My wife has a very structured plan to feminize me. I admit that I deserve it. I am not much of a man. And she wants me to always be aware of that fact. When she was deciding how to go about turning what was left of my manhood into a sniveling sissy, she hit on a great and totally humiliating, yummy, strategy.

She called her plan "Girly School". In addition to all the feminine things I had to do each day just to earn my place in her exsistence, she decided that each day, from 1:00PM to 4:00PM, I would attend "Girly School". Quite simply this was an intensive and deeply humiliating schedule of courses, the goal of which was to make me into a female, womanly, feminine dame, while of course emphasising that I was, oh so much, just a wimpy, limp wristed, sissy.

Since I had had to quit my job, measly unworthy man job that it was, I was completely under her command. She was independently wealthy and could support herself and a sissy slave quite well. So each day, while being a lovely sissy at all times anyway, I would have to report to her bedroom at exactly 1:00PM for the start of class. This was no reading, writing and, arithmetic classroom. This was intense instruction into how to be a girl. Just that, Pure and simple. I was to learn and learn well, to be, to feel, to look, to act, to smell, to move, to think, to never be anything else but, a girl. Or at least as much of a real girl as someone as pantywaist as me could ever hope to be.

Everyday the class would be something different. I never knew what to expect. Other than I knew that I would not enjoy the lesson she had in store for me. And I knew that I would be deeply humiliated by the instruction. And that I had better learn it all perfectly or I would be severely punished. As if there could ever be a punishment that could be too severe for a pussy like me.

As an example: One class could be "Bras and Girdles, Their Care and Usage". Part of the course would find me next to her bed and on the bed would be ten different bras, all in my size. She would wait till I had undressed and stood naked (expect for the pink panties I always had to wear). Then she would say that I needed to practice my bra skills. She would pick one exceptionally rigidly constructed bra and tell me to practice putting it on and taking it off, 100 times. She would insist that I use proper womanly technique. I would have to place the bra straps over my shoulders and bend at the waist so that my little titties would fall carefully into the waiting cups and then raise back up, holding the ends of the back straps behind my back and be sure to securely fasten the four hook and eyes on the first time with no fumbling. 100 times I would have to do this, over and over again, until I was totally at ease with that particular bra. Then it would start over again with maybe a strapless bra or a longline bra. Many the times I would come out of this class with my arms cramping and my shoulders sagging. But my little male tits would know exactly where they belonged - properly encased in silk and lycra.
Other times this particular class could involve a field trip. The feeling of standing on a little platform, in front of a bank of mirrors, in a lace bra, in being fitted for your first girdle, is something no man should ever miss. It is amazing that my wife let me, a mere sissy, have this honor.

The next day's class could be "Lipstick and How You Feel About It". I would know when this class was coming up because I would be told to go to Target or Meijers and purchase eight or ten different lipsticks, various colors and types and labels. You cannot imagine the looks the cashier would give me as I laid ten lipsticks down in front of her. At the start of class, I would be sitting in front of a vanity mirror, wearing a bra, panties, and a full crinoline half slip billowing around my legs and knees. My wife would direct me to apply and reapply and clean off and start again, over and over, shade by shade, using various techniques of application. I would be instructed to hold the lipstick different ways. I would be instructed to stand, to sit, to lay while applying the luscious cream to my quivering lips. I would have lessons in lipgloss, in lipstains, in matte finish, in highgloss finish, in lip lining, over and over I would practice with a compact and with a full mirror. I would even have to practice blindfolded. Field trips were also needed for instruction in application as a passenger in a car and as a driver. I would have to practice leaving lips prints on china cups and on cigarette filters. Field trips would also be needed to acquaint me with application of lipstick after dining while seated in a restaurant and also how to fit in while applying lipstick in the woman's lounge. Learning to apply an even coat while using a compact while riding a bicycle was the hardest for me. But I did master the sissy process.

Feminine Hygiene was one of the most difficult classes for me. As well it should be for a simple sissy. There was so much to learn. Purchasing and applying tampons correctly was exceedingly humiliating. But my wife suffered through it with me. It took me the longest time to learn the correct pressure to achieve the correct depth into my sissy cunt. My wife wanted just precisely so long a length of string to be seen. I practised that insertion hundreds of times till I had it down, or in, as the case may be. I mastered the use of maxipads rather easily. I did soil a lot of panties but I have plenty. Douching was messy but rather fun. My wife gave me considerable instruction in palpitating my breasts to feel for lumps. I now do so every morning and night. I have to thank my wife for taking me to the clinic for my mammograms regularly. Though it is rather difficult standing on my tiptoes, being sure my breasts are squeezed ever so tightly by the machine, I know that it is best for a woman to take care of herself, no matter what the cost. Besides, being a sissy,who cares about my pain?

Ever since my wife's decision to confirm my sissyhood, I have been instructed to let my hair grow long. By now it is about 8 to 10 inches. So the class on "Hair, and Why You Love To Curl It" really was a good thing for a sissy like me. I hated to have my stringy hair hang like a shaggy dog. My wife's class gave me many many pointers on proper feminine hair care. I learned so much about ribbons and bows and barettes and headbands and ponytails and most importantly, proper use of hair rollers and perms and those frightening hairdryers. I would be instructed in home setting and spend hours rolling and unrolling and crimping and pinning and spraying. Each attempt would be appraised by my wife and usually I would have to start over again and maybe even keep my hair in tight curlers over night to achieve the look she knew I needed. I hated the field trips. Being driven in the convertible with the top down with my hair in rollers was sometimes quite fun. But I hated the visits to the beauty salon. I would be made to go in drab, with just a little touch of lipstick (a sissy can't leave home without lipstick). When I got to the salon, even though they knew this sissy was coming, they always acted like this was a new thing to them and that this was the first time they had ever humilated a sissy. They took delight in doing anything and everything to me. Of course my wife would orchestrate the whole procedure, from the set to the dryer to the updo's and the bouffants. All the time I was dressed as a man and I had to leave the salon with my hair curled high on my sissy head or in ringlets. I was allowed to apply lipstick before I left the salon. Since I was a sissy I was good at that. The smell of the salon lingered with me for days. My wife said a sissy would have to get used to that.

There were classes on nail polish and it's relationship to lipcolor. Classes on how to walk in highheels while wearing a onepiece swimsuit. There were classes on corsets and how to be properly trained in their benefits. Whole seminars were devoted to shopping and dieting. A sissy could never have too many pretty things or be too thin.
I loved the class on sundresses and their relationship to tan lines. My wife especially loved the class on eye makeup and the forty two ways a sissy can be flirty with his eyes.

My wife says that sometime soon she will be giving a Mid Term Exam. From her hints, the exam may involve a perm and highlights and a bridal gown and a trip to the Ob/Gyn. I had better get a good grade. I would hate to be humilated by a bad score. That is the only thing a sissy doesn't want to be humiliated by.

p.s.
I GOT AN "A"!!!!