The Womanless Beauty Pageant — Part 5 of 11

The only thing worse than being pressured into participating in a womanless beauty pageant, is to finish in last place. The ramifications of that experience turned out to be life changing, for Miss Bobby.

As Co-authors, Monica and I have a couple of very special ladies to thank, both are icons in the TG community.

The first is Vickie Tern. Without her encouragement and inspiration this story would never have been written.
The second is our muse, Kelly Ann Rogers; her midcourse corrections were vital to the story's completion.

As the authors we hope you enjoy reading this bit of fun.
If anyone wishes to build off our FFL cub theme; you have our permission and encouragement.

Marina Joy and Monica Rose 

During the course of the week, Bob kept to a regimen of herbal supplements' and girlie hormones and spent all his time confined in his corset and continued to use the suction devices twelve hours a day. Clothing-wise he was prepared this week. He washed and ironed his only good dress shirt. He planned to wear a pair of men's slacks; but as a concession to Sue he would don his tights instead of socks and wear them with his pair of low-heeled white pumps.

Saturday dawned bright and sunny. Bob went for an extra long run, again passing the beauty college advertisement. He showered; put on his control top panty hose, his slacks, heels and an old ratty sweatshirt. Swallowing his pride he grabbed the black and smaller of his corsets and headed for the college. Arriving around noon, Bob entered and asked to see Pierre. The hairdresser flounced out and was surprised to see Bobby back again. A humble Bob approached Pierre and asked, "Do you remember me?"

Laughing Pierre answered with an impertinent air, "Of course, you're Mister. No tip, no thank you!"

Bob sheepishly answered, "Yes I guess that's me. I need a favor. There's this appointment I have to go to, I need to hide my puppy fat. Will you help lace me into my corset?"

Bob should have suspected something when Pierre jumped at the opportunity. Pierre noticed Bob's diamond ring and had to comment, "For someone right out of the closet, it didn't take you long to find a sugar daddy. I assume your appointment is with this someone special."

Bob acknowledged it was and handed Pierre his unused black leather underbust corset still in its cellophane packaging.

The jubilant hairdresser said, "It's a shame lazy American culture has forgotten the joys of corsetry. I'm glad to see you have avoided the fetish cheaply made corsets. This puppy will do a marvelous job of supplying you with a classical womanly figure. I can't wait to get this on you." Pierre led his customer back to a private dressing room, where Bob removed everything except his nylons.

Pierre wrapped the foundation garment around his chest and waist and immediately began to pull the laces. He pulled with a gusto Bob wasn't prepared for, he nearly fell backwards. There was nothing to hold on. Regaining his balance he reached inside the garment and nestled his prepubescent breast into position so they weren't being painfully squeezed by the compression of the corset. Then he braced himself by raising his hands over his head and leaned into the wall.

Pierre mockingly said, "Don't be a pussy, breathe out, and suck your gut in then hold it as best you can. The sadistic hairdresser pulled the leather laces several times, Bob finally screamed, "Stop! Stop! It's too tight, I can't breathe." Bob could see Pierre's face in the mirror and he was smiling as he pulled the laces once more and tied them in a double knot.

Bob continued to whine he couldn't breathe, he was going to faint. Pierre reached behind him and grabbed a bottle of water and maliciously poured it over the knots, knowing when they dried and shrunk his client would never be able to get the knots untied.

Bob pleaded, "Get this stupid thing off me immediately. I can't breathe."

"Relax, here have a drink of water it'll help you relax, take shallow breaths you'll adjust in no time at all."

"No you don't understand I'm going to die, please do something."

Pierre thought for a minute and said, "There is one thing I can do, if we can walk to my station I will use the hot air hair dryer on your corset. The heat will allow the leather to stretch."

Once the leather knots were firmly shrunk dry, Pierre excused himself claiming he had another client to attend to. Bob was abandoned standing in his corset and nylons in the middle of the open saloon. As other hair dressers and clients began to filter in, Bob snatched a pink uniform smock lying on a chair to hide behind. Holding the dress to his front he beat a hasty retreat to reclaim his clothes.

Returning to the dressing room, Bob found only his white pumps, with his wallet and keys neatly placed in them. Having no other alternative, he was forced to done the smock, only then did he see the words, 'Dolly Dimples' embroidered across his bosom. Staring at the refection in the mirror, Bob noticed for the first time the flesh on his chest had been pushed up and together to create the appearance of a generous cleavage.

Mortified Bob marched to the front desk with as much pride as he could muster and demanded to speak to the manager. The manager showed up fifteen minutes later which left Bob on display at the front desk to the quizzical stares of the woman and young girls coming through the front door.

When the manager arrived, Bob explained his current dilemma. A search was done for Pierre and his trousers, all that was found was a note taped to Pierre's locker that he had gone home sick.

The manager profusely apologized and assured Bob there would be no cost for today's services. Since there was no sign of his pants, he was allowed to keep the smock and was given a coupon for a free facial. Bob cringed at the thought of going into public. Having no alternative he hobbled to his truck. Bob had a devil of a time climbing into his truck with the dress. Having lost his only decent pair of men's pants, Bob briefly thought about going to Goodwill for another pair. The reality of his tiny boobs sneaking out the top of his compressed chest scared the bejesus outta him and persuaded Bob he would have to come up with another answer.

@ @ @ @

Bob drove home and pulled into a parking spot as close to his apartment that he could find. He cleared the end of the truck, and saw Candy, Sue's friend waiting at his apartment door. Bob took a few breathes, he was gripped with fear, his heart raced as beads of sweat formed on his brow. With legs of jelly, a less than confident Bob approached the woman at his door.

Candy stood with her hip thrust out one her hand resting on it as she appraised the situation before her. She put a smirk on her face, and tried to belittle Bob as she said, "Where have you been. I don't appreciate being kept waiting?"

"Candy what are you doing here? Leave me alone, it has been a long day, I don't need your shit."

"Is that any way to treat a messenger from your wife? I'll leave; however Sue will be pissed if I don't bring you with me. She has been called out of the country on business for a month. She leaves tonight and can't see you on Sunday. She asked me to fetch you. She wants to say good-bye. I'll tell her you're too busy."

"No wait! Take me to her please."

Bob stood in front of Candy as she said "Alright; but I'm embarrassed to be seen with you looking like that. I can see I'm going to have to give you pretty lessons. Why aren't you wearing lipstick?"

She reached into her purse and pulled out a tube of lipstick, in shimmering Fuchsia pink. She liberally coated his lips with the crayon like cosmetic.

Candy pointed him to for her car. She followed in his wake. Just as he reached for the handle of her Jaguar, she liberally showered him with her honeysuckle fragrance perfume. Gagging, Bob wrestled his way into her low riding sports coupé. Bob sat with his knees together; Candy looked over at him and asked, "Do you have a purse?"

Bob immediately responded, "No, why?"

"You need some way of carrying your makeup."

She removed her wallet, dropped the lipstick in the purse and handed it to Bob. "It's yours now. Take good care of it."

Candy drove Bob to his old home. She parked at the end of their long driveway and made Bob hike to the front door with his purse slung over his arm.

Bob was humiliated when he had to ring the doorbell for entry to his own home.

Sue opened the front entrance and had to look twice to recognize the person at her door. She squealed in delight at seeing him. "I'm so glad Candy found you. I have to leave right now for the airport. This financial crisis requires a trip to China. I will be gone for a month and wanted to see you before I left. Why are you wearing that dress and carrying a purse? Oh never mind, it is a good first step. I was wrong, pink is definitely your color. Will you be so kind and get my suitcase, it's on the floor in my bedroom? Thanks. I'll meet you at the car."

The feeling of nostalgia and loss flooded over Bob as he made the way to his old bedroom. He did notice the house was nice and tidy. Sue's suitcase turned out to be a steamer trunk. Bob had a difficult time dragging it to the front door. Thankfully Candy had driven up the steep driveway, to save Sue the walk. After several tries Bob was able to wrestle the case in the trunk. Bob stood off to the side unsure of what to do next. Sue opened her door and said, "Come on Bobby get in the back. I can't leave you here. Malinda would call the cops if she saw some stranger loitering about the house. Candy is taking me to the airport and then she'll drop you off at your apartment.

Climbing into the cramped quarters of the Jaguar's rear seat was less than dignified for the skirted Bob. Once he was seated and buckled in, his purse in his lap Candy took off, like she was driving in a sports car rally.

Sue's purse was resting in the open spot on the seat next to Bob. After one high-speed turn Sue's purse fell to the floor and spilled its contents. Sue looked over her shoulder and asked, "Could you pick that up for me?"

As Bob shoveled everything back into the purse he was shocked to see two blister packs of birth control pills among Sue's belongings.

Bob chocked back his emotions and asked, "Are you going alone?"

"No, the problem is with the club's account so their treasurer, Beth, is going with me."

"Is that all?"

"Well Tom, from our office is going as well. He's an expert on Asian affairs. You remember him from our office Christmas party. He's the tall handsome guy with all the muscles. We'll meet them at the airport."

Sue reached into the glove box and retrieved a large envelope, and asked Candy, "Is it alright if I show him this?"

"Sure why not, he'll find out eventually. Have him keep it, to show him what he's up against. It was taken yesterday by a professional photographer. Who complimented Phil and told him he could be a model."

Bobs heart sank as he saw a picture of Phil, with an angelic smile looking beautiful in full makeup, wearing a tight fitting sequined blue cocktail dress, hair down to his shoulders, large dangling crystal earrings and platform stilettos. Bob neatly folded the print and slid it into his purse.

@ @ @ @

At the airport Bob had hoped for a moment alone with his wife. Except it wasn't to be. Candy pulled up to the departure gate, popped the trunk, Sue grabbed her purse, double-checked for her ticket and passport, and got out. She then leaned back in the car and gave her husband a finger wave goodbye, "I've asked Candy to check on you while I'm gone. Be good and listen to her. Love the lips honey; pink really is your color."

At that point, Tom from the office, the big ex-Marine strolled over and hoisted Sue's case from the trunk with one hand and led his wife through the doors. As Candy pulled away from the curb, Sue watched them leave with a tear in her eye. She worried briefly about what Candy might do to Bob and she hoped he was strong enough to withstand her antics. She shook her head to shake away the tears and decided that if Bob was to ever earn his way back to her home, he would just have to deal with it.

From the rear seat Bob asked, "Can you please take me home?"

"I will eventually, we have one stop to make first. It's Chip n' Dale night at Sexxxy Sadie's strip club, some of the ladies from the club have arranged a hen's night out with you as the guest of honor; we've even signed you up for a Pole Dancing lesson. It'll be a blast; trust me."

"Damn it, Candy, just let me out. I'll take a cab home."

"Listen up sweet cheeks; that's the second time you used dirty language in my presence, it had better be the last time. Sue has entrusted your care and feeding to me for the month. The next time I hear anything but sweet ladylike language come out of your mouth I will find something to stuff in it. Am I clear?"

Bob thought, 'Shit it's going to be a long four weeks.'

Candy pulled up to the nightclub and turned her car over to the valets. She helped Bobby climb out of the cramped backseat. She reminded him to bring his purse and then held his hand to lead him into the joint. The doorman greeted her by name and the pair was immediately escorted to a reserved table for five, right down front of the raised stage. Bob sat and put his purse at his feet to get it out of the way. A waiter showed up straight away and without consulting Bob, Candy ordered two Cosmopolitans. As their drinks arrived, Candy stood and waved to a woman Bob didn't recognize.

Before her arrival Bob felt underdressed in his smock. This woman changed all that. She was wearing only a Los Angeles Dodgers jersey and Daisy Duke short shorts. Sitting down, she introduced herself as Alexis. Candy then added in a causal manner, "Alex is a Sex Ed teacher in the local high school. If you ever have any feminine hygiene questions she's the expert. Don't underestimate her. She has a PHD in adult education." Alex leaned over and gave Candy a fist bump followed by a kiss on the lips.

Alex smiled at Bob, "If you ever want to audit my class I will make special arrangements. Homework is a bitch. Although exams are a lot of fun."

Next, a voluptuous red head wearing a long white halter evening dress featuring an open back and rhinestone encrusted straps dropped her purse on the table without saying a word and began mingling with ladies at adjoining tables. Candy leaned over and whispered in Bobby's ear, "That's Erika; she's a brain-dead socialite, nice to look at, worth over a million bucks, known for her philanthropy; but up stairs, all the rooms are vacant."

Bob wasn't an expert on luxury items, however he suspected the eyeglasses Erika had on cost more than his truck.

Alexis leaned in and said, "Don't listen to Candy, Erika is a psychologist and is always playing mind games on poor Candy. You see Bobby; your advisory committee is handpicked to ensure we have all the bases covered. Sue receives observations about you from educators, beauticians, professional trainers, fashion models. Most of us love men and only want to make you better spouses. However, there are several man haters, like Candy, that believe all the world's men should be compelled to attend 'testosterone nullification' camps."

The last to show up was a middle-aged woman, costumed in a brown suede dress with button detailing and a gingham trim to the hemline. She also had a red and white scarf wrapped loosely about her slender neck. "Yeehaw, y'all."

She extended her hand towards Bobby as she sang out, "I don't believe we've met. Just call me Jess, that's short for Jessica. I'll bet we'll become real good friends by the time this is all over."

Then she ordered bourbon straight up.

Alex proudly announced, "Jessica only gets home occasionally. You should feel honored that your case was worth her time. She runs a Bull Semen ranch somewhere in the Texas panhandle. The semen she harvests has been credited with producing some of the world's most aggressive bulls for Spanish Bull Fighting promoters. Tell Bobby what you credit your success to Jess."

"It's my 'hands on approach' in collecting specimens. It seems to keep my bulls more relaxed leading to higher sperm counts." She said laughingly.

Candy struck her glass with a fork to get the tables attention. "Bobby you're probably wondering why you're here tonight?"

Bob nodded yes. Candy went on, "What you've before you is the nucleolus of the FFL Bobby advisory committee. Sue, as a new member to our club, has been assigned mentors. It is our responsibility to assist her in your reeducation."

The alcohol on an empty stomach helped Bob bravely reply, "Don't you mean brainwashing?"

That got a gasp out of the table. Candy turned toward Bob and cut loose an angry glare, one that Bob recognized receiving frequently from his wife. Jess stood and looked Bobby directly in the eyes. "You're a feisty one I can see that. You will be seeing a lot of us over the course of the next year. The objective of our committee is to monitor your behavior. The relationship between the committee and their subjects can become adversarial. We have found, very often a real friendship develops. How that goes, is strictly up to you. We report, as objective outsiders, what we observe back to Susan. What she does with the information is up to her. If she asks for our advice we will of course provide it. We are not here to tell her how your education is to be conducted. She knows you better than any of us."

Alex stood up, Bobby tonight is the first step in you education process. Take a look around and tell me what you see."

"A sleazy strip club filled with drunken woman."

"Exactly, except on most nights it is filled with sex crazed men, a lot of them our partners, brothers, sons and fathers. We permit this place to exist for two reasons. First it is a cash cow for our club. Oh, don't look so surprised, yes we ladies own it, and have someone else operate it."

Taking a long sip of her cocktail she went on, "The second reason it remains open is we recognized men in general are sleaze buckets. Those that haven't given in completely to their feminine side are tempted by the T & A on display here. We can't stop wondering eyes; but we sure as hell can make men pay for the privilege. The proprietor keeps detailed records of everyone who enters through the front doors. FFL gets a byname list on a monthly base. Those names are turned over to our members for corrective action if one of their men shows up here. We can't stop them from roaming but we can surly keep a record of who does what, how much they spend and drink, etc. That can all be used against them at the appropriate time. It's a hell of a lot easier than hiring private investigators to keep an eye on our husbands, sons and boyfriends."

Candy interrupted with, "We interrupt the standard girlie shows with an occasional Chip n' Dale night, so we can get our jollies off just like the men. The ladies come and enjoy themselves watching real men perform. The highlight of the evening is amateur hour, which is where you come in. Guys like you are encouraged to perform for us ladies. We want you to show us what you've got. Hopefully this will be a learning experience, it will demonstrate to you the indignity woman are put through in a places like this."

Jess handed Bob her glass of bourbon. "Here drink this it'll help you relax. Shortly you'll be escorted backstage for a cram course in pole dancing. Then you'll be the grand finale for tonight's entertainment. We'll see how you like being ogled by a house full of sex crazed customers. Most of the guys we drag here find this to be an enlightening experience."

Bob knocked back the drink and sat in stunned silence as the entertainment began. The first male dancer's routine had more ups and downs than a Las Vegas house of ill-repute. Helga, an extra from a Viking movie materialized at their table. Candy ordered Bob to go with the muscle bound giant, she would take Bobby to a room where he could prepare for his début as a pole dancer.

Bob didn't move, Helga simply grabbed Bob by the elbows and casually lifted him out of his seat. She held his bicep in a vice like grip, Candy stood and, using his lipstick, repaired his lips and put his purse on the table for safe keeping. The blonde Viking escorted Bob through the tables to a special section back stage. They got to a set of double doors; Helga lifted Bob to his toes and said in his ear. "The one on the right leads to your rehearsal studio and dressing room. The one on the left is where 'girls like you' sell nookie; in a private lounge. You choose."

Bob was absolutely flummoxed, at her suggestion he might be a prostitute. "Thanks I'll take the one on the right."

"Good choice, a wimp like you wouldn't last long as the main course in that smorgasbord. "I'll be in shortly to help you select your costume."

For the next two hours the ladies from FFL drank and enjoyed themselves as one male stripper after another debased themselves for the ladies' self-gratifying pleasure. During breaks, the small group at the main table speculated on Bobby's performance. Word had been spread to be as harsh as possible during what they anticipated would be his parody of an act.

Helga returned during the last break before the finale. She apologized, the girls back stage couldn't get Bobbie into typical stripper attire. No one could untie the Gordian knots on his corset, short of cutting it off. So they worked around it. As a consequence, Bobby was going to dress as Little Red Riding Hood, complete with floor length cape, and sexy 5 inch thigh high boots in red leather. The ladies were lustily salivating at the prospect of Bobby making a fool of himself attempting to walk in heels that high.

When Bobby first emerged into the spotlight on stage it was like paparazzi flocking to a rock star. The club erupted with hoots and catcalls. Bob calmly and sexually strolled to center stage his cape demurely wrapped around his torso, only his face and boots showed. His walk was so natural it was like he walked in them every day. He grabbed a microphone and in his most feminine voice asked for quiet. He'd an announcement to make. As a hush fell over the audience he said, "Ladies, there will be a five minute pause in my act to give everyone time to get to the ATMs. I don't take checks, American Express, Visa or Master Card. Cash only — and please don't waste my time with anything smaller than a five dollar bill."

His announcement was met with mocking laughter at Candy's table. Elsewhere there was a mad dash to the three ATMs scattered about the room. Candy glowered at the audacity of the man. She made the comment to her table mates, "I can't wait for him to fall on his face."

With the spotlight on him, Bob began his act. As a high school gymnastic star, he flew around that pole like a Romanian gymnast; he did tricks that astounded his audience. He scrambled to the top of the pole, held himself perpendicular to the pole and as he slowly slid down, as his body rotated around the pole.

He climbed the pole again and held on with one hand, threw his head back, bucked his hips and proceeded to make love to that elongated phallic symbol. At one point, his skirt rode up and Bob accidently flashed his muffin to the crowd. There wasn't a dry set of panties in the house. As he slid down the pole one last time, his legs wrapped around it tightly, the place erupted in applause. Jess stood on the table and waved a fist full of money at him.

Candy sat dejectedly at the table and drank straight tequila shots. Erika, in a dignified manner, yelled at Alex, "That wasn't an act. It was performance art! The way he combined dance with gymnastics and aerobics around that vertical pole was simply astonishing."

Bob stood and meekly accepted his accolades. He bowed and then curtsied to each side of the stage. The women rushed the stage, everyone fought to be the first to stuff their tip into his briefs. Bob was startled when some of the ladies hands lingered against his private parts. The bouncers eventually cleared the stage when a chant went up, "More, more, and more!"

Bob was physically and emotionally tired, but his ego got away from him, as he decided to perform one more trick.

Bob climbed to the top of the pole, swung his feet over his head so they were mere inches from the ceiling. His intention was to arch his back and touch his head with the toes. He hadn't counted on the rigidity of his corset or the fatigue in his hands. He was struggling to get his toes to touch. He was a mere inch away. He concentrated and forced his body against that damn steel boned corset. Exhausted, his hands slipped and Bob fell with his face down and his back arched in a C shape.

As they say it isn't the fall that hurts, it's the sudden stop at the bottom. The crunch reverberated throughout the building; there was dead silence as everyone waited to see if Bob would get up. Jess turned to a grinning Candy and angrily said, "I guess you got your wish!"

Bob rolled to a sitting position, his nose obviously crushed beyond recognition; blood poured out and quickly saturated the front of his costume. In shock, no one moved except Candy who grabbed Bob's purse and in a drunken stupor crawled on the stage and over to the wounded performer. She reached into the purse and to the astonishment of the crowd retrieved two tampons. Opening them she stuffed the absorbent cotton up what used to be Bobs nostrils. It was crude, in more ways than one, but effective.

Helga scooped up Bob's discarded cloak and carefully wrapped him in it and lifted the dancer and carried him in her arms like a small child. Candy threw the pocketbook on Bob's lap with a sarcastic, "A lady never goes anywhere without her purse."

Bob was rushed to the hospital where Dr. Alicia, the clubs cosmetic surgeon, was summoned. The ladies all agreed FFL would pick up all medical costs. The four ladies stood in Bob's room and debated on how to repair his face. No one recognized that Bob had momentarily regained consciousness he overheard the discussion on nose shapes. Bob was heavily sedated and in shock, he croaked out, "Purse."

Alex handed it to him. Bob took out the picture of Phil, pointed to his face and said in his drug induced delirium, "Nose perfect."

Everyone's attention shifted to Doctor Al, as she examined the picture and her patient. After a brief discussion among everyone in the room the doctor pronounced, "A piece of cake, let's give him a day for the swelling to go down then I'll give him the cutest pug nose you've ever seen."

@ @ @ @

Bob fought to regain consciousness; his first sense to return was smell. He detected the wonderful aroma of White Diamonds perfume, Sue's favorite. Bob pried his eyes open hoping his wife was there. A disappointed Bob only saw Alex and Erika, sitting by his bed. With a sore throat, he squeaked out, "Oh, it's only you two."

Alex leapt from her chair, "That's no way to welcome friends. We haven't left your side for almost three days."

"What happened to me? The last thing I remember I was on stage dancing. Where am I and why am I here?"

"You poor dear, you did a swan dive from the top of the stripper's pole and landed squarely on your face. You destroyed you nose. It had to be rebuilt from scratch. I'm sure you'll be delighted at the masterpiece Alicia created. It is just what you asked for."

"What are you talking about? I didn't ask for anything."

Alicia walked in carrying her clip board, just in time to hear his comment. "I was afraid of that. Memory loss is a classical symptom of a concussion."

Bending over Bob to ensure he was listening she spoke slowly and distinctly. "Everyone was adamant that I reproduce exactly the nose in the picture you carry around with you. I argued it was too drastic a change but they were insistent. It really does transform your appearance. Once your hair grows out you'll present as an attractive woman."

"I don't want to be attractive!"

The doctor harrumphed the comment; she turned to the ladies in the room who were shocked at Bobby's statement. "He's delusional, we need to leave now and let our patient get his beauty sleep."

"Will he be alright?" questioned Alex.

"There are some anomalies in his blood work. But I'm sure he'll be fine. He just needs to rest. I hope to send him home tomorrow. Can one of you drive him?"

Over the next 24 hours Bobby was pampered by the hospital staff. Alicia had the resident hospital beautician shampoo and dye Bobby's hair and repair the chips in his nails. Much to Bob's surprise he awoke to find during his nap he'd acquired a pedicure in the same flaming pink that graced his fingers. He still had the curly bob haircut with blunt bangs. But now he was a true peroxide blonde. The pink highlights were history. Bobby sat in a wheel chair, and waited to be taken to Erika's car. He wore the presents the three ladies had provided him. Alex had given him his first bra, one sized just for him. Jess sent over an elegant pair of silk French knickers. Erika gift wrapped a colorful sundress decorated with yellow daisies. Bob wasn't sure if he was thrilled or ashamed by the gifts.

The nurse walked in with his discharge papers; she reached into the bedside drawer and pulled out his purse. "Here's your pocketbook miss; we managed to save your money, though some is soaked in blood. I'm terribly sorry, but we weren't able to salvage your gorgeous corset. It was saturated in blood and we had to cut it off you to ensure there were no internal injuries."

The nurse provided Bobby with script for pain pills, his next doctor's appointment and finished his outpatient briefing by telling Bobby, "Your nose will undergo significant changes in the first two weeks following rhinoplasty. The swelling gradually dissipates over the first several weeks and thus the appearance of the nose changes gradually. When the bandages are removed next week, the nose will look swollen. Usually by the end of the second week, the swelling and bruising have subsided enough that the casual observer won't readily notice that the nose has been operated on."

He thanked the hospital staff and was wheeled to his ride by a young orderly that kept trying to look down the front of his dress. He traveled in style; Erika had rented a limo to take him home. He sat in the rear across from Erika who was drinking champagne. He opened his purse to put away the discharge papers and was shocked to find over $200 in it. Erika smiled at him, "It's yours to keep. You've earned it. Go out and buy yourself something indulgently decadent.

Bob thought, 'Yeah like my electrical bill.'

She walked him to his door, took his keys and unlocked the door for him. When Bobby turned to thank her, Erika leaned in and gave him a sweet peck on the lips and said, "So long sweetie, I've programmed my number in your cell. If you need anything give me a call.

The first thing, Bob did was head to the bathroom to get a good look at his face. What he saw scared him, he had a large lump on his forehead. His nose reminded him of Pinocchio with its bandages, sticking out from two black eyes surrounded by purple bruises.

Forcing his vision down, he saw what appeared to be a decent looking woman. The dress was a little to cutesy for his taste but it was attractive. The tight bodice accentuated his budding breasts which were encased in their padded bra. He went to the medicine cabinet and found his girlie vitamins and herbal supplements. He downed four days worth of pills trying to catch up. In a haze of femininity, he found his purse and applied a little perfume to feel pretty.

He was about to sit and relax when there was a knock on the door. It was a florist, with a delivery for Bobby. The man carried in two dozen red roses. There was no card. Bob had never received flowers before; hell he'd never sent flowers to anyone. As he put them in a vase he thought, 'A person could get used to this.' Another knock on the door, Bob peaked out and recognized his landlord. The man never looked up, just handed Bob a pile of mail that had backed up. Bob sat down to go through it. There was the usual junk mail and a few bills; with each letter he hoped there was something from Sue; even a postcard would be nice. But alas there were only a dozen get well cards, all from the girls in Alex's class, each extended an invitation to come visit when Bobby felt better.

Another knock on the door, Bob forced himself to his feet and opened the door to another florist. He had three huge floral arrangements, one each from Alex, Erika and Jess. After arranging them around his teeny boudoir, it had taken on the ambiance of an English garden. Bob was exhausted; the brassiere was shed and callously dropped to the floor. He made room on his bed, attached his suction devices and fell asleep still wearing his French knickers. He didn't wake for nearly fifteen hours.

He would have stayed asleep longer, except he needed to pee. He unhooked his massive suction cups. After 15 hours of the pump on high, his breasts completely filled the plastic forms. He broke the vacuum seal and threw the device on the bed. He was amazed at the size of his breasts, he realized it was only temporary but they were currently impressive. Trying to gage their size from his top down perspective was difficult. He couldn't be sure but they appeared to be equal to his wife's.

He may be wearing silk knickers and had a nice set of knockers; but by god he was still a man, so he stood to pee. After washing his hands he stepped on the scale and found he'd lost another eight pounds. He hadn't eaten solid food in almost five days so he wandered to the fridge in search for something to eat. The only thing he found was a half empty pint of cottage cheese and a quart of sour milk.

He needed to venture out and get something to fill his empty stomach. Bob tried on an old ratty t-shirt but his boobs were supersensitive from being under suction for so long. Bob saw the lovely soft bra lying on the floor where he'd dropped it. Putting it on and positioning his engorged flesh into the silk cups was a wonderful soothing solution to his predicament.

Bob made a fateful decision; the bra was obviously a necessity so he would go out en femme. He stuffed a handful of cash into his purse; made sure he had his driver's license and headed to the super Wal-Mart. His first stop was the sandwich shop. He purchased a twelve inch tuna with light mayo and a large drink, diet of course. His appetite was satisfied by the time he was only half way done. He put the other half in his purse, carried his drink and went grocery shopping. He simply ignored the strange looks he got from his fellow shoppers.

Once the cart was filled with all the essentials Bob wasn't ready to go back to his small apartment. So he just roamed the store. He tried to browse in stealth mode, keeping his head down. Eventually he was drawn to the display of televisions, as his apartment didn't have one. When he arrived at the floor models, all the screens were displaying a feature on makeup and the dramatic change it can have on the plainest woman's face. Bob was mesmerized by the model's beauty; a warm fuzzy feeling started in the pit of his stomach and migrated to his crotch. The realization he was being aroused disturbed Bob. Before he had an accident in his panties, he headed to the checkout counter. His route, sent him pass an exhibit selling picture frames. Bob did a double take on one where the woman featured was wearing the identical outfit Phil had on in his picture. Bob thought it strange she had the same earrings as well. Before he could make a closer examination of the photo, a group of teenage girls bumped into his cart and snickered at his damaged face. Upset at their lack of manners, Bob excused himself and headed to checkout.

The lines were long and barely moving as it seemed everyone in his queue needed a price check. Bob's bladder was full and he feared an embarrassing leak. He finally paid his bill and headed to his car. His route took him past the restrooms. Bob looked at the woman's side and it had two ladies waiting to enter. Bob was a man, by golly; he would use the correct restroom. Entering he was delighted to see the only occupant was in the single stall. Bob marched to the urinal, pulled up the front of his dress, held down the front of his French knickers, pulled out his thing and relieved himself.

He rearranged everything and turned to leave. There standing in the door was a mountain of a man who identified himself as store security. "Miss please come with me, we've had a complaint of a woman using the men's room."

Bob tried to explain, the man would hear nothing of it. Bob was unceremoniously marched to the manager's office. Bob took the walk of shame escorted by the guard and thought, 'When did I buy a ticket for the crazy train?'

It took 30 embarrassing minutes to clear up the issue; Bob was first searched from top to bottom by a woman employee to ensure he wasn't a shoplifter. Then in front of the manager and another eyewitness he had to disrobe to 'prove' he was actually a male. The manager was forced to let Bob go when he couldn't find any law saying it was illegal for a man dressed as a woman to use the men's bathroom. Bob was escorted to his car and politely asked to never return.

Once home and safely in his apartment, Bob vowed to not leave until his face had healed. Bob took his daily meds, attached his boob makers, settled down with his computer. His fixation was now focused on makeup application. He spent hours on the internet searching for articles on how to apply cosmetics.

About mid-week, he thought he would go crazy. He just couldn't handle the loneliness another minute. He'd lost hope, all desire and motivation. At that very moment, four outsized UPS packages were delivered for Bob. They were accompanied by a short note from Erika.

'Dear Bobby, I'm going through this absolutely agonizingly delicious process, right now, of
clearing out and reorganizing my closet. I noticed we're about the same size, I thought you
might like to have few of my hand-me-downs. Anything you don't want, just throw away.

Hugs and kisses Erika.'

Bob opened the boxes; they were packed with a plethora of every kind of feminine attire imaginable, shoes, dresses, lingerie, even negligees. All very preppy and stylish and in what he now recognized as his size. It didn't take Sherlock Homes to figure out Erika wasn't being completely truthful. A large percentage of the items still had price tags attached. Bob stacked the boxes in a corner; sure he'd never use the clothes.

The thought he had at least one friend, brought a spring to his step and a smile to his face. He still had a nagging feeling that it would be easier to give up. But something inside him wouldn't allow that to happen. He refused to be defeated. This sign of friendship and generosity was just what Bob needed. He became stronger, more focused, more determined than ever.

Bob knew he was feeling better when he went back to his corset training. A motivated Bob got back into his daily routine, of exercise, walking in high heels and womanly mannerisms practice. He added feminine voice lessons he found on the net. It had been two weeks; he'd ventured out only once that was to make his doctor's appointment. When he looked into a mirror he saw a familiar face, it just wasn't his.

He'd been flying solo for so long he almost forgot what is felt like to be with his wife. Lately it had become been harder and harder to coax Mr. Happy out to play. He had to spend time playing with his breasts and nipples to generate sufficient stimulation to get an erection. That was a bit emasculating, but the pleasure he received massaging the progesterone cream into his breasts made up for the effort required to get a sexual release.

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