Mike—or any man in the restaurant, for that matter—would have no trouble noticing him tonight.
To seal the look, Pat clipped on a pair of silver earrings and fastened a necklace Judy had lent him for the occasion. Thanks to the extended efforts of the salon staff—courtesy of his ever-diligent wife, who had made sure everyone there knew about their double date—Pat’s hair and makeup were already flawless. All that was left was to grab a small leather purse and pack it with the essentials for touch-ups throughout the evening.
A soft cough slipped from his painted lips as he sprayed a light mist of perfume over his neck and wrists. But before the scent could fully settle, the unmistakable sound of a car pulling up outside stole the breath from his lungs.
Little time passed before the voice of his wife broke the suspense. “Patti, the guys are here!” Judy drifted up from the lobby, unmistakably cheerful.
It was time.
VII
Pat stood up, his stomach twisting with nerves as he made his way to the door. The mirror in his vanity reflected a fleeting image of a worried, yet beautiful woman—one who looked back at him as she shrank smaller and smaller, disappearing into the hallway.
By the time he reached the living room, he was already breathless. But his breath truly caught when he saw Judy being swept into the firm embrace of the man she had so eagerly anticipated. She looked stunning tonight—not that she wasn’t always beautiful, but her usual hoodies and yoga pants paled in comparison to the sleek black spaghetti-strap dress she now wore. The dress clung to her body like a second skin, revealing long, bare legs that were left on full display, waiting to be admired by the men around her.
But Pat didn’t have the luxury of joining in on that admiration. Not when he himself had undergone an even more drastic transformation. Not a single vestige was left of the nerdy professor, and from the cloud of dust emerged a specimen of femininity that instantly tore the attention from hers.
The carpet did nothing to muffle the sharp clack of heel as Pat descended to the living room, calling all the stares to direct at his pedicured foot, snug in the stiletto sandal, prompting a visual tour up his figure.
Nude hosiery stretched taut over a pair of shapely, sensuous legs, met its end at a short skirt that opened its way by dancing at the swaying of his hips. His attire was in the shade of red, very much the same as his cheeks when he caught Judy smirking at him, no doubt amused by the peek of garters showing beneath his hemline. The bodice clung tightly to a set of seemingly flawless, gravity-defying breasts that pushed against the plunging neckline, popping them out to say hi although insisting to stay longer than for a little greet.
The striking woman holding the men’s eyes captive wasn't just any woman. She was Judy’s husband—well, she used to be.
Judy had all but declared herself independent of their marriage the moment Mike stepped in to take over. The man wasted no time making his intentions clear, wrapping a strong arm around Pat's waist as though staking a claim.
The apparently new haircut prompted compliments from the men, whose hair was nearly as long yet not styled into a curly pixie as Pat’s was. Judy didn’t miss the chance to mention that her cousin had gotten the haircut especially for the occasion. Pat forced a smile in confirmation, though it felt more like a grimace, showing off the perfectly enhanced features his makeup had created.
His scarlet lips, meticulously lined with a slightly darker shade to give the illusion of fullness, stretched into a polite grin. The eyes—his eyes—met Mike’s, locking for a moment in an awkward, unspoken exchange. The look was long enough to make Pat’s pulse quicken, but not for the reasons it seemed to.
His lids were expertly shaded with smoky hues of black, charcoal, and silver, the outer corners darkened to make his blue eyes pop against the bold backdrop. Thick, curled lashes fluttered as he glanced away, his face flushed with a blush that wasn’t entirely the work of his makeup artist, but genuine blush of embarrassment ignited by the compliment on how pretty of a woman he made.
If only men knew beauty doesn’t just happen, although Pat surely made it look effortless.
“Right on time, guys,” Judy greeted warmly, practically glowing as she leaned into Mike’s counterpart, Tom.
It could have taken them ten years, and yet Pat would still be unable to face them holding any vestige of dignity. If wishes came true, he would have disappeared into the floor then and there. But only Judy’s seemed to carry weight tonight. She was radiant, confident, and completely at ease in the arms of her former—and now not-so-former—lover.
The night stretched wide and indifferent as they stepped outside. Pat tightened his grip on the strap of his purse, flinching slightly at the definitive click of the front door locking behind them. Funny what the mind clings to in times of crisis; as they walked down the driveway, following Judy and her former—no, not-so-former—lover, Pat’s only thought was how he’d forgotten to take out the trash earlier. As if there weren’t bigger things to worry about.
Tom announced he’d be driving, and the vehicle parked by the curb gave a sharp beep in response. Its sleek, two-door frame, shining in a flashy coat of green, surely looked far more inviting than the worn-out family sedan Pat had purchased over a decade ago. Tom slid into the driver’s seat, and Judy quickly assumed the place of copilot, reclining it just enough to make room for Mike and Pat to slide in the back.
The cramped space between Judy’s seat and the door posed another challenge for Pat, who maneuvered awkwardly in his dress and heels. Despite his best efforts, the hem of his skirt rode up, exposing smooth, stocking-clad thighs to Mike’s view. Pat tugged at the fabric, trying in vain to preserve some semblance of modesty.
To his credit, Mike looked away, though his lips twitched into a knowing smile. Thank God Judy hadn’t insisted on stockings alone—at least the garters offered a thin layer of silk and lace to shield him from total exposure.
How far he had fallen, Pat thought bitterly. He was now grateful for his wife’s permission to wear lingerie. The absurdity of it all churned in his head, barely registering as the engine roared to life.
“Aww, thanks for taking us out, guys,” Judy animatedly thanked the gentlemen during the drive. “I haven’t been out much since my separation from Pat.”
Tom offered her a welcoming smile. "Well, it’s about time. What about you, Patti?" he asked, catching Pat’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “Been getting out much?”
“I can’t say that I have,” Pat honestly answered.
Judy turned in her seat, flashing her husband a teasing smile. “Well, it’s nice to get all dressed up once in a while, isn’t it, Patti?”
Pat let out a high-pitched laugh that came out more like a squeak. “Yeah, it sure is,” he lied.
Mike chimed in, offering a smile to both women—well, to Judy and Pat. "I’ve got to say, you both look sensational. I’m glad we were able to do this."
Judy laughed. “Awe, thanks, Mike. You should’ve seen all the hard work Patti put into being presentable for you."
Hard work indeed—not just from him, but from Judy herself, who had invested considerable effort into transforming her mild-mannered husband into the picture-perfect lady sitting before them. She knew full well that none of this had been voluntary on Pat’s part, though, truthfully, it might not have been much different even if it had been. Pat looked divine as a lady, though he clearly despised it. From his long legs, which Mike seemed to use every bump in the road as an excuse to touch, to his Double-Ds threatening to spill from the tight dress with each bounce, the truth was glaring. Pat had turned out to be a far more convincing woman, even a reluctant one, than he had ever been as a man.
As the car sped through the city streets, a distant memory flashed through Judy’s mind just then, pulling her back to the first time they met. She had been touring the school’s facilities when they passed by one of Pat’s classes. He was up at the chalkboard, pointing at some messy scribbles, calling for the tenth time for his students to focus. When their eyes met, even then, he seemed gentle, soft—perhaps too soft to command a classroom, but Judy had given him a mental B+ for effort.
Their eyes crossed briefly, only for a crumpled ball of paper to hit him square in the temple, snapping him out of the moment. Now, in the car, she caught his resentful, smokey-eyed stare in the rearview mirror before she turned away, reaching for Tom’s hand, her fingers curling around his as she smiled sweetly, sharing a private moment with the man beside her.
The restaurant welcomed their arrival with its dim lighting casting a warm, intimate glow over the polished marble floors. Pat could feel himself detaching from his feminized body the moment they crossed the threshold, slipping out into a third-person perspective as if he were hovering near the ceiling, silently observing the first real date he’d been on in years—but not as himself. Not as Pat. He was watching “Patti.”
His consciousness drifted further, hovering near the chandeliers, watching the two couples walk in, hand in hand. The place was nice, definitely nicer than anything Pat could have afforded on his own, but it still had a youthful, trendy vibe. Marble cornerstones glistened under the soft, ambient lighting, and the air hummed with low conversations, clinking glasses, and the occasional laughter from nearby tables. The maître d’ led them to a table on the terrace, and Pat’s ghostly form followed, in awe of the restrained, fragile-looking woman below—the one who, shockingly, was him. It felt surreal—watching her walk through the door, heels clacking delicately against the floor, clinging to Mike's arm for support as they made their way upstairs.
It couldn’t be. That’s not me. Pat couldn't believe what he was seeing. She—or rather, he—needed constant assistance for even the simplest tasks—walking, sitting, adjusting herself in her seat. This Patti figure resembled more of a timid five-year-old playing dress-up than an adult woman, or man. Would she need a bib to eat, too? he wondered, half-jokingly. Probably not, but still, let herself be poured a glass of wine with the same docile grace expected of a dainty lady.
A stain of lipstick was left on the glass when she—when he—forced a smile for what felt like the fiftieth time that night, Mike, ever the gentleman, kept complimenting either her hair, her face, or her general appearance.
Thanks, it only cost me my dignity and my manhood, Pat thought bitterly, but the words never made it past his glossed lips, instead focusing on finding a piece of joy in the overpriced meal they were sharing, holding the silverware properly with long, manicured fingernails. Beneath the table, her silk-covered legs were neatly crossed, her high heels tapping lightly against the floor. If it was a social convention for the man to pick up the check tonight, Pat knew that particular responsibility had been lifted off his shoulders, paying instead with the show he was putting on for Mike, each time he caught him stealing a glance at his cleavage, and every time he pretended not to notice.
The terrace was picturesque, to say the least. The tables were warmly lit by elegant lamps scattered across the upper floor, casting soft glows over the greenery that surrounded them. Couples dotted the space, all seemingly engrossed in each other’s company. But among the romantic gestures and soft laughter, one red-stamped figure was enduring the most humiliating night of his life.
Judy, of course, was winning—again. Across the table, she was glowing, completely at ease in her flirty conversation with Tom. The way they laughed together, the way Tom’s hand would occasionally brush against hers, the way Judy leaned in closer to him as if they were already in sync. It was like Pat wasn’t even there. And, in a way, he wasn’t. Every few minutes, Tom would lean in to whisper something that made Judy giggle every time.
"Remember that time we snuck into the pool after graduation?" Judy teased, nudging Tom playfully. "I swore you wouldn’t dare, but you did. There you were, trembling from the cold!"
Tom grinned and raised his glass. "Hey, what can I say? I wasn’t about to pass up the chance to see you in that lingerie," he replied with a wink.
Pat forced himself to turn away from them and face Mike, who smiled kindly at him—at her—clearly making an effort to keep the night light and enjoyable. None of this night was near to cause such an effect on him though, as much as he was sorry for his too-eager-to-please partner.
Mike was talking—something about his job, or maybe a recent trip to Italy—but Pat wasn’t really paying attention. His date, for all his good qualities, wasn’t bad company. He was charming, well-educated, and pleasant enough to share a glass of wine with, yet not appealing enough to spark any interest in an impossible relationship. By august, that woman he couldn’t take his eyes off would be gone for the best and surely with no desire to come back.
“That sounds... really nice, Mike,” Pat murmured, his voice polite, though hollow with indifference. “Must’ve been... relaxing.”
"It was amazing," Mike replied, slouching on the chair. "You should come with me sometime. They have this beautiful vineyard overlooking the sea. You’d love it."
I would? Pat thought bitterly. Or would Patti?
A brief smile played on Pat's lips as his mind began to wander. He giggled unexpectedly at the absurd thought that popped into his head—him and Mike, hand in hand, parading as a couple at the annual high school reunion.
He could already picture himself walking down the familiar hallways in a three-quarter sleeved sleek, black dress, a clear statement that would signal his change of looks since last year. Over it, maybe a full-length, light brown peacoat, to hide his broad shoulders and perfect for the biting winter air. His high-heeled boots echoing against the gym floor as they strolled past the basketball courts, fingers intertwined, introducing Mike as his boyfriend to former colleagues.
He envisioned Claire from History and Natural Sciences standing speechless, her jaw dropped as she tried to process the sight of Pat—of Patti—feeding Mike appetizers, while Sarah, the librarian, burned with envy at seeing him with such a charming man. Mike would retreat from the girl talk to the smoke pit with George and Ben from Math and Physics, both sarcastically complimenting him on his taste in “women.”
To cap it all off, Pat saw himself gliding over to the punch bowl, ladling drinks for everyone when the PE teacher barged in, gasping as she snatched the cup from his hand to swallow it in a gulp, barely acknowledging him before returning to an impromptu one-on-one basketball match with her current husband, Tom.
A small cough bubbled up in Pat’s throat, muffling it against his wine glass.
“You okay?” Mike asked, truly concerned.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, I’m just...” Pat mumbled, accidentally letting a grave tone slip into his stuttering.
Mike’s eyes narrowed as he leaned in closer, noticing Pat’s nervous fidgeting. “You sure? You seem a little... tense.” His gaze dropped to Pat’s lap, where a dark stain was spreading across the fabric of his skirt. Pat jolted to his feet, frantically dabbing at the wine stain, only succeeding in smearing it further.
“It’s just a dress. Don’t stress,” Mike said gently, reaching out to help, but Pat grew visibly more anxious. “I said I’m fine!” Pat snapped, pulling away as Mike’s hand hovered, caught off guard by his date’s sudden shift in mood.
But it was more than a dress—it was the last cornerstone holding his marriage together. His role as a husband, and of course, as a man, rested entirely on the strength of his appearance, however fragile it felt.
The restaurant fell silent as heads turned toward their table. Pat’s face flushed as he realized the entire terrace was now staring at him—at her.
Across the table, Judy’s eyes shot toward him, her irritation clear. She didn’t look shocked by his outburst, but she was definitely pissed. “Patti...” she began, her voice low and steady, an attempt to mask the rising tension. "You need to govern yourself, sweetie. We ladies know how to restrain ourselves, don’t we?"
Pat’s breath hitched, the panic swelling inside him until it felt like he couldn’t breathe. “I can’t, Judy,” he gasped, trembling in his tone. “I told you—I can’t.”
An uncomfortable silence fell over the table, the weight of his admission hanging heavy in the air. Mike shifted in his seat, clearing his throat in an attempt to ease the tension. “Maybe it’s a good time to wrap things up,” he suggested, glancing around the table.
“No, no! We’re having fun,” Judy's voice rang out, her eyes darting to Tom for support. “We don’t need to leave, right, Tom? We’re all having a good time!"
Tom hesitated but nodded slowly. “Uh... yeah, I mean... it’s getting late anyway,” he mumbled, clearly siding with Mike but not wanting to offend Judy.
Judy let out a pained sound, almost a whimper, as if her perfect evening were slipping away. She stood abruptly, moving behind Pat and gripping his shoulders, her nails digging in just enough to make him wince. "Patti’s just... nervous," she insisted, forcing a smile as she stared daggers at her husband. "Right, sweetie?"
"I... I don’t know, I just—" he stammered.
Mike sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Honestly, I don’t think we were really clicking anyway," he admitted, glancing between Judy and Pat with an apologetic shrug.
"Awe, c’mon, you two are perfect for each other!” Judy dismissed with a wave of her hand. “It’s just a little wine on her dress. You know how we ladies get!"
Turning back to Pat, her expression hardened again. "Here’s what’s going to happen," she said firmly. "You’re going to go to the ladies' room, and I’ll join you in a minute with some peroxide to help clean you up. Okay?"
"I... I don’t think—"
“Go,” she murmured, darkening as her eyes flashed with something almost demonic. Her hand tightened on Pat’s arm, letting him know she wasn’t interested in what he thought. With one last look at Mike and Tom—both of whom were now carefully avoiding eye contact—Pat rose from the table, not yet aware of just how much this small misstep would end up costing him.
VIII
The ladies' room was a bustling hub of activity when Pat arrived, full of women touching up their makeup, chatting loudly, and laughing about their nights. Nobody seemed to notice him slip in. Two girls, likely in their early twenties, had just finished their touch-ups and were leaving the mirror when he approached. One of them paused, rummaging through her purse before producing a small, wrapped object and pressing it into his palm.
"Here," she offered gently. "The machine spat out two, and I only need one."
Pat blinked, staring down at the little item in his hand before realizing what she’d just handed him—a tampon. Funny enough, Pat forced a polite smile in return. "Thanks," he muttered quietly, though the absurdity of it all hit him immediately. He wasn’t in "that time of the month". In fact, he never would be. He was a man—a married man at that—and all he wanted to do was shout after those girls, tell them never to put their husbands through the same kind of twisted hell his wife was dragging him through.
“Just in case you need it,” the stranger chirped over her shoulder as she hurried out, her friend trailing behind. The rest followed, leaving him alone in the room with only his thoughts for company.
Pat let out a long sigh, tossing the tampon into his purse before turning to face the mirror, staring at the woman reflected there.
A stunning woman. That’s what anyone else would see—what those girls had seen. And as much as he hated to admit it, they weren’t entirely wrong. For a moment, even he had to do a double take, struggling to reconcile the vision in the glass with the man he still believed himself to be.
No, he didn’t have a monthly cycle. No, he shouldn’t even be in this restroom. But as he studied the soft, delicate features reflected back at him, Pat couldn’t help but see why those girls had made the assumption. The carefully styled hair, the subtle but flawless makeup—it all came together to create the perfect illusion. He was a full-fledged, perfectly crafted stunning woman, the type of girl he would have had zero chance with in his old life.
He glanced around the empty room before letting out a small, disbelieving laugh. The longer he stared, the more surreal it became. He looked sexy—dangerously sexy. With a small turn of his hips, he tilted his head to the side, watching how the dress clung to his figure from different angles, the fabric moving fluidly as though it had been designed just for him.
Unable to resist, he cupped his fake breasts, giving them a light squeeze, watching how they shifted beneath the low-cut neckline of his dress. He couldn’t help but understand why Mike’s eyes had wandered to them so often throughout the night.
For a second, Pat could only stand there, taking it all in. But as he took a step back, letting his hands fall to his sides, reality of it all came crashing down.
He wasn’t admiring some random woman—he was admiring himself. It was a shock to realize how far he’d come, how much he had adjusted to this new version of himself. Weeks had been spent learning to walk, talk, and move like a woman, obsessing over every little detail to make it convincing. Perhaps he had gone further than he ever intended—more than he should have—but it was still reversible, Pat reminded himself. The curves, the hips, the bust—they were all an illusion, just layers of cloth and padding that could be undone at any moment.
Who knows—maybe all those oils and face creams would leave his skin looking fresher, the pampering giving him a glow long after the makeup was washed away. Sure, it might take a while to shake off the feminine grace he’d perfected, but eventually, he’d be back in pants and button-ups, leaving all this behind. Maybe he could even convince Judy to let him finish out his punishment cleaning the house in flats.
Those massive, fake breasts would end up in a box in the attic, and maybe Judy could repurpose the dresses and shoes, if she wanted. He even chuckled at the thought of her forcing Tom to put them on. As hilarious as the image was, Pat had to admit, there was no way that tall, muscular man could pull it off half as convincingly as he had.
And just as his mood began to lighten, the door to the restroom swung open with a loud thud, jolting him from his thoughts. He turned just in time to see Judy striding into the room, her face set in a cold, unyielding expression. Gone was the playful, flirty woman from earlier—the one who had been teasing and smiling. In her place was someone far more serious, her lips pressed into a thin, unforgiving line as she tossed her purse onto the counter without so much as a glance in Pat’s direction.
The silence between them hung heavy, and to anyone else entering, they might have looked like two unfamiliar women, given the stiffness between them. Out of the corner of his eye, Pat caught her moving purposefully toward him. She didn’t speak, only rummaged through her bag and pulled out a small bottle of peroxide and a bundle of tissues.
Pat stood frozen, unsure of what to say—if saying anything would even help—but silently watched her soak a tissue with the liquid. Her eyes finally flicked up to meet his in the mirror.
"Your lipstick’s smeared," she said flatly. "You’ll have to fix it."
Her husband blinked, momentarily thrown off by the unexpected remark. Before he could respond, Judy knelt down, roughly grabbing the hem of his skirt and yanking it forward.
She scrubbed at the small stain of wine on the fabric, her hand applying so much pressure that it knocked Pat slightly off balance.
"Stay still, goddammit!" she barked, her scold echoing off the tiled walls.
He flinched but complied, gripping the edge of the sink for stability. He winced as her hand worked the fabric with almost punitive force.
"I can’t believe you," she muttered, more to herself than to him. "I wanted tonight to be perfect. I did everything to make it work, and you seem hell-bent on ruining it."
“Please, I just—” Pat’s voice cracked as he tried to reason with her, but she wasn’t listening.
“Do you have any idea how much I needed this night?!” she snapped, cutting him off before he could even string a sentence together. “-Throwing myself at Tom, practically begging him to set up this double date, making sure you looked at least presentable—and this is how you repay me?”
Pat’s stomach churned at the venom in her words. He swallowed hard, knowing that whatever he said next could only make things worse. His usual tactic of staying quiet and submissive wasn’t enough to calm her this time.
"Oh, and poor Mike," she added. "He’s been nothing but a gentleman to you all night, and you can’t even play along. He’s out there wondering what he did wrong while you make it impossible for him to get through to you." She yanked at the skirt again, causing Pat to wince.
“Judy, I—”
“Don’t Judy me!” she spat, almost growling. The stain was gone, the outfit pristine. But her fury had not subsided. If anything, it had only intensified. “You think you can just coast through this? Let everyone else do the work while you sit there and play the pretty little doll?”
A subtle sob escaped her lips, and Pat’s head snapped down to meet her gaze. Judy looked away for a brief moment, but when she met his gaze again, the fire in her eyes was sharper than before.
“I told you what I wanted. What I expected.”
“I’m trying... I really am,” Pat murmured, adjusting the skirt. “But this is too much. This is too far...”
Before he could finish his plea, Judy cut him off with a sudden, brutal gesture—her hand shot between his legs, grabbing his crotch with an unyielding grip. Pat gasped, his entire body going rigid as the pain shot through him.
"Oh I’m sorry. Am I interrupting you?" she coldly asked, her fingertips tapping along his testicles. “Let me make something perfectly clear, Pat. You’re not just going to ‘try.’ You’re going to succeed. Because if you don’t...” Her voice dropped to a whisper, her gaze locked on his anguished expression. "I will make sure everyone in this restaurant knows exactly what you are—a fraud. A pathetic excuse for a man."
“I didn’t mean to mess things up... I just—” He choked back a cry, his eyes darted toward the door, terrified someone might hear, but even more terrified she may actually tear it all up in her attempts to turn him into a woman. “I-It’s just not me... I don’t know how to be this, to—to do this for some guy and for you and T—”
“Leave Tom out of this!” she snapped, tightening her grip until a sharp yelp escaped him. “At least he knows how to be the man you pretend to be.”
Pat stood there, silent, his entire body trembling. He didn’t dare move, didn’t dare fight back. To her, he looked smaller than ever—pathetic and powerless, stripped of any dignity he might have had left.
Judy released him with a forceful push, sending him stumbling backward. Letting go a deep sigh, she took a moment to collect herself before speaking again. Her tone was calm, slow, and deliberate, like a teacher lecturing a child.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” she said, her eyes boring into his. “You’re going to go back out there, and you’re going to smile. You’re going to laugh at Mike’s jokes. You’re going to hold his hand, and you’re going to make him believe you’re absolutely thrilled to be on this date. Got it?”
Pat nodded weakly, his voice caught in his throat.
Judy studied him for a moment, her lips curling into a small, cruel smile. “And just to make sure you really feel like a woman, you’re going to kiss him. Not some half-hearted peck, Pat. I want you to kiss him like you mean it. The kind of kiss that leaves a man weak in the knees.”
Pat’s stomach churned at her words. His mind spun as he tried to comprehend the magnitude of what she was asking. “Judy, that’s—” He stopped himself mid-sentence, fearful of saying the wrong thing. “I… I-I,”
“Careful,” she whispered, taking deliberate steps closer. “You’re one bad choice of words away from making tonight a whole lot worse for yourself. Choose wisely... Patti.”
Though realized from her grip, Pat was still held by the balls in a way that had nothing to do with physical force. His cruel wife’s power over him didn’t come from brute strength; it was woven into her words, her gaze, her expectations. Every tiny movement seemed designed to pull him deeper into her web, and he was ensnared, helpless to do anything but follow her lead. A chilling realization washed over him just how far their marriage had unraveled in a matter of weeks.
A month ago, the idea of Judy with another man would have been unthinkable, as unimaginable as finding himself tangled up in the dating scene. But here he was, and he couldn’t help but think back to the moment it all began—the wrestling contest, that stupid, stupid bet, and the humiliating game of dress-up that followed. Letting her treat him like a maid had been degrading enough, but he’d gone along, thinking it was harmless, just a phase she’d grow out of. He’d thought that if he played along, if he kept the peace, things would settle down.
But tonight, being in Mike’s arms, kissing him, was a new level of degradation. This wasn’t for Judy’s enjoyment, nor Tom’s—it had been for Mike alone, a dark, twisted act of submission that she had demanded from him, for reasons he couldn’t begin to understand. The thought burned in his mind, hot and shameful. What would become of him if this went on much longer? Would there be anything left of the man he used to be?
He swallowed hard, his throat dry, his heart heavy with a mix of resentment and fear. This entire game—this warped charade—felt designed to strip him down piece by piece until there was nothing left. Every step he took as “Patti” pushed him further from who he once was. And yet, his pride—his refusal to fully surrender—kept him clinging to the role, even as it threatened to consume him.
Pat’s only hope lay in the idea that maybe, by the end of the summer, he and Judy could fake a reconciliation. They could smooth things over, patch up the fraying edges of their marriage, and finally be rid of Tom and Mike once and for all. Perhaps playing along—tragically, as the perfect coquettish woman—was his only way out. He just had to endure this long enough for the storm to pass. But the success of this plan hinged entirely on ensuring they would never discover the thin threads holding his identity together.
“So?” she barked, yanking him back from his thoughts.
Pat swallowed hard, every ounce of his dignity crumbling. “I... I’ll kiss him,” he muttered, his voice barely a whisper. “What choice do I have?”
His head hung in defeat, shoulders slumped, as Judy’s victorious grin spread across her face. She’d won—again. “That’s all I asked,” she purred, her tone softening into saccharine sweetness now that she had him exactly where she wanted.
The brief silence between them was soon broken by the sound of women entering the restroom, their giggles and chatter filling the air. An easy camaraderie formed within the space, binding the occupants in the familiar ritual of touch-ups and quick gossip.
The mirrors filled with faces as women leaned in, applying fresh coats of lipstick, powdering their noses, and perfecting their mascara. Among them, one equally immersed in his touch-up, though with far less enthusiasm. His hands trembled slightly as he tried to reapply his lip liner—not from the makeup application itself, but from the weight of what lay ahead.
His eyes flicked toward Judy, desperate for some sign of approval. She tilted her head, studying him for a moment before smirking. With a flick of her tongue, she wet her thumb and wiped away a small smudge at the corner of his mouth. “Perfect,” she mouthed, before grabbing her purse and striding toward the exit.
Pat lingered for a moment, catching sight of a young woman rummaging through her bag in search of change for a tampon. Without thinking, he handed her the one he had been given earlier. The woman smiled gratefully, and Pat managed a weak smile in return.
IX
The safety of the ladies’ room faded as Pat stepped back into the world again, feeling as if possessed by a demon his wife had summoned to achieve her darkest purposes. This feminine ghoul seemed to push him out of his own form, forcing him to confront the extent of his will when appropriately motivated.
Barely aware of himself, Pat followed Judy back to the table, where both men stood, pulling out their chairs with exaggerated courtesy.
“Did you boys miss us?” Judy purred. The men’s eager nods drew more laughter from Judy, and Pat made an awkward attempt to mirror her charm.
Tom gave a subtle nod to the maître d’, and within moments, a young server approached, carrying a bouquet of roses and two small gold-wrapped boxes. “For the lovely ladies, from the gentlemen,” he announced, smiling as he handed over the gifts.
Judy’s eyes sparkled as she accepted the roses, setting them down delicately before leaning in to give Tom a warm hug, followed by a lingering kiss on his cheek, then a playful peck on the lips. Pat, however, placed his roses on the table with noticeable restraint. He met Judy’s expectant gaze, and, reluctantly, followed her lead, leaning toward Mike, managing a quick hug and a soft kiss on the cheek. He hesitated just long enough to make it clear he wasn’t planning to escalate further. Not yet, anyway. Judy raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, her smirk curling slightly as if to say, Later.
As if on cue, Tom chuckled, “See, man? Told you the flowers would work.” Pat overheard as remained trapped in Mike’s lingering embrace. He could sense the unspoken high-five between the two men, for the quick, effective advice. Sure, it was the flowers—not the invisible leash Judy held from the other side of the table.
The group collectively decided to move on and let Pat’s earlier outburst slide, chalking it up to boredom with the venue. Soon after leaving a generous tip, the two couples walked out, eager to explore the streets in search of more fun.
The breeze brushed lightly against their skin, and Pat couldn’t help but cringe at Tom’s gallant offer of his coat to Judy—especially since it prompted Mike to follow suit, draping his own jacket over Pat’s shoulders.
The fun soon took the form of a dance club they stumbled upon while walking through the downtown streets. Tom suggested they go in for a drink, and with no real say in the matter, Pat allowed himself to be led inside, once again feeling the touch of Mike’s arm wrapped firmly around his waist. Judy, meanwhile, clung tightly to Tom’s arm, tossing a smirk back at her husband as they passed through the doors.
The club was sleek and stylish, exuding a relaxed, bohemian vibe. Neon lights framed the entrance, and a velvet rope separated the patrons from the street. Inside, the dim lighting cast deep shadows, broken only by bursts of colorful light spilling from the dance floor, casting kaleidoscopic patterns across the room.
Smooth jazz floated through the air, setting a laid-back tone, as couples swayed to the rhythm. Others lounged in surrounding booths, sipping cocktails and watching the dancers with casual interest.
As they slid into one of the plush leather booths near the back, Pat felt Mike’s hand slowly inching its way down his rear. He fought the urge to flinch but knew better than to pull away. He forced himself to swallow his discomfort, leaning into Mike’s arm as it draped over his shoulder. This was only the beginning, after all.
The waitress brought over the first round of drinks, and Pat immediately downed his Pink Squirrel in one gulp, hoping the alcohol would provide the courage he so desperately needed. Yet no amount of liquor could erase the cold, hard fact that he was a man—a married man. For the past five years, that truth had been his identity. But a five-second match had changed everything. Three weeks of servitude had stripped him of his sense of self, and now, one double date seemed to cement the dissolution of whatever commitment his wife had once had to him. It may not be his area of expertise, but for Pat, the math simply didn’t add up.
Before tonight, he had never been on a date with a man, never danced with a man, and certainly never kissed a man. Before this summer, he'd been grading with C- and B’s essays on Dickens and Tolstoy, and five years before, he had met the woman he’d eventually marry at a harmless school meeting. Now, that same woman was expecting him to get along with another male, or be exposed as a male himself. Before the light of those horrendous scenarios, both Pat and Judy knew the choice he had already made.
When the band transitioned into a slow melody, Judy caught Pat’s eye from across the table and gave him a subtle nod. Pat knew this was the moment—the romantic interlude she’d been expecting all night.
“Mike, I love this song,” he said, his voice unnervingly sweet and foreign to his own ears. “It’s one of my all-time favorites.”
Thankfully, Mike didn’t miss a beat. He took a quick sip of his scotch, squared his shoulders, and buttoned his coat before extending a hand toward his date. Pat swallowed hard, forcing himself to slide his trembling fingers into Mike’s grasp. As they made their way to the dance floor, he cast one last glance over his shoulder. Judy’s smirk was unmistakable as she leaned closer to her own partner, basking in the satisfaction of watching her creation take its first steps by his own.
The fear clawed its way up Pat’s spine the moment they stepped into the throng of swaying couples. His grip on Mike’s arm tightened instinctively, long manicured nails digging slightly into the fabric of the jacket.
He barely had time to glance around, trying to mimic the movements of the women gliding nearby, before a firm tug at his waist stopped him.
Mike’s hand had found its place.
Pat swallowed hard, forcing his hands to rest on the broad expanse of Mike’s shoulders just as the saxophone let out a soulful cry, marking the start of the song.
At first, his steps were clumsy, awkward—his heels catching on the floor, bumping into neighboring dancers, but Mike’s grip never wavered. Subtle pressure at Pat’s waist and gentle guidance at his shoulder began steering him into rhythm. It was… disarming—the way Mike led with quiet insistence rather than force, creating an unspoken invitation that Pat’s body, despite himself, found easier to accept.
Slowly, the alcohol humming through Pat’s veins began to work its magic. The rigid tension in his limbs softened, dissolving into something looser, something warmer. The music swelled, enveloping them in its smooth embrace, and Pat felt himself surrendering—not to Mike, not entirely—but to the moment.
His movements grew smoother, body responding on instinct. Each sway sent the tight fabric of his skirt whispering against his thighs, echoing every subtle shift of his hips. Under the wash of multicolored lights, the fabric of his dress shimmered, reflecting each hue as he was sent into a twirl—one that Pat found himself almost eagerly complying with. A soft, involuntary giggle slipped past Pat’s lips as he returned to Mike’s arms, his exposed cleavage pressing flush against the hard lines of Mike’s torso.
As the final notes of the song faded into applause, Pat pulled back slightly, just enough to meet Mike’s gaze. Summoning all the poise he could muster, he offered a playful, self-assured smile. "Thank you, Mike," he murmured, his voice low and breathy. "That was a lovely dance. You’re very light on your feet."
Despite the burning embarrassment simmering beneath the surface—pretending to seduce another man—Pat could tell his performance had worked. Mike’s eyes locked onto his, and slowly, the space between them disappeared until their lips met in a sudden yet anticipated kiss—hesitant, testing, but deepened quickly as Mike’s arms wrapped around his waist, lifting him slightly off the ground. Convenient, really, since Pat’s knees had already weakened beyond his own support.
In that instant, the world around them dissolved into irrelevance. The crowd, the music, even the weight of Judy’s ever-watchful eyes—all of it melted away. Pat felt his carefully built resistance unravel, replaced by a rush of sensations he couldn’t suppress. The smearing of his lipstick, the scratch of Mike’s bristled cheek against his own, the intoxicating scent of cologne enveloping him. The heat of Mike’s hands as they roamed down his exposed back, venturing lower as if they had always belonged there.
Somewhere in the haze, Pat realized he wasn’t just allowing this to happen—he was responding. His manicured fingers trailed to Mike’s chest, pressing lightly against the firm muscle beneath his tailored suit. His nails scraped over the lapel, leaving the faintest marks, and with an unfamiliar, twisted thrill, he leaned in further, shedding the last of his pretense.
As they swayed together in their own secluded moment, Pat felt his old self slipping away. The man he’d been—the man who had graded essays, who had married Judy, who had never imagined being in this situation—disappeared into the crowd, leaving only the person in Mike’s arms. A small, involuntary sound escaped his lips—a trembling moan, equal parts longing and mourning for the life he’d lost.
When Mike finally pulled back, Pat barely had the presence of mind to catch his breath. Mike grinned down at him, wiping his thumb across his mouth to collect a smudge of Pat’s lipstick. “My pleasure, Patti” he said, his tone low and satisfied. “You’re something else.”
Would it have been better to let Judy expose him from the start? Maybe a single moment of humiliation would’ve been better than being trapped in this ongoing charade. Worst case, they would’ve had a good laugh at his expense—maybe Mike would’ve gotten violent, feeling his honor had been insulted; still, Pat could’ve walked out of that place with a black eye and his dignity intact, instead of the tart taste of another man’s tongue in his mouth. As they made their way back to the table, Pat’s mind swirled with impossible scenarios, all variations of what could have been, if only... But there was no going back now. He had let Mike believe they were really hitting it off, and now he was paying the price. Mike, clearly feeling entitled to more, stole another quick kiss before they rejoined Judy and Tom.
"Well, well, look at you two," Judy said, her smile comparable to the Cheshire Cat’s. "Looks like you lovebirds are getting along very nicely," she said openly, clearly pleased. “Tom, isn’t it nice that Mike and Patti are hitting it off?”
Tom chuckled, raising his glass. “Yeah, they sure are.”
Judy’s smirk widened, her gaze lingering on her husband, who squirmed uncomfortably, his burning cheeks hidden against Mike’s shoulder. True to her word, she had kept his secret. She’d always been a woman of her word, after all. And Pat—well, she couldn’t say he didn’t have a word after taking all and each of his punishments, but from her point of view, he wasn’t much of a man anymore. The memory of him being held, no, claimed, by another man—correction, by an actual man—was a sight she would never forget.
The night dragged on, the hours slipping away as nobody seemed eager to leave. The interactions between the couples became more relaxed, with the warmth of the drinks loosening their tongues. They were getting to know each other beyond superficial pleasantries. Pat, desperate to keep his own layers of identity firmly in place, exaggerated his reactions to Mike’s stories—laughing a little too loudly at his jokes, nodding enthusiastically as Mike regaled the group with stories of his jet-setting lifestyle.
“Always on the go,” Mike quipped, caressing Pat’s chin. “But hey, every now and then, it pays off. Like tonight.” He punctuated the comment with a broad grin, leaning in to squeeze Pat’s shoulders.
The gesture caught Pat off guard, the pull throwing him slightly off balance. Instinctively, his hand shot out to steady himself—and landed squarely on Mike’s upper thigh. Mike raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smirk as he glanced at Pat’s crimson-painted fingernails resting so close to his groin. Pat quickly withdrew his hand, but Mike’s reaction lingered.
The table was cluttered with empty glasses, little umbrellas, and cocktail stirrers, the remnants of the night’s indulgence. Another song filtered through the speakers, pulling the couples back toward the dance floor. Pat let out a soft, bitter laugh, barely managing to steady his drink on the table before Mike’s hand caught his wrist, tugging him back toward the dance floor.
The each-time less forced man stumbled slightly, the alcohol dulling his reflexes just enough to make him pliable. Surprisingly, he started to enjoy the dancing—especially the slow songs, where he could close his eyes and let the world blur around him.
Across the room, Judy floated through the crowd, twirling with her own partner, but her eyes kept flicking back to Pat every so often, surprised at how convincingly he was playing the role. There was no resistance in him anymore. If anything, he looked comfortable—perhaps even content—in Mike’s embrace. Her lips curled into a soft, knowing smile, but her focus soon returned to Tom, who had been everything she craved and more throughout the evening.
As the night came to an inevitable close, the staff began clearing tables, sweeping floors, and dimming the lights, signaling it was time to leave. The two couples exited the club together, blending seamlessly with the late-night crowd. Mike’s arms remained wrapped around Pat from behind, pulling him close as they strolled down the sidewalk, while Judy leaned against Tom, her heels dangling from her fingers as she tiptoed barefoot down the street.
None of them were sober enough to drive, but fortune smiled on them when an empty taxi rolled to the curb. Pat practically tumbled into the backseat, landing squarely between Tom and Mike. Judy, only slightly more composed, climbed into the front passenger seat and directed the driver as they pulled away.
The tension in the backseat was thick enough to cut with a knife. Pat could feel the heat radiating off Mike’s body, their thighs pressed together in the cramped space. Tom, awkwardly sandwiched in the role of third wheel, shifted uncomfortably as Mike’s arm tightened around Pat, pulling him even closer.
It didn’t take long before Mike leaned in, his lips capturing Pat’s in a kiss—then another, and another, each one more intense, more urgent. Pat had always enjoyed a good make-out session, but there was something both thrilling and foreign in the way Mike’s mouth moved against his. As a man, he had always expected to make the first move; tonight, though, all he had to do was wait—and he didn’t have to wait long. Whether it was the alcohol, the exhaustion, or something deeper, Pat didn’t resist. Instead, he kissed back with equal fervor, his hands instinctively clutching at Mike’s shoulders.
Between soft growls and stolen breaths, Pat occasionally glanced up to the front, catching Judy’s gaze in the rearview mirror. Her expression was one of pure amusement, her eyebrow raised as she watched the scene unfold behind her. She didn’t say a word, just kept her eyes on him, a knowing smirk playing on her lips.
More than once, Pat felt Mike’s hand sliding up his thigh, creeping dangerously close to the edge of his skirt. Each time, Pat placed his own hand over Mike’s, gently but firmly pushing it back down. Thankfully, Mike seemed to get the message, redirecting his attention to caressing Pat’s waist, the curve of his hips, and the smooth line of his chest.
When the taxi finally arrived at their destination, the couple in the backseat had to be practically pried apart. One by one, the men climbed out of the back seat, and Judy couldn’t help but giggle at the sight of the last of them—her husband, his lipstick smeared messily across his cheek as he stepped onto the pavement.
Pat couldn’t even meet her gaze. He had nothing to say, nothing to offer in response to the knowing look she gave him as she approached. She brushed a few stray locks of sweaty hair from his face and whispered before turning away, “I’ll see you inside the house.”
Mike took over from there, gently guiding Pat by the arm toward his front door. As they walked, Pat’s eyes strayed, catching sight of his wife in the distance. She was in Tom’s arms now, leaning into him for a kiss that was nothing short of theatrical. Passionate. Definitive. Pat’s stomach twisted as he wondered—was this their first kiss of the evening? Or had they been at it all night while he’d been too caught up in his own turmoil to notice?
When they finally reached the doorstep, Pat lingered, turning to face the man beside him. “Thanks, Mike,” he murmured softly, with a sly smile. “For a lovely evening.” Mike wasn’t to blame for any of it, and in truth, he had been nothing but a gentleman.
Mike’s smile was warm, his gaze steady as it met Pat’s. “You’re welcome,” he replied, his tone equally soft. “I had a great time, too.”
For a moment, they stood there under the soft glow of the porch light, neither one moving, neither one ready to break the connection. The silence stretched on, until Mike broke it with a gentle chuckle. “Oh, and my jacket?”
Pat blinked, realizing he was still wearing it. "Oh, right," he laughed awkwardly, pulling the coat from his shoulders. It was funny, in a way. He’d been wearing a piece of men’s clothing all night, yet he hadn’t felt like a man once.
As he handed the jacket back, their hands brushed in the exchange. The touch lingered longer than it should have, the silence between them charged with unspoken tension.
Just then, Judy walked between them, breaking the connection with a casual, “Excuse me.” She unlocked the front door and stepped inside, casting a knowing look at Pat before disappearing into the house. Mike excused himself shortly after, but not before handing Pat a small card with his contact information. “In case you want to stay in touch,” he said.
Pat nodded, sliding the card into his purse. As he turned to say goodbye, Mike’s hand found its way to his chin, gently tilting it upward as he leaned in for one last kiss. This one was softer, slower, more intimate. A promise for something more, should Pat want it. And for reasons he couldn’t quite explain, Pat found himself returning the kiss without hesitation. His heart pounded in his chest as their lips parted, leaving him breathless.
And then, just like that, Mike was gone, disappearing into the night as Pat stood on the doorstep, lipstick smeared, heart racing, and mind spinning.
X
As Pat stepped into the house, the door clicked shut behind him, and with that sound, he let out a long, exhausted sigh of relief. Finally, the night was over. He leaned against the front door for a moment, his silhouette cast in the dim light filtering through the front window, the only source of illumination with all the lights off.
He shuffled through the hall, and his eyes caught sight of Judy’s heels, casually abandoned on the living room carpet. With a frustrated groan, he picked them up and headed to put them away, carrying them toward her bedroom. Surprisingly, the door was slightly ajar, and with a bit of hesitation, he pushed it open, unsure if he was even allowed in there anymore.
Pushing it open cautiously, he stepped inside, his eyes scanning the room. It was empty, the faint sound of the shower running down the hall. The closet door was open, so he headed over and carefully placed the heels with the rest of her shoes. But as he did, his eyes roamed over the racks, and a chill crept up his spine. His clothes—jackets, shirts, trousers—everything that once defined his half of the closet was missing. He rifled through the hangers, searching for any trace of his old life, but all he found was her wardrobe, neatly organized and untouched. He’d assumed she’d just stored his things away somewhere until this whole ordeal was over. But now… it felt like they were gone for good.
As he shifted through her clothes, a small piece of paper fluttered to the ground. Pat bent down to pick it up, squinting at it in the dim light. It was a Post-it note, one he instantly recognized. "Enjoy your lunch, love. You deserve the world and more," it read in his handwriting. It was one of the notes he used to slip into her lunch bag back when he’d pack meals for her.
He stared at the note, lost in the memory of simpler times, a bittersweet smile tugging at his lips, only to be jolted back to the present by the sound of her voice cutting through the silence.
"Well, dear, how did you enjoy being a woman tonight? Not so bad, huh?" Judy teased, sauntering into the room wrapped in a towel, fresh from her shower.
Pat groaned inwardly, crumpling the note in his fist as he turned to face her.
“That was quite the show you put on tonight,” Judy continued, strolling over to her vanity. She sat down, removed her bath cap, and began brushing out her hair. “But just so you know—ladies don’t usually make out with a guy on the first date. We’re supposed to show some restraint, sweetie."
Pat’s blood boiled. “Me?!” he snapped, disbelief surging through him. “What about you and Tom? You weren’t exactly holding back, Judy!”
“Oh, that’s different,” she replied airily, waving her brush dismissively. “Tom and I have history. We dated in college.”
“Different?” Pat repeated, stepping closer as his reflection joined hers in the mirror. “You think that makes it okay? You let him put his hands all over you! Hell, I’m surprised you didn’t let him rip your dress off right there on the pavement!”
Her lips curled into a sly smile at his outburst, a flicker of amusement dancing in her eyes. She set the brush down and turned to fully face him, arching an eyebrow as if silently challenging him to continue. “What the hell was that?” he demanded, pleading. “I’m… I’m still…” He paused, words catching in his throat. “I’m still the man you married.”
“Oh, of course you are,” she cooed mockingly, tilting her head. “The same sweet, sweet person I married once.” Her gaze flicked downward, then back up, her smirk returning. “But tonight? Tonight, you practically gave up any right to be called a man.”
Pat flinched, his stomach twisting.
She leaned in, voice softer now, but no less cutting. “You were too busy playing the doting girlfriend to be one.”
“I-I didn’t—it’s not—” he stammered, the words tangling in his throat before finally bursting out: “You don’t get to turn this around on me, Judy!” He closed the distance between them in two quick strides, now mere inches from her. “This is your doing—you pushed me into this! I never asked for any of it!”
“But you didn’t stop it either.”
Her words landed with the force of a slap. She didn’t sound angry. If anything, she sounded amused. “You didn’t pull away. You didn’t say no. In fact…” She paused, pulling out a nightcap from a drawer. “From where I was sitting, you looked like you were pretty damn into it.”
Pat opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
She let the silence linger, savoring the way he squirmed. “You know what I think?” she finally said, her voice dropping to a murmur. “I think you liked it more than you’re willing to admit.”
"Judy..." He started, but the words crumbled before they could form. Because she was right. He hadn’t stopped it. He hadn’t pushed Mike away. He had let it happen. Worse—he’d wanted it, hadn’t he? It wasn’t just the alcohol that had loosened him.
The padding, the layers of clothing—those could be peeled away any moment. But the memory of the hands of another man on his waist, his hips, his thighs… the way his body had responded, the way he hadn’t fought it, the way it had felt—that would linger.
She sighed then, almost as if she pitied him. “Let’s stop pretending this is all on me, shall we?” she said, pushing herself up from the vanity. “This little game we’ve been playing? It’s not as one-sided as you like to think.”
“Sure,” she mused, absently toying with the strap of his dress. “Go ahead and be mad at me for seeing Tom. But don’t act like you weren’t just as involved tonight.”
Her touch lingered for a moment before she pulled back, watching him intently. “Maybe I pushed you a little,” she admitted with a shrug. “But you walked the rest of the way yourself. I didn’t force you to enjoy tonight, did I?” Her voice lowered, sultry, taunting. “I didn’t make you kiss Mike back. I didn’t make you let him hold you, touch you.”
She took another step forward, closing the space between them entirely. Pat instinctively backed away, but Judy was relentless, her hand finding his, fingers intertwining just firmly enough to keep him anchored in place.
“That was all you, sweetheart.”
Pat’s gaze dropped to the floor, unable to meet her eyes. “I… I don’t know what happened,” he murmured, staring at her damp bare feet. “It was… weird.” His voice was quieter now, almost to himself. “I’m your husband, Judy. This shouldn’t feel so—”
“Natural?” she finished for him.
His breath caught.
“But it did feel natural, didn’t it?” she pressed, her smile both knowing and impossibly soft. “You’re a natural, Pat. Better than I ever expected. I mean—just look at you.”
Against his better judgment, Pat’s gaze flicked to the vanity mirror behind her.
And there he was.
Red carmine smeared across his cheeks in chaotic streaks. Faint but unmistakable hickeys blossomed along his collarbones, stopping just above the imitation necklace he had once gifted her for Christmas. The top of his brassiere peeking into view, the neckline of his dress slightly askew—evidence of where Mike’s eager hands had roamed.
The reflection staring back at him was pathetic, a caricature of both man and woman. He felt his chest tighten with shame, the absurdity of his complaints about being recognized as male hitting him with the force of a tidal wave.
Judy tilted his chin up with a single finger, forcing him to meet her eyes. “You’ve been fighting this for so long,” she murmured. “Clinging to this old version of us. To the idea that you’re still my husband.”
Her hands cradled his face, thumbs skimming over his cheekbones, smudging his lipstick even further. “But let’s be honest—you haven’t been that man in a long time. And, honestly? I don’t think you were ever really much of a man to begin with.”
Unable to keep facing his reflection anymore, Pat retracted, and she let him break the touch, but continued: “This isn’t about me and Tom,” she called across the room. “This is about you. About what you’re too scared to admit to yourself.”
Pat squeezed his eyes shut, his breath shaky. “Things don’t have to change,” he blurted out suddenly, louder than he intended. “I’m still here, Judy. I’m still yours!”
At this, Judy let out a short, bitter laugh. “Oh, Pat,” she sighed. “You’re missing the point.” Her gaze met his, cold and resolute. “This isn’t about what I have to do. It’s about what I want to do. Tom gives me what I need. What you can’t—or won’t.”
The words struck like a gut punch, their finality sinking deep. Pat felt his throat tighten, but he forced himself to speak, his voice barely above a whisper. “It just... it hurts,” he admitted. “It hurts to see you with a man.”
“Oh, that’s adorable.” She let out a low chuckle, meeting his tear-filled gaze with a mocking smile. “Most men would say, It hurts to see you with another man. But not you, Pat. You said, a man.” She let the words hang between them, her smile deepening. “Interesting choice of words, don’t you think?”
Pat remained frozen, unable to respond, as Judy turned away. She moved to the dresser, retrieving a silky nightgown from a nearby drawer. Loosening the towel wrapped around her body, she slipped the gown over her head, her silhouette framed perfectly by the soft glow of the bedside lamp.
“And if you must know,” she continued, adjusting the straps on her shoulders, “yes, Tom touched me. His hands were all over me.” She paused just long enough for the words to settle, then turned her head slightly, catching his gaze out of the corner of her eye.
“And you know what?” Her lips curled into something both cruel and victorious.
“I enjoyed every second of it—just like you enjoyed tonight with Mike.”
She smiled.
“I liked having a real man touch me.”
The casual brutality of her admission jolted him back to life. Stumbling backward, Pat felt the edge of what had once been their shared bed press against the backs of his legs. His knees buckled, and he sank down, the strength drained from his body, his thoughts spiraling. He no longer knew what to say. The anger he had clung to earlier had bled away, leaving behind only a quiet, immobilizing despair.
Her unshakable calm unsettled him more than any raised voice or harsh words ever could. It was as though she had already won—as though there was no longer any need to fight.
The evening had left her in a noticeably sweet mood, sweeter than she had ever been, even at the height of her satisfaction while feminizing him to her whims. She no longer needed to force compliance or chip away at his resistance. There was nothing left to resist. The full picture spoke for itself. It didn’t matter how much he yelled or argued—it was over.
His throat tightened, and his cry came out hoarse. “And what am I supposed to do?” he stammered, his hands trembling as he instinctively backed away. He hadn’t realized he was cornering himself until his shoulders hit the wall. “Just... leave? Letting you forget about me?!”
Judy raised an eyebrow, brushing her hair back from her neckline as she smoothed the skirt down her legs. “I haven’t kicked you out, have I?” she replied matter-of-factly. “This is my house as much as it’s yours. But you’re not the man of it anymore. You’re something else entirely.”
She stepped back toward the door, her hand extending, gesturing for him to leave. "We don’t have to figure it all out tonight," she said, her tone softening slightly. “Just... think about it. Take your time. But whatever you decide, know this—I’m not going anywhere.”
Her gesture wasn’t an order—it wasn’t even demanding. It was almost kind. And yet, Pat found himself obeying. His heels clicked softly against the hardwood floor as he stepped out of the room, the sound unnervingly loud in the tense silence of the house.
“Oh, and Pat?” she called lightly as she turned back toward the bed. He stopped in the doorway, glancing back at her over his shoulder.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” she asked sweetly, her eyes flicking toward the towel lying in a heap on the floor. “The towel, sweetie. Put it in the laundry basket so you can take care of it tomorrow morning.”
He hesitated, momentarily caught off guard by the request. His eyes flickered between her expectant stare and the crumpled cloth. But, without a word, he bent down and picked it up, clutching it tightly in his hands.
“Don’t think I’ll go easy on you just because we had a girls' night out,” she teased, reaching for the lamp. “I still expect the best from my maid.”
The room plunged into darkness as the light clicked off. A soft thud followed as the door closed behind him. Then came the faint, unmistakable click of the lock turning.
“Goodnight, Patti,” Judy called, her voice fading into the shadows.