Charlie is an introvert married to an alpha female. What will happen when work plus homemaking becomes too much for him?

I’m Charlie Hobson and this is my story.

A few years ago I was at Columbia, waiting for a lecture on the origins of the craftsman movement, when a clever looking young woman sat next to me. We nodded, but nothing more. She took computer notes throughout the talk. I couldn’t help but suggest occasional corrections. Talking to a girl was unusual for me – I’m small and shy around women – and men for that matter. If I’d been looking at her rather than her notes, I would’ve been mute. Her looks were out of my class – and she was 5” taller and 40 pounds heavier than me.

After the lecture Dr. Goodhall, my adviser, came up. “Charlie, would you and your friend like to come to the reception?” Guest receptions were usually for only faculty and donors, but the crowd was sparse. Maybe that’s why he asked.

I turned to her, looking for some sign of interest.

“Sure,” she said. “Thank you for inviting us.”

“Lovely, it’s upstairs in 234.”

I figured if we were going to the reception together, we should at least know each other’s names. “Charlie Hobson,” I said extending my hand, “sophomore in art history.”

She shook it and smiled. “Sally Purducci, freshman in poli sci. Shall we go up?”

“So why were you taking all the notes?”

“I’m taking Intro to Fine Art. There’s extra credit for a report on the lecture. Every little bit helps when you’re aiming for law school.”

“Oh,” I said, marveling that she already knew what she wanted to do.

Since all the other guests were 40 plus, we spent most of the time chatting with each other – sipping glasses of what proved to be very strong wine. The one exception was when Sally asked the lecturer if the craftsman movement had any European counter parts – which sent him off on a long discourse about the uniqueness of early 20th century American culture.

Sally seemed as shy with boys as I was with girls. She felt too tall to be attractive and only sat next to me because I looked “safe.” Now, fortified by the wine, she thought I was “cute and bright.” After we left, she gave me a passionate kiss and asked, “Would you like to come back to my room? My roommate’s out for the night on a heavy date, and thinking about it’s made me horny.”

I’d never had a passionate kiss before, but the wine gave me the courage to say “I’d love to."

Sally led me straight to her bed – where she rode me to heaven.

We married when she started law school – each keeping our own last name. I made enough to cover minimal living expenses by working for an art dealer. There were good commissions to be had, but being introverted, I worked behind the scenes: writing catalog descriptions, verifying provenance, etc.

Law school was very demanding – classes in the day, study group late into the night and, later, the law review. So, I not only worked all day, but did the housework as well. I didn’t mind. We’d married as equal partners. So I had no expectation that she’d be minding the house while I worked – as my mother and father had. We’d each do whatever was needed.

After law school, Sally got a job with a top firm, and studied for the bar. Then, there were the extra hours to establish herself as an associate. Meanwhile, I’d become a proficient homemaker. I perfected a system of housework that saved hours a week. While I was proud of our beautifully decorated and well-kept apartment, I started feeling put upon.

One night Sally looked up from a candle-lit dinner I’d made and saw me pouting. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m getting tired of working all day, then doing all the housework. … It’s not fair,” I said petulantly.

“I know, sweetie! You’ve been a champ, and you’re right – it’s not fair. … Look, I have my review next month. After that, my probation period will be done and I can relax a bit. Then, I promise, I’ll pitch in and do my share of the housekeeping. … How’s that?”

“Sound’s great!”

She sealed the deal by leading me into the bedroom and riding me to an explosive orgasm.

Sally was true to her word. Once her review was done (and it resulted in a big raise) she pitched right in – doing random household chores when she came home each evening. The problem was she often did something I’d just done or had scheduled for later. Or, she just didn’t know how to do it. Like she washed a new red table cloth with our whites so I wound up with pink underwear – a fact that didn’t pass unnoticed at the gallery. Another time, she ruined a set of decorative tea towels my mother gave us by using them to clean under the stove. Correcting her mistakes actually increased the time I spent doing housework. Sometimes I didn’t get to bed till after midnight.

Sally and I were constantly bickering. It wasn’t just over housework. Things I’d hardly noticed before became the focus of huge rows. I wanted to leave at ten minutes early, she wanted to cut it close. I wanted to launder the sheets, she to sleep in. I kept the closet organized, she threw her things anywhere. Often she’d steam off, slamming the door behind her, and I’d collapse in tears. We still loved each other – very much – but it was getting near impossible to live with each other.

About then Sally got third chair on the Jane McGuire case. Her client was accused of killing her husband. It meant that Sally would appear in court for the first time and was an important step in becoming a defense attorney. The pressure increased both Sally’s stress level and our bickering. One day she came home and said, “Charlie, if we keep yelling at each other, we’re sure to get divorced. We might even kill each other. We need counseling. I talked to Rose Parker – you remember she does family law – and she recommended Dr. Jane Richenbach. Are you willing to go?”

“Yes. I love you and don’t want a divorce, or worse – so sure, I’ll go.”

“Good! I thought you’d agree, so I already made an appointment for Thursday at 7:30.”

I was miffed that she’d made the appointment before talking to me, but that didn’t change my determination to improve our relationship. So, we went to counseling.

Dr. Jane began by having each vent by telling our stories. You’ve heard mine. Sally felt there was no pleasing me. She changed her life to meet my “demands,” and all she got was criticism. I tried to justify my criticisms, but Dr. Jane told me justification was not the point – I should be quite and listen to how Sally felt. Similarly, Sally should try to understand my feelings.

In the second session, Dr. Jane asked us each of us to explain how the other felt. Jane said I felt it was unfair to work all day, then come home and do the housekeeping all by myself. That’s why she’d started helping. Now she felt there was no pleasing me. Again, I tried to justify my criticisms, but Dr. Jane cut me off and made me say how Sally felt. I said she felt she was in a no-win situation. That night, Sally brought me to bed for some tender make-up sex.

In our third session, Dr. Jane said that since the problem started with and revolved around homemaking, we should offer possible solutions.

Sally began. “Well, one option is going back to the way things were before I started pitching in – Charlie could do the homemaking and everything would be done the way he liked. We weren’t arguing all the time then, so while not ideal, it would be much better than the way things are now.”

I said, “It’s not right for the man of the house to work all day, then come home and do all the housework.”

Dr. Jane interrupted, “But it would be alright for a woman?”

“Well, that’s the way my parents did it, and it worked for them. I know men and women should be equal. Still, it's not manly to be the main homemaker. I mean, it was okay doing it when Jane was so busy, and I needed to, but now that Jane has time, me working full time and doing it all isn’t fair.”

“I understand Bob. I think ...”

“That’s good Sally, but our time's up now. Maybe you two can continue this productive conversation at home. I’ll be gone to a conference and then on vacation for the next three weeks – so shall we continue this on the 24th?”

We were both a little disappointed as we seemed to be making progress at last, but of course we agreed.

When we got home, Sally suggested doing her housework under my supervision. There was less conflict, but I was unhappy with her work and she was chaffing under my continual correction. We both knew that wasn’t the solution.

Thursday night Sally said, “Charlie, I’ve been thinking about our situation since our session with Dr. Jane. The way I understand things: (1) You’re never going to be happy with my housekeeping. (2) It’s unfair for you to work all day and then do all the housekeeping. And (3) it’s unmanly to be the homemaker. Is that it?”

“Yes, I guess it is.”

“Do you have a solution that satisfies all your concerns?”

“No, I can’t think of one.”

“But you do love me and want us to want stay together?”

“More than anything!”

“Good, I love you too. Since you can’t find a solution, would you trust me to find one? Would you abide by it?”

“I do trust you – so I’ll abide by what you come up with as long as we stay together. I know you’ll do your best. Still, it’s scary to commit without knowing what I’m committing to.”

“Sure. Still, I think I have a solution. I’ll tell you what – if you commit to try my solution, if it is not working after a week or two, we can stop and try something else. How’s that?”

“OK. I’ll try it. What is it?”

“It needs a little more work, so I’ll be home late tomorrow – maybe 9:00 or 10:00. I’ll catch a bite out. You eat without me. When I come home I’ll explain everything. OK?”

I didn’t like eating alone, but I had to trust her. “OK.”

She gave me a kiss, and led me to bed …

I’d hardly eaten a bite of the chicken salad I’d made as I sat nervously waiting for Sally. It was 9:57 when she came in carrying a couple of stuffed shopping bags.

“Hi, sweetie. I’m sorry I’m so late, but I wanted to do this right.” She gave me a warm hug and a tender kiss. “Sit down and I’ll show you what I got.”

I sat to see her purchases, but was confused about how doing so could help solve our problems. Still, I knew Sally planned things very carefully, so I should go with the flow.

She held up a pink and lime floral print dress. It was scoop-necked with a short skirt flaring out from an empire waist. “Do you like it?”

“Yes, its very stylish and colors are to die for.”

“Good! I thought you’d like it.” She laid it on the sofa and pulled out a pair of white, cork sole, wedge sandals. “How about these to wear with it?”

“Yes, they’re perfect for Spring – and Summer too. Soo cute!”

“That’s why I got them!”

Next was a delicious lavender baby doll set with eyelet trim. It was short enough to be sexy, but opaque enough to be demure. It was complimented with matching mules. A burgundy satin blouse paired with black crepe slacks and 3” pumps followed.

“What about this set for work?”

“A knock-out! The blouse is so eye-catching!”

“I have a lot more to show you, but that can wait. Which do you want to try on first?”

“Try on?” I said, stunned.

“Of course! This is part of my solution and you promised to try it.”

“But, … but, … I don’t see what my wearing a dress would solve.”

“Why your main objection – the source of our problems – that homemaking is unmanly. It’s time for you to admit that you’re the farthest thing from manly, Charlie. Your manliness fantasy is the source of our problem – and a change of wardrobe will solve it.”

“That’s very cruel!” I said, starting to cry.

Sally hugged me to her breasts and kissed my forehead. “I love you more than anything, Charlie, but the truth is that you’re one of the most feminine guys I know. The problem is that you won’t admit it – even to yourself.”

“Why do you say that?” I sniffled.

“Lots of reasons. Its hard to explain, but you give off a feminine aura. I sensed it when I came into the auditorium that first night and saw how prissily dressed you were. It wasn’t that you were in women’s styles, just that your clothes were so much more coordinated and put together. After we made love that first night, I knew you were feminine and just what I wanted in a partner.

“Before I slept with you, I was very confused. I thought I might be bi. I’d experimented with a couple of girls in high school. They were sensitive and considerate, but our love making felt incomplete. They were missing the essential part I wanted in me when I make love. On the other hand, the guys I dated just wanted to fuck, notch their belt, and move on. You were – and are – perfect. You’re as sensitive and loving as any girl, and you fill me up – physically and emotionally.

“I didn’t know you were with anyone before me.”

“You must have realized I knew the ropes that first night a lot better than you.”

“I never thought about it.”

“There’s no need to. Since our first night, I’ve never been interested in anyone else.

“I’m not the only who thinks you’re femme. After the office Christmas party, Clive, my paralegal (he’s gay you know), asked me if I’d mind him asking you out – he thinks your “darling.” He figured I was your beard. Later on Susan, one of the partners I introduced you to, asked if I was interested in coming to her place for a soak in her hot tub. Everyone knows she’s a lesbian. So, after meeting you, lots, if not most, of the office assumed you’re gay and I’m probably a lesbian.

“So, that’s the first reason, you give off a feminine aura – and you make love like a girl.”

“I’m not so sure about that. I mean I’m the one with the penis.”

“I’m not talking about plumbing, Charlie. When you want sex do you approach me aggressively, or do you make a romantic dinner to put us both in the mood?”

“I make a candle lit dinner.”

“What’s you favorite position?”

“On the bottom with you on top … I guess your right.”

“Next, you’re a natural homemaker. You criticize the way I help because I’m not nearly as good at homemaking as you. Our place looks nicer than most anyone else’s. Women compliment me whenever they see it. I always give you the credit. Then they give me a funny look – like men don’t or can’t be that good at homemaking.

“Sweetie, you enjoy homemaking – anyone can see you're proud of the result. The only reason you’re unhappy is the sheer amount of work you do. If you did less total work – say about the same total hours as me – you’d be very happy. Isn’t that so?”

“Yes, I guess so.”

“So, here’s my solution. You give up the silly idea that your manly, and cut back your hours at the gallery. I figure you spend about 15 hours a week on housework, so, you work 15 hours less at the gallery. With my raise, we don’t need the money, you’ll be much happier and we’ll have more time to spend together. How’s that sound.”

“Mr. Phellps [my boss] won’t agree.”

“I already talked to him. He said with the recession he was thinking of laying you off. He much prefers keeping you and cutting your hours.”

“Oh.” Things were spiraling out of control.

“So, are you going to keep your word and try on these outfits?”

“They’re women’s clothes. Can’t I just admit I’m not manly and forget wearing women’s things?”

“If you admit that you’re feminine, there’s no reason not to wear these things. Refusing to shows you’re holding on to your masculine fantasy.

“Are you manly?”

“No, not really.”

“And you’ve already told me you like the clothes I picked out for you. You do like them, don’t you?”

“I thought they were for you.”

“That’s not answering the question. Do you like this dress?”

“Yes, it’s gorgeous.”

“Then it’s time to put it on.” She reached in the other bag and handed me a pack of nylon panties and a white lace cami. “Put these on first.”

“What, no bra?”

“Do you want a bra?”

I blushed. “No, I was making a little joke.”

“Well, if you want a bra later, we can buy some – and breast forms, too.”

I imagined having breasts and wearing a bra. The idea was utterly embarrassing – the more so when I realized it held some attraction. Sally waited for me to take the panties and cami from her. Reluctantly, I did so. I sat there holding them – immobile.

“Well, don’t just sit there put them on.”

I opened the package of panties and selected a white pair with a cute little bow in the front. I laid it and the cami out next to me on the sofa and started taking off my shoes and socks. Soon I was standing naked in front of Sally. I’d done so many times, but this was different. I was about to cross an invisible line.

“You won’t hate me? Be disgusted?”

“No, sweetie, I’ll respect you more for having the courage to accept who you are.”

“OK,” I said stepping into the panties. They were ever so much softer than my jockies. I’ve learned since that wearing panties gives lots of guys an erection. Not me. Still, I had a powerful reaction. I knew I was crossing a line. Part of me was emerging from the womb and another part dying. When I had the panties on, I saw an unsightly lump. I reached down and pushed it back between my legs. I looked at Sally. She gave me an accepting smile.

Anxiously, I put on the cami – my cami. Its satin felt so luxurious as it brushed my breasts. There are no words to describe how alive wearing lace made me feel. Only the scant hair on my chest detracted from my elation. It had to go.

Sally handed me the dress. I unzipped the back and stepped into it. Once I zipped it up, a sense of calm satisfaction overcame me. The dress – my dress – felt “right.” I had no doubt that Sally’d nailed it – there wasn’t a shred of masculinity in my being. It was all in the discarded clothes scattered over the floor.

Now I wanted to try my wedges. They only had a 2” heel, but still, they took getting used to. I felt like a child in her mother’s shoes as I tottered to the full-length mirror in our bedroom. The image was not at all a woman. I was definitely a man in dress. Still, I liked what I saw. This was the real me.

“I need to shave my chest and legs,” I said to Sally as she looked over my shoulder.

“And your underarms. I got Nair for your legs and chest. Why don’t you get in the tub and I’ll help you.”

Half an hour later I emerged hairless below my neck except for my neatly trimmed pubes. Sally helped me into my new babydolls, then led me to bed for a session of truly satisfying lovemaking. Before we went to sleep, she said “I made an 8:00 AM appointment for you, so I’m setting the alarm for 7:00. Love you! Sweet dreams.”

At 7:00 the alarm woke me from the sweet dream Sally had wished me. I don’t remember the details, but when I realized I was in babydolls, it seemed as though my dream were continuing. Slipping on the mules (which have a little heel) I caught site of myself in the mirror. I was ashamed of my legs – they’re too thin to be masculine – but coming out of my babydolls, formed by the heels I was wearing, they looked … I guess “sexy” is the only word. I stood admiring them for a minute, until I heard Sally asking if I were up yet. A diaphanous black peignoir lay on the chair next to the bed. I wore it into the kitchen, where I was greeted by the aroma of fresh coffee and a tender kiss from Sally.

“You said I had an appointment?”

“Yes, at Merle Norman. Carol agreed to see you before opening so you wouldn’t be embarrassed.”

“Merle Norman?” I said not quite awake yet.

“You know the place – I get my makeup there.”

“I’m getting makeup?”

“Of course. You want to look you best, don’t you?”

“I s’pose, but I hadn’t thought of wearing makeup – or going out in a dress. I thought I’d just wear my dress at home.”

“If you only want to wear dresses at home that’s fine – but a bit of a waste.

“As for thinking of makeup – that’s what you have me for. You can wear your slacks, blouse and pumps. Now have some coffee and toast, then get dressed. I have a motion to finish writing this morning, so I’ll meet you after your salon appointment.”

“Salon appointment?”

“Yes at Margret’s – three doors down from Merle Norman – 9:00. You have nothing to worry about. They know what to do.”

“How could they when I don’t?”

Sally gave me a wry smile and patted me on the rear. “Be sure to shave close. Now, get going, you don’t want to be late.”

Not only did I want to be late, I didn’t even want to go. Still, I’d promised Sally to try her solution for a week or two. As I took off my peignoir and babydolls, I thought a bit of black lace at my neckline would tie my outfit together, so I wore a black cami and matching panties. One thing I wasn’t going to do was wear heels in public. I’d wear my white canvas shoes in stead of the pumps Sally’d bought. The trouble was that flats made my cuffs drag. The slacks were cut to wear with heels, so I had to wear the pumps.

When I was dressed, I clickity-clacked unsteadily back to the kitchen. “These slacks have no pockets. Where am I going to put my phone, keys and wallet?”

“In your new purse.” I followed her into the living room where she handed me a black Coach shoulder bag.

I was almost scared witless as I prepared to leave our apartment.

“You’re very brave, Charlie. Now go get your colors done and I’ll see you in a while. By the way, I expect you to spend well over $100 on your makeup – Carol works on commission. Have fun!” She gave me a quick kiss and pushed me out the door.

Thankfully, no one was up to see me walking to my old Kia. Once in it, I had to push the seat back to compensate for my heels. It was a short drive to the shopping center, so I didn’t have much time to think. Once I got out, the sound of my heels clicking on the pavement was unnerving – a constant reminder that I was a man in women’s wear. Despite my paranoia, I attracted no stares from passersby. It was just after 8:00 when I reached Merle Norman. The sign said “Closed” and the door was locked, but when I pulled on it, a woman reading at the counter looked up and smiled at me.

“Are you Charlie?”

“Yes,” I said hesitantly.

“I’m Carol. Come in! I was expecting you. Sally told me all about you! You have lovely skin dear! It will be a joy helping you.” Her tone and manner seemed genuine and, slowly, I felt more at ease.

Over the next hour I learned I had a cool alabaster complexion and how to complement it with makeup for various occasions and conditions. It was almost as complicated as Algebra II. Fortunately, Carol videoed our session so I could review all she did and told me whenever I wanted. I left in light daytime makeup that made me look fabulous! I felt more confident than I ever had in my life – feeling that it was worth every cent of the $160 I’d spent.

I was still floating in air when I walked into Margret’s Magic. A number of women customers looked up – some staring rather rudely. In my new-found confidence, I returned their stares with a warm smile and they looked away. Some even blushed in embarrassment at being so gauche. By then, Margret met me.

“Charlie Hobson?”

I nodded.

“Rita!” she called. “Take good care of Charlie. … Rita does Sally’s hair and she’ll take great care of you.”

“Thank you.” I followed Rita back to her station, ignoring the women who watched as I passed by.

“I’m going to give you a pixie cut. When your hair grows out more, you can have a perm and a wider range of styles. After I’m done, I’ll give you to Sandy for a pedi-mani. OK?”

“Is that what Sally suggested?”

“Yes.”

“Then I put myself in your hands.”

As she worked she said, “By the way, I love your makeup – its so ... artful, so you! I don’t think I could have done so well in such a short time.”

“Well, I hope to do it like this in the future, but Carol over at Merle Norman did it for me.”

“She’s such an artist, isn’t she?”

“Yes, she made me feel like a million! I’m so confident with my new look, I can’t believe it.”

“I can see how confident you are. I expected you to be all shy and embarrassed like.”

“Well, I was when I stepped out of my car. Now I feel almost high!”

“Would you like spit curls?”

“What are they?”

She showed me a picture in a book.

“Soo cute! Sure, give me some!” I wondered what had gotten into me? For a second I thought, “Maybe Carol cast a spell on me” – then I decided that she had – with her makeup skill. I was going to study her video frame by frame so I could always feel this good about myself. As I came out of my reverie, Rita was taping the last curl to my head.

“You can come back to me when Sandy’s done with you.”

Sandy, it turned out, was a very cute, nut-brown boy of about 16 or 17 – dressed much as I was: in a blouse, slacks and heels. His hairdo was quite was professional, but after what I learned, his makeup colors were all wrong. I followed him back to his station. He put my fingers in a bowl of dish detergent (?) while he worked on my toes.

“I’ve never met anyone like me before – you know, a pretty guy that’s still a guy. May I ask you some questions?” he asked in a sweet, soft voice.

“Ask away, sweetie.”

“When did you come out?”

“Well, I didn’t so much come out, my wife put me in a dress and made me realize I’d been fooling myself – thinking I was masculine. That was last night.”

“Only last night! Wow! You seem very confident for just having come out.”

“I wasn’t earlier today. Then Carol at Merle Norman did my makeup – and I sort of blossomed – like she cast a spell on me.”

“Merle Norman? I’m more a 99 Cent Store person.”

“You look quite nice, considering.”

“Considering?”

“The limits of 99 cent makeup.”

“Oh – well, I do the best I can. … But, your right, you look great! I wish I looked as fab …” he trailed off wistfully.

“So, how long have you been out?”

“Since I was 14. My folks threw me out the next day.”

“That’s tough.”

“Yeah, it was tough, but Margret found me sleeping out back and took me in. Now I make so much money I’m thinking of buying my makeup at Walmart.” He smiled. Now he was working on my fingers. “Want extensions?”

“No, I want to grow mine out.”

“OK, what color?”

“Same as my lipstick.”

He worked quietly, then put my hands in a drier. When they came out, my nails had a deep and brilliant color with a shine to die for.

“You do amazing work. I’m going to give you a big tip – on one condition.”

“Are you hitting on me? You don’t need to tip me, cuz I like you already.” He touched my arm softly.

I smiled at his touch. “I think you’re adorable, but I’m not hitting on you. I just want you to feel as good as I do. The condition is you take my tip, go over to Merle Norman and ask for Carol. You’ll come out looking absolutely fabulous, sweetie – and learn so much about makeup. Will you do that?”

Tears formed in Sandy’s eyes. He barely got out “Yes,” before his voice broke. He kissed me on the cheek as I got up to walk back to Rita’s station. I returned his kiss, leaving a lip mark on his cheek.

When I paid, I added $20 for Rita and $100 for Sandy. Margret promised she’d take him over to see Carol and add a bit if he needed more.

I walked out of Margret’s to find Sally sitting on a bench enjoying the Spring air.

“You look so cute!” she exclaimed. “Turn around so I can see the back. … You’re gorgeous! I love your spit curls too. … And your nails! I could eat you up.”

Sally’s praise made me glow – increasing my confidence even more.

“Let me take you shopping, Charlie.”

“Yes, I need a pair of strappy sandals to show off my toes. Sandy did such a great job! … I tipped him $100!”

“That’s very generous. Why so much?”

“It didn’t feel right enjoying my Merle Norman makeup while he had to make do with 99 Cent Store crap. I want him to feel as great as I do.

“Aw … you’re so sweet! That’s why I love you.”

I left my car there while Sally drove us to the mall. We started at Macy’s, where I found a pair of floral wedge sandals for only $44.50. They’re so cute … I couldn’t believe it. In place of a bow at the toe, they have a flower. I wore them instead of my pumps the rest of the day – displaying Sandy’s work on my toes to the world.

Macy’s was crowded with Saturday shoppers and I attracted a lot of stares. Instead of being embarrassed, being the center of attention made me feel so pretty!

We went to the perfume counter next. I selected Chanel Chance Eau Tendre as my scent. I dabbed some on my wrists and behind my ears.

Sally wanted to buy me diamond studs. I told her I appreciated the thought, but probably wouldn’t wear them much. I wanted dangles, as I always admired them. I selected three pair.

While the girl was piercing my ears, Sally wondered off toward high-end jewelry. Since we were poor when we married, we decided to defer buying me a wedding ring until we could afford it. To make a long story short, I wound up with a diamond solitaire engagement and wedding band set. Sally explained, “After all, I asked you to marry me.”

When we finished at Macy’s we went to Clara’s, a high end dress shop, where Diane helped us. I’ll not bore you with all our other purchases, but they included two new dresses, slacks, and a myriad of tops. One thing I hadn’t expected to buy was hot pants. Being ashamed of my thin, unmanly legs, I never wore shorts. I was very reluctant, then, when Sally and Diane suggested I try short shorts. Standing in them and my heels before the mirror revealed a pair long, shapely legs. I bought 3 pair.

Finally, Sally wanted to look at breast forms and bras. I was tired by then, but mostly I wasn’t interested in becoming or passing for a woman. I liked how I was – very feminine, but still male. I wanted to be me – not something else.

When we got home, Sally threw herself, exhausted, on the sofa. “Charlie, you seem like a different person.”

“Well, I’m wearing women’s things and makeup – and have a sweet do! So, I suppose I am,”

“No, that’s not what I mean. That doesn’t make you different. As I said yesterday, you’ve always been femme. … What I mean is that you were so introverted, now you’re almost strutting around, enjoying the attention your new look is attracting.”

“I’m sorry! Am I embarrassing you?”

“No, not at all. I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself. … I’m just surprised.”

“Hmm … well, I guess I used to be ashamed of myself … Deep down I knew I wasn’t much of a man. I got called a sissy a lot when I was younger. So, I wanted to disappear. Now I know I’m a sissy, very pretty one – even gorgeous, and … well, I’m not ashamed of myself anymore. Instead of being a poor example of a man, I’m a great example of a sissy! So, I want to be the prettiest sissy I can be and I want everyone to know it.”

“That makes a lot of sense, Charlie. I just need to get used to the new you.”

Sunday I woke up in baby dolls and threw on my peignoir as though it were completely normal. Sally and I spent the day relaxing, with me modeling my purchases and she taking me to bed – three times. After the third time, I couldn’t get it up, so Sally introduced me to the lesbian arts.

We ordered pizza for dinner. I shocked the delivery boy by meeting him in a black cami, hot pants, and my floral sandals. The poor lad responded with an obvious erection. I offered him a kiss, but he stepped back, flushed in embarrassment. He almost left without being paid. Later I regretted embarrassing him so, but I was still getting used to my super powers.

Monday, my anxiety at appearing feminine in public returned – specifically, I was worried about arriving at the gallery in my make up, blouse and heels. Would Mr. Phellps fire me one the spot? Or, perhaps, send me home like a child to scrub my face and change? I voiced my concerns to Sally.

“Don’t worry dear, once you have your makeup on, you’ll feel as confident as you did Saturday. And, if you do get fired … well, we can make it on my new salary and the bonuses I expect.”

“Yeah, but we sill have a lot of college debt. I could avoid the whole thing by dressing as I always have.”

“No! You’re not doing that! … And that’s the end of it! … Now go put your make up on. You know it’s going to take you a while to reproduce the look Carol gave you. … I have to get going … an early meeting on the McGuire case.” She gave me a warm kiss and left.

It did take me a while to do my make up. I put my laptop on the bathroom counter and careful repeated every step Carol had shown me. When I finished, my confidence returned.

I pulled on rose hipster panties and matching cami, a fuchsia button-down blouse, and plum boot cut stretch slacks. The only men’s item I wore was a pair of gold cufflinks for my French cuffs.

It was barely 9:00 when I got in my Kia. The gallery didn’t open until 10:00. As I sat thinking, some things that Sally’d told me started bothering me. I decided to stop by her office for a little test of my super powers before going to the gallery.

I’d never been in her workplace before, so I wondered around a bit before I found her office. All the while I was getting stares. Finally, I saw Clive in his cubical outside of Sally’s office.

“Hi, Clive, dear!”

He looked up. “Oh my God! Charlie!? Is that you? You look … fantastic! … Sally’s in a meeting.”

“Yes, I know. Actually, I’m here to see you.”

His expression brightened.

“By the way, thank you darling! You’re quite a hunk yourself,” I said, eyeing a physique I could never attain. “Last week, Sally said you’d asked her if you could date me. I wanted to tell you how flattered I am – and that I appreciate you asking Sally first. I thought you deserved a face to face response.”

“First, if I were interested in going out with a guy, a darling hunk like you would be on my A list. Sadly, for you, I’m only interested in Sally. So, I hope we can be friends?”

Clive seemed strangely moved. “Charlie, that was the nicest let down I’ve ever had! If there’s anything I can do for you, just ask.”

“That’s very sweet of you, Clive.” I kissed his cheek – leaving a clear red imprint. “For now I just need to know where Susan’s office is.”

He told me with a goofy smile – not realizing that I’d marked him.

I clickity-clacked down the aisle to find Susan. The door was open, so I walked in before her secretary could stop me. She was bent over a document, so it took her a while to realize I was staring at her.

“Who … Is that you Charlie?”

“Yes, Suzie. If I ever hear of you hitting on my wife again, I’m suing your G-string off for sexual harassment. Is that clear?”

She stared at me with an open mouth.

“Is that clear?”

She nodded.

“Good.” I turned and clicked past Bea Ramon, her secretary, who was standing dumb founded in the doorway.

When I was back in my Kia, my heart was racing, and I wondered if I’d just gotten Sally fired. Maybe I should be more careful with my super powers.

I arrived at the gallery just as Mr. Phellps was opening up.

“Is this your new business attire Mr. … Ms. … Ah, Hobson?”

“Yes, I suppose it is.”

“It is unacceptable. … You know that our dress code does not allow open collar shirts! Go home and get a bow, a scarf or even a tie. Then come back properly dressed!”

“Yes, Mr. Phellps. I wasn’t thinking. Sorry, sir.”

“Off you go,” he said in a kindly voice.

I had no neckwear that went with what I had on. So, rather than going home, I went to Clara’s. There, Diane found a deeper tone fuchsia scarf that complemented my blouse. She showed me how to tie a lovely sissy bow with asymmetric tails. I promised to return later to buy others to go with my other blouses.

Back at the gallery, Mr. Phellps smiled at me when I returned. A short time later, Judy, the business manager, knocked on my office door. With her was Joanne, our main sales person. Both women were in their forties.

“Well, don’t you look lovely this morning Charlie!”

“Thank you, Judy.” I said blushing.

“Very professionally put together,” added Joanne.

“That is very kind of you.”

“It’s the truth. I’m jealous. I’ve never looked so good. So, is it Ms. Hobson now, darling?”

“No, Joanne, I’m not planning on becoming a woman. I’m just expressing myself. Sally made me try on a dress Friday and … well … you see the result.”

“So, is this something she’s making you do, dear?” said Judy with a bit of concern.

“No, I just needed a push to get over my hang ups. I’m quite happy in makeup and dressed as I am. I s’pose I was always a sissy, but was afraid of admitting it, even to myself.”

“‘Sissy’ is such a harsh word, darling.”

“Only if you take it as an insult. I don’t know another word for a guy who feels happiest in women’s clothes. … Do either of you?”

“No.”

“No, I suppose not.”

As I became more relaxed with the women I moved my hands from my lap to the top of my desk.

“Oh Charlie, what a lovely ring. May we see?” They both ooed and ahed over my new solitaire.

“Sally got it for me Saturday. We could even afford a wedding band for me when we married … the engagement ring reminds me that she proposed to me. Isn’t it stunning?”

“Yes, it really is,” they chorused.

“You’re a very lucky girl … boy … sissy,” added Joanne.

“Thank you, dears.”

“Well, we just dropped in to say how lovely you look, how brave we think you are, and to offer our support.”

“I really appreciate it. … I’m open to any guidance either of you have to offer.”

After they left, I went to see Mr. Phellps,

“May I have a word, sir?”

“Of course, ah … Hobson. I must say how professional you look, now that you’ve attended to your neckwear.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Now what is this about?” He said, indicating my presentation.

“Well, sir, Sally and I have been having some difficulties over our marital roles and I’ve ...”

“Decided to be the wife?”

“In a manner of speaking … to be the main homemaker in any event.”

“So, are you here to resign and become a housewife … er … homemaker?”

“No. … But, working full time plus the hours I put in on house work are becoming a strain – threatening my marriage. So, I wonder if I could work fewer hours – say 25 a week, if possible?”

“Before we get to that … When I hired you -- and in fact up to last week -- you were very introverted – lacked confidence. I'd hoped that you'd get over that, so you could assume greater responsibilities – perhaps a sales role. Your inability to assert yourself had led me to think that I was mistaken in seeing the potential for advancement in you and lately … well, I've been considering letting you go and giving someone new a chance. …”

My heart sank. I was about to be sacked. Despite the difficulties my hours caused, I liked working at the gallery, and I was going to miss my job.

“… and so, if you’d rather work just 25 hours a week, I think I can accommodate you.”

“Pardon?” I’d obviously missed something important.

“Charlie, for what ever reason, your new presentation seems to have given you a confidence I’d despaired of seeing. So, for the time being, I want to keep you and see if my confidence in you will be rewarded.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Of course, I expect to see you presenting in as professional a fashion as you have today.”

“I’ll do my best. Thank you again.”