Deliveries
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

It came from out of the blue, and Greg was totally unprepared for it. His first thought was that it was a genuine mistake, because there seemed no other explanation. But then he started to wonder if it might be a practical joke. Who would do such mischief? He offended nobody, and he certainly did not deserve this “gift”. Perhaps somebody might honestly believe that he might be gay? Somebody who might mistake his slight build and lack of masculine features as less than manly? Could it be a genuine thing – this package and its contents?

The package contained a dildo, bright orange in color, and a small booklet illustrated with line drawings, entitled: “The Joy of Anal Sex”.

His name was on it: Gregory Nutt. It had no address for return. Greg considered dropping in in a post box with “I am not this person” scrawled across it and his name and address blacked out. Or he could just throw it is the trash. Either way, it would be gone. But it was not. It sat on his kitchen counter, with the packaging substantially destroyed. The orange plastic clearly visible.

He just worked around it, preparing his meals for one. He should have found a place for it, if that place was not the waste bin. But he did not. It sat there calling to him. Over his morning coffee he would occasionally leaf through the booklet. There were things about enemas and lubrication, and plugs to prevent leakage after persistent penetration.

It was all slightly horrific. But horror can be fascinating.

He had something that would suffice for lubrication, if he wanted to try it, but there seemed to be no reason why he should. He could always play with his penis. Other guys did. Somehow, he just felt that he was no good at that. All the tugging on it did not seem to produce the results that should be expected. What could the dildo do?

It was not about turning queer – it was just sexual exploration. Was it really so offensive?

Greg liked to take a bath every now and again. It was while he was lying in the bath one Sunday night that he decided to push on with his plans – or rather push in. Just a soapy finger. Just to see what lay behind the opening drawn so tightly shut.

The first push made him start, but it was not unpleasant. What seemed inappropriate was the presence of hair around it. It was not a lot, but it seemed out of place. There was a razor within reach. And then that was done. He decided to use sticky tape to remove the hair from his scrotum – how can that be effectively shaved? Before he knew it, he was clear of hair from his navel to his toes.

He had no material for the enema, at that stage anyway. But he had dumped before bathing and felt his bowel would be empty. Just the lotion that he had for lubrication, and then bring the pointy end to his butt hole and … it went in quite easily, the first inch or so.

He started to feel the stretching and he became a little worried. But he felt that he should finish what he had started. There was some pain, but then it was in. It felt surprisingly comfortable. He could move it. In and out – just a little bit. Keep it gentle. He was not going to ram himself.

He noticed that he was becoming erect, without even touching it. Actually, more than erect, just a little more. ‘This is not so bad,’ he thought. Then his mind seemed to go blank. There was a wave of something convulsing his body. He had never felt it before. Then his penis spilled goo all over the bathroom – everywhere.

He knew that this was an orgasm, but not like anything he had felt before. Tugging and squeezing seemed so sordid, this was pure somehow. His hand held the plastic only. He realized that he really did not like the feel of his penis at all. It was spotty and veiny, and an awful color.

He pulled it out and examined the orange dildo, still glistening with the lubricant. He thought what a pretty color this is. This thing became special. He even gave the dildo a name: Richard. Richard was a dick.

Richard became a daily routine. Richard was even better after he had flushed himself with the apparatus he had put together with the guidance of the booklet: “The Joy of Anal Sex”.

And then, a week or so later, another package arrived. Same as the first, it had his name was on it: Gregory Nutt. It had no return address. This time he did not open it straight away. It sat on his kitchen bench where the other parcel had laid. He just looked at it for a few days before he decided to open it.

The contents were items of ladies’ underwear. Sexy bra and panty sets – one in black and one in red. And then another garment, and a booklet. The booklet was called: “Tucking for Beginners”, and the other garment was clearly that which was referred to in Chapter 1 – a “gaff”.

Greg thought that this was certainly a parcel to be consigned to the trash. It was one thing to find a new way to experience sexual pleasure, but why on earth would he want to hide his penis?

Because he did not really like looking at it, that is why. The realization of the fact was awkward. He examined the gaff. How did it work? Why not try it on? And then the panties could go on too. The red ones looked nice. With his smooth legs, he could be a woman below the waist. Somehow the idea was pleasing. He needed to go to the bathroom and take Richard.

The bra matched. You really cannot wear one without the other. Greg took to wearing the gaff and underwear under his sweat suit around the house. He would wear them to work. That would be weird.

But what was weird, was the third parcel that arrived soon afterwards. Another non-returnable parcel addressed to him: Gregory Nutt. This time he opened it immediately.

What he found inside had Greg really pissed. It was two jars of pills and a note. The note read: “Take two of each with breakfast and fill those cups!” The pill jars had labels on them, and brief referral to Google established what they were – hormones! Well, male blockers and female hormones. The kind of pills that “trans-women” take.

Who was sending him this stuff? No address. Not hint of where this stuff came from. He examined the packaging and the contents for clues, but there was nothing, nothing at all. All he could do was open his front door and shout to the world: “Who are you and why are you doing this to me? Stop sending me this stuff? I am not going to play this stupid game!”

Of course, Greg did not do that. If he did, everybody would think that he was crazy. But he started to wonder: “Am I crazy?”

He pulled off his sweat top. There was the bra. Black today. He had a few hairs around his nipples that he had plucked out. The bra was empty and that looked ridiculous. Why was he even wearing it. If he had breasts it would make sense to wear it. But he did not have breasts. He reached behind to take it off, and perhaps dispose of it permanently. But as his finger touched the clip, he flinched.

He needed to go to the bathroom with Richard.

After that, he took two of each of the pills. Somehow, the moment that he did, Greg felt comfortable – relieved. Were they really what they said, or were they some kind of tranquilizer? Was this whole thing some kind of cruel joke? All that he knew was that the effect of those first pills made him feel better, and that was how he wanted to feel every single day.

The fourth parcel did not arrive until some time after the third. In fact, as strange as it might sound, Greg was becoming anxious that he had heard nothing further from his tormentor.

He got home from work on a Friday night. This parcel was large. Greg tore the packaging off impatiently. It was a box with a series of other boxes inside and items arranged neatly in moulded foam-rubber. The outside of the box read: “The Complete Hair and Makeup”, and inside was a booklet: “The Complete Hair and Makeup Kit – A User’s Guide”.

Greg put his head in his hands. As he did, his hair fell forward touching his shaved forearms. This person is watching him. They could see how long his hair was. He had never put anything in his hair before, except a rubber band, but he knew what a claw clip was and without even looking at the Guide he knew how to use it, to get that hair out of his face.

People at work were teasing him about his hair, but he just could not bring himself to cut it. It seemed so much thicker and softer these days. It would just be wrong to cut it short.

But now this?

He went to his room to get his work clothes off. The red bra and panty set was laid out on the bed together with the tape and the booklet: “Tucking for Beginners”. He had graduated beyond the gaff and for weekends he referred to Chapter 5: “Tucking with Tape or Glue”.

But first he needed to find Richard.

He no longer became erect when he did it. He might ooze a little clear fluid, and that is all, but it did not mean that the joy of anal sex was in any way diminished. That was the name of the booklet after all. Every parcel had been good for him, but what was he to do with this one?

Now only a small bit of tape was needed to hide his penis and shape his scrotum into a semblance of female anatomy. That what belonged in these panties, but they were becoming worn. He would need to buy more underwear of this kind, but how could a man browse the lingerie section of the department store?

He looked at himself in the mirror. He had bought himself a full-length one for just this view. Small breasts now sat in the cups. He used a stretch bandage to conceal them at work, but when he pulled that uncomfortable thing off every evening and had his boobies nestled in those cups, he felt whole.

Now with his soft hair up, held with that claw clip, the only thing wrong was the face. It just did not belong. It looked ridiculous. The pills had seen his beard disappear and seemed to have made his lips pink and puffy.

Greg thought: If I was a girl, I could be pretty. But he was not either of those things.

He walked into the kitchen in his underwear. The box sat where he had opened it. He approached it as if it contained a coiled cobra. Somehow Greg knew that this box was dangerous. It might kill him. It could do that.

Everything was so neatly arranged. There were hairbrushes and combs, straighteners and curling tongs, claw clips, banana clips, decorated and plain hair clips and slides, barrettes, alligator clips, hair clamps. On the other side there were large bottles of foundation, highlight and pallet boxes, makeup brushes of all types, mascara, eyeliner, eyelash curlers and face eyelashes, lipsticks, liners and glosses, nail polishes in a variety of colors – it was indeed “The Complete Hair and Makeup Kit”. You did not have to be a girl to be excited by all that stuff. That is what Greg thought.

Then there was something else. Special electric tweezers with a small manual bearing the words: “Use one of these templates to create the perfect eyebrow shape”. For some reason he was drawn to this. For some reason he found himself sitting in front of a mirror looking at the various shapes of eyebrows and reading the advice on what might be the best look for him.

That would have been harmless fun until he found that it was done. He found himself looking in the mirror at somebody who suddenly looked nothing like Gregory Nutt. How could pulling out a few facial hairs change the look of somebody so completely? How could doing it make it almost impossible for Gregory Nutt to turn up to work on Monday?

Damn. Damn. Damn. He had gone too far. Where the hair had been pulled the skin was a little red, but there was soothing cream in the box too. It felt so good on those inflamed areas that Greg rubbed the cream across his entire face and a little on his breasts too. Cool and soothing. He lay back in front of the TV. There was nothing that he could do now. Maybe tomorrow he would have an answer.

He was sitting down to pee in the morning, as he had to do when he was fully tucked. It was so much better than looking at a blank wall. He could see himself in the mirror opposite. Those eyebrows made him look happy. He deserved to be happy. Hell, he was happy.

Could he be pretty like those girls whose faces appeared in “The User’s Guide”. There was only one way to find out. It was a Saturday. Why not?

There was so much that needed to be learned. The first time with mascara, the first time with eyeliner or lipstick, is not easy. Greg discovered that trial and error is a thing, but “The User’s Guide” spoke the truth: It takes effort to create beauty. But it was beauty that was the result.

And a few curls and some pins and clips for “A messy updo perfect for the weekend”. Greg was really proud of his first efforts all around.

There he was, in front of the mirror in his underwear. He had looked at himself before many times recently, when he was tucked and his breasts jiggled, and would remarking to himself that below the neck he had a woman’s body. Now he was complete. Or rather she was complete.

“Hi, I’m Gina”, he said. It seemed like a nice name. It sprang into his head. The voice too, had appeared from nowhere. It was high and musical. Did it really sound like the woman he appeared to be? Greg got his phone out and recorded a message.

“Hi there, you have reached the phone of Gina Nutt. It seems that I am busy doing something fabulous at the moment, but don’t worry. If you leave me a friendly message, I will call you directly. Bye now”.

He played it back. It hardly seemed like him at all. It was Gina. He wanted to call her and talk to her.

Of course, he was her. She was him. Outside he could see that the sun was shining. She wanted to feel the sun on her face.

Then it occurred to him that she had nothing to wear.

Gina did not want to put Greg’s clothes on, but what choice did she have. She could wear a t-shirt, some jeans and flip flops, just until she got to the mall. Somehow the idea of wearing those clothes seemed suddenly disgusting. Still, the smallest of his t-shirts was tight enough to put Gina’s breasts on display.

What was needed was a dress, and some shoes, and a bag to transfer her wallet into. And it was not long before she had all of those things, and the shirt, jeans and flip flops were in a trashcan. And she had earrings in freshly pierced ears.

Gina sat down for a cup of coffee at a table outside Starbucks. It was warm and the dress was cool and comfortable. The breeze ruffled the hem of her dress and went all the way up to her tucked bits and pieces. She decided that pants were simply not her thing. Perhaps in the winter?

Two guys walking by stared at her. She could see them, and she knew what they were thinking. But she ignored them. Still, having people stare at you like that is gratifying, she thought. Men like to look at pretty women, and pretty women liked to be looked at. She smiled. There was lipstick on her cup. She took a sip. She would need to freshen up, but she had not brought lipstick. She now had a bag with room for all of those things. She looked inside. Only her wallet and keys were inside.

Her wallet seemed to be stuffed with paper, and she had an idle moment to sort things out.

She was a little puzzled by what she found. There were receipts going back over a year. The first one was from a mail order sex shop. It was for a dildo, said to include a free booklet: “The Joy of Anal Sex”. The buyer was shown as Gina Nutt and the consignee Gregory Nutt. She was confused.

There were two credit cards inside from different banks. The card she recognized was in the name of Gregory Nutt, but there was another in the name of Gina Nutt. That was the card number on the receipt.

Surely this purchase was before she had even come into existence? Yet here was her name, and details.

She pushed a stray tendril of hair behind one ear to examine the later receipts. Everything was there. Everything that she had received. She had bought everything and sent it to Greg.

Greg. A man she barely knew, but she knew him well enough to know what he really needed.

The End.

© Maryanne Peters 2019

Author’s Note:
Sarah wrote: “One concept that came to mind is where a miss delivered dildo just becomes irresistible and they get absorbed by it. Slowly they get other items in the mail that don’t have their address. More mistaken mail. A hair removal device, some questionable hormones, until they have a shrunken tool of their own yet they don’t care anymore as they have small tits to play with. Then a hair tie comes in the mistaken mail and a wig. Slowly they are losing themselves in the dildo. Just a thought for a story.”
I referred Sarah to my series on Fictionmania (I have only really done two series over there) starting with “Rear Window”. This story could be like that, except for the twist at the end.
At the same time Ashley asked: “Are you ever going to wrap up the “Rear Window” series?”. Yes, I am, and I will post it as a complete story here on Patreon, very soon.
Maryanne
PS.: The image is T-girl Iza Calzado