I
In the early days of June, the barely warm breeze of summer whispered across a secluded cottage nestled deep in the woods. Inside, Pat and his wife, Judy were preparing to leave after a week-long getaway—a retreat that had done little to rejuvenate them after the tumultuous semester they’d just endured.
Judy perched on Pat’s suitcase, bouncing up and down on the bed to force it shut until the stubborn zipper finally relented. She then sighed, remembering the promise she’d made to take extra care of the place during their visit. Her sister, as generous as she was, had a reputation for being obsessively particular about her property—including this magnificent hideaway, lent to Judy and her husband for the start of their holidays.
Two good months of rest stretched ahead of them—one of the few perks of their teaching jobs—but Judy was already lamenting the lack of greenery back home. The cottage had offered her a refreshing escape: hiking trails, climbing routes, and every obstacle Mother Nature could throw at her. As a PE instructor, the fresh air and physical challenges were just what she needed.
Pat, on the other hand, had spent most of the time there nestled in a porch rocking chair, his nose buried in book after book. Each time Judy invited him to join her outdoors, he waved her off dismissively, mumbling something about finishing “just one more chapter.”
Judy accepted his reluctance begrudgingly. A literature teacher to his core, he seemed to approach his leisure reading with the same fervor he did in classes. She, on the other hand, certainly didn’t miss the rowdy teenagers she had to discipline daily in detention. Among her colleagues—Pat included—Judy was the only one tough enough to teach them manners, a badge of honor she wore with pride, even if she didn’t always love the role.
Now, as they prepared to leave, Judy moved through the cottage, inspecting every room to ensure it was as spotless as they’d found it. “Ugh!” she groaned, spotting a faint ring left by a coffee cup on the kitchen counter. Grabbing a cloth, she began scrubbing furiously, calling over her shoulder for Pat to start loading the suitcases into the car.
Pat shuffled down the hallway, grumbling as he hoisted one of hers. Judy knew he wasn’t exactly athletic, despite her constant encouragement to build some muscle, but she figured the basic strength he’d gained during puberty would suffice for a couple of suitcases. Apparently, she’d overestimated him. His face flushed beet red as he strained under the weight, breathing heavily with every step.
Judy giggled softly, listening to his struggles from the kitchen. Peeking out, she caught sight of him wobbling under the load, his arms trembling as he tried to maintain his balance. For a moment, she considered offering him a hand but quickly dismissed the thought. Pat needed his small victories for his male ego—what little of it there was. As pedantic as he was, maybe he’d be more comfortable tacking on the cleaning while she handled the hard work.
Suddenly, a loud thud reverberated through the rooms. Judy rushed out to find Pat sprawled on the floor, the suitcases tipped over, their contents scattered across the hallway.
The sight of one of her bras draped conspicuously over his chest sent her into fits of laughter. “Oh my God!” she wheezed, clutching her stomach.
Pat swatted the offending garment off, sitting up against the wall with a resentful glare. “Did you break a nail, sweetie?” Judy teased, extending a hand to help him up, her laughter barely subsiding.
“Cut… that… out, you... bitch,” Pat muttered, batting her hand away.
Judy’s laughter stopped abruptly. Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Excuse me?!”
“I said,” Pat repeated, using all fours to push himself up, “Cut it out!” He jabbed a finger in her direction. “You know how much I hate it when you talk to me like that! Say it again, and you’d better prepare to have your butt kicked!”
For a moment, Judy stared at him in stunned silence. Then, as if on cue, the corners of her mouth twitched upward. The combination of his indignation and his attempt at intimidation—clearly borrowed from the eighth graders he taught— was too much. She tried, and failed, to stifle another laugh.
“Knock it off, woman!” He barked, his voice deeper than usual.
The command might have made another woman tread lightly around her husband’s wounded masculinity. But for Judy, it was almost endearing. She tilted her head, smirking as rolling up her sleeves. “Au contraire! My butt is right here—ready to be kicked,” she said, assuming a playful wrestling stance. “What about yours?”
Pat muttered something under his breath, waving her off as he turned to start crouching to gather the spilled clothes. Before he could retreat, Judy grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back with ease. Pat squirmed and struggled, helpless against her strength, letting out an unintelligible squeak.
“A bit moody this morning, aren’t we?” she teased, her tone honeyed. “Is it your time of the month?”
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about!” Her husband squealed, twisting unsuccessfully in her grip. “You keep calling me a girl!”
“And what’s so bad about being a girl?” Judy asked innocently.
“I am NOT a girl!” He shouted, his face redder than ever.
“Well, you’re not much of a man either,” Judy shot back, tracing an imaginary circle over his chest with her free hand. “A real man would’ve put me in my place by now.”
Pat’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, she thought he might actually fight back. But instead, he deflated, his shoulders slumping. “This isn’t fair!” He cried, a sharp tone escaping in his complaining. “You caught me off guard!”
Sensing he was near his limit, Judy released him, allowing him to stumble back. Pat quickly massaged his aching wrist, glaring at her warily.
“No more excuses, missy,” Judy declared, grinning. “I’m gonna beat your ass fair and square!” She resumed her stance.
Pat held up his hands in surrender. “Wait, wait, wait! I don’t want to fight you!”
“Why not?” Judy asked, her blood still pumping. “I’m not letting any husband of mine call me a bitch with no consequences!”
“Look, I’m sorry, alright?” Pat stammered. “I was just mad—”
"Because I called you a girl!" she interrupted. "Well, you are a girl! Such a dainty girl who couldn’t even carry his own wife’s suitcase! Gosh! Maybe I should get myself a real man and get rid of you!"
Pat’s eyes widened, stunned by her barrage of insults. They both knew he wasn’t exactly the macho type, but this was the first time she'd openly expressed her discontent about it. "I asked you to do one simple thing!” She continued, “What a pansy husband I’ve got, Jesus! I should’ve gotten a maid instead!"
“Judith, that’s enough!” he shouted, stomping his foot against the hardwood floor. “You think you’re the only one dissatisfied here? Maybe I wish I had a maid too instead of some butch growling about kicking my ass!”
Judy’s smirk faltered. For a moment, she softened. Then, a smirk crept across her lips. “Looks like we’re both in need of a servant,” she mused. “And since we can’t afford one, tell you what: if you manage to kick my butt, I’ll be your maid for the rest of the summer.”
Pat blinked, caught off guard by the sudden offer.
“How does that sound? Huh?” she cooed, holding him by the shoulders. “You’d love me prancing around in a maid costume and heels, wouldn’t you?”
Pat frowned, brushing her hands off. “I’m not going to fight my own wife,” he said firmly.
"No actual hits. Just a friendly wrestling match," Judy negotiated. For Pat, the offer was tempting. A servant—a maid, as she herself mentioned—for the rest of the summer. Besides, watching Judy be humbled in such a degrading uniform would certainly knock her down a peg.
He glanced at her outstretched hand, considering the offer. Finally, he shook it firmly, deciding it was a deal worth taking. “Deal!” he declared, mirroring her stance as he prepared himself.
Judy let him do the countdown and before he could finish pronouncing “three”, she dropped low and swept his feet out from under him, sending him crashing onto his back with a surprised grunt. Before Pat could recover, she was already on him, trying to pin his arms. He twisted, managing to slip free, only to find himself tackled back to the ground moments later.
Judy straddled his chest, her knees pinning his arms. “Come on, Patti. Is that all you’ve got?” she teased, leaning over him.
Pat growled, reaching up and grabbing a handful of her hair, pulling her off balance. Judy yelped but retaliated immediately, twisting out of his grip, growling with fury. Within seconds, she had him face down on the cottage floor, his arm twisted painfully behind his back.
"Judy, cut it out! He shouted, wincing as she applied more pressure. “You’re gonna break my arm!"
"Aww, don’t be such a baby," she teased. "This is Wrestling 101—my school team could manage without all the whining."
"Judy, please!" he pleaded, completely at her mercy.
"You’d know how to escape if you didn’t spend all your time hiding in the library," she taunted, tightening her hold.
Pinned under her weight, Pat twisted helplessly, his movements as futile as a mechanical bull trying to buck its rider. Judy chuckled, leaning down to whisper, "I’m going to love having such a dainty little maid for the summer."
"What?!" Pat’s eyes widened in alarm.
"A deal’s a deal, sweetie," she said, her smile smug as ever.
"But I never agreed to—"
"We both wanted a maid, didn’t we?” she interrupted. Her grin widened as she added, “And it’s about time you proved just how much of a man you are—by tottering around in a sexy little dress and high heels.”
Pat’s heart sank. He had agreed to serve as a helper, sure, but the title of maid—and everything Judy seemed to be implying—was an entirely different matter. Her tone, half-serious and half-amused, made it clear this wasn’t just some joke.
"I won’t be your stupid maid," he hissed, thrashing beneath her. “Let me go, you—”
"Ah, ah! That’s not the kind of vocabulary I expect from servitude," she scolded leaning closer, her face nearly touching the floor beside his. “Unlike you, I can do this all day,” she whispered with a smirk. “So, you can serve me as a chair... or as a maid. Either way, you’re not chickening out of this.”
Pat groaned inwardly, regretting ever accepting this ridiculous challenge. He should have known better than to bet against his wife’s tenacity—or her strength. They should’ve been on their way home by now, but instead, here he was, lying on the floor, being "convinced" to submit to a summer of servitude, as a female.
“Come on, I know you can do it, sweetie,” Judy cooed mockingly.
“Alright, I’ll do it!” he cried out, tears springing to his eyes from the pain.
"Do what, Pat?" she pressed, still holding his wrist firmly.
"I’ll be your damn maid! Just let me go!"
"And what will you wear?" she demanded, her tone still playful but unrelenting. The pain was unbearable.
“Anything you want!” Pat sobbed.
“I want you to wear a dress.”
"A dress! Fine, I’ll wear a dress!"
"And high heels?"
"Yes, high heels too! Just stop!"
"And some dainty little panties?"
"Yes! Yes! Panties too! Just let me go already!"
A beat passed before Pat realized the pressure on his wrist had disappeared. Judy had let go, standing up and crossing her arms as she looked down at him, clearly satisfied. “There, now. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” she teased.
Pat didn’t respond, gasping for air as he lay motionless on the floor.
II
Pat struggled to his feet, wincing as he massaged his sore wrist. Judy was already moving toward the hallway, picking up scattered bits of clothing from their luggage. She gestured for him to follow her toward the nearest bathroom.
Still reeling from the humiliation, Pat reluctantly trailed behind. He figured it was best to play along for now; his male pride had taken enough hits for one day, and he didn’t want to provoke her further.
Judy had already laid out a selection of items on the towel bar when he entered the bathroom and closed the door behind him. Turning to face him, she gestured toward the pile. “Don’t just stand there—strip,” she commanded.
“Ah, come on, Judy. A joke’s a joke, but let’s not get carried away.” He called, massaging his lower back, “You’ve made your point, and I already apologized. Can’t we just call this whole thing off?”
Judy turned to face him. “Listen, Patti,” she began, deliberately emphasizing the feminized name she had come up with. “You lost. Fair and square. I kicked your ass—just like you said you’d kick mine.” She pointed a firm finger at him. “I’m sure you wouldn’t hesitate if the roles were reversed, now would you?”
Pat opened his mouth to respond, but Judy didn’t give him the chance. “So unless you’d like me to teach you another lesson,” she continued, a dark shadow casting on her glance, “you’ll do as you’re told and put on your pretty new things.”
Her tone left no room for argument. Pat hesitated, his pride screaming for him to resist, but the memory of her “lessons” was still fresh, and he feared a repeat. With a reluctant sigh of defeat, he unbuckled his belt and let his pants fall to the floor. One by one, the rest of his clothes followed—shirt, socks, and finally, shoes—until he stood awkwardly in his boxers. Judy crossed her arms, one eyebrow raised expectantly.
“All of it,” she said, gesturing at his remaining clothing.
Pat attended, his hands instinctively guarding his modesty, but Judy was relentless. She picked up a pair of panties from the towel bar and held them out to him. “Here you go,” she said with mock sweetness. “These won’t pick out of your skirt.”
With a deep breath, Pat took the delicate garment, staring at it as though it might bite him. “What are you waiting for?” Judy teased, snapping him out of his trance. “You seemed so eager to try them on when I had your arm twisted behind your back.”
Reluctantly, he stepped into the panties, pulling the silky waistband up. The snug fit of the fabric clinging to his body made him feel smaller, more exposed. Judy wasn’t done, of course. She motioned for him to lift his arms, and moments later, the straps of a bra slid over his shoulders. With deft hands, she hooked the clasp at his back, then stuffed the padded cups with rolled-up socks for exaggerated effect.
Now trembling in his wife’s undergarments, Pat sat on the cold toilet seat as Judy approached with an assortment of makeup. “Alright, let’s see what we can do,” she said cheerfully. “First, we need a nice base complexion—foundation and cover-up will work wonders.”
Pat sat stiffly as she worked, applying layer after layer—foundation, concealer, blush. The latter barely seemed necessary given how flushed his cheeks already were from sheer embarrassment. Judy moved quickly, mindful of the clock. They were supposed to have left half an hour ago, so she stuck to the basics.
When they finally emerged from the cramped bathroom, Pat was in a completely different state than when he’d entered. He followed Judy’s lead, walking on tiptoes. Even though they were alone in the cottage, the sensation of prancing around in women’s underwear and makeup made him feel utterly exposed.
Judy wasted no time rummaging through their luggage, dismissing her own clothing options one by one. Pat allowed himself a brief sigh of relief, knowing she wouldn’t find a dress. After all, she hadn’t packed anything impractical for hiking and climbing—certainly not high heels. Still, the final outfit she settled on was no reason for him to smile.
She helped her husband into a pair of her baby-blue capri pants, which, to his dismay, fit unnervingly well. A light blue and white blouse completed the ensemble. Pat struggled with the buttons, fumbling clumsily until Judy’s patience wore thin. “For God’s sake, just hold still,” she snapped, fastening them herself before sliding white summer sandals onto his feet.
For Pat, it was impossible to hide his discomfort. It was unsettling how well he fit into his wife’s clothes. They were roughly the same height, but he had always assumed their body shapes would differ more. Judy, meanwhile, topped off the look with a floppy summer hat.
“There we go,” she declared. “Ready to start your new summer job.”
As she left to start the car, Pat bent down to gather their scattered clothes. He froze mid-motion when he heard her chuckle behind him.
“You’ll need to learn how to bend like a lady,” she mused, clearly enjoying the sight of him in the snug capris. “Don’t worry, we’ve got a whole summer for me to teach you.”
The two-hour drive home felt like any other trip—at least for Judy, who took on the driver’s role as usual. “Patti” sat quietly beside her, his hands folded neatly in his lap, the faint taste of lipstick lingering on his lips. The road was mostly deserted, only the occasional passing car reminding him of his predicament. Every time another vehicle appeared, he shrank slightly into his seat, acutely aware of his improvised disguise.
Judy, however, remained as amused as ever, letting out the occasional scold when she caught him failing to mimic proper feminine behavior.
“Keep your knees together. Ladies don’t sit with their legs apart, even in pants,” she corrected, shooting him a brief glance before refocusing on the road. “You wouldn’t want to flash your panties when you’re wearing a dress, would you?”
Pat shifted uncomfortably. “No, Judy,” he muttered.
“And sit up straight,” she continued. “And for Pete’s sake, stop fidgeting with your chest. Seatbelts go between the girls, not around them. You’ll just have to get used to it, like the rest of us.”
Even if he wanted to protest, this was not the time to let his male pride take over. Instead, he let himself be dominated by his almost too-amused wife, adjusting his posture and movements according to her instructions.
Once they arrived home, Judy stepped out of the car and headed inside, leaving Pat to unload the luggage. Still self-conscious, he scanned the neighborhood, relieved to find no prying eyes. Having already learned the consequences of overestimating his strength, he took his time hauling each bag inside, his sandals flip-flopping against the driveway.
After sorting the soiled clothes into the laundry room as Judy had directed, Pat finally allowed himself a moment to catch his breath. But his reprieve was short-lived.
“Dinner’s not going to cook itself, Patti!” Judy’s voice rang out from the kitchen, summoning him.
Grumbling under his breath, Pat tied on an apron—its lacy pattern unsettlingly fitting with his current ensemble—and got to work. Judy’s constant interruptions didn’t help; she would call him over just to ask when dinner would be ready or tease him about how great her clothes looked on him. Each time, she punctuated her remarks with a playful pinch to his cheek before allowing him to return to the spaghetti and meatballs.
When the meal was finally ready, Judy seated herself at the dining table while instructing Pat to eat at the kitchen counter, making a deliberate show of separating herself from “the help.” Even as he ate, she continued her lessons, calling out corrections between bites.
“Patti!” Judy called again, dabbing her mouth with a napkin before rising from the table. He was just getting tired of that hideous name she came up with.
“You did very well for your first day as my little helper.” She said, smiling at him. “I think I’m going to love having you around like this all summer.”
She strolled away, leaving her plate for him to clean. As she disappeared down the hallway, she added, “Sorry I haven’t prepared a proper schedule for you, but I didn’t expect to have a maid all of a sudden.” She turned back just long enough to meet his unamused glare with an impish grin. “I’ll need breakfast at nine o’clock sharp tomorrow. Don’t forget to set an alarm—unless I change my mind.”
Pat opened his mouth to ask what she wanted for breakfast, but she was already out of sight.
His wife had seamlessly settled into her new role, making it easy to forget that until this morning, he had been the man of the house. Now, he was something else entirely—a maid, a servant, and, in her eyes, a female servant.
The message became crystal clear when, after removing his gloves from washing the dishes, Pat found their bedroom door locked. He wasn’t even allowed to sleep beside her anymore. He jiggled the handle, but the latch wouldn’t budge.
With a sinking feeling, he retreated to the guest room. The bed had already been prepared for him, disturbingly so. A delicate nightgown lay neatly on the covers, and the bedside drawers were now stocked with the kind of underwear he’d never worn until today.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, he stared at the items before him, a deep sigh escaping his lips. This was his new reality—for the summer, at least. And judging by Judy’s satisfaction, it was going to be a long one.
III
The shrill buzz of the 7 o’clock alarm marked the end of their first night sleeping apart. While Judy remained in deep slumber, sprawled luxuriously across their matrimonial bed, Pat barely stirred from the restless half-sleep he’d endured on the lumpy guest mattress. He had hoped to wake up from what seemed like an absurd nightmare, only to be hit with a harsh dose of reality as his eyes fell on the dainty nightgown draped over his frame.
Though he’d reluctantly played along with Judy’s little games before, this felt like crossing a line he hadn’t realized existed. Cooking for his wife had never bothered him; in fact, it was one of the few things that relaxed him. But that sense of comfort had been stripped away now that he was forced to do it dressed like this. Worse yet, banished from their shared bed, Pat could feel his place as her husband—and as a man—slipping further and further out of reach.
He lingered in bed for a few minutes longer before resigning himself to the day ahead. Opening the small closet, he found his outfit waiting for him. As per Judy’s instructions: it was a dress—one he had seen her wear countless times, a worn out long-sleeved V-neck black number. On the floor sat a shoebox containing a pair of black leather pumps with at least a three-inch heel, judging by the sight. Pat stared at the ensemble with a sinking feeling in his stomach, wondering how much more of this absurdity he could endure, but he resigned himself to take the punishment like a man—or rather, like a woman.
Sighing, he slipped off the nightgown and changed into one of the many sets of lingerie he could dispose of. Pantyhose seemed like a requirement for the outfit, but after a frustrating, failed attempt to pull them on, he abandoned the idea. The heels were another story entirely—just the mere attempt to stand on them made his ankles ache preemptively. For now, he would settle for bare legs and slippers, resolving to endure the rest as best he could. He headed back to his work station, the kitchen, passing by what used to be their shared bedroom, moving especially carefully to avoid waking his mistress/wife.
By the time sunlight streamed through the window, breakfast was ready: eggs and bacon arranged neatly on a plate, orange juice poured, the table set. He placed everything carefully and glanced at the clock: just before 9 a.m. Judy, however, didn’t emerge until after 10:30, barely acknowledging the effort as she took a sip of juice before rushing out the door. Her only remark was a disapproving glance at his bare legs, but left without saying a word.
Judy’s absence gave Pat time to tackle the daunting list of chores she had left on a crumpled piece of paper. He mopped the floors, dusted the living room, did the laundry, and ironed—specifically, only her clothes—ensuring every corner of the house was spotless. There were plenty more tasks he hadn’t managed to get to, either because they involved stepping outside, like washing the windows or taking out the trash, or because he ran out of time before he heard the car parking outside.
“Patti!” Judy’s voice called from outside. Peeking through the window, he saw her stepping out of the car, arms overflowing with shopping bags. More bags spilled onto the passenger seat.
“Don’t just stand there. Help me with all your new things!” she shouted irritably, catching him watching from inside.
Pat swallowed hard, glancing at his reflection in the window. He regretted not making an effort to put on any makeup earlier. Now he’d have to step outside in just a dress, painfully aware that Mrs. Robbinson was nearby, watering her roses as usual.
But his wife didn’t give him time to dwell on their nosy neighbor, who only managed to sneak a peek before they hurried inside with the bags.
“Patti, what’s this?” Judy asked, dumping the bags unceremoniously onto his guest bed.
“What?”
“The bed, sweetie. It’s unmade. And I’m assuming mine is too,” she scolded, letting out a long sigh before continuing in a much sterner tone. “This is unacceptable. If you can’t even keep your own room tidy, how can I trust you with the rest of the house? Don’t ever think I’m going to be lenient just because it’s your first day. I expect the best from my maid.”
“Judy, don’t you think you’re getting carried away with this little game of yo—” A sudden slap interrupted his protest, coming straight from Judy’s furious hand. His cheek burned red as he looked up at her in stunned silence.
“Don’t you ever talk back to me again, you hear me?” she shouted furiously. “Only yesterday, you were practically begging to be my maid. And now you can’t even handle the basics?” Crossing her arms, she gave him a pointed look. “Do you need a reminder of why you’re doing this?”
Pat quickly shook his head, thoroughly intimidated. She held his gaze for a long, tense moment. Then, as if a switch had flipped, she turned her attention drifting to her recent purchases. A small smile escaped her lips before she looked back at him. “That dress is supposed to go with pantyhose. Didn’t I leave you a brand-new pair to wear?”
“Yes, but—”
“But what?” she interrupted sharply.
“B-but I… couldn’t put them on by myself,” Pat stammered.
She accepted his excuses, admitting those undergarments would have been itchy to wear with all that body hair. She glanced at his legs, then reached into one of the shopping bags, pulling out a can of shaving cream and a pink razor.
“Here,” she said, handing them to him.
Pat opened his mouth to protest, but Judy cut him off with a sharp look.
“Don’t even think about it,” she warned. “Female servants don’t have hairy legs, and neither will you. Go shower and shave. Now.”
He hesitated.
“What now?!” she barked, then quickly softened as she noticed him fumbling with the zipper on the back of his dress. Giggling, she stepped forward and unzipped it smoothly, letting him wriggle out. “Go on,” she urged, giving him a playful swat on the backside.
Pat opened his mouth to protest, but Judy cut him off with a sharp look. “Don’t even think about it. Female servants don’t have hairy legs, and neither will you. Go shower and shave. Now.”
He nodded, hesitating to leave.
"What now?!” she barked, but quickly softened when she noticed him fumbling with the zipper on the back of his uniform. She giggled and helped him, smoothly unzipping the dress and letting him wriggle out of it. “Go on,” she urged, giving him a playful swat on the backside.
As he stepped into the shower, razor in hand, Pat couldn’t help but wonder how things had escalated so far. Was this ridiculous bet hiding some darker intentions? One supposed friendly match between them had apparently cost him more than two months of servitude. Was he just supposed to forget that she had slapped him moments ago? Surely he couldn’t, unsure of how he’d reclaim his place as her husband once this whole thing passed.
Twenty minutes later, Pat returned with a towel wrapped around his waist.
“Tsk tsk, Patti. That’s not how you wrap a towel,” Judy tutted, stepping forward to yank it up under his armpits, knotting it snugly over his chest. “There. Much better,” she declared with a smirk, her eyes dropping to his freshly shaven legs.
“See? Doesn’t that look so much more appropriate? I expect you to look the part—flawlessly.”
Reaching into one of the bags, her grin widened. “I brought you some things today that will help you look much more professional.”
One by one, she handed him each item from her selection, ordering him to slip them on.
First came the underwear: black lace panties that clung uncomfortably compared to the boxers he was used to. Then, a matching black lace bra. “Here,” Judy said, holding it up. “Hook it around your waist first, then pull it up into place. That way, you won’t need me to help next time.”
Pat fumbled with the clasp, his hands trembling slightly, but eventually managed to secure it. This time, the cups didn’t hold the rolled-up socks he had reluctantly used before. Instead, Judy handed him a pair of breast forms, chuckling as she positioned them into place.
“There we go,” she said with a teasing snap of the bra strap. The forms felt disturbingly real, mimicking not just the shape but the weight and subtle bounce of natural breasts. Pat shifted uncomfortably, the foreign sensation making him acutely aware of every movement.
Judy, however, wasn’t done. She tossed him a package of sheer, off-black pantyhose, watching closely as he struggled to pull them on. The thin fabric caught on his fingers, his fumbling attempts resulting in one ruined pair after another. By the fourth try—and after a few slaps to his trembling hands—he finally managed to get them up properly. The silky texture against his freshly shaved legs made him shiver. He wiggled his toes inside the tight fabric, the enclosed sensation both bizarre and unsettlingly intimate.
Judy’s eyes lit up with amusement as she surveyed him. “My, my, Patti, who knew you had such sexy legs?” she teased. Pat flushed crimson, feeling utterly exposed as he stood there, now clad in nothing but lingerie. The delicate lace clung to his body in all the wrong ways, and he hated how vulnerable it made him feel. Judy, however, was clearly enjoying his discomfort, giggling as she rummaged through the remaining bags.
"So, how’s my little servant doing?" she teased, her voice laced with false sweetness, "Do you like your new lingerie? Feeling pretty yet?"
“I feel ridiculous,” He muttered.
Judy waved off his protest dismissively. “Oh, you’ll get over it,” she said breezily, pulling out the last items to complete his look, sighing dramatically as she revealed she couldn’t get her hands on an actual maid uniform.
Not that Pat was particularly upset about that. The thought of wearing one of those frilly, over-the-top uniforms was more mortifying than the lingerie itself. Yet, as Judy had pointed out, such costumes weren’t exactly sold off the rack. And, fortunately for him, custom tailoring was well outside their budget.
For now, though, they had to make the most of it with Judy’s leftovers and complement accessories.
The black dress slid over his body more easily this time, with the assistance of his wife, the zipper was pulled snugly onto its end. Then, the heels he had briefly escaped earlier found their way onto his now silk-covered feet.
Kneeling before him, Judy steadied her wobbling husband as she tied a half-white frilly apron around his waist, finishing it off with a large, fluffy bow at the back. The apron strings cinched tightly against his midsection, emphasizing the hourglass silhouette she had forced him into.
Pat’s trembling hands found themselves encased in silk gloves, positioned on his lap as Judy sat him at her vanity. “Now, just relax,” she said, pulling his head slightly back.
What followed was an excruciating hour of makeup application. Judy took her sweet time, unhurried, relishing each step. “Close your eyes,” she instructed, and Pat complied, feeling the cool brush of foundation being applied to his face. She worked with precision, adding blush to his cheeks, eyeliner to his eyes, and a generous coat of mascara to his lashes. Every stroke of the brush felt like another piece of his dignity slipping away.
She had never been particularly skilled at applying makeup, especially on a man, but with her husband’s naturally soft features, she didn’t need to be. With no beard to conceal or square jaw to reshape, the makeup only enhanced what was already delicate. She had often teased him about his long lashes or naturally rosy cheeks—traits that now worked in her favor.
His short hair, pinned back with barrettes during the makeup process, was now tucked away beneath a thin cap. “Hold still,” she murmured, carefully adjusting a short, curly brunette wig onto his head. The bouncy bob framed his face perfectly, the soft curls bounced lightly as she adjusted it to sit just right.
Stepping back, she admired her handiwork, a slow, satisfied grin spreading across her face.
“And to think, I was worried you’d be difficult about this,” she mused, brushing a stray lock from his forehead. “You’ve taken to it quite naturally.”
Pat’s stomach churned at the thought. Nothing about this felt natural.
He dared to glance at his reflection and barely recognized the person staring back. The soft waves of his styled hair, the delicate pink hue on his lips, the perfectly blended eyeshadow—it was like looking at a stranger, a cruel joke taken too far.
Judy clapped her hands together with dramatic flair. “And voilà! Ze maid is here!”
Pat, however, wasn’t nearly as amused.
“For your first time fully dressed, you really do look… good,” she admitted, tilting her head in genuine surprise. “Honestly, I don’t think anyone would guess you’re not a woman.”
Even Judy hadn’t expected such impressive results. It had only taken one harmless display of her strength to get her husband to submit entirely to her whims, even if it meant shredding every last vestige of his masculinity.
Circling him, she smoothed out any wrinkles in his skirt and adjusted his posture slightly straighter. She could see the discomfort in his wide eyes, the way they darted away from her gaze, his painted lips trembling slightly with each shallow breath the tight attire allowed him.
He was terrified.
And she knew it.
But his fear also kept him obedient, too scared to voice his humiliation.
And so the expectation of a well-deserved rest morphed into harder work than Pat had ever endured as a high school teacher. He spent the following weeks cooped up indoors—just as he might have planned—but under circumstances entirely different from what he had envisioned. Gone were the 9-to-5 shifts; Judy had him working from dawn until dusk.
The headaches began early in the morning only by the intense fights he found himself involved against the dresses’ zippers, only to intensify by each item of the endless list of chores she demanded.
None of the unruly students he managed in class compared to how difficult Judy had become in her new role as his "mistress." Dusting, vacuuming, cleaning every room, making the beds, doing laundry—Judy delegated all of it to him. She had him ironing all of their clothes, which she’d never bothered to press herself when housework fell under her domain. Of course, having a maid allowed her to aspire to have a house flawlessly maintained to the minutest of her specifications.
Over time, Pat learned to prioritize any tasks that required him to step outside—like taking out the trash or sweeping the porch—before their neighbors stirred. Unlike him, they were probably enjoying their holidays by sleeping in, oblivious to the strange goings-on just meters away.
Though pool and lawn maintenance weren’t part of his duties, Judy always made sure her maid served refreshments to the workers hired for those jobs. Bringing cold beers to the men under his wife’s watchful eyes was humiliating enough—but the knowing glances, the barely concealed smirks, and the occasional wink from the workers made it unbearable. Still, Pat found some solace in the small mercy that none of them seemed to recognize the man hidden beneath the feminine guise.
Judy, meanwhile, enjoyed her days to the fullest. She never lifted a finger, her meals prepared, the house cleaned, and her outfits ready for any outings she had planned—whether with friends or solo adventures on the weekends.
Pat soon gave up on any idea of catching up on his reading, as all of his books, especially the thick ones, were now used to balance on his head during the training his wife put him through to walk, stand, and sit like a true lady.
His modest closet was now overflowing with Judy’s hand-me-downs. Dresses, skirts, and blouses—all carefully selected to ensure he could take on the role of a female servant properly. Even if he tried to avoid them, his male clothing had been locked away in their old bedroom, completely out of his reach.
Even when he wasn’t actively serving his wife, Pat was still expected to perfect every aspect of his feminine facade. Mornings were dedicated to mastering his makeup application and brushing up his wig, and he soon managed to maintain his appearance without her assistance. While the lonely nights were spent adopting a routine of applying face masks, oils, and nail polish on both his hands and feet in the few minutes he had before getting some sleep, which wasn’t easy to come by, not with the silicone forms she insisted he kept on nearly 24/7—removing them for just one hour every third day to let the skin breathe—nor the frilly negligees and baby dolls he only had to sleep in.
As Pat hurried inside, barely finishing with the window cleaning as the sharp screech of Mrs. Robinson’s Porsche echoed from the driveway. Judy, catching sight of the elderly woman through the freshly cleaned glass, smirked to herself, considering aloud whether she should lend out her little helper to assist with watering those roses of hers.
A harmless joke, Pat dared to hope.
As much as Judy enjoyed her games at his expense, public exposure still felt like a line even she wouldn’t cross. At least, that’s what he told himself.
IV
It was late on a Monday morning, three weeks into Pat's new role as his wife's maid, when Judy called him upstairs. He had just finished the breakfast dishes and immediately obeyed, as the sound of his high heels clicking on the wooden staircase confirmed, echoing through the house. Though still a little wobbly, her husband had made remarkable progress in maintaining his balance and even a hint of grace, all thanks to Judy’s relentless coaching.
When he stepped into the bedroom, his eyes landed on several of Judy’s dresses spread across the bed. The sight struck him as odd, considering she was already dressed and ready to leave. Before he could ask why, she shot him a playful smile, and without warning, reached for the zipper of his maid uniform. A quick tug, and the black dress slipped from his shoulders, pooling in a heap at his feet.
Judy wasted no time. She guided him into each outfit, one by one, adjusting and critiquing as she went. Some were too tight, others too loose, a few just not right. After a series of dismissals, she finally settled on a white sleeveless dress adorned with red and pink floral patterns. But she wasn’t finished.
Kneeling before him, she peeled off his pantyhose, replacing them with delicate garter belts and ultra-sheer taupe stockings, clipping them into place. Pat barely had time to register the change before she was already slipping his feet into a pair of matching three-inch sandals, completing the look. His makeup, though flawless, was deemed too dark for the sunny day, nothing a few adjustments couldn't fix.
Judy finished with a bright red coat of lipstick on his lips. Pat had learned to comply silently, finding it the best way to deal with her relentless demands.
“There,” she declared clearly, stepping back to survey the final result. “You’ll certainly do well today.”
Pat’s stomach churned at her words, a familiar knot of anxiety tightening in his chest. “What are you planning now?” he asked cautiously, already fearing the answer.
Judy’s grin only widened as she met his wary gaze. “Oh, honey, it’s been three weeks. Don’t you think it’s about time you got out of the house?”
Pat’s eyes widened. “Out of the house? Like... out-out? In public?”
“Of course!” Judy laughed, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You’ve been cooped up here far too long. Geez, you’ve always been such a shut-in!”
“Wh-why would you... I mean, I don’t... I-I…” Pat stammered, struggling to find the words to express his obvious objections to stepping out in public dressed as a woman.
“Patti, I think I’ve been very understanding of your... adjustment period.” She turned toward the mirror, adjusting her earrings, before looking back at him with a smirk. “But it’s time for you to give a little too, sweetie.”
Pat shook his head, exasperation bubbling up. “Give in? I do everything around here! I’ve practically become your—" He stopped himself just short, but the word slipped out anyway, "—slave!"
Judy’s expression immediately darkened, her smile evaporating. “Patti…” she said warningly, her voice dangerously low.
“Sorry, sorry,” Pat quickly backtracked, his courage deflating under the weight of her stare. “I didn’t mean... I was just... I mean, you’ve been asking so much of me."
“First of all,” Judy began sharply, “you’re not my slave. You’re my maid.” She let the word hang in the air for a moment before continuing. "And don’t kid yourself, you don’t do everything around here. Who does all the grocery shopping? Certainly not you. What good is having a maid if I can’t even send her out to run a few simple errands?”
Before Pat could argue, Judy pulled a bright red kerchief from a drawer and held it up. “Now, now,” she said, her mood softening as she draped it around his neck, “I’m not going to make you prance around town in your little maid uniform, if that’s what you’re worried about—though I’m sure you’d turn a few heads.” She smirked at his panicked expression, tying the knot snugly at the front.
“And as much as I love sharing my wardrobe with my sweet little girl, it’s time you found your own style.” Judy declared, giving a playful tug to the ends of the kerchief, making Pat gulp. “So it’s off to the mall for us gals today,”
“Judy, I really don’t think this is necessary—”
“Oh, but it absolutely is,” Judy interjected, with a higher tone.
“But... what if someone recognizes me?"
Judy rolled her eyes, letting out an exasperated sigh. “Patti, relax. No one’s going to recognize you. Look at you!” She gestured dramatically toward him. “I’ve done a pretty damn good job transforming you, haven’t I?” She didn’t wait for a response. “And honestly, who’s going to be looking for you at the mall like this?”
Pat turned to the mirror, barely recognizing the person staring back at him. The face looking back was carefully made up—soft, feminine, although the worried expression didn’t match well. His wig, styled just right and the red scarf around his neck perfectly concealed the subtle outline of his Adam’s apple.
“Now quit worrying and get your purse,” Judy ordered, already heading for the door. “We’ve got a lot of shopping to do, and I’m not letting you chicken out.”
Pat stood frozen for a moment, his legs refusing to move. Every part of him wanted to rip off the dress, wipe the makeup from his face, and forget this whole thing had ever started. But what choice did he have at this point but to comply with his wife’s demands, who at least had taken the effort to polish every aspect of his forced femininity before presenting him to society?
With a deep breath, he grabbed the purse off the bed and followed her.
"Good girl," Judy praised, glancing back over her shoulder with a satisfied smile. "You’re going to feel fabulous by the time we’re done. I promise."
The ride to the mall felt like a slow descent into dread. Pat sat stiffly in the passenger seat, staring out the window as the world passed by, his heart pounding harder with every mile that took him further from the safety of his own home. Judy, however, seemed completely at ease. She hummed along to the radio, chatting about fashion, a new boutique that had just opened, and how fun it was going to be for the two of them to spend the day doing something "girly" together.
When they finally pulled into the mall parking lot, Pat’s stomach dropped. Judy parked the car, slid out of her seat, and then turned to give him an expectant look. “Well? Come on,” she said, waving him out of the car like a mom ushering a kid off to school.
Pat hesitated, but he knew there was no point in stalling. The sooner they started, the sooner this whole thing would be over. He swung his legs out of the car and carefully stepped onto the pavement, the click of his heels echoing in the stillness of the lot.
As they made their way toward the entrance, passing by shoppers, clerks, and window-browsers, Pat’s nerves were on high alert. He could feel every step, every awkward shift in his balance. He braced himself for stares, whispers, maybe even laughter. But to his surprise—and immense relief—nobody seemed to care. People glanced at him, sure, but only in the casual way you’d notice anyone passing by. To them, he was just another woman out shopping on a sunny day, and that somehow made it even more unsettling.
Judy moved through the mall like she owned the place, practically dragging her husband along in her wake. She was in her element, breezing in and out of shops, barely glancing at displays before yanking him into the next store. Pat stumbled behind her, unsure if this was her usual shopping style or if she was just enjoying herself at his expense. Unlike the other husbands sitting idly on benches, looking bored while waiting for their partners, he knew they were in paradise compared to him. He was carted around with armfuls of clothes—not for Judy, but specifically selected for him to wear.
“Try this,” Judy called out, thrusting a lavender dress with a flared skirt into Pat’s arms. Before he could react, she added a floral sundress to the pile, her grin widening as she rifled through racks, pulling out tops, skirts, and notably few pairs of pants. "And this... Oh, and definitely this one. You’re going to look adorable in it."
Pat glanced down at the growing heap of clothes in his arms, his face flushing. “Judy, I’m not sure this is—”
“Ah, ah, ah,” she interrupted, wagging a finger at him with a teasing smirk. “No complaints. We’re here to have fun, and I’m definitely not letting you back out now.”
“But do we really need all of these?” Pat asked, trailing behind her. “I mean, when am I even going to wear them? Can’t we just pick a couple—”
“Absolutely not,” Judy cut in, balancing another skirt on top of the pile, followed by four dresses, a few blouses, and those capris she’d been eyeing. “This isn’t just about picking out something cute. We’re finding the perfect fit. And the only way to do that is to try everything on.”
Pat glanced nervously around the store, feeling his cheeks heat up. “Wait, you mean... right now? Like... in the store?”
“Of course, silly,” Judy said, rolling her eyes playfully. “But not right here in the middle of the aisle.” She pointed across the store, past a row of mannequins posed in cozy autumn styles, to the dressing rooms. “Over there, by the sales rack.”
“I can’t go in there!” Pat hissed, glancing at the sign above the curtained stalls that clearly read Ladies.
Judy arched an eyebrow, her lips tugging into a smirk. “Well, you can’t exactly waltz into the gents looking like this, can you?” She gestured at him, clearly amused. “Trust me, sweetheart, this is the only option.”
“Judy, please,” He pleaded, his hands trembling as he clutched the clothes. “Can’t we just buy them all and I’ll try them on at home?”
“Nope,” she said, her tone firm but not unkind. “Women’s clothes aren’t that simple. Sizes vary, cuts are tricky, and not everything fits the same. I’m not about to waste money on something that doesn’t suit you. Besides…” She leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I thought you liked playing dress-up.”
“Shhh!” He hissed, glancing around the store in panic. The idea of someone overhearing this—especially here—made his stomach churn.
Judy’s playful smirk shifted into something sharper. “Now,” she said slowly, “I really don’t want to cause a scene. But if you keep making a fuss…” She let her words hang, savoring the moment. “I might just have to tell security I spotted a man dressed as a woman sneaking around the store.”
Pat’s heart leapt into his throat. “You wouldn’t,” he called in the highest tone he could murmured.
“Oh, wouldn’t I?” Judy considered feigning innocence, clearly enjoying the flash of panic on his face. “How long do you think it would take them to find you, huh? Surely less time than it’ll take for you to try on these lovely outfits.” She punctuated her words with a playful swat to his backside, nudging him toward the fitting rooms. “Now, let’s get moving!”
Pat let out a deep breath, trying to steel himself as he stepped reluctantly toward the dressing area. The space was mostly empty, just a row of curtained stalls with full-length mirrors flanking the walls. Slipping into one, he hung the clothes on a hook and tried to calm himself. It’s just another part of the game, he told himself. Just play along, and it’ll be over soon.
Stripping down to the bra and panties he’d been wearing underneath, Pat felt awkwardly exposed there in a public establishment only protected by a thin wall of cloth. He reached for the lavender dress first, carefully slipping it over his head and fumbling with the zipper. After a bit of struggle, he managed to get it on, but the fabric clung awkwardly to his chest, and he could already tell it wasn’t a great fit.
Peeking out from behind the curtain, he called, “Okay, it fits. Can I change into the next one now?”
Judy stood just outside with her arms crossed, a disapproving click of her tongue. “Oh no, no, no. That’s not how this works. Step out here properly and let me see.”
Reluctantly, Pat shuffled out, eyes glued to the floor as he emerged from behind the curtain. Judy’s eyes lit up as she scanned him from head to toe, lips curling into a thoughtful smile. “Hmm, it’s cute, but see how it’s a little tight around the bust?” She reached out, adjusting the bodice pinching under his arms. “That’s not flattering at all. We need something that fits better.”
And so it began.
Outfit after outfit, Pat tried on everything Judy handed him—skirts, dresses, blouses, and more. Every time he thought he was done, she’d toss something new over the curtain. It felt like an endless fashion show where he was the unwilling model, and Judy was the ever-critical judge stationed just outside, ready to scrutinize every detail.
The fitting room turned into an endless loop of outfits, each one piling higher and higher as she discarded the rejects and held onto the "maybes." Pat was exhausted, physically and mentally. His patience wore thin with every passing minute that stretched into hours, but he didn’t dare argue. Not with the way Judy was so… invested.
At one point, Pat found himself struggling with the zipper of a leather mini-skirt, his long, manicured nails—another of Judy’s delightful insistences—getting in the way. He fumbled helplessly until Judy, sighing in exasperation, finally intervened, smacking his hands away and zipped it up herself
"You’ve gotta get used to this, Patti,” she scolded, giving him a stern look. "There’ll be plenty more trips like this, and I won’t always be here to help zip you up."
Pat couldn’t suppress the eye-roll or the sarcastic smirk that crossed his face. As if he’d ever willingly subject himself to this kind of shopping spree again, especially without her dragging him along. But the way Judy spoke, so matter-of-fact, like this was their new normal, planted a seed of doubt in his mind. She was enjoying this far too much to just stop. If anything, her amusement seemed to grow with each new addition to his ever-expanding wardrobe of women's clothing. What on earth would stop her from attending?
Before he could dwell on it, Judy’s voice pulled him back to reality. “Pay attention, Patti!” she barked, tugging at the hem of the skirt to adjust the fit. “We’re here to find what suits you best, and you’re not making it easy.”
Judy’s excitement reached a new level when he stepped out in a sleek black top paired with a red pleated skirt. Without warning, she pulled the curtain wide open, showcasing him to anyone who happened to be passing by. “Oh, this is perfect!” she practically purred, scanning him from head to toe. “It’s like it was made for you. The fit is spot-on, and the skirt shows off those lovely legs of yours,” she added, gesturing at the mentioned, which were indeed on full display. “We have to get this one.”
He let out a small sigh of relief when Judy finally headed to the register, only for his heart to skip a beat when he noticed she was using his credit card. He said nothing, just watched as the transactions went through, thankful that neither his signature nor ID was required.
But the day wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.
As if determined to enter every establishment specifically directed at women, Judy seemed to have traced a tour along the mall that included at least one visit to every boutique, shoe store, jewelry shop, and fashion outlet taking plenty of souvenirs from each.
By the time they sat down for a coffee break, Pat could barely keep track of what he’d bought—or, rather, what Judy had bought for him. They had completed what it felt like the 100th parade with him struggling to pass through the door frame, weighed down with plastic bags filled to the brim with dresses, blouses, tops, pumps, sandals, hats, earrings, skirts—denim, pleated, and mini—short shorts, hair products, cosmetics, and more clothing than he’d ever imagined he’d wear in a lifetime, let alone in the next few months.
"Great," he muttered, collapsing into the chair opposite Judy. "We’re all set, right? Can we go home now?"
“Oh, Patti, don’t be silly,” Judy teased, sipping her caramel frappe. “We’re far from done. There are still a few more places we need to hit.”
Pat sighed, stirring a dollop of cream into his dark coffee. He briefly considered whether an equally sugary drink would have better matched the expectations of his current role, but he’d never been one for such sweet choices.
“What’s the rush? The laundry isn’t going anywhere.” she added with a playful pinch to his flushed cheek, as if his eagerness to leave had anything to do with the house chores. “Think of today as your day off. No dusting, no scrubbing—just us, out and about. Try to have some fun for once, will you?”
Before any response, Judy downed the rest of her drink and shot up from her seat, ready to move on. He scrambled to down the rest of his drink, tossing the lipstick-stained cup into the trash, and rushed to catch up with her brisk pace.
Judy slowed just enough for him to catch up but kept her stride fast enough to keep him on edge. As he drew nearer, she caught sight of two men at a nearby table, who’s gazes followed the sway of her husband’s hips, which he was unconsciously exaggerating on his attempts to speed up. The men exchanged a knowing smirk, and Judy couldn’t help but let out a quiet laugh.
"You know," she said, glancing sideways at him, “you’re really getting the hang of this.”
“The hang of what?” Pat asked, still struggling to match her pace.
“Of being a woman,” Judy replied matter-of-factly. “You’ve got the walk down, the voice is coming along…” She gave him an appraising look up and down. “And, honey, you wear that dress like you’re doing it a favor.”
Pat’s cheeks turned bright red, unsure whether to take it as a compliment or another one of her teasing digs. "Uh, thanks... I guess?" he muttered awkwardly.
Judy smirked, giving him a playful nudge. “Oh, don’t get too comfortable. You’ve still got a lot to learn.” She steered him toward another store, one he instantly recognized despite never having set foot inside. The bold pink sign above the door read Victoria’s Secret.
Inside, Pat felt utterly out of place, surrounded by rows of delicate, lacy undergarments that made the ones he currently wore seem downright modest. Being here would have been awkward enough as a man, but as a man dressed as a woman, it was borderline unbearable. His discomfort was equally inverted to the enthusiasm his wife mustered onto each piece, commenting on how they would bring out the hidden woman in him.
Meanwhile, it was the hidden man that was struggling to keep the facade, not having the stomach to pretend he was eager to try on the revealing items Judy thrust in his direction.
Judy disappeared into the racks briefly, returning with a dainty, lacy thong in hand. She held it against Pat’s waist, tilting her head as if she were envisioning him wearing it. “Aren’t these just divine?” she mused. “I wonder if they have a matching bra. Why don’t you ask the salesgirl if they’ve got a 36B?”
Pat’s face went pale. “Judy, please,” he whispered urgently, “I can’t do that.”
“And why not?” she asked, clearly feigning ignorance as she held the delicate garment closer to his hips.
“I just… I can’t,” he insisted, his voice barely audible. “Please don’t make me.”
Judy sighed, shaking her head as if scolding a child. “Oh, Patti, you’ve got to get over this embarrassment already. The staff here are used to women who feel shy about indulging in a little sexy fun. Trust me—they’ll know just how to help you.” She gave him a gentle push toward the counter. “Now, go on.”
Pat hesitated, but the subtle tilt of her head and sharpness in her gaze left no room for argument. Reluctantly, he shuffled toward the salesgirl, who greeted him with a cheerful smile.
“Hi! Can I help you find anything today, miss?” she asked, her tone warm and professional.
Miss. She had called him miss. This complete stranger didn’t see him for what he was—not that it was surprising, considering the floral dress, styled hair, and makeup.
“Uh, yes,” Pat stammered. “I was wondering if these panties are part of a set? I’m, uh, looking for a 36B bra to match.”
The salesgirl nodded, tapping a few keys on her register. “You’re in luck! We do have a matching bra. Let me grab it for you,” she chirped before disappearing into the back of the store.
As Pat waited, he caught sight of a group of teenage girls walking past the storefront. He turned away, hoping—praying—that none of them were his students. Thankfully, they were just a bunch of girls too engrossed in their conversation to notice the anxious “lady” in the lingerie store.
Still, the mere thought of being spotted sent a fresh wave of nausea rippling through him. How could he ever face his class again if word got out that their teacher had been spotted shopping for lingerie—for himself? The possibilities churned in his mind, each scenario worse than the last.
He imagined the girls in his classroom snickering behind their hands, openly commenting on his manicured nails while he fumbled through a lesson with impossibly long, painted tips. The boys’ mocking whistles at the sight of his panty-clad rear when he bent down to pick up a dropped marker during a test.
The seniors huddled by their lockers, loudly taking bets on who could lift his hem the highest as he walked past. Told you he was wearing a thong, dude! Pat could almost hear Tommy Mickelson’s triumphant shout, followed by the sound of high-fives and jeering laughter.
No stern glare or authoritative tone would stop them from reveling in his humiliation. My wife made me do it, as an explanation, wouldn’t deflect their ridicule—it would only amplify it.
He wondered, not for the first time, how on earth he’d allowed things to go this far. Then he glanced over at Judy, who was rummaging through a display of lacy teddies with a grin that could only be described as wickedly amused, and he remembered exactly why he didn’t have a choice. Those kids and he shared the same fear of the P.E. trainer he happened to call wife.
“Here you go,” the salesgirl chirped, snapping Pat out of his anxious daydreams as she returned with the bra he had requested. She handed it to him, and he couldn’t help but try to mimic the same inspection gestures he had seen Judy do—feeling the fabric, checking the size, even holding it against his chest to gauge the fit. The salesgirl stifled a giggle but remained professional. "We actually have a few more pieces in this set, if you’re interested," she added, gesturing to a nearby display and taking the liberty of guiding him over to it.
"There’s a lovely garter belt and a coordinating camisole," she offered, inviting Pat to check the fabric. He nodded at the blush-pink lingerie as if seriously considering it. "It really pulls everything together for a special night," she added, evidently suggestive.
The implication made his cheeks flush hotter, and he could barely manage a polite smile before she stepped away, her demeanor reverting to businesslike efficiency as she moved toward the register.
Pat didn’t dare look directly at her, afraid of what he might see—pity, amusement, or worse, a knowing smirk. Instead, he focused intently on the lingerie, pretending to admire the intricate lacework. Just as he was about to place the bra back on the rack, Judy sidled up beside him, nudging him lightly with her elbow. “See? That wasn’t so bad, was it, Patti?” she teased.
Pat didn’t dignify her comment with a response, pretending instead to be engrossed in the rest of the set. Judy, noticing his glance lingering on the camisole, grabbed it from the hanger and held it against his chest.
“Oh, I think this would look amazing on you,” she said, stepping back to survey him. “Don’t you agree?”
He muttered quietly, “The cashier called me ‘miss.’”
“Of course she did,” Judy cooed, delighted. “You look far too young and cute to be taken already.” She pouted mockingly as she checked the price tag. “Honestly, you’re pulling off this whole look way better than I ever imagined. You could easily pass as my little sister—or maybe a cousin. Anything but my husband.”
Pat’s face turned an even deeper shade of crimson, and he cast a nervous glance at the salesgirl, praying she hadn’t overheard. But the young woman remained at her post, maintaining a polite, professional smile, perhaps enjoying the spectacle of a customer too embarrassed to admit she was buying an outfit designed to entice men.
When they finally approached the register, the total rang up, and Pat’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “When am I ever going to wear any of this, Judy?” he hissed, leaning in and trying to keep his voice low.
Judy waved off his concern with a casual flick of her wrist. “Oh, don’t mind her,” she said airily, turning her attention to the cashier, who mirrored her amusement. “She’s just nervous she can’t afford it with her meager wages as a maid. But don’t worry, Patti. My dear husband will be covering this one.”
The cashier chuckled, glancing between them with a knowing smirk. “Well, that’s very thoughtful of him,” she said, sliding the card into the reader.
“I’m going to need your signature here, please,” she asked, sliding the receipt toward Pat. He sighed and took the pen from her hand, scribbling on it.
“You’ve got nothing to worry about,” she added, her tone matching Judy’s as she handed the card back along with his purchases contained in a glossy pink shopping bag. “I’m sure you’ll find plenty of reasons to wear these.”
And just as their hands met while handing over the bag, she added, “Surely Mr…” She glanced down at the receipt. “Mr. Patrick will appreciate it. Won’t you, dear?”
Pat froze, his hand hovering midair. His heart skipped a beat as he stammered, “W-what?”
The cashier stifled a laugh, covering her mouth with a polite wave. “Oh, I meant, are you happy with your purchase, miss?” she clarified, leaning into the word miss with a playful wink.
He nodded stiffly, snatching the bag in a rush, ready to leave the store as quickly as possible. But as he turned, the cashier called after him, “Excuse me, the pen?”
Flustered, Pat spun back around, hurriedly placing the pen on the counter. His grip slipped, and it clattered to the floor. Mortified, he crouched to retrieve it, catching the cashier’s increasingly amused expression as she fought to maintain her composure.
Without saying a word, Pat bolted from the store, his heels clicking against the floor in hurried staccato. Judy followed at a leisurely pace, laughing under her breath, thoroughly entertained by the scene.
V
True to her earlier promise, Judy decided to treat her husband to a quick meal at a chain restaurant nestled in the mall’s food court. For him, it was a brief reprieve, a chance to catch his breath after a day that had tested him in more ways than he’d anticipated.
By this hour of the evening, the place was beginning to empty, unlike the chaotic crowds they had endured earlier in the day. For the first time in hours, Pat felt his racing heart begin to slow as he nibbled on a simple sandwich, grateful for the momentary lull.
He had just finished the last bite and was gathering the trays to return them when a loud, surprised voice elevated from the humming to cut through the court.
“Judy Platt?! No way! Is that really you?”
Pat turned just in time to see two men approaching their table, one of them looking especially thrilled to see his wife. Judy’s face brightened immediately, and she sprang to her feet, clearly just as excited.
“Tom? Tom Rizzo?” she squealed, throwing herself into the taller man’s arms. “Oh my God, I can’t believe it! I haven’t seen you in forever!”
Her enthusiasm struck Pat as a bit over-the-top, and he found himself hanging back, unsure whether to join them or fade into the background.
Tom, broad-shouldered and dressed sharply in a tailored suit, hugged her back before taking a step back to look her over, his eyes shamelessly scanning her from head to toe. “Wow, Judy. You haven’t changed a bit. Still as gorgeous as ever.”
“Oh, stop it! You’re still the same smooth-talker you were back then.” Judy laughed, playfully swatting his shoulder. “You haven’t changed either—still looking exactly like my old college boyfriend.”
Tom’s grin widened as he leaned in a little. "Oh really? Do I look like your new boyfriend too?"
They both laughed at the banter, but Pat, watching from the sidelines, couldn’t help but bristle at the sight of another man openly flirting with his wife.
“Oh, Judy, where are my manners?” Tom finally turned to the man standing beside him. “This is Mike Harris, a colleague of mine. He gestured toward the slightly shorter, dark-haired man with a smooth demeanor. "Mike, this is Judy Platt—an old friend from high school."
Judy flashed a mischievous smile. "Oh, we were definitely more than just classmates," she joked, giving Mike a friendly nod. Then, as if suddenly remembering Pat’s existence, she glanced over and waved him toward the group. "Oh, and this," she added with a too-sweet smile, "is my cousin, Patti."
Pat, stiffening at the introduction but knowing he had no choice, forced a smile. Gathering what little courage he had left, he approached and extended his manicured hand toward the two men.
Tom’s handshake was firm and businesslike, but when Pat turned to Mike, something different happened. Mike took Pat’s “Patti” hand and, to his horror, raised it to his lips, pressing a light kiss on the back of it. "Charmed," Mike murmured, his eyes lingering on Pat for just a beat too long, sending an uncomfortable shiver down his spine. Judy, of course, giggled at the sight.
The initial introductions quickly gave way to an extended conversation, with Tom and Judy dominating most of it, reminiscing about their college days. Mike chimed in occasionally, adding a comment or two, but Pat stayed mostly silent, half-listening as they swapped stories he’d never heard before.
After what felt like an eternity, Tom casually brought up the inevitable. “So, what do you say? Feel like grabbing a drink and catching up some more?”
Pat, silently hoping Judy would decline, felt a wave of relief ready to wash over him—until she answered.
“Absolutely,” she said, not even a hint of hesitation. “We’d love to. Just give us a minute to freshen up,” She hooked her arm through Pat’s, ignoring the way he stiffened, tugging both of them toward the restrooms.
Once inside the ladies’ room and safely out of earshot, Pat’s composure cracked. “Are you serious, Judy?” he whispered harshly, trying to keep his tone low in case someone else was there. “What are you doing? You can’t just invite us to drinks with them!
Judy barely acknowledged his outburst. She was already at the sink, pulling out her cosmetics for a quick touch-up. “Sweetie, relax,” she said, calmly tracing the outline of her lips with a fresh coat of lipstick. “It’s harmless fun, catching up with old friends. What’s the big deal?”
Pat threw his purse onto the counter, closing the gap between them. “The big deal is you were practically flirting with him right in front of me! Are you out of your mind?”
Judy shrugged, daring to joke even now. "No, I’m not. But I’ve surely been out of the dating scene for a while. I’m a little rusty," she teased, her smirk meeting his eyes in the reflection as she tapped her lipstick back into place. “Oh, come on. It’s fun to catch up, to play around a bit.” She assured, given Pat’s resistance to share her sense of humor. “Tom and I are reminiscing, having a good time. You can handle Mike for a while.”
Pat’s heart pounded. “I don’t want to handle Mike,” he said, his voice louder than he intended. He glanced nervously at the bathroom stalls, praying no one was inside to overhear them.
“And who do you want to handle then?” Judy asked, feigning innocence. "Because I'm warning you, sister, Tom is all mine." She held the warning a bit too long, threatening Pat with the opposite of her makeup pencil, stifling a laugh as she leaned back against the counter, clearly amused by his distress.
“This isn’t funny, Judy,” Pat pleaded, recuperating Patti’s tone. “This—this stupid game never involved you seeing other men like this. I’m your husband. I’m supposed to be your husband.”
“You’re really making a scene over nothing,” she complained, with a dismissing flick of her fingers. “It’s just a drink. Mike seems nice, and he clearly likes you." She turned back to the mirror, carefully wiping a smudge of mascara from under her eye. "You should be flattered."
"Flattered?" Pat nearly choked on the word. "Flattered that some guy thinks I’m—" He paused, struggling to find the right words. "This is insane! I didn’t sign up for this."
Judy’s playful demeanor suddenly shifted, her eyes narrowing slightly. “No, you didn’t.” She held his gaze in the mirror, her face unreadable. “You don’t have to stay. But just so you know..." She tapped her purse, producing a metallic jingle from within. "I’ve got the keys to the car and the house right here. So unless you feel like walking home and waiting for me on the porch all night, I suggest you play along, sister. I mean, cousin."
Defeated, Pat slumped his shoulders and let out a resigned sigh. He had no choice but to follow her lead. Moving to stand beside her at the mirror, he grabbed the lipstick from his purse and began fixing his makeup, while Judy dabbed perfume on her wrists.
A few minutes later, they both emerged from the bathroom looking like two well-put-together women. Judy linked her arm through Pat’s, giving it a little squeeze as she led him back toward the booth. “Come along, Patti,” she teased, “We don’t want to keep the boys waiting too long, now do we?”
If it were up to him, he’d make those "boys" wait a lifetime before sitting down with them again, but with no power in the matter, Pat forced himself to follow her lead, their heels clicking against the floor as they returned to the restaurant-bar.
"Ah, there they are!" Tom said, signaling the waiter to come over. “I was starting to think you’d gotten lost.”
“Nope, just freshening up,” Judy replied breezily, sliding into the booth next to Tom. She motioned for Pat to sit next to Mike. “You know how us ladies are, right?”
The cozy booth seemed smaller now that they had rejoined the men. The drinks that had initially served as bait to catch his wife’s attention were ordered. While Tom and Mike decided to share a pitcher of domestic beer, the “ladies” were served a couple of sugary cocktails, their low alcohol content barely enough to dull the humiliation of watching his wife openly flirt with another man. At least the conversation was lively enough that no one expected him to participate much. Still, Mike’s lingering glances sent shivers down his spine every now and then.
The group spent much of the evening catching up, reminiscing about their shared past before diving into what they had been doing in recent years. Tom, as it turned out, had done well for himself, running a successful local gym franchise. Judy praised him with such exaggerated enthusiasm. No exaggeration was needed when she casually dropped a bombshell.
“Me?” Judy said with a casual wave of her hand when the attention turned to her. “Well, I got married about five years ago, but I’m currently separated.” She paused, savoring a sip of her drink before continuing, “Actually, Patti and I became roommates shortly after my separation, which, believe me, is a much better arrangement!”
The so-called “roommate” swallowed hard, feeling a mix of anger and embarrassment at how lightly she denied their relationship right to his face.
“Oh, sorry to hear that,” Tom said sympathetically, his hand finding Judy’s arm and lingering there a little too long for Pat’s liking. “But hey, I’m glad things are working out for you two girls.”
Pat forced a smile, his jaw clenched as Judy leaned in closer to Tom, resting her head on his shoulder. “Yeah, She’s so easy to live with, and we have so much fun together!” she said with exaggerated cheerfulness. “My dear cousin here is the perfect roommate. She handles everything—cooking, cleaning, organizing. You name it, she’s got it covered. Real housewife material.”
She winked at Mike, her gaze drifting her resentful husband, who was far from finding it as funny to have become the slave—correction, maid—of his own wife, let alone of this man in any future.
“Oh, and you know what else is great about living with her?” Judy continued, tilting her empty glass toward the waiter for a refill. “We both love shopping. Just like earlier today—she picked out the most adorable set at Victoria’s Secret. Didn’t you, sweetie?”
Pat’s face flushed a deep red, mortified. "Judy!" he hissed under his breath.
Judy dismissed his protest with a wave of her hand, laughing. “Oh, don’t be shy, Patti! I’m sure Tom and Mike aren’t interested in seeing your unmentionables."
Mike leaned in, his grin sly. “Well, not in the bag, at least.”
The table erupted in laughter, everyone but Pat joining in. He swallowed hard, forcing another bitter sip of his drink, the mere thought of wearing the skimpy lingerie for this Mike guy making his skin crawl.
As the conversation drifted on, Judy steered it toward recounting her supposedly ex husband's failures during their five years of marriage. She spoke with the ease of someone recounting a mildly amusing anecdote, not the litany of disappointments about her marriage that had clearly festered in her mind. She lamented his sedentary lifestyle, his lack of interest in sports, and his general softness, both with his students and in life.
"You like this little number she has on?" Judy wouldn’t stop, now giving the hem of Pat’s dress a teasing tug. “Well, that’s mine. One of the perks of living with Patti here is that we can share clothes—since we’re the same size and all.” she said with a flourish, holding up her glass as the waiter refilled it.
Pat could feel the weight of everyone’s attention pressing down on him, his cheeks burning as he tried to maintain a neutral expression. Judy, however, wasn’t about to let him off the hook. She was just getting started.
“You know,” she added, her gaze fixed on her husband, “I used to borrow Pat’s shirts now and then, but nothing beats slipping into a tight dress that hugs all the right curves. Isn’t that right, Patti?” She raised an eyebrow, clearly daring him to play along.
Pat barely caught the cue, mumbling an agreement as convincingly as his embarrassment allowed. “But I guess that’s something you boys will never experience,” she quipped, waving a hand at Tom and Mike as taking a leisurely sip of her freshly refilled drink. “I mean, I could never borrow a blouse or a pair of pantyhose from my husband, now, could I?”
Tom chuckled at the thought. “He wouldn’t be much of a husband if you could borrow those things from him, now would he?”
Judy laughed along with him, placing her hand on his. “No, he wouldn’t be much of a husband—or much of a man—if he was prancing around in women’s clothing,” she declared, bursting into a loud laugh.
“Could you imagine,” she asked her husband between chuckles, “Pat strutting around in a dress and pantyhose?”
The table erupted in laughter again—everyone except Pat, who forced a strained smile, draining the rest of his drink in one long gulp. It took every ounce of his self-control to play along, especially when Judy’s words felt like a dagger twisting in the wound she had so expertly opened.
“Oh, Judy, never. That would be hilarious, though,” Pat said, his voice trembling with forced humor. “Especially with those hairy legs of his.” Under the table, he crossed his freshly shaved legs.
It was painfully obvious to everyone present, including the waiter discreetly dropping off the check, that Tom’s interest in Judy had skyrocketed the moment she casually mentioned her supposed single status. The last round of drinks had emboldened him, and as they stood to leave the restaurant, Tom smoothly sidled up next to her, his hand slipping around her waist as they walked toward the car.
“So, Judy,” Tom began, his fingers lingering just a little too long on her hip, “what do you say? How about you and I grab dinner sometime?”
“Oh, Tom,” Judy replied with feigned surprise, though the subtle way she leaned into his touch suggested otherwise. “I’m flattered, really. But I’m not sure I can. I wouldn’t want to leave my cousin all alone at home.” She glanced sideways at Pat, who stood awkwardly a few steps behind them.
Tom still pressed, leaning closer. “Well, how about a double date then? Patti can join us. Mike, you’re in, right?”
“Absolutely!” Mike grinned broadly before Pat could muster any objection. He beamed at Pat. “Sounds like a blast!”
The so-called "cousin," could almost hear the quickening thud of his own heartbeat beneath the silicone breast forms strapped to his chest. His stomach churned under the rose-patterned fabric of his dress, and it wasn’t from the sugary cocktails they’d indulged, but rather from the sheer horror of what was being suggested. The thought of spending an entire evening as “Patti” on a double date with Judy, her ex-boyfriend, and Mike—who seemed a bit too eager—was unbearable.
Every instinct screamed at Pat to protest, to stop this insane charade before it went any further. But, as always, what choice did he really have? The decision wasn’t his to make. Judy sealed it with a bright smile before he could utter a word.
“Perfect!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “Let’s make it Friday night, then.”
With that, the night drew to a close. Ever the gentleman, Tom closed the trunk of their car with the effortless strength only a man could provide. Meanwhile, Pat—despite being a man himself—was relegated to the role of a damsel, allowing the guys to assist with the mountain of shopping bags filled with women’s clothing. Clothes that, humiliatingly, were now his.
The bittersweet taste of the cocktail lingered on his tongue as he swallowed hard, watching his wife laugh and share little jokes with a man he’d never even heard of until tonight, their excitement palpable as she and Tom finalized the details for their upcoming date.
Pat shifted uneasily, the silk kerchief Judy had tied around his neck earlier in the day tightening uncomfortably against his throat. She had promised him he’d feel "fabulous" by the end of the day. In this moment, though, fabulous was the last word he would use to describe his current state of mind. Humiliated, emasculated, and utterly defeated were more fitting.
Forcing out another strained chuckle at one of Mike’s cringe-worthy puns, Pat stole a glance at Judy sliding effortlessly into the driver’s seat. Her casual ease, as if she hadn’t just orchestrated the most mortifying evening of his life, sent a wave of resentment surging through him. When she caught his eye and giggled, the sound was like nails on a chalkboard.
But his bubbling rage was interrupted when Mike leaned in, feeling the liberty to plant a soft kiss on his cheek. The gesture sent a wave of nausea down Pat’s spine. He stood frozen, rooted to the spot, counting the agonizing seconds until it would be acceptable to pull away without seeming rude.
“See you soon, Patti,” the daring man called, before finally sauntering off with colleague, both men undoubtedly basking in the glow of their respective conquests.
Touching his recently kissed cheek, the absurdity of it all hit finally Pat like a ton of bricks. The humiliation. The helplessness. The sheer ridiculousness of being reduced to a prop in Judy’s twisted little game.
Marks of his long red hails were left along the rabbit hole he had been dragged into by the superior force of Judy where he was no longer her husband, but a mere wingman—or rather, a wingwoman—supporting her shameless attempts to catch another man’s attention.
After a few sputtering coughs, the engine finally roared to life, and with it, Judy’s teasing resumed. “Well, that was fun, wasn’t it?” she asked, glancing at Pat with a grin that bordered on mischievous.
“Fun?” Pat echoed, his voice barely a whisper before his anger erupted. “You call that fun?” He growled, fists clenching in his lap. “Pretending we’re separated so you can flirt with that Tom guy right in front of me? Do you even have a shred of respect left for our marriage?”
Judy, unfazed, let a bemused smile curl her lips. She laughed—a fit of carefree giggles that only made Pat’s fury burn hotter. “Oh, honey,” she gasped between chuckles, “you’re so helpless.”
“You must’ve been terrified when those men approached, weren’t you?” she continued, wiping a tear from her eye. “But you handled it like a champ. You played the perfect lady.” She reached over and pinched his cheek. “I’m so proud of you, Patti. My little girl’s all grown up!”
Pat sat rigidly in his seat, gripping at the edge of his skirt—her skirt—as the engine gave another small hiccup. “I—I’m serious, Judy,” he stammered, his gaze darting toward her.
“Oh, I’m sure you are,” she replied flippantly, eyes fixed on the road ahead.
“You humiliated me!” Pat’s voice cracked as it rose again. “You paraded me around like some kind of—of pet! Do you have any idea how degrading this is? I’m still your husband, in case you’ve forgotten!”
Judy snorted, barely suppressing a laugh. “Oh, sweetheart,” she said, “anyone would forget that, seeing you in that sexy little dress.”
Pat’s cheeks burned with shame. “I didn’t sign up for this!” he snapped. “I’m not your pawn so you can play the field with other men!”
“Let’s get one thing straight,” Judy interrupted, glancing at the traffic ahead as she searched for an exit. “You did agree to this. I didn’t force you to do anything.”
“You’ve been threatening to expose me all day!” Pat shot back.
"Okay, sure," Judy admitted with a shrug, "I may have… encouraged you, but did I physically force you to come? Did I drag you from the car to try on each of your brand-new dresses?" She paused, letting the question linger before delivering the punchline. “Believe me, I could’ve. But you chose to play along. You chose to smile and bat your lashes for those men who would never believe what’s hidden beneath that skirt.”
She scoffed. “I mean, did I ever care to introduce you as my cousin instead of my maid? Or even my husband at that? That’s how much I respect you.”
Pat’s breath caught in his throat, his anger mingling with a deep-seated fear.
“And what exactly are you so pissed about? Huh?” Judy continued, given the absence of a response. “That you’re being treated to a romantic dinner you don’t even have to pay for? Oh, boo-hoo. Poor baby,” she mocked, adopting a whiny tone. “You signed up for this the second you let me zip you into that dress.”
“I may have agreed to be your maid,” Pat admitted, his voice barely audible now. “And God knows you’ve squeezed every moment of it dry. But what I won’t stand for is your attempts to cheat on me.”
Judy’s laughter bubbled up again. “I mean, it’s not really cheating when you’re fully aware of it, is it?” She asked mockingly, raising an eyebrow.
That was it. Pat felt his last thread of patience snap, his self-control unraveling. “I’m your husband, damn it!” he roared. “And you’re making a fool of me—right in front of my face! This isn’t some playful game anymore, Judy—this is you crossing the line, and I won’t stand for it! I’m done!”
Without hesitation, Pat reached up and yanked the silver earrings from his ears, tossing them onto the dashboard with a sharp clink. His hands flew to his head, ripping off the wig, which landed next to the gearshift in a frizzy heap. “I’m not your damn doll to play with anymore!” he shouted. “That date will never happen!”
The red glow of the traffic light washed over the windshield, highlighting the tension in Pat’s clenched jaw and the momentarily surprise in Judy’s eyes. She leaned back in her seat, arms folded, watching him struggle with what was left of his dignity. He looked ridiculous—his short, masculine haircut clashed violently with the flawless makeup covering his face. His long, fake lashes drooped as he stared numbly ahead, and the shameful sight of the seatbelt slashing between his artificially enhanced breasts.
“Oh, Patti dearest…” She leaned toward him, her elbow propped against the center console, and plucked the curly wig from where it had fallen to the floor. “I know this must be a lot for your little head to handle,” she teased, her hand reaching out to stroke his cheek. “But you don’t have to worry, sweetie. You know why?” Her tone turned playful, almost sing-song, as she forced his face toward hers. “—Because you don’t get a say in this, darling.”
There was a moment—a fleeting second—where Pat nearly smirked, comforted by the familiar touch. But reality hit him hard again as he heard the unmistakable click of the passenger door unlocking.
“Judy… what are you doing?” he whispered, fear tightening in his throat.
Judy didn’t answer. Instead, she leaned across him, her hand shoving the door open with a sharp push. The married couple promptly recreated the scene from the cottage, as Judy grabbed his arm, twisting it behind his back with an ease that sent a sharp jolt of pain shot up his spine, forcing a gasp from his lips.
“What’s wrong, baby?” Judy cooed, her tone syrupy with mock concern. Her grip only tightened as she pulled him closer to the open door. “You seemed so moody I just thought you could use a little fresh air. It’s such a beautiful night, don’t you think?”
Pat winced as the strands of his wigless forehead flutter in the cool breeze. It was late—probably around 11 p.m.—and the cars lined up behind them at the intersection. The flickering pedestrian light blinked to its end, its accelerating rhythm synchronizing with the pounding in his enhanced chest.
“Stop it!” Pat tried to pull his arm free, but Judy’s grip was ironclad. “Don’t do this… not here, not like this.” He rasped, his voice cracking under the weight of fear, actual fear. Judy’s smirk grew wider as she glanced at the green light now glowing at the intersection, ignoring the honking cars behind them.
"This is your chance to show me how much of a man you are, Pat,” Judy taunted, deliberately using his male name for the first time in weeks. Her free hand twisted the key in the ignition, and the engine rumbled to life without a hitch. Even the car seemed to mock him, deciding this was the perfect moment to function flawlessly.
“I’m sure no man would ever be caught dead stepping out in public wearing a little dress like that,” she continued, catching a glimpse of his bent panty-clad rear. “You’d be the manliest of them all!”
His eyes darted toward the side mirror, catching a glimpse of himself. Objects in the mirror may not appear as convincingly feminine as they used to.
His throat tightened as the reality of the situation hit him full force. His reflection stared back at him—lips painted red, mascara running slightly from his teary eyes, his short-cropped hair and his once carefully crafted look now falling apart at the seams. “Please, Judy,” he practically begged. “Don’t make me do this… don’t leave me here, dressed like this.”
“Those are your clothes, Pat,” she declared, cold and distant from inside the vehicle. “Technically mine, but those are the kind of clothes you belong in. This is who you are now. Whether you like it or not.”
The cars behind them blared their horns in unison, the drivers growing impatient with the stalled vehicle in front of them. But Judy remained calm, her focus entirely on the trembling man beside her.
“Judith, stop!” Pat pleaded, his voice edging dangerously close to hysteria. “This isn’t funny!”
“It is for me,” she shot back, her grip unrelenting.
Pat’s gaze darted toward the street, the horrifying reality of what was about to happen crashing over him like a tidal wave. This wasn’t just a cruel prank anymore—this was something far worse. The rumbling engines and honks from behind them were the soundtrack to his worst nightmare as Judy readied herself to push him out of the car and into the humiliating spotlight, her grip threatening to break his arm rather than his leg.
His mind raced, trying to think of a way out, but every option seemed impossible. Even in the midst of all this chaos, Judy was still careful not to ruin his freshly manicured nails. The role of "Patti" wasn’t just a disguise anymore—it was a prison, and Judy held the keys.
“I can’t,” Pat cried, in a low, breaking tone. “I can’t do this, Judy. Please…” His words trailed off, drowned out by the shrill beeping of the open-door alarm.
“Shhh… shhh… shh…” Judy cooed calmly, patting his back. "That’s your male pride talking. Knock it off. You won’t be needing that anymore."
Pat felt his knees begin to slide across the seat, his high heels catching on the edge of the door frame as he was pulled closer to the brink. “I can’t make people do things, Pat,” Judy’s words darkened, now thick with sadistic delight, “You have a choice to do this and I have a choice if you don’t.”
Rivers of dark mascara-stained tears streamed down Pat’s rosy cheeks as he choked back sobs, struggling to summon the voice that could deliver the words she wanted to hear. He took one last, deep breath—the longest sigh he had ever taken in their marriage—and let out a defeated whisper.
"Alright, Judy," he finally murmured. "You win... I’ll go on that date..."
The fresh breeze from the city air stopped abruptly as Judy, completely satisfied, tugged him back into the car with a sharp tug. The honking diminished as they sped away, disappearing into the darkness of the night, replaced by the echoes of Pat’s self-imposed sentence, and the realization that this nightmare was far from over.
VI
The rest of the week ticked by like a countdown, each day slipping away faster than the last. Pat had been on double dates with Judy before—plenty of times. They’d dined with fellow professors or joined Judy’s sister and her husband for casual catch-ups. But back then, it had always been the norm for Judy and Pat to show up as a couple. Friday night, however, promised to obliterate that norm.
Tom and Mike had no idea what they were walking into, but Pat did. And so did Judy. In fact, she seemed almost too excited about it, her eagerness to attend this particular outing borderline alarming.
By Tuesday morning, Judy was practically floating through the house. There was a lightness to her, a bounce in her step that hadn’t been there in years. She hummed a playful tune, her hips swaying to a rhythm only she could hear. Gliding into the kitchen, she danced around Pat as he tried to mop the floor, brushing against him in teasing little ways that sent the hem of his dress swishing with every pass.
The upcoming double date had put her in an unusually sweet mood—sweeter than she had been in a long time, ever since the balance of power in their marriage had shifted.
If Judy was riding high, Pat was sinking fast. The casual run-in he had barely survived now felt like a prelude to the ordeal that awaited at the end of the week. A romantic dinner with two men—one for Judy, one for him. All the effort he and his wife had put into his transformation had to pay off in what promised to be the ultimate test of his newfound femininity, regardless of how much he despised it. He didn’t just have to look like a woman—he had to be a woman. And worse, he had to act like one open to the idea of romance.
Three days. That was all the time Pat had left to prepare for this ordeal. Physically, at least, the transformation was complete—there was no denying that.
He saw it as he stood in front of the mirror on Wednesday night, carefully removing his makeup before applying an avocado mask. The features staring back at him were hardly those of a man anymore. His cheekbones had softened, his eyebrows were expertly shaped, and his lips looked fuller, swollen from the constant application of gloss and liner.
Even his body betrayed him. Stepping out of the shower, he couldn’t ignore how his hips swayed naturally or how his posture had adjusted, instinctively pushing his chest forward even when he wasn’t wearing those loathed mamas. The outward transformation had taken root, but it was the internal shift that frightened him most.
His mind still clung desperately to the last remnants of his manhood, but with every passing day, it was being forced to adapt. Judy’s watchful eye ensured that even his mounting anxiety was subdued—helped along by the “relaxing” pills she lovingly handed him to stay calm.
By Thursday morning, Pat was already deep into the exhausting routine of trying on every possible combination of skirts, blouses, heels, and accessories that Judy had laid out. Each outfit was carefully examined, only to be dismissed with her exasperated sighs and frustrated shakes of her head. After what felt like hours of wrestling with zippers, buttons, and garter belts, Judy finally lifted him from his duties—declaring that the only solution was another shopping trip.
But this trip felt different from the other, even before they arrived. There was no leisurely browsing, no hunt for everyday clothes. As they stepped into a high-end boutique downtown, Pat knew what Judy had in mind. She was after something bold, something unforgettable—an outfit that would turn every head in the restaurant, especially those of Tom and Mike.
“What do you think of this one, Patti?” Judy called from behind a curtain, stepping out in a little black dress.
He blinked, momentarily stunned. For years, Judy had favored a casual, tomboyish style. She lived in hoodies, sneakers, and jeans. But this dress—it was the opposite of everything he had ever seen her wear. The fabric clung to her body like a second skin, hugging her figure in ways that made Pat uncomfortable for reasons he couldn’t quite put into words. The hem was scandalously short, her long legs on full display, and the neckline dipped just low enough to hint at her cleavage without being overtly vulgar.
“Too much?” she asked, flashing a knowing smirk as she spun around, the hem of the dress lifting just slightly, teasing him.
“N-no, it’s just…” Pat stammered, the words stumbling out awkwardly. “I’ve never seen you wear something like that.”
She smiled, clearly amused by his reaction. “Well, darling, I think Friday night should be one to remember. Don’t you?” Turning to the mirror, she ran a hand along the fabric. “Besides, I’m not the only one who needs to look the part.”
Pat swallowed hard, the implication of her words settling in. If Judy was dressing like this, what would she expect from him?
This wasn’t just about looking good for dinner. No, this was about Judy showing off—to Tom, to Mike, and maybe even to him. Pat’s mind drifted back to their first date all those years ago. He remembered the nerves, the way his words had tangled on the way out, how desperately he’d tried to impress her. If only she showed even half that enthusiasm for him now, maybe he wouldn’t feel so lost, so desperate. But Judy had never gone this far for him—not back then, and certainly not now.
That first date felt like a lifetime ago. Back then, he’d worn an ill-fitting black suit—something dug out from the back of a closet, likely borrowed from a relative. His patent leather shoes were a size too big, and the tie he’d bought just for the occasion was wrinkled from his anxious fumbling. He had been a mess, sure, but at least he’d been himself. Now, standing under the harsh fluorescent lights of the boutique, he felt like a mannequin, parading around in dress after dress, each skimpier than the last, all at Judy’s command.
Five years ago, he’d been choking on the knot of his tie. Now, there was more than enough room to breathe, thanks to the plunging necklines from Judy’s selections. The tailored black pants had been replaced by nothing at all, as those skirts were so short they barely reached the tops of his thighs. Each outfit was more revealing than the last, designed to flaunt every curve he wished he didn’t have.
Back then, despite his awkwardness, he’d gone home feeling like he’d made an impression on Judy. Tonight, after hours of being poked and prodded, he returned as the not-so-proud new owner of a ruched, mesh bodycon dress—one that he would be expected to wear in less than twenty-four hours.
The day of the date arrived, and Judy wasted no time dragging Pat out of the house. He barely managed to gulp down his breakfast before she was pushing him into the car, her excitement palpable as they headed to the salon for a full day of beauty treatments. The staff had apparently cleared their schedules for this moment, as if the entire universe had conspired to help Judy push him further down the path of forced feminization.
There was a time not long ago when he would have been mortified to even set foot in such a place, let alone sit through the hours of pampering. Now, however, Pat felt a sense of relief as he settled into the salon chair, knowing the calm that preceded the storm awaiting him that night.
As the manicurist finished his French tips, Judy removed the wig from his head and brushed aside his concerns with a casual wave. To his dismay, none of the other patrons seemed to notice—or care—that there was a man beneath all the makeup. The salon staff worked on him as if he were just another woman in need of a little beautification.
After his little tantrum in the car, Judy had decided it was time for Pat to fully embrace the role, and that meant no more shortcuts or half-measures. His natural brunette hair had grown out sufficiently to allow the stylists to work their magic. Aluminum foil crinkled around his head as they applied hair dye, strands of his hair meticulously wrapped up in plastic tubes before being placed under a machine that felt designed to brainwash any remaining vestiges of masculinity, though it only managed to increase his temperature, leaving an echo of buzzing on his toasty scalp.
When he finally emerged from the establishment, his appearance radiated a femininity so complete that it felt as though it seeped from his very pores. Linked arm-in-arm with Judy, who looked equally stunning, he resembled a perfect reflection of her—two elegant women stepping out into the evening light.
At 7:27 p.m., they finally returned home. Judy wasted no time disappearing into the bedroom, eager to add the finishing touches to her appearance. Meanwhile, Pat was left to iron their respective outfits for the evening. His fingers fumbled with the iron, daydreaming about scorching it or tearing it up—accidentally, of course. Anything to keep Judy from seeing Tom tonight.
He knew better than to try and ruin the night she had been anticipating all week, which tragically included his own attendance. Certainly, Tom would be far less inclined to go on a date with Judy if he knew her husband would be present, even if Judy had gone to great lengths to ensure Pat looked anything but her spouse.
She may have had her grievances about their marriage, and truthfully, Pat had his own. He wasn’t particularly fond of her insistence on turning him into a woman; but forcing him to sit front and center while she paraded herself in front of another man—making him not only witness but actively participate in her betrayal—all while being matched with his own “date” was a cruelty he hadn’t anticipated.
Mike, Judy’s choice for him, seemed decent enough—someone Pat might’ve shared a beer with under different circumstances. He was tall, confident, the kind of guy women naturally gravitated toward. But tonight, as he smoothed the wrinkles from his gown and thought about what awaited him, one glaring truth burned in his mind:
He wasn’t a woman. No matter how Judy dressed him, no matter how much makeup they applied, Pat was still a man. At least, that’s what he kept telling himself.
Judy, now more matchmaker than partner, descended into the living room, her perfume announcing her arrival before Pat even noticed her. A heavy silence hung between them at first, broken only by the faint rustle of her dress as she adjusted it with a self-satisfied smile.
“Where do you think the guys are taking us tonight?” she asked finally, her fingers gliding over the smooth silk of her outfit. “Remember that elegant place we went ages ago?”
“It was two years ago, Judy,” Pat clarified, setting the iron down with a thud. “And it was our anniversary, in case you forgot.”
"Oh, right," she complied absentmindedly. A playful smile danced across her lips as she glanced down at the short hem of her dress. “I guess these little numbers wouldn’t exactly fit the dress code anyway,” she giggled, giving a quick twirl that sent her skirt flaring out around her thighs. “But wherever they take us, I hope there’s a dance floor. Feels like I haven’t danced in forever.” She spun gracefully, teasing him with the image of her enjoying the night.
Pat’s stomach knotted, a heavy sense of dread twisting inside him. The mere thought of Judy—his Judy—swaying in another man’s arms, her laughter ringing out as they spun together, made him nauseous. But it wasn’t just that. The helplessness of knowing he’d be there too, awkwardly paired with a man himself, was almost worse.
“What about you, Patti?” Judy’s voice broke through his spiraling thoughts. “Feel like dancing tonight?”
Pat swallowed hard, barely able to meet her gaze. “Not really,” he muttered, just loud enough for her to hear.
“Well,” she said, straightening a wrinkle from his own dress, “you can dance if you want to. Or maybe just chat with Mike. Either way, you’ll be a good little date for him and let me have my fun, won’t you?”
“I-I… I can’t, Judy,” he blurted out, gripping the ironing board for support. “I can’t let you do this. I feel like I’m going to faint.”
At this, Judy let out a little laugh, stepping into his space. “Well, lucky for you,” she purred, her lips curving into a sly smile, “you’ll have a strong man’s arms to catch you.” She chuckled again, her amusement deepening as she caught the flash of panic in his eyes. “Relax, Patti. It’ll be good for both of us.”
“What’s good about going out on a date with you and two guys?” Pat’s voice cracked as he threw his hands up in frustration. “There’s no way I should be going out tonight dressed like—like this!” He gestured at the skimpy outfit she’d insisted he wear. “You can go if you want—I’m not going to stop you—but please, don’t make me go.”
“Aww, Patti,” she cooed, pouting theatrically. “You know I can’t do that. What would the guys think if I showed up alone? They’re expecting two ladies tonight. They’re expecting us.”
Pat clenched his fists, frustration bubbling up inside him. “But I’m no lady, dammit! You can’t expect me to—”
“Oh, but I do,” she interrupted, stepping in closer. Her gaze turned sharp as she traced a finger along his jawline. “I expect you to play your part, Patti.”
“I… I can’t…”
“You can,” Judy corrected, as she tilted his face toward hers. “And you will.”
She began circling him slowly, her fingertips trailing lightly across his shoulders, down his arms, and resting briefly on his waist. “I know this might be a little… difficult for you,” she acknowledged, her lips brushing against his ear as she leaned in from behind. “Thinking this is about losing who you are—about being ‘less of a man.’” A soft, knowing chuckle escaped her lips, sending a shiver down his spine. “But it’s not. It’s about being ‘more of a woman.’”
Her hands slid down to his hips, pulling him close until he could feel the warmth of her body against his. “You’re almost there,” she murmured. “You’ve been dressed like a woman from head to toe for weeks now, doing the chores I used to handle, like a good little wife.” Her eyes roaming over the spotless room.
"Not many men could boast about how well you’ve learned to apply your own makeup, not that they’d want to." She smiled knowingly as Pat’s cheeks flushed red, his eyes darting away from hers. “Earlier, you went to a beauty salon, hardly a common place for men to gather, and had your hair and nails done, just like a woman does." She ran her fingers along his freshly polished nails, "What’s one dinner with a couple of guys compared to everything you’ve already done?"
Pat opened his mouth to protest, but his words failed him. She was right—infuriatingly, maddeningly right. Step by step, she had pushed him, and step by step, he had complied.
“Should I remind you,” Judy added, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead, “that all that pampering today was to catch the attention of one of your own kind—a man?”
“That was your idea!” Pat cried out.
“Maybe it was,” she conceded, leaning on his shoulder. “But you went along with it. You could’ve said no at any point—but you didn’t. You’ve taken every step, Patti, and now, here we are.”
She leaned in further, brushing her lips against his cheek and leaving a faint smear of lipstick behind. “You walk like a woman, you hold yourself like a woman…” She trailed off, planting a soft kiss on his other cheek. “And tonight, you’ll be treated like one.”
Pat’s breath hitched as her hand drifted lower, grazing the curve of his hip under the delicate fabric of his dress. “Let me paint you a picture,” she murmured, smooth and deliberate. “You’ll step out of this house, heels clicking against the pavement, head held high. You’ll be on the arm of a man who won’t be able to take his eyes off you.”
“He’ll pull out your chair, pour you a glass of wine, hang on every word you say. You’ll smile, laugh, and do whatever it takes to keep him interested."
Her smile turned wicked as she continued, her breath warm against his neck. “And at the end of the night, he’ll lean in and whisper in your ear just how beautiful you are. Maybe… if you’re lucky… he’ll even steal a kiss.”
“N-no, that’s not happening,” Pat stammered, jerking away from her touch, though his trembling legs failed to back up the defiance in his tone.
Judy’s expression darkened, her playful smirk replaced with steely determination. “Or,” she said, her fingers brushing against the hem of his skirt, moving lower until she cupped his entire manhood firmly, “I’ll make sure everyone in that restaurant knows exactly what you’re hiding under this pretty little outfit.”
Pat’s heart stopped, hitched by the touch. There wasn’t any real choice—not if he wanted to preserve what little dignity he had left. Judy had made her expectations clear. He was going, with or without his compliance.
Satisfied, Judy released him, letting her hand trail away slowly as she turned to retrieve her attire and moved toward the stairs. “It’s up to you,” she said with a faintly mocking smile. “But don’t worry, dear husband,” she called over her shoulder, a wicked glint in her eyes, “I’ll be right there beside you—with my very own man.”
Pat watched Judy disappear into the confines of their bedroom, the door clicking shut behind her. He lingered in the hallway, staring at the door as though it might offer answers to the whirlwind of thoughts swirling in his mind. A sigh escaped his lips, deep, as much as the tightness of his current outfit would allow, and resigned himself to his fate. With slow, deliberate steps, Pat made his way to the room that had long since lost the tag of 'guest'.
Tonight was going to be his first official date as a “single woman,” even if he wasn’t single in the traditional sense. Sure, legally, he was still married, but emotionally? There was little left of the man who had said "I do" all those years ago. Pat could at least be certain of one thing—there wasn’t much about him that still resembled a man. Judy knew it, he knew it, and tonight, he could only hope that any remnants of masculinity still lingering within him would be overshadowed by his newly crafted femininity.
Stripping off his clothes, Pat stood bare before the mirror, studying his reflection. The weeks of transformation were all too clear, the evidence etched into every detail of his body. His waist had taken on an unnatural hourglass shape, his legs were smooth, hairless, and perfectly toned. His chest, once flat, was now home to a pair of full, round breasts that would soon be squeezed into the lingerie Judy had picked out earlier that week.
At the time, Pat had little expectation of wearing it anytime soon, if wearing it at all, not having a clue about the circumstances that would require such sexiness. Piece by piece, the rest of the set found its place along his body—the thong disappearing between his buttocks, the lace garter circling his torso snugly, and nude stockings that slid smoothly over his freshly moisturized thighs.
His eyes shifted toward the closet, where his outfit for the evening hung—a dress that could only be described as dangerously sexy. It was the kind of thing you’d expect a confident woman to wear when she wanted all eyes on her. Not on him. But Pat had learned over the time that his body could easily be shaped into the image of that woman.
No other piece of clothing he had worn over the past month compared to this bodycon dress. Even if he swore to never wear women’s clothes again after tonight, this getup would forever be burned into his memory, a painful reminder of how far things had gone.
He swallowed hard, trying to push down the rising tide of panic. With shaky hands, he stepped into the dress, tugging the hem down over his hips. It clung to every curve in all the right—and wrong—places, the skirt barely reaching the tops of his garters, and the thin straps sat delicately on his shoulders, doing their best to keep his breasts from spilling out of the low-cut neckline.
Pat ran his hands down the smooth fabric, unwillingly acknowledging just how well the dress fit him. Too tight in the chest, perhaps, but it more than made up for that with how it highlighted his legs, which looked undeniably stunning. He gave himself one final glance in the mirror and knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Mike—or any man in the restaurant, for that matter—would have no trouble noticing him tonight.
To seal the look, Pat clipped on a pair of silver earrings and fastened a necklace Judy had lent him for the occasion. Thanks to the extended efforts of the salon staff—courtesy of his ever-diligent wife, who had made sure everyone there knew about their double date—Pat’s hair and makeup were already flawless. All that was left was to grab a small leather purse and pack it with the essentials for touch-ups throughout the evening.
A soft cough slipped from his painted lips as he sprayed a light mist of perfume over his neck and wrists. But before the scent could fully settle, the unmistakable sound of a car pulling up outside stole the breath from his lungs.
Little time passed before the voice of his wife broke the suspense. “Patti, the guys are here!” Judy drifted up from the lobby, unmistakably cheerful.
It was time.
VII
Pat stood up, his stomach twisting with nerves as he made his way to the door. The mirror in his vanity reflected a fleeting image of a worried, yet beautiful woman—one who looked back at him as she shrank smaller and smaller, disappearing into the hallway.
By the time he reached the living room, he was already breathless. But his breath truly caught when he saw Judy being swept into the firm embrace of the man she had so eagerly anticipated. She looked stunning tonight—not that she wasn’t always beautiful, but her usual hoodies and yoga pants paled in comparison to the sleek black spaghetti-strap dress she now wore. The dress clung to her body like a second skin, revealing long, bare legs that were left on full display, waiting to be admired by the men around her.
But Pat didn’t have the luxury of joining in on that admiration. Not when he himself had undergone an even more drastic transformation. Not a single vestige was left of the nerdy professor, and from the cloud of dust emerged a specimen of femininity that instantly tore the attention from hers.
The carpet did nothing to muffle the sharp clack of heel as Pat descended to the living room, calling all the stares to direct at his pedicured foot, snug in the stiletto sandal, prompting a visual tour up his figure.
Nude hosiery stretched taut over a pair of shapely, sensuous legs, met its end at a short skirt that opened its way by dancing at the swaying of his hips. His attire was in the shade of red, very much the same as his cheeks when he caught Judy smirking at him, no doubt amused by the peek of garters showing beneath his hemline. The bodice clung tightly to a set of seemingly flawless, gravity-defying breasts that pushed against the plunging neckline, popping them out to say hi although insisting to stay longer than for a little greet.
The striking woman holding the men’s eyes captive wasn't just any woman. She was Judy’s husband—well, she used to be.
Judy had all but declared herself independent of their marriage the moment Mike stepped in to take over. The man wasted no time making his intentions clear, wrapping a strong arm around Pat's waist as though staking a claim.
The apparently new haircut prompted compliments from the men, whose hair was nearly as long yet not styled into a curly pixie as Pat’s was. Judy didn’t miss the chance to mention that her cousin had gotten the haircut especially for the occasion. Pat forced a smile in confirmation, though it felt more like a grimace, showing off the perfectly enhanced features his makeup had created.
His scarlet lips, meticulously lined with a slightly darker shade to give the illusion of fullness, stretched into a polite grin. The eyes—his eyes—met Mike’s, locking for a moment in an awkward, unspoken exchange. The look was long enough to make Pat’s pulse quicken, but not for the reasons it seemed to.
His lids were expertly shaded with smoky hues of black, charcoal, and silver, the outer corners darkened to make his blue eyes pop against the bold backdrop. Thick, curled lashes fluttered as he glanced away, his face flushed with a blush that wasn’t entirely the work of his makeup artist, but genuine blush of embarrassment ignited by the compliment on how pretty of a woman he made.
If only men knew beauty doesn’t just happen, although Pat surely made it look effortless.
“Right on time, guys,” Judy greeted warmly, practically glowing as she leaned into Mike’s counterpart, Tom.
It could have taken them ten years, and yet Pat would still be unable to face them holding any vestige of dignity. If wishes came true, he would have disappeared into the floor then and there. But only Judy’s seemed to carry weight tonight. She was radiant, confident, and completely at ease in the arms of her former—and now not-so-former—lover.
The night stretched wide and indifferent as they stepped outside. Pat tightened his grip on the strap of his purse, flinching slightly at the definitive click of the front door locking behind them. Funny what the mind clings to in times of crisis; as they walked down the driveway, following Judy and her former—no, not-so-former—lover, Pat’s only thought was how he’d forgotten to take out the trash earlier. As if there weren’t bigger things to worry about.
Tom announced he’d be driving, and the vehicle parked by the curb gave a sharp beep in response. Its sleek, two-door frame, shining in a flashy coat of green, surely looked far more inviting than the worn-out family sedan Pat had purchased over a decade ago. Tom slid into the driver’s seat, and Judy quickly assumed the place of copilot, reclining it just enough to make room for Mike and Pat to slide in the back.
The cramped space between Judy’s seat and the door posed another challenge for Pat, who maneuvered awkwardly in his dress and heels. Despite his best efforts, the hem of his skirt rode up, exposing smooth, stocking-clad thighs to Mike’s view. Pat tugged at the fabric, trying in vain to preserve some semblance of modesty.
To his credit, Mike looked away, though his lips twitched into a knowing smile. Thank God Judy hadn’t insisted on stockings alone—at least the garters offered a thin layer of silk and lace to shield him from total exposure.
How far he had fallen, Pat thought bitterly. He was now grateful for his wife’s permission to wear lingerie. The absurdity of it all churned in his head, barely registering as the engine roared to life.
“Aww, thanks for taking us out, guys,” Judy animatedly thanked the gentlemen during the drive. “I haven’t been out much since my separation from Pat.”
Tom offered her a welcoming smile. "Well, it’s about time. What about you, Patti?" he asked, catching Pat’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “Been getting out much?”
“I can’t say that I have,” Pat honestly answered.
Judy turned in her seat, flashing her husband a teasing smile. “Well, it’s nice to get all dressed up once in a while, isn’t it, Patti?”
Pat let out a high-pitched laugh that came out more like a squeak. “Yeah, it sure is,” he lied.
Mike chimed in, offering a smile to both women—well, to Judy and Pat. "I’ve got to say, you both look sensational. I’m glad we were able to do this."
Judy laughed. “Awe, thanks, Mike. You should’ve seen all the hard work Patti put into being presentable for you."
Hard work indeed—not just from him, but from Judy herself, who had invested considerable effort into transforming her mild-mannered husband into the picture-perfect lady sitting before them. She knew full well that none of this had been voluntary on Pat’s part, though, truthfully, it might not have been much different even if it had been. Pat looked divine as a lady, though he clearly despised it. From his long legs, which Mike seemed to use every bump in the road as an excuse to touch, to his Double-Ds threatening to spill from the tight dress with each bounce, the truth was glaring. Pat had turned out to be a far more convincing woman, even a reluctant one, than he had ever been as a man.
As the car sped through the city streets, a distant memory flashed through Judy’s mind just then, pulling her back to the first time they met. She had been touring the school’s facilities when they passed by one of Pat’s classes. He was up at the chalkboard, pointing at some messy scribbles, calling for the tenth time for his students to focus. When their eyes met, even then, he seemed gentle, soft—perhaps too soft to command a classroom, but Judy had given him a mental B+ for effort.
Their eyes crossed briefly, only for a crumpled ball of paper to hit him square in the temple, snapping him out of the moment. Now, in the car, she caught his resentful, smokey-eyed stare in the rearview mirror before she turned away, reaching for Tom’s hand, her fingers curling around his as she smiled sweetly, sharing a private moment with the man beside her.
The restaurant welcomed their arrival with its dim lighting casting a warm, intimate glow over the polished marble floors. Pat could feel himself detaching from his feminized body the moment they crossed the threshold, slipping out into a third-person perspective as if he were hovering near the ceiling, silently observing the first real date he’d been on in years—but not as himself. Not as Pat. He was watching “Patti.”
His consciousness drifted further, hovering near the chandeliers, watching the two couples walk in, hand in hand. The place was nice, definitely nicer than anything Pat could have afforded on his own, but it still had a youthful, trendy vibe. Marble cornerstones glistened under the soft, ambient lighting, and the air hummed with low conversations, clinking glasses, and the occasional laughter from nearby tables. The maître d’ led them to a table on the terrace, and Pat’s ghostly form followed, in awe of the restrained, fragile-looking woman below—the one who, shockingly, was him. It felt surreal—watching her walk through the door, heels clacking delicately against the floor, clinging to Mike's arm for support as they made their way upstairs.
It couldn’t be. That’s not me. Pat couldn't believe what he was seeing. She—or rather, he—needed constant assistance for even the simplest tasks—walking, sitting, adjusting herself in her seat. This Patti figure resembled more of a timid five-year-old playing dress-up than an adult woman, or man. Would she need a bib to eat, too? he wondered, half-jokingly. Probably not, but still, let herself be poured a glass of wine with the same docile grace expected of a dainty lady.
A stain of lipstick was left on the glass when she—when he—forced a smile for what felt like the fiftieth time that night, Mike, ever the gentleman, kept complimenting either her hair, her face, or her general appearance.
Thanks, it only cost me my dignity and my manhood, Pat thought bitterly, but the words never made it past his glossed lips, instead focusing on finding a piece of joy in the overpriced meal they were sharing, holding the silverware properly with long, manicured fingernails. Beneath the table, her silk-covered legs were neatly crossed, her high heels tapping lightly against the floor. If it was a social convention for the man to pick up the check tonight, Pat knew that particular responsibility had been lifted off his shoulders, paying instead with the show he was putting on for Mike, each time he caught him stealing a glance at his cleavage, and every time he pretended not to notice.
The terrace was picturesque, to say the least. The tables were warmly lit by elegant lamps scattered across the upper floor, casting soft glows over the greenery that surrounded them. Couples dotted the space, all seemingly engrossed in each other’s company. But among the romantic gestures and soft laughter, one red-stamped figure was enduring the most humiliating night of his life.
Judy, of course, was winning—again. Across the table, she was glowing, completely at ease in her flirty conversation with Tom. The way they laughed together, the way Tom’s hand would occasionally brush against hers, the way Judy leaned in closer to him as if they were already in sync. It was like Pat wasn’t even there. And, in a way, he wasn’t. Every few minutes, Tom would lean in to whisper something that made Judy giggle every time.
"Remember that time we snuck into the pool after graduation?" Judy teased, nudging Tom playfully. "I swore you wouldn’t dare, but you did. There you were, trembling from the cold!"
Tom grinned and raised his glass. "Hey, what can I say? I wasn’t about to pass up the chance to see you in that lingerie," he replied with a wink.
Pat forced himself to turn away from them and face Mike, who smiled kindly at him—at her—clearly making an effort to keep the night light and enjoyable. None of this night was near to cause such an effect on him though, as much as he was sorry for his too-eager-to-please partner.
Mike was talking—something about his job, or maybe a recent trip to Italy—but Pat wasn’t really paying attention. His date, for all his good qualities, wasn’t bad company. He was charming, well-educated, and pleasant enough to share a glass of wine with, yet not appealing enough to spark any interest in an impossible relationship. By august, that woman he couldn’t take his eyes off would be gone for the best and surely with no desire to come back.
“That sounds... really nice, Mike,” Pat murmured, his voice polite, though hollow with indifference. “Must’ve been... relaxing.”
"It was amazing," Mike replied, slouching on the chair. "You should come with me sometime. They have this beautiful vineyard overlooking the sea. You’d love it."
I would? Pat thought bitterly. Or would Patti?
A brief smile played on Pat's lips as his mind began to wander. He giggled unexpectedly at the absurd thought that popped into his head—him and Mike, hand in hand, parading as a couple at the annual high school reunion.
He could already picture himself walking down the familiar hallways in a three-quarter sleeved sleek, black dress, a clear statement that would signal his change of looks since last year. Over it, maybe a full-length, light brown peacoat, to hide his broad shoulders and perfect for the biting winter air. His high-heeled boots echoing against the gym floor as they strolled past the basketball courts, fingers intertwined, introducing Mike as his boyfriend to former colleagues.
He envisioned Claire from History and Natural Sciences standing speechless, her jaw dropped as she tried to process the sight of Pat—of Patti—feeding Mike appetizers, while Sarah, the librarian, burned with envy at seeing him with such a charming man. Mike would retreat from the girl talk to the smoke pit with George and Ben from Math and Physics, both sarcastically complimenting him on his taste in “women.”
To cap it all off, Pat saw himself gliding over to the punch bowl, ladling drinks for everyone when the PE teacher barged in, gasping as she snatched the cup from his hand to swallow it in a gulp, barely acknowledging him before returning to an impromptu one-on-one basketball match with her current husband, Tom.
A small cough bubbled up in Pat’s throat, muffling it against his wine glass.
“You okay?” Mike asked, truly concerned.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, I’m just...” Pat mumbled, accidentally letting a grave tone slip into his stuttering.
Mike’s eyes narrowed as he leaned in closer, noticing Pat’s nervous fidgeting. “You sure? You seem a little... tense.” His gaze dropped to Pat’s lap, where a dark stain was spreading across the fabric of his skirt. Pat jolted to his feet, frantically dabbing at the wine stain, only succeeding in smearing it further.
“It’s just a dress. Don’t stress,” Mike said gently, reaching out to help, but Pat grew visibly more anxious. “I said I’m fine!” Pat snapped, pulling away as Mike’s hand hovered, caught off guard by his date’s sudden shift in mood.
But it was more than a dress—it was the last cornerstone holding his marriage together. His role as a husband, and of course, as a man, rested entirely on the strength of his appearance, however fragile it felt.
The restaurant fell silent as heads turned toward their table. Pat’s face flushed as he realized the entire terrace was now staring at him—at her.
Across the table, Judy’s eyes shot toward him, her irritation clear. She didn’t look shocked by his outburst, but she was definitely pissed. “Patti...” she began, her voice low and steady, an attempt to mask the rising tension. "You need to govern yourself, sweetie. We ladies know how to restrain ourselves, don’t we?"
Pat’s breath hitched, the panic swelling inside him until it felt like he couldn’t breathe. “I can’t, Judy,” he gasped, trembling in his tone. “I told you—I can’t.”
An uncomfortable silence fell over the table, the weight of his admission hanging heavy in the air. Mike shifted in his seat, clearing his throat in an attempt to ease the tension. “Maybe it’s a good time to wrap things up,” he suggested, glancing around the table.
“No, no! We’re having fun,” Judy's voice rang out, her eyes darting to Tom for support. “We don’t need to leave, right, Tom? We’re all having a good time!"
Tom hesitated but nodded slowly. “Uh... yeah, I mean... it’s getting late anyway,” he mumbled, clearly siding with Mike but not wanting to offend Judy.
Judy let out a pained sound, almost a whimper, as if her perfect evening were slipping away. She stood abruptly, moving behind Pat and gripping his shoulders, her nails digging in just enough to make him wince. "Patti’s just... nervous," she insisted, forcing a smile as she stared daggers at her husband. "Right, sweetie?"
"I... I don’t know, I just—" he stammered.
Mike sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Honestly, I don’t think we were really clicking anyway," he admitted, glancing between Judy and Pat with an apologetic shrug.
"Awe, c’mon, you two are perfect for each other!” Judy dismissed with a wave of her hand. “It’s just a little wine on her dress. You know how we ladies get!"
Turning back to Pat, her expression hardened again. "Here’s what’s going to happen," she said firmly. "You’re going to go to the ladies' room, and I’ll join you in a minute with some peroxide to help clean you up. Okay?"
"I... I don’t think—"
“Go,” she murmured, darkening as her eyes flashed with something almost demonic. Her hand tightened on Pat’s arm, letting him know she wasn’t interested in what he thought. With one last look at Mike and Tom—both of whom were now carefully avoiding eye contact—Pat rose from the table, not yet aware of just how much this small misstep would end up costing him.
VIII
The ladies' room was a bustling hub of activity when Pat arrived, full of women touching up their makeup, chatting loudly, and laughing about their nights. Nobody seemed to notice him slip in. Two girls, likely in their early twenties, had just finished their touch-ups and were leaving the mirror when he approached. One of them paused, rummaging through her purse before producing a small, wrapped object and pressing it into his palm.
"Here," she offered gently. "The machine spat out two, and I only need one."
Pat blinked, staring down at the little item in his hand before realizing what she’d just handed him—a tampon. Funny enough, Pat forced a polite smile in return. "Thanks," he muttered quietly, though the absurdity of it all hit him immediately. He wasn’t in "that time of the month". In fact, he never would be. He was a man—a married man at that—and all he wanted to do was shout after those girls, tell them never to put their husbands through the same kind of twisted hell his wife was dragging him through.
“Just in case you need it,” the stranger chirped over her shoulder as she hurried out, her friend trailing behind. The rest followed, leaving him alone in the room with only his thoughts for company.
Pat let out a long sigh, tossing the tampon into his purse before turning to face the mirror, staring at the woman reflected there.
A stunning woman. That’s what anyone else would see—what those girls had seen. And as much as he hated to admit it, they weren’t entirely wrong. For a moment, even he had to do a double take, struggling to reconcile the vision in the glass with the man he still believed himself to be.
No, he didn’t have a monthly cycle. No, he shouldn’t even be in this restroom. But as he studied the soft, delicate features reflected back at him, Pat couldn’t help but see why those girls had made the assumption. The carefully styled hair, the subtle but flawless makeup—it all came together to create the perfect illusion. He was a full-fledged, perfectly crafted stunning woman, the type of girl he would have had zero chance with in his old life.
He glanced around the empty room before letting out a small, disbelieving laugh. The longer he stared, the more surreal it became. He looked sexy—dangerously sexy. With a small turn of his hips, he tilted his head to the side, watching how the dress clung to his figure from different angles, the fabric moving fluidly as though it had been designed just for him.
Unable to resist, he cupped his fake breasts, giving them a light squeeze, watching how they shifted beneath the low-cut neckline of his dress. He couldn’t help but understand why Mike’s eyes had wandered to them so often throughout the night.
For a second, Pat could only stand there, taking it all in. But as he took a step back, letting his hands fall to his sides, reality of it all came crashing down.
He wasn’t admiring some random woman—he was admiring himself. It was a shock to realize how far he’d come, how much he had adjusted to this new version of himself. Weeks had been spent learning to walk, talk, and move like a woman, obsessing over every little detail to make it convincing. Perhaps he had gone further than he ever intended—more than he should have—but it was still reversible, Pat reminded himself. The curves, the hips, the bust—they were all an illusion, just layers of cloth and padding that could be undone at any moment.
Who knows—maybe all those oils and face creams would leave his skin looking fresher, the pampering giving him a glow long after the makeup was washed away. Sure, it might take a while to shake off the feminine grace he’d perfected, but eventually, he’d be back in pants and button-ups, leaving all this behind. Maybe he could even convince Judy to let him finish out his punishment cleaning the house in flats.
Those massive, fake breasts would end up in a box in the attic, and maybe Judy could repurpose the dresses and shoes, if she wanted. He even chuckled at the thought of her forcing Tom to put them on. As hilarious as the image was, Pat had to admit, there was no way that tall, muscular man could pull it off half as convincingly as he had.
And just as his mood began to lighten, the door to the restroom swung open with a loud thud, jolting him from his thoughts. He turned just in time to see Judy striding into the room, her face set in a cold, unyielding expression. Gone was the playful, flirty woman from earlier—the one who had been teasing and smiling. In her place was someone far more serious, her lips pressed into a thin, unforgiving line as she tossed her purse onto the counter without so much as a glance in Pat’s direction.
The silence between them hung heavy, and to anyone else entering, they might have looked like two unfamiliar women, given the stiffness between them. Out of the corner of his eye, Pat caught her moving purposefully toward him. She didn’t speak, only rummaged through her bag and pulled out a small bottle of peroxide and a bundle of tissues.
Pat stood frozen, unsure of what to say—if saying anything would even help—but silently watched her soak a tissue with the liquid. Her eyes finally flicked up to meet his in the mirror.
"Your lipstick’s smeared," she said flatly. "You’ll have to fix it."
Her husband blinked, momentarily thrown off by the unexpected remark. Before he could respond, Judy knelt down, roughly grabbing the hem of his skirt and yanking it forward.
She scrubbed at the small stain of wine on the fabric, her hand applying so much pressure that it knocked Pat slightly off balance.
"Stay still, goddammit!" she barked, her scold echoing off the tiled walls.
He flinched but complied, gripping the edge of the sink for stability. He winced as her hand worked the fabric with almost punitive force.
"I can’t believe you," she muttered, more to herself than to him. "I wanted tonight to be perfect. I did everything to make it work, and you seem hell-bent on ruining it."
“Please, I just—” Pat’s voice cracked as he tried to reason with her, but she wasn’t listening.
“Do you have any idea how much I needed this night?!” she snapped, cutting him off before he could even string a sentence together. “-Throwing myself at Tom, practically begging him to set up this double date, making sure you looked at least presentable—and this is how you repay me?”
Pat’s stomach churned at the venom in her words. He swallowed hard, knowing that whatever he said next could only make things worse. His usual tactic of staying quiet and submissive wasn’t enough to calm her this time.
"Oh, and poor Mike," she added. "He’s been nothing but a gentleman to you all night, and you can’t even play along. He’s out there wondering what he did wrong while you make it impossible for him to get through to you." She yanked at the skirt again, causing Pat to wince.
“Judy, I—”
“Don’t Judy me!” she spat, almost growling. The stain was gone, the outfit pristine. But her fury had not subsided. If anything, it had only intensified. “You think you can just coast through this? Let everyone else do the work while you sit there and play the pretty little doll?”
A subtle sob escaped her lips, and Pat’s head snapped down to meet her gaze. Judy looked away for a brief moment, but when she met his gaze again, the fire in her eyes was sharper than before.
“I told you what I wanted. What I expected.”
“I’m trying... I really am,” Pat murmured, adjusting the skirt. “But this is too much. This is too far...”
Before he could finish his plea, Judy cut him off with a sudden, brutal gesture—her hand shot between his legs, grabbing his crotch with an unyielding grip. Pat gasped, his entire body going rigid as the pain shot through him.
"Oh I’m sorry. Am I interrupting you?" she coldly asked, her fingertips tapping along his testicles. “Let me make something perfectly clear, Pat. You’re not just going to ‘try.’ You’re going to succeed. Because if you don’t...” Her voice dropped to a whisper, her gaze locked on his anguished expression. "I will make sure everyone in this restaurant knows exactly what you are—a fraud. A pathetic excuse for a man."
“I didn’t mean to mess things up... I just—” He choked back a cry, his eyes darted toward the door, terrified someone might hear, but even more terrified she may actually tear it all up in her attempts to turn him into a woman. “I-It’s just not me... I don’t know how to be this, to—to do this for some guy and for you and T—”
“Leave Tom out of this!” she snapped, tightening her grip until a sharp yelp escaped him. “At least he knows how to be the man you pretend to be.”
Pat stood there, silent, his entire body trembling. He didn’t dare move, didn’t dare fight back. To her, he looked smaller than ever—pathetic and powerless, stripped of any dignity he might have had left.
Judy released him with a forceful push, sending him stumbling backward. Letting go a deep sigh, she took a moment to collect herself before speaking again. Her tone was calm, slow, and deliberate, like a teacher lecturing a child.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” she said, her eyes boring into his. “You’re going to go back out there, and you’re going to smile. You’re going to laugh at Mike’s jokes. You’re going to hold his hand, and you’re going to make him believe you’re absolutely thrilled to be on this date. Got it?”
Pat nodded weakly, his voice caught in his throat.
Judy studied him for a moment, her lips curling into a small, cruel smile. “And just to make sure you really feel like a woman, you’re going to kiss him. Not some half-hearted peck, Pat. I want you to kiss him like you mean it. The kind of kiss that leaves a man weak in the knees.”
Pat’s stomach churned at her words. His mind spun as he tried to comprehend the magnitude of what she was asking. “Judy, that’s—” He stopped himself mid-sentence, fearful of saying the wrong thing. “I… I-I,”
“Careful,” she whispered, taking deliberate steps closer. “You’re one bad choice of words away from making tonight a whole lot worse for yourself. Choose wisely... Patti.”
Though realized from her grip, Pat was still held by the balls in a way that had nothing to do with physical force. His cruel wife’s power over him didn’t come from brute strength; it was woven into her words, her gaze, her expectations. Every tiny movement seemed designed to pull him deeper into her web, and he was ensnared, helpless to do anything but follow her lead. A chilling realization washed over him just how far their marriage had unraveled in a matter of weeks.
A month ago, the idea of Judy with another man would have been unthinkable, as unimaginable as finding himself tangled up in the dating scene. But here he was, and he couldn’t help but think back to the moment it all began—the wrestling contest, that stupid, stupid bet, and the humiliating game of dress-up that followed. Letting her treat him like a maid had been degrading enough, but he’d gone along, thinking it was harmless, just a phase she’d grow out of. He’d thought that if he played along, if he kept the peace, things would settle down.
But tonight, being in Mike’s arms, kissing him, was a new level of degradation. This wasn’t for Judy’s enjoyment, nor Tom’s—it had been for Mike alone, a dark, twisted act of submission that she had demanded from him, for reasons he couldn’t begin to understand. The thought burned in his mind, hot and shameful. What would become of him if this went on much longer? Would there be anything left of the man he used to be?
He swallowed hard, his throat dry, his heart heavy with a mix of resentment and fear. This entire game—this warped charade—felt designed to strip him down piece by piece until there was nothing left. Every step he took as “Patti” pushed him further from who he once was. And yet, his pride—his refusal to fully surrender—kept him clinging to the role, even as it threatened to consume him.
Pat’s only hope lay in the idea that maybe, by the end of the summer, he and Judy could fake a reconciliation. They could smooth things over, patch up the fraying edges of their marriage, and finally be rid of Tom and Mike once and for all. Perhaps playing along—tragically, as the perfect coquettish woman—was his only way out. He just had to endure this long enough for the storm to pass. But the success of this plan hinged entirely on ensuring they would never discover the thin threads holding his identity together.
“So?” she barked, yanking him back from his thoughts.
Pat swallowed hard, every ounce of his dignity crumbling. “I... I’ll kiss him,” he muttered, his voice barely a whisper. “What choice do I have?”
His head hung in defeat, shoulders slumped, as Judy’s victorious grin spread across her face. She’d won—again. “That’s all I asked,” she purred, her tone softening into saccharine sweetness now that she had him exactly where she wanted.
The brief silence between them was soon broken by the sound of women entering the restroom, their giggles and chatter filling the air. An easy camaraderie formed within the space, binding the occupants in the familiar ritual of touch-ups and quick gossip.
The mirrors filled with faces as women leaned in, applying fresh coats of lipstick, powdering their noses, and perfecting their mascara. Among them, one equally immersed in his touch-up, though with far less enthusiasm. His hands trembled slightly as he tried to reapply his lip liner—not from the makeup application itself, but from the weight of what lay ahead.
His eyes flicked toward Judy, desperate for some sign of approval. She tilted her head, studying him for a moment before smirking. With a flick of her tongue, she wet her thumb and wiped away a small smudge at the corner of his mouth. “Perfect,” she mouthed, before grabbing her purse and striding toward the exit.
Pat lingered for a moment, catching sight of a young woman rummaging through her bag in search of change for a tampon. Without thinking, he handed her the one he had been given earlier. The woman smiled gratefully, and Pat managed a weak smile in return.
IX
The safety of the ladies’ room faded as Pat stepped back into the world again, feeling as if possessed by a demon his wife had summoned to achieve her darkest purposes. This feminine ghoul seemed to push him out of his own form, forcing him to confront the extent of his will when appropriately motivated.
Barely aware of himself, Pat followed Judy back to the table, where both men stood, pulling out their chairs with exaggerated courtesy.
“Did you boys miss us?” Judy purred. The men’s eager nods drew more laughter from Judy, and Pat made an awkward attempt to mirror her charm.
Tom gave a subtle nod to the maître d’, and within moments, a young server approached, carrying a bouquet of roses and two small gold-wrapped boxes. “For the lovely ladies, from the gentlemen,” he announced, smiling as he handed over the gifts.
Judy’s eyes sparkled as she accepted the roses, setting them down delicately before leaning in to give Tom a warm hug, followed by a lingering kiss on his cheek, then a playful peck on the lips. Pat, however, placed his roses on the table with noticeable restraint. He met Judy’s expectant gaze, and, reluctantly, followed her lead, leaning toward Mike, managing a quick hug and a soft kiss on the cheek. He hesitated just long enough to make it clear he wasn’t planning to escalate further. Not yet, anyway. Judy raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, her smirk curling slightly as if to say, Later.
As if on cue, Tom chuckled, “See, man? Told you the flowers would work.” Pat overheard as remained trapped in Mike’s lingering embrace. He could sense the unspoken high-five between the two men, for the quick, effective advice. Sure, it was the flowers—not the invisible leash Judy held from the other side of the table.
The group collectively decided to move on and let Pat’s earlier outburst slide, chalking it up to boredom with the venue. Soon after leaving a generous tip, the two couples walked out, eager to explore the streets in search of more fun.
The breeze brushed lightly against their skin, and Pat couldn’t help but cringe at Tom’s gallant offer of his coat to Judy—especially since it prompted Mike to follow suit, draping his own jacket over Pat’s shoulders.
The fun soon took the form of a dance club they stumbled upon while walking through the downtown streets. Tom suggested they go in for a drink, and with no real say in the matter, Pat allowed himself to be led inside, once again feeling the touch of Mike’s arm wrapped firmly around his waist. Judy, meanwhile, clung tightly to Tom’s arm, tossing a smirk back at her husband as they passed through the doors.
The club was sleek and stylish, exuding a relaxed, bohemian vibe. Neon lights framed the entrance, and a velvet rope separated the patrons from the street. Inside, the dim lighting cast deep shadows, broken only by bursts of colorful light spilling from the dance floor, casting kaleidoscopic patterns across the room.
Smooth jazz floated through the air, setting a laid-back tone, as couples swayed to the rhythm. Others lounged in surrounding booths, sipping cocktails and watching the dancers with casual interest.
As they slid into one of the plush leather booths near the back, Pat felt Mike’s hand slowly inching its way down his rear. He fought the urge to flinch but knew better than to pull away. He forced himself to swallow his discomfort, leaning into Mike’s arm as it draped over his shoulder. This was only the beginning, after all.
The waitress brought over the first round of drinks, and Pat immediately downed his Pink Squirrel in one gulp, hoping the alcohol would provide the courage he so desperately needed. Yet no amount of liquor could erase the cold, hard fact that he was a man—a married man. For the past five years, that truth had been his identity. But a five-second match had changed everything. Three weeks of servitude had stripped him of his sense of self, and now, one double date seemed to cement the dissolution of whatever commitment his wife had once had to him. It may not be his area of expertise, but for Pat, the math simply didn’t add up.
Before tonight, he had never been on a date with a man, never danced with a man, and certainly never kissed a man. Before this summer, he'd been grading with C- and B’s essays on Dickens and Tolstoy, and five years before, he had met the woman he’d eventually marry at a harmless school meeting. Now, that same woman was expecting him to get along with another male, or be exposed as a male himself. Before the light of those horrendous scenarios, both Pat and Judy knew the choice he had already made.
When the band transitioned into a slow melody, Judy caught Pat’s eye from across the table and gave him a subtle nod. Pat knew this was the moment—the romantic interlude she’d been expecting all night.
“Mike, I love this song,” he said, his voice unnervingly sweet and foreign to his own ears. “It’s one of my all-time favorites.”
Thankfully, Mike didn’t miss a beat. He took a quick sip of his scotch, squared his shoulders, and buttoned his coat before extending a hand toward his date. Pat swallowed hard, forcing himself to slide his trembling fingers into Mike’s grasp. As they made their way to the dance floor, he cast one last glance over his shoulder. Judy’s smirk was unmistakable as she leaned closer to her own partner, basking in the satisfaction of watching her creation take its first steps by his own.
The fear clawed its way up Pat’s spine the moment they stepped into the throng of swaying couples. His grip on Mike’s arm tightened instinctively, long manicured nails digging slightly into the fabric of the jacket.
He barely had time to glance around, trying to mimic the movements of the women gliding nearby, before a firm tug at his waist stopped him.
Mike’s hand had found its place.
Pat swallowed hard, forcing his hands to rest on the broad expanse of Mike’s shoulders just as the saxophone let out a soulful cry, marking the start of the song.
At first, his steps were clumsy, awkward—his heels catching on the floor, bumping into neighboring dancers, but Mike’s grip never wavered. Subtle pressure at Pat’s waist and gentle guidance at his shoulder began steering him into rhythm. It was… disarming—the way Mike led with quiet insistence rather than force, creating an unspoken invitation that Pat’s body, despite himself, found easier to accept.
Slowly, the alcohol humming through Pat’s veins began to work its magic. The rigid tension in his limbs softened, dissolving into something looser, something warmer. The music swelled, enveloping them in its smooth embrace, and Pat felt himself surrendering—not to Mike, not entirely—but to the moment.
His movements grew smoother, body responding on instinct. Each sway sent the tight fabric of his skirt whispering against his thighs, echoing every subtle shift of his hips. Under the wash of multicolored lights, the fabric of his dress shimmered, reflecting each hue as he was sent into a twirl—one that Pat found himself almost eagerly complying with. A soft, involuntary giggle slipped past Pat’s lips as he returned to Mike’s arms, his exposed cleavage pressing flush against the hard lines of Mike’s torso.
As the final notes of the song faded into applause, Pat pulled back slightly, just enough to meet Mike’s gaze. Summoning all the poise he could muster, he offered a playful, self-assured smile. "Thank you, Mike," he murmured, his voice low and breathy. "That was a lovely dance. You’re very light on your feet."
Despite the burning embarrassment simmering beneath the surface—pretending to seduce another man—Pat could tell his performance had worked. Mike’s eyes locked onto his, and slowly, the space between them disappeared until their lips met in a sudden yet anticipated kiss—hesitant, testing, but deepened quickly as Mike’s arms wrapped around his waist, lifting him slightly off the ground. Convenient, really, since Pat’s knees had already weakened beyond his own support.
In that instant, the world around them dissolved into irrelevance. The crowd, the music, even the weight of Judy’s ever-watchful eyes—all of it melted away. Pat felt his carefully built resistance unravel, replaced by a rush of sensations he couldn’t suppress. The smearing of his lipstick, the scratch of Mike’s bristled cheek against his own, the intoxicating scent of cologne enveloping him. The heat of Mike’s hands as they roamed down his exposed back, venturing lower as if they had always belonged there.
Somewhere in the haze, Pat realized he wasn’t just allowing this to happen—he was responding. His manicured fingers trailed to Mike’s chest, pressing lightly against the firm muscle beneath his tailored suit. His nails scraped over the lapel, leaving the faintest marks, and with an unfamiliar, twisted thrill, he leaned in further, shedding the last of his pretense.
As they swayed together in their own secluded moment, Pat felt his old self slipping away. The man he’d been—the man who had graded essays, who had married Judy, who had never imagined being in this situation—disappeared into the crowd, leaving only the person in Mike’s arms. A small, involuntary sound escaped his lips—a trembling moan, equal parts longing and mourning for the life he’d lost.
When Mike finally pulled back, Pat barely had the presence of mind to catch his breath. Mike grinned down at him, wiping his thumb across his mouth to collect a smudge of Pat’s lipstick. “My pleasure, Patti” he said, his tone low and satisfied. “You’re something else.”
Would it have been better to let Judy expose him from the start? Maybe a single moment of humiliation would’ve been better than being trapped in this ongoing charade. Worst case, they would’ve had a good laugh at his expense—maybe Mike would’ve gotten violent, feeling his honor had been insulted; still, Pat could’ve walked out of that place with a black eye and his dignity intact, instead of the tart taste of another man’s tongue in his mouth. As they made their way back to the table, Pat’s mind swirled with impossible scenarios, all variations of what could have been, if only... But there was no going back now. He had let Mike believe they were really hitting it off, and now he was paying the price. Mike, clearly feeling entitled to more, stole another quick kiss before they rejoined Judy and Tom.
"Well, well, look at you two," Judy said, her smile comparable to the Cheshire Cat’s. "Looks like you lovebirds are getting along very nicely," she said openly, clearly pleased. “Tom, isn’t it nice that Mike and Patti are hitting it off?”
Tom chuckled, raising his glass. “Yeah, they sure are.”
Judy’s smirk widened, her gaze lingering on her husband, who squirmed uncomfortably, his burning cheeks hidden against Mike’s shoulder. True to her word, she had kept his secret. She’d always been a woman of her word, after all. And Pat—well, she couldn’t say he didn’t have a word after taking all and each of his punishments, but from her point of view, he wasn’t much of a man anymore. The memory of him being held, no, claimed, by another man—correction, by an actual man—was a sight she would never forget.
The night dragged on, the hours slipping away as nobody seemed eager to leave. The interactions between the couples became more relaxed, with the warmth of the drinks loosening their tongues. They were getting to know each other beyond superficial pleasantries. Pat, desperate to keep his own layers of identity firmly in place, exaggerated his reactions to Mike’s stories—laughing a little too loudly at his jokes, nodding enthusiastically as Mike regaled the group with stories of his jet-setting lifestyle.
“Always on the go,” Mike quipped, caressing Pat’s chin. “But hey, every now and then, it pays off. Like tonight.” He punctuated the comment with a broad grin, leaning in to squeeze Pat’s shoulders.
The gesture caught Pat off guard, the pull throwing him slightly off balance. Instinctively, his hand shot out to steady himself—and landed squarely on Mike’s upper thigh. Mike raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smirk as he glanced at Pat’s crimson-painted fingernails resting so close to his groin. Pat quickly withdrew his hand, but Mike’s reaction lingered.
The table was cluttered with empty glasses, little umbrellas, and cocktail stirrers, the remnants of the night’s indulgence. Another song filtered through the speakers, pulling the couples back toward the dance floor. Pat let out a soft, bitter laugh, barely managing to steady his drink on the table before Mike’s hand caught his wrist, tugging him back toward the dance floor.
The each-time less forced man stumbled slightly, the alcohol dulling his reflexes just enough to make him pliable. Surprisingly, he started to enjoy the dancing—especially the slow songs, where he could close his eyes and let the world blur around him.
Across the room, Judy floated through the crowd, twirling with her own partner, but her eyes kept flicking back to Pat every so often, surprised at how convincingly he was playing the role. There was no resistance in him anymore. If anything, he looked comfortable—perhaps even content—in Mike’s embrace. Her lips curled into a soft, knowing smile, but her focus soon returned to Tom, who had been everything she craved and more throughout the evening.
As the night came to an inevitable close, the staff began clearing tables, sweeping floors, and dimming the lights, signaling it was time to leave. The two couples exited the club together, blending seamlessly with the late-night crowd. Mike’s arms remained wrapped around Pat from behind, pulling him close as they strolled down the sidewalk, while Judy leaned against Tom, her heels dangling from her fingers as she tiptoed barefoot down the street.
None of them were sober enough to drive, but fortune smiled on them when an empty taxi rolled to the curb. Pat practically tumbled into the backseat, landing squarely between Tom and Mike. Judy, only slightly more composed, climbed into the front passenger seat and directed the driver as they pulled away.
The tension in the backseat was thick enough to cut with a knife. Pat could feel the heat radiating off Mike’s body, their thighs pressed together in the cramped space. Tom, awkwardly sandwiched in the role of third wheel, shifted uncomfortably as Mike’s arm tightened around Pat, pulling him even closer.
It didn’t take long before Mike leaned in, his lips capturing Pat’s in a kiss—then another, and another, each one more intense, more urgent. Pat had always enjoyed a good make-out session, but there was something both thrilling and foreign in the way Mike’s mouth moved against his. As a man, he had always expected to make the first move; tonight, though, all he had to do was wait—and he didn’t have to wait long. Whether it was the alcohol, the exhaustion, or something deeper, Pat didn’t resist. Instead, he kissed back with equal fervor, his hands instinctively clutching at Mike’s shoulders.
Between soft growls and stolen breaths, Pat occasionally glanced up to the front, catching Judy’s gaze in the rearview mirror. Her expression was one of pure amusement, her eyebrow raised as she watched the scene unfold behind her. She didn’t say a word, just kept her eyes on him, a knowing smirk playing on her lips.
More than once, Pat felt Mike’s hand sliding up his thigh, creeping dangerously close to the edge of his skirt. Each time, Pat placed his own hand over Mike’s, gently but firmly pushing it back down. Thankfully, Mike seemed to get the message, redirecting his attention to caressing Pat’s waist, the curve of his hips, and the smooth line of his chest.
When the taxi finally arrived at their destination, the couple in the backseat had to be practically pried apart. One by one, the men climbed out of the back seat, and Judy couldn’t help but giggle at the sight of the last of them—her husband, his lipstick smeared messily across his cheek as he stepped onto the pavement.
Pat couldn’t even meet her gaze. He had nothing to say, nothing to offer in response to the knowing look she gave him as she approached. She brushed a few stray locks of sweaty hair from his face and whispered before turning away, “I’ll see you inside the house.”
Mike took over from there, gently guiding Pat by the arm toward his front door. As they walked, Pat’s eyes strayed, catching sight of his wife in the distance. She was in Tom’s arms now, leaning into him for a kiss that was nothing short of theatrical. Passionate. Definitive. Pat’s stomach twisted as he wondered—was this their first kiss of the evening? Or had they been at it all night while he’d been too caught up in his own turmoil to notice?
When they finally reached the doorstep, Pat lingered, turning to face the man beside him. “Thanks, Mike,” he murmured softly, with a sly smile. “For a lovely evening.” Mike wasn’t to blame for any of it, and in truth, he had been nothing but a gentleman.
Mike’s smile was warm, his gaze steady as it met Pat’s. “You’re welcome,” he replied, his tone equally soft. “I had a great time, too.”
For a moment, they stood there under the soft glow of the porch light, neither one moving, neither one ready to break the connection. The silence stretched on, until Mike broke it with a gentle chuckle. “Oh, and my jacket?”
Pat blinked, realizing he was still wearing it. "Oh, right," he laughed awkwardly, pulling the coat from his shoulders. It was funny, in a way. He’d been wearing a piece of men’s clothing all night, yet he hadn’t felt like a man once.
As he handed the jacket back, their hands brushed in the exchange. The touch lingered longer than it should have, the silence between them charged with unspoken tension.
Just then, Judy walked between them, breaking the connection with a casual, “Excuse me.” She unlocked the front door and stepped inside, casting a knowing look at Pat before disappearing into the house. Mike excused himself shortly after, but not before handing Pat a small card with his contact information. “In case you want to stay in touch,” he said.
Pat nodded, sliding the card into his purse. As he turned to say goodbye, Mike’s hand found its way to his chin, gently tilting it upward as he leaned in for one last kiss. This one was softer, slower, more intimate. A promise for something more, should Pat want it. And for reasons he couldn’t quite explain, Pat found himself returning the kiss without hesitation. His heart pounded in his chest as their lips parted, leaving him breathless.
And then, just like that, Mike was gone, disappearing into the night as Pat stood on the doorstep, lipstick smeared, heart racing, and mind spinning.
X
As Pat stepped into the house, the door clicked shut behind him, and with that sound, he let out a long, exhausted sigh of relief. Finally, the night was over. He leaned against the front door for a moment, his silhouette cast in the dim light filtering through the front window, the only source of illumination with all the lights off.
He shuffled through the hall, and his eyes caught sight of Judy’s heels, casually abandoned on the living room carpet. With a frustrated groan, he picked them up and headed to put them away, carrying them toward her bedroom. Surprisingly, the door was slightly ajar, and with a bit of hesitation, he pushed it open, unsure if he was even allowed in there anymore.
Pushing it open cautiously, he stepped inside, his eyes scanning the room. It was empty, the faint sound of the shower running down the hall. The closet door was open, so he headed over and carefully placed the heels with the rest of her shoes. But as he did, his eyes roamed over the racks, and a chill crept up his spine. His clothes—jackets, shirts, trousers—everything that once defined his half of the closet was missing. He rifled through the hangers, searching for any trace of his old life, but all he found was her wardrobe, neatly organized and untouched. He’d assumed she’d just stored his things away somewhere until this whole ordeal was over. But now… it felt like they were gone for good.
As he shifted through her clothes, a small piece of paper fluttered to the ground. Pat bent down to pick it up, squinting at it in the dim light. It was a Post-it note, one he instantly recognized. "Enjoy your lunch, love. You deserve the world and more," it read in his handwriting. It was one of the notes he used to slip into her lunch bag back when he’d pack meals for her.
He stared at the note, lost in the memory of simpler times, a bittersweet smile tugging at his lips, only to be jolted back to the present by the sound of her voice cutting through the silence.
"Well, dear, how did you enjoy being a woman tonight? Not so bad, huh?" Judy teased, sauntering into the room wrapped in a towel, fresh from her shower.
Pat groaned inwardly, crumpling the note in his fist as he turned to face her.
“That was quite the show you put on tonight,” Judy continued, strolling over to her vanity. She sat down, removed her bath cap, and began brushing out her hair. “But just so you know—ladies don’t usually make out with a guy on the first date. We’re supposed to show some restraint, sweetie."
Pat’s blood boiled. “Me?!” he snapped, disbelief surging through him. “What about you and Tom? You weren’t exactly holding back, Judy!”
“Oh, that’s different,” she replied airily, waving her brush dismissively. “Tom and I have history. We dated in college.”
“Different?” Pat repeated, stepping closer as his reflection joined hers in the mirror. “You think that makes it okay? You let him put his hands all over you! Hell, I’m surprised you didn’t let him rip your dress off right there on the pavement!”
Her lips curled into a sly smile at his outburst, a flicker of amusement dancing in her eyes. She set the brush down and turned to fully face him, arching an eyebrow as if silently challenging him to continue. “What the hell was that?” he demanded, pleading. “I’m… I’m still…” He paused, words catching in his throat. “I’m still the man you married.”
“Oh, of course you are,” she cooed mockingly, tilting her head. “The same sweet, sweet person I married once.” Her gaze flicked downward, then back up, her smirk returning. “But tonight? Tonight, you practically gave up any right to be called a man.”
Pat flinched, his stomach twisting.
She leaned in, voice softer now, but no less cutting. “You were too busy playing the doting girlfriend to be one.”
“I-I didn’t—it’s not—” he stammered, the words tangling in his throat before finally bursting out: “You don’t get to turn this around on me, Judy!” He closed the distance between them in two quick strides, now mere inches from her. “This is your doing—you pushed me into this! I never asked for any of it!”
“But you didn’t stop it either.”
Her words landed with the force of a slap. She didn’t sound angry. If anything, she sounded amused. “You didn’t pull away. You didn’t say no. In fact…” She paused, pulling out a nightcap from a drawer. “From where I was sitting, you looked like you were pretty damn into it.”
Pat opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
She let the silence linger, savoring the way he squirmed. “You know what I think?” she finally said, her voice dropping to a murmur. “I think you liked it more than you’re willing to admit.”
"Judy..." He started, but the words crumbled before they could form. Because she was right. He hadn’t stopped it. He hadn’t pushed Mike away. He had let it happen. Worse—he’d wanted it, hadn’t he? It wasn’t just the alcohol that had loosened him.
The padding, the layers of clothing—those could be peeled away any moment. But the memory of the hands of another man on his waist, his hips, his thighs… the way his body had responded, the way he hadn’t fought it, the way it had felt—that would linger.
She sighed then, almost as if she pitied him. “Let’s stop pretending this is all on me, shall we?” she said, pushing herself up from the vanity. “This little game we’ve been playing? It’s not as one-sided as you like to think.”
“Sure,” she mused, absently toying with the strap of his dress. “Go ahead and be mad at me for seeing Tom. But don’t act like you weren’t just as involved tonight.”
Her touch lingered for a moment before she pulled back, watching him intently. “Maybe I pushed you a little,” she admitted with a shrug. “But you walked the rest of the way yourself. I didn’t force you to enjoy tonight, did I?” Her voice lowered, sultry, taunting. “I didn’t make you kiss Mike back. I didn’t make you let him hold you, touch you.”
She took another step forward, closing the space between them entirely. Pat instinctively backed away, but Judy was relentless, her hand finding his, fingers intertwining just firmly enough to keep him anchored in place.
“That was all you, sweetheart.”
Pat’s gaze dropped to the floor, unable to meet her eyes. “I… I don’t know what happened,” he murmured, staring at her damp bare feet. “It was… weird.” His voice was quieter now, almost to himself. “I’m your husband, Judy. This shouldn’t feel so—”
“Natural?” she finished for him.
His breath caught.
“But it did feel natural, didn’t it?” she pressed, her smile both knowing and impossibly soft. “You’re a natural, Pat. Better than I ever expected. I mean—just look at you.”
Against his better judgment, Pat’s gaze flicked to the vanity mirror behind her.
And there he was.
Red carmine smeared across his cheeks in chaotic streaks. Faint but unmistakable hickeys blossomed along his collarbones, stopping just above the imitation necklace he had once gifted her for Christmas. The top of his brassiere peeking into view, the neckline of his dress slightly askew—evidence of where Mike’s eager hands had roamed.
The reflection staring back at him was pathetic, a caricature of both man and woman. He felt his chest tighten with shame, the absurdity of his complaints about being recognized as male hitting him with the force of a tidal wave.
Judy tilted his chin up with a single finger, forcing him to meet her eyes. “You’ve been fighting this for so long,” she murmured. “Clinging to this old version of us. To the idea that you’re still my husband.”
Her hands cradled his face, thumbs skimming over his cheekbones, smudging his lipstick even further. “But let’s be honest—you haven’t been that man in a long time. And, honestly? I don’t think you were ever really much of a man to begin with.”
Unable to keep facing his reflection anymore, Pat retracted, and she let him break the touch, but continued: “This isn’t about me and Tom,” she called across the room. “This is about you. About what you’re too scared to admit to yourself.”
Pat squeezed his eyes shut, his breath shaky. “Things don’t have to change,” he blurted out suddenly, louder than he intended. “I’m still here, Judy. I’m still yours!”
At this, Judy let out a short, bitter laugh. “Oh, Pat,” she sighed. “You’re missing the point.” Her gaze met his, cold and resolute. “This isn’t about what I have to do. It’s about what I want to do. Tom gives me what I need. What you can’t—or won’t.”
The words struck like a gut punch, their finality sinking deep. Pat felt his throat tighten, but he forced himself to speak, his voice barely above a whisper. “It just... it hurts,” he admitted. “It hurts to see you with a man.”
“Oh, that’s adorable.” She let out a low chuckle, meeting his tear-filled gaze with a mocking smile. “Most men would say, It hurts to see you with another man. But not you, Pat. You said, a man.” She let the words hang between them, her smile deepening. “Interesting choice of words, don’t you think?”
Pat remained frozen, unable to respond, as Judy turned away. She moved to the dresser, retrieving a silky nightgown from a nearby drawer. Loosening the towel wrapped around her body, she slipped the gown over her head, her silhouette framed perfectly by the soft glow of the bedside lamp.
“And if you must know,” she continued, adjusting the straps on her shoulders, “yes, Tom touched me. His hands were all over me.” She paused just long enough for the words to settle, then turned her head slightly, catching his gaze out of the corner of her eye.
“And you know what?” Her lips curled into something both cruel and victorious.
“I enjoyed every second of it—just like you enjoyed tonight with Mike.”
She smiled.
“I liked having a real man touch me.”
The casual brutality of her admission jolted him back to life. Stumbling backward, Pat felt the edge of what had once been their shared bed press against the backs of his legs. His knees buckled, and he sank down, the strength drained from his body, his thoughts spiraling. He no longer knew what to say. The anger he had clung to earlier had bled away, leaving behind only a quiet, immobilizing despair.
Her unshakable calm unsettled him more than any raised voice or harsh words ever could. It was as though she had already won—as though there was no longer any need to fight.
The evening had left her in a noticeably sweet mood, sweeter than she had ever been, even at the height of her satisfaction while feminizing him to her whims. She no longer needed to force compliance or chip away at his resistance. There was nothing left to resist. The full picture spoke for itself. It didn’t matter how much he yelled or argued—it was over.
His throat tightened, and his cry came out hoarse. “And what am I supposed to do?” he stammered, his hands trembling as he instinctively backed away. He hadn’t realized he was cornering himself until his shoulders hit the wall. “Just... leave? Letting you forget about me?!”
Judy raised an eyebrow, brushing her hair back from her neckline as she smoothed the skirt down her legs. “I haven’t kicked you out, have I?” she replied matter-of-factly. “This is my house as much as it’s yours. But you’re not the man of it anymore. You’re something else entirely.”
She stepped back toward the door, her hand extending, gesturing for him to leave. "We don’t have to figure it all out tonight," she said, her tone softening slightly. “Just... think about it. Take your time. But whatever you decide, know this—I’m not going anywhere.”
Her gesture wasn’t an order—it wasn’t even demanding. It was almost kind. And yet, Pat found himself obeying. His heels clicked softly against the hardwood floor as he stepped out of the room, the sound unnervingly loud in the tense silence of the house.
“Oh, and Pat?” she called lightly as she turned back toward the bed. He stopped in the doorway, glancing back at her over his shoulder.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” she asked sweetly, her eyes flicking toward the towel lying in a heap on the floor. “The towel, sweetie. Put it in the laundry basket so you can take care of it tomorrow morning.”
He hesitated, momentarily caught off guard by the request. His eyes flickered between her expectant stare and the crumpled cloth. But, without a word, he bent down and picked it up, clutching it tightly in his hands.
“Don’t think I’ll go easy on you just because we had a girls' night out,” she teased, reaching for the lamp. “I still expect the best from my maid.”
The room plunged into darkness as the light clicked off. A soft thud followed as the door closed behind him. Then came the faint, unmistakable click of the lock turning.
“Goodnight, Patti,” Judy called, her voice fading into the shadows.
I
The seventh month arrived with an uncharacteristically bright and sunny start, far removed from the usual overcast skies of early summer. But then again, much about this year had been unusual for Judy—and even more so for her husband, Pat. Early morning sunlight streamed through the bedroom window, coaxing her into wakefulness with its gentle warmth. Rolling over, her hand landed on the empty space beside her. It was a sight that had become increasingly familiar over the past month, though it still caught her off guard from time to time.
With a soft sigh, Judy slipped out of bed, rolling her shoulders to shake off the remnants of sleep. Such a beautiful morning couldn’t be wasted indoors. She decided on a bike ride, something she hadn’t done in far too long. Humming to herself, she wandered into the kitchen and prepared a light breakfast—just some fruit and yogurt, a quick boost before she headed out.
Helmet fastened with a quick snap under her chin, she stepped outside and took a long, deep breath of fresh air, savoring the crispness of the morning. The world around her felt alive, vibrant, as though the day itself was begging to be enjoyed. She waved a quick, half-hearted goodbye to her maid, who barely looked up from his tasks. How anyone could be so glum on a day like this was beyond her understanding.
Judy had always been a free spirit, but today, she felt an even greater appreciation for life’s little joys—the breeze tugging at her hair, the sun warming her skin, the steady rhythm of pedaling down the street, greeting the neighbors who waved back warmly. Most of them were familiar faces, yet she hadn’t really taken the time to get to know them before. It was strange, she thought, how she’d missed out on all these little connections.
Mrs. Robbinson, for example, the ever-nosy neighbor, was out in her garden as usual, watering her roses. She looked up and called out to Judy, extending her usual invitation for tea—a thinly veiled excuse to gossip about how Judy could afford full-time help on a teacher’s salary. Judy stifled a chuckle, waving her off with a breezy smile.
"Not today, Mrs. Robbinson! Maybe next time," Judy replied breezily, pumping her legs harder to speed away. She stifled a chuckle, thinking, It’s easy; just put Mr. Robbinson in a dress.
A bit farther down, Hank Peters, the neighborhood handyman she’d once had to call upon almost weekly to fix whatever broke around the house, spotted her. Leaning against the front of his old, beaten-up truck, he raised an eyebrow. “Hey there, Judy! Haven’t seen Pat around lately,” he called out, wiping his hands on a rag.
“Oh, he’s upstate, in some intensive course,” Judy replied easily, though she kept pedaling, flashing him a friendly smile as she sailed past. "Teaching’s keeping him busy." He just grunted in acknowledgment, tossing an empty beer can into the pile of others that clinked beside his porch. Judy smirked as she rode on, thinking Hank’s place could use the kind of "intensive course" Pat had mastered. Maybe she’d lend him her husband in exchange for all the plumbing favors over the years.
As she neared the end of the block, she spotted Billy, the local paperboy, already making his rounds. Judy raised her hand in greeting, and the boy waved back, but his gaze lingered just a beat too long. His bike swerved slightly as he glanced over his shoulder at Judy’s porch.
Curious, Judy followed his line of sight and spotted her maid stepping outside to retrieve the morning paper. Poor Billy nearly toppled off his bike, his jaw hanging open at the sight. Judy let out a quiet chuckle, shaking her head as she continued toward the park.
What neither Mrs. Mitchell, Hank, nor the gawking paperboy realized was that the demurely dressed woman they occasionally glimpsed wasn’t hired help at all but Judy’s very own husband, who had fully embraced the role of her servant in the record time of 30 days. Even Judy sometimes found herself doubting whether there was a trace of the old Pat left behind the layers of fabric, makeup, and duty—especially after last week’s events.
Not many husbands and wives go shopping together, both attired in summer dresses, pantyhose, and heels, and even fewer—if any—would go on a double date with two eligible bachelors as naturally as if it were any other weekend activity. But Judy had discovered that unconventional solutions could resolve the common woes of married life more effectively than date nights or couples’ therapy.
Pat, with surprising ease, had slipped into the part of a perfectly poised woman, and it didn’t take long before he’d stolen the heart of his new partner. Judy herself had been momentarily taken aback at the sight of “Patti” in the arms of Mike, caught up in a passionate kiss on the dance floor. Despite Pat’s insistence otherwise, she knew there wasn’t enough alcohol in the world to make a man—a real man—find that kind of pleasure in the arms of another.
And yet, Pat had looked completely lost in it, melting into Mike’s embrace.
Stopping to catch her breath by a water fountain after a few miles, Judy allowed herself a little smile. She’d always felt that a good bike ride could lift her mood, though today she suspected the pleasant memory of her own kisses with her very own man might be adding to her good spirits. Tom had been exactly what she’d been missing these past five years—kind, attentive, a gentleman through and through, and she hadn’t realized just how much she’d missed him since their breakup.
In college, everyone used to say they’d end up together, and for a while, she’d believed it too, right up until the day he announced he’d be moving overseas after graduation. Tom had always been driven, prioritizing his ambitions, and as hard as it was, Judy respected him enough not to try and tether him down.
She’d watched him leave, waving goodbye not just to him but to the life she’d imagined for herself over their last semester together. She would have gone with him at the smallest sign that he wanted her to, but she knew better than to clip his wings. The sky was his limit, and even though it broke her heart, Judy had understood she had no place beside him on that journey.
Resigned to her small-town life, it didn’t take long for her to settle into her role as a PE instructor at the local high school. It was an easy enough job, even if it didn’t pay particularly well or offer much in the way of advancement. The kids were hardly brimming with athletic potential, but she did her best with the few teams the school could afford, even if they were barely scraping by to meet the minimum state requirements. Sports weren’t taken seriously there, and the dusty, trophy-less cabinet in the hallway was a constant reminder of the school’s—and her own—modest ambitions.
With little left to achieve in the gym, Judy had extended her responsibilities to running detention. The other teachers, unable or unwilling to take on the challenge of taming the school’s rowdy troublemakers, had gratefully turned them over to her. Like it or not, it was the only thing she found she could truly do well there.
And so, during fifth-period detention, Judy would sit and watch her life slip by through the barred window, hour by hour, trapped in a secure job and a life that lacked flavor. An existence of monotony stretched before her, a predictable future in a town that offered so little. Judy gradually grew accustomed to leaving her dreams for something brighter behind.
Then, as if from nowhere, Tom reappeared one evening at the mall, shaking Judy from her stagnant statement and reminding her that she was far from finished. She could do more, be more. That same night, as she drove home, she decided to make a sudden turn toward a new, riskier direction, and whether he wanted to or not, her husband would be joining her.
What had initially started as harmless fun at the expense of her docile husband soon morphed into the chance of a lifetime, and this time, Judy wasn’t going to let it slip by. She knew it wouldn’t be any easy, but now was more than ready to step out of the comfort zone she and Pat had built over the past five years. She started with simple steps, convincing herself to leave the house more often, reconnecting with old friends she’d lost touch with, and spending time with Tom. Pat no longer protested, and even if he did, he posed little threat now that he had all but surrendered to womanhood. In the weeks that followed, Judy barely used the house for anything other than sleeping, focused instead on rebuilding herself and chasing what she’d missed.
She was living life to the fullest again, feeling like she was back in her twenties, her heart brimming with ambition. She spent so much time working out at the gym—during hours that used to be for mere laziness—that Tom soon offered her a spot at one of his fitness centers as an aerobics instructor, a role she gladly accepted. She was rusty at first, but it didn’t take long for her to get back into shape, surpassing even her former fitness level. She’d catch glimpses of her reflection and almost wished Pat would challenge her again—though there wasn’t much left of him to challenge.
Still, the extra income was a welcome relief, compensating for the recent expenses incurred from her husband’s feminization process. She hadn’t mentioned it, perhaps too wrapped up in her own amusement to care, but the last payment for the dresses she’d bought for their recent double date had maxed out the credit card, and they were nearly in the red. Judy had even considered calling the whole thing off before they went completely broke.
Fortunately, money was no longer an issue. Between her two jobs and no major expenses—thanks to Tom taking care of everything during their outings—Judy made sure her dear husband received all the top-tier beauty treatments he deserved but didn’t necessarily want.
Facials, manicures, hair appointments—Pat was a regular at every establishment dedicated to beautification in town. With no room to object, he attended every appointment, venturing alone into a world where no one doubted his womanly lifestyle.
“I’m telling you, that’s a guy,” the Victoria’s Secret clerk insisted to her coworkers, nodding toward Pat as he strutted through the mall, trailed by a small entourage of men eager to help him with his shopping bags, mostly filled with shoes and lingerie.
It made sense, though. He was clad in the latest scream of summer fashion, likely inspired by his growing collection of Cosmopolitan magazines, sporting a short halter dress with wedge sandals, his makeup light but largely obscured behind oversized cat-eye sunglasses.
“O-M-G, I love that nail color! What is it?” a girl squealed behind him on the escalator.
“It’s ‘Rose Dust’ by Chanel,” Pat answered without hesitation, confidently naming the shade he’d chosen for both his hands and feet. He extended his hand as a model, though he winced slightly at the tan line where his wedding ring used to be. Moving on, he paused briefly, thinking the girl looked like Emily Taylor from his literature class. Unsure, he dismissed the thought and continued on his way.
“So, what’s the deal with Judy these days?” his trusted hairdresser asked while working on his perm. “Did she finally lasso that stallion of hers?”
Pat pretended not to hear the question beneath the familiar hum of the hair dryer. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to gossip about his wife’s relationship with another man—he definitely didn’t—but honestly, he didn’t know.
Judy barely spent time in the house anymore, and the little she did say to him was mostly barking orders. Pat knew everything a maid needed to know about home maintenance by now, and the job had become less demanding over time, requiring only a bit of organization. He’d learned to schedule his chores and still leave time for himself, which he mostly spent in his eternal beautification. It wasn’t a complicated job, but it was certainly more demanding than his former one. A sudden career change might not look good on his resume, but with no control over the pen, Pat had come to accept the scribbles his wife made all over it—even when she crossed out “M” and wrote “F” in the gender section.
He spent his days taking care of a house that was supposedly his but dedicated mostly to his wife’s needs. Everything there spoke of her. The daily meals he prepared early in the morning, which she barely touched anymore. The loads of laundry he’d need to iron so she’d have plenty of outfits for her evenings out. The daily messes she left in the bathroom in her attempts to make herself presentable—presumably for Tom. Judy was stunning, and Pat longed to tell her so. He wanted to remind her she didn’t need to try so hard to earn any man’s attention; she already had his, completely. But then again, Judy didn’t seem to think of him as much of a man anymore.
Pat didn’t know what to think at this point. He clung to the hope that their marriage still meant something to her, but each evening she stepped out of their home, she distanced herself further from the bond they’d built over the years.
Late at night, as he secured his freshly set curls with a cap, he’d sometimes catch muffled sounds of laughter and moans coming from her—of course, still locked bedroom. That’s how much she respected him these days, ensuring he remained ignorant of what she considered her private life, as if those cries didn’t speak volumes. He wanted to tear that damn door down, to confront her, to demand answers, but he couldn’t summon the strength. Physically, of course, he couldn’t; ever since the, for lack of a better term, "change of look," he had noticed a significant decrease in his muscle mass, as if those dresses and heels had magical properties to whittle down his figure. But those powers failed to seep into his brain, where the mindset of a faithful man was too powerful to be taken down—yet cursed, haunted by the echo of his wife’s pleasure from down the hall in what could only be described as a festival of love.
The mornings that followed those nights needed no words. Judy’s barely disguised cheerfulness as she floated down the stairs, practically glowing, was the last clue Pat needed to piece together what had become of their marriage. It was clear she no longer wanted him tagging along, and Pat felt at least relieved to be out of public sight.
Social interactions were rare for him, with Judy spending most of her time with her boyfriend and Pat’s own on yet another business trip somewhere in Europe, his encounters were mostly limited to casual run-ins with people who cared little about the absence of the man of the house.
The package delivery guy certainly took his sweet time pretending to check and recheck the order, all while actually triple-checking Pat’s bare legs beneath his summer dress. The paperboy even brought his friends along to prove he wasn’t lying about the lady who seemed like she’d stepped straight out of one of his dad’s adult magazines. Pat dismissed by the twelfth time the attempts of flirtations from the postman, who hadn’t ever been nearly as interested in taking him for a drink back when Pat had answered the door in pajamas and a robe, instead of a leather skirt and pumps.
II
Pat groaned as he stepped back inside, slamming the door shut behind him and flipping through the mail. Most of it was random ads and household receipts, which he tossed onto the kitchen counter for Judy to deal with. A postcard from Mike in Rome caught his eye, showing him posing as if he were holding up the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Pat couldn’t help but smirk at the silliness of it, but his smile faded when he moved to the next letter—Pritzker signed the return address. Harold Pritzker was an arrogant, pain-in-the-ass know-it-all who had little to talk about except his so-called success—built mostly on luck, but more than enough to inflate his ego to a size dangerously close to the third floor of the semi-mansion he called home. And yet, he was family—his brother-in-law by fate alone. Somehow, Harold had managed to convince everyone that his wealth was due to hard work and persistence, including Judy’s younger sister.
He didn’t even bother looking inside before tossing the envelope into the trash. If it was money, as Harold “generously” sent now and then (given the “mere wages” Pat and Judy earned in their teaching jobs, as he liked to point out), he could shove it somewhere unpleasant. They were fine; they didn’t need any money—especially now with Judy’s boyfriend in the picture.
“Anything for me?” Judy called from the other room as she fastened a gold pendant onto her left ear.
Pat shook his head dismissively, and she shrugged, giving herself a final once-over in the mirror as she readied herself for yet another night out. Just then, the phone rang, and Pat answered it instantly, fingers crossed that it wasn’t the gardener’s wife again, accusing him of trying to steal her husband.
The moment Pat picked up the phone, he greeted as he’d learned to, softening his tone, “Residence Platt, how may I assist you?” But as soon as the voice on the other end came through, his heart sank.
“Pat? Is that you?” Anne ’s familiar voice rang out, followed by a giggle. “You sound funny.”
He froze. Of all people who could’ve called, it had to be her—Anne , his sister-in-law. Pat held the receiver at arm’s length, his face flushed, almost as though she could see his painted lips and powdered cheeks right through the speaker’s holes. For a second, he considered hanging up.
Judy, catching sight of his discomfort as she spritzed perfume on her neck, plucked the phone from his frozen hand. “Hey, Anne!” she said brightly, sliding the receiver between her neck and ear. “I figured you’d call earlier—you almost missed me!”
Pat watched, heart pounding, as Judy’s tone shifted to its usual casual warmth. “Yep, that was Pat,” she said, glancing at him with a sly smile. “He’s still adjusting, you know how it is. But trust me—” she giggled, raising an eyebrow at him—“you won’t even notice there was ever a man here.”
Pat stood rooted to the spot, watching her stroll through the living room, fully immersed in a conversation that seemed to have begun even before the call—had he just exposed himself, however subtly, to Anne ? What was she saying to Judy now?
It had become second nature for him to adopt a tone that matched his appearance, but cruel fate had brought it out at the worst possible moment, with one of the few people who didn’t know about his feminization—or so he thought.
“So… any updates on Maria’s situation?” Judy asked, leaning against the couch. The little bit of sense Pat could make out of her half-listening suggested it was bad news related to Anne’s household staff. “Gee, bad timing, huh? I mean, especially with the baby and all.”
Anne had given birth to a healthy baby boy early in January, during the last family gathering they’d attended. Since then, Pat had used her post-pregnancy recovery as an excuse to avoid further gatherings, at least for a few months. But time flies when your manhood is being stripped away, and now they’d crossed paths in a vastly different dynamic.
“Oh, you’ve got nothing to worry about, Pat knows the drill,” Judy laughed, casting him a sidelong glance. “I’ve got him whipped into shape; she’s more than ready.”
A chill crept up Pat’s spine. There was no denying that something was going on—something he wasn’t aware of but was undoubtedly part of, and she was clearly enjoying keeping it just out of his reach.
Then it hit him: Pat ran frantically to the trash can where the letter had just been tossed. Fishing it out, he smoothed the crumpled paper open and found it was an invitation—one of those annual summer reunions at the Pritzkers’. Pat winced as he gripped the thick paper, his long nails digging into it.
With Judy’s ever-growing list of social obligations—and his own newly assigned ones—Pat had assumed they wouldn’t be attending the reunion this year. And if they did, he figured Tom would naturally be her plus-one. It had never crossed his mind that she might expect him to attend in another role. Maria’s, to be precise.
The shared giggles between Judy and her sister persisted, but Judy’s focus shifted to the wall clock, her smile fading slightly. “Oh, shoot!” she muttered, realizing how late it was. “Anne, I gotta go—it’s getting late.” She tossed the phone toward Pat but caught it midair, bringing it back to her ear as Anne ’s gossip continued on the other end.
“I told you! Tom’s taking me out tonight,” Judy called between giggles.
“Yes, that Tom,” Judy repeated, rolling her eyes as she handed the phone back to Pat. He hesitated, glancing between her and the receiver until she gave him a nudge.
“Well, if it isn’t my dear brother-in-law!” Anne ’s voice came through brightly, loud enough to make Pat hold the phone slightly away from his ear as Judy resumed her primping.
“Oh, you’re a lifesaver for us,” Anne continued, in a slightly more calm tone. “Good help’s impossible to find these days. But I guess you know that firsthand, don’t you, Patti?”
Pat’s face paled. Patti. She had actually used that name.
He glanced toward Judy, who was casually adjusting the cups of her dress at the mirror, completely unfazed.
“N-No… I mean, yes, I’m…” Pat stammered, fumbling for words.
“Phew, it’s going to take some getting used to, calling you that,” Anne remarked lightly. “ “And don’t worry, I haven’t breathed a word to Harold yet. He’ll be thrilled to see the new you, let me tell you,” she said, laughing through the receiver.
His brother-in-law had always found endless ways to assert his supposed superiority over Pat, handed to him by cruel destiny on a silver platter. And now, Pat was expected to be the one holding it. Losing a wrestling match to his own wife would be the undeniable proof of Pat’s failure to live up to Harold’s standard of manhood—let alone if he ever found out about Pat’s current career change—or, worse, saw him in the uniform that came with it.
Being a high school teacher had hardly impressed that side of the family, but at least it had never risked bringing the level of humiliation that serving and attending to that pompous jerk’s needs as a female servant would provoke.
“Now, I’m sure you have plenty of chores to do,” Anne recalled, pulling him back to the conversation. “So, let’s get back to the reunion…”
Pat’s breath hitched at her casual, almost dismissive tone—laced with unmistakable authority. Not only had she accepted his new role, but she was perfectly comfortable taking advantage of it. His sister-in-law wasn’t just inviting him to the event; she expected him to attend as the help. Not as a butler, which might have left him a shred of dignity, but as a full-fledged maid—complete with a black dress, pumps, and every humiliating detail that came with the uniform.
As he had come to see on previous gatherings, the Pritzkers always ensured their household staff looked the part, dressed impeccably in crisp, professional attire. Meanwhile, Pat had been making do with borrowed castoffs from his wife’s wardrobe—at least in these early weeks. Clearly, Judy had shared at least a significant portion of what had been going on over the last few months, enough for her to assume he’d fall right in line.
“It’s nothing too big—just a little get-together… around 30 or 40 people,” Anne assured him. That was more people than any of his classes, and back then, at least, he had been the figure of authority. None of those students had ever expected him to strut through the aisles serving food and drinks.
“Don’t worry,” His sister-in-law continued, either oblivious to—or completely unmoved by—his growing discomfort. “We’ve got catering, so all you have to do is make sure everyone has a drink and serve a few hors d'oeuvres. Easy peasy, right?”
Pat swallowed hard. Easy, she called it. As though this wasn’t about to put him on display, cementing his position as the family’s submissive, sissy husband.
“How do I look?” Judy mouthed as she glided past the lobby, striking a playful pose in her sleek, curve-hugging dress. Pat opened his mouth to answer but found himself tongue-tied, distracted by Anne ’s incessant chatter in his ear.
“Quite the guy you are,” Anne chuckled, sounding as though she were munching on something. “Who’d have thought my own brother-in-law would be such a... oh, don’t mind me,” she giggled, swallowing whatever she’d been eating. “Just thinking out loud.”
Pat opened his mouth to say something, turning to Judy. “Judy, I… I—”
Judy moved back and forth through the living room, applying mascara, then blush, then a little more mascara. “What is it?!” she snapped, impatiently.
“I just… I don’t think I’m—”
“Save your thinking for later, will you?” she scolded, tearing her gaze from her compact mirror just long enough to shoot him an irritated look. “I’m running late, and Tom gets moody if I take too long.”
“But Judy, I—”
The sudden smear of her lipstick across her cheek brought Judy’s frustration to a head. “Damn it!” she hissed, brushing past him to grab a tissue, muttering under her breath as she furiously dabbed at the smudge.
“Oh, and good job with that sweet little voice, huh?” Anne continued, her tone so cheerful it bordered on mocking. “Maybe a bit too sharp for a woman of your age, but hey, we all want to appear younger, right?” Another giggle followed, as though she expected him to laugh along.
Pat pressed his hand over the phone’s speaker, muffling Anne ’s words as he turned back to Judy. “Please, Judy. I can’t… I just don’t know if—”
“Not now, Patti,” she cut him off again. A car horn sounded outside, and Judy darted toward the window, kneeling on the couch to peek through the curtains. “Coming!” she called, waving at the familiar green car parked on the curb.
She grabbed her purse, fluffed her hair one last time, and strode toward the door. “Don’t wait up!” she chirped, throwing a quick wave over her shoulder without even glancing at Pat.
"Judy, please, I just… I’m not…" Pat’s hand caught her wrist, pleading as she brushed past him. But any sympathy he’d hoped for was lost in the touch, and with a firm push, she freed her arm.
"I said, not now!" she growled, sending him stumbling back onto the couch.
The tension between them hung heavy for a moment, but another impatient honk from outside pulled Judy’s attention away. Without another glance, she opened the door, stepped out, and disappeared into the night. The sound of the car pulling away echoed faintly in the stillness of the house, only interrupted by Anne ’s insistent voice and a slightly sharper, more distant cry below coming through the phone, now lying abandoned on the carpet.
Pat picked up the receiver again, Anne’s voice filling his ears once more. “Oh, and tell me—Did you actually go out with some guy? Like, seriously?" She paused for a moment, clearly waiting for an answer that didn’t come. “You know what? Never mind. Save the juicy details for when you get here—I’ll want to see it all for myself.”
In the background, a baby’s cry grew louder, prompting an exasperated sigh from Anne . “There he goes again!” she groaned. “Sorry, dear, I’ve got to run. Better get your beauty sleep before the big day. I won’t be a tough boss or anything, but I don’t want to see a half-snoozing, half-beautiful maid greeting our guests, alright?"
With one last giggle, she hung up, leaving Pat sitting in the suffocating quiet of the house. The steady beep of the disconnected line echoed faintly, blending with the rhythmic ticking of the wall clock. His eyes landed on the crumpled invitation still lying on the table, the gold-embossed letters glinting mockingly under the light.
“We hope you can join us,” they read.
III
And so it happened. Two days later, Judy made an extra effort to wake up as early as Pat usually did, bustling around to ensure they’d leave with enough time to reach Anne ’s house. With one last wave goodbye to Mrs. Robbinson, who was watering her roses as usual, the engine roared to life after the twelfth pull of keys. Pat, watching their home grow smaller in the rearview mirror, sighed and shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
Judy took charge of the drive, sipping her coffee and stifling yawns every few miles. The journey was only two hours upstate—a familiar route they’d taken countless times before, though never under circumstances quite like these. As the miles rolled by, Pat’s mood grew darker. From the little he managed to coax out of Judy, he learned that Maria, the Pritzkers’ housekeeper, had left the country unexpectedly due to a family emergency. With no idea if or when she’d return, the Pritzkers were left scrambling to fill the vacancy. That’s when Judy had stepped in, volunteering her husband as the perfect temporary solution.
While both Anne and Harold had reservations about taking advantage of Pat in such a way, Judy’s insistence left them little room to argue. They eventually agreed, with the compromise that the couple would at least stay at the Pritzkers’ home in the meantime. Harold had been particularly skeptical, convinced that Pat wasn’t cut out for the rigorous demands of a butler’s role. Still, he found some solace in knowing Pat would at least get a taste of real work. Anne, on the other hand, had held her tongue, knowing full well that “butler” wasn’t quite the role Judy had in mind for her husband.
As they drove further, the route split into familiar branches—one leading to the secluded cottage where Pat had first measured his strength against Judy. That pivotal wrestling match had planted the seeds for everything that followed, including the creation of his current alter ego. Despite its associations, Pat couldn’t deny the cottage’s charm. It was peaceful, perfect for recharging and escaping the chaos of daily life. Nice enough for him to endure the awkwardness of asking his brother-in-law to let them use it every few months, always met with his brother-in-law’s good-natured teasing.
“Of course, you can have it!” Harold would laugh, slapping Pat on the back. “We’re family! Anne ’s big sis deserves the best. If you’re willing to ask, I’m willing to give!”
They had a longstanding agreement that Pat would repay the favor by tutoring Harold’s future children. Even then, he was already threatening to spread his kind on Earth—well-formed, male specimens like himself. So far, he seemed on track, starting with his firstborn, Benjamin—named after his grandfather, who’d given his life in the Great War. Ben, but never Benny, as Harold would constantly clarify; minimizing his name was, in his view, tantamount to disrespect. Pat cringed at the thought of what his brother-in-law would say if he knew people were calling him Patti these days—or about everything else that had changed.
Halfway through the drive, the sedan began to shudder, rattling with irregular bumps before wheezing to an abrupt stop. “C’mon,” Judy barked, turning the key repeatedly, but the car refused to respond. After years of use and little maintenance, it had finally reached its limit.
With no other choice, Judy called Anne for assistance. Even though the call wasn’t on speaker, Pat could hear her sister’s sharp cries of concern as she assured them she’d come right away.
Not long after, Anne’s sleek SUV appeared at the end of the road, honking as it approached. The vehicle screeched to a halt just in front of the stranded sedan. Judy stepped out immediately, throwing her arms open to greet her sister after months apart. Pat, meanwhile, stayed inside, peering nervously through the window as the two women exchanged warm hugs.
Anne’s excitement was palpable even from a distance. Her gaze kept darting toward the sedan, clearly curious about catching a glimpse of Pat through the tinted windows. Noticing her sister’s curiosity, Judy waved her over to the passenger door.
Pat hesitated before reluctantly opening the door. With no men’s clothing left in his wardrobe, he had pieced together an outfit he hoped would soften the shock for anyone unfamiliar with his transformation.
The shock came anyway, taking shape in a breathless gasp from Anne, followed by progressively higher-pitched squeals as he stepped out.
Emerging from the dim interior of the sedan, he blinked in the sunlight, his freshly manicured nails catching the light as they gleamed with every movement. His two-inch slingback sandals clicked softly against the asphalt as he swung his legs to the side. Ignoring Judy’s outstretched hand, he straightened to his full height, the swish of his capri-length pants brushing his calves as he adjusted the sleeveless, striped baby-blue top.
“There she is!” Anne exclaimed gleefully, rushing forward to envelop Pat in an enthusiastic hug. The embrace nearly dislodged his floral headband, and she leaned in with exaggerated “muah” sounds, brushing his cheeks in a friendly kiss. She paused momentarily, catching a faint whiff of perfume, before pulling back to hold him at arm’s length.
“Well, you don’t look like my old brother-in-law at all,” Anne teased, stepping back to take him in. “I just want you to know,” she chimed, in persistent nods as resting both hands on his shoulders. “This journey you’re on can’t be easy, but I fully support you. You’re family, after all. My dear brother-in—uh, sister now, I guess!” She giggled.
“She’s our cousin, actually,” Judy interjected, from the other side of the cars, dragging bags toward Anne’s SUV.
“Ah, of course!” Anne replied, laughing as she brushed Pat’s chin lightly with her fingers. “Got to keep appearances, don’t we, dear? she said, flashing a knowing smile, one that he didn’t share. “It might take some time for everyone to adjust, but I’m sure we’ll all learn to accept the new you, Patti.”
The honking of passing cars reminded them they still had a destination to reach. With the broken sedan hitched to her own vehicle, they were soon back on the road. The SUV handled the additional weight easily, taking them home in less time than the sedan would have managed.
The sisters filled the drive with chatter, recounting highlights from their respective holidays. Judy mostly listened at this point, while Anne casually threw in details about how hectic things had been since Maria left. “Well, I guess that’s not a problem anymore,” she remarked, glancing back at Pat in the rear seat with a knowing smile.
When they finally pulled into the Pritzkers’ driveway—a sprawling yet tasteful property that hinted at wealth without flaunting it—Pat noticed Harold’s truck was missing from its usual spot, now soon to be occupied by the faint remnants of his own car.
With nothing to carry but a small handbag, Pat followed the lead of his wife, who dragged one small bag and a larger suitcase behind her, and Anne, who reached the door first. Before she could retrieve the key, the door swung open on its own. At first, Pat thought it might be her husband, but instead, a bounding dog burst out with loud, excited barks.
“Hunter, down!” Anne scolded, laughing as the golden retriever zeroed in on Pat, sniffing him eagerly. Pat held still, letting himself be inspected.
“Silly boy,” the owner cooed, kneeling to hold the dog’s face in her hands, forcing it toward Pat’s. “It’s just Patti! I know she looks a little different, but you remember her, don’t you?”
Apparently he didn’t and with his curiosity refusing to wane, Anne eventually led her pet by the collar to the backyard. Judy and behind her Pat, followed inside, instantly welcomed by the elegantly designed interiors. Everything reflected the Pritzkers’ wealth,from the polished furniture to the high ceilings and professionally curated decor. It might not have been an actual mansion, but it was much closer to one than their own home—inviting, if only for a guest and not as a member of the staff.
Judy sighed contentedly and removed her coat, prompting Pat to take it instantly. Before he could hang it with the rest of her belongings, Anne intercepted him near the sliding glass door, where Hunter was still jumping excitedly, his muffled barks barely audible through the glass.
“Oh, Judy, are you sure about that?” She asked, stepping forward. She stopped Pat mid-reach, catching the items. “Aren’t these a bit too heavy... for her?” she asked, directing the question toward Judy but glancing at Pat with genuine concern.
Judy waved her off with an amused smile. “Oh, don’t worry. These are not heavy at all,”
“Well, if you say so,” Anne relented, handing over the items before taking a seat beside her sister, who had already cozied up on the couch, her feet propped up on the coffee table.
“Oh, no, not there,” Anne called out as Pat turned toward the lobby closet. “Judy’s staying upstairs—second floor, third door on the left. Thank you!”
Pat’s shoulders slumped slightly as he adjusted his grip on the coat and bag, trudging toward the stairs. The wheeled suitcase was heavier than he anticipated, and although he tried to maintain his composure, at least until he was out of sight. By the time he reached the second floor, he was openly letting the suitcase thump on each step, secretly hoping it might leave some dents.
Navigating the hallway heightened his anxiety, as he half-expected Harold to emerge from one of the rooms at any moment. Thankfully, the corridor was silent, and when he finally arrived at Judy’s temporary room, he dropped the bags onto the single twin bed with a grunt of effort. His gaze lingered for a moment, noticing that his well-informed sister-in-law had correctly assumed he and Judy wouldn’t be sharing a bed during their visit.
Pat draped Judy’s coat over the back of a chair, too distracted to bother hanging it properly, and made his way back downstairs. When he returned, the sisters were deep in conversation again, at least judging by the volume of their giggles.
“So, uh…” Pat hesitated, hovering at the threshold. “Where’s Harold?”
Anne paused mid-laugh and turned to look at him. “Oh, I’m sorry, dear—what was that?” she asked, still chuckling as she wiped a stray tear from the corner of her eye.
Pat shifted uncomfortably, brushing his ankle against the strap of his sandal. “I was just wondering… is Harold around?”
“Oh, heavens no,” Anne said with an amused sigh, waving a dismissive hand as she picked up her teacup. “He’s at work. Some endless meeting about quarterly projections or something equally dull. We won’t see him until halfway through the party, if we’re lucky.” She rolled her eyes and nudged Judy with a grin. “That husband of mine—sometimes I think he’s married to his job.”
Judy snorted, raising an eyebrow. “Well, at least yours wears pants to work.”
Between the women’s chuckles, Pat could only envision what it’d be like when his brother-in-law got home. Harold’s absence was a small mercy, but he knew it wouldn’t last. Sooner or later, he’d have to face him—either dressed like this or in Maria’s borrowed maid uniform during the party. Ridiculously, the thought of his brother-in-law witnessing the price he paid for losing a wrestling bet filled him with more dread than serving drinks and appetizers for a crowd of strangers over several hours.
No punishment Judy had ever dreamed up could compare to the thought of serving Harold as a fully made-up maid for the next few days. That unsuspecting Mexican lady whose uniform Pat had been “loaned,” had unwittingly extended the boundaries of his humiliation beyond anything he thought possible, as if he were the subject of an experiment testing how much shame one person could endure in just a few months.
“Come on, sweetie, sit with us for a second, will you?” His sister-in-law’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. She patted the spot beside her on the couch. “We don’t bite, I promise.”
Pat hesitated but reluctantly sat down, smoothing his pants reflexively, as if they were a skirt—a habit he hadn’t realized he’d developed. Anne turned to face him fully, tucking one foot beneath her as she offered him a teacup. Her gaze was warm but faintly probing as she said, “I can only imagine how difficult this whole... transition has been for you.”
“Y-yeah,” Pat stammered, avoiding her eyes as he took a small sip of tea. “It’s... been an adjustment.”
She leaned closer, placing a hand over his and giving it a light squeeze. “For what it’s worth,” she said softly, “I think the hardest part is behind you. And you’ve come through it beautifully.”
Pat forced a faint smile, nodding again. He held her touch just long enough to be polite before subtly pulling his hand away, but Anne’s eyes dropped to his freshly done French tips, and her expression lit up.
“Oh my! What a gorgeous manicure!” she exclaimed, holding his hand palm-up to admire the glossy finish. “Did you do these yourself?”
“N-no,” He stammered. “I, uh… got them done at the mall.” He glanced at Judy, who observed the exchange with thinly veiled amusement.
Anne gasped theatrically, her mock horror exaggerated. “Oh, no, no, no! That won’t do at all!” She clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “Those cheap places use such low-quality products. Your poor cuticles must be begging for mercy!” She inspected his nails critically before turning back to him with a wide smile. “I’ve got a membership at this fabulous spa on Northwest Boulevard. Their treatments are, like, absolutely divine. You simply must come with me sometime—you and Judy both! She squealed, glancing between him and her sister. “It’ll be a real girls’ day! My treat!”
“Anne, that’s so thoughtful of you,” Judy said leaned forward, with a sly glance at Pat. “You really do spoil us.”
Her sister waved her off. “Nonsense! You two deserve it.”
“That’s… very kind of you,” Pat said cautiously, glancing between the sisters’ matching grins. “But I don’t think it’s necessary. The next school term’s coming up, and I’ll—”
“Oh! Have you given them notice yet?” Anne interrupted, not letting him finish his polite refusal. He had been about to explain that a high-end manicure service wasn’t worth it, especially when he planned to ditch the nails—and everything else about this look—within the month.
Pat faltered, thrown off. “Uh, no... I mean...”
“We haven’t,” Judy interjected, setting her cup down. “In fact, I doubt I’ll ever set foot in that hellhole again.”
Before Pat could fully process Judy’s words, her sister turned her attention back to him with a curious tilt of her head. “And what about you, Patti?” she asked, refilling her sister’s cup. “Do you feel like teaching again? You know, plenty of schools are very open-minded these days with people in… well, your situation.”
Pat’s mouth opened and closed a few times, trying to find the words. His hands clenched into fists in his lap, and before he could stop himself, the words came tumbling out. “They won’t need to be open-minded because I’ll be out of this stupid bet in less than a month!” he burst out, clenching his fists against his knees.
Anne blinked in surprise, clearly caught off guard. It took her a moment to recover, and she smoothed her expression with a polite smile. “Ah, of course,” she said gently. The sisters exchanged a glance, and Judy mouthed, Still adjusting. Anne chuckled softly, nodding in agreement.
The last drops of tea trickled into Anne’s cup, and she made to carry the tray to the kitchen, but Judy stopped her. “No, no, let her,” she insisted, gesturing toward Pat.
He bit back a sigh and obediently picked up the tray, throwing Judy an irritated glance as she leaned back to place her cup on it.
Reaching for the earl gray and refilling the sugar bowl with stevia, he set the kettle down and let out an exhausted sigh. There was still at least another day and night here before he could return home—where, at least, no one knew who “Patti” really was. At this point, he had found at least some relief in the fact that he could call himself a woman, and no one—except those who knew the truth—would doubt it.
He chuckled softly, wiping a smudge of lipstick from his reflection in the microwave door. It was almost amusing to think how little remained to master in the lifestyle of a woman; it felt like it would be harder now to convince anyone there was a man underneath all the makeup and clothing
The kettle began to whistle, its sharp cry merging with a louder, more insistent wailing from somewhere below. At first, he thought it was Judy and Anne’s laughter hitting a particularly obnoxious pitch. But as the sound grew louder and more desperate, he realized it had to be his nephew. Benny—no, Ben, he corrected himself.
Pat peeked toward the living room, hoping one of the sisters might react. Their chatter continued unabated, with no sign that they’d heard the baby’s cries. The tea could wait, he turned off the stove and followed the sound to its source.
As he suspected, Pat found his nephew squirming in his crib, his little face bright red from the effort of his cries. He approximated, but his arms hovering uncertainty over the infant. Finally, he brushed a stray lock of hair behind his ear and leaned down.
“Shh, shh,” Pat cooed softly, gently scooped Ben up into his arms, holding him close to his chest. Ben’s tiny hands flailed at first but then settled against the neckline of Pat’s blouse as his cries softened to hiccups. Pat rocked him gently, humming under his breath as he paced the room
For a fleeting moment, the two shared a rare calm. Ben’s big, curious eyes locked onto the unfamiliar face, and Pat couldn’t help but smile faintly. There was something soothing about holding the baby, despite the awkwardness of it all. But just as quickly as the calm had come, Ben’s expression twisted, and his wailing resumed, louder this time. The uncle sighed exasperated, glancing around for something to distract him. He tried squeezing a stuffed animal in front of him, but Ben wasn’t interested. A few more attempts with various toys failed miserably, and Pat found himself panicking.
With no better option, he hurried back to the living room, his nephew still crying inconsolably in his arms. The noise cut through the room like a siren, but Anne merely glanced up with an indulgent smile.
“Oh no, dear,” she said, waving a hand dismissively. “Harold’s very firm about this—He doesn’t want me spoiling his son by picking him up every time he cries. ‘A mother’s overprotective care reinforces weak behavior,’” she added in a mockingly deep voice, rolling her eyes. “‘Or makes him overly dependent.’”
Anne exchanged a knowing look with Judy, letting out an exasperated sigh. “Breaks my heart, but Harold insists. He’s very adamant about raising Ben to be resilient.”
Pat’s incredulous gaze darted between the two women as he instinctively held the baby closer. Anne had mocked the idea of resilience at first, no matter how many studies her husband had shown her. But looking at her feminized brother-in-law cradling Ben against his silicone-enhanced chest, she had begun to think Harold might have a point. Perhaps Pat had received too much attention as a child, leading to this... wimpish demeanor that had made him so pliable for Judy’s whims.
He had adjusted to the situation far too well for someone who claimed reluctance. There had to be something within him that had always been there—something Judy had simply nurtured and encouraged. It was undeniable, watching Pat’s tender, almost maternal concern for the baby.
Ben’s tiny hand clutched Pat’s blouse, his fussing replaced by a calm stillness that made Anne’s lips curl into an approving smile. An idea had begun to take shape, one that could align both her husband’s ideals and Judy’s insistence on “making the most of” his situation. She glanced at her sister, who looked equally amused, their silent understanding passing between them.
Pat squirmed under his sister-in-law’s stare. “W-what?” he stammered, the flush on his cheeks deepening.
“Aww, nothing,” She said softly, her tone almost doting as she waved him off.
He hadn’t even noticed the baby tugging persistently at his blouse until a small giggle escaped Judy’s lips. Glancing down in sudden horror, he saw Ben’s determined little hands nearly undoing the top button, revealing the edge of the silicone breast form beneath.
Both sisters erupted into laughter. Judy clutched her stomach, doubling over, while Anne hid her giggles behind a hand.
“Oh, poor thing must be hungry,” The mother managed between bouts of laughter.
Finally, taking pity—or so Pat thought—Anne reached out and gently took Ben from his arms. She unbuttoned her blouse without hesitation, slipping it off one shoulder as she settled Ben against her chest to nurse him.
“So, Patti,” Anne said casually leaning back, as Ben latched on, “are you a size 15 in dresses?”
Pat blinked, fumbling with his blouse to fix the undone buttons. “Uh... 17,” he stammered. “Why?”
He quickly understood why. With Ben contentedly asleep in his crib, Anne wasted no time in channeling her enthusiasm into fully immersing her brother-in-law in the role he was meant to play. Within the confines of a small room—furnished similarly to Judy’s but tighter in dimensions—Anne rummaged through the narrow closet until she pulled out an outfit Pat instantly recognized.
It was one of Maria’s old costumes, unmistakable not only for its shiny black material and intricate lacy patterns but also for the name embroidered across the top. The snug fit left no doubt as to its original owner.
With equally sized pairs, they had to make the most with what they had—namely, a persistent sister-in-law and a nearly suffocated replacement. The name “Maria” stretched across the front, the lettering warped from Anne’s insistent tugging to get the garment to fit over Pat’s broader frame. Pat’s audible groans of effort made it clear that it wouldn’t work, until the zipper finally broke under her final yank.
Humming thoughtfully, she snapped her fingers as an idea struck her. Still half-dressed, Pat was led across the house to her bedroom. With the zipper undone and the dress barely hanging on, he followed reluctantly, catching glimpses of Anne’s smirking expression each time she turned to giggle at the sight of his bouncing silicone forms.
Inside Anne’s expansive walk-in closet—easily larger than Pat’s bedroom back home—She and Judy rifled through her collection of clothes, tossing dresses over their shoulders and debating options, paying little attention to anything the actual wearer had to say. Hangers clattered, fabric swished, and within minutes, the room looked like a clothing rack had exploded but finally settled on an ensemble that met their shared vision.
Anne watched intently, biting her thumb to stifle her laughter as Judy, unfazed, unhooked her husband’s bra. Pat, caught off guard, frantically crossed his arms over his chest. Judy smirked, sliding the piece out of his grasp before leaving the room, abandoning him to her sister’s scrutiny.
With little to say between her and her turned-back brother-in-law, Anne’s eyes drifted over the faint red marks left by the bra straps on his mid-back and shoulders—marks she was more accustomed to seeing on her girlfriends, not a man. Though she understood the origins of Pat’s “relationship” with this type of underwear, seeing the evidence first hand was jarring. Harold would never have such marks—nor had any of Judy’s previous partners.
Her sister had always gravitated toward a particular type of man, and when Judy had first introduced her future husband to the family, Anne had immediately noticed how different he was. She couldn’t reconcile the image of her sister’s previous confident, charismatic boyfriends with the sweaty, nervous man who seemed to have no idea how to handle high-class cutlery. In hindsight, though, maybe that had been a good thing. Judy’s last breakup had been brutal, and while Pat had his flaws, he at least seemed to offer something steady.
Anne had discreetly kicked Harold under the table when he couldn’t hold back a laugh as Judy rejected the meal Pat had ordered for her, snatching the menu from his hands. The situation had been awkward for everyone involved—especially the waiter. Social norms dictated that the man order for his date, and Anne had no problem letting Harold order for her. But her husband knew her well enough to choose something she liked—unlike Judy’s new beau, who couldn’t pick anything close to the steak and potatoes she had wanted.
As some sort of punishment, Judy had taken the bold step of ordering for Pat instead. She handed the menu back to the waiter before Pat could argue and so, he ended up with a light salad, sitting in embarrassed silence while Harold boasted about a recent successful deal. The table celebrated with a toast, which Pat could only join with water—Judy had extended her authority by forbidding him from having even a drop of alcohol.
As Pat had explained countless times since, often in the face of Harold’s relentless teasing, he had simply been trying not to make a scene. He had wanted to be “mature” about their relationship, turning the other cheek when Judy undermined him. But even the most patient man has limits. For Pat, though, those limits seemed endlessly elastic.
His cheeks were burning now from having to take turns enduring Judy’s ever-escalating defiance. Red with embarrassment, they matched the flushed face of little Ben’s earlier tantrum. Anne deduced, with a hint of amusement, that what she was witnessing now might just be an adult man’s version of a meltdown.
“Is it just me, or are these getting bigger?” Judy teased, clutching the silicone forms in her hands and adjusting them in the newly strapless bra she had fastened around her husband. Pat shot her a resentful glare, which Judy met with a wide grin as she held out his outfit for him to step into.
Anne, still reeling from the surreal spectacle, snapped out of her thoughts as Judy called for help. Together, the sisters tugged the rhinestone-studded dress up over Pat’s torso. Anne’s hand lingered a bit too long on his back after the zipper was fully up. She wouldn’t admit it aloud, but she hadn’t been able to fit into this dress herself post-pregnancy. Meanwhile, Pat, perpetually in a pre-pregnancy state, could slide into the red getup with ease—not that he ever wanted to.
Sliding her eyes down his silhouette, Anne wondered if Pat had been subsisting on nothing but side salads since that dinner years ago. The dress looked just right on him. The off-shoulder neckline framed his faux curves perfectly, flowing seamlessly over his slim torso. The long skirt featured a dangerously high slit along one side, revealing Pat’s legs—legs that were supposedly those of a man but clearly belonged to someone dedicated to an unrelenting regimen of waxing, lotioning, and careful grooming.
Even more impressive was how effortlessly he balanced on four-inch silver glitter sandals—a skill most women took their entire teenage years to master. But Pat wasn’t most women. He wasn’t even a woman.
Anne wondered, not for the first time, how he could ever think there was a way back—not just for him, but for those who had witnessed the extremes of his transformation. He was no longer the man she had once dismissed as weak because of his overly gentle handshake; though still nervous, he had become something entirely different.
He might not have realized it yet, but that dress was already his, just as Anne had come to realize she could never dare wear it again—not after seeing how perfectly it fit her brother-in-law.
Maybe Pat wasn’t like Judy’s previous boyfriends, but Anne was starting to understand why her sister enjoyed having him around—even after Tom’s return. Few men could pull off such an outfit with such ease. Most wouldn’t even know if they could—unless, of course, they had someone like Judy in their lives. Perhaps they were indeed meant to be together, just not as husband and wife.
“What do you think?” Judy asked, turning to her sister.
Holding the position Judy had placed him in, Pat stared blankly ahead, waiting for Anne to give her verdict. She nodded approvingly, unable to find fault with the sight.
The sisters quickly changed into more understated outfits, adding light touches of makeup. Once everyone was ready, the trio descended the staircase together, carefully lifting their skirts to avoid tripping. Judy extended a hand to Pat as they reached the last step, but he brushed her off with a huff, letting his skirt fall back into place.
IV
It was quarter to five, but it didn’t take long before Anne assumed her role as his newly appointed master, assigning him to clean the downstairs parlor and den. As he dusted and tidied, the house began to fill with the aroma of food being carried in by a procession of catering staff. Each worker sneaked at least one glance at the red-clad figure bent over the furniture. “Excuse me,” one called out, accidentally bumping into Pat and sending him stumbling slightly. Pat straightened quickly, catching sight of the worker exchanging a knowing smile with another before moving along.
By the time the guests began to arrive, everything was perfectly in place, including the newly hired maid standing by the lobby to greet them. Most guests barely noticed him, offering nothing more than a distracted nod, but a few paused long enough to inquire about the change in staff, stopped to ask his name. Pat forced himself to hiss the name “Patti” through gritted teeth, plastering on a demeaning smile for an elderly woman before she wandered toward Anne’s voice down the hallway.
No one seemed to notice any resemblance between "Patti" and the reclusive family member who rarely attended these gatherings. Then again, Pat had never made much effort to socialize with these wealthy elites. Harold often spoke about the importance of networking, claiming that social connections were the key to better opportunities, but Pat couldn’t help feeling small in their presence.
What was tutoring a struggling student to a B-minus compared to increasing a company’s annual revenue by 12%? Pat wasn’t failing in his career, but his path offered little room for advancement. The best he could hope for was a principal position in a few decades. This year, however, brought a change: instead of blending into the background, he was front and center, as Maria once was, serving appetizers and wine glasses to his in-laws’ colleagues and friends. Family connections certainly worked, as he alone would never have escalated this far in his rapidly growing serving career.
The dinner guests seemed pleased with his service, and Pat quickly established a route starting from the kitchen, tolerating the discreet eyeing-down of the cooks on his way out. Carrying pieces of the Pritzers’ silver collection, Pat navigated through the crowd, balancing either rounded trays held in one hand, filled with cups of wine from some vintage year, or square trays requiring both hands, piled high with small fish and meat canapés. Moving into the foyer, he first encountered Anne’s girlfriends, who had quickly welcomed Judy into their group. They were too absorbed in little Ben’s attempts to form words out of baby noises to notice Pat beyond the contents of his tray.
Deeper into the hall, Pat attended to the elderly guests whose legs couldn’t support standing for too long. His careful bending to offer appetizers often drew not-so-subtle glances at his neckline from the gentlemen, earning disapproving glares from their spouses.
Children darted past, brushing against his skirt as they chased one another toward the back patio, where Harold’s contemporaries had gathered. Puffing on cigars, they leaned against the slightly open crystal door, blowing their smoke outside. The persistent dog, making frequent attempts to squeeze through the gap, announced his presence before Pat approached the group, tray in hand. The gentlemen offered polite smiles before helping themselves. Pat had learned to carry a lighter for such occasions, and when one man gestured for a light, he obliged. However, as the flame flickered out, the man suddenly straightened, calling toward the entrance.
“Harold! My man!”
The shout carried through the hall like a jolt, sending a shiver up Pat’s spine and into his scalp. The name reverberated in his ears, making the crystal earrings that had been lent to him tremble slightly. He turned slowly, his heart pounding, and there he saw Harold—the owner of the name, the husband of the earrings’ owner, and the master of the household Pat had spent the evening serving. Harold had arrived, smiling warmly at the gathered crowd as he shrugged off his coat. Anne appeared beside him, offering a glass of wine.
They exchanged a quick peck before Anne leaned in to murmur something in her husband’s ear. Harold, still smiling, tipped the glass back for a hearty gulp—only to choke halfway through, his expression twisting into one of shock.
“He WHAT—?!” Harold sputtered, nearly spitting out the last drops of his drink to the sound of Anne’s delighted giggles.
Pat’s stomach churned with nauseating intensity, the kind he hadn’t felt since his dating days with Mike. His legs wobbled beneath him, and the men reacted quickly enough to remove their glasses from the trembling tray before he spilled them. Harold’s wide-eyed gaze swept across the room, eventually locking onto the red-stamped figure at the back.
“Patti!” Anne’s voice rang out, loud and clear, cutting through the din with his feminized name. “Over here, darling!” She called, waving him over.
Pat froze, clinging to the faint hope that the murmuring crowd might drown out her words. But Harold’s friends were quick to nudge him forward, pointing out Anne’s beckoning. With no escape, Pat forced himself to move, his heels clicking against the polished floor as the couple awaited him expectantly.
The journey from the corner of the living room to Harold and Anne felt like the longest walk of his life. Not because of the short steps this kind of shoes allowed, but because his brother-in-law’s incredulous gaze followed his every step as the gap between them closed, his expression shifting from confusion to something closer to disgust. The makeup, the dress, the jewelry—none of it aligned with Harold’s image of his brother-in-law, or with any image of a man for that matter. Yet, the face beneath it all carried just enough familiarity to make recognition unavoidable.
This was not, by any stretch, how Harold had envisioned his return home. He had expected to find his brother-in-law sticking to his word—perhaps helping with minor chores while Judy entertained their guests. Pulling into the driveway, he spotted Pat’s old, beat-up sedan parked alongside Anne’s sleek SUV and figured the party was already in full swing.
Before stepping inside, he paused to adjust his tie and smooth his rumpled shirt in the side mirror. These endless late-night meetings had been draining him all week, devouring more and more of his time with family. But the paycheck made up for it—they were more than comfortable. He’d always been willing to take one for the team, and in some ways, he respected Pat for doing the same. He even resolved not to give him too hard of a time.
That image of respect, however, burned to ashes the moment Anne gleefully informed him of the conditions Pat had agreed to. What Harold had first assumed was a joke took on a horrifying reality when he stepped inside and laid eyes on the scene. Pat had really taken over Maria’s role, just as Judy had promised—but Harold hadn’t expected them to take it so literally.
Savoring the lingering drops of his twelve-year-old red reserve, Harold could only let the expensive liquid spill from his lips as his mouth hung open at the sight of his brother-in-law wearing one of his wife’s most alluring dresses.
It was a sight he’d missed, though he’d long since learned not to comment on Anne’s post-pregnancy figure. Having it back, now on Pat, wasn’t definitely what he had in mind. He could only pray none of his coworkers or acquaintances would ever find out who was hidden beneath that dress. How could he explain that his brother-in-law had decided to cross-dress for the occasion? Harold would have gladly lent him a suit if he was short on attire. It might’ve been loose, but it would’ve been a far better option than this.
And yet, as Pat reached them and stood before his brother-in-law, it became glaringly obvious this wasn’t some spur-of-the-moment improvisation. Pat seemed too comfortable in the clothes and makeup for this to be his first time. Anne’s lack of surprise—and her barely suppressed giggles—confirmed this has been orchestrated with plenty of anticipation.
Standing before them, Pat straightened his posture, awaiting for instructions as though this small gesture of dignity could salvage his pride. But the tension in his shoulders and the way his cheeks burned betrayed the truth—inside, he was unraveling.
Anne, utterly unfazed, reached up and tapped Harold’s jaw to close his gaping mouth before sliding the tie from his neck. “Patti, be a dear and take this to the laundry for me,” she said sweetly, holding up her husband’s wine-stained shirt.
Pat swallowed hard, his throat dry, but managed a nod. He snapped the shirt from her hand and turned to leave, but she called again. “Oh and, Patti?” Pat cringed at the repeated use of the feminized nickname. Still, he turned back, forcing a neutral expression onto his face.
“While you’re at it,” Anne continued, patting Harold’s chest, now clad only in his undershirt, “bring my husband a fresh shirt, won’t you?”
He nodded again, this time more curtly, and quickly made his way out of the room, doing everything he could to avoid looking back. Once out of sight, Pat leaned against the door, his chest heaving as he tried to process what had just happened. Harold had seen him—fully and undeniably. Even though he wasn’t dressed appropriately for the role of a servant, he had been completely exposed to his brother-in-law as a woman. Yet there had been no sign of amusement from Harold. If anything, he seemed annoyed, maybe even angry, at seeing him like this.
In the bedroom, Pat found Harold’s wardrobe tucked neatly into a space beside Judy’s. No man needed that much closet space, and his brother-in-law was no exception. Pulling a shirt from the drawer, Pat’s fingers brushed over the embroidered initials—H.P.—before he quickly shook off the hesitation. Straightening the shirt with a sigh, he headed back to work.
Glancing through the crowd, Pat found his brother-in-law chatting with his friends in the back. He approached quietly, standing silently until Harold noticed him. Without a word, Pat handed over the fresh shirt and made a move to assist him in putting it on. Harold quickly waved him off, pulling the shirt on himself.
Before Pat could retreat, one of Harold’s friends gestured with an empty glass. “Hey, be a doll and grab me another one of these,” the man called.
The servant nodded but barely took a step before the man delivered a hard slap to his rear. The sudden jolt made Pat wobble slightly in his heels, his face burning with embarrassment.
“Thanks, sugar,” the man drawled, laughing with his companions.
Pat gritted his teeth, forcing himself to straighten up and leave without a word. The shame of enduring such treatment in front of his brother-in-law stung worse than the slap itself. If Harold had laughed or joined in, it might’ve been unbearable. Instead, he said nothing, his gaze heavy and unreadable.
The rest of the evening passed without major incidents. Pat kept his focus on his duties, attending to the other guests and limiting his interactions with Harold and his kind to the bare minimum. Eventually, Anne called him over to take her sleepy son, whose energy had been drained by the lively party. “Aww, she’s so good with him,” one of Anne’s friends cooed as Pat cradled the baby against his shoulder. She and Judy giggled in agreement.
The few minutes it took for Pat to settle little Ben into his crib offered only brief relief. His duties quickly called him back, this time to start collecting guests’ coats and hats. One elderly lady exchanged a lighthearted joke with the hostess as she handed over her belongings.
“She’s a keeper, I’m telling you,” the woman said, wagging a finger at Pat. He could only muster a polite smile while the stranger marveled at what a great maid he was. “You’d better keep a close eye on her, or I might just steal her away!”
“Oh, I’d like to see you try, Mrs. Absner,” Anne played along, waving at the older woman as she headed out, assisted by Pat. “We’re keeping this one for a long, long time,” She called out with a laugh just as Pat closed the door.
The men were the last to call it a night, squeezing the evening’s final moments for a few lingering puns as they made their way out. Harold joined their laughter, patting shoulders and exchanging handshakes with each of them at the door. He lingered by the window, watching until the last of them had disappeared into the night.
Once the house was finally empty, his mood shifted. He extinguished the stub of his cigar against the sole of his shoe, flicked it carelessly aside, and turned sharply toward Pat, who had been collecting glasses and used napkins nearby.
“All right, Pat,” Harold barked, his sudden outburst startling the unsuspecting maid, who hadn’t noticed his approach. “If this is a joke, consider it done.”
“Now,” He continued, taking a threatening step closer, his voice rising with each word, “would you care to explain what the fuck is going on here?!”
Pat instinctively took a step back, his heels clacking nervously against the floor. His heart raced, and in his panicked retreat, the tray tipped forward, sending the empty glasses crashing to the ground. Each sharp note of breaking glass seemed to fuel his brother-in-law’s escalating fury.
The commotion brought Judy and Anne rushing into the room. They quickly placed themselves between the two men as Harold advanced.
“I always knew you were a pansy,” Harold spat, glaring past the women as he pointed a trembling finger at his brother-in-law. “But this?” He gestured wildly toward Pat’s appearance. “What kind of sick freak does something like this?!”
“I guess that ‘sick freak’ would be me,” Judy interjected calmly, placing a firm hand on his chest to hold him back. Harold’s head snapped toward her, his face a mixture of shock and disbelief.
“You?” he barked.
“Harold, you need to calm down,” Anne said quickly, her hand joining Judy’s in an attempt to steady him.
“Calm down?” Harold repeated, shaking them off with a bitter laugh. “Oh sure, Anne. Why wouldn’t I be calm? My brother-in-law is standing here in your cocktail dress! Excuse me if I don’t break out the cigars and champagne!”
Anne’s lips twitched, clearly fighting back a laugh as she turned her gaze to the man in question. “Well, Maria’s wouldn’t fit, but–” she admitted, her tone lighter than the situation warranted. “I’ve got to say, Patti’s really pulling it off. I didn’t think she had the legs for it.”
Her husband’s face turned an alarming shade of crimson. “P-P-P—” His lips trembled as he struggled to repeat the name. “You’re joking,” he finally hissed, swallowing hard. “This—this has to be a joke!”
“No joke,” Judy said smoothly, stepping further into Harold’s line of sight, her calm demeanor infuriating him further. “If you’d stop yelling for five seconds, I could explain.”
Harold stepped back, running both hands over his face before letting out a guttural growl. “You’d better have one hell of an explanation,” he growled, collapsing into an armchair with a sharp exhale. “Because from where I’m standing, your husband looks like he’s auditioning for a damn drag show.”
As Pat quietly began cleaning up the broken glass, Judy launched into an explanation, narrating the series of events that had unfolded over the past two months in painstaking detail. She made sure to emphasize none of this had been voluntary on Pat’s side, though her tone, at times, seemed to suggest a faint admiration for his increasing submission over time.
The more Judy talked, the more animated Harold became. He paced the room, shaking his head as if trying to physically rid himself of what he was hearing. Anne, who had already been filled in, found renewed amusement in her husband’s escalating reactions to each revelation about Pat’s transformation.
The mere mention of Pat losing a fight to Judy caused Harold to pause mid-step, but when Judy casually added that the two of them had been sharing clothes ever since, Anne had to reach out and steady her husband, who looked as though he might faint.
Pat stayed silent, kneeling on the floor fixed to pick up shards of crystal in his trembling hands. A dustpan would have been a better choice, but he wasn’t familiar enough with the house to know where the cleaning supplies were kept. And this definitely wasn’t the moment to ask.
By the time Judy described their first shopping trip together, Harold threw his hands up in exasperation. “Stop—just stop!” he barked, cutting Judy off mid-sentence as she was about to dive into the story of Mike and Tom. “I’ve heard enough.”
Harold spun away, storming to the bar to pour himself a glass of wine. He raised it to his lips but froze, nearly choking on the drink when his eyes landed on his brother-in-law. The angle of Pat’s kneeling form caused the slit on his skirt to open just slightly, offering a glimpse of lace panties. He coughed violently, setting his glass down before he made a mess.
Pat, sensing the weight of Harold’s gaze, kept his eyes fixed on the floor, his stomach churning as he heard his brother-in-law’s footsteps approaching once more. The shadow of his brother-in-law stretched long over him.
"And you," Harold barked, pointing an accusatory finger at Pat. "How the hell did you let this happen? Goddammit, answer me!"
Pat froze, his breath hitching. He barely managed to meet Harold’s eyes before looking away again. His voice was barely above a whisper. "I... I’m a man of my word."
“A man?” Harold repeated, his eyes wide with disbelief. "You call yourself a man?" He let out a bitter laugh, stepping closer and grabbing Pat by the wrist. "You ruined your life over a goddamn bet, Pat! And you’re telling me that this—this humiliation—is somehow better than breaking your word?"
"Hey, watch it. You’re going to break her nails," Judy interjected with a smirk, leaning lazily against the back of a chair.
Harold ignored her, his focus laser-sharp on Pat. "You should’ve walked away. Hell, you should’ve divorced her if this is what she was asking of you!"
“Harold, that’s enough,” Anne interjected, but Judy held up a hand, signaling that it was fine.
“No, it’s not,” Her husband snapped, his voice rising again. “This—this whole thing is a joke. And you, Pat, you’re the punchline!" He let go of Pat’s wrist with enough force to send him stumbling back onto the floor. "You think she’ll ever look at you like a man again? Hell, I don’t even think I can!"
"It’s just two months," Pat countered weakly, retrieving himself from the floor.
"And then what?" His brother-in-law shot back, advancing toward him again. "Are we all supposed to just forget we saw you prancing around in my wife’s dress? Showing off your legs like some goddamn prom queen?"
Anne, standing beside Judy, smirked slightly. “I know I won’t.”
“Neither will I,” Harold snapped irritably. “And I can guarantee you Judy won’t either!”
Pat opened his mouth to respond but found himself unable to form the words.
“Now, now, that’s enough,” Anne said firmly, stepping in to place a calming hand on her husband’s arm. "You’re making this harder on her than it needs to be."
“Her?” Harold repeated, shooting his wife a disbelieving look.
She ignored him, turning to Judy with a small smile. “Why don’t we let Patti take a breather? She’s been through enough tonight.”
Judy nodded in agreement, her expression smug as she glanced at Pat. “Go on, sweetie,” she said, motioning toward the stairs. “We’ll take care of the rest down here.”
Pat hesitated, glancing back at the two women gently steering Harold further into the hallway, his brother-in-law still casting occasional, frustrated looks over his shoulder. Finally, he relented. Using all four limbs to push himself upright, he straightened his long skirt and began making his way toward the stairs. Carefully stepping over the shards of glass Harold had shattered in his outburst, he held onto the railing to steady himself.
He winced as he noticed one of his French-tipped nails—on his middle finger, of all things—had been chipped. Not that he’d dare point it out. Facing Harold’s wrath once had been more than enough.
His brother-in-law seemed personally offended by what he saw as Pat’s “embrace” of womanhood, as though Harold himself had been forced into heels and a skirt. If Pat had the courage, he might have added to Judy’s earlier explanation—told Harold how he had tried, really tried, to resist all of this but had failed at every turn. Whether that failure was for better or worse, he couldn’t say.
At the top of the stairs, Pat paused, glancing back briefly. From this vantage point, he could see the three of them: Harold slumped back into the couch, still fuming, while Judy and Anne leaned toward him, their soothing words too faint to reach. Judy shot Pat one last smirk before turning her attention back to the conversation, clearly unbothered by the drama.
Following Anne’s earlier offer, Pat made his way to Maria’s old room. He turned on the light and let out a deep sigh as he closed the door behind him. The room was small, far smaller than Judy’s, but the bed was surprisingly comfortable, more so than his at home. Sitting on the edge, he unbuckled the straps on his ankle heels and wiggled his toes, wincing at the faint red marks the shoes had left on his feet.
Carefully, Pat slipped off the borrowed dress, hyper-aware of every sound outside the door. The last thing he needed was for anyone to walk in and find him standing there in nothing but women’s underwear—especially Harold. Thankfully, no one interrupted. Finally allowing himself to relax, Pat sank onto the bed, the exhaustion of the day pulling him into a deep, dreamless sleep.
V
The morning sunlight streamed through the window, waking Pat with its soft glow. He blinked groggily, stretching out. He hadn’t been allowed to sleep like this in ages, and those extra hours felt like pure bliss—until the reality of where he was hit him.
Faint murmurs drifted up from downstairs, and for a moment, Pat debated staying put. But the smell of fried bacon and eggs called to his stomach, making the decision for him. With no other clothes available but Maria’s leftovers, Pat slipped back into the outfit he’d arrived in. Standing in front of the mirror, he carefully touched up his smeared makeup, offering himself a small, wry smile. He knew exactly why he was bothering to fix his appearance.
Pat descended the stairs and entered the kitchen, where the rest of the family had gathered. Anne was at the stove, tending to breakfast, while Judy chatted idly beside her. At the table, Ben was fully absorbed in building a masterpiece out of his apple purée, while Harold sipped his coffee, buried behind the financial section of the newspaper.
“Oh, look who finally decided to join us!” Anne called cheerfully when she noticed him entering the room. Harold lowered the top of his paper just enough to give Pat a stern look, though he said nothing.
“Good morning, sweetie,” His sister-in-law greeted, leaning over to plant a theatrical air kiss near his cheek and squeezing his shoulders lightly. “Did you sleep well?”
Pat nodded silently, standing awkwardly as she clasped his hands briefly.
“Ah, I’m glad to hear it!” she said, turning back to her sizzling eggs. “We thought about getting you a hotel room, but Judy insisted Maria’s old room would be just fine.” Judy gave an exaggerated wave of confirmation, her grin wide.
Pat swallowed hard at the not-so-subtle reminder that he and Judy hadn’t been sharing a bed for a while now. He didn’t dare glance at Harold to see his reaction.
“We’re so sorry about yesterday,” Anne continued, leaning into the refrigerator to grab some juice. “Like I said, it may take some time for *some of us”—she shot a pointed glance at her husband—“to accept the new you. But we’re working on it, aren’t we, Harold?”
Her husband emitted a low, grumbling sound in response.
“Ah, don’t mind him,” She said, waving a dismissive hand. “He gets moody when breakfast isn’t ready fast enough.” She scooped eggs and bacon onto a plate and handed it to Pat. “You must be starving.”
He accepted gratefully and slid into the seat next to little Ben.
“You must think we’re terrible hosts,” Anne teased as she poured orange juice into his glass. “Making you work all evening without so much as a bite to eat. I promise it won’t happen again, alright?” She pinched Pat’s cheek playfully before serving her husband his own plate.
Pat offered a faint smile, focusing on cutting into his eggs, but Harold’s gravelly tone broke the brief calm. “So, Barbie’s got his own wardrobe, huh?” he muttered, sneering as he popped a strip of bacon into his mouth.
“Harold,” Anne snapped, placing her spatula on the counter with an audible clatter. “We talked about this. Her name is Patti, and you promised to be nice with her.”
“I agreed to let him stay,” Harold replied gruffly, gesturing with his fork. “Doesn’t mean I want him parading around in my wife’s clothes.”
“Why not?” She shot back, arching an eyebrow. “Afraid you’ll like how well they fit?” She smirked, sharing a conspiratorial glance with Judy, who stifled a laugh behind her coffee mug.
“Not in a billion years,” Harold huffed, wiping his mouth with a napkin.
Pat said nothing, his focus shifting to wiping some stray purée from Ben’s cheek.
“Hey, knock that off!” Harold barked, snatching the napkin from Pat’s hand. “I don’t want my kid catching whatever the hell you’ve got.”
“Harold, enough!” Anne interjected, stepping between them. “She’s just trying to help!” She handed the napkin back to Pat with a firm glare at her husband. “How would you feel if your entire manhood had just been thrown off a cliff, huh?” she asked, supposedly trying to coax some sympathy out of him.
“Patti’s family. It’s our job to make things easier for her, not harder," She finished, her tone softening as she placed a calming hand on his shoulder. Harold muttered something unintelligible under his breath, the words dissolving into a grunt, but he didn’t push the argument further.
“And you’d better behave,” She teased, lightening the mood as she grinned playfully. “Or I’ll make you wear a dress myself.”
“Ha!” Harold barked bitterly. “I’d be caught dead first.”
Anne chuckled. “I know, sweetie, I know. But Patti isn’t like you. She’s… different, alright? That’s all.”
Harold rolled his eyes and drained the last of his coffee. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered begrudgingly. She, satisfied, turned his jaw to plant a quick peck on his lips before reaching for his briefcase.
She gave him a quick once-over, adjusting his shirt where it tucked into his belt and brushing out a few wrinkles from his coat. “Ugh, these knots always give me trouble,” she sighed, fussing with the knot of his shirt collar. She glanced at Pat. “Patti, would you mind?”
Pat froze, startled by the request. Harold’s jaw tightened as his sharp gaze landed on his brother-in-law, but before he could refuse, Pat stood reluctantly from his chair. Moving from Ben’s side to stand in front of him, his manicured hands hovered for a moment before carefully adjusting the knot.
Harold cleared his throat beneath the neatly fixed tie. “See?” Anne chirped, shooting her husband an amused look. “She can be useful!”
Without adding anything further, Harold grabbed his briefcase, ruffled Ben’s hair on his way out, and muttered, “Love you,” over his shoulder.
Would this be a good moment to leave? Pat mulled over the idea. Harold would have time to collect himself and find them gone by the time he got back home. It might seem rude to leave without saying goodbye, but after the trouble his mere presence had caused, surely everyone would understand why Pat would want to make a quick exit.
The filter of time would allow him to finally find pure and only amusement on it. A couple of decades would probably pass before Harold grew tired of the repetitive jokes and teasing comments at his, by then, past femininity.
Pat could already anticipate next year’s reunion, where his brother-in-law would inevitably find ways to rub it in his face again. Maybe by then, he’d welcome Pat with a cocktail dress already laid out on his bed, saving him the trouble of borrowing from Anne’s wardrobe again—or perhaps, more creatively, with a bouquet of flowers tagged with “For my two favorite sisters-in-law” meant for him and Judy, of course.
Then it hit him: by next year, there might not even be a "him and Judy" anymore. In fact, he could very well be out of the picture entirely, replaced by the man Harold hadn’t heard about yet—Tom.
He turned toward Judy, who stood by the kitchen counter, punching a number into her phone. When their eyes met briefly, she offered him a half-hearted glance before turning her back to greet whoever had answered on the other end.
Pat swallowed hard. It was time to wake up and smell the coffee—literally. As he gathered her half-finished mug along with the other dishes, he forced himself to confront the truth that had been inching closer to reality ever since he’d shaken hands with the man who was likely already taking his place.
As he learned—quite surprisingly—that hot water wasn’t an issue in the Pritzkers’ household, Pat processed the full weight of what he had come to realize: Judy had chosen Tom. She loved Tom. Maybe she always had. Even if none of this had happened, Pat realized, he might never have stood a chance.
No man would find it easy to accept such a fact—though, at this point, Pat wasn’t sure he even felt like a man anymore. Judy had made sure of that. Perhaps this entire ordeal had been her twisted way of telling him so.
Even if he wanted to leave it all behind and walk away, his entire existence now seemed to orbit around Judy. He was in her relatives’ house, wearing bits cobbled together from her leftovers and his own wardrobe, hoping she’d return to her casual old sweats instead of the perpetually skimpy short skirts she seemed so attached to, and half-listening to her make plans with Tom—the main beneficiary of those exposed legs.
With the broken-down sedan resting silently in the Pritzkers’ driveway, his stayance here was entirely dependent on Judy’s goodwill—or lack thereof.
Over the following days, her presence at the Pritzkers’ home became as infrequent as it had become on their own, and so, Pat was left to find ways to occupy his time in the meantime—which wasn’t particularly difficult. The house still needed a caretaker, and having already stepped halfway into that role, it didn’t take much for Anne to nudge him the rest of the way.
What started as “helping out” quickly evolved into a full-fledged maid’s role, and the “warm-up” Pat had gained from serving Judy was put to full use—not only because there were more people to serve but because of the sheer size and immaculate condition of the house demanded constant attention. The Pritzkers’ home was closer to a mansion than anything Pat had ever set foot in, and it became immediately clear why such estates required multiple staff members.
The list of chores often seemed to stretch from the top floor to the first. Anne cheerfully encouraged him to tackle each task with a demeanor so composed and polite that it left little room for objections. She had a habit of walking barefoot throughout the house, which meant the floors needed to shine at all times, requiring near-endless mopping. She claimed Ben, their toddler, had a skin allergy to a specific kind of dust—though, not knowing which kind, Pat was left to reduce all traces to the absolute minimum. She also took it upon herself to teach him how to fold Harold’s work shirts perfectly, so he could retrieve them without upsetting the neat stacks in the drawer.
Judy, for all her demands, had never been this relentless. Her sister, on the other hand, was gentle yet firm in her expectations. Perhaps it was the result of the luxuries Anne had grown accustomed to in a life alongside a man who could afford them, while Judy had long since accepted Pat’s shortcomings as a provider.
At first, Harold resisted any form of help from his brother-in-law. However, he eventually relented, if only to keep Anne happy. Every man, though, has his limits, and Harold found his when his wife suggested expanding Pat’s duties to include nannying.
“Ah, no. No, no, no!” Harold cried, holding Ben out of Anne’s reach as though protecting him from danger. “Having that freak around has been bad enough,” he insisted, seemingly playing tug-of-war with his wife. “But I don’t want Ben sneaking into your closet to try on your heels!”
“Oh, come on, Har,” Anne said, extending her arms toward their son. “That’s a pretty common thing for kids to do! Didn’t you ever get into your mom’s shoes when you were little?”
“Maybe,” he admitted reluctantly, still clutching Ben, “but that doesn’t mean I grew up in them!” He called loud enough for Pat to hear from the next room.
“And neither will Ben,” She replied firmly, trying to soothe him. “Aunt Patti is just here to make things easier.”
“He can’t even take care of himself, Anne!” Harold countered, trying to reason with her. “How are we ever going to explain this to the kid? ‘Oh, your uncle decided to wear dresses one day to nurse you’?”
“He didn’t put on dresses to nurse Ben,” His wife corrected sharply. “He put on dresses and then nursed Ben.”
“Aha!” Harold exclaimed, pointing at her. “So you admit he’s a he!”
“Of course he’s a he,” she replied, lowering her voice to a whisper—though Pat could still hear from the other side of the wall. “I’m just trying to smooth the transition for her,” she said, emphasizing the pronoun. “She’s been through enough, I mean, with Judy and all...”
Pat chose not to stick around to hear more, but the conversation continued.
“I don’t care!” He cried out. “He got what he deserved!”
Anne placed her hands on her hips, glaring at her husband. “You don’t have to be so cruel about it. You know Pat didn’t choose this.”
“Didn’t choose it?” Her husband scoffed, pacing the room with Ben still nestled in his arms. “You think someone ends up like this by accident? No, Anne, he made his bed, and now he has to lie in it!”
“Which is why she’s a maid,” She replied, tilting her head with a teasing smirk. “To make beds and take care of little babies.”
Harold’s mouth trembled as he tried to respond. “That’s not what I meant! I don’t want my son anywhere near someone like that!”
She sighed, reaching out to brush a lock of hair from Ben’s forehead. “You know, for someone who prides himself on being such a tough guy, you sure do feel threatened by someone as harmless as Pat in a dress.”
“It was your dress!”
“Yes, it was. And she has her own dresses now too, if you must know.”
Her husband cringed, letting out a guttural growl, unable to run both hands over his face because of being holding his son. “Look,” he finally stammered, “I’m not saying I hate the guy. He’s family, I just–” Harold grumbled. “But I can’t pretend I’m okay with... whatever this is.” He gestured vaguely toward the hallway.
“You don’t have to be okay with it,” She said firmly. “But you do have to let her try. She’s doing the best she can, and for now, that’s enough. Got it?”
Harold muttered something under his breath, but Anne wasn’t letting him off so easily.
“Got it?” she repeated, her voice sharp enough to make him flinch.
The man let out a heavy sigh, finally handing Ben over to her. “Fine,” he grumbled, avoiding her gaze. “But the second that kid gets too comfortable with anything pink, I’m ripping him out of that pansy’s hands.”
Resigned to being the “new Maria”—at least until returning home, where the only person he had to serve was his wife—Pat found that the workload here seemed to double, if not triple. Between Harold, Anne, and the baby, who demanded constant attention no matter who provided, the extra care quickly piled up.
Each day, Pat marched up and down the house, tirelessly scrubbing every corner to remove even the faintest traces of dirt from the seemingly endless rooms. When he realized he needed extra clothes for his work, he reluctantly went to Judy’s assigned room to ask for a few items he hadn’t thought to pack. He knocked, but the door creaked open at his touch. Inside, he found that none of her belongings had been unpacked into the closet. Even the coat he had refused to hang remained draped over the back of the chair where he had tossed it.
Judy had become something of a myth around the house—her appearances recounted by others but never witnessed by Pat himself. Sneaking around late at night seemed to be her only way of avoiding him entirely, as he worked himself to exhaustion from dusk until dawn.
The northern sunlight would rouse him just in time to begin preparing the family’s customized meals.
The Pritzkers didn’t believe in store-bought baby food, so Pat began his mornings preparing fresh purées for the baby, ensuring they had enough time to cool by the time everyone else came down for breakfast. Anne preferred light, healthy dishes and often stood beside him, chatting as he worked. While she gossiped away, Pat forced polite smiles, his focus fixed on keeping a careful eye on Harold’s steak, which demanded a precise level of doneness.
Once the family finished their meals, they retired to the backyard, leaving behind piles of plates and utensils, sticky high chairs, and a kitchen floor scattered with crumbs. Through the crystal doors, Pat would catch glimpses of the scene—the baby splashing happily in a duck-shaped float, Harold applying a second coat of sunscreen to his wife’s back, and Anne dismissing, between chuckles, Hunter’s attempts to lick her cheek. It was an image Pat had once dreamed of for himself and Judy, and for a while, he had believed they were on the right track. Now, with Judy out of sight—out of his life, really—he resigned himself to being an observer of the life he thought they might have had.
The prospect for an upcoming reunion extended his stay for at least fifteen more days. But by this point, the family had grown accustomed to Pat’s assistance. Even Harold, though too stubborn to admit it, began to appreciate the level of care Pat provided—far beyond anything their former maid had ever managed. He would arrive home after a long day at work to find his brother-in-law standing at the door, ready to collect his coat and briefcase. He’d offer a bitter laugh and hand over the items, only to recline on the couch. Torn between disdain for Pat’s submission and the quiet convenience it offered, Harold begrudgingly tolerated it.
Anne, however, was far more vocal about her satisfaction with their new maid, going so far as to indulge Pat with little luxuries as a reward for his service. Weekly spa trips became a regular fixture. “Come on, Patti,” she’d coo, “you’ve earned a little pampering.” Manicures, pedicures, facials—the works—were all booked at her favorite high-end salon, originally intended for her sister to join her. But with Judy increasingly absent, Anne happily turned it into a private outing for herself and Pat.
During one such session, as they lounged under thick clay masks, his sister-in-law ventured to ask about his experience of “stopping being a man.” Slightly insulted by her phrasing, Pat reluctantly complied, lifting one cucumber slice from his eye to recount his one side of the story
As his voice rumbled alongside the rhythmic thuds of a masseuse’s hands on his back, Pat hesitantly revealed snippets of his journey—from the awkward and terrifying it had been to step out in public dressed in his wife’s clothes to the surprising ease with which it had become a habit.
Judy’s increasingly busy schedule left him to tackle the so-called "womanly life" on his own, and eventually, he had to comply with it fully.
He admitted, somewhat sheepishly, that short skirts were surprisingly practical for navigating their two-story house while cleaning. “Not that I enjoyed them,” he added quickly, though the faintest trace of a smile betrayed him. High heels, though never comfortable, had forced him into a posture that he grudgingly acknowledged improved his gait—despite their undeniable effects on his aching backside.
In the past, Pat rarely dwelled on his own appearance, but now he admitted that beauty routines had undeniable payoffs. Over time, he had grown proud of his ability to keep his makeup flawless, even after hours of work.
He even conceded, with some lingering bitterness, that his dedication to housework far outshined Judy’s carelessness. While she had often damaged his treasured books with her haphazard cleaning habits, he had all the time in the world to perfect the subtle swing of the duster across the bookshelves and furniture.
Anne listened intently, her cheek resting in the cutout of the massage table, occasionally nodding or letting out soft hums. But when she asked about his involvement with another man, Pat flinched. The thick, hot air of the steam room suddenly felt suffocating, as if the temperature had just been cranked up. Under the amused scrutiny of his sister-in-law, he fumbled, adjusting the towel around his chest with nervous hands.
“I... I…” Pat stammered, struggling to find the right place to start.
“I heard you two had a great time,” Anne commented between chuckles.
“Yeah, I mean…” he conceded, as she slided closer. “Judy seemed pleased, at least.”
“No, no,” She interrupted, shaking her head with a knowing grin. “I meant you—and Rick, was it?”
“…Mike.”
“Right,” She conceded with a smirk.
Already familiar with Tom’s advances on her sister, Anne wasn’t about to let the conversation drop—not when she had a perfect chance to press Pat about his own ordeal. It had been terrifying, being forced into compliance with Judy’s casting for his replacement. Not many husbands got the luxury of a front-row seat to their wife’s infidelity. Yet, under such peculiar circumstances, Pat hadn’t even felt like her husband anymore.
They may not have always agreed on his pairing with Mike, but after seeing she was already moving one, he had been forced to reconsider things.
Caught between equal parts fear, abandonment, and rejection, Pat could do little more than sit still and look pretty as his head was held in place, forced to watch Judy and Tom’s undeniable chemistry. That was, of course, until he was coaxed into actively participating. As twisted as that night had been, a strange wave of comfort had washed over him the moment Mike stepped in to take over. Recently abandoned and emotionally vulnerable, Pat had been easy prey. Under the influence of alcohol, he would have let anyone hold him—so long as they offered even the smallest bit of warmth.
“So… did he use tongue?”
“Huh?”
“I mean, during the kiss. Did he use tongue?”
Pat flinched, burning with shame as Anne chuckled. She clearly knew the story already—she just wanted to hear it from his own lips.
Growing less willing to press further, she finally conceded. “I get it,” she called, waving her wrist. “I know Harold can be an ass sometimes… or rather, most of the time. But under his wing, I feel protected.”
Scratching at her damp hair with the towel, she stood up, sliding her feet back into her sandals.
“He’d never let anyone hurt me. I know it’s old-fashioned and not exactly feminist, but I guess not all of us are meant to stand on our own,” she added, standing before him. “It’s okay to step back from time to time, right? I’ll tell you—men’s egos need a little pumping now and then.”
He huffed out a quiet laugh.
She flashed him a grin. “Our charming princes, huh?”
And before he could reply, she was already gathering her things, preparing to move on—to the next stop in their pampering session.
Pat watched her go, his thoughts swirling. Maybe, just maybe, she had a point.
One morning, Pat found a few suitcases neatly stacked in the living room. Anne explained that Judy had stopped by early to drop off the rest of his clothes before leaving almost immediately. With Harold’s begrudging help, Pat’s belongings were relocated to Maria’s former quarters. As Pat unzipped one of the cases, he discovered a bundle of notes from Mike, tucked in between layers of folded blouses—letters written over the past weeks.
The warm sincerity in Mike’s words stirred something unexpected in Pat. On a whim, he decided to call him, and before he knew it, they were lost in conversation for hours. They exchanged stories about their lives as though they hadn’t seen each other just a few weeks ago. When Pat mentioned his new duties as a maid, Mike couldn’t resist teasing him about how good he must look in a uniform, earning an embarrassed but genuine laugh from Pat. As much as his current situation grated on him, the idea of Mike seeing him in his new role felt oddly less humiliating than enduring another day of Harold’s attitude. Mike even floated the idea of flying Pat out to Eastern Europe to join him. Though tempted, Pat declined, explaining his commitment to the upcoming reunion.
As if on cue with Mike’s fantasies, Maria’s old uniforms were taken to a tailor for alterations to suit her replacement. Pat found himself modeling one in a stall, and within days, the entire set arrived with precise adjustments Anne had requested—The bodices stretched snugly, the petticoats fluffed to give the skirts a dainty bounce, and the hemlines tailored to hover just past the tops of his stockings. The crowning touch was a freshly embroidered name tag on each uniform, replacing Maria’s with one that read “Patti” in elegant cursive.
Harold, ever the opportunist, suggested that their new maid ought to be blonde, given Maria had been a brunette. That was apparently all the justification needed for Pat to be sent to a salon to have his hair bleached and dyed a golden hue to match the extensions now woven into his scalp, the long strands brushing just past his shoulders.
VI
The Pritzkers had put their social calendar on hold during Pat’s adjustment period but wasted no time resuming it once his makeover was complete. Harold, still wary of anyone recognizing the man beneath the disguise, kept Pat confined to the kitchen during poker nights. The guys would be relentless to be served by the household new addition, but he would brush them off, claiming she wasn’t there to put a show on them, taking a sip from his beer, almost choking with each time she’d crossed his line of sight, each glance a silent acknowledgment of how convincing the transformation had become.
Anne, on the other hand, had no such reservations. In fact, she seemed to take a certain delight in making sure Patti was noticed, particularly during her book club meetings. Standing stiffly before the gathered women, Pat could do nothing but shift awkwardly from foot to foot as Anne playfully held a lock of his blonde hair against her own cheek, prompting the ladies to weigh in on whether the shade would suit her.
"Careful, dear," one of them called out as Pat was sent off to prepare another round of mimosas. "If I were you, I wouldn’t go that far in pampering my staff," she added in a hushed, conspiratorial tone as she leaned closer to Anne. "Not if I wanted to keep my husband."
“Oh, no, no, no,” Anne blurted between chuckles, waving a dismissive hand as she cleared her throat. “She’d never—”
“Are you sure?” another voice cut in. “She’s younger than you.”
“She’s not y—”
“And prettier,” another added smoothly.
“And let’s not forget,” a third chimed in, swirling the last of her drink, “much slimmer.”
No more drinks were requested after that. The book club meeting ended earlier than usual that day.
But their active social life wasn’t confined to their home. One fateful Saturday morning had been reserved for a friendly tennis match at the East Club, and Pat was expected to ensure everything ran smoothly.
Pat hesitated as he struggled to find solid footing while stepping down from his brother-in-law’s tall truck. With an exhausted sigh, Harold stepped in to help, pulling him down with a firm tug before heading to the trunk. Pat stumbled slightly at the force, throwing Harold a stern look before turning back to unbuckle Ben from his car seat.
As he leaned in to lift the baby, Pat caught a glimpse of his reflection in the side mirror. His golden locks, now tied into a high ponytail, shimmered in the sunlight. He wondered briefly if his hair could survive yet another dye job when school resumed or if it would all fall out entirely. Still, anything felt preferable to showing up with the cascading blonde extensions now brushing against his back.
Knowing that his Pat would struggle with the stroller’s weight, Harold wrestled it out of the trunk himself, muttering under his breath about having such a useless servant. Once it was set up, he rolled it toward Pat with begrudging effort before heading ahead toward the club entrance.
His wife joined Pat’s side with her usual cheerful energy, flipping her ponytail over her shoulder. But it wasn’t just their hairstyles that matched. Despite not being expected to play, Pat had been coaxed into wearing one of Anne’s newly purchased outfits—coordinated with hers, of course.
As they approached the club’s automatic doors, the receptionist complimented Anne on her outfit but quickly shifted her attention to the similarly dressed figure trailing behind. “Oh, are you two sisters?” she asked, glancing between their coordinated ensembles, differentiated only by their secondary colors.
Anne’s outfit featured a soft green polo shirt with matching stripes on her pleated skirt and knee-length socks. Pat, meanwhile, wore the same ensemble in baby pink, paired with a polite yet strained smile as he locked the stroller’s double wheels in place.
Anne grinned and pulled Pat into a playful hug, holding the pose long enough for the receptionist to admire. “Oh no, just cousins,” she replied with a giggle.
The court they had reserved was already occupied by their companions. On the way over, an older woman, drawn by the stroller, approached enthusiastically.
“Oh my, what a precious baby boy!” she exclaimed, leaning over to pinch Ben’s rosy cheeks.
Turning her attention to Pat, who was holding the stroller handle, the woman gasped. “Goodness, you must hit the ball daily to recover so fast after pregnancy! Look at you!” she said, gesturing to Pat’s slim waist.
Pat’s face flushed crimson, but Anne quickly jumped in, barely suppressing a giggle. “Oh no, she’s just the nanny,” She said as she scooped Ben into her arms. “I’m the mother.”
“Ohhh,” the older woman cooed knowingly, matching Anne’s smirk as she held Ben close to her face. Turning back to Pat, the woman added, “Well, you should think about having your own soon, dear. We’re not getting any younger. Trust me—I should know!”
With a chuckle at her own joke, she gave Ben’s cheek one last affectionate pinch before continuing on her way, leaving Pat frozen in quiet mortification.
Nothing compared, though, to the shock waiting for him when they arrived. As they stepped onto the grounds, Pat felt his stomach drop to the artificial grass beneath his sneakers at the sight of Judy waving them over—and plummeting even further when he saw her companion standing beside her. His wife had seemingly resurrected from the dead, pulling herself back into the world of the living with the help of her boyfriend, Tom.
Harold’s posture straightened the moment he noticed Tom, his confusion mirroring Pat’s. Stepping forward, Harold shook Tom’s outstretched hand as the stranger introduced himself, cheerfully expressing how glad he was to finally meet them. Anne threw her arms around Tom in an enthusiastic hug, calling the years that had passed since their college days.
Pat lingered in the background, hoping to remain unnoticed, but Judy’s casual “Hey, Patti!” dragged him into the scene.
Noticing him, Tom excused Mike’s absence, explaining something Pat barely caught, nodding stiffly in hopes of avoiding further discussion about the man.
Soon enough, the group began discussing the match. They paired off for doubles, leaving Pat on the sidelines to care for Ben. The baby, however, chose this moment for a nap, leaving his nanny with nothing to do but watch the match.
Tom and Judy played with impressive synchronization. Harold, on the other hand, did his best to keep up, while Anne, predictably, was the most carefree player—missing shots left and right but laughing too much to care.
Pat remained the lone spectator, idly rocking the stroller and counting the seconds until the Pritzkers had their fill of losing and decided to leave. “Hey, Pat!” Harold called from across the field, only to be discreetly elbowed in the ribs by Anne. He corrected himself with a grumble. “Sorry, Patti, hand me a bottle of water, would you?”
Pat sighed, glancing at the sports bag his brother-in-law had brought. He pulled out a water bottle and walked it over. Harold took it with a muttered “Thanks,” squeezing the contents into his mouth before handing back the empty bottle with a faint, knowing smirk. Without another word, he returned to the game.
The shadows cast by the hexagonal grid above shifted slowly from one side of the court to the other as the afternoon wore on. They rotated teams for doubles, tried one-on-ones, and even played boys versus girls—though no one seemed to be keeping score. Pat suspected the outcomes were decided more by the better-trained athletes than any official tally.
Eventually, an exhausted Anne wobbled over to flop down on the bench beside Pat, waving him forward with a tired grin. “Your turn,” she said, motioning for him to take her place.
“I’d rather not,” Pat protested, shaking his head.
“Come on,” Anne urged, elbowing him playfully. The others turned to stare expectantly, their gazes leaving him little room to refuse.
Reluctantly, Pat stepped onto the court, partnering with Tom against Harold and his wife. Athleticism had never been his strength, and playing in a skirt and an ill-fitting sports bra certainly didn’t help matters.
According to Anne’s unofficial commentary from the sidelines, Pat’s team lost miserably. Tom patted Pat’s shoulder with a kind smile, offering a quiet, “Hey, the important thing is that you had fun, right?” before calling everyone over for a break.
They gathered at the club’s exclusive brunch buffet, a privilege reserved for high-class members. Harold, initially impressed that Tom had access to such perks, seemed even more animated when he learned Tom actually owned a small percentage of the facility. Within minutes, the two men were laughing like old friends, bonding over shared stories of business and leisure.
Tom seemed entirely at ease in Harold’s company, and Harold, for his part, appeared to overlook—or perhaps deliberately ignore—Tom’s obvious connection to Judy.
Judy, however, made no effort to hide it. She hovered near Tom, her attention fixed on him and his achievements. “Tom this, Tom that”—she took every opportunity to highlight even the smallest of his accomplishments, including the recent success of a new branch opening under his guidance. Her affection was evident in her words and gestures, from the way she leaned into his side while speaking to how she gently wiped a smudge of sauce from his cheek with her napkin.
“Honestly, Tom, how did you manage without me?” she teased, as she pinched his cheek playfully.
Tom laughed, waving her hand away with a grin. “I get by, barely,” he quipped, between bites.
Anne, seated nearby, cooed at the display and nudged Pat with her elbow. “Isn’t that sweet?” she cooed. Pat, however, barely registered her comment, too absorbed in cleaning mashed fruit off Ben’s high chair.
As the group eventually made their way to the parking lot, Harold clapped Tom on the back, his laughter booming. “Well, if Judy’s anything like my Anne, you’ve got yourself a real keeper there,” he said with an approving nod.
“Oh, I already know,” Tom replied smoothly, pulling Judy closer with a hand on her shoulder. With a warm smile, he added, “Let’s just say, I like where this is going.” before leaning in to kiss Judy.
Pat caught the exchange out of the corner of his eye, his insides twisting painfully. He turned away, focusing on adjusting Ben’s car seat as the baby tugged at his hair.
Harold smirked and offered to help with anything the couple might need. Tom graciously accepted, extending the same courtesy in return. Before long, he and Judy excused themselves, sparing her husband little more than a passing glance and a single word throughout the day.
By the time Pat finished folding Ben’s stroller and maneuvering it into the trunk, Harold had stepped in to finish the job. He even flashed Pat a rare smile as he shut the trunk.
Once they were back on the road, Anne turned to her husband. “See, Harold?” she teased with a smile. “Thanks to Patti’s help, you got to spend the whole day relaxing, playing the big shot, and chatting like you didn’t even have a son to look after.”
Her husband chuckled, nodding. “Yeah, I have to admit,” he said, turning briefly to glance at Pat in the backseat. “She’s quite the helper.”
The way Harold’s gaze lingered spoke volumes, though no one voiced. Over the following days, Pat would come to learn exactly what had crossed Harold’s mind during that moment of acknowledgment. In his brother-in-law’s eyes, it all clicked. Pat had been stripped of his male clothes because, for what it was worth, he no longer deserved to be called a man—not after letting his wife openly date another guy, right under his nose and in front of everyone, with a delight she had never displayed with her own husband.
Harold had barely managed to conceal his surprise when he first realized that Tom and Pat knew each other—or rather, that Tom seemed to know Patti. And Pat, unwilling or perhaps unable to challenge the narrative, let him believe it.
Before the tennis game, he hadn’t known much about Tom, but the moment the man stepped into the picture, it was utterly obvious he possessed all the qualities Pat barely met to the bare minimum. Tom played with the experience of someone who took constant care of his physique and was proud of it. He chatted about wealth and economics with the ease of someone who knew his business. And he kept his woman close with the kind of confident possessiveness of someone with the eyes in the prize, even though that prize was Pat’s wife.
But the way Judy seemed to melt into Tom’s arms—it was a blow Harold figured Pat couldn’t recover from. And judging by how his brother-in-law had stepped aside without so much as a word, Harold assumed he knew it too. Perhaps the dresses and makeup were all Pat had left to claim of his wife, and in the tangled mess that had become their relationship, he clung to every inch of it.
With no other place in Judy’s life, Pat had resigned himself to becoming the housewife she no longer had time to be. Judy was too busy being handled by a real man, and Pat, it seemed, had found his niche. He fit so seamlessly into the domestic role that one house wasn’t enough to contain his talents. Soon, his service extended to Harold and Anne’s household as well. Such generosity, Harold mused, couldn’t go unnoticed, and with that realization, his treatment of Pat shifted entirely.
The stern looks and teasing comments that had once been Harold’s trademark were replaced with something resembling appreciation—or, at the very least, acceptance.
“Thanks, sugar,” Harold would say after another perfect breakfast. Sometimes, he couldn’t resist giving Pat a playful swat on the rear as he passed by. “Best eggs I’ve ever had,” he’d add with a grin.
“Harold!” Anne would scold, though her poorly concealed giggles betrayed her amusement. Pat would blush furiously, avoiding Harold’s gaze as he scurried back to the kitchen counter.
Even baby Ben, as young as he was, couldn’t tell the difference between his “Auntie” and an actual woman. He clung to Pat the way children instinctively gravitate toward maternal figures. And just as Anne had come to accept the new dynamic, Ben had never seen a man in Pat—not now, not ever.
Everyone else had adjusted to the new reality. Even Harold—though he refused to say it out loud—was clearly enjoying the arrangement more than he let on. As much as he initially tried to brush it off, the truth was staring him in the face every day. This expert cook, this meticulous cleaner, this nurturing nanny—this wasn’t the wimp man he once knew. No, this was someone else entirely.
“Patti,” Harold finally corrected himself one day, as the realization settled in fully. This was their housekeeper, the one who made their lives easier, smoother, more comfortable. And whether or not Harold admitted it to anyone else, a part of him relished the absurdity of it all. His once-brother-in-law had become something completely different, and there was no going back.
VII
“No, no, listen—I can take English and regularization classes on Saturdays, but at least leave me out of full-week sessions until late November,” Pat muttered into the phone, balancing it awkwardly on his shoulder while wrestling with a stubborn bag of chips. It had been hard enough getting accepted into the annual distribution of classes over the phone, unwilling as he was to explain the circumstances that had prevented him from attending in person.
“Sorry, Pat,” the voice on the other end of the line cut in. “Is there something wrong with your connection? Your voice sounds… sharper.” The comment hung in the air, pointedly drawing attention to the higher-pitched tone Pat had been unsuccessfully trying to mask.
Not that it would have gone over any better if he’d shown up at the school in person, stepping onto campus in his maid uniform and thick makeup. But Pat had accepted that the compromises he made for his family wouldn’t leave much time for him to return to his usual elbow-patched coats and quirky ties for the first day of classes. He had also accepted that he’d likely have to endure discreet comments from students about the unusual sway of his walk or the suspiciously groomed arches of his eyebrows before things returned to anything resembling normal.
As normal as things could be, that is, with the gym teacher conspicuously absent—apparently too preoccupied helping high-class cougars sculpt their glutes to remember she had students to supervise. Judy had graced the house with her presence, an event that seemed to happen about once every two weeks since July had started. However, her attention was entirely focused on Anne, her sister, as they shared a small bowl of almonds and nuts while chatting at the kitchen counter. At this point, Pat supposed he should just be grateful to be in the same room with her at all.
“I’m sorry, what was that?” Pat asked into the phone, trying to conceal his rising frustration as he stretched the cord to its limit, reaching for a six-pack of beers in the fridge. It was poker night, and while Harold hadn’t said anything specific, Pat assumed it would run as it always did.
“Argh!” he cried out, slamming the receiver back onto its base.
“What did they say?” Anne asked casually, unfazed, as she popped another almond into her mouth. Judy, seated beside her, looked equally indifferent, glancing up only briefly.
“They said I can’t make last-minute changes and expect everyone to rearrange their schedules to accommodate me,” Pat growled, quoting the response word for word. “I’ve worked my ass off there for nearly a decade. The least I deserve is a chance to take a break!”
“And what are you going to do?” His sister-in-law pressed, curious but not particularly sympathetic.
Pat sighed heavily, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’ll call Robert tomorrow on his private line. He’ll understand.”
“Maybe you could add that you’d have to present yourself in front of the entire class, writing ‘Miss Patti’ on the blackboard if he made you comply with your duties,” Judy chimed in, earning a round of giggles from both herself and Anne. It was the first thing she had said directly to him all day, and it was, of course, at his expense.
Before he could dwell on it, the sound of car engines pulling into the driveway filled the room. Pat stiffened and hurried to greet Harold.
Anne nudged Judy, gesturing for her to follow, the two women trailing behind, eager to witness the forced curtsey Pat had begun performing every time Harold arrived home.
“Hey, what’s with all these extra charges for long-distance calls to somewhere in Europe?” Harold barked as he entered, rifling through the mail without so much as a glance in Pat’s direction. He tossed his briefcase toward Pat, who scrambled to catch it. Before Pat could cobble together an excuse, a deeper voice chimed in from behind.
“Hey, what’s this? Poker night or a Miss America pageant?” Tom joked, stepping across the threshold. The women erupted into dismissive giggles, waving their hands at him, but Pat froze, his throat going dry. He hadn’t expected to see Tom again so soon.
Tom breezed past him without a second thought, heading straight for Judy. “Hey, love,” he said warmly, leaning in for a quick peck on her lips. Then, noticing Pat awkwardly standing nearby, he added with a sly grin, “Oh, hey, Patti.”
He freed himself from Judy’s embrace to shrug off his coat. “Oh, wow,” he called out, suppressing his amused surprise as he gave Pat a once-over. “Mike would love to see you in that uniform, I’ll tell you.”
What did that pig know about what Mike wanted to see or not? Pat fumed internally. It was he who had spent nights talking to Mike, while Tom played hide and seek with his wife. But there was no point voicing his frustrations—not to Tom and certainly not to Harold, who had devised his own new methods of mockery.
“Yeah, yeah,” Harold chimed in, reentering the room with two beer cans in hand—one for himself and the other for Tom. “Are you here to play, or did you just stop by to admire my personnel?” he teased, handing over the drink.
“To play, of course,” Tom quipped back. The men exchanged items—Tom took the beer from Harold, Pat begrudgingly accepted Tom’s coat, and Harold caught the flicker of shame in Pat’s eyes as he walked past to hang the coat in the lobby closet.
“By the time I’m done with you, you’ll have to hand me Patti to settle your debts,” Tom joked, giving Harold a playful pat on the back as they headed toward the living room.
“Yeah, right. I’d like to see you try,” Harold retorted with a bitter laugh. “She’s here to stay.”
From that point on, Harold made it clear that Pat was expected to serve the group for the entire evening. No more relegating him to the kitchen to get out of the way. Instead, Pat was tasked with delivering snacks and beers, cleaning up empty cans and ashtrays, and ensuring the men wanted for nothing.
With the women tucked away in their own space in the counter, Pat found himself navigating between both worlds—cutting jalapeños into thin slices and preparing fresh guacamole accompanied by a sing song of giggles, only to take it out moments later alongside a platter of chips and a few “lucky” poker hands.
He didn’t understand much about poker, but judging by the raucous laughter and occasional shouts from Tom and Harold, it seemed neither man was overly concerned about winning or losing. The same carefree mood spilled over to Judy and her sister, who were perched by the counter, their conversation consumed by long-overdue gossip. By all accounts, it was a relaxed and content evening for everyone—except for the one member of the household who had been reduced to little more than a servant.
How had Judy framed her cousin’s current “line of work” to her boyfriend? Did she conveniently omit the fact that there was no real acceptance involved, only resignation? A surrender to her carefully orchestrated plans to edge Pat out of the way and make room for Tom. Somehow, her wild idea had morphed into a new reality that everyone had come to accept and embrace.
Even Harold, his stubborn brother-in-law, who once threatened to rip the wig off his head before realizing Pat wasn’t wearing a wig anymore, now sat comfortably at the poker table, laughing and chatting with the man who had effectively taken his place. Meanwhile, Anne chimed in yet again, issuing her twelfth correction of the evening, this time scolding Pat in her usual dismissive tone to properly wash the good silver knives every time he used them. “Otherwise,” she declared, “they’ll keep that spicy smell!”
Even their golden retriever had fallen in line, stretched out on his back as Pat navigated carefully around the sprawled-out paws with another round of beers. He wasn’t sure if the dog had finally recognized him as the man who used to visit occasionally or if he had simply accepted this new woman as a permanent addition to the household.
And that was the last question of the night. Had everyone truly accepted that this was who he had always been? Or had they simply resigned themselves to the woman he had become? Even Pat wasn’t sure how to answer that. He didn’t know whether to grade their responses as true or false—or even what he’d write down for his own.
The clatter of an empty beer can hitting the carpet jolted him out of his thoughts. He cringed as the sticky remnants seeped into the fibers before being nudged along by the unsteady step of his employer. Tom, slightly less drunk than Harold, placed a hand on his shoulder to steady himself, his laughter tumbling out in uneven bursts as he fumbled to stuff poker chips into his pants pocket.
The girls emerged from the kitchen to join the group in the foyer. Tom disengaged from Harold’s half-embrace and turned to wrap his arm around Judy instead, his laughter blending seamlessly with hers as she held him by the torso. Judy let out a delighted squeal before Tom leaned in, his lips capturing hers in a long, public kiss.
Pat moved to fetch Tom’s coat, pulling it off the hanger when something tumbled to the floor. Crouching to pick it up, he froze. In the dim light, he spotted a small black velvet box nestled near the closet’s corner. Though it remained closed, he immediately knew what it contained.
“Everything alright, dear?” Anne called from behind. Pat startled, hastily placing the box back in its spot before grabbing Tom’s coat. His breath hitched as he straightened, wiping at his nose to hide the moisture threatening to escape his eyes.
“Hey,” Tom slurred slightly, pulling back from Judy to address Pat. “Next week’s gonna be a big one for me and my—” He hiccupped, pulling Judy closer as she giggled at his antics. “—my girl here. So make sure you stick around, yeah?”
Pat forced a weak smile, one that barely reached his lips, and nodded stiffly.
“All right, that’s enough,” Judy said, taking the coat from Pat without so much as a glance and draped it over Tom’s shoulders. “It’s getting late, and I’m clearly going to have to drive this one home.”
She smiled up at Tom, teasing, “What am I ever going to do with you, huh?”
“Love me and never look away again,” Tom slurred, his words melting into a laugh.
Judy’s expression softened as she cupped his chin, pulling him closer to her height. “Of course,” she murmured before leaning in to kiss him again.
The couple kept their embrace all the way to the car, finally breaking apart to take their seats in the sporty vehicle. The Pritzers waved them off from the porch, retreating inside once the car disappeared into the night.
Pat lingered for a moment, staring at the dark road until the taillights faded completely. Sighing, he turned and stepped back across the threshold, greeted by the mess the men had taken great effort to create.
Resigned, Pat began collecting empty cans and bags of chips scattered across the living room floor. A poker chip caught his eye amid the mess. Picking it up, he noticed its value: $100. It’d take him six hours of work to earn the same amount—six hours of dealing with chaos, unruly children, and the exhaustion of a job that left him questioning its worth. Meanwhile, these people discarded the chip as if it were nothing.
He sighed, knowing the carpet stain from the beer would need immediate soaking, and headed for the cleaning supplies.
In the kitchen, Pat placed a pile of dirty plates on the counter along with a bourbon glass that still had ashes floating in the remaining liquid. Anne, standing nearby with Ben in her arms, beamed at him. Pat noticed from experience that the baby didn’t like being soothed that way—it would likely lead to a tantrum—but he chose not to intervene and let her play the mommy for once.
“Isn’t it great?” she asked suddenly, shifting her gaze to Pat as she handed him the baby, briefly shaking out her sore arms. “Do you think Mike will make it in time?” she added breezily.
It took Pat a moment to realize she was referring to next week’s plans. Before he could respond, Harold interrupted with a grumble.
“Who’s Mike? I keep hearing about this Mike guy, but I don’t have a damn clue who he is.”
“Oh, he’s Patti’s special guy,” Anne replied cheerfully.
Pat’s stomach dropped, his heart following suit. His sister-in-law had said it so casually, like it was the most normal thing in the world to suggest Mike was anything more than… whatever he was.
“He’s n– I’m– It’s not wh–” Pat stammered, struggling to form a coherent sentence.
“Oh, really?” Harold drawled, stretching his arms and yawning. “Why didn’t you tell me before? Would’ve invited him over tonight.”
“He’s in Spain, right?” Anne asked, tilting her head.
“Italy,” Pat corrected weakly.
“Too bad,” Harold dismissed, brushing his son’s hair as he passed Anne.
“It’s not what you think!” Pat called out hysterically, watching his employer lean back against the fridge door, twisting off the cap of a mineral water bottle.
Harold paused mid-drink to ask, “What’s that?”
“Mike!” Pat exclaimed, fumbling over his words. “Michael… He’s n—he’s not my—”
"Ah, that’s alright," Harold interrupted dismissively, capping the bottle and tossing it onto the counter. "Not my business. Hey, should we bring anything to Tom and Judy’s next week?" He redirected the conversation effortlessly, glancing toward Anne, who was rummaging through her purse and pulling out a used pacifier for Ben.
"Hmm," Anne hummed thoughtfully, extending the pacifier toward Pat. "I don’t know. Maybe we could offer to host the gathering?"
"Eh, I think Tom’s got it handled," Harold replied, waving the suggestion off.
He leaned against the counter, speaking almost to himself. “I was thinking more of a trip. Hang on,” he added, turning back to Pat. “How much is your boyfriend shelling out for his stay in Italy, anyway?”
“He’s not my—”
“Naah, Tom’s been there way too many times,” Anne interrupted.
“HE’S NOT MY BOYFRIEND!” Pat exploded, slapping her hand away and sending the pacifier flying.
The room fell silent for a moment. Anne and Harold exchanged raised eyebrows before resuming their conversation as if nothing had happened.
“I know this guy at an airport travel agency,” Harold continued, ignoring Pat’s outburst. “Might be able to get us some deals—”
“Did you hear me?” Pat shouted again, stomping a stiletto heel against the hardwood floor. “Mike’s not my boyfriend! I’m a man, dammit! A married man, for Pete’s sake!” His voice cracked on the last word, and Ben joined him with his own wailing tantrum.
“Aww, sweetie, look what you’ve done,” Anne cooed condescendingly, glancing down at her baby. She retrieved the pacifier from the floor, brushing off the dust that had collected. “As if you haven’t worked hard enough, now you’ve got him all riled up. Here,” she said, extending the pacifier once more.
“No!” Pat snapped, recoiling in disgust and pushing the pacifier away. “He doesn’t like those!” he cried, holding his nephew protectively. “What he needs is at least 30 minutes of reading and his favorite song!” He paused, taken aback by his own knowledge of Ben’s needs. "I... I didn’t— it was y—" Pat stammered, flushing in confusion. "This is not right! I shouldn’t be taking care of your son!"
“Told you,” Harold muttered to her as he fished through an empty bag of chips for stray crumbs.
“Now, now,” Anne said, approaching Pat and cupping his cheeks in her hands. “Would you like to cut back on your nanny duties? We can arrange that.”
“No!” Pat jerked his head back, pulling away from her hands. “I’m not your damn maid! I should be at home with my wife, not—” He gestured angrily at the short, frilly skirt he wore, the petticoats bouncing as he flailed his arms. “Not dressed like this! Like some kind of joke!”
“That’s not very grateful of you,” Harold interjected, pointing a finger scoldingly. “We paid good money to have those made for you,” he added with a snort, but Anne followed. “Oh, honey,” she lamented sweetly. “I thought we’d been over this already.”
“Over what?!” Pat snapped. “That you’ve all conspired to turn me into this?!”
“We just... accepted it,” She replied nonchalantly. “But this was all your doing.”
Pat recoiled, his voice trembling. “It’s not true. I didn’t—”
“It is,” Harold said firmly, stepping past his wife. “You walked this road yourself. One dainty little step at a time in those pretty heels, until you became the perfect little lady.”
“And might I add,” Anne chimed in, “you’ve turned out beautifully. A natural.”
Pat cringed at the word—a word that had haunted him throughout this entire ordeal, one that seemed to mock him every time they said it, as though their limited vocabulary didn’t allow them to come up with another.
“But it’s time to let go,” She continued, placing a hand on his shoulder. “So you can have a brighter future.”
He didn’t know how to respond anymore. He had gone along with everything, pushed by the overwhelming force of his wife. He had stumbled at first, taking each step to avoid her scorn or another shove in the back. But as he looked back now, there was no one behind him. He realized, with a painful weight settling in his chest, that he had been walking this path on his own.
His cheeks grew wet. At first, he didn’t even notice, but as the warm tears slid down his face, he touched them with trembling fingers, startled to find he was crying. A knot formed in his throat, tightening painfully as his chest heaved. He didn’t even feel sad—if anything, he felt furious. Furious with Anne for exposing his situation with Mike to her husband. Furious with Harold for treating it all like so lightly. And furious with Judy, his own wife, for not even commenting on his appearance when he had changed so much.
“Wha—” he choked, staring at his damp fingers. “I don’t understand. What’s wrong with me?”
“Aww, honey,” Anne said softly, stepping forward with an almost pitying look. “It must be the hormones. Take it easy—it’s just normal.”
"Hormones?!" Pat snapped, his head whipping toward her. "What hormones?!"
"The hormones Judy’s been giving you, sweetie," she replied casually. "Did you seriously think you could look this good with just clothes and makeup?"
The revelation dissolved the knot in his throat, replacing it with a chilling emptiness. All of a sudden, he could almost feel the chemicals coursing through his system, morphing every cell they touched.
He had been collectively betrayed, dragged him into this chasm of nonsense, where his protests were meaningless, and his objections irrelevant. No matter how much he resisted, he was perpetually trapped into this unwanted role—a personal cage forged by the meticulous, deliberate actions of his wife and her allies.
This was no accident, no coincidence. Judy had done this to ensure that Pat represented no obstacle in her pursuit of Tom. She had found it easier to manipulate a man out of his own identity than to go straight through adultery.
She no longer had to keep the commitment to the man she was married to because Pat wasn’t a man anymore. Not with those exaggerated hips, perfectly rounded breasts, and softened facial features—a collection of traits evolution had gifted women to distinguish them from men. And now, his wife had reversed the course of nature to blur that line, molding him into their likeness.
The thought left Pat incapable of escape, dragged down by the weight of the void that now seemed to consume him. He felt hollow, as if beneath the padding and fabric, nothing of himself remained but an empty shell. Removing the hands from his cheek he could feel like he had left a crack, and shatters of his own skin fell into his insides.
A warped reflection in the shiny toaster caught his eye. The distorted image perfectly mirrored how he felt: a twisted, unrecognizable version of himself, distant and irretrievable. He wasn’t mimicking a woman anymore. He was a woman.
Ben’s sniffles snapped him back to the present. Pat looked down at the infant in his arms, whose tear-streaked face mirrored his own. Gently, he wiped the baby’s cheeks, muttering weakly, "No, no, no..."
Anne sighed dramatically, clearly growing tired of his resistance. She stepped past him, picking up the phone from the counter and dialing a number that had appeared repeatedly on their phone bill. Handing the baby off to Harold, she placed the phone in Pat’s trembling hand.
“Hello?”
The familiar voice of Mike came from the other end of the line. “I thought we had another call scheduled for next Friday. Is everything alright?”
Pat’s cheeks burned with shame as he struggled to breathe, his gasp audible even through the line. He couldn’t find the words to respond to the man who had become so disarmingly easy to talk to—much easier than facing the smirking Anne and Harold nearby.
“I... I…” Pat stammered.
“Well, I’m glad you called anyway,” Mike said warmly, reclining in his hotel chair to focus on the call. “It’s always nice to hear your voice.”
No giggle responded as usual.
“So, how’s it going over there?” He continued casually. “That pain-in-the-ass boss of yours still giving you a hard time?”
“No, no,” Pat muttered weakly, stealing a glance at Harold. Both he and Anne were clearly listening to every word. “He’s been… alright.”
“Oh, well, that’s a relief,” Mike replied. A moment of silence passed, and Pat could feel his own breathing growing heavier as he tried to stifle the sobs threatening to escape.
“You’re quiet tonight, huh? You okay, doll?” Mike pressed, actually concerned.
“I… I…” Pat stammered again, unable to respond.
“Hey, what did those assholes do to my baby Patticake?” Mike cooed in a baby-like affectionate tone. “Hmm? You just say the word, and I’ll take care of it, a’ight?”
Pat’s tears streamed faster, his face flushed with shame. He tried to choke back a sob but failed.
“Alright, that’s enough,” Anne interjected, snatching the phone from Pat’s hand. “Hello, this is Patricia’s employer,” she said curtly into the receiver. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t waste her time during work hours.”
“I beg your pardon?” Mike shot back, incredulous as he sat up straighter in his chair. “It’s gotta be midnight over there. Don’t you people let her rest? She’s working her ass off for you!”
“That’s the least she can do,” She retorted sharply. “We provide her with lodging, food, and clothing—”
“Not for much longer!” Mike snapped. “Once I get there, I’m taking her out of your pretentious arms!”
Anne’s eyes narrowed as a smirk spread across her face. “And when might that be, sir?” she asked coolly.
“In two months at most,” Mike answered firmly.
“Excellent! That’s what I wanted to hear,” Anne said triumphantly, hanging up the phone before Mike could respond further.
“You hear that?” she asked, turning to Pat. “You’ve got a caring man who’s ready to move mountains for you. The only thing stopping him from building a life with you is his job. Most women would kill to have someone like that.”
“But I’m not a w—” Pat began, his voice faltering.
“And what choice do you have at this point?” She pressed, sobbing as she fought to maintain her composure. “Be the man whose wife left him for the first chance she got? She’s my sister, but…” Anne hesitated, exhaling sharply to regain control. “You deserve better.”
Pat opened his mouth to respond but faltered, his words catching in his throat. His hands clenched into fists at his sides before he growled, “No!” Stomping again, he added, “She’s my wife, and nothing is ever going to change that!”
“You sure about that?” Harold interjected, stepping beside his wife with a smirk. “Wanna bet?”
Pat froze, startled by the sudden challenge.
“Here’s the deal, ‘Pat,’” Harold said, using air quotes for his male name. “If things go as you expect, next week will mark the end of the humiliations you’ve endured in the name of love. That means no more skirts, no more heels, and—most importantly—Judy finally cuts Tom out of your lives. Am I right?”
Pat nodded silently.
“Well then,” Harold continued, “if anything—and I mean anything—goes against your expectations, would you be willing to extend your stay here for at least a couple more months?”
“Wh-why— I, m-m—” Pat stammered. “Why would you want me here any longer?!”
“You’re a hard worker, and I respect that,” Harold replied. “Your performance has far exceeded what we expected from Maria, and it’ll take us at least a few months to find someone worthy of replacing you.”
Pat gaped at him, speechless.
“Look, I don’t do charity,” Harold continued. “If you decide to stay, we’ll draw up a contract. You’ll get a fair salary, bonuses for events you’ll serve, and, of course, compensation for your, let’s call it, ‘probation period.’”
The offer was tempting. It might have felt like a step down for a college graduate like Pat, but he had to admit it was a good deal—even without considering the lodging and food included. No teaching position could compete with that.
“And what if I win?” he asked cautiously.
“Then you win,” Harold said simply. “You get your old life back—your wife, your place as the king of your house, or whatever you were before this. And,” he paused, extending his hand, “I’ll never mention your days as a woman again.”
Pat hesitated. He had seen the box in Tom’s coat pocket and knew his chances hinged on Judy’s response. But this wasn’t the time to waver. He glanced at Anne, Ben, and Harold before lowering his gaze to Harold’s extended hand. With a sudden impulse, he shook it.
VIII
A handshake, followed by another and another, as Harold navigated the crowd of Tom’s colleagues, each attempt driven by his relentless ambition to broaden his network. Most, however, barely acknowledged his overly eager self-introductions, offering little more than polite nods before turning their attention elsewhere. Pat couldn’t help but feel a twinge of secondhand embarrassment at each failed attempt, though Harold remained undeterred, bouncing to the next target.
Sighing quietly, Pat refocused on his own task, deftly collecting empty glasses and balancing them carefully on his tray. His movements were fluid, honed by months of experience. Tom had spared no expense on the venue, securing the most elegant of halls, where crystal chandeliers cast a soft, shimmering glow over richly upholstered furnishings. Despite the circumstances, Pat couldn’t deny a sense of pride at serving in such a luxurious setting.
The embroidered "Patti" stitched onto his uniform sleeve caught the light as he moved, and with the soft swish of his uniform’s skirt and the sharp click of his freshly polished heels, Pat weaved gracefully through the tables, his professional demeanor and attentive service earned him warmer responses from Tom’s well-educated colleagues.
Judy, in her usual boldness, had invited some of her colleagues to the event—many of whom were also Pat’s, though they seemed far more interested in marveling at Judy’s newfound wealth than in probing too deeply into how far her personal life had changed over the summer.
Ben, dressed adorably in his little tuxedo, drew a smirk from Pat as he knelt to adjust the little bow tie he’d convinced them to add to the outfit. Wetting his thumb, he wiped away a stray smudge of dirt from Ben’s cheek and smoothed down an unruly lock of the boy’s hair, just as a commotion at the front of the room drew his attention.
Tom had ascended the crystal staircase and positioned himself above the crowd. “All right, everyone!” He called, raising his tall glass and tapping it lightly with a fork. “Can I have your attention, please?”
The hum of conversation died down as heads turned toward him.
“Testing, one, two… one, two… Can you hear me?” Tom asked, speaking into the microphone handed to him by a waiter. He tapped the top of it twice, nodded in satisfaction, and continued. “All right, I’ll keep this quick.”
He paused, glancing briefly at nothing in particular as if chuckling to himself. “I’ve never been a man of protocols. Since I was young, I’ve always followed my instincts, and I think that’s paid off. But every man has his mistakes, and for me, that mistake was letting one person go.” His voice softened, his gaze scanning the crowd until it landed somewhere specific. A warm smile spread across his face. “But just as it’s a man’s right to make mistakes, it’s also his duty to make things right.”
“Judy Platt,” he called out. Almost as if rehearsed, a spotlight illuminated Judy, who had been chatting with her sister.
“Would you care to shut the fuck up and let me finish my speech?” he joked, earning a ripple of laughter that began near him and spread through the room. “Or do you think you could do it better? Huh?” He called sarcastically, raising an eyebrow to wave her over.
Asshole, Judy muttered under her breath, amused as she began making her way through the parting crowd. She lifted the long skirt of her off-shoulder gown, which Anne had generously lent her for the occasion. Though slightly loose in places, the dress suited her beautifully. Tom watched her approach with an adoring smile, Pat craned his neck to catch sight of her through the taller guests until she finally emerged by his side.
“Sure, I can,” she quipped, snatching the microphone from Tom’s hand and giving him a playful punch on the arm.
“Oh, I’m sorry, sweetie. Did I break your nail?” Tom teased, earning another round of laughter from the crowd.
Once the room settled, Judy raised the microphone again. “All right, I know this might seem a little odd to some of you. Me, first and foremost,” she began with a chuckle.
“I met this man when I was 19, and I knew then I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him. But life doesn’t always go according to plan,” she said, pausing for a sip of champagne handed to her. “And as much as we sometimes settle for small victories, there comes a time when you have to go for the big prize.”
Locking eyes with Tom, she continued, “But it’s not fair for the man to do all the hard work. I’m not ashamed to admit I’ve gone to great lengths to make this possible.”
Raising her voice slightly, she declared, “Because I’m not just any woman—I’m a woman who fights, who yells, who twists destiny’s arm until it gives me what I want. And yes, I may be a bitch, but I’d rather be a bitch than settle for less than I deserve.”
Her gaze returned to Tom as she brought the microphone closer, her breath brushing audibly against it. “And I deserve the world. And this man right here... he’s my world.”
With that, she threw her arms around Tom, pulling him into a passionate kiss as the crowd erupted in cheers and applause.
“Okay, that was better,” Tom joked, drawing more laughter as he pulled back.
“Now,” he continued, turning to the crowd, “I’d like to thank my great brother-in-law. Harold, where the fuck are you?”
“Over here!” Harold called, waving from the crowd.
Tom raised his glass toward him. “Thanks to that selfless son of a bitch, getting Judy’s passport was way less of a headache than usual.”
From his coat pocket, Tom pulled out a pair of plane tickets, holding them up for all to see. The destination read Portugal.
“Thanks again, man. I mean it—I love you,” Tom said with a grin, waving the tickets.
“My man!” Harold called back, raising his own drink.
Tom turned to the crowd. “Now, we know it’s not exactly conventional to go on a honeymoon before the wedding, but hey, when have we ever done things conventionally?”
At his signal, Judy extended her hand, showing off the dazzling diamond ring on her third finger. The reveal sent a ripple of excited squeals through the room as women rushed forward to congratulate her, while men clapped Tom on the back in hearty celebration.
The joyous cheers came to an abrupt halt as a sharp crash echoed from the back of the room. All eyes turned toward the commotion, revealing Pat sprawled on the floor beside a tray of shattered glasses, spilled liquor pooling around him.
Some of the men rushed to help, checking his pulse and fanning him with quick movements of their hands. Judy raised an eyebrow. “Well, that’s unfortunate,” she remarked. “Too bad she’ll have to clean it up later.”
Pat gasped sharply, his eyes fluttering open as he jolted back to consciousness. Disoriented, he blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of his surroundings. Where he had fainted just moments ago, he now found himself slumped in one of the reception chairs in a separate room. He looked around, recognizing the kitchen of the event hall. The faint aroma of an herbal candle wafted under his nose as Anne held it close, while staff members moved briskly around, clearing plates and tidying the post-party mess.
“Oh, look who finally decided to wake up from her beauty sleep,” Harold called out, leaning casually against the counter behind Anne.
“I... I...” Pat stammered, blinking as the events leading to his collapse flooded back into his mind. Judy’s announcement. Her engagement—to Tom.
His breath quickened as the weight of it all crashed down on him. “Wha— I... I...” The words stumbled out in pieces as he struggled to sit up, aided by Anne’s steadying hands.
“Easy, dear,” Anne cooed softly, helping him to his feet. “You’re still in shock.”
“Wha—I—where’s Judy?” he finally managed to splutter after several failed attempts at forming a complete sentence.
“She’s gone, dear,” She said gently, keeping a firm grip on his arm in case he collapsed again. “She and Tom—they needed to leave early to pack for their flight tomorrow morning.”
“No,” Pat whispered, shaking his head. His voice cracked as he repeated, “No, that can’t be...”
“It can,” Anne replied, her tone firm yet sympathetic. “I’m so sorry. We tried to warn you.”
“I never bet on blanks,” Harold interjected with a dry laugh.
Anne shot him a look before continuing. “She said yes two weeks ago,” she explained, deeply affected. “They were just waiting for the right moment to announce it.”
“No...” Pat muttered under his breath, pulling away from her hold. He staggered forward, wobbling slightly on stockinged feet, weaving through the hall staff toward the reception hall.
Emerging into the reception area, he found it empty. The guests had long since departed, leaving behind only staff busy stacking chairs and rolling tables to the side. One of them bumped into him, carrying the very chair Pat had been seated on earlier.
“Excuse me,” the staff member said curtly, hurrying past.
“Hey, would you have some tact?” She called sharply, rushing after Pat to steady him again. “She’s had a rough day.”
“So have we, ma’am,” the man replied without turning back. “But this is our job. She’d have to be used to it.”
“Don’t mind him, dear,” Anne said begrudgingly, stroking Pat’s arm as she tried to guide him away. “Let’s go home, shall we?”
“No!” Pat shouted suddenly, pushing her away with more force than he intended. Anne stumbled back into Harold’s arms, who caught her just in time. “That’s not my home! My home is with my wife, in my house!”
“You don’t have a wife anymore,” Harold said bluntly. Helping his wife back to her feet, he added, “It’s just… all gone” He hesitated, taking a moment to compose himself. “That’s what we’ve been trying to tell you, but you wouldn’t listen.”
“I... no... that’s not...” Pat’s voice faltered.
“What did you think was going to happen, huh?” Harold pressed, stepping closer. “You thought you could live as a woman for two months, and Judy would just be perfectly fine with you going back to being a man after that?”
“It was her idea!” Pat blurted out desperately.
“Maybe it was,” Harold conceded. “But you went along with it.”
Harold’s words hung heavy in the air. Anne stepped closer, slipping her hand into Harold’s for support as she addressed Pat with a sorrowful gaze.
“We’re the captains of our own ships, Pat,” Harold started. “And as much as you stepped back and let her take the wheel, you should have kept at least one hand on it. But you didn’t. You did nothing but hold the wheel steady while she turned the course of your life.”
At Pat’s blank expression, as if desperately trying to conjure a protest, Harold exhaled deeply, brushing a hand over his face. “Some might say you didn’t have the strength to resist the turn,” he admitted, casting a glance at Anne. “Others might think you were the one who pushed it in that direction.” He paused, gulping down the last drop of his bourbon and setting the glass on a passing tray. “As for me, I think you were so scared of where your actions might take you that you gladly let someone else decide for you—no matter where they set the course.”
At Harold’s subtle nod, Anne reached behind her and retrieved Pat’s bright heels, extending them toward him like an offering. Pat hesitated, his eyes darting between the garish shoes and Anne ’s sorrowful expression. She looked at him with a mixture of guilt and compassion, as though silently apologizing for the moment they all now found themselves in. Harold, meanwhile, stood firm, his face set in regret-tinged resolve.
After a long silence, Pat shook his head violently. He yanked the earrings Anne had lent him from his ears, dropping them to the floor, and refused to take the shoes. Without a word, he backed away from the pair, step by step, before turning and running barefoot across the polished floor.
He didn’t stop until he reached the entrance, where Harold’s familiar truck was the only vehicle left in the lot. Without hesitation, he climbed into the driver’s seat. After several trips in the vehicle, he knew exactly where his now former brother-in-law kept the spare key. Rifling through the glove compartment, he found the copy, jamming it into the ignition. His trembling hands managed to start the engine after several tries.
With a deep, shuddering breath, he floored the pedal. The truck lurched forward as he sped away, not daring to look back.
He had one destination and one destination only: the house where he had built a life with Judy.
Resolute, Pat kept his unshoed foot pressed firmly on the accelerator, barreling down the nearly deserted state road. The yellow lines flickered past in a blur, interrupted only by the occasional headlights of vehicles heading in the opposite direction. Every now and then, his vision blurred with tears he refused to acknowledge, hastily wiping them away with the back of his arm. His eyes remained fixed on the road—until a familiar sign caught his attention.
It was the turnoff leading to the cottage.
For a lingering moment, his gaze stayed on the sign. His chest tightened as memories flooded in, his grip loosening on the wheel. The truck veered slightly, and only the sudden, jarring honk of an oncoming vehicle snapped him back to reality. With a panicked pull, Pat yanked the wheel, sending the truck into a chaotic swerve.
The tires screeched against the pavement before losing traction entirely. The truck spun out, skidding off the road and tumbling into the ditch. And then—nothing.
A soft light broke through the slats of the window blinds, spilling onto his face and stirring him painfully back into consciousness. Pat groaned weakly, his body protesting every small movement. Slowly, his blurred vision began to clear, revealing a world of stark whites and sterile blues.
It wasn’t Harold’s house. It wasn’t his house. It was a hospital room.
Squinting against the brightness, Pat took in his surroundings. Blue curtains hung between pairs of beds, and the hum of distant voices filtered in from the hallway. Medical machines surrounded him, one attached to his right arm via an IV, another clipped to his finger, and a monitor emitted steady beeps that tracked his heartbeat. His left arm was immobilized in a plaster cast. As he attempted to lift himself, a sudden stab of pain shot through his ribs, forcing him to slump back against the bed. For the first time, he noticed the bandages wrapped tightly around his torso.
Unable to move further—whether due to the tangle of machines or the sheer pain—Pat lay there, staring blankly at the flickering lights on the ceiling. His mind began to rewind the series of events leading to this precise moment.
He saw the truck—his brother-in-law’s once-pristine truck—reversing its battered frame back onto the road, regaining its unmarred condition as it retraced the path to the hall. The staff removing served plates and returning food to the kitchen, the crowd dispersing. Harold and Tom spat beer back into their cans until the six-pack was intact and placed back in the fridge.
Nights dissolved into sunsets, which faded into sunrises. He watched himself spreading dust and disorder all over the Pritzer house. With a pang of dismay, he saw himself becoming little more than a stranger to Benny, who returned to lonely evenings of cries. Those cries broke Pat’s heart but restored all the rest of his body, flattening down each of the curves. His beloved sedan resurrected itself, rolling backward along the same road where he had ruined two vehicles, eventually reclaiming its place in his driveway.
Through the passing of these blinks, Pat pictured Judy—his Judy—pulling herself from Tom’s embrace and spitting food back onto the plate, no dance between him and Mike and most importantly, no kiss. Slowly, the two men became more absent in their lives. There was no mountain of skirts and dresses—no shopping trip had taken place. Even the house, though it might have resented him, returned to its former state.
He became a specter, watching with shame his anguished expression as his arm was twisted grotesquely before retreating from the floor and the handshake was undone. The scene paused, and with it, he stepped closer, desperate to alter its course.
Standing before his frozen doppelganger, Pat cried hysterically, pleading with his own image to stop before it was too late. He knew he’d never stood a chance against Judy, no matter how many times he replayed the match in his head. And even if he won—what then? Would he really have stolen her freedom just for slightly earlier breakfasts and a few drinks now and then? It wasn’t worth it.
But the man frozen in time wouldn’t listen. Even if he could, he doubted this version of himself, on the brink of his worst decision, would take advice from the strange womanly figure yelling at his side.
He had woken from one nightmare only to stumble into another, an endless chain of impossible realities unraveling into a blank void, as if he had reached nothingness itself.
For a fleeting moment, he felt as though his entire being might shatter. Everything—every last fragment of his life—had vanished. His relationship, his stability, and the world he thought he had known were all gone.
All that remained was the thin hospital gown that barely clung to his unfamiliar body. He had lost everything in exchange for something he didn’t want but couldn’t throw away. A hard swallow traveled painfully through his broken ribs. Trembling, he finally allowed himself to feel the full weight of his anguish.
He cried—not subtly, but with open, guttural moans of sadness. Curling as much as his battered form would allow, he sobbed freely. The sound echoed against the sterile walls of the small room, raw and unrelenting. Yet, no one came to his rescue.
For what felt like hours, he wept. And then, slowly, the tears dried on his cheeks, leaving behind a raw hollowness. As the last of his choked sobs faded into silence, he finally noticed a little bird perched on the window. It seemed completely unfazed by the world beyond the glass.
It was a redbird—rare for this part of the country and almost unheard of at this time of year. Yet there it was, tweeting cheerfully by the morning light and hopping on the sill.
Deep down, Pat had always known that a woman like Judy had little to do with a man like him. People said opposite poles attract each other, and for most of their relationship, he’d used that as a balm for their differences. Maybe they were just too different, or maybe they were so much alike, after all. Given how well he had fit into the woman’s world, maybe he had always belonged there, and Judy had known it.
She had seen something in him that he himself couldn’t comprehend. She had been his partner, the person who knew him better than anyone else. Yet, as Pat considered everything, he regretted not having known her just as deeply. He hadn’t seen the part of her heart that had never let go of her past love.
She hadn’t chosen Tom over him. She had simply chosen Tom.
A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips. He had no place by Judy’s side anymore, and for the first time, he accepted it.
His thoughts were interrupted by a soft, cheerful voice. “Aha! You’re finally awake!”
A mature nurse approached, clipboard in hand and a warm smile on her face. She clicked her tongue as she gently shooed the bird away from the window, drawing the curtains wide open to let the sunshine flood the room. Another redbird joined the first outside, and together, they spread their wings and took flight.
“I know we all need our beauty sleep,” the woman teased, brushing her hand lightly against his cheek. “But two whole days is a bit excessive, don’t you think, dear?” She chuckled, hoping to coax a smile from him.
Pat blinked at her, still groggy, his mind struggling to catch up.
“Your vitals seem stable, considering the condition you arrived in,” she remarked, humming softly as she checked the monitors and jotted down some notes on her clipboard. “You gave us all a big scare,” she scolded gently, wagging her pen at him. “Especially your cousin.”
“My cousin?” Pat echoed weakly.
“Yeah!” the nurse exclaimed, her words spilling out quickly. “She’s spent more time in this hospital over the last two days than most of the staff here! She must care about you a lot, huh?”
“I... I guess,” Pat murmured distantly.
Pat’s distant gaze was met with a comforting squeeze of his arm from the nurse. “I’ll go let her know you’re awake,” she said gently, but before she could even make it to the door, it flew open with a loud bang.
Bursting through was an utterly distraught Anne, her cheeks damp with tears and her hair disheveled, clear signs of sleepless nights. “Patti?! Oh my goodness!” she cried, rushing toward him.
“I’m so, so sorry! It was all my fault!” she sobbed, throwing herself into a tight hug around his torso, which immediately made Pat wince in pain.
Crying out, he gasped, “Ow—Anne, careful!”
“Oh my—” Anne exclaimed, pulling back instantly, her face a mix of guilt and panic. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt you!” she apologized repeatedly, rivers of tears streaming down her rosy cheeks.
By the doorway, a less frantic but clearly concerned Harold stepped in, helping the nurse back to her feet, Ben strapped snugly to his chest in a baby carrier.
“Are you okay? How do you feel? Did they give you the right medication? Are you sure you’re alright?” Anne fired off questions rapidly, her hands darting over him to assess every scratch and bandage.
“Hey, hey,” Harold interjected, placing a calming hand on her shoulder. “You’ve gotta leave enough time between your questions for her to answer.” Despite his teasing tone, relief was evident in his expression as he took in Pat’s fragile but intact state.
Harold carefully unstrapped Ben from the carrier as the infant squirmed excitedly, his tiny arms reaching out the moment he spotted Pat. “Alright, little man,” His father said softly, cradling Ben close as he approached the bed. “Be gentle with your auntie.”
Pat eagerly extended his arms, his heart swelling at the sight of his nephew. Harold took extra care as he placed the baby in Pat’s arms, ensuring the full weight didn’t strain his recovering body.
“Hey, you,” Pat greeted softly, tapping the tip of Ben’s nose with a gentle finger as he cradled him close. The baby, instantly comforted in Pat’s embrace, extended his tiny hand toward the scratches on Pat’s face with a look of subtle curiosity.
A knock at the door interrupted the moment. “Knock, knock,” came a cheery voice, paired with an actual knock on the open doorframe. A doctor stepped inside, glancing at the scene. Pausing, he tilted his head. “Oh, sorry—I was told this was a car accident. You must’ve been misplaced. Maternity is on the third floor.”
“No, no,” Pat chuckled softly. “That’s me. I was in a car accident.”
“Ah, right,” the doctor said, stepping fully into the room. Taking the clipboard from the nurse, who was still brushing herself off, he flipped through the pages. “Hmm, Patti, right?”
Pat nodded. Of course, with no ID on him, they had used the name tag from his uniform to identify him.
“Does it hurt here?” the doctor asked, carefully pressing and stretching Pat’s limbs into various positions. Some motions were tolerable, while others made him cry out in sharp pain.
The doctor lifted Pat’s chin gently, inspecting the superficial injuries on his face before stepping back with a reassuring nod.
“The good news is that nothing appears to be broken—just some soft tissue damage and a few nasty bruises,” he announced. Then, with a slight chuckle, he added, “Just keep your eyes on the road next time, huh? You don’t want to keep giving your kind a bad reputation.”
Pat barely had time to process that remark before the doctor continued, his tone light and almost teasing. “I mean, I’m not chauvinistic,” he said, laughing. “But honestly, eight out of ten accidents we handle here are caused by women.”
The nurse interjected, whispering urgently into his ear. “Doctor, no—she’s—”
“Ahhh!” the doctor exclaimed loudly, cutting her off with a laugh. “My apologies! So, how long have you been on HRT?”
Pat hesitated, unsure how to respond, but Anne stepped in, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “She just started. June 27th. Constant doses since then.”
Pat frowned at the mention of the date—it had been the Wednesday before the double date with Tom and Mike. Anxiety pills, my ass, he muttered under his breath.
“Well, there shouldn’t be any major complications then,” the doctor said, nodding thoughtfully. “Still, we’ll keep you under observation for at least a few days more, just to make sure there are no delayed issues.”
“That won't be necessary,” Pat replied cautiously, reclining from the bed. “I don’t have insurance, so—”
“Oh, didn’t they tell you?” the doctor interrupted, gesturing toward the Pritzers. “Your cousins here were kind enough to pay in advance for your treatment and extended stay.”
“Harold? You…” Pat asked, startled, his eyes widening as he looked at his former brother-in-law. For the first time, Harold blushed, unable to meet Pat’s gaze.
“Hey,” Harold said awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “Didn’t I mention? Your contract includes all the legal benefits.” He chuckled nervously, glancing between Pat and the floor.
Ann, touched, caressed her husband’s back. Pat met Harold’s awkwardness with a warm smile, one that Harold quickly exchanged before clearing his throat.
“That’ll be all from me,” the doctor interrupted. “Now, you’re going to be sore for a while, so no heavy lifting, no strenuous activities, and make sure to keep up with the pain meds we’ve prescribed.” He called looking over his glasses, and as he handed back the clipboard, he added, “Take care of yourself, alright? And no more checking your lipstick while driving.”
“Doctor!” the nurse scolded, aghast at the comment.
“No, no,” Pat said, waving her off with a small smile. “He’s right. My lips can wait… at least for the red light.”
A chuckle rippled through the room before both the nurse and doctor excused themselves.
As the day wound down, Pat and Ben sat on the couch watching a toddler show on TV. Harold grumbled about the stupidity of the characters while Pat covered Ben’s ears to shield him from the dad’s improper language. Ann returned from the hallway, frowning as she put her phone down.
“Argh! Does Portugal lack cell reception or what? This is the fiftieth time I’ve tried to call Judy!”
“Ahh, let her have her fun,” Pat said dismissively from the couch. “A honeymoon doesn’t happen twice.”
“She got two!” Ann shot back.
Pat snorted. “Ha! Only if you count ours. We couldn’t afford anything too far from here.”
“Which would’ve been different if you had taken my contribution,” Harold muttered, glancing at Pat with mild accusation.
“Excuse me!” Ann interjected, throwing her hands up in mock outrage. “I’m just trying to let her know her ex-husband nearly died!”
“I’ll be fine,” Pat called calmly.
“She doesn’t know that,” Ann countered, crossing her arms as she glared at him.
But Pat was sure she did. Judy always knew better—it was just part of who she was. Whether she was clinking tall glasses of cocktails by a beachside sunset or venturing up the cold heights of some distant mountain, Judy had always walked her own path—and she walked it well. Pat had been lucky enough to share it for a time. Now, he would use the momentum to find his own, his head held high, back straight, and one foot in front of the other.
Love is a beautiful thing—it makes people do crazy things. It could make a man embrace a life wholly foreign to him, or steal a truck, or crash it into a ditch. But love also required knowing when to let go, to accept defeat, and to shake hands with destiny.
“You’re still her family, whether she likes it or not,” Ann said firmly, pulling Pat back from his wandering thoughts.
He sighed, leaning back into the couch as he gently ruffled Ben’s soft curls. “You don’t have to keep reminding me. I get it—I’ll always be part of her life, one way or another. But I don’t want to be the shadow hovering over her happiness. Let her enjoy herself. She deserves it.”
“And what about you?” Ann pressed, settling down beside her husband. “Are you happy?”
Pat didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he let his gaze drift around the room. Here he was, in the beginning of seven prescribed days of recovery, surrounded by the quiet luxuries of his former brother-in-law’s generosity—a man who had found his own peculiar way of showing respect and even a sliver of appreciation. Ann, the woman he’d barely known beyond her name, had spent countless nights crying over his well-being, still pressing to know he was alright.
And then there was Ben, perched on his lap, oblivious to the aches Pat suppressed just to keep from disturbing the child’s delight in the goofy antics of brightly colored television characters.
“I’m getting there,” he said finally, his voice almost a whisper.
Epilogue
With a rude flick of her wrist, Emily Taylor slammed the door of her locker shut. Having gotten little rest the previous night, her mind struggled to piece together the fragments of useless facts she had crammed into it. If not for the sheer relief of the course ending soon, her hopes of escaping the school’s endless demands hinged on securing a passing grade on her last test. This wasn’t an easy feat, considering the limited knowledge she had managed to retain from Mrs. Wilson’s so-called lessons. The woman yelled more than she taught, barely explained anything, and spent most of the hour lamenting aspects of her life that had absolutely nothing to do with 18th-century French literature. Say what you wanted about Mr. Johns, but at least he knew how to teach a class.
With a deep sigh, Emily resigned herself to endure the test, stepping across the threshold of the classroom. The remnants of her former professor’s nameplate remained affixed above the door, now hidden beneath a cacophony of scribbles and doodles. Someone had added a tentative r, so it now read “Mrs.” instead. Little did the vandal know they had unwittingly captured a closer truth.
Though not officially entitled to a married prefix, the feminine role now suited the once-man far better than anyone could have imagined. Regardless, he was free to hold onto the title if he wanted—there wasn’t a “Mrs. Johns” anymore. Judy had once carried it, but soon enough, she’d be better known as Mrs. Rizzo.
After months of globetrotting, Judy had come to appreciate the cold climate of her hometown in a way she never had before. Life had taught her that change was inevitable, and with it came new perspectives. She and her former husband had learned that in their own respective ways.
Months ago, she had walked into Tom’s office holding a letter, one that would smooth things out for both of them. Pat had been an unexpectedly good sport about signing the divorce petition, leaving only Judy to finalize it. Without any further complications or delays, the two had decided to celebrate the upcoming wedding that very winter.
Judy read through the papers carefully, her lips twitching in a small, bittersweet smile when she saw her former husband’s signature. She muttered something under her breath, perhaps touched, before quickly dismissing the moment and throwing herself into the arms of her fiancé.
That signature, however, was something Patti knew she’d have to change soon. Out of habit, she continued using it, even though it no longer matched her alias. She’d signed it countless times during the two months leading up to the wedding. Those months had culminated in a sealed contract, ensuring her role was officially complete.
The Pritzers had been gracious, but it was clear they needed to make do with a younger hire—someone who, despite her best efforts, struggled to fill Patti’s shoes. The replacement had started off poorly, complaining about the impractical high heels she was required to wear during the reception. Her whining had earned a round of laughter from Patti and the Pritzers, who were seated at the same table, sipping champagne and trading witticisms about the past, present, and future.
With the wages she had earned over two seasons and her share of the house sale, the once-man had more than enough, even after acquiring the secluded cottage she had come to love after several visits. Harold had gotten her a good price, considering the market, and since money wouldn’t be a problem for a while, she’d used it as her new workspace. Finally, she could allow herself to work on her own writing instead of studying someone else’s.
Neither of the women joined in for the toasts—one abstaining to avoid alcohol while undergoing HRT, and the other skipping drinks due to her recently announced pregnancy. Still, with Harold drinking enough for the three of them, their enjoyment was unrestrained, as though they were all equally inebriated. “I’m telling you, I can feel it,” Harold proclaimed, as he rubbed his spouse’s growing belly. He was certain it was a girl on the way, even though it was far too early for a scan to reveal the baby’s gender. That minor detail didn’t stop the tipsy man from assigning almost mystical certainty to his guess.
“Are you sure? Wanna bet?” Anne teased, tilting her head with a playful grin in his direction. “I could use a second mommy to help out once we’ve got two kids running around the house,” she teased, chuckling softly.
“Yeah, right,” Her husband dismissed her with a wave of his free hand, the other busy lifting his drink to his mouth. “I’d never look half as good as this one,” he slurred, throwing a clumsy arm over Patti’s shoulders.
“Harold!” Patti yelped, caught off guard by his affectionate embrace. “Was that… a compliment?” she asked, her voice colored with equal parts surprise and amusement. “Okay, buddy, I think you’ve had enough,” she joked, plucking his glass from his hand and placing it on a passing tray.
But that was just who Harold had become—a warm, overly sentimental man who wore his heart on his sleeve, even if it came out in exaggerated, booze-laced declarations. He had even gone as far as deciding that, if it was indeed a girl, they would name her Patricia. He claimed it was to honor some distant relative in his bloodline, but his stubborn refusal to admit that the name was inspired by his once-brother-in-law didn’t fool anyone. The fact that he was already referring to the future daughter as “Patti” was proof enough.
Anne, for her part, had once again failed to measure up to her cousin, losing the coveted maid-of-honor position to someone whose tummy wouldn’t pop out in a light pink chiffon dress.
Resigned to standing further back in the bridal party lineup, she had struggled to maneuver her arms around the heads of taller bridesmaids to catch in frame the scene of the couple sealing their commitment at the priest’s command with a kiss. But instead of capturing the embrace, the lens shifted to the ex husband, catching her in perfect focus, beautiful as ever, with a warm smile and watery eyes.
When it came time for Judy to throw the bouquet, a swarm of women gathered eagerly, dragging Patti in between, carried forward by a tide of squealing peers. As if by fate, the bouquet landed neatly in her hands with little effort on her part.
She wasn’t sure how to react. For her, the moment was profoundly bittersweet. This was the wedding of the person she had once called wife. And now, with the cries of excitement around her and the flowers resting in her arms, she found herself expected to fulfill that role herself in the not-so-distant future.
Total Eclipse of the Heart played on the speakers as the couple danced before the wide circle of guests formed around them. Patti couldn’t help but chuckle, realizing the song had to be Judy’s choice, that had been the same selection for their own wedding. Tom had clearly complied with her decisions, and Patti couldn’t help but think she should warn him to set some boundaries before he found himself at her side at Judy’s next wedding.
That, however, was a problem Tom would have to deal with, if it ever came to that. Judy seemed delighted, melting into his arms as they danced, and Patti was certain he wouldn’t have to worry about trying on her clothes—he wouldn’t fit into them anyway.
Resistant to accept his new nanny, little Ben had once again been entrusted back into Patti’s arms so his mommy could enjoy a dance with her husband. The infant’s mood brightened almost instantly at her presence, his once-fussy demeanor replaced by soft coos and giggles. Patti’s heart warmed in turn—she had grown to love the little boy as if he were her own. Judy and she had never seriously entertained the idea of having children together, and now, with that possibility entirely off the table, Patti had resigned herself to the role of doting aunt—not just for the Pritzers but perhaps one day even to the Rizzos’ future children, should that come to pass.
Love had been the guiding force in Patti’s life, even if it wasn’t what it once was. Love for the person she had once called her wife, now glad for her to have a level of happiness she’d never been able to provide during their failed marriage. Love for Anne and Harold, who had welcomed her into their lives with quiet acceptance, each in their own way. Love for the literature she taught with passion, even if her students rarely shared it.
She envisioned watching her nephew grow over the years, guiding him toward an appreciation for the written word, first with the simple joys of children’s books, then later with the complexity and beauty of the great literary works she cherished. But for now, as she supported his tiny hands and encouraged his unsteady steps, she knew the road ahead would be long for the two of them.
When Anne returned to the table and scooped her son into her arms, Patti turned toward her, about to ask why. But Anne gestured toward the entrance.
Turning, Patti saw a silhouette emerge into the light.
“Hey,” Mike called, slightly out of breath as he adjusted the buttons on his tuxedo. “I made it.”
“Mike!” Patti exclaimed, her face lighting up in surprise. She sprang to her feet to meet him, stumbling slightly, only to find herself steadied in his arms.
“Hey, love,” he whispered, holding her by the lower back. “Missed me?”
In that moment, for the first time, Patti fully understood Judy’s perspective. In just a few months, she had come to miss Mike’s presence in her life so deeply that she couldn’t imagine how hard it must have been for Judy to wait years before meeting Tom again. Patti had gone to great lengths, too, to ensure Mike would never leave again.
Some people meet the love of their life at nineteen in college. Some resign themselves to finding it in a colleague. And some are lucky enough to be pushed into it—however peculiar the circumstances may be.
Wasting no time, she clasped Mike’s hand and dragged him onto the dance floor, blending in among the relatives and colleagues.
From across the room, she caught Judy’s gaze. For a brief moment, the two shared a silent exchange, Patti mustering a heartfelt thank-you with her eyes to the woman she still affectionately thought of as her cousin, despite their lack of blood relation. Judy, smiling softly, gave her a subtle nod before turning her attention back to her own partner.
Patti was here to stay—not as a servant, nor as an ex-husband, but as the full-fledged woman she had fully become. One who no longer needed anyone to dictate her path. Sure, she might let Mike take the lead occasionally, because men’s fragile egos needed to be stroked now and then, but the journey and its destination would always be hers to chart.
For the first time in years, she felt everything was in place. She had a partner who loved her for who she was, the respect of her family, and a genuine sense of freedom to embrace her true self. All of it had come at the cost of something that now seemed so insignificant in hindsight: her manhood.
The End